Francis the Convert

When young Francesco di Bernardone realized he wanted to live a more devout and pious life, the change did not happen all at once. His encounter with the leper (see link above) was a turning point, but there was more to do on this journey.

He went to the old church at San Damiano to pray, during which he heard Christ on the Cross say to him "Francis, repair my church." Taking this to mean repairing the building of San Damiano, he went to his father's shop and took some of the fine fabrics, selling them on the street so he could give the money to the church.

His father, Pietro, was furious. He took Francis to the bishop in the town square, accusing Francis of theft and demanding that he be forced to repay for the cloth he took. The bishop took Pietro's side and told Francis to return the money and not worry, because "God would provide." Francis not only gave his father the money, but right there in the town square he divested himself of his clothing (since it had come from his father), stripping down to just a hair shirt he had been wearing. He declared "Pietro Bernardone is no longer my father. From now on I can say with complete freedom, 'Our Father who art in heaven.'"

He walked away from town to live in the woods, a hermit with nothing. He later begged people to bring him stones and started to rebuild the crumbling San Damiano himself. He started to preach openly about returning to God and obeying the Church. People started to listen. Then they started to adopt his lifestyle, wanting to live simply, rejecting shelter and money. They slept in the open and begged for food.

Now that he had followers, Francis became concerned about the responsibilities of leadership. He now had to think about how his actions were influencing others. To do that, he had to think more deliberately about what his actions should be. He decided to open the Bible randomly and take its advice. He opened it in three places, and his inspiration formed the basis for his life and the Order he reluctantly founded. The first steps on the path to the Franciscans were taken. We will see how that turned out next.

Francis the Youth

About 1181 in Assisi in Umbria, Pica di Bourlemont gave birth to a son. Her husband, the cloth merchant Pietro Bernardone, was in France on business at the time, and returned home to find that she had named the boy Giovanni, after John the Baptist. Pietro was not happy: he did not want his son associated with religion; he wanted his son to eventually join him in business. Because Pietro had trade connections in France, he re-named his son Francesco, "Frenchman."

Francesco was a happy child, with no wants because of his father's wealth. He had a very permissive lifestyle in a permissive time and was well-liked by everyone. He took trips to France with his father, falling in love with the country and its troubadours. A natural leader, his biographer (Thomas of Celano, who knew him) said "In other respects an exquisite youth, he attracted to himself a whole retinue of young people addicted to evil and accustomed to vice."

When Assisi declared war on its neighbor, Perugia, Francesco saw an opportunity to win attention and glory. Assisi lost, horribly, and it was only Francesco's family wealth that saved him to be imprisoned and ransomed, not killed.

When the Fourth Crusade came along, Francesco saw a better opportunity for glory. He needed a horse and armor—an easy "get" for someone with his family wealth. He had the armor decorated with gold, and accompanied by a magnificent cloak. With all in place, he set off from Assisi to go and free the Holy Land.

One day out from Assisi, he had a dream in which God told him to return home. He followed the dream, even though it led to ridicule from neighbors and anger from his father for the money wasted on the armor and horse. He worked in his father's business, and waited for God's plan to unfold. He started praying more, looking for guidance. Finally, a simple yet profound moment came.

He was riding his horse through the mountains when he came upon a leper. Despite the fear of leprosy, he dismounted and kissed the leper's hand. When the kiss was reciprocated, he felt a sense of joy. Remounting and riding away, he turned to wave goodbye and could not see the leper anywhere. He saw this as a test from God that he passed.

Francesco now had a better idea of the direction of his life, but his first obstacle was his father. We'll see how that turned out tomorrow.

John of Plano Carpini

Marco Polo is known for traveling to the Far East from Europe and observing things unknown to Europeans, but there were many travelers from Western Europe who went into unfamiliar lands for various reasons. One of these reasons was to bring Christianity to the inhabitants. The Franciscan John of Plano Carpini was one of those.

Carpini (c.1185 - 1 August 1252) was from central Italy. He was a companion of St. Francis of Assissi. In 1245, he was sent by Pope Innocent IV to the east with a letter for Ögedei Khan, who had defeated European forces four years earlier at the Battle of Legnica and almost took over all of Eastern Europe. The pope's intention was to protest the Mongol intrusion into Christendom, and to bring Christianity to the East. Incidentally, the mission could learn more about the enemy's intentions and strength.

Carpini had been at that time the Franciscan provincial in Germany. He set out with the pope's letter on Easter Day 1245 (16 April), with a fellow Franciscan, Stephen of Bohemia. They passed through Kyiv, where Stephen became ill and was left behind. They passed the rivers Dnieper, Don, and Volga; those names were first recorded by Carpini.

At the Volga they came to the camp of Batu Khan, a grandson of Genghis Khan, where they were made to walk between two fires (similar—but not as dangerous—as the Ordeal of Fire endured by Peter Bartholomew) to remove any impure thoughts or poisons before they were bought before Batu. Batu sent them on to the court in Mongolia. This second part of the journey set off on Easter Day 1246 (8 April).

This was arduous, and they had suffered through Lent, melting snow for water and eating millet with salt for their sustenance. Their journey of 3000 miles took 106 days. Before they arrived at their destination, Ögedei died, and the envoys were in time to witness the instatement of the new Supreme Khan, Güyük Khan. You can see his response to the pope's letter here.

Güyük kept Carpini and his party until November, and then sent them on their way during winter. Carpini records that they often slept on ground after scraping away the snow. It took them until 10 June 1247 to reach Kyiv. From that point their journey became easier: Slavonic Christians welcomed them and treated them hospitably.

Carpini was given the archbishopric of Serbia and became papal legate to Louis IX of France, a much more comfortable task after his grueling journey eastward. He wrote a record of his trip, the Ystoria Mongalorum ("History of Mongol People"), the first European history of the Mongols. Not long after, a much more accurate account of Mongols was written by William Rubruck.

Rubruck, like Carpini, was a Franciscan. Tomorrow I will start an account of the life of their founder.

The Cumans

Several years ago I mentioned the Codex Cumanicus, a lexicon of the Cuman language designed to help Christian missionaries preach to the Cumans. Thanks to this document, of the many variations of Turkic languages in the Middle Ages, Cuman is the best-known. They are mentioned in ancient Roman texts. Pliny the Elder mentions a fortress named Cumania in the area where there was a Cuman-Kipchak confederation (shown in yellow here) in the western part of the Eurasian Steppe.

Although they were a nomadic people, and therefore putting boundaries on their territory is a very fluid prospect, by the 11th and 12th centuries this confederation was the dominant force in the areas that are now Kazakhstan, southern Russia, Ukraine, southern Moldavia, and eastern Wallachia (in Romania).

This widespread area meant they were in contact with many others. They fought against the Kingdom of Hungary. They fought against the Byzantine Empire. They fought against each other: they were employed as mercenaries by Byzantium to fight against their ethnic cousins, the Pechenegs, with offers of gold from Emperor Alexios I. They had a specific use for gold: armor. Their higher-ranking members wore gold face plates in battle.

They were described as a handsome people, with blond hair and blue eyes. The Russian aristocracy sought Cuman women due to their beauty. Men and women both wore pants, tunics, and caftans, although women's tunics were shorter. Deep crimson was a popular color for clothing. Men shaved the tops of their heads and wore the remaining hair in braids. They wore conical hats made of felt with a broad brim or leather with fur trim. Women also wore conical hats, but with a veil that hung down the back.

A 13th century archbishop records a marriage between a Cuman princess and a Hungarian prince. Ten Cumans swore an oath that they would defend the Kingdom of Hungary. When swearing, they did so with a sword in hand, the sword touching the body of a dog that had been cut in half. A crusade historian also reports something similar: at an alliance between the Cumans and Byzantines, the Cumans had a dog walk between the two groups, then they cut the dog and had the Byzantines do the same. They swore that if the two groups failed in their oath that they would be cut in pieces.

The Cumans were overwhelmed by the Mongols in the 1230s, with the option to be destroyed or to become part of the Golden Horde. They chose the Golden Horde, and eventually blended in with other ethnic groups.

The story of the marriage above comes from one of those Christians who took an interest in the Cumans and their neighbors. Tomorrow I'll tell you about John of Plano Carpini. See you then.

The Pechenegs

While Bishop Adhemar was traveling through Slavonia with the First Crusade, he was accosted by a group of Pechenegs. They were described in an 11th century dictionary of Turkic languages as one of a group of several Turkic nations living in Anatolia, in the Eastern Roman Empire.

The Pechenegs fought with their neighbors extensively, battling the Kievan Rus for generations. At an important battle between the Byzantine Empire and the Seljuk Turks—the Battle of Manzikert—Pecheneg mercenaries were employed by both sides! (The Turks won.)

In 1091, Byzantine Emperor Alexios I Comnenos, allied with a Cuman army, destroyed the Pechenegs as a nation at the Battle of Levounion in 1091. The Pechenegs had attacked the empire, which had been recently weakened through internal strife. Alexios' victory was the start of a Byzantine revival. The defeated Pechenegs were recruited by Alexios as a military division and settled in Macedonia. Cumans, themselves related to the Pechenegs, attacked their "cousins" in 1094, reducing their numbers.

An uprising of Pechenegs in 1122 was once again defeated by the Byzantines. Over time, those living south of the Danube were absorbed into Romanians and Bulgarians. The last recorded mention of Pechenegs was in 1168. A Byzantine historian referred to Pechenegs as "Chorni Klobuky" (Russian: "black hats"), referring to their national costume. Except for a few names of Pecheneg origin, their national identity has faded away.

So who were the Cumans, and why were they ready to ally with Byzantium against their ethnic cousins? Gold, of course. I'll explain tomorrow.

The Mugging of Bishop Adhemar

Besides sharing the story of Peter Bartholomew and his finding of the Holy Lance and his subsequent Trial by Ordeal, Raymond of Aguilers' Historia Francorum qui ceperunt Iherusalem ("History of the Franks who captured Jerusalem") offers so much more. He was attached to the retinue of Bishop of Le Puy, Adhemar, who was named papal legate and responsible for the spiritual guidance of the First Crusade. Adhemar (and Raymond) followed the army of Count Raymond IV of Toulouse.

Many Crusaders chose to head to the Holy Land by water, potentially a faster route, but prone to the changeability of the weather and severe storms. Many ships of Crusaders were lost at sea. Traveling over land had its own dangers. One was finding supplies, another was meeting up with hostile folk.

A third was meeting up with folk made hostile because you were an army that was commandeering supplies from them. The "People's Crusade," an enthusiastic and less-organized group led by Peter the Hermit—that started out early without waiting for the nobles and their armies to make better plans—alienated many of the people whose countries had to be crossed: they thought their cause would mean being welcomed and provisioned by any and all.

Count Raymond and Bishop Adhemar took the land route and had to deal with populations who were therefore understandably wary of these large Western European armies marching through their homeland. Fortunately, compared to the People's Crusade, Count Raymond's army was better able to handle opposition. That did not mean complete freedom from hostile actions, however. As Raymond records:

On a certain day, moreover, when we were in the valley of Pelagonia, the Bishop of Puy, who, in order to find a comfortable resting place, had withdrawn a little distance from the camp, was captured by the Patzinaks. They knocked him down from his mule, robbed him, and beat him severely on the head. But since so great a pontiff was still necessary to the people of God, through God’s mercy he was saved to life. For one of the Patzinaks, in order to obtain gold from him, protected him from the others. Meanwhile, the noise was heard in the camp; and so, between the delay of the enemy and the attack of his friends, he was rescued.

Adhemar survived, and reached Constantinople where Alexios I was emperor. Alexios was also very concerned about the large groups marching through his lands, even though his request to Pope Urban II for help with the Turks had been the catalyst for the Crusade. Adhemar went on to Nicaea and Antioch, where he died on 1 August 1098, never living to see Jerusalem conquered by the Europeans.

Who were the Patzinaks that attacked him? We more commonly call them the Pechenegs, and they were a thorn in the side of the Byzantine Empire in which they lived. I'll tell you who they were next time.

Raymond of Aguilers

One of our sources for the events of the First Crusade was the participant Raymond of Aguilers of Provence. Raymond was a lay canon (a lay person who has a role in the administration of a church) of the cathedral of Le Puy, and he probably joined the Crusade in the entourage of the bishop of Le Puy, Adhemar, who was also the papal legate.

During the Siege of Antioch in 1098 (pictured here: Kerbogha outside the city) he was ordained and made chaplain to Count Raymond IV of Toulouse. From his extensive Historia Francorum qui ceperunt Iherusalem ("History of the Franks who captured Jerusalem"), we learn a lot of what went on among those leading the Crusade, since he was positioned to be close to their discussions.

He was also close to the lesser population of the Crusade: he says he spent seven months sharing the sleeping quarters of Peter Bartholomew, whose story of visions and finding the Holy Lance that was used to pierce Jesus' side during the Crucifixion is told in Parts One, Two, and Three. Raymond was a firm supporter of Peter's sincerity, but even Raymond noticed that there were discrepancies between Peter's visions and the actual finding of the Lance.

Since it does not mention the demise of Raymond's patron, Count Raymond of Toulouse (28 February 1105), it is likely the Historia was probably written during the Crusade and completed shortly after, and so can be counted on as an accurate memory of events. On that score, however, we must always apply critical thinking: what motives would the medieval historian have for writing? It would be unusual to find a medieval historian who recorded events objectively. There was always an agenda to follow, such as the goodness of a patron or the holiness of an individual who deserved sainthood. Raymond is always careful to record that his observations had witnesses other than himself; however, those witnesses are often anonymous. There is circumstantial evidence that it was completed in 1101, or that at least parts were in circulation, because it is certainly a source used by Fulcher of Chartres for his history.

Raymond's original "boss," Bishop Adhemar of Le Puy, died along the way, but there's an anecdote shared by Raymond about him being "mugged." It shows how both those marching on Crusade and those whose lands were being marched through were exposed to danger. Have a Happy Easter, and I'll see you here tomorrow.

The Holy Lance, Part Three

So Peter Bartholomew was about to undergo Trial by Ordeal to verify whether he was being honest about his visions and  discovering the Holy Lance. Two fires had been lit, each 13 feet long and four feet high with a single foot of space between them. Peter, carrying the "lance" and wearing only a light tunic, would walk between them. If he and the lance were unharmed, then it could truly be believed that his visions were real and this was the spear that had pierced the side of Jesus while on the Cross. It was 8 April 1099, Good Friday.

Raymond of Aguilers, from whom we have the details of this entire incident regarding Peter Bartholomew, was the "master of ceremonies." He announced the purpose of the test to the crowd, that Peter and the lance would be consumed if Peter were lying. To this the crowd responded "Amen."

When the flames were 40 feet high, Peter bowed before Bishop Peter of Narbonne and again swore that his visions were true. The bishop handed him the lance, and Peter walked through the flames, although at one point inside he stopped briefly.

(The illustration here is by Gustave Doré, showing he moment when Peter approaches the waiting crowd and a bishop—probably Peter of Narbonne—with the fire behind him.)

Once through, he shouted Deus adjuva! "God help (me)." The crowd was amazed and elated, and rushed toward him. Some rushed to grab sticks from the fire as souvenirs of the miracle. He was surrounded by a mass of supporters.

He was dead by 20 April.

What happened? According to Raymond of Aguilers, the burns were minimal. He was, however, physically wounded in the crowd that surrounded him after the ordeal. Was it accidental? Crushed in the throng? Raymond says his spine was shattered; also, that his legs were cut three or four times. The theory is that, even though the trial was doable—the pause inside the flames, Peter says, was because Christ spoke to him—he had detractors among the nobles because of the way he tried to trade on his popularity and criticize the Crusade's leaders and take over the spiritual leadership. These detractors had their agents in the crowd, with the intent to make sure he did not survive the day, even if he survived the ordeal. Maybe God was on his side, but he had made human enemies that were determined to eliminate him. In the crowd that rushed to him after he came through the fire there were men with knives who cut him.

We have this story in far more detail than I have shared here thanks to Raymond of Aguilers, who wrote a history of this part of the Crusade. I want to talk more about his role as a historian and participant, next time.

The Holy Lance, Part Two

After the "finding" of the Holy Lance, the Crusaders in Antioch felt emboldened to break the siege around the city by Kerbogha, the atabeg of Mosul.

Peter the Hermit was sent to Kerbogha to suggest settling the conflict with a duel, but Kerbogha declined. A different Peter, Peter Bartholomew, whose "visions" led to the "buried" "Lance," joined the fight against the Muslims. Unknown to the Crusaders, Kerbogha's army had some internal conflicts and was not as powerful as it appeared. His superiors decided to teach the arrogant Kerbogha a lesson by not sending reinforcements. Kerbogha was forced to retreat to Mosul.

Inside Antioch afterward, the issue of the Holy Lance was re-examined, even though some attributed their military victory to its presence. Peter Bartholomew's vision of the Lance suggested it was buried just below the surface, but teams of men dug far down without success, until Peter went alone into the hole and "found" the lance point sticking up from the ground. Even though Peter's vision predicted a win against the Muslims, there were those who questioned Peter's truthfulness. One was papal legate Adhemar of Le Puy, who may have already been aware that a piece of the Lance was said to be in Constantinople. 

Then, Adhemar died from plague on 1 August 1098, and Peter put himself forward as the spiritual leader on the Crusade. Peter actually claimed that Adhemar appeared to him in a vision and said he had suffered in Hell for three days because he had doubted the discovery of the Lance.

Peter claimed that Christ told him the Crusaders must march barefoot to Jerusalem, and other visions from Jesus and St. Andrew expressed anger at the sins of the Crusaders. When his further visions were ignored, and the veracity of the Lance was questioned, Peter volunteered to submit to a Trial by Ordeal to prove his innocence.

As a result, he went through trial by fire on 8 April 1099, which was Good Friday*. Peter would walk through a fire. Two piles of dry olive branches were made, four feet high and 13 feet long, with a one-foot space between them for Peter to walk through. Peter came to the trial wearing a simple tunic and prepared to walk through, carrying the Lance. If both appeared unharmed after the ordeal, he would be vindicated.

..and I will leave you there until tomorrow.

*Coincidentally this post has been made on Good Friday in 2024.

The Holy Lance, Part One

One of the "side-effects" of the Crusades was allowing Western Europeans to look for artifacts connected to the Bible and the life of Jesus. One member of the First Crusade claimed to have found one of those artifacts.

Peter Bartholomew was a French peasant from Provençe who, while on Crusade, began having visions. He functioned as a soldier after the capture of Antioch on 10 June 1098 when reinforcements came from Muslims, and in the ensuing siege of the city, suffered from famine like the rest of the Christian occupiers. In this weakened state, he had visions of St. Andrew, which he shared with the Crusade's leaders.

In the visions, St. Andrew took him to the Church of St. Peter inside Antioch and showed him the resting place of the Holy Lance. This was the spear of the Roman soldier called Longinus who used it to pierce the side of Jesus while on the Cross. (The True Cross was another relic that was found in the east.) The leaders were skeptical, and Peter warned them that their disbelief would cost them three days in hell's fires. As Peter's news spread to the rest of the army, excitement grew, and the boost in morale was seen as a good thing, so Peter's story wasn't challenged. The visions also singled Raymond of Toulouse out for a special role in the Crusade. (Although Raymond would make a more humble decision later.)

Raymond and 12 select men went to the place where the Lance was supposedly buried and began digging. After a day of digging, they found nothing. Peter's vision claimed that he had seen St. Andrew place the lance in the ground; it should have been closer to the surface, but a day's worth of digging found nothing. Another twelve were chosen to continue digging, but they found nothing.

Peter was then dropped into the hole to see for himself. He urged everyone above to pray, and while they were praying and no one could see him clearly, Peter shouted the discovery of the Lance, its point sticking up from the earth.

This was fortuitous, but also questionable. As with the visions themselves initially, the sudden discovery by Peter alone was hard to believe and yet a source of great joy and morale for the troops. A letter was even sent to Pope Urban II from Bohemund of Taranto mentioning the Lance and that its presence emboldened the troops.

This morale boost was important, because Antioch was surrounded by the forces of Kerbogha, the atabeg of Mosul. The next step for the Crusaders (and a test for the importance of the finding of the Lance), came next. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. And we are not done with Peter Bartholomew.

Trial by Ordeal

Trial by Ordeal took many forms in the ancient world and the Middle Ages. In a sense, it was an appeal to God to reveal the culprit. In Old English it was called Godes dōm, "God's doom/judgement"; in Latin it was known as jūdicium Deī.

One simple method was cruentation, from Latin ius cruentationis, "law of bleeding," used in Germanic law. The belief behind cruentation was that the corpse of a murder victim would indicate the presence of its murderer by moving or spouting blood. It was used into the 18th century, even though after the Lutheran Reformation the application of a religious test in law was rejected in Denmark and Norway.

Another approach to Trial by Ordeal was the idea that God would not allow an innocent person to suffer. The accused would plunge his or her hands into boiling water, or carry red hot iron. Ordeal by fire was also tried, with the person walking at least three paces or walking across nine feet of coals. Of course this would produce burns, but they would be bandaged and re-examined in three days' time. A priest would then judge whether God had chosen to heal the innocent person's burns or let the guilty person's worsen and fester.

In Constantinople, before Michael VIII Paleologos (1224 - 1282) became emperor, he was accused of treason by Emperor John III Vatatzes and was ordered to go through trial by fire. He said he would hold the red-hot iron if the metropolitan bishop Phokas would take the hot iron from the altar with his own hands and place it in Michael's. This the bishop refused to do; the idea that innocents would not also be harmed by red-hot iron helped to discredit the practice. In fact, when Michael became emperor, he abolished the practice.

Pope Innocent III at the Lateran Council of 1215 forbade priests to take part in such things, and promoted compurgation instead.

The Byzantine Empire got the idea of trial by ordeal from the West, as the Crusades brought Western Europe ideas to Constantinople. One example they would have witnessed was the French mystic Peter Bartholomew, who submitted himself to ordeal by fire to prove his sincerity about a claim considered outlandish by others. What was he trying to prove, and how did it turn out? I'll tell you tomorrow.

William of Norwich

The first case in England of "blood libel" (although more precisely it was only child sacrifice) was the case of William of Norwich, who died about 22 March 1144. The Peterborough Chronicle, an attempt to continue the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, had this to report:

In his time the Jews of Norwich bought a Christian child before Easter, and tortured him with all the same tortures with which our Lord was tortured, and on Long-Friday hanged him on a cross for love of our Lord, and afterwards buried him—imagined that it would be concealed, but our Lord showed that he was a holy martyr, and the monks took him, and buried him reverently in the minster, and through our Lord he performs wonderful and manifold miracles; and he is called St. William.

Here is what really happened. William was an apprentice to a tanner, whose body was found on Holy Saturday 1144 in Thorpe Wood, north of Norwich. An accusation was made by William's family against Jews currently living in the city, so Bishop William de Turbeville decided to investigate. He summoned members of the Jewish community to his court to endure trial by ordeal.

Before the bishop could subject his "guests" to trials, however, Sheriff John de Chesney showed up and stopped any proceedings, since the bishop had no legal authority to do so. Jews were considered to be under the king's protection (at that time, Stephen of Blois): the Angevin kings respected the money-lending (and money-taking) opportunities their presence afforded the crown.

Bishop de Turbeville moved the body to the monastery cemetery and tried to declare William a martyr and create a cult around him for the sake of attention and donations to the church, but it was slow going. There was no evidence that Jews were involved, so no great public execution or punishment of any kind that would cause a sensation.

The bishop was not ready to give up, however. He encouraged a Benedictine monk, Thomas of Monmouth, to write a book about the event. Thomas's The Life and Miracles of St William of Norwich contained two chapters on his life and five chapters on miracles performed in his name afterward. Thomas created a story of a converted Jew who became a monk, Theobald of Cambridge, who explains to Thomas that the "ancient writings of his fathers" required an annual killing of a Christian. "Theobald" explains that this killing was ordered by a Jew in Narbonne, France, who claimed to be the Messiah.

Since the Jews at this time in Norwich had been there just under a decade, and came from Normandy, they were French-speaking, so the connection to Narbonne made sense to some. No one, however, seemed to notice that there was no evidence of an annual killing caused by Jews stretching back to the time of "ancient fathers." William's family was Anglo-Saxon, and there were many conflicts between indigenous Anglo-Saxons and the recently arrived Norman folk.

The cult of William of Norwich did not make Norwich rich, but it persisted. The bishop moved the body a few times, each time putting it in a more prominent place, ending up in a chapel built on the spot where the boy's body was found.

But now for a topic a little less grisly: when the bishop wanted to subject the Jews to trial by ordeal, what might that have entailed? There were many possible trial ideas, and I'll share them tomorrow.

Bury St. Edmunds' Darkest Day

Yesterday was Palm Sunday, so let's talk about a terrible Palm Sunday (18 March) event in 1190 in the English town of Bury St. Edmunds. We can probably blame the head of the local abbey for this. Abbot Samson of Tottington wanted to make sure his abbey was financially stable. His profligate predecessor, Hugh, borrowed a lot of money from Jews, and those debts with interest needed repayment. Several years earlier, the incident of Robert of Bury gave the abbey a chance to create a shrine to the martyred boy that would draw visitors and donations.

It was not uncommon that those in debt would stir up anti-Jewish sentiment and through death or false imprisonment of Jews manage to cancel their debts. Samson saw this option, but he also had another "problem" with Jews: by order of the king, Jews were allowed to practice their non-Christianity. The abbot was accustomed to have rights over the town similar to the king's rule over the country. The Jews were a threat to his authority, since they did not fall under it.

On Palm Sunday, preachers spoke out so strongly against the Jews that the congregation went out of the church to the Jewish quarter and dragged out from their homes and killed 57 Jewish men, women, and children. Part of the preacher's instigation was likely the memory of the death of Robert of Bury, whose shrine still exists in the crypt of the abbey church.

Abbot Samson then decreed that all Jews would be expelled from the town.

Later that same year was the massacre at Clifford's Tower in York.

In 2011, a medieval well was found to have 17 skeletons in it, all dating to the 12th or 13th centuries. Eleven of the 17 skeletons were of children. DNA analysis suggests that they were all Ashkenazi Jews and likely part of the massacre in 1190.

The story of Robert of Bury lacks any definitive records that have come down to us—such as arrest records—so it has been suggested that the frequent references to it are part of a growing story that was pushed to help justify Abbot Samson's and Bury St. Edmunds' actions.

In the abbey gardens there is now a memorial to the Holocaust that also specifically commemorates the 57 Jews killed in 1190.

And on the subject of child martyrs, we have not yet discussed the original example of blood libel in England, the story of William of Norwich. After we look at that tomorrow, we will move on to less grisly stories.

Robert of Bury

In the second half of the 12th century there was a monk in the town of Bury St. Edmunds in Suffolk named Jocelyn de Brakelond. He became chaplain under Abbot Samson of Tottington. Jocelyn says he was with Samson "night and day" for six years. Jocelyn left behind some writing about his times, in which he refers to other things he has written that are no longer extant. One is the story of Robert of Bury and his miracles.

Robert was an English boy who died in 1181. The legend says he was kidnapped on Good Friday and killed by crucifixion to parallel Jesus' death. The details—and they are few—have to be cobbled together, but they are another example of blood libel.

In the following century, the chronicler John de Taxter mentions the murder taking place in 1181 (our only source for the date). Jocelyn's only surviving reference to the event tells us "the saintly boy Robert was murdered and buried in our church; many signs and wonders were performed among the people as I have recorded elsewhere." Whatever this other record was, it has not survived.

The story spread, however. Later mentions of it say he was martyred at Easter, or that he was "crucified by the Jews." The monk John Lydgate wrote a poem called Prayer for St. Robert that implies the death paralleled that of William of Norwich, another child saint, and suggests there was a Christian accomplice. An illustration made to accompany the poem in the 15th century has images that might make sense to those who had heard the story, but that we cannot interpret properly.

In the illustration (shown above), a woman is holding a child over a well. The inscription reads "the old woman wished, but was not able, to hide the light of God." Was she the Christian accomplice? Did she later turn the boy over to Jews to get rid of him? Or is this an act post-death, in which she tries to hide the body. Was the 15th century Lydgate conflating the story of Robert of Bury with the 13th century story of Little St. Hugh of Lincoln, found in a well? The illustration also shows an archer firing an arrow into the air while the body of Robert lies behind a tree; the symbolism of this escapes us. (I wonder if there was a story in which someone prays and fires an arrow which leads them to the body.) In another part, a kneeling monk prays.

Some historians believe the story of Harold of Gloucester showed the value of having a child martyr's shrine that would lead to visitors and donations. There are no details about Robert of Bury, his family, or arrests; there is only the public blame put on Jews and a shrine created at Bury St. Edmunds.

Another theory suggests that the cult of Robert the child martyr was enhanced and expanded years later to retroactively justify an action that took place in 1190, referred to as Bury St. Edmunds' Darkest Day. I'll explain tomorrow.

Harold of Gloucester

Our next example of the accusation of blood libel is Harold of Gloucester. As with similar cases of "child martyrs," the body was found and the search was on for the perpetrator. Harold's was the second significant case in the timeline of English Jewry.

Harold's body was found floating in the river after having disappeared on 21 February in 1168. Benedictines claimed that he had been spirited away by Jews and kept until 16 March, when they tortured and killed him. They claimed that marks on the child's body showed that he had been subjected to a crown of thorns and a crucifixion.

As it happens, there were a number of Jews who were not residents of Gloucester who had gathered there to celebrate a brit milah, a bris, the ritual of circumcision for a newborn. The temporary increase in the Jewish population leant credence to the idea that Harold was kidnapped for a special ritual. Accounts of the incident made by Christian writers place it during Easter, but the dates don't line up with Easter in 1144.

This incident, although it endured (see the illustration for evidence that modern merchandising has not "let it go"), did not cause as big a stir as that of Little Saint Hugh of Lincoln. There is no record of any Jews being arrested, much less tried, convicted, or executed. Also, there was no royal involvement, as there was with Hugh when Henry III was consulted on the case. Just as Hugh's death may have been played up in order to create a shrine for Lincoln Cathedral and draw worshippers and donations, the incident of Harold's death might have had an additional, "practical" facet. Accusations against the Jews may be why the Jews of Gloucester made loans to Richard "Strongbow" de Clare for the conquest of Ireland.

After Harold but before Hugh there was Robert of Bury, whose death spawned a full-fledged cult of worship. I'll tell you that story next time.

"Blood Libel"

The death of Hugh of Lincoln led to the arrests of so many Jews because of the belief in "blood libel": that the Jews stole/kidnapped/murdered Christians to use their blood in Jewish rituals.

Where this idea started—and why it was readily believed—is hard to pin down. A 10th century Byzantine encyclopedia called the Souda has an entry that "every seven years the Jews captured a stranger, brought him to the temple in Jerusalem, and sacrificed him, cutting his flesh into bits." A 5th century story by Socrates Scholasticus 

Some thought that the Jews were recreating the Crucifixion, but stories of Jews sacrificing non-Jews are older than Christianity. The 1st century Greco-Egyptian writer Apion told the story of Mithridates entering a temple in Jerusalem in the 2nd century BCE and finding a Greek held captive who explained that he was being fattened for sacrifice.

Blood libel accusations in medieval Europe increased at the time of the Crusades, when pro-Christian/anti-Jewish sentiment was spiking. The Crusades also included attempts to force conversion on Jews which were countered by Jews killing their own children to prevent them from suffering conversion. If Jews could kill their own children, the thinking went, then they would have no trouble killing others' children. (In fact, collective homicide/suicide goes back to Masada and was seen more recently—"recent" compared to the Hugh of Lincoln incident, that is—in the Clifford's Tower incident.

There was, of course, a known precedent for Jews to cause children to bleed, and that was the bris, the circumcision ceremony. One such ceremony was tied to another accusation of blood libel. As grisly as the concept is, I want to give some more examples of "little saints" like William of Norwich and Robert of Bury. First, however, let's discuss the case of Harold of Gloucester, where the accusation led to no real action except to...finance a war? I'll try to make sense of that tomorrow.

Little Saint Hugh of Lincoln

The murder of a child is a particularly heinous act that tugs at the heart strings. In the eyes of society, the murderer of a child must be a particularly horrible individual. The death of a small English boy in 1255 created a story that stuck in the cultural memory right up until modern times.

On 31 July 1255, nine-year-old Hugh disappeared in Lincoln. A month later, on 29 August, his body was discovered in a well. The search for the murderer was on, and attention turned to the segment of society that was often blamed for criminal acts: Jews.

John of Lexington, brother to the Bishop of Lincoln, imprisoned a local Jew named Copin, accusing him of the murder and offering him amnesty from execution in exchange for a confession. John supposedly convinced King Henry III to this amnesty deal, even though there was no evidence that Copin actually committed the deed. Henry arrived in Lincoln a month after the arrest of Copin. He ordered Copin executed, and then had 90 randomly selected Jews arrested and taken to the Tower of London for an investigation and trial about the murder. Eighteen of the Jews refused to participate in the trial, claiming it was a sham, and were hanged for their refusal.

As for the remaining Jews: a Dominican friar helped free one, John, who had converted to Christianity. The remainder were condemned to execution, but Dominicans—no doubt understanding that it was highly unlikely that there was actual guilt involved—pleaded for their lives and they were released.

Matthew Paris created a colorful, detailed, and wholly fictitious scene about the death:

This year [1255] about the feast of the apostles Peter and Paul [27 July], the Jews of Lincoln stole a boy called Hugh, who was about eight years old. After shutting him up in a secret chamber, where they fed him on milk and other childish food, they sent to almost all the cities of England in which there were Jews, and summoned some of their sect from each city to be present at a sacrifice to take place at Lincoln, in contumely and insult of Jesus Christ. For, as they said, they had a boy concealed for the purpose of being crucified; so a great number of them assembled at Lincoln, and then they appointed a Jew of Lincoln judge, to take the place of Pilate, by whose sentence, and with the concurrence of all, the boy was subjected to various tortures. They scourged him till the blood flowed, they crowned him with thorns, mocked him, and spat upon him; each of them also pierced him with a knife, and they made him drink gall, and scoffed at him with blasphemous insults, and kept gnashing their teeth and calling him Jesus, the false prophet. And after tormenting him in diverse ways they crucified him, and pierced him to the heart with a spear. When the boy was dead, they took the body down from the cross, and for some reason disemboweled it; it is said for the purpose of their magic arts.

There had been previous "martyrs" whose deaths had been blamed on Jews, but the case of Hugh had royal involvement which elevated it to legendary status. A shrine was built at Lincoln Cathedral to the little martyr and "little saint," drawing visitors and donations. This may well have been Lexington's motivation for turning the child's death into a martyrdom at Jewish hands, acting on his brother's behalf, to increase traffic and money to Lincoln.

Why did Paris' description involve so many Jews? Why were 90 Jews rounded up by the king? Why was it assumed that there was more involvement than just a single murderer? To understand that, we have to talk about one of the most ridiculous accusations against medieval Jewry, the belief in "blood libel." See you tomorrow.

Financing a War

When Simon de Montfort wanted to kick off the Second Barons War, he needed funding. One of the easiest ways for most medieval Europeans to free up money was to force a cancellation of debts to the Jews. Since many of these debts were owed by Montfort's baronial friends, their gratitude would extend to supporting him against King Henry III.

One of the barons' demands of Henry was that he write off the Jewish debts. This he would not do: Henry used occasional tallages (taxes) on the Jews to fund his own endeavors. His healthy balance sheet needed Jews to be able to collect what was owed them so that he could access take it.

In April of 1264, Montfort encouraged his followers and others to begin widespread persecution and even execution of the Jews, destroying their records of debt. One of the main centers of the Jewish population in England was in Canterbury, where about 20 Jewish households accounted for about 100 or so Jews. There had been, in fact, a widespread persecution of the Jews a couple years earlier, when lay and clerical citizens attacked and burned some of their houses, although no one was killed that time.

A member of Montfort's rebellion, the brutal Gilbert de Clare, occupied Canterbury and instigated "The Massacre of the Jews." An unknown number of Jews were killed and their property looted, and several Jewish women were forcibly baptized. Any remaining Jews fled Canterbury. The most prominent member of the Canterbury Jewry was Solomon, son of Josce. When he returned in 1265 (he fled abroad during the troubles), Henry III returned his property to him.

Montfort's son Henry and the 6th Earl of Derby, Robert Ferrers, led a pogrom that killed all the Jews in Worcester. Montfort's son Simon led the attacks in Winchester. In London, a chief Montfort supporter, John Fitz John, led the attacks and is said to have killed two of the leading Jewish figures with his bare hands; a total of 500 Jews in London were killed. In 1264 and 1265, attacks were made in Lincoln and Cambridge, and financial records were destroyed.

Anti-Jewish sentiment was always bubbling just under the surface, looking for a reason to burst forth and lead to atrocities. There were often single incidents that were blamed on the Jews. Even if that blame was proven false, the ill feeling left its mark and was ready to be invoked to justify later attacks. One such that stayed in the public consciousness and could not be expunged was the story of little Saint Hugh of Lincoln, which I will share with you tomorrow.

War Comes to Oxford

By the early 1260s, Oxford had become a place where scholars went to teach and learn. Violence was not unknown, as conflicts between students and townspeople were common. Town vs. Gown is not only a common phrase to express this conflict, it was the very first post in this blog.

Oxford became a center for another conflict, however, at the same time that the colleges of Balliol and Merton were beginning. This conflict was a little more widespread and is called the Second Barons War.

The First Barons War was a rebellion against King John and led to the Magna Carta in 1215. John's son Henry III had his own troubles with the barons who were always looking for ways to increase their own power and reduce the king's authority. Simon de Montfort, the 6th Earl of Leicester, in April 1263 called fellow barons to meet him at Oxford where they discussed rebellion against Henry's policies.

Oxford was a significant meeting place, because a few years earlier it was the site of the Provisions of Oxford, a series of reforms forced on Henry in 1258 in exchange for the barons agreeing to shore up the royal treasury (Henry had depleted it fighting in Sicily on behalf of the pope). The barons and their armies marched on London and trapped Henry in the Tower, taking him prisoner. Montfort took over the government, but his authority did not last long and Henry escaped.

Henry reached out to Louis IX of France to arbitrate. Simon de Montfort agreed to this. Louis declared the Provisions of Oxford annulled in January 1264. Henry prepared for the inevitable breakdown of negotiations and took his forces to Oxford (more centrally located than London) and made it his military headquarters. On 12 March in 1264 he suspended all teaching until Michaelmas (29 September).

Montfort, wishing to make sure he had funds to fight a war, did what many medieval nobles did: he made sure people would have money and be grateful to give it to him by eliminating their cash debts. He did this by attacks against Jews, the moneylenders, and therefore ensuring that debts would not have to be repaid. Let us go into some of the specific atrocities tomorrow.

Who Was First at Oxford?

The claim of Balliol College to be the first college at Oxford has been challenged by both University College and Merton College. Balliol was believed to be founded in 1263; in 1266 a royal writ exists that refers to Balliol in that its existence depends upon money from John Balliol.

Merton College can also trace its origins to the 1260s. Walter Merton was Bishop of Rochester and chancellor to Henry III and later Edward I. He wanted to create an independent college and set up funds to keep it self-governing. Officially, it was founded in 1264, and it claims to be the oldest college in Oxford. Its argument is that it had statutes as of 1264, whereas Balliol did not get a set of statutes until set up by Dervorguilla of Galloway (John Balliol's widow) in 1282.

University College has a grand claim: that it was founded by Alfred the Great (849-899) in 872. They attribute their college arms to Alfred and celebrated their millennium in 1872. More realistically, it was founded by William of Durham. William was archdeacon of Caux in northern Normandy. When students rioted at the University of Paris in 1229, he may have been the leader of students who left the continent and settled in Oxford. What is true is that he died in 1249 and left 310 marks in his will to support scholars in Oxford for the study exclusively of theology (this changed in the 16th century). University College was not officially recognized, however, until c.1280.

So which one has the better claim to be the oldest college in Oxford? Is it decided by who first devoted funds to scholars whether or not they were officially recognized  (University)? Or the first to have official statutes (Merton)? Or the first recognized by a royal document that acknowledges the name and existence of the institution despite the lack of statutes (Balliol)?

It's all one to me. It is interesting, though, to look at what else was happening in 1263 and 1264 in Oxford, what with Henry III suspending classes in March 1264 when he occupied the city. Check back tomorrow and I'll explain.

John Balliol and Balliol College

John I Balliol (died 25 October 1268) was an English nobleman. He married Dervorguilla of Galloway, whose extensive lands (inherited from her family) made her (and by extension, him) very wealthy. He was asked by Henry III of England to take a role as protector of the young Alexander III, King of Scotland. He supported Henry when the Barons were rebelling, and was captured by them at the Battle of Lewes, but escaped and rejoined Henry later.

Balliol and Dervorguilla had many children. Among them was John, who became King of Scotland (though not for long). Their daughter Eleanor married John II Comyn, head of the most powerful family in Scotland, who supported the younger John's ascension to the throne.

The Balliol family had long disputed certain lands in the village of Sadberge in Durham from which the Bishops of Durham believed they were owed the rents. This came to a head between John Balliol and Bishop of Durham Walter of Kirkham in 1260, when (so the legend says) Balliol abducted the bishop. Balliol's penance was to provide funds for the education of young men. In 1263 he rented a house in the suburbs of Oxford to accommodate poor students.

A royal writ in 1266 mentions the institution in Oxford as dependent on Balliol's financial support. After his death, Dervorguilla made several donations that maintained and expanded the "House of the Scholars of Balliol." It was given a set of statutes in 1282.

There were originally 16 students who received eight pence per week to live on. A century later, its headmaster was John Wycliffe, translator into English of the Bible and a church reformer. In the 1400s, Bishop of Ely William Gray donated (gathered from his travels) the single largest collection of medieval manuscripts in England.

Balliol College is the oldest continuously run college in the English-speaking world. Or is it? Despite the story of its founding, there are two other colleges who claim they are the oldest in Oxford. Let's compare their claims tomorrow and ask the question: what makes a start date official?

The Fight for Scotland Concludes

(See Parts One and Two)

After rejecting the claims of others, The Great Cause concluded that John Balliol was the most appropriate choice for King of Scotland. Primogeniture was in his favor: he was the descendant of the eldest surviving child of Margaret of Huntingdon, the eldest daughter of David, Earl of Huntingdon, son of Henry, son of King David I. David had begun the tradition (familiar in England) of dynastic inheritance. Balliol supported the idea that Scotland was an indivisible kingdom and should not be split up, an approach the assembled nobles of Scotland preferred.

On 17 November 1292, Edward I of England announced the choice of Balliol, who was acceptable to the majority of nobles as well as John II Comyn, the most powerful baron and Balliol's brother-in-law. Even some of the supporters of Robert Bruce agreed to the decision.

At this point in his life, John Balliol was in his early-to-mid 40s. His father, John, 5th Baron of Balliol, had founded Balliol College in Oxford. He owned extensive estates in Galloway from his mother's side and English estates from the Huntingdon side, as well as properties in France.

His coronation did not put Scotland's rule back on an even keel. Edward's help was also seen as interference, and Edward continued to undermine Balliol's authority. He demanded homage; he insisted on authority over any legal disputes between Scottish and English subjects. Scots lost faith in King John, and gave him the nickname Toom Tabard ("empty coat"). To be fair, the nickname might not have referred to him lacking in authority, but might have been because the Balliol arms were a fairly simple escutcheon. (The illustration from 1562 shows the Balliol arms, but also mocks his situation with a broken scepter.)

Balliol might have thought making a treaty with France was a good idea and showed initiative and independence, but that did not sit well with Edward. Edward invaded Scotland in the first move of a trend that lasted into the early 14th century and has been named the Wars of Scottish Independence. Balliol abdicated in July 1296 after some bad military defeats. He was taken to the Tower of London, but in 1299 was allowed to go to France. He died at a family estate in Hélicourt, succeeded by a son, Edward, who later had some small successes at trying to claim the throne. John Balliol was succeeded as King of Scotland by Robert the Bruce, grandson of the Robert Bruce whose claim was rejected in favor of Balliol's.

Tomorrow let's look away from the mess in Scotland and head south to Oxford and Balliol College.

The Fight for Scotland Continues

(Part One) So the 13 claimants for the throne of Scotland came down to the four most likely candidates.

The An t-Adhbhar Mòr (Scottish Gaelic, "The Great Cause"), a group of 104 men plus King Edward I of England, would hear all the claimants and determine who should ascend to the throne. This was modeled on the centumviri (Latin "hundred men"), the court of 105 used in Roman Law to settle questions of succession to property. They included 24 of Edward's council.

One of the points that needed to be decided by the Great Cause was the primacy of primogeniture (of which there were different interpretations) or customary law. Primogeniture could be male-preference or any first-born child. "Customary law" would split the parent's possessions among the children. The four chief claimants, who hired lawyers to speak on their behalf, were as follows:

• John Balliol, Lord of Galloway
• Robert Bruce, 5th Lord of Annandale
• John Hastings, 1st Baron Hastings
• Floris V, Count of Holland

Floris V's great-great-grandmother was Ada, a daughter of Henry, Earl of Huntingdon, who was son of King David I of Scotland. Floris claimed that when William the Lion was king, William's brother David had abandoned his right to the throne of Scotland by accepting the title of Earl of Huntingdon. This would invalidate the claims of the three other men listed above, who were all descended from Earl David. The problem was he had no proof, and assured the investigators that there must be records of this in Scotland itself if they would only search. At the orders of Edward I of England, they did search, and found nothing after several months to support his claim. Floris abandoned his claim in summer of 1292.

John Hastings was also descended from Ada, daughter of David, Earl of Huntingdon. He was an Englishman with a distinguished pedigree who in 1290 was summoned to Parliament and made a peer as Lord Hastings. His genealogical claim wasn't strong, so he took a legal approach. He argued that Scotland was not a proper kingdom, since it was only recently that its rulers were crowned and anointed. Therefore, there was no need to hand an intact kingdom over to a single person, and customary law allowed it to be split up among the heirs. The Great Cause did not take much deliberation to reject this idea and dismiss Hastings' claim.

Robert Bruce was the closest in blood to the now-defunct dynasty that started with David I. His lawyers also claimed that Alexander III (whose death started this whole difficulty) had named Bruce as his heir at a time when there seemed to be no other option. It's also worth pointing out that Bruce (as well as Balliol) had jumped at the chance to make a claim as soon as news of Margaret's death was known. Bruce argued against Floris's claim that the kingdom could be split, declaring that Scotland was indivisible and primogeniture should apply. Unfortunately for that claim, John of Balliol was descended from a child (Margaret) of David of Huntingdon who was older than the child (Isobel) from whom Bruce was descended. King Edward ruled that primogeniture through eldest surviving child pertained, and Bruce was dismissed. (Note: Edward had already established that England would be inherited by his eldest, a daughter, if he had no sons; absolute primogeniture, which means the sex of the child doesn't matter, was on his mind.)

Edward's determination of Bruce's claim happened in November 1292. Then there was a "November Surprise": Floris re-asserted his claim, and Bruce showed up to offer his public support of Floris! Floris decided to argue that the documents that would support him must have been stolen and his case should be reconsidered. As for Bruce, he did a 180° turn on the indivisibility of the kingdom. It seemed that he and Floris had probably made a deal: if Floris won, Bruce would be given a chunk of Scotland. Floris' claim was thrown out again for lack of evidence.

You can probably guess who became the next King of Scotland, and we will definitely present that case tomorrow, but today I leave you with an interesting footnote that explains the illustration.

The illustration above is of Pluscarden Abbey, currently a Catholic Benedictine monastery near Elgin, Moray. It was founded by Alexander II for the now-defunct Valliscaulian Order, which was absorbed by the Cistercians in the 18th century. In The Hague, Netherlands, there is a "certified" copy of a document that claims exactly what Floris claimed, signed and dated 1291 by the Bishop of Moray. It was supposedly found at Pluscarden Abbey. It is, of course, considered a forgery by all (I assume; there may be descendants of Floris V who have other thoughts).

See you soon.

The Fight for Scotland Begins

After the death of Alexander III of Scotland and his granddaughter, Margaret, the problem of who would rule Scotland rose again in September of 1290. Thirteen claimants came forward, including a half-hearted attempt by Margaret's father, Eric II of Norway.

Of the claimants, all but one were linked to King David I of Scotland—even Edward I was descended from David's sister, Matilda—mostly through David's son Henry, the Earl of Huntingdon. 

Many of the claimants were related by "natural birth"; that is, they were from extramarital affairs by Henry of Huntingdon or by David's son William the Lion. Two of the claimants took action immediately after hearing the news of Margaret's death. John Balliol forged an alliance with Edward's representative in England, Bishop of Durham Antony Bek. Robert Bruce went to Scone with an army, looking to demand the throne from the Guardians of Scotland, who had assembled there to greet Margaret on her arrival.

The Guardians of Scotland, a group of six regents who managed the kingdom after the death of Alexander, appealed to Edward I of England for his assistance and support. Edward offered to help, but used the opportunity to gain something for himself: declaring Scotland's king as a vassal of England's king, and Scotland no longer an independent kingdom. Rather than offer evidence from the past that he was the feudal overlord of Scotland, he asked the Guardians to provide evidence that he was not. The Guardians replied that (being kingless) they had no one with the authority to agree with his claim.

Edward was not happy with this reply, but since they still needed his help, he was able to get the Guardians to agree to some lesser claims. They would agree that Edward was their rightful overlord, but not that this applied to the whole country. Edward also took control of the principal royal castles in this interim, with the understanding that everything would be returned to a king, once Scotland had one.

They instituted what was called An t-Adhbhar Mòr (Scottish Gaelic, "The Great Cause"), a group of 104 men who, with Edward, would review all the claimants and choose the next king.

The strongest claims were from four men:

• John Balliol, Lord of Galloway
• Robert Bruce, 5th Lord of Annandale
• John Hastings, 1st Baron Hastings
• Floris V, Count of Holland

Tomorrow we will look over these four claimants, and announce a winner.

False Margaret

The child Margaret, Maid of Norway, was the only surviving heir of King Alexander III of Scotland. After some contention, she was finally recognized (with England's support) as the rightful queen. Unfortunately, while on the ship bringing her to Scotland from her home in Norway (her mother had married King Eric II of Norway) she fell ill. The ship put in at Orkney, and she died a few days later. The ship did not continue to Scotland where the Scottish nobles were waiting at Scone to hold a coronation; it went back to Norway, where her father had her buried. The was in September of 1290, when Margaret was only four years old.

In 1300, a ship from Lübeck, Germany, docked at Bergen, Norway, and a woman came ashore who claimed she was Margaret and accused several people of treason. Her claim was that she was sold by the wife of Baron Tore Håkonsson, who had been a royal escort on the ship to Scotland, and taken to Germany where she married.

The real Margaret's father, Eric II, had died the year before, and the current king, Erik's brother Haakon V, sent soldiers to arrest them. An investigation ensued.

Her claim was absurd. Eric had insisted on opening the coffin to identify Margaret when the body was returned to Norway. Also, the "False Margaret" was a woman about 40 years old, when the real Margaret would still have been a teenager! Still, people are always ready to believe a good conspiracy theory, and the story of False Margaret and her husband spread quickly. Some of the people willing to believe her may have simply been enemies of King Haakon, looking for a wedge to drive between him and Norwegians.

A year later, False Margaret was burned at the stake for treason; her husband was beheaded. The conspiracy did not die, however. Near the place where she was executed, a small church was built years later called Margaretaskirk ("Margaret's Church"), and a small local martyr cult formed. The church no longer exists, probably demolished during the Reformation.

Meanwhile, back in Scotland...

Maid of Norway, Queen of Scotland?

When King Alexander III of Scotland died unexpectedly, the only heir to the throne was his granddaughter in Norway, Margaret. He had named her his heir in 1286 after the deaths of his three children. She was three years old at the time, too young to travel to Scotland, so remained in Norway with her father, King Eric II. Her mother, Alexander's daughter Margaret, had died due to complications from childbirth, and her father was still in his teens.

Eric had little of his own royal authority, and was being managed by the bishop of Bergen, who also was shepherding Margaret's upbringing. In Scotland, six regents were chosen to manage the kingdom. They were also biding their time about the succession because of another wrinkle: before his death, Alexander's second wife, Yolande de Dreux, had become pregnant, and if she gave birth, that child would be a candidate in direct succession. In the meantime, there were two men who wanted to claim the throne: Robert Bruce (grandfather of Robert the Bruce), Lord of Annandale, and John Balliol, Lord of Galloway. Their claims were put aside by the Scottish Parliament

Yolande's child was stillborn. Robert Bruce rebelled, but was defeated. Months later, a representative from Norway arrived in Scotland to claim the kingdom for Margaret. The tensions in Scotland made Eric reluctant to send his daughter there. Instead, he sent envoys to Edward I of England to discuss the situation and Margaret's future. Edward's sister, Margaret of England, had been Alexander's first wife, and so Edward was great-uncle to the young Margaret. England also had a lot of interest in whomever was ruling Scotland.

In autumn of 1289, the six regents of Scotland, Robert Bruce, and English and Norwegians envoys met at Salisbury to discuss the situation. The resulting Treaty of Salisbury was signed on 1 November. It stated:

• Margaret was queen and heir to Scotland
• Edward would act on her behalf to ensure her authority
• Margaret would, in one year's time, go to Scotland, or England if Scotland was still contentious
• Once Edward was assured that Scotland was safe for her, Edward would deliver Margaret
• Edward had the right to choose her husband (although Eric could veto)

Edward also requested, and was granted, a papal dispensation that would allow Margaret to marry Edward of Caernarfon (Edward's son and therefore her cousin). Edward obviously intended his own son to become King of Scotland.

The next year, in August, a ship was prepared to take Margaret to Scotland. The bishop of Bergen and a royal advisor, Baron Tore Håkonsson, escorted her. The ship landed at Orkney on or about 23 September. It remained there, because Margaret had fallen ill on the journey. The symptoms matched motion sickness, but once on land, she remained ill, and died in the bishop's arms between 26 and 29 September, possibly from food poisoning. The waiting delegates at Scone never saw her; a coronation never happened. The body was returned to Bergen, and she was buried by Eric at the cathedral in Bergen.

She was the last in the direct line of succession from William the Lion, which kicked off no fewer than 13 claimants to the throne, including Eric of Norway. Then, about a decade later, a ship docked at Bergen and a woman claiming to be Margaret came ashore with a story to tell. Next time I'll tell you the story of False Margaret.

Alexander's Fatal Marriage

After the death of his first wife, Margaret of England, Alexander III did not marry again for a decade. There was no "need," since he had three children by Margaret, any of whom could inherit the throne. Margaret (born 1261) was married to King Eric II of Norway. Alexander (born 1264) was heir, and David (born 1272) was only three at the time of his mother's death, but was next in line. (Alexander himself had come to the throne in his minority, and a regency council managed things until he was 21.)

Fate had other plans for the children of Alexander and Margaret, however. David died young, in 1281. Margaret died giving birth to her only child, also named Margaret, in 1283 (she was only 22). Then Prince Alexander died in January 1284, a week after he turned 20, leaving a widow and no offspring.

Alexander senior had to act. Now in his 40s, a direct heir would mean marrying again and impregnating a wife, and quickly. In the meantime, he persuaded the Parliament of Scotland to recognize Margaret, his granddaughter in Norway, as his heir. This was in 1284. On 1 November 1285, he contracted marriage with Yolanda de Dreux, the 22-year-old daughter of the Count of Dreux (near the boundary between Normandy and the Île-de-France).

Alexander was far from celibate for the decade between becoming a widower and getting engaged to Yolanda. The Lanercost Chronicle (an online translation is available), produced at the Augustinian Lanercost Priory, covers the years 1201 to 1346 in Northern England and Scotland. Of Alexander's decade as a widower it says:

...he used never to forbear on account of season nor storm, nor for perils of flood or rocky cliffs, but would visit none too creditably nuns or matrons, virgins or widows as the fancy seized him, sometimes in disguise.

Satisfying his carnal desires despite dangerous weather was his undoing, since it seems from the above statement that the next (and last) anecdote of his life was likely the reason for what transpired (or he just wanted to surprise her). On 19 March 1286, the queen was at Kinghorn in Fife. The king was at Edinburgh with his royal advisors. The next day was the queen's birthday. Alexander decided to ride to Kinghorn, a distance of at least 30 miles with the need to cross the Firth of Forth. The March weather was bad, and his advisors tried to dissuade him, but he was determined. He crossed the Forth, and arrived at Inverkeithing. It was dark and stormy, and he insisted on not stopping despite the late hour but continuing the last 10 or so miles. Supposedly one of the burghers in town said:

"My lord, what are you doing out in such weather and darkness? How many times have I tried to persuade you that midnight traveling will do you no good?"

Alexander wouldn't listen, but set off into the dark with a small retinue. At some point he was separated from the retinue. The next morning, near Kinghorn, he was found with a broken neck. The likeliest assumption was that his horse lost its footing in the dark, he was thrown, and therefore never made it to Yolande.

...and that is how a three-year-old Norwegian girl became the Queen of Scotland. Let me tell you about her tomorrow.