The Cuerdale Hoard

The Vale of York Hoard was the largest hoard since the Cuerdale Hoard. So what was special about Cuerdale? Well, the York Hoard had over 600 items; the Staffordshire Hoard about 4600; Cuerdale, found in 1840, contained more than 8600, the largest Viking hoard ever in the United Kingdom, and surpassed by only one other in the world.

Cuerdale is a parish in the Duchy of Lancaster with very few buildings nowadays. Some workmen repairing an embankment of the nearby River Ribble found a lead box protruding from a bend. It was claimed by the local bailiffs who kept it intact and gave it to Queen Victoria, owner of the Duchy, who in turn gave it to the British Museum. After examining the contents, they were distributed to museums and others, with the greater part kept by the British Museum in the Coins and Medals Department.

The majority of the hoard was silver coins (over 7000) from different areas: the Viking kingdoms of eastern England, Alfred the Great's Wessex, and coins from overseas (one Byzantine coin, early Scandinavian coins, Islamic dirhams, Papal and North Italian coins, and 1,000 Frankish Carolingian coins). Many of the coins probably came from raids on other kingdoms. Besides coins the hoard contained jewelry and hacksilver.

The dates on the coins suggest that it was buried by 910CE but not much before 905. The Ribble flows into the Irish Sea and was a frequent landing spot for those coming from Ireland. The Vikings had been expelled from Dublin in 902, and this hoard might have been buried by Vikings on their way from Ireland for temporary safekeeping because transporting such a large collection made the traveler a target. It may have been intended to finance a re-conquest of Ireland. Why they never returned we will never know.

There is a curious legend in the area, that "Anyone who stood on the south bank of the River Ribble at Walton le Dale, and looked up river towards Ribchester, would be within sight of the richest treasure in England." When and how this legend began no one could say, but it suggests vague knowledge of the treasure, as if it were a more recent stashing in memory. One theory is that, during the reign of Richard II, a Sir Thomas de Molyneux who lived nearby and intended to use it to support Richard, possessed it and hid it there. It is possible that comments made in the late 14th century led to the legend.

After three posts on "largest" hoards, we now will turn to the absolute, unconditionally largest Viking hoard ever uncovered. For this we turn from England to Sweden, and the Spillings Hoard...next time.

Pontefract Castle

Pontefract Castle, where Richard II was imprisoned by his cousin (although for a very short time), had been begun very shortly after William the Conqueror took over England. He gave lands in 1070 to Ilbert and Walter de Lacy, who followed him from Normandy. Ilbert began Pontefract Castle, represented here by a model. There was a wooden structure there originally, refurbished in stone over time. The Domeday Book on 1086 calls it "Ilbert's castle."

A later de Lacy, Robert, did not support Henry I in his struggle with his brother, so Henry confiscated the castle in the 1100s. Under Richard Lionheart, Roger de Lacy paid 3000 marks for the privilege of inhabiting the castle, but Richard still owned it. When Richard's brother John came to power, he awarded Roger's loyalty by giving him the castle. By this time it was being called Pontefract.

The de Lacy family lived there until the early 1300s, but Henry de Lacy had only one daughter, "Poor" Alice, who married Thomas, the 2nd Earl of Lancaster. Pontefract became a Lancaster possession now. Thomas backed the wrong horse in the never-ending conflict between kings and would-be kings. He was convicted of treason without being allowed to speak in his own defense and executed at Pontefract on 22 March 1322.

Pontefract then passed to Thomas' brother, Henry Grosmont, the 3rd Earl of Lancaster, who was politically more savvy and eventually became one of the most respected and land-wealthy nobles in England. With his death, Pontefract came to his son-in-law, John of Gaunt. John's son Henry Bolingbroke should have inherited it, but at John's death an annoyed Richard II kept it along with all the other properties that should have gone to Henry. Henry mounted a campaign to get back what was rightfully his, but it snowballed into an outright rebellion against Richard, who was deposed and held in the Tower of London for awhile before being sent to Pontefract for incarceration. Not long after, Richard was dead (we are told from starvation).

Richard III, after the death of King Edward IV, had two men beheaded at Pontefract: the son and brother of Edward's wife, Elizabeth Woodville. When Henry VIII accused his fifth wife, Catherine Howard, of adultery with Sir Thomas Culpeper, it was thought that the affair began when the king and queen were staying at Pontefract.

A parliament under Oliver Cromwell decided that Pontefract should be demolished and the materials re-used. Now it is possible to see the cellars, but some renovation has taken place.

Henry Grosmont was, as mentioned respected and wealthy, and his death was mourned throughout England. Let's talk about what made him special next time.

Henry IV and His Cousin

If Richard II had treated his cousin Henry Bolingbroke a little better, Richard might have stayed king for at least a few more decades. As it happened, Henry forced Richard to relinquish the crown (portrayed here by an anonymous 15th century artist). Richard was to be allowed to retire comfortably after Henry deposed him.

Unfortunately, several of the lords who had supported Richard—and been demoted under the new King Henry IV—planned to murder Henry and restore Richard. Their plot was foiled and the actors executed without trial, but it showed the danger in allowing Richard to be free and the focal point of rebellion.

He was incarcerated in Pontefract Castle around St. Valentine's Day 1400. The constable of Pontefract was Thomas Swynford, a son of Katherine Swynford's first marriage before she married Henry's father John of Gaunt. It is assumed that he died of starvation, possibly self-inflicted. On 17 February his body was displayed in St. Paul's Cathedral—we don't know when he really died, of course—and then interred on 6 March at King's Langley Priory, a Dominican establishment near one of the royal palaces in Hertfordshire. He was only 33.

Despite the public display of the body, there were always rumors that he was still alive. The Duke of Albany in Scotland hosted a man claiming to be Richard at Stirling Castle. He was the catalyst for conspiracy theories in England about Lancastrian intrigues and even some Lollard rumors. Henry's administration simply ignored the rumors right up to the man's death in 1419, but the Dominican friary in Stirling buried him as a king.

Henry IV's son became Henry V in March 1413, and felt the need to atone for his father's usurpation and treatment of Richard. In December of 1413 he re-interred Richard's body from King's Langley to Westminster Abbey as befitted a king of England. There was already a spot for him there, in the elaborate tomb he had made for himself and his wife, Anne of Bohemia.

Let's get away from kings and killing for a bit (well, not completely, as you will see), and talk about the history of Pontefract Castle. I hope you'll check back tomorrow.

Bolingbroke

Edward III of England had several sons. His eldest was also Edward, known as The Black Prince. Another was John of Gaunt. Prince Edward had a son named Richard. Prince John had a son named Henry Bolingbroke. When Edward III died, his heir was Richard, the son of his eldest who had predeceased him. John by that time was Duke of Lancaster, inheriting the title (and vast property) through his father-in-law.

John supported his nephew's accession to the throne, despite the fears of many (including many in parliament) that John might want to take the throne for himself; John was very powerful, wealthy, and shrewd. Richard and his uncle John did not always see eye-to-eye, nor Richard and parliament. John's son Henry had at one point been named a Lord Appellant, a group created to manage the kingdom and supervise Richard, who had become capricious. When Richard had opportunity, he exiled Henry Bolingbroke for 10 years.

On 3 February 1399, John of Gaunt died. Richard refused to allow the title Duke of Lancaster to his cousin Henry; rather, he extended Henry's exile from 10 years to his lifetime. There came a time that Richard had to go to Ireland to deal with a rebellion, at which point Henry Bolingbroke returned to England. He brought with him Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury who had been exiled by Richard as well. With a small military force and Arundel as an advisor, Henry started gathering support and confiscating land from anyone who did not wish to join him. Originally he claimed that he only wanted to get back his rights as Duke of Lancaster, but as he gathered support, anti-Richard sentiment grew.

Ultimately Henry had enough support to declare Richard deposed. Richard was imprisoned. Richard had an heir, the seven-year-old Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March. He was bypassed and Bolingbroke was crowned Henry IV on 13 October 1399. Incidentally, it may have been the first time since 1066 that a king in England at his coronation addressed his subjects using English, not French.

Let's talk about the start of Henry IV's reign tomorrow, and what happened to Richard.

The Truce of Leulinghem

England and France were at war for a long time, and neither side was in great shape in the late 1380s. England had been unsuccessful in several military engagements and was in severe financial straits. Moreover, King Richard II and parliament were at odds over money and authority. In France, King Charles VI was showing signs of psychosis. (For much more on the Hundred Years War in this blog, click here.)

Neither side was able to achieve a definitive win that would establish rule over the other's country, no matter how hard they wanted one. They were each willing to try, however. Despite this, King Richard wanted to simply negotiate a truce, against the wishes of parliament and the Lords Appellant. Not thinking he would succeed, they allowed him to go to Calais and meet with Charles, which they did outside of Calais in the town of Leulinghem.

As it happens, representatives of the kings met and tentatively arranged a three-year truce, but when the two kings met they extended it to 27 years (although it only lasted 13). By claiming they were at peace, they stopped hostilities between Portugal and Castile in Iberia, who were supporting England and France respectively. England and France also agreed to a Crusade against Turks in the Balkans.

They also agreed to keep meeting to discuss further joint ventures, so when Richard's wife Anne died in 1396, negotiations began to wed Richard to Charles' daughter Isabella, uniting the two royal families. The fact that Isabella was born in 1389 and was therefore only seven years old did not bother anyone; such is the nature of royal marriages. The wedding took place on 31 October 1396:

A tearful Princess Isabelle, dressed in a blue velvet dress sewn with golden fleurs de lys and wearing a diadem of gold and pearls, was carried by the Dukes of Berry and Burgundy to Richard’s pavilion. She was taken away by a delegation of English ladies led by the Duchesses of Lancaster and Gloucester. Four days later, on 4 November 1396, she was brought to the church of St. Nicholas in Calais where Richard married her. She was five days short of her seventh birthday. Her dolls were included in her trousseau. [Sumption, Jonathan (2011). The Hundred Years War, Volume 3: Divided Houses. p.831]

The two countries also agreed on helping to end the Western Schism, but Richard backed out and France decided to seize Avignon to force an end. Richard used the lack of war with France to concentrate on dealing with his enemies at home, confiscating their properties to redistribute them to his favorites. This was simply more of the same egregious behavior that led to the Wonderful Parliament and the Merciless Parliament.

When Richard went to Ireland to deal with a rebellion by Irish chieftains, his enemies saw their chance to deal with him once and for all. By this time, his uncle John of Gaunt was dead and the title Duke of Lancaster had fallen to Gaunt's son, Henry Bolingbroke. Bolingbroke had been one of the Lords Appellant created by parliament to manage the king's excesses years earlier. Richard had managed to exile Bolingbroke, but his trip to Ireland gave Bolingbroke the opportunity to return.

After his return? History was made. I'll tell you about that next time.

Richard II and the Lords Appellant

Although the Wonderful Parliament in 1386 tried to curtail the excesses of King Richard II, it was the Merciless Parliament in 1388 that truly forced the king to accept that Magna Carta was no joke and the king did not have supreme authority in the kingdom and was answerable to the parliament. The parliament was requested by a small group called the Lords Appellant, and we should understand their role during this part of Richard's reign before we go on.

The Hundred Years War was still going on in 1386, and England had had two decades of losses. The Wonderful Parliament held Richard's favorites responsible for these military failures and for the egregious taxation used to fund the war. A group of trusted nobles was chosen to take over the management of the kingdom and the king, the Lords Appellant.

The Lords Appellant were:

• Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester; Richard's uncle, who forced him to attend the Wonderful Parliament
• Richard Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel
• Thomas Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick
• Henry Bolingbroke, Earl of Derby (another nephew of Woodstock, being John of Gaunt's son)
• Thomas de Mowbray, Earl of Nottingham

They began their task right after the Wonderful Parliament ended, and the following year (1387) felt it necessary to launch an armed rebellion against Richard because one of his favorites, Robert de Vere, had raised an army for the king. (The illustration shows the Lords Appellant throwing their gauntlets down in front of Richard, but I cannot find an anecdote that explains this Victorian picture.)

In February 1388, the Merciless Parliament met to deal with Richard's favorites, de Vere and Michael de la Pole, Nicholas Brembre (who had been mayor of London several times), Chief Justice Robert Tresilian, and Alexander Neville (Archbishop of York). They were all accused of vice and swaying the king wrongly and lining their own pockets. As a prelate, Neville was only exiled after losing his position and all his estates and possessions, but everyone else was executed.

The executions did not stop there: dozens of members of the royal administration were purged. Finally they came to Simon Burley, who had been the king's father's advisor and was one of the king's regents when he was young. Burley was defended by Edmund Langley, the Duke of York, who was also a son of Edward III and therefore also Richard's uncle. Langley's brother, Thomas of Woodstock, rose to condemn Burley. Richard, who was in attendance of course, spoke up for the first time, and argued with his uncle Woodstock. Woodstock finally told him that he needed to stop defending his friends if he wanted to keep his crown. That made Richard sit back down.

One of the complaints about Richard was that he was a failure at the war with France, and was trying to negotiate a peace. Parliament (and the Lords) preferred military successes over a truce. Although Richard became effectively a puppet under the Lords Appellant, he managed to get revenge on the Lords and Parliament by the Truce of Leulinghem, but that's a story for tomorrow.

Richard II and the Wonderful Parliament

From October to November 1386, the Wonderful Parliament took place in Westminster Abbey. Its initial purpose was to discuss King Richard II's request for money (his uncle, John of Gaunt, was pushing for war with France as part of the Hundred Years War). In fact, a French fleet had been massing across the Channel in Flanders all summer, and the rumor of invasion was credible. Money had been spent to have 10,000 soldiers surround London for protection, and more was requested to prepare for war with France. The king's request would have brought a sum of £155,000—this would have been the largest tax in England's history, and Parliament was alarmed.

Other issues arose as well. Richard's marriage to Anne of Bohemia was supposed to bring her father, Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV, onto the English side. There did not seem to be much support from Charles, however, and the man who negotiated the marriage, Michael de la Pole, had been made chancellor a few years before and more recently made Earl of Suffolk. Also, Robert de Vere, 9th Earl of Oxford, had just been made Duke of Ireland. Richard's elevation of his favorites to such positions was very concerning to Parliament, who considered these men and others close to Richard to be out for themselves and inappropriate royal advisors.

Richard was going to absent himself from Parliament—he did not like being told what he could and could not do—but his uncle Thomas of Woodstock, the Duke of Gloucester, threatened him with being deposed if he did not attend.

Parliament considered de la Pole a bad chancellor and wanted him impeached. Richard was forced to get rid of his chancellor and deal in the future only with advisors approved by Parliament. He left Westminster and spent a year traveling the country, ignoring the advice of Parliament's approved advisors and trying to gather support for himself.

As for the French fleet, England got lucky: a rebellion in Ghent took their attention, and there was no invasion of England that season. Also in 1386, Gaunt left England to attempt his dream of succeeding to the throne of Castile. Parliament had never trusted him, assuming that he wanted the English throne himself. Richard was upset with him as well: Gaunt was the chief military leader, and the promise of claiming France did not materialize fast enough. Gaunt's wealth had often supported Richard's desires, but with Gaunt in Spain fighting his own battles, Richard had lost a source of support and felt deserted.

The rest of Richard's reign was going to be one long argument with Parliament about the extent of his power and autonomy. The Wonderful Parliament was considered even more damaging to him that the Merciless Parliament in 1388. That is our next stop on this brief tour of the life of Richard II.

Richard II, the Boy King

When King Edward III died on 21 June 1377, ideally his eldest son would have succeeded him. Unfortunately, Edward (called "The Black Prince") had died almost exactly one year before. History might look back and say the succession should have passed to the next available son, John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and at the time probably the wealthiest man in England after the Crown. English royal succession didn't work that way, however, and the next in line was the son of young Edward.

That son, Richard of Bordeaux, was 10 years old. Parliament wanted to crown him as quickly as possible, fearing that Gaunt would try to usurp the throne. At his coronation on 16 July 1377, Archbishop of Canterbury Simon Sudbury put the crown on his head and the succession was set.

Normally, a king in his minority would have a regency council that included his uncles—who obviously knew a lot about the administration and defense of the realm—but Parliament feared Gaunt's influence, so others were chosen such as Sir Simon Burley and Robert de Vere, 9th Earl of Oxford.

From 1377 to 1381, little is heard from or about the new king. Regency councils are managing national affairs. It is with the Peasants Revolt of 1381 that Richard becomes more active in public, especially when at 14 he rides out to address the rebels personally.

In many ways he was an oddity. He had picked up some different mannerisms from his upbringing on the continent. One was the eyebrow-raising use of a piece of cloth made especially for dealing with sneezes and coughs. Another was that he did not know English. He was the last English king whose first language was French; Simon Burley was his tutor in the English language.

Months after the Revolt, he married Anne of Bohemia, daughter of Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV. This arrangement, negotiated by Michael de la Pole, was supposed to give England a powerful ally in its problems with France.

A few years later came a parliament called the Wonderful Parliament. Unfortunately for Richard, it wasn't wonderful for him. I'll explain that next time.

Katherine Swynford, Widow

After John of Gaunt died, in 1399, his third wife, Katherine Swynford, lost a lot of status. His health had been declining (he was approaching 60 years old), and in 1398 he had been expelled from England because he had displeased his nephew, King Richard II. On 3 February 1399, Gaunt made a detailed will, leaving all movable possessions (clothing, furniture, jewelry, etc.) to Katherine. He died the next day.

Immediately, the king's escheators (officers meant to keep track of where a decedent's inheritance goes) seized everything, including the Lancaster estates. She made a plea to the king in March, and got the estates returned, along with an annuity of £1000. Later, the king allowed her to keep the estates she had been given prior to marriage with Gaunt, but took the Lancastrian estates, since the king would have to find a new Duke of Lancaster. She gave the estates of Kettlethorpe and Colby (received from her first husband, Sir Hugh Swynford), to her only son from that marriage, Thomas as Swynford. She moved to a rented house in Lincoln, where she lived out the rest of her days.

All this took place in 1399. In the fall of that year, Gaunt's son Henry Bolingbroke (who had been exiled for life by Richard) returned to England, deposing Richard and crowning himself Henry IV. Katherine and Gaunt's children, the Beauforts, and Thomas Swynford supported Henry.

Although the new king referred to Katherine officially as "the Mother of the King," she did not return to court life, staying quietly in Lincoln and all but disappearing from history. In 1400 Henry gave her a new estate in Yorkshire, and £200 of the annual rents of Huntingdonshire, as well as an annuity of 700 marks (this was all in addition to the £1000 that had been assigned to her long ago by Gaunt). She had more than enough to live comfortably anywhere in the kingdom.

She died on 10 May 1403 and was buried in a tomb in Lincoln Cathedral (see the illustration). Made of fine marble and decorated with heraldic shields, with a carved likeness of her on top, it was topped with a brass canopy. The figure of her was partially damaged in 1644 during the English Civil War.

The king who exiled Gaunt and Bolingbroke, Richard II, has been mentioned many times, but not directly discussed. I'll tell you tomorrow about a king who was a boy who did not speak the language of the country he ruled.

Henry V

Henry of Monmouth was so-called because he was born in a tower at Monmouth Castle in Wales, but the date of his birth was not recorded because he was never expected to be king. (It has since been decided to call it 16 September 1386.)

King of England at the time was Richard II. Henry's father was the king's cousin (Henry senior was the son of John of Gaunt, younger brother of Richard II's father, Edward the Black prince.) Henry senior took part in a revolt against Richard, which resulted in his exile in 1398.

At that point, Richard took the twelve-year-old Henry under his wing, taking him to Ireland. A year later, his grandfather John of Gaunt died and the Lancastrian rebellion overthrew Richard and put Henry's father on the throne as Henry IV. Young Henry was now the eldest son of the reigning king, and was named heir apparent, Prince of Wales, and Duke of Lancaster. He also became Duke of Cornwall, Earl of Chester and Duke of Aquitaine.

In 1400 he was named Sheriff of Cornwall and put in charge of part of the military (note that he is about fourteen years old). In 1403 he led an English army to fight Owain Glendower (previously mentioned here). At the battle of Shrewsbury in 1403 against Henry Percy (immortalized as "Hotspur" in Shakespeare's Henry IV, Part 1), an arrow was embedded in the left side of our Henry's face.

This would have been dire for any soldier, but the king's son was going to receive the best care. The royal physician treated it with honey as a natural antiseptic, and developed a tool to extract the embedded arrowhead before flushing the wound with alcohol. The patient survived with impressive scars that proved his battle experience (although you'll note the absence of scars in the portrait above).

That physician was John Bradmore, and is too interesting a character to not stop and talk about him next.

The Hundred Years' War, Part 3

(If you want to see parts one and two.)

The second part of the Hundred Years' War was the Caroline Phase, named after Charles V of France, who ignored the Treaty of Brétigny and started reclaiming sections of land from the English-held territory.

Charles had a reason to think the time was right for this move. Problems in Castile caused Pedro the Cruel to ask England for help in restoring him to his throne. Edward, the Black Prince, spent a lot of money raising an army to help. Once Pedro was restored, he broke his promise to repay Edward. Edward decided the best way to recoup his losses was to raise taxes in Aquitaine.

The people of Aquitaine, since they were French citizens, appealed to King Charles for aid, who summoned Edward to Paris in May 1369. When Edward did not appear, Charles declared war. An ailing Black Prince had returned to England in 1371 where his father was also elderly and in poor health. While Aquitaine was in turmoil, Edward's forces were no longer helping Pedro, who was once again deposed. His enemy was his half-brother, Henry of Trastámara. Henry was now more than willing to throw his military power behind the French forces against England. The English fleet was defeated soundly in the Battle of Rochelle in June 1372.

The Black Prince died on 8 June 1376; his father died 21 June 1377, leaving the throne to the Black Prince's son and heir, crowned Richard II, who was 10 years old. A pre-teen king was not going to conduct a war, so England's territory on the continent was mostly the town of Calais.

We should also remember the the Black Death struck between 1348 and 1351, killing up to 33% of English and 40-50% of the French. Raising and outfitting armies could not have been easy. Moreover, the Plague returned every several years, although it did not kill as many each time.

The war would be renewed by Henry V. Stay tuned.

Mayor Richard Whittington

One of the most prominent mayors of the City of London in the Middle Ages (and perhaps of all other eras) was Richard Whittington. He was born sometime in the 1350s into a well-to-do family, but as a younger son would not have expected to inherit anything substantial; he was therefore sent to London to learn to be a mercer (a merchant who deals in cloth). Fortunately, he was good at the trade, and by 1388 he was selling to the royal court. He used his growing wealth to become a moneylender, rather than buy property. This ingratiated him to many prominent people; King Richard II was borrowing from him in 1397.

By that time he had been a councilman, an alderman, and a sheriff as well as a powerful member of the Mercers' Company. In 1397, Mayor Adam Bamme died. London and the King were in the middle of a serious dispute: asserting mismanagement, King Richard had appropriated London's real estate. Richard forced London to accept Whittington as mayor. Richard owed Whittington money, and could simply default on the loan. If Whittington wanted his money, he would work with Richard to resolve the dispute. Within days, they struck a deal by which London would receive back all its real estate and right to self-government in exchange for £10,000. That was in June; in October, the citizens elected Whittington mayor in his own right.

In all, he was elected mayor 4 times (though not consecutively). When Richard II was deposed in 1399, Whittington's situation did not suffer: he also had business dealings with Bolingbroke, now King Henry IV, and so he remained on good terms with the (new) King. He also loaned large sums to Henry V, and continued to be successful, as a member of parliament representing London, and even as a judge in usury trials in 1421! Henry V also appointed him supervisor of the funds for rebuilding Westminster Abbey.

He was a magnanimous figure. Money from him helped to rebuild the Guildhall (used as town hall for centuries). He financed drainage systems for parts of London, a ward for unmarried mothers at a hospital, the rebuilding of his ward's church, and "Whittington's Longhouse," a public toilet that seated 128 and was situated so that high tide in the River Thames would flush it out. His will left £7000 to rebuild Newgate Prison, repair St. Bartholomew's Hospital, install public drinking fountains, and more.

Historians know him well, but schoolchildren in England know the name for things he never did, and we will look at that next.

Mortrews

I have mentioned The Forme of Cury [Forms of Cooking] a few times before. It's the cookbook that gathers the best recipes from the cooks of King Richard II. If I had my choice, I'd eat Mortrews frequently!

The original recipe reads:

Mortrews. Take hennes and pork and seeþ hem togyder. Take the lyre of hennes and of þe pork and hewe it small, and grinde it al to doust; take brede ygrated and do þerto, and temper it with the self broth, and alye it with yolkes of ayren; and cast þeron powdour fort. Boile it and do þerin powdour of gynger, sugur, safroun and salt, and loke þat it be stondying; and flour it with powdour gynger.

 An excellent website has translated this as:

Mortrews. Take hens and pork and boil together. Take the liver of hens and of the pork and cut it small, and grind it to a fine powder; take grated bread and add, and mix with the broth, and mix it with egg yolks; and add powdour fort. Boil it and add ginger, sugar, saffron and salt, and make sure it's thick; and garnish with ginger.

The "powdour fort" was a mixture of ground spices.

It could be served as a soup, with more broth, or as a which stew with less broth and more bread. The name apparently comes from the fact that it is all ground up/mixed in a mortar. It sounds to me like an ideal use for leftover meat and bread. If you try it, let me know what you think.

The Forgotten Vegetable

In The Forme of Cury cookbook from Richard II's court, there is a recipe for "Rapes in Potage," "rapes" meaning turnips. Let me offer my translation of the recipe:

Take turnips and wash them, cut them into squares, parboil them. Take them out of the water, put them into broth and continue cooking. Mince onions and toss them with saffron and salt; add them to the pot. Sprinkle with sweet powder and serve. You can also do this [the author adds] with parsnips and skirrets.

From an 1885 German book

Turnips and parsnips we understand, but "skirrets" are mostly a mystery to modern cooks, despite a few attempts to create a revival.

The plant itself came from China, but traveled westward via trade to Europe. It became known in Germany as Zuckerwurzel ["sugar root"], and Hildegard of Bingen addressed its effects and medicinal properties in her treatise, Physica. The Dutch and Danish also call it "sugar root."

The Forme of Cury not only mentions them as a substitute for turnips, but also has a recipe for skirret fritters. In England, it was called skirwhit or skirwort which mean "white root." The whiteness and sweetness of the roots seem to be their chief attribute, praised by cooks through the ages.

The plant itself is hardy, resistant to cold and pests, and prefers moist soil—making it ideal for the English climate. The roots are best if dug up and eaten when the plant goes dormant in winter, making them a good source of food during the coldest months.

Modern attempts to work with skirret seem to disagree with the cooks of Richard II. The gardeners of Hampton Court have added this forgotten vegetable to their stock, and find that it is delicate enough that even parboiling ruins the flavor. Food historian Marc Meltonville says "Celebrate it on its own. Eat it raw or cube it up and fry it in butter with a little garlic, in an iron pan if possible." [link]

If you wish to try your hand at a long-lost root vegetable, you can order from here or here.

The Fair Maid of Kent

To Froissart she was "the most beautiful woman in all the realm of England, and the most loving"; in her own right she was the 4th Countess of Kent and the 5th Baroness Wake of Liddell; to Edward the Black Prince she was wife; to history she was "The Fair Maid of kent."

Her father, Edmund of Woodstock, was a son of King Edward I, which meant that she and the Black Prince were cousins—not uncommon for aristocratic marriages. She might have been able to marry him at all, however, since she had been imprisoned when she was a child.

Her father had supported Edward II (who was his older half-brother) during the conflict with Queen Isabella and Roger Mortimer. Once Edward II was deposed, Edmund was executed and his wife and children placed under house arrest in Arundel Castle. Once Edward III came to power, however, he took the family into his care. Joan was his 1st cousin, and the 2nd cousin of his wife, Queen Philippa.

Having survived the scandal of being associated with a traitor, she mdd her own royal mistake when she was 12: she made a secret marriage with Thomas Holland without getting the king's consent. Then Thomas went Crusading. While he was gone, her family—unaware that she had contracted marriage with someone else—arranged a marriage with William Montacute, son of the Earl of Salisbury. Joan did not disclose that she was already married for fear that Thomas would be executed.

Thomas eventually returned to England, having gained great wealth on Crusade, found his wife married into the family of the Earl of Salisbury, and promptly appealed for help to King Edward and Pope Clement VI. Joan expressed the desire to return to the husband of her choice, and the Earl of Salisbury promptly imprisoned her in her own home. The pope, however, chose to annul the second marriage; Joan joined Thomas, and they had four or five children over the next 11 years. Holland died in 1360.

Joan was now about 30, and Edward the Prince of Wales (later called "The Black Prince") a little younger. They had known each other growing up, and a gift from him of a silver cup suggests special affection for his second cousin. There is some evidence that the pair made a secret marriage (this was getting to be a habit of hers) in 1360. This presented a problem, because their relationship was too close for the laws of consanguinity. Edward III, however, requested of the pope that a special dispensation be made, and the two were formally wed on 10 October 1361.

Their son, Richard of Bordeaux, would become King Richard II on the death of Edward III. Joan died on 7 August 1385.

May Day Quiche

Baking, pulled from a neat food history site for kids

The Earl of Bradford once produced a cookbook. That makes it sound more historically interesting than it really is (apologies to the earl), because it was just a few years ago. In it, he and his co-author mention that English peasants, in the week after the vernal equinox, had the right to the milk that would normally have gone to the lord on whose land they were tenants.

With this extra milk they could make cheese and butter that would last for awhile. In that honor, I present a cheese tart recipe from the Forme of Cury book (mentioned before) assembled by the cooks of Richard II. The recipe is for "Tart de Bry" and reads like this:

Tart de Bry. Take a crust ynche depe in a trap. Take yolkes of ayren rawe & chese ruayn & medle it & þe yolkes togyder. Do þerto powdour gynger, sugur, safroun, and salt. Do it in a trap; bake it & serue it forth.

Let's see how the translation works if we stick closely to the original:

• Take a crust an inch deep in a trap [trapped in a pan/dish]
• Take yolks of eggs raw & autumn* [older; not soft] cheese & mix it and the yolks together.
• Add thereto powdered ginger, sugar, saffron, and salt.
• Put it in the trap.
• Bake it and serve it forth.

Pretty straightforward—forgetting for the moment the near-complete lack of measurements. Keep in mind that precise measurements for baking did not really exist until 20th century United States and the invention of Betty Crocker, with the intent to make baking easy for any household. Medieval cooks no doubt had their own tools and cups with which they learned to make the same dish over and over, relying on memory and experience.

We are pretty sure that the "Bry" of the title would have resembled our modern Brie, but was probably not as soft as modern Brie. Another version of this recipe gives directions to grate the cheese, so it would have to be more firm than we expect Brie to be. If you are interested in more medieval cookery, there are many websites devoted to it, especially this one.

Hope you had a happy May Day!

*ruayn was a word for cheese made from the milk from cows that grazed the autumn fields. Remember that tenants were allowed to graze their animals on common land after the harvest.

Public Reading

When April, with her showers sweet,
The drought of March has pierced to the roots...

A poster for sale of Chaucer reading

On this day in 1397, Geoffrey Chaucer gave a public reading of his Tales of Canterbury at the court of Richard II. We don't know exactly what he read—it isn't likely that they sat through the hours it would take to read everything, even though the Canterbury Tales are far from complete. The wager the pilgrims make is that each one would tell two tales going to Canterbury and two on the return journey; their host would pick the best one and treat them all to a feast. Given this plan, and the number of pilgrims (which changes along the way), we would expect at least 120 tales.* We only have about 30, with no evidence that there are "lost manuscripts" anywhere containing more work. (Chaucer was a busy public servant, and probably didn't have much time for writing.)

King Richard was a great supporter of poetry, and public readings were not uncommon. In a world without television, radio, movie theaters, or even plays, public entertainment came from song, dance, or the written word. Readings at court of new poetry were a popular affair.

Monasteries favored public reading as well. The Rule of St. Benedict mandated readings during meals, both to discourage idle chatter and to educate monks. Hearing a text read was supposed to be as educational as reading it yourself: the listener was "reading" with his ears and experiencing the same words, and therefore "knew" what was read as well as the person whose eyes were actually on the page. At universities like Oxford and Cambridge, students attended lectures that could last for hours, but they were not supposed to take notes. Listening and thinking was supposed to be sufficient for learning. When books became inexpensive to print and "everyone" could have a copy of the text to study and read, I think this "active listening" skill gradually lost importance.

*I think Chaucer wanted to "beat" Boccaccio's Decameron, with its ten people each telling a new tale each day for ten days.

Chaucer's Enemy

William Thorpe before Arundel, 1407; a case of heresy

Yesterday's post discussed Thomas Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, and suggested that he was Chaucer's enemy. Let's discuss that assertion.*

England had become more liberal under Richard II. John Wycliffe had pushed for a more people-oriented approach to Christianity that focused far less respect on the hierarchy of the Church—the hierarchy of which Arundel had reached the pinnacle in England, as Archbishop of Canterbury. Wycliffe had even started producing parts of the Bible in English, accessible to more people. The followers of Wycliffe, called "Lollards," were considered heretical by many, and especially by Arundel. Prior to his exile, he had tried to curb that hotbed of Lollardy, Oxford, and had been rebuffed and insulted by its chancellor. Now, restored as archbishop under Henry IV, Arundel had a freer hand to pursue his goal of asserting harsher control over the moral fiber of the realm.

One of his targets, by necessity, would have been the popular poet whose freely circulated works showed numerous signs of Lollardy. Chaucer's Canterbury Tales constantly mocked the hierarchy of church officials, displaying their worldliness and corruption. The pilgrim who seems to have Chaucer's greatest respect is the antithesis of the worldly Arundel:

The Parson may be poor but he is rich in holy thought and works. He's a learned man—a clerk—and he truly teaches Christ's Gospel. He's benign and diligent and patient in adversity. He is loathe to excommunicate folk because they can't pay their tithes ... and he would rather give them from his own income and property. [Who Murdered Chaucer, p. 219]

But would Arundel's dislike of these portraits turn into action? Well, it was during the reign of Henry IV (in 1401, in fact) that England started burning heretics, and a few years after that (1407) Arundel made knowledge of the Bible by non-clergy a sign of heresy. He was controlling, heavy-handed, vengeful when it came to Oxford and Lollardy and of anything that attacked or mocked the hierarchy of the church.

Jones et alia assert that Arundel's need to change the tone in England may have been the guiding force behind Chaucer's difficulties at the end of his life (Henry IV officially confirmed Chaucer's annuity, but records show that the payments weren't actually forthcoming) and the obscurity with which he was treated when he died—although praised by fellow-poets during his life, there is no public notice taken of his death. Chaucer might have seen the writing on the wall; hence the Retraction he wrote for the Tales in which he asks forgiveness for his vulgar stories and prays for God's mercy, in a tone very different from everything else he has written.

*I give full credit for this theory to the authors of Who Murdered Chaucer, discussed in a previous post.

The Death of Chaucer

The 25th of October 1400 is the date of the death of Geoffrey Chaucer. Based on the records that exist from 14th century England that refer to him (over 300 of them!), we assume a birthdate around 1340. That would make him about 60 years old at the time of his death, a perfectly respectable number from which one could die of old age.

Unless he was murdered.

Terry Jones, who once amazed us all as the logical Sir Bedivere in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, collaborated on a book that explored what he considers the unsatisfying approach history has given us about the death of the English poet. Who Murdered Chaucer asks why—given that Chaucer was a well-known poet as well as a well-connected civil servant in his lifetime—his death occurs in absolute historical silence.

In 1400 his name simply disappears from the record. We don't know how he died, where or when; there is no official confirmation of his death and no chronicle mentions it; no notice of his funeral or burial. He left no will and there's nothing to tell us what happened to his estate. [Who Murdered Chaucer? Terry Jones, et alia, St. Martins Press, 2003]

Jones and company have a theory, and it is because Chaucer was so integrated into the culture of his day. Besides having enjoyed several well-paying positions, Chaucer had done diplomatic work for his king and was probably more "connected" than most civil servants. When Henry Bolingbroke rebelled against King Richard II and wrested the throne from him—becoming King Henry IV on 30 September 1399—the regime change would have swept from office and political favor those like Chaucer.

In December of 1399, Chaucer had taken out a very long lease on his new apartment; would he have done so if he wasn't healthy and didn't expect a long life ahead of him? He hadn't finished his major work, The Canterbury Tales: according to the "plan" in the Prologue, each pilgrim would tell two tales on the way to Canterbury, and two tales on the way back; the approximately 120 tales would have "one-upped" the 100 tales of Boccaccio's Decameron. Perhaps Chaucer expected a long and peaceful retirement, continuing what he loved to do, out of the public eye.

The authors also point out that Chaucer's contemporary and friend, John Gower, changed the dedication of his great poem, the Confessio Amantis [Latin: Confession of the Lover], from Richard II and Chaucer to Henry Bolingbroke. Even if Gower decided he wanted to support Henry over Richard, why the omission of his friend Chaucer from the dedication? Was Chaucer becoming persona non grata [Latin: "person without grace" or "unwelcome person"] in the changing political climate?

But does all this mean that Chaucer was murdered? The title of Jones' book seems more than a little sensationalistic. Would the king really have taken such a personal interest in suppressing the fate of Chaucer?

Or did Chaucer have an even more oppressive and powerful enemy who held a grudge against him and would be motivated to suppress the poet?

Stay tuned...



[If you are interested in Chaucer and his time, consider the link in the upper-right of this webpage. A Death in Catte Street is my first historical mystery in a proposed series (a sequel is in the works). A young Chaucer finds himself in the middle of a mystery of which the rest of London is unaware. Curiosity and a sense of moral obligation inspire him to delve into the history of England.]

Chaucer Performs

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote 

The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote 

DailyMedieval doesn't usually talk about topics that everyone knows about (King Arthur, Geoffrey Chaucer, jousting and castles, etc.), because it tries to pull back the curtain on all the other interesting people and places and tidbits of knowledge that do not get any exposure in textbooks or modern popular culture. (Not that I don't have a strong feelings about Chaucer, as the book link in the upper-right corner of this website tells you.)

From the Ellesmere manuscript

Today, however, we mention Geoffrey Chaucer, because today is thought to be the day of the year when his pilgrims set out on their journey in The Canterbury Tales. Also, 17 April 1397 is considered to be the day that he first gave a public reading of his most famous work at the court of Richard II.

Spring was the time when folk "longed to go on pilgrimages" because they had been cooped up indoors all winter and the roads were finally becoming navigable.

Canterbury was a common goal for pilgrimages because it held the shrine of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1162-1170, who was killed during the reign of Henry II by four knights who were acting either on behalf of  the King or were removing the king's rival on their own in order to curry favor. He was universally loved by the population of England, and was declared a martyr by Pope Alexander III in 1173.

While we're on the subject, let's make something clear about The Canterbury Tales: it is not a complete work. In the collection, the proposal for the pilgrims is that they would each tell two tales heading to Canterbury and two tales coming back, after which their Host would judge the best tale. Chaucer's intent was possibly to top Boccaccio's Decameron with its ten tales each day for ten days. We have barely over 30 tales (and some of them fragmentary), a far cry from the 120 we could expect if he completed the work.