The Council of Reims is Held

Pope Eugene III (the Homeless Pope) called the Council of Reims in 1148 to discuss and ratify issues that were brought up in an earlier Council of Reims. The prelates involved approved almost everything: they did not approve a rule forbidding them from showing off in cloaks made of fur. The rule that forbade married priests was considered superfluous by those present; they felt that everyone already knew and followed that rule.

There were some more recent and specific items on the agenda for the Council.

An order was put out to arrest a Breton heretic, Éon de l'Étoile ("Eon of the Star"). He considered himself a messiah and supposedly performed miraculous acts like bi-location (appearing in more than one place at the same time), and a heavenly glow that surrounded him. He pillaged abbeys and monasteries and used the plunder to treat the poor to grand feats. He was arrested, tortured until he confessed his messiahship, and imprisoned at the Abbey of Saint-Denis until his death in 1150.

Another heretic discussed was Gilbert, the bishop of Poitiers. Gilbert was more of a gray area. He did not outwardly preach anything heretical or blasphemous, but he was a scholastic and logician who wrote in such a convoluted manner that his works could just as easily lead the faithful astray as educate them. His commentary on Boethius explained the Holy Trinity in a way that did not align with the teachings of the Church. He was brought to a trial shortly after the Council, presided by Pope Eugene. Gilbert was required to rewrite parts of his book, a happier ending than Éon.

There wasn't really a "curse" on the Council, as I said yesterday, but quite unexpectedly (in most cases), several people involved died soon after. The Archbishop of Trier, Albero de Montreuil, was so ill that he had to be carried around (he was in his 70s). He died shortly after, during a visit to Trier by Eugene. The Bishop of Angoulême died right after. On the third day of the Council, Robert de Bethune, the Bishop of Hereford, fell ill and died. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be there: he was one of only three English prelates allowed by King Stephen to attend. Maybe he would have been better off if he stayed home?

Could he have stayed home? Why did Stephen forbid any English prelates to attend—including the Archbishop of Canterbury, Theobald of Bec, putting guards on him—and yet send Robert and two others? What was going on in Stephen's mind? Let's speculate tomorrow.

Council of Reims is Called

After a few years in the papacy, Pope Eugene III thought there were some issues that needed discussing/ratifying. A letter he wrote to Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis in 1147 mentioned that Trier would be the location, and a week later Eugene officially announced the council to the world for the following March.

Unfortunately, when the papal delegation visited Trier on 30 November 1147 to prepare for the council, which was supposed to be held on 21 March 1148 (must have plenty of time to arrange things!), the citizens of Trier complained about the influx of people. The pope decided to hold the council in Reims instead, three days distant on foot. (Letters written by Eugene to the Bishop of Olmuetz and the Archbishop of Salzburg confirm the change and the reason.)

Eugene mandated attendance by all bishops; failing to show meant suspension. Estimates of attendance range wildly from 400 to 1100 (each bishop would also have had an entourage). Some were forgiven due to illness, and the Italian bishops were excused because Eugene would meet with them after Reims in Cremona to share the results of the council. Stephen of Blois, King of England, forbade any of England's bishops to go except three (Hereford, Norwich and Chichester). The Archbishop of Canterbury, Theobald of Bec, argued with Stephen about the necessity to be there. Stephen disagreed and put guards on him, but Theobald evaded the guards and crossed the English Channel on a rented fishing boat.

Reims had been the site of several religious councils, and this one was discussing some canons announced at Reims in 1131 by Pope Lucius II. It was convened at the cathedral (see illustration). The canons were largely approved, but there was one the prelates did not approve: apparently, they refused to give up wearing cloaks made of fur.

Tomorrow we'll talk about some of the canons they did approve, as well as the curse of the council.

The World Theater & Tyrannicide

When Shakespeare wrote "All the world’s a stage/And all the men and women merely players"* he probably knew that the metaphor was not original. The world as a theater where human beings' actions are part of a drama authored by God was toyed with by Greek philosophers as well as Christian thinkers.

Although the idea was expressed by Classical authors, it was John of Salisbury (c.1110 - 1180) who actually coined the term theatrum mundi, "theater of the world," in his Policraticus. The context of the phrase is when he says saints "despise the theater of this world from the heights of their virtue."

The Policraticus (the title is a mix of Greek and Latin words and is sometimes translated as "The Statesman's Book" is a moral encyclopedia in which John lays out his political theory in a vein similar to the Mirrors for Princes. Its subtitle is more revealing: De nugis curialium et vestigiis philosophorum, "On the Frivolities of Courtiers and the Footprints of Philosophers."

His chapters are laid out thusly:

• Book I: Hunting, theatre, and magic
• Book II: Omens, dreams, and occult sciences
• Book III: Self-interest and flattery
• Book IV: The duties of the 'prince'
• Book V and VI: The body politic
• Book VII: Three Epicurean tendencies (according to Boethius)
• Book VIII: Another two Epicurean tendencies; Tyranny

John felt that, since a monarch on earth was the image of God, acts against the ruler were to have strict punishments; however, the monarch's power was delegated by the spiritual power of the Church. John became secretary to Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Becket and supported Becket in his dispute with Henry II.

In the final book of the Policraticus, John advocated for tyrannicide. A prince would obey and support the laws of his country, and all would be well so long as he keeps religion inviolate. A tyrant on the other hand does not recognize his proper rôle in the drama of the theatrum mundi and resists divine law, and in such a case death is appropriate. Julian the Apostate, for example, who tried to return Rome to the pagan religion from Christianity, was deserving of death according to John.

John's career took off when he was introduced to Archbishop of Canterbury Theobald of Bec (Becket's predecessor) and became his secretary. This took place at the Council of Reims, called by Pope Eugene III to deal with a variety of issues. We'll check out these issues tomorrow.

*from As You Like It

John of Salisbury on Skepticism & Medicine

John of Salisbury liked the idea of academic skepticism, which ultimately came from Plato's Academy. Let me explain. The head of Plato's Academy post-Plato was Philo of Larissa, who fled Athens for political reasons and landed in Rome. While there, Cicero (106 - 43 BCE) attended some of his lectures and learned "academic skepticism." This started with Socrates' method of posing a series of questions to someone that could undermine their firmly held beliefs. Cicero's writings were known to John of Salisbury's time, but the Greek influences not so much.

John's approach was one of "moderate skepticism": although some things could be proven "definitively" there was still room to question them. He prized the use of Rhetoric and Grammar to challenge ideas, which put him at odds with some scholars who rejected the Trivium because Grammar and Rhetoric (they felt) clashed with the third part of the Trivium, Logic.

John considered the Trivium crucial to human beings because he felt philosophical thought was the dividing line between human beings and wild animals (and human beings and less intellectually gifted human beings). The arts of the Trivium were what enabled philosophical and critical thought to contribute to the ability to socialize, to create a community, and they therefore enabled human well-being.

He had very strong opinions on the state of medicine, believing that doctors had become more interested in making money than researching the best way to care for patients. Some physicians focused on the state of the soul and its relationship to bodily health. John thought this was ridiculous since there was no way to test or prove anything involving the soul. It also "trespassed on religious belief" which he was not keen to support. He expressed that doctors should spend their time divided evenly between research and practice, because the two pursuits were currently separated and leading to two separate practices that did not support each other. He proposed what he called regularum compendium: figure out what caused the illness, figure out how to cure the illness, figure out appropriate aftercare, then figure out how to avoid the illness in the future.

There was another Latin phrase that John of Salisbury coined that influenced later times, theatrum mundi, and we'll look this topic tomorrow.

"On the Shoulders of Giants"

A 1675 letter by Isaac Newton has the line: "if I have seen further [than others], it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." This has become a saying for doing work that builds on earlier (and more fundamental) work. It was not the first time that metaphor was seen in print.

John of Salisbury in 1159 wrote:

Bernard of Chartres used to compare us to dwarfs perched on the shoulders of giants. He pointed out that we see more and farther than our predecessors, not because we have keener vision or greater height, but because we are lifted up and borne aloft on their gigantic stature.

This was in his work called Metalogicon. The Metalogicon was about the value of the Trivium (Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic). It consists of four sections that defend the Trivium against those felt that Grammar and Rhetoric were not important to the study of Logic. John would not have known Bernard, who died in the 1120s (John was a child then, going to grammar school in England). He did, however, study Rhetoric and Logic at Chartres under one of Bernard's disciples, Richard l'Evêque.

Although John attributes this to Bernard of Chartres, while John was at Chartres he also studied under William of Conches. John should have been unaware that William, in his 1123 commentary on the Institutiones grammaticae of Priscian, wrote:

The ancients had only the books which they themselves wrote, but we have all their books and moreover all those which have been written from the beginning until our time.… Hence we are like a dwarf perched on the shoulders of a giant. The former sees further than the giant, not because of his own stature, but because of the stature of his bearer. Similarly, we see more than the ancients, because our writings, modest as they are, are added to their great works.

John of Salisbury referred to himself as Johannes Parvus, "John the Little"; parvus can mean "little" or "small." he does not indicate in his writings that he was physically sort. Perhaps this was a humble moment in which he claimed to be not a giant.

A commentator on the Talmud, the Jewish Isaiah di Trans (c.1180 - c.1250) wrote:

For I heard the following from the philosophers, The wisest of the philosophers was asked: "We admit that our predecessors were wiser than we. At the same time we criticize their comments, often rejecting them and claiming that the truth rests with us. How is this possible?" The wise philosopher responded: "Who sees further a dwarf or a giant? Surely a giant for his eyes are situated at a higher level than those of the dwarf. But if the dwarf is placed on the shoulders of the giant who sees further? ... So too we are dwarfs astride the shoulders of giants.

Anyway, the phrase caught on long before Isaac Newton wrote his letter to Robert Hooke. But back to John of Salisbury. Besides defending the Trivium and the verbal arts, he had some strong opinions about things that could be proven, and some strong arguments about the medical profession of his day. I'll talk about those tomorrow.

John of Salisbury

I mentioned yesterday that John of Salisbury was one of the medieval authors who understood eclipses. He had a long career that I'll get out of the way before we look at his extensive writings.

John of Salisbury (c.1110 - 1180) was an Anglo-Saxon author and philosopher in Norman England, and so his family was not going to be particularly prominent. His writings show us that he went to a parish school as a boy. About 1136 he went to France where, like Arnold of Brescia,  he studied under Peter Abelard. He wrote about students and teachers there, giving us a view into one of the oldest universities. John also studied at Chartres under William of Conches.

About 1140 he was back in Paris, studying theology and supporting himself by tutoring the sons of nobles, sharing an apartment with Peter of Celle, who became a Benedictine and abbot of St. Rémy at Reims. While attending the Council of Reims in 1148, it is believed he was introduced by Bernard of Clairvaux to Theobald of Bec, the Archbishop of Canterbury. John became Theobald's secretary.

This position brought him back to England, where he was secretary to Theobald for seven years and where he came to know Thomas Becket. John also made trips to Rome during this time, where he got to know Nicholas Breakspear, the only Englishman to become pope (as Adrian IV).

In 1176, John was made Bishop of Chartres, a position he held until his death on 25 October 1180. His successor as bishop was his longtime friend and former roommate in college, Peter of Celle.

Now that we have some background on the man, we'll turn next to his written works.

The Lunar Eclipse

The Annals of Clonmacnoise have an entry for 670 that reads "The Moone was turned into a sanguine collor this year." A red moon usually means a lunar eclipse. During a lunar eclipse, the Earth passes between the sun and Moon, causing the light on the Moon to appear sanguine, or blood-red.

The mechanics of eclipses were understood long ago. Babylonians over 3000 years ago had eclipses figured out, and even Isidore of Seville in the 7th century understood the process. (The illustration is a 14th century book showing the phases of eclipses.) Isidore knew that the lunar eclipse would only occur when the Moon was full.

Not everyone knew that this was a predictable and understandable phenomenon, however. A solar eclipse took place on 23 June 1191 in England, and the monk Richard of Devizes commented that those who saw it and did not know what scholars knew thought it was a sign of something ominous. Earlier, a lunar eclipse during the First Crusade showed a blood-red Moon over Jerusalem as the Crusaders approached. It was described as a sign of God's will. (This was reported later by Albert of Aachen, writing a history of an event he did not himself witness. Albert had no compunction against stating that a lunar eclipse portended a defeat for the Crusade's enemies, while a solar eclipse would have meant disaster for the Crusade.)

John of Salisbury warned against using eclipses as signs of future success or failure. Astronomy was fine, but using it to predict the future was as erroneous as soothsaying, astrology, and other such practices.

Bishop Thietmar of Merseburg also proclaimed that eclipses were not caused by evil incantations or the celestial bodies being eaten by demons or monsters. This is the only reference to the idea of the sun or Moon being "eaten" during an eclipse. We can't be sure if anyone really claimed this, or if Thietmar was just exaggerating the fears of the uneducated so that he could counter them.

An eclipse in 756 was described by Simeon of Durham in some detail:

Moreover, the Moon was covered with a blood-red color on the 8th day before the Kalends of December [i.e., November 24] when 15 days old, that is, the Full Moon; and then the darkness gradually decreased and it returned to its original brightness. And remarkably indeed, a bright star following the Moon itself passed through it, and after the return to brightness it preceded the Moon by the same distance as it had followed the Moon before it was obscured.

Simeon seems to be describing the occultation of a star during the eclipse.

John of Salisbury has been mentioned here before, but he said and did a lot that deserves attention. We'll look at him next time.

The Annals of Clonmacnoise

Clonmacnoise Monastery was an important place in the Middle Ages. Occupying a major travel route in the center of Ireland, it grew to a community of over a thousand at its height. Besides works of art and religious scholars, it produced a history of Ireland called the Annals of Clonmacnoise (in Irish: Annála Chluain Mhic Nóis).

To be frank, there are no original manuscripts remaining, and there is no firm evidence that it was produced at Clonmacnoise; however, it does focus on the parts of the country around Clonmacnoise—which was a center of learning and production of texts in Irish—and the clans that inhabited them. The Annals contain historical data on O'Kellys, O'Rourkes, O'Molloys, O'Connors, and McDermotts that we would not otherwise have.

The Irish Gaelic of the original was translated into English in 1627 by Conall MacGeoghegan, a descendant of Niall of the Nine Hostages.

This original manuscript, as well as the source from which it came, are both lost, but later edition copies of the translation exist in British and Irish museums. The translator noted that there were sections missing from the manuscript he had found (notably the years 1182-1199 and 1290-1299).

It begins "Adam in the 130 years of his age Begatt Seth, and afterwards Adam Liued 800 yeares & in all he lived 930 yeares." The first page quickly gets to Ireland:

This year of Lamech's age came the woman called Cesarea or Keassar accompanied onely with three men and 50 Women to this land which was the first habitacion of Ireland, though others say that this land was first Discouered and found by three fisher men who were sayleing in these parts of the world, and Because they made noe Residence in the land I will make noe mention of them.

There is scholarly demand for a modern edition to make the information contained available to more researchers.

I'm going to pick one brief entry for further talk. The sole entry for 670 reads "The Moone was turned into a sanguine collor this year." This was likely just a lunar eclipse. Did I say "just"? Lunar eclipses were of special interest to Christians and pagans. Let's talk about them tomorrow.

Clonmacnoise Monastery

Clonmcnoise was founded in 544CE by St. Ciarán where a major east-west route crossed the River Shannon. Location is important in real estate, even for monasteries, and this location meant opportunities for visitors and trade, making it a major center for religion and learning for centuries. Ciarán met Diarmait Mac Cerbaill there, who became the first Christian High King of Ireland. Together they built the first wooden church on the site. The first community had about a dozen men.

It was visited by St. Columba (according to Adomnán), who while there prophesied about a future where there would be debates over the dating of Easter.

By the 9th century the place was thriving and had grown to several buildings and between one and two thousand men. Wooden structures had been replaced with stone. Ciarán had died in 549, and his body buried under the original church that was later rebuilt in stone as the Temple Ciarán (see illustration). It is the smallest church on the site at only 9x12 feet.

Excavations of Temple Ciarán have revealed no body, but did uncover a crozier. The detailed and beautiful Clonmacnoise Crozier is on display at the National Museum of Ireland. Although some like to associate it with Ciarán, the workmanship dates it to the late 11th century. It is an example of the superb craftsmanship that came out of Clonmacnoise, as its location and reputation created a thriving secular community as well as a religious one.

Plague was always an issue in the Middle Ages. Ciarán died from the plague, and a plague in the late 7th century killed many of the students and teachers. In the 12th century, Clonmacnoise began to decline. Raids reaching far inland from Vikings (one of the authors of the Clonmacnoise Book of the Dun Cow was killed in 1106 by Vikings) and Normans (who had taken over England in 1066) contributed, but so did simple economic factors. Not far to the north the town of Athlone was growing and drawing talent and commerce. There were also competing religious sites as other orders started to move into Ireland to spread their own versions of monasticism.

One Clonmacnoise survival is the Annals of Clonmacnoise, chronicling Ireland from prehistory to 1408. I'll tell you a little about it next time.

Finding the Author

The scholar R.I.Best examined the penmanship of the Lebor na hUidre, the early Irish Book of the Dun Cow, and determined that there were three different writers involved. He labeled them A (for the first), and H (for one who added Homilies), and M. 

Rarely did early authors or historians sign their names to works, but Best believed he could definitively state the identity of M as as Máel Muire mac Céilechair meic Cuinn na mBocht. Máel Muire (Old Irish: "Servant of Mary") was a cleric at the monastery of Clonmacnoise, part of a family of clerics that had been connected to Clonmacnoise for centuries.

How was the identification made? Well, a marginal note written much later than the Lebor claims that Máel Muire was the person who wrote and compiled this book from diverse books. But notes that are added are not always reliable. In this case, however, there is also the evidence of the probationes pennae (Latin for "pen tests"; singular probatio pennae). When cutting a new quill pen, the scribe would test the point by scribbling something, maybe in the margin, maybe on a scrap of blotting paper. (Paper/parchment wasn't cheap, so it would be saved for use, perhaps as a binding.) There are two probationes pennae at Clonmacnoise where Máel Muire wrote his name, and Best said the penmanship in the autographical pen test was the same as the writer M in the Lebor.

One of the benefits of this identification is that, since we know Máel Muire's death, we know a date prior to which the Lebor was being written. The Annála na gCeithre Máistrí (Middle Irish: "Annals of the Four Masters"), covering Irish history from Noah's Deluge to 1616CE, claim Máel Muire was killed by Vikings at Clonmacnoise in 1106.

Poor Clonmacnoise! It suffered extensively, with attacks from the Irish, the Vikings, and the Normans. Let's look at its history tomorrow.

The Book of the Dun Cow

I'm not referencing the novel based on the "Nun's Priest's Tale" from The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer written by Walter Wangerin. I'm talking about Lebor na hUidre (Middle Irish: "Book of the Dun Cow") which is MS 23 E25 in the Royal Irish Academy. To be fair, it isn't about the legendary Dun Cow; it is called by that title because the tradition says it was made from the hide of the Dun Cow (or simply of a dun cow).

Lebor na hUidre is the oldest manuscript in existence that is written entirely in the Irish language. It contains some of the earliest versions we have of Irish legends such as the Táin Bó Cuailnge. The manuscript is much damaged, with only 67 leaves remaining, many of which are difficult to read. Many of the 38 items in it are incomplete. Some of the complete texts are:

• The Eulogy of Columba
• The Vision of Adomnán
• The Expulsion of the Déisi
• Cúchulainn's Phantom Chariot (a tale about St. Patrick)
• The prophesy of Art mac Cuinn and his faith (the 2nd century Art Mac Cuinn foresees Christianity)
• The adventure of Connla the Beautiful, son of Conn of the Hundred Battles
• The conception of Cúchulainn
• The story of Mongán
• The Cause of the Vision of Mongán
• The places where the heads of the heroes of Ulster are
• ...and others added later by a second scribe
• (Incomplete works outnumber completed ones)

An early 20th century Irish scholar, R.I.Best, determined that there were three different sets of handwriting in the Lebor. He labels them A, M, and H. He claimed that A and M were contemporaries; H is so-called because he added homilies. Best helped date the manuscript by identifying M with a real person who was killed by Vikings in 1106. How he was able to do that will be the subject for tomorrow.

In the meantime, you can listen to the Lebor na hUidre here.

What Was the Dun Cow?

In the legends of Guy of Warwick, he fights wild boars, dragons, giants, and the Dun Cow. Three of those four are familiar to modern readers, but the last bears explanation. The Dun Cow was supposedly a giant beast that roamed Dunsmore Heath in Warwickshire.

A related story tells that the dun-colored cow was owned by a giant. Its supply of milk never ran out, and anyone could come and milk it to get what they needed. One day, however, a witch came along. After filling her pail with milk, she wanted the cow to fill her sieve (called a "riddle"); its attempts to fill what could not hold milk killed it.

The origin of Guy's encounter with the Dun Cow is unknown. One 19th century philologist suggested that "Dun Cow" was a corruption of Dena Gau, Germanic for "Danish region"; in his explanation, the character of Guy was instrumental in defeating the Danes. Since one version of Guy's legend has him returning from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land to help King Æthelstan against northern attacks (Danes), this makes some sense.

But the legend gave rise to stories about actual beasts, and so we have to look at non-Danish options. There are actually "souvenirs" of the Dun Cow in England. At Warwick Castle, where you can see items reported to be from Guy's life and adventures, there is one item that is said to be the rib of the Dun Cow. It is, in fact, a narwhal tusk. In Lancashire there is a Dun Cow Rib Farm where a giant rib bone is embedded in a wall, said to come from a giant cow. That rib is assumed to have come from a giant bovine, the auroch that roamed Britain during the Bronze Age.

There is a modern novel called The Book of the Dun Cow, adapted from "The Nun's Priest's Tale" from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. There was also a 12th century Book of the Dun Cow that is a lot more relevant to this blog, and I'll tell you about it next time.

The Legendary Guy of Warwick

The figure of Guy of Warwick (pictured here at Cliffe Hill, Warwick) has spawned as much of a "cottage industry" in literature and tourism as any other non-real figure (see Robin Hood).

It started (so far as we know) with Peter of Langtoft, an Augustinian canon and historian at Bridlington Priory who wrote a verse history called Langtoft's Chronicle, covering in Anglo-Norman 9000 verses the history of England from its founding by Brutus to the death of Edward I.

In it he tells the story of Guy, a page at the court of the Earl of Warwick, who falls in love with Felice, the earl's daughter. Well aware that she is far above his station, he sets out to prove his worth, ridding the countryside of dangers. These include dragons, giants, boars, and the Dun Cow. This is sufficient to win the hand of Felice.

Afterward, however, he is filled with remorse for his violent past. The solution is to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, but his time there motivates him to live a more humble life. He returns to England in secret and inhabits a cave overlooking the River Avon, living out his life as a hermit.

There's more, however, as the tendency of medieval writers to embellish meant there were many revisions and retellings. In one expanded version, he returns from the Holy Land after several years away in time to help King Æthelstan against invading northern kings. Winchester has traditions of this fighting. He then goes to Warwick in disguise where he takes the humble position of Felice's beadsman (a servant position whose duty is to pray for the souls of the deceased of the family). He eventually becomes a hermit and only reveals his true identity when he is about to die.

In the 14th century there were many new versions of the story in Middle English, mentioning his wars in Germany, Lombardy, and Constantinople. Because of the designation Guy of Warwick, a tower added to Warwick Castle in 1394 was named "Guy's Tower." There one can see Guy's sword and dining fork as well as his porridge pot. The 9th Earl of Warwick named his son Guy. The legend's popularity lasted a few centuries. Shakespeare mentions Guy (and the giant Colbrand that he defeats) in Henry VIII, and Colbrand again in King John. The numerous extant versions of the story have been gathered here.

We know what giants and dragons and boars are, but what was the deal with the "Dun Cow" that he defeated? Let's look into that tomorrow.

Guy de Beauchamp

Guy de Beauchamp (c.1272 – 12 August 1315) had an impressive pedigree. His father was the first Beauchamp to become Earl of Warwick; his mother was daughter of the Justiciar of Ireland, John Fitzgeoffrey, who was part of the group that was able to force the Provisions of Oxford on Henry III. Guy's father, William de Beauchamp, named him for the legendary hero Guy of Warwick.

Guy succeeded his father as earl in 1298, distinguishing himself in that same year by participating in the Battle of Falkirk, the first major battle in the war for Scottish Independence that saw the English defeat the Scots under William Wallace. Guy had been knighted two years earlier by King Edward I.

In 1299 he helped negotiate the treaty that was to wed Prince Edward Caernarvon (later Edward II) to the French Isabella. He was made High Sheriff of Worcestershire, and was given John Balliol's Barnard Castle  after Balliol's attempt to become King of Scotland failed.

Before Edward I's death in 1307, his son's friend Piers Gaveston had been exiled. Guy was one of the men responsible for seeing that the exile remained permanent. Edward II brought Gaveston back and made him Earl of Cornwall. Guy was the only earl who did not support the king's decision, and when Gaveston was exiled again and again brought back by Edward, Guy was the only objector. (All of that business has been discussed many times in this blog. The illustration is from a later account, with Guy standing over Gaveston's body.)

Guy, Earl of Warwick was one of the most powerful and respected men in England. Edward I left supervision of his son to Guy. The Vita Edwardi Secundi ("Life of Edward II") mentions that "Other earls did many things only after taking his opinion: in wisdom and council he had no peer."

He was also interested in education (or maybe just in collecting books?). He had a large library of saints' lives, romances about Alexander the Great, and stories of King Arthur. In his lifetime he donated 42 books to Bordesley Abbey (now only a ruin), where he was buried; his family was among its benefactors.

His namesake, Guy of Warwick, was a popular figure in English romance and worth taking a look at, which we shall do tomorrow.

Robert Winchelsey

The relationship between Archbishop of Canterbury Robert Winchelsey and King Edward I was rocky. Edward accused Winchelsey of plotting g against him and sent a complaint to the pope, Clement V. Clement sided with Edward and suspended Winchelsey on 12 February 1306. Seeing that his continued presence in England was pointless—he had one supporter, Antony Bek, who had also been involved in temporal/spititual controversy—Winchelsey went to Bordeaux.

When Edward I died a little over a year later, in July 1307, Winchelsey was able to return to England upon the request of Edward's son and successor, Edward II. (The illustration is of Edward II's coronation.) The pope was okay with the new king wanting the old archbishop back. While everyone was willing to placate the new king, however, Winchelsey (along with one other: the 10th Earl of Warwick Guy de Beauchamp) was opposed to the return of Edward's favorite exiled companion, Piers Gaveston. (Beauchamp would ultimately be involved in Gaveston's end.)

When the barons had had enough of Edward's excesses, Winchelsey sided with them by excommunicating their enemies.

Besides his political troubles, Winchelsey was actually considered a good preacher. While a canon at St. Paul's in London, his sermons and lectures attracted large crowds. Several of his writings from his time at St. Paul's survive. They are recordings of public debates or lectures that intended to answer questions presented by the audience. This practice started at the University of Paris when theological faculty would suspend classes just before Christmas and Easter and hold public sessions that anyone could attend and ask questions. These were called quodlibeta (Latin: "whatever you like"). Recorded quodlibeta survive from many of the men mentioned in this blog, 

After his death on 11 May 1313, it was said that miracles took place at his tomb. Attempts to canonize him went nowhere, however.

The 10th Earl of Warwick, Guy de Beauchamp, is usually mentioned in a historical context as the enemy of Edward II and Piers Gaveston. He was more complex than that, however, known for an extensive library—not usual for a knight—and was highly respected by kings and fellow nobles. I'll talk about him more next time.

Kings and Archbishops

The controversy between King Henry II and his best friend, Thomas Becket, was far from the only clash between temporal and ecclesiastical power. Robert Winchelsey (c.1245 - 1313) also started being supported by his king, Edward I, but later clashed with him and his advisors. The same pattern was repeated with the king's successor, Edward II.

Winchelsey (from Winchelsea, whose seal appears here) studied at the University of Paris (where he might have met Thomas Aquinas) and at Oxford. In 1283 he was made a canon of St. Paul's in London. When the Archbishop of Canterbury, John Peckham, died in 1292, Winchelsey was elected to replace him. He could not be confirmed, however, because although he went to Rome to receive the pallium, there was no pope at the time. He could not be consecrated archbishop until after the election of Celestine V.

When he returned to England and swore an oath of loyalty to King Edward, he added his own qualifier, that he was loyal "only regarding the king's temporal decisions and power, not regarding spirituality." Edward's anger with him continued when Winchelsey refused to have the clergy give up the percentage of taxes the king demanded to finance his administration and his wars with France. Winchelsey did allow one tenth of ecclesiastical revenues to go to the king in 1295, and that if the war continued into a second year he might consider more funding.

Things changed in 1296, however, with Clericis laicos, a papal bull forbidding church taxes to secular powers. Winchelsey told his clergy that further taxes were not to be paid to the agents of the king. York, however, allowed the king one-fifth of their revenue, a precedent that made it easier for Edward to declare any clergy who did not pay taxes to be outlaws, and that their property would be seized. The outlaws would be forgiven and return to his good graces if they paid a fine of ... (wait for it) ... one-fifth of their revenues. Winchelsey told the clergy it was up to them if they wanted to pay. Slowly, the clergy gave in.

All except Winchelsey himself. Edward seized his lands, but the two were reconciled in July 1297. At that point, Winchelsey tried to mediate between the king and his earls, who also objected to so much taxation. Speaking of money, Winchelsey clashed with Edward's chief advisor, his Treasurer Walter Langton. Langton was the Bishop of Lichfield, but unlike Winchelsey he placed his loyalty to the king above his loyalty to the church.

In fact, Langton was one of two men sent by Edward to the pope to complain that Winchelsey was plotting against the king. How that turned out will be a subject for next time.

Walter Langton

One of the Keepers of the Wardrobe for five years (1290 - 1295) under Edward I was Walter Langton (1243 - 1321). He used the surname Langton because he was from Langton in Leicestershire. He was born in 1243 and likely entered the church at a young age. His uncle, William Langton, was Dean of York in 1262, and Walter might have been raised by him. (William was elected Archbishop of York, but did not get the position because the pope wanted someone else.)

Walter in 1272 was a rector of a church in Yorkshire, and it may have been through the Lord Chancellor Robert Burnell (who was also Archdeacon of York) that King Edward I became aware of Langton. Edward made Langton Keeper of the Wardrobe and, it was said, relied on him as his closest confidant. When the debate arose over succession in Scotland after the death of Alexander III, Edward sent Langton to represent England's interests.

In 1295, Langton was made Treasurer until 1307 (Edward's death). He was also given several ecclesiastical benefices from which he could recieve revenues. In 1296 he was made Bishop of Lichfield and rebuilt his residence there, Eccleshall Castle, into a much grander building.

His increasing wealth made him a target of the Barons, who asked Edward to dismiss him. He was accused of simony, adultery, murder, and witchcraft. Although he went to Rome for trial, Pope Boniface VIII sent him back to the court of Archbishop of Canterbury Robert Winchelsey. Winchelsey was hostile to Langton, due to Langton's siding with the king over taxation of the clergy. Despite this attitude, he found Langton innocent of the charges.

Edward I supported his Treasurer and councillor even when Langton quarreled with the king's son, Edward Caernarvon. Langton was opposed (as were others) to the influence over the prince of Piers Gaveston. When Edward I died and the prince became King Edward II and Gaveston returned from exile, Langton knew his time was past. Langton was arrested, imprisoned, and his lands and movable property were seized. Pope Clement V tried to intervene on his behalf, but the Barons also were against him and he stayed in prison until 1312. He was returned to his post as Treasurer, but Parliament asked that he be dismissed in 1315. He died on 9 November 1321.

It was startling that Winchelsey found Langton innocent, when he could have taken the opportunity to eliminate a thorn in his side. Winchelsey was an enemy of Edward I and Edward II and spent 20 years fighting them. I'll tell you about him tomorrow.

Keeper of the Wardrobe

The Keeper of the Wardrobe in England was a very important position, and it actually did start with a wardrobe; that is, the place where the king's clothing and armor were stored. The Wardrobe was part of the King's Household (the Chamber was the other part). Not a simple closet, however, because it also included the king's other possessions and treasure, so the person chosen (like Antony Bek and his brother) to keep track of it had to be responsible and trusted absolutely. That sounds fairly straightforward, and the Keeper position was in charge of inventory. During the reign of Henry II, however, the "Wardrobe" took on greater significance and meaning.

To understand its greater role we have to talk about the Curia regis, the "King's Council." This was the term used to refer to the advisors and administrators of the king. In England, the Anglo-Saxons had their witan or witangemot. After the Norman Conquest, although the English still used the old term, official records use Curia regis. The Curia included barons, bishops and abbots, the chancellor, constable, stewards, chamberlain, marshal, etc.

With Henry, management of the Wardrobe absorbed oversight of the Curia as well, making the Keeper an even more prestigious position. The Wardrobe took over administrative and accounting duties for the entire Household. This required it to receive large sums from the other important office, the Exchequer. It did not, however, always have to turn to the Exchequer: because the Wardrobe included treasure, the king could make his own quick financial deal without going through official channels.

As the Wardrobe took on more responsibility for management of the government, it became too large to keep in one place. During the reign of Henry's son Edward, the Wardrobe divided into one managing the king's personal expenditures versus the Great Wardrobe, which managed cloth and clothing and spices. Separate Privy Wardrobes containing the king's personal effects such as clothing and jewelry (the illustration is of a Privy Wardrobe at Westminster). The Privy Wardrobe in the Tower of London maintained his armor and weapons.

The position—along with the Wardrobes as they were originally envisioned and evolved—no longer exist. In 1782 these divisions were eliminated. The position was so powerful when it existed that the person holding it could wield great authority, even against the king's family. For that story we'll look at one of these men, Walter Langton. See you tomorrow.

Between King and Archbishop

Antony Bek (c.1245 - 1311) was from a family of knights. He and his brother Thomas attended Oxford University at Merton College in the late 1260s, then entered the clergy. (They were younger sons; an older brother, John, inherited the family lands.)

Prince Edward went on a crusade in 1270 and took Bek with him. After the crusade, Edward in 1274 appointed Bek Keeper of the Wardrobe, an important position in a royal household. One month later, however, Bek was replaced by his brother Thomas and was made Constable of the Tower, responsible for managing the castle when the lord was away.

By 1275 Antony was named archdeacon in Durham as well as holding a few other religious positions. These were gifts that allowed him to collect revenues; he did not have to perform duties in those locations.

A trusted councillor, he was sent to Wales to negotiate a treaty with Llewelyn ap Gruffudd, the Prince of Wales. He was also sent to Aragon to negotiate marriage between Edward's daughter Eleanor to Alfonso III. He also went to Scotland in 1286 after the death of King Alexander III to act on behalf of Alexander's heir, Margaret of Norway, who was engaged to marry Edward's son.

His friendship with Edward allowed him to extend his temporal power when he became Bishop of Durham (see the coat of arms above) in 1283. He tried to control the Benedictine Priory in Durham, a dispute which went to the pope for arbitration and was decided in Ben's favor. Pope Clement V made Bek Patriarch of Jerusalem, which meant he was the most senior member of the clergy in England.

This angered the Archbishop of York, who had jurisdiction over the Priory. When Bek allowed the king's men to arrest two priests in 1293, the Archbishop of York, John le Romeyn, excommunicated him. This was a radical and drastic move against a bishop. Romeyn was hauled before Parliament, who decreed that Bek had been rightly acting in his secular role and not as a bishop, and so Romeyn did not have jurisdiction in this case. Romeyn was imprisoned and fined 4000 marks to King Edward.

Bek survived Edward I, performing the funeral service for him at Westminster Abbey. As the senior clergy in England he was asked to investigate the Templars in 1308 by Edward II. Bek's career had allowed him to gather enough wealth to build Durham Castle's Great Hall, and to expand Auckland Castle (a residence of the Bishops of Durham)and Somerton Castle Inherited from his mother, Eva de Gray).

Bek died 3 March 1311. There was some talk about canonization that went nowhere.

So...about this job he held for one month that was given to his brother, Keeper of the Wardrobe. Did he just manage some noble's clothing? There was more to it than that, which I will go into next time.

Eleanor's Children

Eleanor of Castile, as Queen of England, wanted advantageous marriages for her children. She and Edward I had 16 or more, but although many marriages were proposed and arranged, only a few of the children achieved adulthood. Several of the first offspring died before even reaching double digits in age.

One named Eleanor (1269 - 1298) was the first child who survived to adulthood. She was betrothed to Alfonso III of Aragon (once mentioned here), but he died before the marriage could take place. She married Count Henry III of Bar. They had a son who succeeded his father as Count of Bar, and a daughter who married the 7th Earl of Surrey.

Joan (1272 - 1307) married twice. The first was Gilbert de Clare, who had fought against Edward and his father during the Second Barons' War and had overseen a massacre of Jews at Canterbury. After Gilbert died, she persuaded her father to knight one of Gilbert's squires, Ralph de Monthermer. Ralph was about the same age as Joan. Once he was knighted, Joan and Ralph secretly married. Edward found out a few months later and angrily had Ralph imprisoned. According to the chronicler Thomas Walsingham (writing at a much later date), Joan pleaded with her father:

No one sees anything wrong if a great earl marries a poor and lowly woman. Why should there be anything wrong if a countess marries a young and promising man?

This, and the intervention of the Bishop of Durham, Antony Bek, caused the king to relent. Ralph was released and officially name to Gilbert de Clare's old titles (that were inherited by Joan), making him jure uxoris (by right of wife) Earl of Gloucester and Hertford.

Margaret, their 10th child, was born in 1275 and died sometime after 1333. She married John the Peaceful, Duke of Brabant. John had one child with Margaret who succeeded him, and several illegitimate children who did not.

Elizabeth (1282 - 1316) John I, Count of Holland, when she was 15. John was born in 1284, and the marriage to Elizabeth was arranged in 1285. They tied the know in 1297 in Ipswich, after which they lived in Holland. He died in 1299, and she married Humphrey de Bohun, 4th Earl of Hereford. Humphrey was from a powerful family who would be a very loud voice against Elizabeth's brother...

Edward Caernarvon, their last child and the only male to survive past childhood. Plenty has been said about his rule, his lifestyle, his marriage to Isabella of France, and his death.

Instead, I will go back to Antony Bek, the Bishop of Durham who spoke to the king on behalf of Joan's marriage. He had a little trouble being loyal to both King Edward and the Archbishop of Canterbury, a story for tomorrow.

Eleanor's Influence

As Edward I's queen, Eleanor of Castile had a large effect on the country, and not just because of all the property she owned. Her patronage of the arts and her children's and relative's marriages stand out.

She established a scriptorium for producing and reproducing books. It is the only known instance of a royal scriptorium in Northern Europe at that time. Saints' lives and romances were the common reading material of the day, but Eleanor wanted more.

When her mother died in 1279 and Eleanor inherited the title Countess of Ponthieu, she had a romance written about a fictional 9th century count of Ponthieu. She had an Arthurian romance written with a Northumbrian theme. The Archbishop of Canterbury wrote a treatise on angels at her request. Pictured here is the Alfonso Psalter, which she had written for her son Alfonso (1273 - 1284); more about it here.

She had tiled bathrooms and piped water to some of the royal residences to match what she was accustomed to in Castile. She increased the use of tapestries and carpeting. These were initially criticized as Spanish extravagances, but became a popular fashion for those who could afford them. She also liked fancy tableware like knives and forks, but the forks may have been only for serving from a platter, not for individual use.

Another Castilian practice she brought to England was water features in gardens, along with fish ponds, aviaries, and gazebos. Household accounts show her ordering olive oil, French cheeses, and fresh fruit from the Mediterranean, as well as food and other items from Acre, because of her time there on Crusade with Edward.

She founded several priories, and gave financial support to Oxford and Cambridge universities.

One of the immediate impacts made by Eleanor and Edward—and partially for their benefit—was arranging advantageous marriages for their children. Eleanor bore at least 16 children to Edward. Only a few survived to adulthood, but they helped tie the throne to powerful relatives. I'll talk more about that tomorrow.

Eleanor Crosses

Queen Eleanor of England died in 1290. She had probably been ill for awhile. After her last child was born in 1284 (who became King Edward II), the royal accounts show medicines being purchased for the queen. What medicines were purchased is not clear, but from her time in Gascony with Edward in 1287 she was described as being ill with symptoms that resemble malaria. The effects of this stay with the body and make it susceptible to infections and organ damage.

Whatever the cause, King Edward I was bereft. They had been together almost 30 years, and unlike other kings there was no indication that he had affairs. He had worked to make sure she had plenty of money to support her needs, even if he were to pre-decease her.

She died while on a tour of England to visit her children, that was moving very slowly due (presumable) to her ill health. She died on 28 November at the house of a member of Parliament in the village of Harby. Her body was embalmed and taken slowly to Westminster so the people could mourn along the way. There were 12 stops along the way.

In 1291 Edward commissioned 12 memorial crosses—now referred to as Eleanor Crosses—to be placed at the towns where the body stopped each night on the funeral procession to Westminster. They were three-tiered and included statues of the queen. The first was in Lincoln and the final one was erected at Charing, now called Charing Cross. Most of the crosses have been reduced to fragments, but three are intact (pictured is the one at St. Albans), and many reproductions have been made. The Queen Eleanor Memorial Cross at Charing Cross Station is a memorial to the queen and the original cross.

Around this same time, a shrine to Little St. Hugh of Lincoln was erected, in a style so similar that it is assumed the same sculpture studio produced it. It also holds the royal crest and a decoration that commemmorates Eleanor. An Eleanor Cross is very near it, linking her more closely to the treatment of Jews and her link to their property mentioned in the above links.

Before we leave Eleanor behind, I want to talk about her legacy and influence on the culture and dynasties of England. That's for next time.

Eleanor's Unpopularity

Eleanor of Castile (1241 - 1290) was not always well-liked by the English. Although she was performing the expected duty of providing children to Edward I, she was a foreigner in an England that was becoming increasingly wary of influence in their politics from the continent.

She also became disproportionately wealthy in the acquisition of land. The lands given to her as dowry provided £4500 annually, and lands she acquired between 1274 and 1290 produced £2600. This was Edward's plan: to make sure she had annual income to support her needs and desires without having to draw from the Exchequer. She had an annual budget of £8000, so the majority came from her rents.

These were rents that would have gone to many other nobles, however, who resented not possessing lands that in the past belonged to their dynasties. After the Battle of Evesham during the Second Barons' War, lands held by the rebels were given to Eleanor.

Some of the lands were confiscated from nobles because they were mortgaged, used as collateral by borrowing money from Jews. Montfort financed the Second Barons' War partially by persecuting Jews and destroying the records of debts his followers owed to them. Canceling Jewish debts or trading bond debts for land required royal permission, however, and so after the War, Henry III (and Edward I later) would take over de Montfort's followers debts and claim them. Much real estate came into the hands of the king cheaply, and was given to Eleanor.

She also benefitted from the execution of hundreds of Jews for the illegal act of coin clipping. Property of the executed was handed over to her.

An argument made against her was that she actually benefitted from usury, the Jewish practice of charging interest on loans which was forbidden to Christians. Of course anyone borrowing from Jews was paying interest, and the king often simply took over the money owed to Jews for his own purposes, but having the queen gain so much wealth through Jewish debts was a step too far. The Archbishop of Canterbury, John Peckham, spoke about this:

A rumour is waxing strong throughout the kingdom and has generated much scandal. It is said that the illustrious lady queen, whom you serve, is occupying many manors, lands, and other possessions of nobles, and has made them her own property – lands which the Jews have extorted with usury from Christians under the protection of the royal court.

The fact that she "benefitted" from this financial connection to Jews' money did not mean she had a close association with Jews. A devout Christian whose family was very involved in the Crusades, there is every reason to believe that she shared the common hostility toward Jews. Some think that her influence inspired Edward to declare the Expulsion of all Jews from England in 1290. The Expulsion allowed Jews to leave with personal possessions and cash, but property was left behind and given to the king. This would simply be a continuation of the previous practice of supporting his queen (and himself).

By the end of 1290, however, Eleanor was dead, and Edward was bereft. He wanted to commemmorate Eleanor, and he did, in a manner which can still be seen. I'll tell you about Eleanor Crosses tomorrow.

Eleanor of Castile

Ferdinand III of Castile and his queen, Joan the Countess of Ponthieu, had two children together. One, a son named Ferdinand, went on to become Count of Aumale (inherited through Joan from her father). The other was a daughter named Eleanor (born 1241), after Joan's grandmother Eleanor, the daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine. (Ferdinand had sons from a previous wife, one of whom, Alfonso, succeeded him.)

Her father's court was focused on education and the arts, and so she probably had a good education growing up. Castile had hoped to unite with the kingdom of Navarre. When Eleanor was 11 her half-brother, King Alfonso X of Castile, hoped she would marry Theobald II of Navarre. Another of Alfonso's desires came into play, however.

Alfonso wanted to claim Gascony, which was at the time possessed by England. Henry III of England objected to this and brought in the military. They settled the issue by a marriage of Henry's son Edward, technically Duke of Gascony, to Alfonso's half-sister Eleanor. Edward and Eleanor were married on 1 November 1254 at the monastery of Las Huelgas.

Eleanor was barely 13, and in their first year of marriage, spent in Gascony, it is believed she gave birth to a daughter who did not survive long. In 1255, Eleanor traveled to England with an entourage including some relatives. Edward followed later. 

Eleanor became part of the political story during the Second Barons' War. She supported her husband, calling for archers from Ponthieu. The leader of the barons, Simon de Montfort, confined her to Westminster Palace. After Edward and Henry defeated the Barons, Eleanor seems to have taken a more prominent role in government. She also started bearing children. Husband and wife were never far apart, even on military campaigns. Their son Edward was born in Caernarfon Castle because Edward was on a military campaign to Wales.

Because household records kept track of expenses, we know of one of the couple's cute traditions. Edward obviously abstained from sexual relations with his wife during Lent. On Easter Sunday, he allowed the queen's ladies-in-waiting to trap him in his bed; he would have to pay them a ransom to get out and visit his wife's bedroom on Easter morning. (On the first Easter after Eleanor's death, Edward paid her ladies the money anyway.)

Another economic facet of Eleanor is how she benefitted from persecution of England's Jews, and we'll look at that tomorrow.

Coin Clipping=Capital Crime?

The greatest travesty relating to coin clipping took place during the reign of Edward I of England. Kings always spend beyond their means, and in the 1270s Edward attempted to crack down on coin-clipping to maintain control over state currency. Anyone likely to be guilty of coin clipping was targeted, but "some were more targeted than others."

Edward organized arrests starting in 1276, implementing fines and punishments for malefactors. In 1278, there were mass arrests of Jews; approximately 600 Jews were incarcerated, which was 20% of the total Jewish population in England. More than incarceration followed, however. In the 1270s, and up to 1290, slightly more Christians than Jews were arrested, but ten times more Jews than Christians were executed. In London alone, 298 Jews were executed for the crime of coin clipping.

Coin clipping was the excuse, but it is unlikely that it was the reality. Executing someone for a crime allowed the king to claim all their goods and property. Since Jews were England's chief moneylenders, Edward was able to confiscate their holdings. This was a two-edged sword: it sometimes meant those who owed money to the Jews had their debts canceled, and meant the royal coffers had in influx of cash, but it also meant less flow of money in the future, and a lack of sources to borrow money for projects.

Also, coin clipping continued to be a problem. The mass arrests and executions did nothing to deter it.

Kings always needed money, and taxing or persecuting Jews was a way to get a quick influx of cash. The plight of Jews in the Middle Ages has been covered quite a bit in this blog, and Edward I was a big part of that. Despite his part in all of this, however, there was another person involved who does not get enough attention.

After the trials and the confiscation of Jewish property, any additional property or goods that were subsequently found to be forfeit went to Edward's wife, Queen Eleanor of Castile. Leeds Castle, shown above, was bought by Eleanor at a steep discount as a result of the coin clipping trials. Many believe that Eleanor was a strong influence on Edward's mistreatment of the Jews, and I think we need to learn more about her tomorrow.

Debasing Coinage

Let me explain how you can turn a finite number of metal coins into more coins.

You may have seen medieval coins that weren't entirely round; they were lop-sided somehow or had a flat edge to them. That was not necessarily the action of years or wear and tear through handling. That was more likely because of coin-clipping.

Coin-clipping was a popular way to make more money for personal use. Medieval coins were solid metal all the way through, not cheaper metal covered with another layer to make them shiny, as much modern coinage is in the promissory system. The Medieval English penny was solid silver. A known practice was to "clip" the edges of the coin, reducing its size, and using the clipping from several coins to make an additional coin (or a silver lump that had value).

This, of course, debased the value of the original coin(s) because they were expected to have a specific weight of silver (or gold, in some cases). The illustration above is not medieval, but from a hoard of clippings from 16th century coins found in 2015.

One of the ways to guard against coin clipping was to put a design or milled edge on the coin to make it clear of the edge has been altered; United States quarters and dimes show this, nickels and pennies are made of such cheap metal that a milled edge isn't considered worthwhile.

Other methods of debasing coinage were "sweating" and "plugging." In sweating, coins were placed in a bag and shaken vigorously so that bits of metal might flake off and could be collected at the bottom of the bag to be re-used. Plugging was the act of punching a hole in the middle of the coin, knocking out a bit of metal, then hammering the coin to fill in the hole. With the edge of the coin intact, the flattened image in the center could be explained as normal wear and tear.

These practices were bad for the economy, devaluing the actual coin (which was based on weight of silver), and promoting inflation. They were considered extremely serious offenses. Suspicion of coin-clipping in the time of King Edward I (1272-1307) lead to hundreds of deaths in a single outrageous over-reaction.

But that's a story for tomorrow.

The Assize of Bread (and Ale)

Bread was so important to daily life, as food and even as tableware. Not every household had the time and resources to make its own bread, and had to turn to bakers for their loaves, of which there were several in any decent-sized town.

A problem for those who did not bake their own was the fluctuation of prices. This was not always the fault of the baker, however. Harvests were variable, and the price of grain rose and fell with the weather. There were cheaper breads, of course, but their prices fluctuated as well. Bakers might also indulge in what our modern era calls "shrinkflation," the reduction of the amount of goods for the same prior price, or "skimpflation," the use of less-desirable material (oats mixed in with the wheat, for example)  to make a sold good.

These changing prices affected everyone, including royal households who consumed far more than a typical family. King Henry II of England and his son John both established rules for the price of bread to make their own households run smoothly and inexpensively. It wasn't until John's son, Henry III, that a nationwide pricing structure was declared about 1266. It was initiated by bakers in Coventry who wanted standards established to save them from accusations of unfairness or price-gouging. This was the Assize of Bread and Ale.

The immediate object of the Assize was to fix the size of the loaf of bread. Whatever might be the fluctuations of the corn-market*, loaves were sold at a farthing**, or a half-penny or a penny; the size of these loaves would therefore vary according to the price of corn, becoming smaller as the price of corn rose and larger as it fell.[link]

About the Feast of St, Michael (29 September) the results of the year's grain harvest could be judged, and the prices/sizes could be determined for the next 12 months. 

This Assize was the longest-lasting law of its kind, and was not significantly amended until the Bread Acts of 1822!

As for ale, since it relied on grain:

when a quarter of wheat was sold for three shillings, or three shillings and four-pence, and a quarter of barley for twenty pence or twenty-four pence, and a quarter of oats for fifteen pence, brewers in cities could afford to sell two gallons of ale for a penny, and out of cities three gallons for a penny; and when in a town...three gallons are sold for a penny, out of a town they may and ought to sell four. [Long, George, ed. (1833) "Ale", The Penny Cyclopædia]

The Assize did not just establish prices. In order to enforce the Assize, regulatory structures were put in place with fees and penalties. Manorial lords were to hold tri-weekly sessions to enforce the statutes. Also, since the weight of bread was linked to its price in pence, half-pence, and quarter-pence, it was important that the pence itself was a reliable and expected value.

Why would it not be? Well, debasement of coinage was definitely a technique throughout history for getting more "bang from a buck" so to speak, and I'll discuss those dishonest ways next time.

*corn-market =remember that "corn" referred to any grain
**farthing = quarter of a penny

Trenchers

We've talked about bread before, way back here and more recently here, but now I want to discuss a very specific use for bread: the trencher.

The trencher existed for a very simple reason: plates were expensive. Serving food to individuals was more efficiently done if each person had a flat surface on which their food could be set in front of them. What do you use for a plate? Ceramic or pewter were expensive to make and own, but the ubiquity of using grains for bread led to a solution.

Once bread goes stale, it is firm and (if the menu does not include items with too much liquid) perfectly capable of supporting a meal. Trenchers were "scalable" as well, although they were generally made for an individual.

To make a trencher did not require refined flour. You wanted it to be coarse. Also, it was not necessarily edible. You weren't going to make it with your best wheat flour. You'd use barley, oats, rye, or a combination of them. Also, it didn't need to rise as much as a regular loaf: you want it to be dense. Then the real different part: you didn't want it to be fresh. You wanted it to be stale. What few recipes exist that explain the process make it clear that it was a flattened round loaf, allowed to sit for three days, then was sliced across the middle to make two halves, top and bottom. Each of these was a "trencher," from the Old French tranchier, "to cut."

This could now be placed in front of a dinner guest on which they would pile the meat and other foods (N.B.: no soup course here). In some medieval woodcuts and other pictures, you may now recognize them as the round items, often with crossed lines on top as decoration (which the guest would never see, since the top half would be used upside-down.

It was considered improper to eat the trencher at a feast. What, then, was its final fate? After all, despite the stale nature, it was now soaked with juices from meat and vegetables, so surely it wasn't rock-hard and would have some flavor? Yes, but not for refined company. The trenchers were given to the dogs or distributed to the poor, waiting outside the gates for this largesse.

So that is why the story of the death of Godwin, Earl of Wessex, makes sense (if we are willing to believe Aelred of Rievaulx).

Ah, bread! Staple of life. So important that its price had to be regulated, and that's what Henry III did for his people. I'll say more on that tomorrow.