St. Leoba

[source]

This blog has mentioned before that St. Boniface called for help from women as well as men when he attempted to christianize Germany. One of those women was a nun—later a saint, due to several miracles—named Leoba.

Actually, her very existence was a miracle. Her parents were old and barren, but her mother one night had a dream in which she was told she would bear "a beloved child of Christ.". The woman vowed that she would give her daughter over to the Church. Her biographer, Rudolf of Fulda, tells us:

Shortly after the woman had made this vow she conceived and bore a daughter, whom she called Thrutgeba, surnamed Leoba because she was beloved, for this is what Leoba means. And when the child had grown up her mother consecrated her and handed her over to Mother Tetta to be taught the sacred sciences. [Life of Leoba, Abbess of Bischofsheim, by Rudolf of Fulda]

Leoba's exemplary behavior made her a natural fit for Boniface's mission to Germany (also, her mother and Boniface were cousins). A dream of Leoba's, that she would have great influence and accomplish many things, prompted her to join the mission.

Boniface established Leoba as the abbess of a convent in Tauberbischofsheim. (Tauberbischofsheim is the capital of the Main-Tauber district; its first mention in history is in St. Leoba's biography.) He gave her jurisdiction over all the nuns of the mission, and when he later left for Frisia, he gave her his cowl to indicate that she was his steward while he was gone. (He never returned, being martyred in Frisia.)

Later, she was given an estate by Charlemagne near Mainz, where she retired with several nuns. After she died, on 28 September 782, miracles were attributed to her intercession. When her relics were translated 50 years later as a result of her canonization, and placed behind the altar of a church in Fulda, Rudolf was given the task of recording her life. Rudolf says he witnessed some of her miracles himself: a man from Spain had terrible twitching in his limbs that was cured after lying prostrate before Boniface's shrine. Her explained that he had a vision of a woman who presented him to Boniface for his blessing, after which he woke up and had no more twitching. (Why this is a miracle of the woman and not of Boniface, I cannot say.) In another case, however, a man who had been bound by iron rings had them come off while praying before Leoba's shrine.

Lutefisk!

Today is an important day in Sweden: Anna's Day, celebrating all people named Anna. It is also the traditional day to start preparation of lutefisk in Sweden and Finland, so that it is ready for the traditional meal on Christmas Eve.

It is made from cod, soaked in cold water, changed daily, for five or six days, then left in cold water with lye for two days. The fish swells and takes on a gelatinous consistency. This stage also raises its pH value to 11-12, making it very caustic and downright dangerous to eat. In order to make it edible, it must be soaked in cold water for another week, changing the water daily to flush out the lye.

Why do this? The origin of the process is uncertain (see below), but the lye would make the fish unappetizing to wild animals; perhaps it was done to allow large amounts of fish to be left hanging on drying racks out in the cold air. It certainly helps preserve the fish. Treating food to make it more alkaline is also used in the preservation/preparation of corn into hominy.

Lutefisk has a history that stretches back centuries. Scholarly research claims it is first mentioned in the late 18th century; a cookbook from 1845 describes the preparation of the lye used to make lutefisk by combining limestone and birch ash in water. Historians, however, have found a reference to lutefisk by a Swedish archbishop in 1555, and that a letter from King Gustav I (1496 - 1560) mentions it in 1540.

Folklorists suggest an even earlier reference: when Vikings raided Ireland, St. Patrick had his followers make them an offering of fish—spoiled fish. The Vikings seemed not to mind, so Patrick had his people pour lye on the fish, hoping to poison the Vikings. The Vikings, against all expectation, found the fish tasty and demanded the recipe.

But let honesty prevail: the major Viking raids in Ireland happened a few hundred years after Patrick.  Still, lutefisk was probably around prior to King Gustav. The "Vikings enjoy something we think is vile" was probably an old joke at the expense of Vikings. I suppose the tale could be partially true, but Patrick was not likely to be the instigator.

So go buy some whitefish (cod or ling), start soaking it in cold water, and get some birch ash ready!

The Jalāli Calendar

Syrian Astrolabe

Yesterday I mentioned that Omar Khayyam spent some of his time working on calendar reform. This was not the same calendar reform being done in the Christian world, however. The Persian calendar was—and still is—far more accurate than the Gregorian calendar.

Originally, the Persian calendar was lunar, following the 28-day cycle of the Moon. Since the year does not fit into an equal number of lunar cycles, however, the lunar calendar creates "seasonal drift" without a lot of alterations. This calendar was begun over 1000 years BCE. Khayyam was one of several scholars using astronomical observations to create a revised version. It was approved on 15 March 1079 by the Seljuk Sultan, Malik Shah I.

Khayyam and his team calculated the length of the year to be 365.24219858156 days; modern science puts it at 365.2422464 days. Some aspects of the new calendar:

• The year started within a day of March 21st, the vernal equinox
• Months were based on when the sun transited to a new sign of the zodiac, not 12:00AM
• Months could last from 29-32 days, and
• Months could change their length from year to year

That 4th point is because of the 2nd point. Months weren't given arbitrary numbers of days as in the West. The Jalāli calendar depended on strict astronomical data, not cultural numerical choices. Therefore, the 6th month of the year might have 30 days one year and 31 days the next, depending on when the sun passed across the line in the sky that separated the zodiacal signs. It also means that seasonal drift—the tendency of seasons to start and end on widely varying dates over time—never exceeded one day. Leap years were unnecessary.

Eventually, the varying length of the months was considered a liability. The calendar—still used in Iran and Afghanistan—was changed in 1925 in order to have a more regular look and to save the hassle of applying the results of constant astronomical observation.

Omar Khayyam, Mathematician

First page of "Cubic equation and
intersection of conic sections"

A book of verses underneath the bough

A flask of wine, a loaf of bread and thou

Beside me singing in the wilderness

And wilderness is paradise now.

The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, translated by Edward Fitzgerald in 1859, made Khayyam the most famous Persian poet in the 19th century. Few people realize that Khayyam did not need Fitzgerald to be famous. Centuries earlier, he was one of the most influential thinkers produced by the Middle East.

Born in Nishapur on the 18th of May in 1048, he spent part of his youth in Balkh, which would produce Rumi 80 years after Khayyam's death. He studied under the well-known scholars Mansuri and Nishapuri. He put his education to work: as an adult, he was either teaching algebra and geometry, studying the stars, working on calendar reform, acting as a court advisor, or learning medicine. He taught the works of Avicenna.

The Tomb

He was best known in his lifetime and afterward for his mathematical writing, especially on algebra. Many of the principles of algebra that made their way to Europe came from Khayyam's Treatise on Demonstration of Problems on Algebra (1070).

One of his claims was that the solution of cubic equations cannot be solved by a ruler and compass. He said it required the use of conic sections, and announced his intention to write a paper that lays out the "fourteen forms with all their branches and cases." He never got around to it, and 750 years would have to pass before someone produced the proof of Khayyam's claim.

Omar Khayyam died on 4 December 1131 at the age of 83, and was buried in what is now the Khayyam Garden in Nishapur. A  mausoleum was built in 1963 to house his remains.

Nithard, the "Bastard" Historian

Nithard, as Abbot of St. Riquier

Charlemagne, looking around for suitable political marriages, chose a likely source of a bride for his son, Charles. He suggested to King Offa of Mercia (c.730 - 26 July 796) that one of Offa's daughters marry into the Frankish royal family. This would have made a very nice connection, and might ultimately bring part of England under Frankish rule in the future. Offa suggested an additional proposal: marrying his son, Ecgfrith, to Charlemagne's daughter Bertha.

Charlemagne was so insulted by the idea that he broke off ties to England and refused to allow English ships to land at Frankish ports. Charlemagne was very wary of the idea of allowing his daughters to marry, lest they produce potential heirs to the throne that created future problems. He had no plans to marry any of them off.

The daughters, however, were not isolated, and two of them seem to have found "arrangements" that suited them. Rotrud bore a son, Louis, to Rorigon the Count of Maine. Bertha had a relationship with Angilbert (later an abbot, and even later a saint!) that produced two sons, one of whom was Nithard.

We don't know much about Nithard's upbringing. He was well-educated, as all Carolingian children with connections to the Court would be, but whether it was at the palace school or under his father at the Abbey of St. Riquier isn't known. He was made abbot of St. Riquier like his father, and aided his cousin Charles the Bald in the conflicts that occupied the descendants of Charlemagne.

We remember Nithard now for his historical works. He wrote four books on the history of the Carolingian empire after Louis the Pious. His Historiae or De dissensionibus filiorum Ludovici pii ["History" or "On the Dissension of the Sons of Louis the Pious"] provides an excellent firsthand account of the conflicts—not always accurate or unbiased, but detailed in ways only an eyewitness to the events could produce.

So far as we can tell, he died of wounds received during a battle in June 844. When Angilbert was exhumed in the 11th century, and his body found to be uncorrupted (lending aid to the idea of his canonization), Nithard's body was found with him.

Abbot Angilbert

Abbot Angilbert (c.760 - 18 February 814)was mentioned as Charlemagne's envoy to Pope Leo III here, but there is much more to his story.

St. Riquier

Born into a noble family, he was raised at Aachen and was first a pupil and then a friend of Alcuin. His learning and ability to write verse earned him the nickname "Homer." He was apparently extremely close to the royal family: Charlemagne had his children educated along with others. This intimacy would surface later in a surprising way.

He assisted the court in secular administration, but by 790 had been named Abbot of St. Riquier in northern France as well as the governor of Ponthieu. Angilbert spent a great deal of money improving the abbey. He was also a frequent ambassador to the papacy. The first time was to Pope Adrian I, when he delivered Charlemagne's views on the iconoclasm controversy. Later he delivered gifts and assurances of support to Pope Leo III.

Despite his religious status, and there being no record of an official wedding, he had a relationship with the daughter of Charlemagne, Bertha, with whom he had two children. There may have been no wedding, and Bertha and Angilbert escaped the charge of adultery by virtue of their relationship to Charlemagne. A biographer in the 12th century claimed that, prior to his death, Angilbert did great penance for the impropriety of his "marriage." This allowed him to be made a saint, despite the questionable actions of his life.

A fragment of an epic poem about court life, which also details the meeting between Charlemagne and Pope Leo III when the pope fled to Paderborn to escape his enemies in Rome, is sometimes ascribed to Angilbert. Angilbert would have been in a position to witness all that the poem discusses, and he apparently possessed the literary gifts that would have enabled him to produce the poem. Authorship cannot be proven, however.

He died a few weeks after Charlemagne. Louis the Pious, Charlemagne's son and successor, mindful of the potential for family members to challenge his rule, exiled his sisters to various convents. One of Bertha and Angilbert's sons, however, remained active as a Cariolingian historian.

The Deal with Charlemagne

Charlemagne is no stranger in this blog, and most people learned in school of his Christmas Day coronation. The truth is, as I mentioned in that post, that Pope Leo who did the crowning on 25 December really owed Charlemagne for quite a lot—including probably the fact that he was still on the Throne of Peter, and alive.

He became Pope Leo III very quickly after his predecessor's death; in fact, he was elected the same day Pope Adrian I (c.700 - 25 December 795) was buried. Presumably, the haste was because the Romans wanted to get their man in the position before the word got out to the Franks who might have had their own choice in mind.

Leo tried to get ahead of any opposition by immediately writing to Charlemagne, including tokens of respect and requesting diplomatic representatives, and placing Charlemagne in the position of the Pope's defender. Charlemagne considered himself a great friend to the Church as well as a great proponent of education, and responded favorably to what amounted to flattery. Charlemagne sent gifts to Leo, delivered by one of his favorite Carolingian ambassadors, Abbot Angilbert, along with a contingent of soldiers.

These soldiers were very important a little later. Leo had enemies among the Romans, who spread terrible rumors about his life of sin (he was accused of adultery and perjury). In April of 799 he was attacked and beaten severely. He escaped to St. Peter's, and was thereafter escorted by Charlemagne's men to preserve his safety, going to Paderborn in northern Germany to be received by Charlemagne.

Charlemagne's men escorted the pope back to Rome, and Charlemagne himself went there in November of 800, arbitrating a council with Leo and his adversaries on 1 December 800. Leo took an oath of purgation (the Middle Ages held great stock in the accused or his friends proclaiming his trustworthiness); Charlemagne found in Leo's favor, and his adversaries were exiled.

A few weeks later, Charlemagne, while attending mass on Christmas Day, had the crown of the Holy Roman Emperors placed on his head by Pope Leo. Supposedly, this was a surprise to Charlemagne, but does anyone think this had not been discussed while Leo and the king met in Paderborn?

Cooking the Bird

There are several collections of medieval recipes in existence, both in printed form and online; this blog has referenced them before. A new one may be making its way into the world soon. And by "new" I mean one that is very old.

Earlier this year, a researcher at Cambridge* discovered, while looking at a 12th century manuscript on medicines from Durham Cathedral, what she realized was a series of recipes that were culinary, not medicinal. The manuscript was produced about 1140, making these recipes the earliest known in Medieval England, predating any others previously discovered by about 150 years.

One of the recipes might be worth trying for Thanksgiving:

For “hen in winter’: heat garlic, pepper and sage with water.

This terseness is typical of medieval recipes. My linking of it with Thanksgiving is explained by the following:

The recipes are for sauces to accompany mutton, chicken, duck, pork and beef. There’s even a seasonal version of the chicken recipe, charmingly called “hen in winter”. We believe this recipe is simply a seasonal variation, using ingredients available in the colder months and specifying “hen” rather than “chicken”, meaning it was an older bird as it would be by that time of year. The sauces typically feature parsley, sage, pepper, garlic, mustard and coriander which I suspect may give them a middle eastern, Lebanese feel when we recreate them. According to the text, one of the recipes comes from the Poitou region of what is now modern central western France. This proves international travellers to Durham brought recipes with them. [source]

The Blackfriars Restaurant in Newcastle attempted to recreate the sauces and dishes in April 2013. Ultimately, an analysis of the manuscript and the refined recipes themselves will be published, giving us more insight into the medieval diet, cultural practices, and perhaps even international communication and trade.

*Professor Faith Wallis of McGill University, for the record.

A Medieval Thanksgiving

In a document of 1051, the former Queen of Poland, Richeza, grants to her nephew, the palatine count Henry I, the possession of Cochem Castle. This is the first reference to Cochem Castle, which is believed to have been built about the year 1000.

Rising over 300 feet above the Moselle River, it was built with 12-foot thick walls enclosing an original 17x17-foot square keep in the Romanesque style. There is evidence of rebuilding/expansion around 1056, presumably by count Henry. King Konrad III (1093-1152) took control of the castle from the palatinate counts (who asserted extensive control locally), turning it into a castle under the rule of the king. The castle continued to change hands, however, finally ending up occupied by Louis XIV, the Sun King, in 1688. French troops destroyed the town and the castle with explosives in 1689. It lay in ruins until 1868, when it was purchased by a businessman who began rebuilding it in the neo-Gothic style as a summer residence.

Now, however, it is owned by the town of Cochem and managed as a tourist attraction by Reichsburg Cochem Ltd. Besides tours, one of the chief attractions is the restaurant, open daily until 6:00pm. They also offer a Medieval Feast, a four-hour event in which you eat with your hands and are entertained by jesters. These dinners are offered on Friday and Saturday evenings.

Which means that the feast hall is available on Thursday nights, especially in late November, when Americans celebrate Thanksgiving. If you are American military personnel stationed in Germany, you can take part in a USO-organized Medieval Thanksgiving Dinner at Cochem Castle. For $99/person, you get transportation to the castle with a USO guide, a tour of the castle, the aforementioned Medieval Feast, plenty of food, two drinks, entertainment, and a knighting ceremony at the climax of the evening.

By the time you read this, it will be too late to join (maybe), but you can always start planning for the future.

Christian Buddha

The Middle Ages loved stories about saints finding God. Here is one of them, that was repeated through the centuries:

Many inhabitants of India had been converted by the Apostle St. Thomas and were leading Christian lives. In the third or fourth century King Abenner (Avenier) persecuted the Church. The astrologers had foretold that his son Josaphat would one day become a Christian. To prevent this the prince was kept in close confinement. But, in spite of all precautions, Barlaam, a hermit of Senaar, met him and brought him to the true Faith. Abenner tried his best to pervert Josaphat, but, not succeeding, he shared the government with him. Later Abenner himself became a Christian, and, abdicating the throne, became a hermit. Josaphat governed alone for a time, then resigned, went into the desert, found his former teacher Barlaam, and with him spent his remaining years in holiness. Years after their death, the bodies were brought to India and their grave became renowned by miracles. [source]

Typical hagiographical story of the creation of Saints Barlaam and Josaphat. Never officially canonized, they were nonetheless embraced by the Roman list of martyrs (with a feast day of 27 November) and the Eastern Orthodox church with a feast day of 26 August (Greeks) or 19 November (Russians).

The story of Josaphat turning from the life of a prince to the life of an ascetic mirrors that of Buddha. On the other hand, it mirrors the stories of several Christian saints, so the identification with Buddha seems a little presumptuous. On the other hand, Josaphat is a curious name: it sounds like Joseph, which seems biblical; it took centuries before a scholar realized it really derived from Arabic Yūdasaf, which is derived from the Sanskrit Bodhisattva, "Enlightened One." A monk named Euthymios of Athos translated it into Greek in the early 11th century, his work was translated into Latin in 1048, and the story spread from there with the names transformed to Barlaam and Josaphat.

Also, there are details of the story—like Barlaam showing Josaphat a vision of the pit of Hell that awaited him if he did not become a Christian—that are lifted directly from the story of Buddha.

The King That Almost Was

I mentioned here that, after the Battle of Hastings, another claimant to the throne of England had to flee to Scotland in the face of William of Normandy's success. There, Edward's sister Margaret married King Malcolm Canmore of Scotland, and Edward gave up the dream of his line ruling England.

There was, however, a chance for the throne to pass back to his family, after all.

William of Normandy divided his rule by giving Normandy to his eldest son, Robert Curthose, and England to a younger son, William Rufus. When William Rufus was killed in a hunting accident in 1100, the youngest son, Henry, became Henry I of England. In 1105, prompted by his older brother Robert's poor performance, Henry invaded Normandy, succeeding in claiming Normandy for his own within a year.

Henry was not just a good soldier; he was a decent politician. He chose to placate his Anglo-Saxon subjects by marrying a "local" girl, Matilda of Scotland. (There was a small snag, in that she was believed to be a nun, but that was settled eventually.) Matilda was the daughter of Malcolm Canmore and St. Margaret of Scotland, and therefore the granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, a previous Anglo-Saxon king. Marrying her and having heirs would put a combined Norman-Saxon king on the throne. That king was William Adelin ("Adelin" was a form of Ætheling, the Anglo-Saxon word for "prince" or "noble"). He was born in 1103, and while in his teens was called rex designatus [King designate].

Then came the night of 25 November, when William Adelin and his brothers made some bad decisions while in command of the White Ship on their way back to England from Normandy. Henry lost all his sons in the disaster. Henry's attempt to place his daughter on the throne led to a period called The Anarchy, after which the throne was taken by the very un-Saxon (and reportedly unpleasant) Stephen of Blois.

The Second Pope

Clement being thrown into the sea,
by Bernardino Fungal of Siena (1460-1516)

If Clement truly was the second pope, following Peter (there are conflicting lists from the Classical Era), then he is too early for a Medieval blog, but he is connected to the previous post.

Clement was pope about 92-99 CE, during which time he penned one of the earliest known Christian documents outside of the New Testament, a letter to the Corinthians called the First Epistle of Clement, in which he advises them, among other things, that the recent removal from office of some presbyters was inappropriate, since they had not committed any moral offenses. He also suggests they consider the letter of Paul to the Corinthians. Paul mentions a companion named Clement in his letter to the Philippians (4:3); this may be the same Clement.

Clement was banished by Emperor Trajan to the Crimea. He continued to minister, organizing prayer and services among the inhabitants, establishing dozens of churches, and generally bringing Christianity to the country. A miracle is attributed to him at this time: slaking the thirst of 2000 men. Hearing this, Trajan had him thrown into the sea with an iron anchor tied to him.

One would expect that to be the final word on Clement and his martyrdom, but once each year the tide recedes so far that a chapel is revealed with the martyr's bones inside. This story, however, is not heard of until a few hundred years after Clement's death. (The story is known to Gregory of Tours.)

For this, he was named patron saint of sailors. Vikings embraced the story of someone who watched over sailors, which led to establishing churches and parishes of St. Clement as part of Viking settlements in England.

Viking Urban Renewal

When we think of the Viking invasions of England, we usually think of the destruction of villages and people's lives. This is understandable, since the Vikings were coming for land and plunder, not to make friends. Ironically, however, the Vikings were responsible for a significant expansion of urban centers in England at the end of the 9th century and beginning of the 10th.

Archaeological excavations of prominent towns in England show that many of them experienced a  surge in growth during the above-mentioned half-century span. York, Cambridge, Stamford, Lincoln and Norwich are just a few of the cities that show the features that characterize this expansion:

They came to form separate urban nuclei of a distinctive but hitherto unrecognized topographical type, which show common characteristics: they usually developed as linear settlements on low-lying ground along existing routeways leading to earlier centres, many of them at bridging points of major rivers. All of them occupied areas with easy access to river and estuarine navigation. [Jeremy Haslam, Early Medieval Towns in Britain, 2010, Shire Publications]

The assumed catalyst for this change from the British settlements to the more robust Viking towns is the opportunities for trade opened up by the new Viking inhabitants. The Vikings had more advanced ships, capable of longer trips, and they traded not only with Europe and the Scandinavian markets, but also with Asian markets.

There is an additional curious feature shared by many of these settlements. Many of them include churches dedicated to St. Clement. This is no coincidence, but that's a story for another day.

Deer Park

Deer park at Kentchurch Court, UK

A royal prerogative in many eras and cultures was to be able to hunt where and when the ruler wished. From at least Anglo-Saxon times forward, England had deer parks for the convenience of the ruling class.

Deer parks were often constructed with a bank topped with a pale, or fence. Inside the bank was a ditch, unenticing to deer. Rather than "corral" the deer, large parks were built in already forested areas where deer were likely to be, and deer leaps were constructed. A deer leap was a gentle ramp that led from outside the park over the bank and down a narrower ramp to the park. The ditch in that area would be much deeper, and the likelihood of deer wandering out again was slim.

The area inside was landscaped to make it suitable for deer and yet still attractive to garden-loving people. Trees were trimmed to make the deer more visible, and yet still give them a place to flee so that the hunt was not boring. Parks could be many miles in circumference—Woodstock, north of Oxford, was seven miles around—or small enough to be visible all at once.

Not all parks were for the use of the king. Other nobles with sufficient land could establish them, but only after being granted a royal license "to empark." This might be done less for sport than for ensuring a steady supply of venison. Because of the number of parks, deer could usually be hunted only by the nobility. Venison, therefore, became essentially a dish for the table of nobility, not a meat one could find at market.

Deer parks took effort to maintain, however, and this probably led to their demise. Henry III's bailiff, for instance, in 1251 had "to remove the bodies of dead beasts and swine which are rotting in the park"—a time-consuming task, given the area to be covered in the several deer parks owned by the king. There was also the trimming of trees to be done, and maintaining the pale. The fact that the deer were hemmed in sometimes led to starvation, especially in winter when they could not range for food. Few deer parks exist today, unless they have been revived by an interest in history.

...or ecology: at least one scholar sees value in studying deer parks now, saying

Where deer parks survive, and even this is rare, they do so as a unique landscape separated in time and function from their origins. They reflect the landscapes of the time and place they were emparked and the changes in economic function and ecology over a long lifespan. ["The Ecology and Economics of Medieval Deer Parks," Ian D. Rotherham, Landscape Archaeology and Ecology, 2007]

The Walking Dead

Orderic Vitalis (1075-c.1142) has been mentioned here and here for his history writing. The 13 books of his Historia eccliastica ["Ecclesiastical history"] told many tales of his time that had nothing to do with the Church. One of his anecdotes is truly outré.

While discussing some of the travails of William Rufus, he interjects a tale of a priest of Lisieux that took place on 1 January 1091. The priest, heading home at night from visiting a sick man, heard a loud noise coming along the moonlit road, as of an army. He decided to flee toward some trees in a field to hide himself, but as he ran toward them*

he was stopped by a man of enormous stature, armed with a massive club, who, raising his weapon above his head, shouted to him, "Stand! Take not a step further!" The priest, frozen with terror, stood motionless, leaning on his staff.

The giant stands by his side and awaits the arrival of the crowd making the noise.

a great crowd of people came by on foot, carrying on their heads and shoulders, sheep, clothes, furniture, and moveables of all descriptions, such as robbers are in the habit of pillaging. All were making great lamentations and urging one another to hasten their steps. Among them the priest recognized a number of his neighbours who had lately died, and heard them bewailing the excruciating sufferings with which they were tormented for their evil deeds. They were followed by a troop of corpse-bearers, who were joined by the giant already mentioned.

But there was more after this:

Then followed a crowd of women who seemed to the priest to be innumerable. They were mounted on horseback, riding in female fashion, with women's saddles which were stuck with red-hot nails. The wind often lifted them a cubit from their saddles, and then let them drop again on the sharp points. Their haunches thus punctured with the burning nails, and suffering horrible torments from the wounds and the scorching heat, the women pitiably ejaculated, woe! woe! and made open confession of the sins for which they were punished, undergoing in this manner fire and stench and unutterable tortures for the obscene allurements and filthy delights to which they had abandoned themselves when living among men.

He then sees a knight on horseback, who stops to speak to him, revealing himself as the priest's brother, and says:

"You deserve to die, and to be dragged with us to partake of the torments we suffer, because you have rashly laid hands on things which belong to our reprobate crew; no other living man ever dared to make such an attempt. But the mass you sang to-day has saved you from perishing. It is also permitted me thus to appear to you, and unfold to you my wretched condition. After I had conferred with you in Normandy, I took leave of you and crossed over to England, where, by the Creator's order, my life ended, and I have undergone intense suffering for the grievous sins with which I was burdened."

There is more (I have placed the whole story here). After this experience, the priest falls ill, but recovers to live another 15 years.

Orderic claims that he was told this tale directly by the priest who experienced it.


*Excerpts all from The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, trans. Thomas Forester, 1956.