Starkad (the Giant?) Part 1

The story of Starkad was retold in many Scandinavian sources, but the most complete re-telling was in the Gesta Danorum. Starkad the son of Stórvirkr saved himself from a shipwreck and entered into service of the Danish king Frotho, who gave him a ship to patrol the danish shoreline.

In order to be complete in his telling, however, Saxo Grammaticus relates two origin stories for Starkad. In one, Starkad is an Estonian from east of the Baltic Sea. Grammaticus could not bring himself to leave out the earlier version of Starkad's origin: that he was a jotun ("giant") with eight arms. (Alternately, Starkad was a human warrior who was the son or grandson of a jotun also named "Starkad" or maybe "Ali-Starkad." That's the way it goes when legend and history collide.)

In either case, Starkad possessed greater-than-usual size and strength, and no one could defeat him. While on a viking expedition with the petty king Vikar, the ship's progress was halted by a strong wind. The crew thought a blood sacrifice to the gods was the answer, and Vikar was chosen. Starkad made a noose to put around Vikar's neck, saying it was just for show, but Starkad either was lying or the noose magically became stronger and started strangling Vikar. Starkad finishes him with a sword.

In another version of this story, the lot falls to Vikar and the crew puts off the decision to the following day. Then Starkad's foster-father, Grani Horsehair, reveals himself to be Odin in disguise. In exchange for the sacrifice, Odin will bless Starkad with three lifetimes, the best weapons, riches, victory in battle, a noble reputation, and the gift of poetry. Thor, however, because he is a foe to giants, objects to these blessings because of Starkad's jotun heritage. He curses Starkad to counter the blessings: Starkad will commit a crime in each lifetime, he will never have children, he will never possess land, he will always be wounded in battle, he will never be able to remember his poems, he will be hated by the common people.

With the blessings and curses done, Odin gives Starkad a spear which appears to be simply a reed stalk; Starkad uses this to sacrifice Vikar to Odin—his first evil deed.

Tomorrow I'll relate the rest of his life, including how he tired of it and had himself killed, but even in death he showed his ferocity.

Amleth, Prince of Denmark

William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616) drew inspiration from history, and not just for his Henry plays. His best-known play was no different. Hamlet, Prince of Denmark has been endlessly retold and adapted for 400 years. Shakespeare himself probably got the story from a 1514 Paris printing of Saxo Grammaticus' Gesta Danorum. (The illustration here is from a 17th-century Danish printing.) The Amleth story is told in Books three and four of the Gesta.

In the Danish original, Amleth (Amlóði in Old Norse) is the grandson of a Danish king. Amlóði is a term for a fool or simpleton, reflecting the character's pretense of helplessness to fool his victim. Amleth's father, Horvendil, married Gerutha (Gertrude), daughter of the king of Denmark, after slaying the king of Norway, but Horvendil's brother Feng (Claudius) kills him out of jealousy. Feng convinces Gerutha that her husband hated her and that he, Feng, had saved her from this marriage and that she should marry him. This is in Jutland.

Amleth, afraid of sharing his father's fate, acts like an imbecile, but Feng is not satisfied with this. Feng tries to occupy him with a young girl who is being fostered at court (this character becomes Ophelia in Shakespeare's play). Amleth, while speaking in his mother's chambers, slays an eavesdropper (Polonius), and disposes of the body. Feng now knows he cannot trust Amleth, and sends him to Britain with a letter asking the king of Britain to put the bearer to death.

Amleth learns of the letter's content and alters it to instead execute the attendants with him (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern) and give the king's daughter to Amleth in marriage. Amleth marries the princess and returns to Denmark a year after he left. He shows up in time to see a funeral—his own, since Feng assumed his death had taken place as intended. After encouraging everyone at the feast to drink a lot of wine, he weighs them down with the heavy tapestries from the hall and sets it all on fire, including his mother. He kills Feng with Feng's own sword.

He makes a long speech to his people, who proclaim him king. He then goes to Britain to bring his wife home, but learns that Feng and the king of Britain had a pact to each avenge the other's death. The king is reluctant to kill Amleth, and so sends him on a dangerous task: proxy to woo a Scottish queen who has executed all those who tried to woo her. This queen falls in love with Amleth and returns with him to Britain, where his first wife warns him of her father's intent to kill him. Amleth wins the battle that follows.

He returns to Jutland with his two wives, but Wiglek, the successor of his maternal grandfather, seeks revenge for the death of Gerutha. Wiglek kills Amleth.

From the photo-story of a character with whom we are all familiar, we turn next in the Gesta to a famous hero who is completely unknown outside of Scandinavia, Starkad. See you tomorrow. 

Early Denmark

The Gesta Danorum ("Deeds of the Danish People") was written in the 12th-century by Saxo Grammaticus ("Saxo the Grammarian"). Its 16 books are indispensable for their look at the history of Denmark, and particularly because they contain a look at early Estonia and Latvia.

Because it begins with pre-history, the first half deals with mythological and legendary characters. It introduces the brothers Dan and Angul, the founders of the Danes and Angles, respectively. Book One relates the loss of Denmark to Sweden (starting a long hostility between the two countries) and the attempt to get it back with the help of Odin. Hading, one of the first Danish kings, is orphaned when his father, King Gram, is killed by King Svipdag of Norway. Hading is taken to Sweden and raised by a giant whose daughter tries to seduce Hading into staying with her instead of training as a warrior.

Hading eventually returns to Denmark with the giantess, Harthgrepa, who raises a man from the dead to get some information but then is killed by supernatural beings. Odin then gives Hading advice and predicts his future.

Hading achieves success fighting in the Baltic, then returns to Denmark to kill his father's killer and assume the throne. He spends his reign fighting the Norwegians and Swedes until his death by suicide. He is succeeded by Frotho I, who has to replenish the royal treasury (depleted due to the Hading's wars) by slaying a dragon for its hoard. Like Hading, he campaigns first in the Baltic and later in Britain where he captures London. He dies fighting against the king of Sweden.

Book Three introduces Hamlet, Prince of Denmark ... sort of. I'll explain next time.

Yrsa

Yrsa was the mother of the 6th century King Hrolf Kraki. Her name is uncommon, not appearing in any other Norse sources, and there is a common assumption that it relates to Latin ursus, "bear." This would align with the Scandinavian tendency to use bear symbolism for extraordinary people, like Beowulf and Bothvar Bjarki (who appears in Hrolf Kraki's Saga, of which Yrsa is a main character).

Her story is quite tragic. She is the illegitimate child of Halga (a brother of Hrothgar from the poem Beowulf) and the Saxon Queen Oluf. Halga wooed Oluf, but she wanted nothing to do with him; while he was asleep, she shaved his head and tarred him. Later, he returns and kidnaps her, getting her pregnant in the process. Oluf returns to her home and bears a daughter whom she names Yrsa, who is sent away to be raised with shepherds.

At the age of 12, Halga comes upon the young shepherdess and decides to wed her. (Yes, the age discrepancy is alarming, but Halga had a reputation for pursuing women.) Oluf, learning this, keeps quiet about Ursa's lineage, thinking it a sweet revenge that Halga should wed his own daughter. The pair wed, and have a son, Hrolf, who will some day inherit the kingdom of Denmark.

Hearing that the marriage is a happy one, Queen Oluf decides to ruin them by traveling to Denmark to reveal Yrsa's parentage. Halga accepted this, but Yrsa was ashamed, and left him. She winds up in Sweden where she marries King Aðils (Eadgils in Anglo-Saxon literature). Learning this, Halga goes to Sweden to take her back, but he is killed by Eadgils and robbed. Upset by this, Yrsa curses Eadgils that all his berserker warriors will die. Later, when the warrior Svipdag arrives to "test his skills," she supports him and he slays all the berserkers. Svipdag leaves Sweden for Denmark and enters service under King Hrolf, who has succeeded Halga.

Yrsa saw her son again when he went to Sweden to collect the gold that Eadgils had taken from Halga. Eadgils and Hrolf had recently worked together against their mutual enemy, King Áli, Eadgils' uncle who usurped his throne. Eadgils was reluctant to return the gold, and kept putting off the event. Yrsa gives Hrolf much more gold than he was owed, including Eadgils' favorite gold ring, Sviagris, and gives him and his retainers armor, provisions, and the dozen best horses.

Hrolf and his men leave, Eadgils pursues; Hrolf casts Sviagris on the ground; Eadgils sees it and stoops to pick it up by spearing it with the tip of his spear; while leaning down, Hrolf cuts his back with his sword.

When Hrolf was later killed by his brother-in-law, his sister Skuld ruled Denmark. Yrsa gets revenge for the death of her son by sending a Swedish army that captures Skuld, whom she tortures to death. Hrolf's daughters rule Denmark.

Yrsa's story appears in more than the Hrolf Kraki Saga: Saxo Grammaticus in his Gesta Danorum ("Deeds of the Danish People") says she fled with Hrolf, and suggested the stratagem of casting some of the gold behind to delay the Swedes. Thinking ahead, she had packed gilt-covered copper coins for this purpose.

The Gesta Danorum is another collection of stories like Hrolf Kraki's Saga that offers a lot of information about early Scandinavian beliefs and culture. We'll check that out next.

Hrolf Kraki's Saga

There is a major source of Scandinavian legend called Hrolf Kraki's Saga. King Hrolf, supposedly a nephew of Hrothgar—the king mentioned in the poem Beowulf whose hall is menaced by Grendel—would have ruled in the 6th century.

Hrolf is mentioned in Beowulf as Hrothulf. It is not said which of Hrothgar's brothers is his father, but later tradition makes it Halga (instead of Heorogar), because the Saga does talk about his relationship with Halga. The "kraki" that gets tacked onto his name means "tall, angular, slender" and no doubt referred to his physical appearance.

The Saga was composed in Iceland about 1400, and brings together many separate incidents in history and legend, tied together by their connections to Hrolf Kraki and the members of his family, including his father, aunt, and uncle. Its five sections each focus on a different set of people. The first section of four chapters presents a long and illustrious lineage for Hrolf and the struggle for control of the Danish kingdom.

Chapters five through 13 deal with Hrolf's problematic father, a man of uncontrollable ... appetites. He cannot resist women, and apparently doesn't want to: he ignores any advice about caution. This leads him ultimately to a liaison with Yrsa, by whom he sires Hrolf. This is followed by a few chapters about some men who will later become champions in King Hrolf's service.

What follows next is the tale of the bearlike Bothvar Bjarki, in many ways a completely separate story that was grafted onto the Saga by its link to Bothvar working for Hrolf. It is an elaborate tale of magic and adventure far more complex than the summary I gave in the previous post. I've previously discussed some of the shared elements between his story and Beowulf's.

The final ten chapters are more directly about Hrolf himself. Prior to this the Saga has introduced all the significant characters surrounding him, not just warriors but also several notable women. Women make up a large part of these sections: men seek their advice, there is an elfin woman and her daughter who change the destiny of anyone who encounters them, details of marriages (both good and bad) are revealed.

In fact, although Hrolf is of course the focal point for the Saga, women are frequently the connective tissue between different episodes. One in particular is his mother, Yrsa, whose tale is fascinating and deserves to be known. See you next time. 

Bothvar Bjarki

The Northern European fascination with bears led to heroes like the subject of the Anglo-Saxon poem Beowulf. There are enough legends involving bears and humans that they have collectively been referred to by folklorists as the "Bear's Son Tale"; that is, a human raised by a bear who becomes a strong warrior.

A related tale is that of Bothvar Bjarki. He was the son of a king of Norway named Bjorn ("bear"), whose wife was named Bera ("she-bear"). Bjorn was cursed to become a bear during daytime.

Bjorn and Bera had three sons: Moose-Frothi or Elk-Frothi, who is a moose/elk from the navel down; Thorir/Dog-foot, who has dog's feet; Bothvar Bjarki (bjarki="little bear"), who looks human. The boys grow up and go their separate ways.

One day, Bothvar comes upon Moose-Frothi's hut and waits for him. When his brother arrives, he does not recognize the hooded stranger and wrestles him to the ground, whereupon the hood falls away and Moose recognizes Bothvar. Telling Bothvar he is not strong enough, Moose cuts his own leg and has Bothvar drink some of his blood, which makes him much stronger.

The next day, while Bothvar is getting ready to leave, Moose stomps on a rock with his hoof, creating a depression. He tells Bothvar that he will know how Bothvar dies by observing the rock: if it fills with water, Bothvar has drowned; if with mud, Bothvar has died of illness; if it fills with blood, Bothvar will have died from violence.

Bothvar then sails to Denmark, heading for the hall of King Hrolf Kraki. Along the way he lodges at a small farm, where the wife tells him that their son, Hott, is being bullied by the king's men. He is kept in a corner where the men throw bones at him during meals. Bothvar reaches the hall when the men are out; he sees a pile of bones in the corner and a scrawny dirty boy there. He pulls him out and seats him next to Bothvar.

When the men return for the evening feasting, they continue to throw bones at Hott; when one throws a whole leg of an ox, Bothvar catches it and throws it back at the man, killing him. Complaints to King Hrolf fall on deaf ears, as Hrolf declares that the death was justified and wishes to take Bothvar into his service.

As Yule approaches, King Hrolf's men begin to show fear; it turns out that a monster comes to the hall each Yule and kills cattle and men. Bothvar waits outside on Yule, and kills the monster when it arrives, having Hott drink some of its blood, which makes Hott stronger.

Versions of this story appear in Hrolf Kraki's Saga and in the Gesta Danorum ("Deeds of the Danes") of Saxo Grammaticus. It is also mentioned in a. reference to the Skjöldunga saga, a lost work about the Scyldings (the Danish dynasty mentioned in the opening lines of Beowulf). In some versions Bothvar fights as a spirit bear.

Hrolf Kraki was a semi-legendary Danish king of the early 6th century. He is one of those figures who made such an impression that—like Arthur of Britain—stories sprung up around him, like that of Bothvar Bjarki. He also has a direct link to Beowulf, since he was the nephew of Hrothgar, whose hall is menaced by Grendel.

We are going to stay in Northern Europe and look at Hrolf Kraki next.

The Bee Wolf

The previous post ended with a riddle about a hero's name that you all know. This blog has mentioned the poem Beowulf before in the context of its place in the development of the English language, or its discovery in the Cotton Library, but has not addressed its actual contents. Therefore, like Tolkien did, I will finally discuss the poem itself as a story.

Beowulf the warrior, a Geat from southern Sweden, travels to Denmark to the hall of King Hrothgar. Hrothgar has been menaced by a monster, Grendel, who comes at night and kills and eats Hrothgar's men. Beowulf lies in wait in the hall, and fights Grendel that night, ripping off Grendel's arm. Grendel flees back to the marshes.

That night, after feasting, Grendel's mother visits the hall and kills one of Hrothgar's men while they all lay asleep. The next day, Beowulf and Hrothgar and their men track the monster to a lake. One of Hrothgar's retainers who had been rude to Beowulf upon his arrival offers his sword to Beowulf. Beowulf tells Hrothgar that, if he does not return from under the lake, Hrothgar must accept Beowulf's followers as his retainers. He dives in, finding a cave at the bottom where he encounters Grendel's mother.

The sword he was given has no effect on her hide, but her attempts to stab him are likewise turned aside by his armor. Spotting a giant blade hanging on the wall, he grabs it and cuts off her head. He finds Grendel's body, cuts off Grendel's head with the giant sword, whose blade then melts away from Grendel's corrosive blood. He returns to the surface where his men are waiting, and presents Grendel's head and the hilt of the sword to Hrothgar. Hrothgar gives Beowulf gifts and a makes speech about avoiding pride.

Beowulf returns home, where he eventually becomes king of his people. Fifty years later, a dragon menaces the land because a thief stole a cup from its hoard. Beowulf fights it alone, deserted by his fearful men except for one man. Beowulf's body is burned in a great pyre.

It is an interesting mix of fictional, mythical, and historical elements. A number of characters mentioned in the poem show up in other records as historical figures, and one event mentioned is related by Gregory of Tours. One of the elements is the name of the hero. "Beowulf" is a kenning: a compound word using figurative language to represent a single noun. In this case, Beowulf means "bee wolf"; that is, one who preys on bees. This was one way to describe a bear.

Bears were symbolic of strength and power in Norse legend. The common name "Bjorn" means bear, and was clearly the origin of the were-bear character of Beorn in Tolkien's The Hobbit. There is a Norwegian legend of a king named Bjorn, whose wife was named Bera ("she-bear"). They had a child named "little bear"; I want to tell you about his legend next, and about his two brothers, who likewise had a connection to animals.

There Might Be Bears

There is a question about Ursus arctos in England, the brown bear that was most common in that part of the world: when did it disappear?

The illustrations of bears found throughout the Middle Ages show that people were quite familiar with them. There is little hard evidence of their range and dates, however. The brown bear was widespread in Europe after the last Ice Age, but estimates of when the wild population in England died out range from pre-Roman occupation to late- or even post-Medieval times. The few bones found in caves or other sites do not paint a definitive picture.

It is possible the Romans brought bears with them for the purposes of entertainment, and that some of these were released to breed and expand on the island. Some stones to mark graves from Anglo-Saxon times (420-1066 CE) have bears carved on them, and small carved bears in children's graves suggest they were considered protection for children. But were these evidence of bears in England, or just symbols brought from Northern Europe, where bears were plentiful and part of the culture?

After 1066, the only certain evidence of bears in Great Britain comes from bear-baiting in London—seen in the illustration from a 14th century manuscript—and bears kept at the Tower of London as a zoo, and a medical school in Edinburgh where bones were kept.

In the 12th through 19th centuries, bear-baiting was a "sport" that involved pitting a chained bear against one or more dogs, and sometimes against other animals. In Europe, it was popular in Sweden and Great Britain. It was also common in India, Pakistan, and Mexico.

The arena for it was called a "bear garden" or "bear pit": a circular space with a high wall and raised seating outside of it. The bear would be chained by the leg or neck near one end. Henry VIII was fond of watching bear-baiting, as was Elizabeth I; she even overruled Parliament when a bill was introduced to ban bear-baiting on Sundays. Bear-baiting was eliminated by Cromwell's Puritans, but brought back after 1660. It was not long afterward, however, that people in England started to speak out against the cruelty of bear-baiting (also, the cost of importing bears was becoming prohibitive). The Cruelty to Animals Act of 1835 ended it.

Bear symbolism in the Anglo-Saxon culture, mentioned above, is probably seen no more clearly than in the greatest and best-known epic hero of Anglo-Saxon literature, the "predator of the makers of honey." You all know him, but by a different name, so I'll leave you with that riddle until tomorrow.

"Who Killed the Bears?"

The village of Ruardean in Gloucestershire is small. It has a single school with fewer than 100 students. The Ruardyn [sic] Castle ruin is scheduled as an ancient monument. It started out as a manor house, but was crenellated and became known as a castle in 1311 by Archbishop of Dublin Alexander de Bicknor. It was all but destroyed by Cromwell's men during the Civil War. The Malt Shovel Inn has existed since the 11th century, no doubt serving the iron and coal miners from its ancient past.

Behind the Inn stands a shed in which Horlicks, the hot malt drink often used as a bedtime beverage, was first mixed and sold by two Ruardean natives, James and William Horlicks, in the 1860s.

One other notable incident in the history of Ruardean took place when four Frenchmen brought two trained bears to town, traveling from the town of Cinderford where they had been performing. Bears were not generally considered safe animals (hunting bears and chaining them for bear-baiting were more common experiences for most people in England), and a rumor that the bears had killed a child and injured a woman led to an angry mob that killed the bears and beat the Frenchmen.

The mob was actually composed of citizens of Cinderford who had followed the Frenchmen, but because it took place at Ruardean, the attack was attached to Ruardean's history. An investigation learned that no one had been injured, the bears had been killed wrongly, the Frenchman beaten unnecessarily. Thirteen people were accused; 12 of them were found guilty. A collection was taken to compensate the Frenchmen. The phrase "Who killed the bears?" was used for many years as an insult to the townspeople of Ruardean, blaming the town for the event, even though all the convicted were members of Cinderford. 

Native bears have only recently been reintroduced in England; the bears in Ruardean would have been brought from the continent. England did have bears of its own, once upon a time, and they were used for the purposes mentioned above. A little about bears in England next time is in order, I think.

Alexander de Bicknor

Alexander de Bicknor had a distinguished career that lasted through three kings of England, Edwards I, II, and III. A person of the same name appears in records of Gloucestershire; if it is the same person, then he may have been born in the 1260s, giving him a very long life (he died 14 July 1349). It is possible, since a few later records that definitely refer to this particular Alexander de Bicknor refer to him as being from Gloucestershire.

In 1311, for example, a license to crenellate a building in Ruardean is granted by Edward I to Alexander de Bicknor, who is almost certainly our guy, and indicates that he had a substantial dwelling. Ruins of the structure, now called Ruardean Castle, still exist (see illustration).

One year earlier, de Bicknor had been unanimously elected by the chapters of St. Patrick's Cathedral and Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, to the position of Archbishop of Dublin. Although he was a priest, prior to this he had held civil positions such as Treasurer of Ireland. We don't know why, but taking over as archbishop was temporarily deferred in favor of a John de Leche, who had there support of the chapter of Dunkeld; he held it for two years until his sudden death in 1313. The position was then contested between de Bicknor and the Lord Chancellor of Ireland Walter de Thornbury, but Thornbury died in a shipwreck, leaving de Bicknor the clear option.

As archbishop he founded the first Irish University at St. Patrick's Cathedral in 1320, based on a charter obtained by de Leche. It has not survived. He also founded Tallaght Castle in order to defend the Tallaght monastery.

After the death of Edward I, the reign of Edward II was problematic, especially when his queen turned against him and took a lover. de Bicknor originally supported the king, but then changed his loyalty to Isabella and was against the Despensers. He even claimed he would have fought the younger Despenser in a duel except for his ecclesiastical position. When Edward III came to power, he punished those who had turned against his father. de Bicknor's fate was mild, in that he lost his assets to the crown. He had also been guilty of accounting fraud in his administration. He got into further trouble when he tried to forge a royal pardon for fraud! He is fortunate that, in the dispute with Bishop Richard Ledrede, Edward III saw Ledrede as a worse person, and gave his support to de Bicknor.

Although his place in Ruardean is long gone, Ruardean itself is still around. Tomorrow I'll tell you how it is connected to a popular hot drink, and we will answer the Ruardean question "Who killed the bears?"

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Aftermath

Sometimes, zeal can backfire. The man who presided over the trial that created the first condemnation for witchcraft in Ireland went a little too far. For the background on the trial, read parts one, two, and three.

The trial had consequences for Bishop Richard Ledrede himself. Roger Outlaw, the Lord Chancellor of Ireland, quarreled with Ledrede about his conduct.  Roger (brother of the accused's dead first husband) teamed with the Seneschal of Kilkenny, Andrew le Poer (brother of the accused's dead fourth husband), to have Bishop Ledrede temporarily imprisoned.

When Ledrede got out, he attempted (unsuccessfully) to have Roger tried for heresy. A Commission of Inquiry declared Roger a faithful Christian who was innocent of heresy. Ledrede was then summoned before the Irish Privy Council to account for his actions. They were also concerned about public accusations he had made against the Archbishop of Dublin, Alexander de Bicknor.

Ledrede followed the example of Alice Kyteler by fleeing Ireland; in his case, however, he did not disappear: he fled to the Papal Court of Pope John XXII in Avignon, whom he thought would surely support him, since John was urging all priests to root out and prosecute witchcraft.

Archbishop Bicknor followed him to argue his side, and Bicknor had a trump card: he was on very good terms with England's King Edward III. Edward sent a message to John, telling him that Ledrede was notorious for stirring things up and should not be believed. The Papal Court mediated and persuaded both clerics to drop their charges against each other.

Back in Kilkenny, Bishop Ledrede got revenge against Arnold le Poer in 1331, making an accusation of heresy against him and managing to get him imprisoned, where he died. He angered the king again in 1355-56, however, when he excommunicated the Lord Treasurer, William de Bromley, in a foolish attempt to prevent Bromley from collecting taxes in the diocese. Realizing this was a bad move, he made an apology to the king and was forgiven.

His remaining few years were quiet ones, spent composing hymns for church services that are collected in the Red Book of Ossory. He died in 1360 or 1361 and was buried in the chancel of St. Canice's Cathedral (pictured).

Attacking de Bicknor as he did was a mistake; de Bicknor was too powerful and significant a character to be bullied by Ledrede, as I'll explain tomorrow.

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Part 3

See Parts one and two.

The outcome of the trial was dire for Alice, her maid Petronilla, and her stepson William Outlaw. There were others associated with the household that were also on trial, such as Petronilla's daughter, and other associates who had been accused of consorting with Alice.

While the trial was in progress, however, Alice managed to escape prison. It seems likely that she had help from the Chancellor of Ireland, Roger Outlaw (who was her brother-in-law). So far as anyone knows, she left Ireland and was never heard from again. No records exist that give any clue to her fate.

Petronilla was not so lucky. She was condemned for heresy and burned at the stake.

William Outlaw's fate was more complex. Condemned for heresy, he was served with penance. He was required to hear mass three times each day for an entire year and make donations of food to the poor. Also, he was required to provide lead for part of the roof of St. Canice's Cathedral.

Before the year was up, Bishop Ledrede learned that William had failed to observe his penance. He was imprisoned, and only released after he was made to lie in the mud before the bishop and other clergy and declare his fault. His penance was increased: he was now required to provide even more lead to cover more of the roof of the Cathedral, and to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land on the first available boat heading that way.

In 1332, a Kilkenny Franciscan records that the bell tower of St. Canice's cathedral collapsed because of the weight of the lead. Bishop Ledrede was not present for this catastrophe, having fled Ireland himself. I'll explain why tomorrow.

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Part 2

Read the first part here.

Bishop Richard Ledrede wants to try the case himself. In those days bishops had their own courts separate from civil courts, giving them jurisdiction over many crimes that took place within their diocese.

Alice fled to Dublin, where she turned for help to a relative of her first husband: Roger Outlaw, chancellor of English government in Ireland. Bishop Ledrede acted by excommunicating Alice; he then ordered William Outlaw, the son of Alice's first husband, to appear in his court for heresy and protecting heretics. But William also had influential friends, in this case the seneschal Arnold le Poer (who, yes, appears to have been related to Alice's latest deceased husband). This seneschal had the ability to overrule Ledrede—and he used it, arresting Ledrede and imprisoning him for two and a half weeks until William's court appearance date had come and gone.

Ledrede had his own weapons, however, and while in prison he placed his diocese under Interdict, during which no sacraments could be performed. This was a radical move that left Christians without baptisms or marriages, etc., and usually served to make secular authorities comply with the ecclesiastical authorities. Ledrede was released, and appeared in Arnold le Poer's court in full regalia with an entourage to impress upon everyone his status. le Poer had him put in the dock, calling him "an ignorant low-born vagabond from England." Ledrede replied by holding up the Host and saying "Woe, woe, woe, that Christ should be sent to stand at the bar, a thing unheard of since he stood trial before Pontious Pilate." le Poer had him thrown out of court.

Alice decided the best defense is a good offense, accusing Ledrede of defamation. With le Poer acting as her and William Outlaw's lawyer, they took their case to the justiciar, the chief political officer. le Poer claimed:

As you well know, heretics have never been found in Ireland, which has always been called the ‘Island of Saints’. Now this foreigner comes from England and says we are all heretics and excommunicates. Defamation of this country affects everyone of us, so we must all unite against this man.

The justiciar, however, ruled in favor of Ledrede and allowed him to handle the trial in Kilkenny. Alice Kyteler, William Outlaw, Alice's maid Petronilla—all were in danger. Ledrede was not going to "lose" this battle after what he had just been out through. There were consequences for all three from this event—unequal consequences, as it happened—and even Ledrede did not escape the aftermath; but those will be revealed tomorrow.

The Trial of Alice Kyteler, Part 1

When Pope John XXII became the target of an assassination attempt using poison and witchcraft, he decided that witchcraft should be labeled heresy. This was in 1320, although it did not become official Church policy until 1326 with the papal bull known as Super illius specula ("Upon His Watchtower"; bulls are known by their opening phrases). In 1324, Bishop Richard Ledrede of St. Canice's Cathedral in Kilkenny declared his diocese a hotbed of devil worshippers, due to the affair of Alice Kyteler. (The illustration show's Alice's house, which is now a pub.)

Alice was the only child of a wealthy Flemish merchant, born about 1263. She married a wealthy merchant and moneylender named William Outlaw. After William died Alice shared the business with her stepson, also named William.

Alice married again ... and again ... and again. By 1302 she was married to Adam Blunt, also a moneylender. He had children from a previous marriage. Adam died within a couple years of marriage to Alice. By 1309, she was married to a wealthy Tipperary landowner named Richard de Valle. He died about 1316, and she was owed a widow's dower; her stepson (also named Richard) denied her this, and she brought legal proceedings against him. Richard and his siblings, who wished to keep that money for themselves (which would have been illegal) were quite angry with her. Alice then married a fourth time to John le Poer, who also had children from a prior marriage.

Through all this, she accumulated a substantial amount of wealth and maintained the business she shared with her stepson, William. This was despite the fact that Alice and her second husband Adam had briefly been suspected of killing the elder William.

Her other stepchildren, however, were not so agreeable to her. As John le Poer was sick and dying, he expressed the concern that he was being poisoned by his wife. After his death, his children accused her of poison and witchcraft, accusations in which they were joined by her other stepchildren. The children complained to Bishop Ledrede, who sprang into action.

Investigation led to seven charges:

1. Denying Christ and the Church.
2. Sacrificing animals to demons.
3. Asking demons for advice.
4. Having a sexual relationship with an incubus.
5. Holding coven meetings and burning candles in the church at night without permission.
6. Making magic powders and potions from ingredients including but not limited to body parts of unbaptized children, worms, etc.
7. Killing her husbands for their money, which she shared with her stepson William Outlaw.

Her maid, Petronilla de Meath, was also accused. William Outlaw was also called to court for heresy and consorting with a heretic.

The stepchildren were likely thinking they could go through the bishop's ecclesiastical court for a quicker decision that would benefit them, rather than going through the civil courts which had more rules. Things were not that simple, however, and the case of the first person condemned for witchcraft in Ireland gets more complicated, which I'll tell you about tomorrow.

About Medieval Witchcraft

The history of witchcraft, like any historical phenomenon, is a combination of truths, falsehoods, reinterpretations, and misunderstandings. What we now call "witchcraft" was defined differently by different groups—or rather, what it was remained the same, but its significance was redefined. I'll try to explain.

By the end of Charlemagne's reign in 814, overt paganism had died out in Western Europe, replaced by Christian practices. There were traditions that did not die out, however. Some examples are divination for the gender of an unborn child and dowsing for water; the mixing of substances intended to bring about an emotional effect such as love or desire; or attempts at healing illness using sympathetic magic (described here being used by a midwife).

"Magic" was sometimes a professional's pursuit. People like Ficino and Fibonacci and Geert Groote and even Hildegard of Bingen were associated with learning or practicing magic. There was a point in time, however, where these "un"natural practices were declared to be bad. That may well have started with Pope John XXII, when he declared such things to be heresy. This created the formal framework for investigating and prosecuting anyone suspected of practicing witchcraft by the Inquisition. This was in the 1320s. Now the woman in the village to whom you turned for medical or magical aid was suspect, and associating with her made you suspect.

What exactly constituted witchcraft and was worthy of accusation fluctuated with time and temperament.  The 1487 Malleus Maleficarum ("Hammer of the Witches") became the manual for identifying the offenses of witches, which could be categorized in three levels:

“i) slight (ii) great, and (iii) very great.” 

Slight offenses constitute something as simple as small groups meeting secretly in order to practice the craft, whereas very great, or violent, offenses included respecting and admiring heretics. With such a broad spectrum of infractions, accusing anyone of practicing the craft was possible. This, in conjunction with the broad spectrum of who could be a witch, pushed the witch craze to its apex. [source]

(The "craze" reached a peak in 17th century New England, when a husband and wife accused each other of witchcraft after the death of their child. It went to trial.)

The Malleus Maleficarum supported and extended John XXII's bull making witchcraft equal heresy. It firmly linked witchcraft to worship of the devil, and a thing to be avoided at all costs. Between 1450 and 1750, there were an estimated 110,000 trials for witchcraft, about half of which led to capital punishment.

It is times like this that I cannot help thinking of C.S. Lewis' words at the beginning of Mere Christianity:

Three hundred years ago people in England were putting witches to death. Was that what you call the 'Rule of Human Nature or Right Conduct?’ But surely the reason we do not execute witches is that we do not believe there are such things. If we did—if we really thought that there were people going about who had sold themselves to the devil and received supernatural powers from him in return and were using these powers to kill their neighbours or drive them mad or bring bad weather—surely we would all agree that if anyone deserved the death penalty, then these filthy quislings did?

He knows full well that witchcraft is not a thing to be condemned, and that it is arrogant of the modern age to look back and condemn the accusers of being stupid; they had no choice—if they truly believed what they were told—that they were acting to save themselves and their neighbors. It was a dark period in the human history of belief and fear of "The Other," which manifests itself in many ways, such as in this recent post.

Let us look at a specific witch trial in more detail, of a wealthy Kilkenny woman who was accused of witchcraft by her (perhaps less-than-neutral in this matter) stepchildren. See you tomorrow.

The Pope vs. Witchcraft

John XXII (pope from 1316 - 1334 in Avignon) had a lot of opinions, getting involved in politics all over Christendom, opposing the Franciscan ideal of the need for poverty, and passing numerous papal bulls to enforce his numerous ideas of what was right and proper.

After an assassination attempt on him that used poison and sorcery, he turned his attention to condemning witchcraft. His bull of 1326 said:

With grief we discover, and the very thought of it wrings our soul with anguish, that there are many Christians only in name; many who turn away from the light which once was theirs, and allow their minds to be so clouded with the darkness of error as to enter into a league with death and a compact with hell. They sacrifice to demons and adore them, they make or cause to be made images, rings, mirrors, phials or some such things in which by the art of magic evil spirits are to be enclosed. From them they seek and receive replies, and ask aid in satisfying their evil desires. For a foul purpose they submit to the foulest slavery. Alas! this deadly malady is increasing more than usual in the world and inflicting greater and greater ravages on the flock of Christ.

The practice of witchcraft had not been formally condemned prior to this, although there were certainly instances of the authorities trying people for using witchcraft to hurt others. This action by John put witchcraft under the label of heresy; it therefore fell under the jurisdiction of the Inquisition, and those suspected of practicing could be rounded up, questioned, and made to recant or else to suffer.

This papal bull established the official attitude toward witchcraft for the rest of the Middle Ages. But the question raised is: How big a deal was witchcraft? Was it popular? What form did it take? Let's look at witchcraft tomorrow.

Female Physicians

We talked here about how women and Jewish women could be physicians in the Middle Ages, but it would be a mistake to think that there was no opposition to this phenomenon, especially after a change in 1220.

Consider that, technically, anyone could practice medicine. No one would object to a mother caring for a family member, or a nun feeding a leper (as in the illustration). More formal, professional medical practice in France, however, required a degree from the University of Paris. This prevented many, women especially, from helping their fellow human beings. There were consequences for treating the sick if you were not "official."

Consider the case of Jacqueline Felice de Almania, a woman from Florence who was living in Paris. Her reputation was excellent: she was known for finding cures for patients who had been treated elsewhere without relief. She did not charge fees unless the patient was cured. 

In 1322, she was brought to trial by the University of Paris. The accusation was treating patients without any "real" knowledge of medicine; that is, she did not have a degree. Seven former patients were brought as witnesses; all testified that she had helped them where male doctors had failed. Her actions involved analyzing urine by sight, taking the pulse of patients, examining their limbs, etc. She was found guilty of practicing without a license, fined 60 pounds, and threatened with excommunication if she ever treated patients again.

The year 1322 was popular for cracking down on unlicensed medical practitioners. In that same year, records show women named Clarice of Rouen (banned for treating men), Jeanne the Convert (likely originally a Jew) of Saint-Médicis, Marguerite of Ypres, and "Jewess Belota" all were banned from practicing medicine.

The University of Paris in 1325 appealed to Pope John XXII to speak out strongly on this issue. He wrote to Bishop Stephen of Paris to forbid women practicing without medical knowledge or acting as midwives, because what they were doing was akin to witchcraft. A bit of a stretch to go from medicine to witchcraft just because the person was female, but then, John was determined to stamp out witchcraft...and a lot of other things, which I'll talk more about tomorrow.

(By the way, women earning medical degrees at the University of Paris was suppressed until the 19th century!)

Jewish Female Physicians

Female doctors were not unknown in medieval Europe. I've written before of Trotula, for instance, and of course there were midwives. The practice of midwifery was naturally dominated by women; in some cases  men were not even allowed in the room during childbirth. Even if they were, they did not necessarily involve themselves directly in the process. One medieval Jewish medical text, in the section on childbirth, has the physician direct the midwife to "massage the orifice of her womb" with herbs rather than do it himself.

But Jewish women were not just midwives. Many of them learned and practices medicine thanks to their families. Jews were not allowed to attend Christian universities, so they could not earn medical degrees in the normal way. Anyone could, however, "test out" by passing an exam and earning a license to practice medicine. Jews—female as well as male—did this by learning from mentors and family members who were physicians.

Two examples were Hava from Provençal, mentioned in the 1320s for her medical ability, and Virdimura, who earned her medical license in 1376 in Sicily. In both cases, we know that their husbands were physicians (in Hava's case so were her sons), and so medicine was clearly the "family business." Mayrona, from Provençal, appears in 40+ documents starting in 1342 as a holder of a licentia curandi et practicandi, a "license to practice medicine."

Jews were more likely to be familiar with Greek and Arabic, as well as Latin and Hebrew, and therefore had access to more medical texts than their Western European counterparts who knew Latin but did not have as many opportunities to learn other languages, and also may not have had the motivation to read texts written by non-Christians. Female Jewish doctors were accepted in Paris, Florence, and Naples as well as Sicily. They were also respected enough to become teachers of medicine as well: Sara of St. Giles was a Jewish doctor who in 14th-century France took on a Christian pupil.

I cannot in truth say that female doctors were accepted everywhere, and tomorrow I'll share some of the less-tolerant stories of this topic. See you then.

Jewish Medicine

Jews comprise less than 0.02% of the world population, and yet 28% of Nobel prize winners in medicine have been Jewish. This expertise has a long history.

The Sefer Refuot or "Book of Remedies" is the earliest known Hebrew text on medicine. It contains information on illnesses and treatments, but also talks about how to maintain health through exercise, eating properly, and observing proper hygiene. It also suggests that astrology is connected to health, and there are different treatments depending on the month. It includes a code of conduct for doctors.

Although the only manuscripts we have are later medieval ones, they are considered to be faithful copies of a very early work for a particular reason: the book does not have any of the Arabian medical knowledge that was so prevalent in the Middle Ages. The assumption is that this book recorded Jewish knowledge, including a theory of blood vessels and circulation, that pre-dates the cross-cultural sharing that happened with the spread of Muslims after the 7th century.

There was some controversy about medicine in Jewish culture. In II Chronicles 16:12, King Asa of Judah is criticized because “in his illness he sought not God but rather physicians.” In the same book, King Hezekiah is praised for hiding a medical book in order to get his people to turn to God for aid. The 13th-century Nachmanides argued that Jews have a special relationship with God and should thrive or suffer according to His will; they should not try to subvert his will through practices like medicine. Because of this turning to natural cures, he says, their relationship with God in this area has been annulled, and now they have no choice but to turn to doctors. The practice of medicine is now considered a mitzvah, a fundamental religious obligation.

Jewish physicians often learned Latin, Greek, and Arabic; along with Hebrew, they had access to many medical texts inaccessible to their Christian counterparts. This made them exceptionally knowledgeable and effective—and sought after. I've already mentioned Jacob Mantino ben Samuel, who was so important to many high-ranking figures in Venice that they asked the Council of Ten to exempt him from wearing the degrading yellow cap that was mandated to denote Jews in public.

Jewish physicians also included women among their number, not just as midwives, which we will talk about next time.

A Jewish Physician

Article One of King Henry III's 1253 Statute of Jewry allowed Jews to stay in England so long as they served the king in some capacity. There were financial advantages to having Jews around, since they were not limited by the Biblical injunction against usury (charging high interest on loans) when lending to non-Jews. Usury created a dilemma for many: usury was not to be allowed, and yet Jewish lenders were an important source of funding for some.

Another dilemma for Christian Europeans in the Middle Ages was the idea that Jews were not to be fraternized with, and yet they were often the best physicians. One example of this was mentioned here, Jacob Mantino ben Samuel (died 1549).

Jacob's family was from Tortosa, Spain, but were forced to flee in 1492 because of the Alhambra Decree. Jacob studied medicine at Padua and Bologna, staying in Bologna to set up his practice. His translations of scientific works from Hebrew to Latin brought him to the attention of the court of Pope Clement VII. War in 1527 (between the Holy Roman Empire and Protestants) caused him to settle in Verona, where the Catholic bishop protected him. When the bishop went to Rome, however, Jacob left Verona and settled in Venice.

Jacob had many influential clients: ambassadors from France and England, papal dignitaries, and other wealthy local patrons. Despite medieval culture's antipathy toward Jews, his clients made an appeal to Venice's ruling Council of Ten. The appeal—which was granted—was to exempt Jacob from wearing the yellow that was intended to denote Jews in public. Originally this was temporary, but later was made permanent.

Jacob later went to Rome, acquiring great influence and becoming personal physician to Pope Paul III in 1534. In 1544 he returned to Venice, where once again he was exempted from wearing yellow. Accompanying the Venetian ambassador to Damascus, he died in 1549.

Why was he exempted from wearing yellow? Was it a desire on the part of his clients to not be seen associating with a Jew? Or was it for a slightly more kind-hearted reason: they understood the insult of being forced to wear yellow and wanted to spare the feelings of a man they had come to respect? Perhaps a little of both. He was not unique in the Middle Ages: Jewish doctors and Jewish medicine were regarded very highly. We'll delve into that a little more deeply tomorrow.

The Yellow Badge

King Henry III's Statute of Jewry demanded (among other things) that Jews wear a badge conspicuously on their clothing. This was not a new idea. Designating "others" by a badge was already common in the Middle Ages. The Muslim and Christian worlds both found ways to distinguish those not of their faith.

In 717, Caliph Umar II ordered that non-Muslims (dhimmi) wear distinguishing marks on their clothing. The Pact of Umar, attributed to his father, had many injunctions against non-Muslims. In 847-861, Caliph Al-Mutawakkil had Christians wear honey-colored patches, on both the front and back of their clothes. In 887, the governor of the Emirate of Sicily had Jews wear special hats and yellow belts.

The Fourth Lateran Council of 1215 said Jews should at all times be denoted by their clothing, and in 1222, Archbishop of Canterbury Stephen Langton ordered English Jews to wear a white band. Distinguishing marks were ordered for Jews by the Synod of Narbonne (1227), by James I of Aragon (1228), and by Alfonso X of Castile (1265).

In 1274, King Edward I in England enacted a second Statute of Jewry, which ordered a badge of yellow felt six inches long by three inches wide to be worn. The yellow color was used in 1315 for the Jews of Granada, in 1321 by Henry II of Castile, and decreed in 1415 by a bull of Antipope Benedict XIII (men wore it on their breast, women on their forehead).

Jews in Venice wore yellow, but in 1528 a special dispensation was given to the physician Jacob Mantino ben Samuel to wear a regular black doctor's cap instead of anything yellow.

In 1710, King of Prussia Frederick William I abolished the mandatory yellow badge in Prussia. This was not an act of charity: he required 8000 thaler (the equivalent of over $75,000 today) from each person who wished to no longer wear the badge.

So what was the deal with Jacob Mantino ben Samuel? I'll explain next time.

Henry's Statute of Jewry

St. Augustine of Hippo (354 - 430) was one of the most influential writers in Christianity in its first few centuries. He believed that Jews should be tolerated by Christians because God chose them for a special purpose. Through the years, however, hostility to the Jews grew; they were made scapegoats for problems and accused of many horrible acts.

Despite this hostility, Jews created communities all over the world. The illustration shows Jewish communities in medieval England. King Henry III instituted repressive laws intended to segregate and oppress Jews. The Statute of Jewry in 1253 had 13 articles, some of which are listed here:

Article One: Jews could live in England provided that they serve the king in some manner. (This might include financial support or civil service.)

Article Two stated that no new synagogues could be constructed.

Article Three: Jews in synagogues must keep their voices low while praying so that no one else could hear them.

Article Four: Jews must donate money to their local Christian church.

Article Five banned Christians from working for Jews or living in Jews' houses.

Article Six banned Jews from eating meat during Lent.

Article Seven: Jews may not publicly dispute the Christian faith.

Article Eight banned romantic relations between Christians and Jews.

Contemporary historian Matthew Paris followed the Augustinian view of Jews, and did not approve of Henry's policies regarding them, which mirrored the papal view at the time (Innocent IV). Through Paris we discover that antipathy toward the Jews was not universal. His tolerant attitude is tested by relating incidents of supposed "blood libel" (the notion that Jews killed Christians in order to use their blood in Jewish rituals), but he has sympathy for their oppression and the financial extortion brought upon them by kings and others who saw Jews as a source of easy money. Through Matthew Paris we can see that the medieval attitude toward Jews was not monolithic.

I want to relate another article of the Statute, however, Article Nine. Article Nine commanded every Jew to wear a badge conspicuously. The yellow Star of David forced upon Jews in Germany during World War II is a familiar image. It turns out, however, that the "yellow badge" has a long history stretching back even before Henry III, but that's a story for tomorrow.

Matthew Paris

Matthew Paris (c.1200 - 1259) was a Benedictine monk at the Abbey of St. Albans, known to us for his numerous illustrated written works. We do not know why his surname was "Paris"; we have no record of him studying or living there, although given the era in which he lived it is not surprising that he wrote in either Latin or Norman French.

He was an Englishman who did get sent to Norway once to reform a Benedictine monastery on the island of Nidarholm. This gave him an opportunity to be an eyewitness to events surrounding King Haakon IV. His status as an eyewitness to history of his time is what makes him so valuable (although we are sure bias crept into some of his work).

His major work was the Chronica Majora, borrowing from Roger of Wendover's Flores Historiarum, but adding his own observations from 1235 on. An abridged version, his Historia Anglorum covers the years 1070 through 1253. There is a manuscript version which also includes the final part of the Chronica Majora covering the years 1254-1259, all in Paris's handwriting except for a last entry making note of Paris's death and having an illustration of him on his deathbed.

All the other illustrations in his writings are by him, and he had decent skill at drawing. Seen here is the most detailed map of four he produced. Another, showing the trip from London to Rome with sketches of some towns along the way, can be seen here. A picture of a beheading is here.

Paris lived while Henry III was King of England, and records many events from his reign. Paris and Roger of Wendover relate their concern about the increasing percentage of (French) foreigners coming to England. Paris and Henry met in 1236 and kept in touch, but Paris did not approve of the direction the reign was going and his account of Henry's actions is often unflattering.

One of Henry's actions that Paris might have approved (I say might)—and the modern world would certainly condemn—is Henry's "Statute of Jewry." I'll tell you about that next time.

Henry III's Troubles

Henry III's most loyal and powerful supporter was William Marshal, but William's son was not of the same mind. Richard Marshal (1191 - 1234) was William's second son, and became the 3rd Earl of Pembroke on 6 April 1231.

Henry inherited not just a crown from his father, King John, but also a country where the ranks below that of king demanded more authority and autonomy. Magna Carta was not enough, and civil unrest between the crown and less-loyal factions was a constant threat. There were also smaller conflicts that erupted into larger conflicts whenever the king took sides.

The Bishop of Winchester, Peter Des Roches, had been an important figure in Henry's youth, but in 1233 he demanded a manor be returned to a friend of his, Peter de Maulay, from Gilbert Basset, who currently held it due to earlier strife. Henry supported the bishop; Basset resisted; Henry called Basset a traitor; Basset fled to southern Wales where Richard Marshal held lands; Basset had been a friend of Richard's older brother, William, who had been the 2nd Earl of Pembroke after their father. Richard felt he should shelter and support his brother's old friend, so that's what he did.

This was a tense situation. Henry did not want to alienate Richard, and a date was sent to discuss the matter face-to-face in Gloucester, but Richard did not trust that Henry might not use the event to arrest him, so he refused to meet. Henry sent the Bishop of St. Davids to threaten Richard that his relationship with the king was in danger of being cut off. Meanwhile, the king's bailiffs demanded that one of Richard's castles, Usk Castle, be surrendered to them, with which his garrison at Usk complied.

Richard probably did not want to appear to be in rebellion against the king, but when Basset decided to make a cavalry raid across England, he was forced to act. He decided to stick with his original support of Basset. Richard allied with Prince Llywelyn ab Iorwerth of Gwynedd, and quickly seized Usk and other castles. They continued to Monmouth, where Baldwin III, Count of Guînes, came out to fight. The illustration above is from historian Matthew Paris, showing Richard unhorsing Baldwin.

Richard did not have enough forces to go as far as London and challenge the king. Meanwhile, Henry did not want to commit too many forces to deal with Richard, and hoped for a peaceful settlement. A truce with France was coming to a close, and Henry feared using up troops at home in a rebellion when they might be needed on the continent to defend English-held territory there. An attempt at peace on 1 April 1234 negotiated by Templars failed, and a fight broke out during which Richard was wounded. He succumbed to his injuries on 15 April, and the rebellion died with him.

I was going to tell next about one of Henry's policy decisions that the modern world would condemn, but I feel the need to take a side trip to Matthew Paris, whose work has been mentioned several times throughout this blog but has never been given his own entry. That's for tomorrow.

William Marshall

Guillaume le Maréchal, or William Marshal, is one of the most fascinating and impressive figures in medieval English history. Born about 1146/7 to a minor noble, he was destined to inherit no lands or fancy titles, yet he rose in the ranks to serve five kings and become one of the most powerful men in England under the fifth of those, Henry III.

His father had switched sides during The Anarchy, and William briefly became a hostage in a situation that almost led to his death. He survived, and was sent to Normandy to train as a knight under his mother's cousin, William de Tancarville. We learn about his early life and training from a biography, Histoire de Guillaume le Maréchal, the only known biography from the Middle Ages of someone who was not royal.

He grew tall (six feet), and ambitious (his nickname was "Greedy Guts"), and then his father died, leaving him no money. He took his martial skills to tournaments, showing off his prowess and gaining wealth through victories. In 1170 he was appointed to the household of Young King Henry, son of Henry II. William managed Henry's tournament team and kept an eye on Henry to prevent his capture by the other side; together they won many tournaments.

Something caused them to fall out—maybe because he was accused of having an affair with Young Henry's wife, or because at Henry II's request he fought on the side of Richard when the Young King rebelled against his father—and William was "traded" to Henry's rival, Philip of Flanders, but that change was short-lived. When the Young King died of dysentery on 11 June 1183, William was by his side. Henry had made a pledge to go on Crusade, and William undertook the journey on his deceased friend's behalf, carrying Henry's cross to Jerusalem where he spent two years fighting with the Templars.

Returning to England, William stayed with King Henry, leading his soldiers against a rebellion caused by Henry's son, Richard Lionheart. William met Richard in battle and unhorsed him. Henry died shortly afterward, and Richard (who admired martial ability) gave the 43-year-old William a wife: the 17-year-old Isabel de Clare, heiress to several estates. This made William the de facto Earl of Pembroke, so he finally had a title. Richard also made William Regent while Richard went on crusade, and had William lead his armies against France.

After Richard's death, William remained in service to King John, and then was Regent for John's son Henry III. Along with the Young King, William served a total of five kings in England. Finally, in his early 70s, his health began to decline. On his deathbed he said "I cannot defend myself against death." He passed away peacefully on 14 May 1219.

He had several children with Isabel de Clare, one of whom did not share his father's loyalty to the crown, as I will explain tomorrow.

King Henry III

When King John died, his son Henry (1207 - 1272) was only nine years old. It was 1216 and in the middle of the First Barons' War. Even though the Magna Carta had been signed the year before, giving more power to those who were not king, the barons still had issues with the way government was run.

Fortunately, William Marshall led the royal forces, defeating the rebel barons. John on his deathbed had asked William to become Henry's guardian. William Marshall was an obvious choice: he had been loyal to the crown for generations. Afterward, a regency government needed to be created to aid the young king. William asked Bishop of Winchester Peter des Roches to help guide Henry. He had been Henry's tutor since Henry was five.

The papal legate to England, Cardinal Guala Bicchieri, had declared the war against the barons to be a religious crusade, and threw his support to Henry, also making sure the ties between England and the papacy were strong. (Henry's father had declared England a papal fiefdom in order to gain the pope's total support.) Henry himself "took up the cross" and declared himself a crusader, giving him special protection from the pope.

Henry's authority as a king was somewhat restored through the efforts of William, Hubert de Burgh (mentioned here and here), and Peter des Roches, who was chosen to perform the coronation (seen here in a 13th century depiction). There were problems, however.: much of the civil structure across the country had collapsed during the war. The network of sheriffs who collected taxes had fallen apart.

Rebel barons (and even some loyalist ones) were ignoring the crown's demands for taxes, some building unapproved castles (the king had the right to approve castles, since they might be used in defense against him). These "adulterine" (unapproved) castles were a larger problem during The Anarchy.

Wales was always threatening rebellion. Henry finally resolved it by making the prince Llywelyn his justiciar (chief political officer) in Wales, underlining the crown's need to compromise over its ability to conquer.

Henry adopted Edward the Confessor as his patron saint. A few times that he planned to go on Crusade were foiled when he had to stay and deal with uprisings in his lands, especially those on the continent, such as Gascony. 

His reign was long and troubled, and I'll talk about it more very soon, but first we have to focus on his most steadfast support, William Marshall, and the troubles after William died. See you tomorrow.

Quicklime

There was an actual medieval profession of lime burner, who burned calcium-rich minerals such as limestone, chalk, marble, or even sea shells. This was done to produce quicklime, which had a lot of useful properties. Dying, tanning leather, making soap, producing fertilizers, concrete—all used calcium oxide, called "quicklime."

The name, first seen as quyk lym in the late 1300s, comes from Latin calx viva, "lime quick"—using "quick" in the older sense of "living" because it was such an active substance. The ancient world discovered its usefulness for mortar (after being mixed with water to make a slurry). Limestone blocks of the pyramids have quicklime plaster. Rome used quicklime for construction extensively, and it is even found in the Great Wall of China.

The Ancient World also used it as a weapon in warfare. Powdered quicklime could be catapulted at enemies; its irritability in a person's eyes made them easy prey when the attacker engaged. Enough quicklime coming into contact with enough water could cause severe burns. King Henry III of England's (1216 - 1272) navy destroyed a French fleet by blinding the sailors with quicklime. (This was always a perilous gambit, since the wind might blow the power back to you.)

In the Middle Ages, when coal mining became cheaper and more widespread in the 12th century, burning to make quicklime was easier. It was used as mortar, plaster, for floors, and in frescoes.

One mis-use of quicklime in the Middle Ages was with corpses: it was thought to speed up decomposition, so sprinkling quicklime liberally when one needed a mass grave (after warfare, or in some responses to the Bubonic Plague) was thought to be efficient. It was also supposed to "sterilize" cesspits and counteract diseases they might engender. The truth is, however, that quicklime is actually a preservative; small amounts are sometimes used in flour to increase its acidity and act as a preservative and a leavener. Quicktime can cover the stench of decomposition, which may be why people thought it "got rid of the corpse" faster.

For many years I have read how Roman concrete became harder and more durable over time, defying logic. Very recently it was discovered that quicklime was the reason for its "self-healing" nature; here's a link to learn more.

I wanted to include a link to the reference above to Henry III, and I've discovered that I have mentioned him many times over 1263 blog posts, but have never given him his own entry. I'll will fix that oversight next time.

The Colosseum

The Roman Colosseum was begun under Emperor Vespasian in 72 CE and finished in 80 by his son, Emperor Titus. Stories of its use as a gladiatorial arena and a site for races, animal spectacles, and even nautical battles are well-known. 

When the Visigoths attacked Rome, the siege prevented the deceased from being buried in the cemeteries outside the walls, and so the area around the Colosseum became a large burial site. After the Fall of Rome and the sacking by the Visigoths, attempts were made to repair and utilize it, but the budget and management no longer existed for "bread and circuses." 

A series of earthquakes and restoration attempts took place over the next few centuries. Eventually its management fell to the most influential institution in Rome: the papacy. Between the 9th and 14th centuries, this extensive structure had many new uses, managed by the priests of Santa Maria Nova. Its underground tunnels and compartments, where staff and fighters and animals were once housed and fed and trained, became apartments and shops. The open arena was left as a sort of common area for people working and living in the building. "Row houses" were built against the north side.

(There was even a moment in 1200 when it became the home to a single wealthy family, the Frangipani.)

The illustration here is a 16th century woodcut showing the round design, but an earthquake in 1349 (as if they weren't dealing with enough tragedy with the Bubonic Plague) caused part to collapse, and its use as a rental property faded away. Also, the move of the papacy to Avignon caused Rome's population to dwindle, and the need for housing in the Colosseum (and therefore the need and income to maintain it) also dwindled.

After the return of the popes to Rome, the building (what was left) became the home of a religious order. Over the centuries, other purposes were found. One pope wanted to make it a wool factory to provide alternate jobs for the city's prostitutes. A cardinal in 1671 wanted to use it for bullfights. Both plans failed to materialize.

The Colosseum became a source of building material. The lead piping that carried water was taken and melted for other uses. The iron clamps that held stone blocks together were pried out and re-forged. The stone itself—marble and travertine—was taken and used for other buildings.

Some of the marble was burned to make quicklime. What was quicklime, and what was its use in the Middle Ages? I'll tell you tomorrow.