High King of Ireland

There are two titles given to kings of Ireland: King of Tara, and High King of Ireland. These are not the same thing. "High King" was first used in the 9th century, although it was sometimes applied retroactively and anachronistically to figures of legend; "King of Tara" was first used in the 6th century, although retroactively applied to previous kings as well as legendary figures.

The Kingship of Tara is by far the older of the two, and does not necessarily denote ruling all of Ireland. It is associated with the Hill of Tara, a site that has been important since Neolithic times, with several Neolithic features including a passage tomb dated to 3200BCE, and a standing stone called the "Stone of Destiny" (brought to Ireland by the Tuatha dé Danann).

Possessing the Hill of Tara by conquering whichever tribe held it was a necessary step to claim this special kingship. In the 3rd century, the Laigin seized it from the Érainn; Niall of the Nine Hostages took it from the Laigin in the 5th century, after which it was possessed by the Ui Néill clan. 

The Hill of Tara is also associated with the title "High King." It is considered the place from which the High King rules, thanks to its legendary status. The High King of Ireland was also known as the "King of all Ireland," because unlike the King of Tara, the High King was one who united all the various kingdoms under one rule. Actually, "united" is probably too strong a word. The High King received tribute from the smaller kings, but did not directly rule their kingdoms. (With the rise of political and financial power in cities such as Dublin, Limerick, and Waterford, possessing those became more important after the 11th century.)

The King of Tara was a sacred title, and he "married the land" by having a marriage or a sexual relationship with a "sovereignty goddess" (a term found only in Celtic studies), Maeve. Gerald of Wales wrote that the would-be king sexually embraced a white mare, which was then slaughtered for a feast. Which brings us to Diarmait mac Cerbaill.

Diarmait mac Cerbaill is considered the last King of Tara to be part of the pagan ritual. Diarmait, however, also turned towards Christianity during his reign. I'll go into this dichotomy next time.

Adomnán of Iona

Adomnán of Iona (also known as Eunan) was born about 627 CE in what is now County Donegal. We do not know a lot of details of his life before he became the ninth abbot of Iona in 679. At some point he tried to get the monks of Northern Ireland to adopt the Roman dating of Easter, decided at the Synod of Whitby in 664. Irish monasteries were still opposed to this, and modern scholars think his authority was probably weakened by his attempts to get Iona to change, and by his absences from Iona as he traveled to other monasteries to try to persuade them to follow the Roman method of calculation.

His greatest legacy may be the Vita Columbae, the "Life of Columba." He was related on his father's side to St. Columba, and used an earlier source to write the definitive biography. The Life of Columba is a valuable resource for information about groups like the Picts, the practices of monasteries, and the politics of the time.

He also wrote De Locis Sanctis, "On Holy Places." He got the information second-hand by a Bishop named Arculf who visited Iona after being to the Holy Land, Egypt, Constantinople, and Rome.

He is also known for the Cáin Adomnán (Gaelic: "Canons of Adomnán"). Presented and agreed to in 697 at the Synod of Birr—a meeting of Irish nobles and churchmen believed to have been convened by Adomnán himself—it established the safety and immunity of non-combatants during war. It is also referred to in Latin as the Lex Innocentium, the "Law of Innocents."

As mentioned in the previous post, he makes one of the earliest references to the divine right of kings. Diarmait Mac Cerbaill was High King of Ireland; he died about 565. Adomnán said he was "ordained by God's will as king of all Ireland," and that his assassin was visited by divine punishment. 

Adomnán died in 704, possibly on 23 September, which is celebrated as his feast day. Although the name Adomnán and its variants are rarely found today, his alternate name of Eunan is found on the Cathedral of Eunan and St. Columba in Letterkenny, County Donegal, as well as on other churches and schools.

I came to talk about Adomnán because of the link to the divine right of kings I wrote about yesterday, but the more I read, the more puzzling his example became. A monk declaring Diarmait Mac Cerbaill "ordained by God's will" looks more and more odd when you look at the king's actions: was he a Christian High King of Ireland, or was he a King of Tara, or both? We'll go into this tomorrow.

Divine Right of Kings

The Protestant Reformation in the 1500s undermined the authority of and people's faith in the pope and the Catholic Church. This was a boon to temporal authorities, as people increasingly looked to kings for guidance. The king was considered to be answerable for his decisions and behavior to no one but God. (Eventually, of course, the lack of limits in a ruler came under question, since it removes any power from the people, and the revolutions of the late 1700s dealt with this.)

While it lasted, however, the notion of the divine right of kings was beneficial to the tiny percentage of the human population that could take advantage of it.

For Christians and Jews, a passage in Deuteronomy was crucial:

When you come to the land that the Lord your God is giving you, and you possess it and dwell in it and then say, 'I will set a king over me, like all the nations that are around me,' 15 you may indeed set a king over you whom the Lord your God will choose. One from among your brothers you shall set as king over you. You may not put a foreigner over you, who is not your brother." (Deuteronomy, 17:14-15)

Debates took place over whether this meant the people choose a king, or whether their choice is an example of God's will being made manifest. In fact, Jewish law requires a blessing upon seeing a monarch: "Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, Who has given from His glory to flesh and blood." This suggests that the monarch has God's support.

Medieval Europe was willing to accept that God gave the ruler complete temporal authority, just as the Pope had complete spiritual authority. Richard I of England declared in 1193 "I am born in a rank which recognizes no superior but God, to whom alone I am responsible for my actions," and first used the phrase (still the motto of the monarch of the United Kingdom) Dieu et mon droit (French: "God and my right"). This is the origin of the pluralis majestatis, the "royal we" used by potentates, to indicate that they and God are speaking. Richard's Chancellor, William Longchamp, introduced the use of the plural into documents he produced during Richard's reign.

Henry VIII took this one step further (too far?) when he declared himself head of the Church in England. James VI /I of Scotland/England heavily promoted the divine right theory—although Scotland had always seen the king as simply "first among equals"—as did Louis XIV of France. James used a passage from Romans 13 about "God's ministers" to support his idea of divine right.

The earliest reference to divine rulership takes place long before James, or even Richard. Tomorrow we'll talk about Adomnán of Iona.

Reviving the Justinian Code

The Byzantine Emperor Justinian I had many accomplishments, but establishing the Corpus Juris Civilis ("Body of Civil Law"), often referred to as the Code of Justinian, was one of the most lasting. The first main codification of Roman law, it influenced many modern legal systems. It was given the force of law as the sole source of legal interpretation, which made the application of law across the Empire consistent.

Although established in the 6th century, copies were extensive for the centuries that followed (no originals from the 6th century remain). City-states in northern Italy adopted the Justinian Code as they grew and needed more formal systems of law to guide them internally and in their relationships with each other. By the time Frederick I Barbarossa came to the throne it was also being used in his territories north of the Alps.

Frederick began to use the Justinian Code which not only made application of the law consistent over a large area, it also bolstered Frederick's grander claims. Based on a Roman Imperial foundation, the Code embraced the idea of the "divine right of rulership." Frederick, like many worldly rulers in the Middle Ages, was in conflict with the Church over ultimate authority. The Justinian Code gave him a reason to push forward the idea that he had divine authority to do as he liked, such as taking over northern Italy as well as Germany, and clashing with Archbishops.

The Justinian Code was also adopted as the foundation of the Napoleonic Code, which abolished feudalism.

The "divine right of kings" was a common concept in the Middle Ages. One of the earliest examples was offered in the 7th century by Adomnán of Iona; I'll tell you about him next time.

The End of Barbarossa

You are Frederick I, offspring of two of Germany's most powerful families. As a young man, you went on Crusade and distinguished yourself in battle. You become King of Germany and King of Italy. As Holy Roman Emperor, you attempt to re-establish the extent of the Roman Empire. Your help is requested for a Third Crusade, "the most meticulously planned and organized" of any Crusade up until then. The approach of your army so unnerves Saladin that he divides his forces, currently trying to lift the Siege of Acre imposed by Richard Lionheart of England.

Meanwhile, your forces proceed through the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia, reaching the Saleph River (now called the Göksu in Turkey on a plateau in the Taurus Mountains). The army is sent along a mountain path, while you decide on a shortcut advised by the locals: simply cross the river on your horse.

Holy Roman Emperor Frederick I, called Barbarossa, drowned in the Saleph on 10 June 1190.

Accounts vary. A biography written within a few years of Frederick's death says he chose to swim the river—possible, but he was 68 years old at the time—and was swept away. A churchman who was with the Crusade says it was a simple swim to refresh himself, but the old man encountered an unexpected current (illustrated in a manuscript of the Saxon Chronicle above). Another says he was thrown from his horse and weighed down by his armor. A contemporary chronicler claims God saved them from an evil man by drowning him in shallow water while the emperor was washing himself.

Whatever the case, the body was subjected to mos Teutonicus, thousands of German soldiers abandoned the Crusade and went home, and Philip of France took the rest to the Holy land where he shared command of the Crusade with Richard I of England, with whom he was not on friendly terms.

Frederick's reputation was such that he is one of those characters who passed into legend, specifically that he is not dead but lies sleeping (like Arthur, with attendants) until such time as his country needs him, either in the Kyffhäuser Mountains in Thuringia or Untersberg. The signal for his revival will be the disappearance of ravens flying around the mountain. His red beard continues to grow, his eyes are only half-shut, and occasionally his hand raises, signaling a boy to go outside and see if the ravens are still flying.

Germany never lost its interest in Barbarossa. The Kyffhäuser Monument (also called Barbarossa Monument) was erected on the anniversary of Frederick's coronation in 1896 to commemorate him and Kaiser Wilhelm I, who was declared the reincarnation of Barbarossa. Hitler named his invasion of the Soviet Union "Operation Barbarossa," although originally called "Operation Otto" after Otto the Great.

These recent posts have, of course, told barely one percent of the extensive accomplishments of Barbarossa. Tomorrow I want to dip into one of his other actions: the revival of the Roman Justinian Code.

Starting the Third Crusade

Personalities and politics prevent progress. When Barbarossa received letters from the Holy Land asking for help in fighting Muslims, he refused because of a dispute he was having with the Archbishop Philip of Cologne.

The conflict was not unique to them. We saw it when Charlemagne was first crowned on Christmas Day 800, during the Investiture Controversy, and with Becket, to name just a few turbulent times in European history. Who had ultimate authority, pope or emperor? Philip of Cologne had plenty of authority as archbishop, with money flowing to him through the feudal system.

He wanted more, however, and started buying up the lands of his vassals and selling them to others for profit. His fiefdom was held from the emperor, Frederick I Barbarossa; in fact, his was the largest feudal territory under Frederick. Philip never openly challenged Frederick, but his growing economic power and control over land was a cause for concern. Frederick also annoyed Philip by giving market privileges to the cities of Aachen and Duisburg that would have cut into the economic power of Cologne. This "Cold War" made Frederick reluctant to leave for the Middle East for the length of time a Crusade would take.

Fortunately, the two made peace with each other on 27 March 1188 after a council in Mainz. Philip pledged his support of Frederick, and Frederick "took up the Cross." But that led to another issue for Frederick: in 1175, Frederick had made an alliance with Saladin. Now Frederick had to send a message to Saladin, informing him that their alliance was over.

There was another problem, faced by all Crusades: how to finance it? As have many European rulers over centuries, Frederick turned to the Jews. "Crusade fever" more often than not led to persecution of any non-Christian, and the Jews had suffered massacres connected to the First and Second Crusades. On the eve of Frederick's reconciliation with Philip, the Jews of Mainz were being threatened by a mob. Frederick sent Marshal Henry of Malden to disperse the mob, after which the chief rabbi met with Frederick. An imperial edict followed, threatening equal punishment for anyone who maimed or killed a Jew. Frederick also partially financed the Crusade by a tax on the Jews of Germany.

Sadly for Frederick, he would not survive the Crusade. We will see his end tomorrow.

Barbarossa!

Born about 1122-23, Frederick (Friedrich) was born in France to the Duke of Swabia. He grew up learning the noble arts of hunting and riding and martial activity, but not the less-necessary arts of reading and writing.

In 1147, as his father lay dying, Frederick decided to accompany his uncle, Conrad III (who was King of Germany) on the Second Crusade. Frederick's father was angry at his brother for taking Frederick away when soon the Duke's widow would need support. The Duke died in the first week of April, and (now Duke) Frederick departed on Crusade at the end of May.

A few months later, Frederick was "tested" by his uncle. A Crusader was robbed and killed in a monastery outside Adrianople in Turkey, and Conrad ordered Frederick to avenge the death. Frederick destroyed the monastery and killed the perpetrators. His military training served him well on Crusade, and he was noted for being victorious "before all others," even though the Crusade itself failed.

In 1152, Conrad died, and the only two people at his deathbed—Frederick and the bishop of Bamberg—agreed that he wished Frederick to be named king, rather than Conrad's own son (who was only six years old at the time). A few days after being crowned King of the Germans, Frederick was crowned "King of the Romans," a title used to by kings of Germany from 1002CE onward to denote they considered themselves Holy Roman Emperor. 

He made it his goal to truly restore the wide-reaching boundaries enjoyed by Charlemagne, and the first step was to unite all the various princes of territories in German lands, and then to extend his authority to Italy. After making concessions in Germany to get everyone on his side, he began a total of six expeditions to Italy, beginning with Sicily, under Norman control by King William I of Sicily. From 1154 until the 1170s, he managed to conquer parts of Italy, but stirred up a great deal of anti-German sentiment and rebellion. An alliance with Constantinople helped the Italian city-states in northern Italy to defeat Frederick, a shock to Europe. It was his time in Italy that gave him the nickname Barbarossa, which means "red beard" in Italian. This nickname became so entwined with his career that it was carried back to Germany, where he was referred to some times as Kaiser Rotbart, "Emperor Red Beard."

In 1187, the aging emperor received letters from the European rulers in some Crusader states in the East to come to their aid. Frederick declined to join this Third Crusade, and urged Philip II of France to go, but later changed his mind and chose to "take up the cross."

This change of heart regarding the Third Crusade involved the Archbishop of Cologne and the Jews of Strasbourg, which I will explain next time.

To Cook a King

Yesterday we discussed the problem of decay when a corpse had to be transported over a long distance. A medieval historian named Boncompagno coined the term mos Teutonicus ("German custom") to describe how Germans dealt with death of an aristocrat on Crusade.

The ultimate goal was to have a complete skeleton to take home and bury. The first step was to remove the entrails. Internal organs were not going to be preserved, and not considered an important part of the ultimate result, so they would be buried. Often, however, the heart would be carefully saved.

Then the body hd to be "de-fleshed." The most efficient way to do this (with minimal handling of the corpse) was to boil it. As Boncompagno wrote:

The Germans remove the intestines from the corpses of high-ranking men when they die in foreign countries, and let the rest boil in cauldrons until all the meat, tendons and cartilage are separated from the bones. These bones, washed in fragrant wine and sprinkled with spices, are then taken back to their homeland.

The boiling process would take hours. Now, the likelihood of having a cauldron large enough for the body seems dubious. On the other hand, an enormous retinue of nobles and their households making a long journey would have equipment for feeding a lot of people. It is possible that there were copper tubs for heating water/cooking that could accommodate an adult corpse. In the case of Frederick I Barbarossa who drowned during the Third Crusade in 1190, however, the report is that he was cut up and cooked. In 1167, he had ordered the same for several bishops and princes who were with him during his conquest of Rome and died from dysentery, delivering their bones to their respective homes.

Modern science has taken an interest in this practice: the bones of Emperor Lothar III were said to be the end result of mos Teutonicus after he died crossing the Alps in 1137. Scientific analysis of the breakdown of amino acids suggests that they were boiled for six hours. Modern forensic analysis has likewise taken advantage of remains that were preserved by methods other than putting them in the ground where they could thoroughly decompose. Richard I Lionheart's heart was preserved and sent to Notre Dame. It has been confirmed to 1) be a heart, and 2) have been embalmed with myrtle, daisy, mint, and frankincense, giving clues to medieval embalming preservation techniques.

The Church looked down on mos Teutonicus, as did other nations. The French much preferred taking the time and effort to embalm the body. The English were fine with dividing body parts, such as sending the heart to a separate place for sentimental reasons. The Church wanted the entire body intact for resurrection at the final trump. Pope Boniface VIII issued a papal bull in 1299 (re-issued in 1300, in case they weren't listening the first time) condemning the practice of separating the body.

(Later years have ignored this bull. Keeping a memento—sometimes grisly—of a loved one is not uncommon. Napolean's heart was given to Josephine, Chopin's heart was put in a crystal jar, Thomas Hardy's heart—what was left after being cut out and partially eaten by a cat—was to be buried in Stanford, Dorset. Mary Shelley supposedly had Percy Shelley's heart in a box; I say "supposedly" because the lump saved from his cremation could have been anything; the eyewitness who grabbed it, burning his hand in the process, said it was the heart. It's more poetic that way.)

As often happens, I have discovered in relating all the above that I have mentioned Frederick I Barbarossa more than once in the history of this blog without every going into detail about who he was. Tomorrow I will correct that oversight. Until then...

Mos Teutonicus

Yesterday I raised the question of how a body was treated, such as that of  Louis IX of France dying on Crusade, when immediate burial was not an option. The answer is rather grisly.

Consider the situation: a person has died far from home and the family burial plot, what are the attendants to do? Raw flesh decays, and by the time the corpse is brought home it will be a mass of putrefaction, attracting swarms of flies and feeding masses of maggots. How is it possible to fulfill an obligation to deliver the deceased person's remains for proper burial?

One clue to the solution is the word "raw." Cooked meat does not decay immediately. What if we "cooked" the body? Well, not exactly. They did not deliver "roast king" to his final resting place. There was a strong belief, however, that for the Christian "resurrection of the body" in the end times the skeleton was the most crucial element, because it denoted an intact body. I posted ten years ago about "de-fleshing" a corpse, and a little later about other attitudes to treating corpses.

The practice was referred to as mos Teutonicus, Latin for "German custom." It was considered a proper way of handling the corpse of a high-ranking person under difficult circumstances. The Viking custom of a funeral pyre or any form of cremation was outlawed by Charlemagne, who thought the soul was destroyed along with the complete destruction of the bones.

When the Crusades started, it was deemed inappropriate for Christian nobles to be buried in Muslim territory. It was a Florentine professor and historian named Boncompagno da Signa (c.1165 - 1240) who coined the term mos Teutonicus, linking the practice to the German nobles on Crusade.

mos Teutonicus was more hygienic and cost effective than embalming, which still required a certain amount of "violation" of the body, since the entrails were removed and disposed of, and the heart removed. The heart, of course, was considered special, and often delivered for burial a a location important to the deceased or the family—the heart of Richard I, for instance.

Exactly how mos Teutonicus was carried out, the later backlash against it, and its usefulness in the present day are topics I'd like to save until next time. See you soon.

Louis the Saint

Louis IX of France (1214 - 1270) was crowned at the age of 12 after his father Louis VIII "The Lion" died of dysentery coming back from fighting the Albigensian Crusade against the Cathars. His mother, Blanche of Castile, acted as his regent and made sure he was educated, having him taught Latin, rhetoric, writing, and the arts of war and government. Part of his reading instruction was through the Psalter of St. Louis. Through her influence he became very devout. His mother's influence was strong, but when he reached the age of 20 she seems to have become more a counselor than a regent.

Louis' devotion led him to go on two Crusades. He could not convince any of the rulers of Europe to go on Crusade, so he organized and funded the 7th Crusade himself; it did not go very well. The 8th Crusade went even more poorly, and he died while on it.

His failure at Crusading enhanced rather than tarnished his reputation, however, since it showed his religious devotion to one and all. He also built the Sainte-Chapelle ("Holy Chapel") solely to house the Crown of Thorns, which he had received from Baldwin II by paying off a debt of Baldwin for 135,000 livres.

Louis also presided over the Disputations of Paris (parts one and two) in which Jewish leaders were forced to respond to charges of anti-Christian passages in the Talmud, copies of which he would have collected and destroyed. Along with this, he expanded the Inquisition.

Part of his devotion was because he considered French to be foremost in protecting the Church, since the first Christian named "Holy Roman Emperor" was Charlemagne of the Franks. He though France had an obligation as the "eldest daughter of the Church" to lead in Christian behavior, proselytizing, and freeing the Holy Land.

He died in 1270 at Tunis, and the body to be transported from the north coast of Africa to Sicily, thence through Italy, across the Alps, and most of France until they reached St.-Denis. He was declared a saint in 1297 by Pope Boniface VIII.

Here's a question: if someone dies while traveling, what s done with the body? A person of no status might be buried right there. Maybe they'd be wrapped in canvas, or a coffin would be procured. What about a royal personage, though, one for whom you have great respect? How do you prepare a body? Let's talk about that tomorrow.

Psalter of St. Louis

Although Geoffrey, the eldest and illegitimate son of Henry II, was problematic in his ecclesiastical appointment of Archbishop of York—plagued with conflicts with other church officials, with financial troubles due to Henry's sons frequently confiscating his lands, and simply his apathy toward acting priestly—he did provide a legacy worth noting in other areas. According to the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, he was a patron of the arts.

He appointed a scholar, Honorius of Kent, as Archdeacon of Richmond. Honorius later wrote a book on canon law that was popular enough that it still exists in seven manuscripts.

He seems to have been a patron of the creator of the Leiden St. Louis Psalter. A psalter is a book of psalms, usually lavishly illustrated and made for a wealthy patron. This psalter was made in Northern England in the 1190s, it is 185 pages about 9.5x7 inches. (The picture of it above is from this site where you can purchase facsimiles of medieval works.) It includes 78 illustrations from the Old Testament, psalms, and a calendar of feast days.

There are two versions. The original made for Geoffrey seems to have became the property of Blanche of Castile after his death. This is the Leiden St. Louis Psalter because it ultimately wound up in the Leiden University Library. A new version was made after the death of Blanche for the benefit of her son, Louis IX of France. It is called the Psalter of St. Louis, and resides in the Bibliotheque national de France. You can view the manuscript yourself page-by-page here.

Geoffrey's psalter was used by Blanche to teach the young Louis to read, according to a note in French added to it. We cannot gauge its influence on the young prince, but Louis IX of France is the only French king who became a saint, and maybe we should look at why tomorrow.

Sibling Strife

Although Geoffrey of York may have seemed like his father's favorite (despite his illegitimacy), Henry II's other sons were generous in their contempt, offering him choice offices but denying him some of the accompanying privileges. Were they pushing him to rebel so they could imprison him for treason? Or just practicing cruelty because of their father's preference for their half-brother?

After Richard's death, John became king, and restored Geoffrey to the position of Archbishop of York, but continued collecting the revenue of the properties associated with that position until Geoffrey returned from Rome. Richard had prevented him from returning to England after Geoffrey's visit to the pope to try to restore his position. Once he returned, Geoffrey and John spent the rest of 1199 in each other's company. As the two of Henry's sons who had not ever rebelled against their father, they had some things in common.

Geoffrey strained the relationship when, in 1200, he refused the carucage, a tax due the king. To be fair to Geoffrey, Richard as well as John had at times prevented him from collecting the revenue due his position in York, and Richard had "fined" him more than once. Geoffrey was probably financially more disadvantaged than any Archbishop of oak before or since. So Geoffrey and John fell out, but were reconciled at the funeral of Hugh of Lincoln in November 1200. Since Geoffrey afterward continued to prevent the collection of the king's tax, excommunicating the sheriff whose duty it was to collect it, their truce failed, upon which John demanded the payment for the office of Sheriff of Yorkshire (which Geoffrey had purchased during Richard's reign on a "promissory note" of 3000 marks. Geoffrey of course could not afford that, so in May 1201 he lifted the excommunication and made a payment to calm John down. Then they started clashing over ecclesiastical appointments in York. Geoffrey also clashed with some of the monasteries in his diocese over appointments. 

This back-and-forth continued. Geoffrey tried to reconcile permanently with John in 1206, and even had his properties (and associated revenue) returned to him. But in the following year the clergy of England objected to royal taxation. Can you guess which prelate led the charge? He also started excommunicating anyone in the diocese who tried to collect the tax. John re-confiscated his properties. Pope Innocent told John to return them, but Geoffrey had fled to France.

Geoffrey could have had a much more comfortable life than anyone could have expected, given his lack of legitimacy. His early life suggested a lazy and self-indulgent approach to life in the church, but he could have kept quiet and just quietly supported whichever member of his royal family was on the throne at the time. Instead, he seemed to "pull a Becket" and tried to throw his weight around as an archbishop. (To be fair, Becket seemed to change his attitude once he became archbishop because he felt obligated to champion the Church over Henry's whims, whereas Geoffrey's behavior seemed to be motivated by gathering as much money as he could.) Geoffrey even fought with the Archbishop of Canterbury over who was more important.

He died in Normandy on 12 December 1212 and was buried at the monastery where he had taken refuge, near Rouen.

It is not fair, however, to assume Geoffrey had no redeeming qualities (outside of loyalty to his father). The picture above is an illustration of Cain and Abel—appropriate for this post, I think. It is from the Psalter of St. Louis, which was used to teach the future Louis IX of France how to read. It is thought to have been created thanks to Geoffrey, and I'll talk more on it tomorrow.

The Bastard Archbishop

When Henry II died, his eldest son living was Geoffrey. Geoffrey was not in a position to ascend to the throne, however, because he was illegitimate. Henry had taken care of him with ecclesiastical positions, but Geoffrey had refused to be ordained a priest, even though he had been named a bishop. He had finally resigned the bishopric and became Henry's chancellor. His name appears in only a few official documents between 1182 and 1185, however. As with his religious positions, he had shown himself to be less than enthusiastic about carrying out any associated duties. As chancellor he had a keeper of the seal to authorize documents, freeing him up from daily obligations.

Henry's dying wish was that Geoffrey be made Bishop of Winchester or Archbishop of York (ecclesiastically equal to, but traditionally subordinate to, the Archbishop of Canterbury). The next king, Richard I, made Geoffrey Archbishop of York on 20 July 1189. Richard's magnanimity was motivated by a desire to keep Geoffrey from aspiring to a place at Court. Even if he did not aspire to the throne, he had served their father by leading the army, and might be persuaded to stir up trouble against Richard. It also showed Henry's supporters that Richard, who had rebelled against his father more than once, was willing to respect Henry's wishes. Moreover, it justified Richard removing Geoffrey from the position of chancellor.

With Geoffrey's major supporter dead, however, life was not going to be easy. Richard did not trust him, and made Geoffrey pledge to live outside of England while Richard was on Crusade. Also, York already had an archbishop: Hubert Walter had been voted archbishop by the cathedral chapter, supported by Eleanor of Aquitaine. It is possible that Eleanor opposed privileges for Geoffrey because he was a product of her late husband's illegitimate affairs. Richard also appointed some positions that would normally be made by the archbishop, to which Geoffrey objected. Richard responded by confiscating lands that belonged to Geoffrey's position, saying he would return them when Geoffrey agreed to be ordained and become a proper priest and prelate. Richard was further ensconcing Geoffrey into the church structure to keep him away from the throne, and showing the kingdom not to mess with him, since he could be strict even with his relatives. Even returning the lands to him required Geoffrey pay Richard a fine of £2000.

Geoffrey's troubles were far from over. Although Richard had given him time to pay the fine, it took so long (there were elements hostile to Geoffrey that hampered his efforts), that Richard finally re-confiscated the lands and increased the fine. Because Geoffrey's ordination took place at Tours, France, there were those who rejected his authority because he had not been consecrated as archbishop by the Archbishop of Canterbury. He was even arrested and imprisoned in Dover Castle by the current chancellor, William Longchamp, who claimed that Geoffrey had not pledged loyalty to Richard. Fortunately for Geoffrey, an archbishop imprisoned by an agent of the king invoked memories of Thomas Becket's death, and there was an outcry against Longchamp's actions.

Then, in 1199, Richard died, and John became king. John had not joined his brothers in their rebellions against Henry, and often appeared to be Henry's favorite. So how did he deal with his father's "other" favorite? I'll talk about that, and Geoffrey's final fate, tomorrow.

Geoffrey the Bastard

It was perfectly acceptable in the Middle Ages for kings to father children outside of wedlock. Although these illegitimate children were unable to be considered in the line of succession, they were not neglected by their noble parents. One example is how Henry II of England treated his bastard son Geoffrey, who was raised along with his legitimate children.

Geoffrey is assumed to be Henry's eldest son, born about 1152 (the same year Henry married Eleanor of Aquitaine and started having legitimate heirs). Geoffrey's mother is unknown. One chronicler hostile to Henry, Walter Map, says she was a whore name Ykenai. Other sources claim the mother was likely Rosamund, but there is no evidence for that.

Geoffrey was named Archdeacon of Lincoln by September 1171. This would have been a remarkable appointment for one so young: Gerald of Wales says he was barely 20 when he was made bishop in May 1173! He had come from land owned by a cathedral in the diocese of London, and a prebend, both of which generated income for him. Pope Alexander III objected to his appointment as bishop—it seems that he did not execute the duties of the positions he held previously—and Geoffrey traveled to Rome in October 1174 to meet with Alexander and receive a dispensation (he was very young, and had never been properly ordained a priest to our knowledge) so his appointment could be confirmed.

Note that, if you look at yesterday's post regarding the revolt by Henry's oldest legitimate son, Henry appointed Geoffrey bishop two months after three of his sons were rebelling against him, and Geoffrey's journey across the continent did not take place until the rebellion had been put down and it was safe for Geoffrey to travel through territory over which Henry had re-asserted control. In fact, the "loyalists in northern England [that] captured the Scottish forces" mentioned in that post were led by Geoffrey! Henry rewarded loyal service.

Henry's rewards to his son were only related to the church, however, which had a few results: it offered him financial support, it took him further away from ambitions of inheritance, and it precluded the desire to find him a suitable marriage.

Geoffrey, however, did not seem much inclined to remain in the religious life: he refused to be ordained, even though he remained in the position of bishop-elect. Ultimately, Pope Lucius III ordered Geoffrey to fish or cut bait: either be ordained and act properly like a bishop, or resign. Geoffrey chose resignation and became Henry's chancellor.

That was not the end of his religious life, however. After his father died—and Geoffrey was the only one of Henry's sons to be at his side when he died—the next king had plans for him. I'll go into that next.

Young Henry's Revolt, 1173

Henry II had conflicts with the Scotland, with Ireland, with Wales, with France, but the most difficult conflicts may have been with his family.

The Norman practice of not only naming but formally elevating your heir led to Henry's eldest son, Henry, was formally made "king" and known as Henry, the Young King. At 18, Henry was well-liked and admired, but he had a problem: he was living like a king, with a retinue of knights and followers who wanted to be with the next monarch, but he had no revenues. Revenues come from the taxes on property, and his father kept tight control of England, Normandy, and Anjou. His mother, Eleanor, held the enormous Aquitaine. Young Henry stood to inherit a vast area, but he wanted it sooner. Then his father gave three castles, that would have belonged to young Henry, to Prince John. Eleanor and others urged Henry to rebel

His solution was ironic: give his future kingdom away in order to rule it. He promised territories to several counts of areas on the continent if they would support him in overthrowing his father. Henry senior's reputation had been severely tarnished by the killing of Thomas Becket in 1170; in 1173, people were still outraged.

Young Henry went to the court of King Louis VII of France, whose daughter he had married, to plan. His brothers Richard (Lionheart) and Geoffrey joined him (likely also upset at the preference shown to the youngest brother John). The first step was in March of 1173 when young Henry and his allies attacked Normandy from three sides. It was a failure. Loyal Norman forces repelled them and killed the Count of Boulogne.

The next phase took place when the Earl of Leicester took an army of Flemish mercenaries to England ... and was soundly defeated. Danger from the north was next: forces from Scotland in the spring of 1174 invaded northern England.

Then something happened that would not initially seem to be related to the war, but may have had an effect. Henry II, crossing from Normandy back to England in July, stopped at Canterbury Cathedral and did penance before the tomb of Thomas Becket, whose murder people felt as Henry's fault. The very next day, loyalists in northern England captured the Scottish forces. That was the end of the revolt. Henry II destroyed the castles of several of the nobles who supported his son. Young Henry, Richard, and Geoffrey all re-pledged their loyalty to the father.

Besides Prince John, there was another son who did not have cause to join the rebellion. This was another Geoffrey, who was illegitimate and possibly older than the rest. This Geoffrey had different ambitions, which were to be realized if he just kept his place and stayed the course. Tomorrow we'll talk about just how far a bastard son o a king could go.

Thomas Becket, the Legends

The martyrdom and subsequent popularity of Thomas Becket inspired several legends, which is not unusual. Since pilgrimages were popular in the Middle Ages, and could be lucrative for the pilgrimage site, linking a saint to your locale was a common industry. His shrine at Canterbury Cathedral generated so much income that his bones a mere 50 years later could be placed in a casket of gold and gems. The ceremony for this was attended by Henry III and Stephen Langton, then Archbishop of Canterbury, and afterward the date (7 July) became a second feast day for Becket, as well as 29 December, the date of his murder.

In the village of Otford, Kent, made two unusual claims about the new saint. One was "Becket's Well," a pair of springs that came forth from the ground after the archbishop struck the ground with his crozier because he did not like the taste of the local water. Its existence was not mentioned until the 13th century, and it is pictured here. Otford also claims an absence of nightingales because Becket was disturbed by their singing while he was visiting there.

Over in the town of Strood in Kent the men had been on Henry's side in his conflict with Becket. While Becket was riding through, they cut off his horse's tale, after which Becket's curse was that the men of Strood would be born with tails. (No evidence exists of this phenomenon.)

Part of veneration of St. Thomas involved partaking of the "water of St. Thomas." This was a mixture of water and the (supposed) blood of Thomas. This was frowned upon by the Church.

Numerous churches were (and still are) built with his name. The arms of the city of Canterbury incorporated his coat of arms. Portrayals of the murder exist in all artistic media. Chaucer used a pilgrimage in spring to his shrine as the frame story for The Canterbury Tales.

In the discussion of Becket's death and the aftermath, I've neglected the effect it had on one particular person connected to the event. How did Becket's old friend and the instigator (?) of his murder deal with the result? Come back tomorrow and I'll tell you about the Revolt of 1173-74.

Thomas Becket, Aftermath

It's a rare medieval post that starts with a Star Wars reference, but here it is (spoilers!): when Obi Wan confronts Darth Vader, he warns his former pupil "If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine." As it turns out, the murder of Thomas Becket by knights acting (so they believed) on Henry II's wishes gave to the problematic and disgraced Archbishop of Canterbury a level of celebrity I doubt he would have achieved otherwise.

Henry's involvement—deliberate or not—in the murder tarnished his reputation; the death of Becket was one of the points brought against him during a rebellion in 1173. But let's focus on the immediate events after 29 December 1170.

The four knights responsible fled northward, to the castle of one of their number, Hugh de Moreville. Regardless of their "good intentions"—they thought they were carrying out orders of a king—the murder of an archbishop was not going to be without consequence. They might have thought to get to Scotland, where English law would not follow them. The four were excommunicated by Pope Alexander III. They were not in immediate danger of secular punishment: Henry did not confiscate their lands, which would have been appropriate for the circumstances. When they appealed to him for advice on their future in August 1171, however, he refused to help them. They ultimately went to Rome to seek forgiveness from the Pope, whose penance for them was to go to the Holy Land and support the Crusading efforts.

Back to Canterbury and 29 December 1170: the monks began to prepare the body for burial. Legend says they were astounded to find that he wore a hair shirt under his clothing: a sign of great piety, to willingly do penance through discomfort. His coffin was placed beneath the floor of the cathedral, with a hole in the stone floor where pilgrims could stick their heads in and kiss the tomb. The martyr's tomb became an enormously popular pilgrimage site; from martyr to saint took only two years: he was canonized by Alexander III on 21 February 1173.

Fifty years after his death, his bones were put into a shrine of gold and jewels—affordable because of the radical increase in donations and offerings due to the popularity of St. Thomas of Canterbury—and given a more prominent place behind the high altar. Sadly, the shrine and bones were destroyed by Henry VIII in 1538, and all mentions of Becket's name were to be eliminated. Despite Henry's efforts, Thomas Becket is still one of the most popular and best-known martyrs and saints in English history.

As was typical for prominent figures, especially saints, several legends cropped up about him with no evidence, but several locales tried to connect themselves to a now-famous figure. I'll share some of the more outrageous stories next.

Thomas Becket, Martyr

Thomas Becket rose from decent middle-class origins to the highest non-royal position in England. As Archbishop of Canterbury, however, his apparent long-term friendship with and loyalty to King Henry II was replaced by an obligation to promote ecclesiastical priorities over secular royal wishes. 

One crisis point was averted when Pope Alexander III created a compromise that allowed Becket—in self-exile on the continent to avoid arrest for malfeasance—to return to England. Becket might have been more careful after that close call, but his awareness of the significance of his position as Archbishop of Canterbury guided his every move.

So when the king had his young son Henry crowned as his successor, the ceremony should have been performed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, as was tradition. The elder Henry chose the secondary, the Archbishop of York, Roger de Pont L'Évêque, along with the Bishops of London and Salisbury, to elevate his son. Becket was insulted by this, and in November 1170 he excommunicated the three clergy involved.

...and here is where supposition takes over. King Henry, exasperated by the news, uttered words in what we would now call a "hot mic" situation. Exactly what he said, we don't know. A monk, Edward Grim, who says he was standing next to Becket during what happened next, reports Henry's words as "What miserable drones and traitors have I nourished and brought up in my household, who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born cleric?" There are other accounts, including variations on the terse "Won't someone free me of this troublesome cleric?"

Four knights present took this as a command. Richard le Breton, Reginald FitzUrse, Hugh de Morville, and William de Tracy set out for Canterbury. On 29 December, they came to the cathedral, hiding their weapons and putting cloaks over their armor. Demanding that Becket come to the king in Winchester, his refusal made them retrieve their weapons and threaten him. They tried to drag him outside, but he held onto a pillar. With three sword blows to the head, Becket was finished.

This conclusion was only a prologue to more, and tomorrow I'll talk about what happened after.

Thomas Becket, Archbishop

When King Henry II of England saw his good friend and loyal Lord Chancellor become Archbishop of Canterbury, he assumed he had an ideal opportunity to extend his secular authority over ecclesiastical issues. After all, Henry had trusted Becket enough to have his eldest son raised in Becket's household, and Becket, in his rôle as Chancellor, had efficiently enforced the king's policies over things like revenue from landowners, including churches and bishoprics.

Becoming archbishop, however, either motivated or simply coincided with a change in Becket's attitude. He had not formally been ordained a priest prior to this appointment to the highest ecclesiastical position in England. He was finally ordained a priest on 2 June 1162; his consecration as archbishop took place one day later. The ordination seemed to change him, and he began to live an ascetic lifestyle, quite different from how he would have lived as Chancellor.

Becket resigned as Chancellor and focused his energies on the needs of the clergy. In fact, he started trying to extend the "separation of Church and State" and reclaim the rights of the clergy for appointments to positions and jurisdiction without royal interference. This created a significant rift between archbishop and king. Within months of Becket's new position, Henry tried to formalize royal authority over clerical rights in the Constitutions of Clarendon. The Constitutions attempted to regain royal authority over the clergy and weaken the influence of the papacy in England. Becket's old friend Richer L'Aigle (mentioned here) supported Clarendon. Although many English bishops were willing to go along, Becket opposed the move strongly, causing Henry to demand he appear for trial for malfeasance. Becket agreed verbally to the points in the Constitutions, but refused to formally sign the document. He was convicted of malfeasance, but fled the court and went to the continent into the protection of Louis VII of France.

Becket threatened excommunication for Henry and Interdict for England (meaning no one could partake of the sacraments). Pope Alexander III intervened, however, sending papal legates who negotiated a compromise that would allow Becket to return.

Becket came out of exile and resumed his duties, but remained a thorn in Henry's side. In 1170, a stray comment from Henry expressing his frustration (so the story goes), led to an infamous event that would vault Becket's popularity higher than ever. It's a sad story, however, and I'll share it tomorrow.

Thomas Becket, Origin

Thomas Becket is a name already familiar to many, but I am going to talk about him anyway.

It is popular to think of Becket as having 'humble beginnings," but his father Gilbert was a Norman merchant and a one-time sheriff of London. A popular legend says that his mother, Mathilda, was originally the daughter of a Middle eastern emir, who fell in love with Gilbert while Gilbert was captured on Crusade. Mathilda helped him escape, then later tried to join him although the only word she knew in English was "London." She kept traveling, repeating the word "London" wherever she went, until finally she was directed to a ship bound for England.

Having reached London, her foreign appearance attracted attention. Gilbert discovered her, and consulted with the clergy about marriage; they advised him to have her baptized a Christian. One bishop predicted she would give birth to a saint. (see the picture below, from the Queen Mary Psalter) It is far more likely is that Mathilda was of Norman descent. The pair are buried in Old St. Paul's Cathedral.

The young Thomas (born c. 1120) was often invited to the estate of a wealthy family friend in Sussex, Richer L'Aigle, where he learned the aristocratic pursuits of hawking and hunting. Thomas attended Merton Priory school in Surrey, and later a grammar school in London. He is not known as a particularly good student. He learned the basics, but his Latin was not very good.

His father had some financial difficulties when Thomas was about 20, and Thomas was forced to earn a living as a clerk. He eventually found a position with the current Archbishop of Canterbury, Theobald of Bec. (One hypothesis is that the surname "Becket" indicated origins in Bec in Normandy, and that Gilbert and Theobald were related.) Theobald trusted Thomas with missions to Rome and sent him to study canon law. Theobald named him Archdeacon of Canterbury in 1154 and gave him several responsibilities for different places and made him Provost of Beverley. He was so efficient at these posts that Theobald recommended him to King Henry II for the vacant position of Lord Chancellor. Thomas became Chancellor in January 1155. As Chancellor, he was responsible for carrying out the will of the king in law and policy.

Henry and Thomas seemed to get along extremely well. Henry sent his son, the Young King Henry, to be raised in Becket's household. (It was common for aristocratic families to "foster" each other's children.)

A few months after the death of Archbishop Theobald, Thomas Becket was named Archbishop of Canterbury. Henry was pleased to have a trusted friend who understand the aristocratic life and had proven loyal to the king's interests in the highest ecclesiastical position in the land. It was an opportunity for Henry to extend his authority over the Church in the matter of legal disputes and appointment of clergy, etc.

...and that's when the trouble started. See you tomorrow for part two of three about Thomas Becket.

What Is a Chancellor?

The term "chancellor" has appeared over two dozen times throughout this blog, but the position—and its changing rôle over time—has never been examined.

The term itself comes from the Latin cancellarius, which was someone who hung around the cancelli. The cancelli referred to the lattice-work screens that divided the judge and lawyers from the audience. The cancellarii were the clerks who waited by the divider, waiting to be sent as messengers or given other tasks by the officials. At some point, one of these minor administrators was appointed to a more prominent position. The Latin term for the place cancelli became the English words chancery and chancellery to denote the office of a chancellor.

Inspired by the Carolingian administrative system, Edward the Confessor (reigned 1042 - 1066) appointed what some consider the first chancellor in England, a priest named Regenbald. Titled regis cancellarius, he was probably put in charge of the king's clerks and scribes, and his name shows up as witness to charters. Regenbald was given many estates and the status of a bishop, although he was not ordained one.

For centuries the chancellor was a member of the clergy, likely because for centuries in England the clergy was where you could find a literate man. Early chancellors seem to have been chosen because the king wanted someone to deal with the paperwork of charters, and the chancellor was the Keeper of the Great Seal, freeing the king from having to handle the paperwork himself. The picture above is the chancellor's purse, for storing the Seal. (The Keeper of the Great Seal evolved into a separate office.)

Eventually the chancellor became the Chief Justice, managing the law courts. For a time he was the only judge for cases that needed the king's authority. By the time of Edward III, the chancellor's work evolved into a separate tribunal, the High Court of Chancery, and the chancellor could decide cases based on his judgment regardless of the dictates of law. Two of the better known chancellors, who were sometimes referred to as "the keeper of the king's conscience" were under Henry VIII: Sir Thomas More, the only chancellor who ever cleared the day's docket, and Cardinal Thomas Wolsey; after Wolsey's failure to procure an annulment of Henry's marriage to Catherine of Aragon, Henry (and subsequent kings) mostly appointed lay people as chancellor.

The Lord High Chancellor (now just Lord Chancellor) in the Middle Ages was primarily responsible for the functioning of the law courts.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer is responsible for financial matters; the first appointed was Eustace of Fauconberg (c. 1221 - 1228) by Henry III.

After the Archbishop of Canterbury, the chancellor was the highest-ranking non-royal in England.

Chancellors who have appeared in this blog include Robert Bloet, William Wykeham, Simon Sudbury, Thomas Arundel. Probably one of the most famous chancellors in England was Thomas Becket, who has so far had little exposure in Daily Medieval, so let's give him some much-deserved attention next.

Simon Sudbury

Simon of Sudbury, or just Simon Sudbury, was one of those people who shows up here and there, for instance during the Peasants' Revolt when he was killed by the mob. Now that I've spoiled the ending, let me go back to the beginning.

Born to the middle-class Nigel and Sarah Theobald in Sudbury, Simon studied at the University of Paris and became a priest, working for Pope Innocent VI during the Avignon Papacy. Innocent sent him to Edward III in England, where he stayed and became Bishop of London in 1362. His career flourished, and he was named Archbishop of Canterbury in 1375. After Edward III's death in 1377, it was Sudbury who crowned Richard II as the new king. In 1380 he was named Chancellor of England.

Still emotionally attached to his hometown, he had St. Gregory's Church there renovated, building a chapel at the east end of the north aisle and rebuilding the aisles. He also founded a college in Sudbury along with his brother, John of Chertsey.

Despite any good acts he may have performed, as Archbishop of Canterbury and Chancellor of England, he was representative of a government that was considered corrupt and oppressive. To be fair, he was involved in the creation of the third poll tax that pushed things over the edge. When the Peasants' Revolt occurred in 1381, he became a target. The mob damaged his properties at Canterbury and Lambeth, and then entered the Tower of London where he was celebrating Mass. There they found Sudbury and the Lord High Treasurer, Sir Robert Hales. Supposedly, the guards stood by and let the mob in, whereupon the mob dragged Sudbury and Hales out and executed them.

Sudbury's head was hacked off with a sword; the head was placed on a pole on London Bridge for six days, then taken down and sent to St. Gregory's, where it can be seen to this day (see picture above). In 2011, a scan of the skull was used by a forensic expert to make a facial reconstruction, which you can view here. The body is interred at Canterbury Cathedral, with a cannonball in place of the head.

His is one of the rare coats of arms that feature a Talbot dog.

The office of chancellor has been mentioned numerous times throughout this blog, but never explained to an audience (mostly) that did not grow up in a country that has that position. It's time we explained what a chancellor does...next time.

The Talbot Dog

The dog pictured here is the Talbot Dog or Talbot Hound.  The Talbot was a hunting dog popular in the Middle Ages. I saw was because the breed has been extinct for at least two centuries.

Hunting hounds are bred and used for different skills. There are hunting dogs used for their ability to scent things, some for their ability to see better, and some for their ability to dig into burrows. We don't know what the Talbot was used for, but the short legs and large feet would make it good for digging.

The Talbot was linked to John Talbot, 1st Earl of Shrewsbury (the kneeling man in this post with a Talbot Dog behind him). Henry VI called him "Talbot, oure good dogge." This may have to do with Talbot's "doggedness" at pursuing the French during the Hundred Years' War. Or just a joke. The Talbot is not on the coat of arms of either the Talbot family or the Earls of Shrewsbury until much later than the 15th century. (Regarding heraldry: the Talbot and the greyhound are the only two dogs found in English heraldry.)

Talbots seem to have died out by the end of the 18th century. The only place they are seen now besides heraldic emblems is on signs for public houses. You can also see a Talbot carved in stone at Canterbury Cathedral in the coat of arms of one-time Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Chancellor of England Simon Sudbury. You can see Simon himself—or rather, his skull—at a different church.  That's a story for tomorrow, however. 

The Talbot Shrewsbury Book

The picture in this post shows the 1st Earl of Shrewsbury presenting a book to Margaret of Anjou, wife of King Henry VI. The earl, John Talbot, was highly praised by Henry, who named him Constable of France—this was merely honorary, since Henry didn't really control France. Pictured here is the entire first page.

The book is real. It is known as the Talbot Shrewsbury Book (also known as British Royal Library 15 E vi). It is a beautifully illustrated collection of 15 legends, stories, and other information written by several authors. Talbot commissioned it for Henry and Margaret's wedding in 1445. The book includes the illustration of Talbot presenting it to Margaret

Made of parchment bound in 440 pages, it is an example of Medieval/Renaissance book production at its height. The contents start out looking appropriate as a wedding gift for a queen, but near the end they become something else.

The Romance of Alexander the Great is followed by five tales of Charlemagne. After that are two Anglo-Norman prose romances, the story of King Horn and the Romance of Guy of Warwick (one of the most popular medieval romances). There follows a highly creative history of the Crusades.

The last 140+ pages seem to be less oriented toward a queen and more toward a queen's son, leading some to think it was intended for a future son of Margaret and Henry. There is a scholarly dialogue on war and battle, then a Mirror for Princes, a history of Normandy from the 8th century to 1217, a poem about chivalry, and the rules for the Order of the Garter.

If you look closely at the picture, you'll see a little white dog behind the kneeling Earl of Shrewsbury. This is the Talbot Dog, and it has its own place in history, which I'll talk about next.

The Earls of Shrewsbury

Why was the 1st Earl of Shrewsbury (pictured to the left on his knees and mentioned here) the second 1st Earl of Shrewsbury? That is because the first 1st Earl of Shrewsbury was deemed a traitor, and the title disappeared for 340 years.

The title "Earl of Shrewsbury" was first created in 1074 for a counselor of William the Conqueror, Roger de Montgomerie. He was given extensive lands to the west in order to keep an eye on the Welsh. Roger had two sons: Hugh and Robert. Hugh became the 2nd Earl at Roger's death, and Robert inherited his father's lands in Normandy. When Hugh died in 1098, Robert inherited the title. Robert then made the political miscalculation of joining Robert Curthose in one of his rebellions against King Henry I. The title Earl of Shrewsbury was discontinued.

Forward to the Hundred Years' War, and John Talbot, 7th Baron Talbot is distinguishing himself as a military commander. He is called the "English Achilles" and the "Terror of the French." He was an aggressive man both militarily and personally, not always making friends. His devotion to the cause of English rule over France was unquestioned. When he left the battlefields of France to return to England and request reinforcements in 1442, King Henry VI made him 1st Earl of Shrewsbury. He got the reinforcements he wanted, and went back to France.

The war was winding down, however, and England's chance of winning looking less likely. When in June 1443 he returned to England for more reinforcements, he was refused by the Council (they sent a different force under command of Edmund Beaufort, who would figure largely in the Wars of the Roses). Taken hostage in Rouen in 1449, he promised never again to fight against the French; he did, however, advise and command others, even if he himself did not use a weapon in battle.

He was killed at the Battle of Castillon, a decisive ending to the War. Supposedly his horse was injured and fell on him, enabling an enemy soldier to finish him off with a battleaxe. His son John Talbot became the 2nd Earl of Shrewsbury, a line of succession that continues to the present day.

"Second Creation" is the term used when a title that has become defunct because the line died out with no heirs or the title is revoked by the king's decree gets re-created for a new person. Many titles have needed a Second Creation or more.  

Now, about that picture above: why is he on his knees, what is that in his hands, and to whom is he giving it? Tomorrow we talk about the Talbot Shrewsbury Book.

Alton Castle

The image to the left shows Alton Towers in 1880, designed by Augustus Pugin, near the town of Alton in Staffordshire (not the Alton where the Treaty of Alton was signed). Although what we see now is a magnificent 19th century building designed as part of the Gothic Revival, the place has a much older history.

In the 1st century BCE there was an Iron Age fort on the site, but more continuity started when King Ceolred of Mercia built a wooden fortress there. The place was attacked by King Ine of Wessex in 716 in a battle so bloody that the location was called Slain Hollow (until Pugin turned it into an oriental water garden).

After the Conquest of 1066, the castle was rebuilt and enlarged in stone by the Norman noble Bertram de Verdun, who had been granted land in England by William. It stayed in the Verdun family through three generations of "Bertram de Verdun"s; then, in 1318, Joan de Verdun married Thomas de Furnival. Thomas died crusading in 1348, and the estate went to Sir John Talbot who married Furnival's daughter Maud. Talbot was created the first Earl of Shrewsbury (sort of; I'll explain later). Alton Castle stayed in the Talbot family; the 16th Earl of Shrewsbury was the owner during the 19th century expansion, after which the building was renamed Alton Towers.

In the 20th century the grounds were opened to the public, and now in the UK the phrase "Alton Towers" invokes images of an enormous theme park and resort that has been developed at the site.

But back to the first Earl of Shrewsbury. The first Earl of Shrewsbury was not the first; I'll explain how there were two "firsts" tomorrow.

Augustus Pugin — Reviving the Middle Ages

Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin (1812–1852) was an architect who designed the tower the houses Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, the interior of the Palace of Westminster, several churches in England, Ireland, and Australia, numerous other buildings, and at least one castle.

He disapproved of the materialism of the Industrial Revolution, he designed according to "Christian principles," which to him meant medieval. He explained this in his 1836 book Contrasts, or, A Parallel Between the Noble Edifices of the 14th and 15th Centuries and Similar Buildings of the Present Day, Shewing the Present Decay of Taste. 

He brought his "Gothic Revival" style to things other than buildings, and the pictures offer two examples of a chair and a table designed by him and inspired by what he might have called the "medieval aesthetic." I personally find his furniture and accessories odd. The holes in the chair don't match in my (admittedly limited) memory any design motif from the Middle Ages. The side table is even more odd. The quatrefoils hanging down—when they would have normally been oriented upward—seems to be adding architectural motifs into places where they don't quite fit in. Years ago, while visiting the Victoria and Albert Museum, I saw a Gothic Revival chair where the gothic pointed arch that enabled the larger windows of Gothic cathedrals was carved into the wood upside down.

As a fan of the European Middle Ages, I am glad that the 19th century saw value in the art and architecture of that earlier era. I think it possible that, at times, they went too far. (But perhaps that's just me.) An article in Architectural Review on the occasion of the bicentennial of his birth can tell you more.

I think it is better for me to stay focused on his architectural work, such as his castle. His Alton Castle had a long history before Pugin came along to rebuild it, which we'll look at tomorrow.

Pewter

Sometime during the Bronze Age, as human beings were experimenting with different metal ores, someone tried mixing the abundant-but-brittle tin with some lead (a 10:1 proportion worked well). The result with fairly soft at room temperature, enabling easier shaping. The Egyptians (the earliest known piece of pewter was found in an Egyptian tomb and dated to 1450 BCE) and the Romans used it extensively. In Britain, once the Romans left in the 5th century, there was little use of pewter until the 12th century.

Pewter ware was made by melting and pouring into molds, which in the Middle Ages were often plaster or clay reinforced with calf hair. Adding a design was done by chiseling or etching with acid. Stamping a design was not always useful, since the pewter was soft enough that you would need to support it from the other side; the force of the stamp could easily deform the nice round shape of a goblet or tankard. (Stamping a flat plate would work.)

Pewter was turned into anything imaginable for daily use: plates, bowls, mugs, flatware, basins, measuring spoons and cups, ladles, goblets and cups and tankards, candlesticks (see picture for a 14th century example), teapots and sugar bowls and cream jugs. Pewter was so useful and common that regulations cropped up to ensure quality control.

The lead content is a concern, of course, and modern pewter designed for human contact contains no lead. Higher lead content produced darker pewter, so if handling an antique, the darker it is, the less you want it in contact with your skin. Lead toxicity was well-known to the Romans; they recognized that those who worked extensively with lead suffered the same cognitive symptoms. Colonial American higher quality pewter—a well-to-do person's dining room table, for instance—was likely lead-free (substitutes were antimony, brass, copper, or zinc), even though there was plenty of lower quality pewter being made using lead, especially in the kitchen.

Developments in glass-making and pottery, such as the introduction of porcelain—especially when Portuguese traders started bring back kaolin from China, allowing potters to make their own fine white "china"—made pewter less desirable. In the 19t century, however, there was a revived interest in England in medieval styles and art. I first mentioned the man responsible for this interest a decade ago; time to re-visit him ... tomorrow.