I was talking to author friend Helen Hollick about medieval names and cultural survival when we met for lunch recently and I said I had been meaning to list some of them as a Medieval Monday post. I have in my possession the Feet of Fines for Norfolk 1201-1215 and for Suffolk 1199-1214. It's a list of cases brought before judges on the travelling circuit at this time and much of it is concerned with property law and small business that gives us the names of the local populace. East Anglia was once part of the Danelaw and there are strong Scandinavian influences at work in this region, as well as Anglo Saxon and Norman. So let's see. Here is a list of names by origin dating to 150 years AFTER the Battle of Hastings. Names of Anglo Saxon and Scandinavian origins seem to be surviving in families at this point although from studying the data it becomes clear that many of the parents with Anglo Saxon and Scandinavian names are now giving their children Norman ones. So for example, Elfstan calls his son Richard, Gunnild calls her son Robert. Brictmar calls his son William. As the Middle Ages progresses, so does the increase in the popularity of certain names. By the early post medieval period, the names William and John accounted for 40% of all boys' names in Parish registers. Since I don't have an Old English alphabet to hand on my keyboard, excuse the approximate spellings. The 'F' beside a name indicates a woman. Fewer women are involved in the lawsuits, and so there are corrrespondingly less names. Also some of the names go across the board - particularly biblical ones, and these are freqently given to men in holy orders. Whether these were their baptismal names, or taken on when they became clerics, I do not know at this stage.
English names
Adelwold Aelfled/Elflet F Aileva F Ailbrict Ailletha F Ailmer/Heilmar Aillilda F Ailric Alviva/ Elviva F Ailward Ailwi Alfred/Alured/Alvred Algar Alstan/Elfstan Alvric Alwin/Elwin Botild F Brichtwold Brictmar Brixi Brun Dune Ede Ediva F Edmer Edmund/Eadmund Edith/Edift F Edric Edulf Edward Edwen F Edwin Eilwin Eldric Elfer Estrilda F Goda F Gode F Goding Godric Godwin/Goldwin Kenestan Leffemer Lefquen Lefric/Levric Lefsi Lefstan Lefwin Levesun Leviva F Luviet Norman Ordmer Oslac Osulf Sefugel Seleve F Seman Sired Sirich Stanard Sweteman Sweting Theda F Uchtred Unwin Wade Wengeva F Wictmar Windlevi Wilfrun Wilfwan F Winoht Wlric/Wlvric/Wulfric Wulfrid Wulviva F
Norman names (Including biblical ones) Adam Ada F Adelina F Agatha F Alan Alexander Albreda F Aleisia F Amabel F Amalric Amicia F Andrew Anselm Ascelina F Avelina F Aubrey Baldwin Barney Bartholomew Basilia F Beatrice F Benedict Bernard Bertram Blanche F Cecelia F Celestria F Charles Christina F Clarice F Costance F Constantine Daniel Durand Eda F Edelina F Elias Emelina F Emma F Ermegard F Ernald Eudo Eustace Everard Felicity F Fulk Gamaliel Geoffrey Gerard Gerbert Gerold Gervase Gilbert Gocelin/Jocelin Godfrey Hamo Hawisa F Helena F Helewise F Henry Herbert Hervey Hubert Hugh Humphrey Isabel F Isolda F Ivo Joanna F John Jordan Juetta F Juliana F Katerina Laurence Lecenta F Lecia F Lettice F Lucy F Luke Mabel F Maingot Margery F Marie F Martin Matilda F Matthew Maurice Mazelina F Miles Muriel F Nicholas Odo Oger Patrick Peter Petronilla F Philippa F Ralf Reginald Reiner Richard Robert Rolland Roger Sara F Simon Stephen Thierri Thomas Vincent Waleran Walter Warrin William Wimarc
I gave a talk at Uppermill library in Saddleworth last week and one of my audience - Laura- said she particularly enjoyed my Medieval Monday posts. I admit to being a bit lax with these sometimes as I don't always have the time, but spurred on by her comment - thanks Laura :-) ! I have set out to post one today. It's from volume 1 of the Histoire de Guillaume le Mareschal - the story of the great William Marshal's life - and it's a particular incident that happened to him while he was travelling and on his way back to Montmirail, to the Household of his liege lord The Young King. The dateline is circa 1182/3. It's not an incident I have put in The Greatest Knight, but you might find it in some of his biographies. It tells us so much about the life and attitudes of the time. My comments are in bold.
'On the Wednesday, as the Marshal was on his way there, it so happened that he felt a desire to sleep; he could not resist and gave way to it. Eustace de Bertrimont stayed with him, nobody else. So the Marshal, well on his way to being asleep, dismounted by the side of the road and lay down on the spot to sleep, (so kipping by the roadside if one had the need was an acceptable norm for knights one assumes) and his squire Eustace took off the horses' bridles and let them graze over the open countryside. As the Marshal was sleeping, there suddenly appeared a tall, handsome man and a beautiful woman, whether married or not I do not know. They were riding big, fine palfreys, sleek, well-fed and ambling nicely along; the steps they took were big ones and they had bulky baggage, for they each had on a cape of heavy material made in Flanders, and very fine they were. (so this tells us their outdoor cloaks were from cloth woven in Flanders and that it was excellent stuff. I am stating the obvious here, but for someone researching the period this is a useful little nugget of detail. Also some interesting descriptions of the riding horses). When they arrived on the spot where the Marshal was lying asleep, the woman said in a very low voice: 'Good God, how tired I am!' Eustace overheard this, and the Marshal heard it too, and he woke up and asked: 'Eustace, what is that I heard?' He replied: 'My Lord, the long and the short of it is that I saw a man and a woman passing here right in front of us. The woman said that she was very tired, but they still went on at a smart pace. Also they had a lot of baggage.' The Marshal said: 'Put the bridle on my horse because I want to find out in full where they've come from and where they're going, who they are and what their business is.' Immediately he mounted as fast as he could, but in his haste, he forgot about his sword. He spurred on until he caught them up. He took the man by the sleeve of his cape and said: 'My dear sir, now tell me the truth, who are you? I wish to know.' And the man, annoyed by this replied: 'Sir, I am a man.' 'Upon my soul, I can see very well that you are not an animal!' The man nudged his cape with his elbow, making it slip from the Marshal's grip, and once it was gone from his hand, the man put his hand to his sword. At this the Marshal said, 'Are you looking for a fight? If you are, you'll get one, and you'll very soon know about it.' He said to Eustace, without any doubt: 'Here, hand me my sword, here, hand it to me!' The man took fright and drew back, and as he did, his cape slipped down and covered the sword which he had uncovered so as to draw it. The Marshal dug in his spurs and seized the man by his hood; he tugged so violently that he got one of his fingers stuck in his coif and ripped it. At this point there is nothing more to be said, except that he was the most handsome monk to be found between there and Cologne; once his head was uncovered, there was no hiding the fact. So the Marshal then said: 'Haha! just the chap I was looking for! Who are you, tell me, and who is this woman here?' The man was frightened and ashamed, upset and troubled, and he said: 'My lord have pity on me in the name of God! Here we are at your mercy. As you can see for yourself I am a monk.' 'Now tell me what you're about; tell me, don't hide it from me.' 'My lord, this woman is my lady friend; I have taken her away from her own land, and we are going to a foreign one.' Then in turn the Marshal said to the young woman, 'Tell me, fair lady, who are you and what is your family?' She was very ashamed and, crying on account of the great trouble she was in, she replied: 'My lord, I am from Flanders and the sister of Sir Ralph de Lens.' 'My fair lady, you are not behaving sensibly, I can see that,' said the Marshal. 'I advise you in good faith to desist from this folly and I shall reconcile you with your brother, without a doubt, for I know him very well.' The lady, not keen to be an object of shame, replied: 'My lord, if it please God, never more shall I be seen in a land where I am known.' The Marshal said to the monk: 'Tell me, so God Save you; since such is the course you intend to take, have you got coins or other money to provide for and support yourselves? The man lifted up the hem of his cape and unclipped a very fat purse. 'Of course,' he said 'my dear lord, just see all the money we have here. We've got 48 pounds.' (wow, that must have been some purse when you think of the coinage back then!). And the Marshal asked him: 'What will you do with them my friend? How have you planned to live on this money of yours?' 'I'll be very happy to tell you that. I would not exchange them, but in some town where we are not known we shall advance them to others to make a profit and live on the interest.' The Marshal replied 'What! usury! God's Lance, I don't much care for this. So it please God, this will never be! Eustace, take that money! Since you are unwilling to go back where you came from, since you have no mind to lead an honourable life and have been led astray by your wicked hearts, go now and may devils give you speed!'
The Marshal came to the lodgings and he ordered Eustace to make sure he did not disclose any of this business to any man. There is not much else to tell: the Marshal came to the lodgings and found Sir Baldwin who was more to him than a neighbour, and Hugh de Hamelincourt. They both hurried up to meet him, gave him a joyful welcome and cried out together: 'Marshal, your delay en route today has kept us fasting a very long time.' 'My lords,' he replied, 'never mind about that! I have won something of greater use to us, in which gladly I grant you a share. Eustace, over here with that money!' Eustace was more than happy to oblige and threw it down on the ground in front of them. Being the wise man he was, the Marshal said: 'Take it to pay what we owe.' They then asked: 'Marshal, where does this money come from?' He answered: 'Be patient for a while, I shall not let you know just yet.' Joyfully they ate and drank and, once they had left the table, all the coins were counted, for they thought that the man who had lent them him had miscounted. When the tally had been made, they found 48 pounds in good money; it was all there. The Marshal then said: 'Now I know that the lender was telling me the truth.' So he then began to tell the tale from beginning to end, the whole truth of it, as you have already heard me tell it. When Sir Hugh heard it, I can tell you he was not best pleased. 'God's teeth, you were more than kind to them for even letting go their palfreys and baggage. Here, bring me my horse. By my faith, I want a word with them.' The Marshal said: 'My dear lord, in God's name curb this anger of yours. You will hear no more of them from me, and you shall have no more of theirs.'
The moral of this story being that a monk who seeks to run off with someone's sister and live off usury is fair game to have his wherewithal to make a living taken. We might think the Marshal's actions harsh and opportunistic (accosting a stranger on the road, taking his money and dividing the dosh between his cronies!) but his colleagues thought he had not gone far enough and were ready to head out, find the couple and seize their horses and belongings too, although the Marshal prevented them. It's an interesting tale and shows that within the realms of chivalry, there were areas of tarnish on the armour to our modern way of thinking. To theirs, not so.
Okay, I got around to doing the giveaway draw this morning. I separated the entries into 3 piles - USA, Rest of the World and UK and allocated each one a number. So if you e-mailed first you were number 1, 2nd number 2 etc. Wrote all the numbers down on squares of paper and folded them into a basket. My eldest son dropped in with some shopping and stopped for a coffee, so I asked him to do the selecting.
The winners are: USA drawing: Cathy Helms
Rest of the World Drawing - Laura Rodrigues from Brazil
UK Drawing - Lisa Conway
I have Lisa's address, soI will post straight out, but if Cathy and Laura would like to e-mail me a forwarding address to elizabethchadwick@live.co.uk, I will get those sent out as soon as I can.
I will be running another giveaway for The Leopard Unleashed early in December. Congratulations to the winners and I wish I could have given everyone a book.
Hello all. Just to say that the FOR THE KING'S FAVOR giveaway is now closed. I've been away on book tour and am only just home, so bear with me while I sort the entries into the 3 categories (USA, UK, Rest of the globe) and do a drawing. I'm having a writing catch up day tomorrow as I really need to get back on track with the new work, but I'll do the announcing on Sunday. I've got visitors coming, so I'll get one of them to do the choosing. Anon Elizabeth.
Hello all, I'm a bit late with this one, but I am fighting for time at the moment as I head towards my deadline on LADY OF THE ENGLISH.
My UK novel THE TIME OF SINGING was bought by my USA publishers Sourcebooks. We decided to rename it FOR THE KING'S FAVOR. I know this hasn't met with universal approval from all readers and I do understand that it can be a problem with duplications but it's one of the prices paid when global markets collide and the Internet bring everything closer together. We changed the title because readers kept getting TTOS wrong. It has been A TIME OF SINGING, THE/A TIME FOR SINGING. Sourcebooks and I decided to go for something a bit more mainstream. FOR THE KING'S FAVOR, is one of the strongest themes in the novel. What do you have to do to earn and keep it? Is it a good thing to have? What are the consequences of being out of favour? What is the price you pay when all is said and done? The original TTOS title grew out of the song of Solomon and the fact that when Roger Bigod first sets eyes on Ida de Tosney, she is singing. There is a lot of garden imagery in the novel and I felt the Song of Solomon fitted, but it's not immediately obvious. So, agree or disagree, that's the thinking behind why the title changed and why both are appropriate. Goodness knows what titles are going to translate to when my other foreign editions are published! The cover has changed too - to suit the market and Sourcebooks branding style. I love it. I love the colours and the movement of the sleeve and the fact that there are a couple of corridor scenes in the novel that the cover picture could even be from. The model was actually expecting her first child when the pictures were done, so this makes it even more poignant (as you'll know when you read the novel).
Anyway, I have 3 copies to give away in a prize draw and I am making it international even though it is an American publication. And to re-iterate, it is available in the UK as The Time of Singing. They are virtually the same book. (I've done a bit of minor editing). There will be one copy for a UK reader, one for a USA/Canada reader, and one for the rest of the world. Just drop me an e-mail to elizabethchadwick@live.co.uk, saying which draw you want entering into - UK, USA & Canada, or Rest of World, and I will do the rest! Closing date Mid-day London time on October 1st.
If anyone wants to know more about the characters in The Time of Singing/For The King's Favor, just go to my website and click on book cover icon on the home page. There is a biography about Roger Bigod the hero, and links to blog posts I have written about the novel in the past, including one on Roger's hat collection!
As mentioned earlier this week, here are two out-takes from A PLACE BEYOND COURAGE. These scenes were included when I handed in the manuscript to my editor and publisher, but as we went through the editing process, we decided that they were not moving the novel forward in any way, but were just reporting incidents that happened and were a trifle repetitious in terms of the hero's story arc. It also had to do with word count, which we were trying to keep within bounds.
The first scene involves John Marshal taking Devizes from King Stephen's son in law Hervey de Leon. We know from history that de Leon was forced out of Devizes by the Empress's forces. It doesn't say who did the forcing, but I strongly suspect John had a hand in it since he had earlier been involved in a similar situation with the mercenary Robert FitzHubert. John had been instrumental in finishing his career. The scene in Savernake forest is taken mostly from the Akashic Records, as is much of the Devizes scene. There is a small piece before the main components of the scene where John's reasons for wanting rid of de Leon are set out.
The second scene is a straight out ambush and fight scene to show what John was doing in the latter part of the Stephen/Matilda war and looked at in hindsight, really was extraneous as other scenes in the novel were doing the work perfectly well, and this vignette was just overkill.
I will be putting them on the website in due course, but here they are as a blog post.
1. John FitzGilbert Marshal and the problem of unwelcome neighbour Hervey de Leon at Devizes
The prologue bit
‘I want to talk to you about Devizes,’ John said to Gloucester.
They were standing in the great hall waiting for the Empress to arrive from her chamber. Messengers had been coming and going all morning, bringing news, taking it out.Scribes frantically scratched at their lecterns, toiling over writs and letters.
Earl Robert nodded, looking preoccupied. ‘What of it?’
‘It’s about Hervey de Leon.’John was infuriated that Stephen had appointed the husband of his illegitimate daughter to the position of ‘Earl of Wiltshire.’ and installed him at Devizes.De Leon was another who strutted about in silk braies, but he didn’t possess any of the low cunning and grounded soldiering abilities of the recently deceased FitzHubert.Gloucester had hanged the latter on a gibbet before the walls of Devizes when FitzHubert’smercenaries had refused to open the gates.The men had watched him die, then promptly sold their loyalty to Stephen, who had installed Hervey de Leon as castellan, and given him the jumped up title of earl.
‘I trust you to keep him penned in.’ Gloucester made a visible effort to concentrate.‘He’s no competition for you.’
John compressed his lips at the platitude.It might be true, but did not alter the fact that the new lord of Devizes was a nuisance. While the town was in enemy hands, it remained a threat to his north-eastern borders. ‘He is no competition for anyone,’ he said curtly. ‘Sooner or later he will lose Devizes and then the race will be to the quick.’
Robert’s gaze sharpened. ‘You would be lord of Devizes as well as my sister’s marshal?’
John gave a sour laugh. ‘What I desire and what happens are two different matters.I am saying it is ripe for the taking but you will need a better man than Hervey de Leon to hold it.The people want stability and the rule of a great lord.Much as it pains me to say so, I am not great enough – yet,’ he added with mordant humour.
Gloucester nodded dismissively. ‘I’ll give the matter some thought.’
‘Thank you sire,’ John said, knowing that with the crowded agenda in Gloucester’s mind, it might be weeks before the earl focused his attention, and even then he would need hints and reminders.One man’s big fish was another’s bucket of small bait.
Now to John's own plans to deal with the situation Savernake Forest, Marlborough March 1141
Getting into Devizes castle was simple enough, although it took a while, given that John and his men had had to enter through the gate a few at a time, dressed in coarse mantles, hoods and cloaks, all weaponry concealed. They had assembled in the stables, where the grooms and their lads had been recruited by Helias and were ready to do their part.
John drew a deep breath. Although not the biggest gamble of his life in terms of strategy, it came close. If he was captured, he knew he would probably be hanged like FitzHubert. At the very least, he would be cast into the undercroft cells and left to rot.
Helias the farrier arrived – a powerfully built man in early middle age with a thatch of dark hair and blunt features. Tension corded his thick neck and sweat shone on his brow. His farrier’s hammer was tucked through his belt beside his knife sheath. ‘Are you ready sire?’ he asked.
John gave a brusque nod. ‘If you are. We shouldn’t delay.’
Helias turned round and leaving the stables, headed for the hall with John and two grooms following in his wake. Around the castle buildings, others moved quietly into position.
The guards on duty at the hall door challenged Helias in desultory fashion and let him through when he insisted he had to see lord Hervey on an urgent matter pertaining to his destrier. John and the grooms, they gestured through as part of the deputation.
Hervey de Leon was sitting in the lord’s chair on the dais, drinking wine and picking at a dish of dried fruit. His receding blond hair was compensated by a fine set of bushy yellow whiskers. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, when Helias bowed before him. John and the grooms had not come all the way forward but were waiting respectfully at the back of the hall.
‘Sire, you must come and see. A knight has brought a fine Spanish destrier to me for shoeing. He says he desires to sell it – it looks to me like a horse worthy to carry a king.’
De Leon’s eyes gleamed with interest. ‘Well then I had better take a look.’ He left his seat and wallowed down the hall – a portly man, his belly drooping over his belt like half a sack of cabbabes. Helias bowed to him, straightened and as he came up, seized de Leon around the neck with his powerful blacksmith’s right arm, and laid the bare blade of a knife to his throat. ‘Make one false move, and I will give you a new mouth! Tell your men to leave their weapons and kneel.’
The few soldiers in the hall, present in a casual capacity were slow to move and react – disbelieving what they saw. John threw off his mantle, his sword already in his hand, his body protected by a short mail byrnie. One of the grooms brandished a club he had concealed under his cloak. The other dashed outside to give the signal.
‘Tell them!’ Helias repeated, pressing with the knife blade, raising a thin edge of blood.
De Leon swallowed against the grim edge of steel and squawked the order.
One of the guards chose to take his chance anyway and lunged, but John sprang across his path and brought him down, using the hilt of his sword as a club. ‘The next one I will kill!’ he snarled. ‘On your knees, all of you!’ He fixed them with his stare, holding them with the weight of his personality, bearing down on them until they yielded and sank to their knees.
The rest of John’s men, led by Jaston, ran into the hall, coarse mantles disposed of, and weapons drawn. Helias manhandled de Leon back to the lord’s chair and with help from another knight set about tying him to it.
Leaving Jaston to finish the operation in the hall, John strode outside. The castle gate and the guardroom had both been secured, but the clash of swords on the wall walk told of resistance. Sprawled on the ground at the base of the battlements, his head twisted at an impossible angle, was the corpse of one of de Leon’s men. John ran into the gatehouse, up the stairs and onto the wall where Benet was being hard-pressed by three determined soldiers.
‘Drop your weapons, the castle is taken!’ John bellowed. ‘Your lord is a prisoner and all other men have yielded.’
‘I would rather die than surrender to traitors!’ snarled one of them, his eyes ablaze. ‘Some of us still have our honour.’
John’s lips parted in a mirthless grin. ‘Indeed, some of us do, and the price we pay for keeping it when others do not, makes us destitute. If you’d rather die, then jump.’ He gestured over the wall. ‘Join your friend.’
The knight’s glance flew towards the crenel space and he hesitated.
John took a step forward. ‘I am no more a traitor than you are. We each do what we must. Jump, fight or yield. The choice is yours.’
The knight’s breath tore through his chest. He looked again at the wall, then at John, and threw down his sword. ‘I yield,’ he said as the blade clanged on the oak boards. ‘May God and my lord forgive me.’
The others followed suit, expressions of shame and relief on their faces. John accepted their surrender with professional courtesy. The trick was knowing each man’s breaking point and applying the correct pressure.
By the time John returned to the hall, Jaston was sitting with one haunch on the trestle, eating dried figs from the silver bowl set there, and studying Hervey de Leon like a cat with a bird. The latter’s knights were all trussed up like carcases after a hunt.
‘I was wondering what we should do with him, sire,’ he said as John came to the dais. ‘Hanging him from the walls still seems like a fine notion.’
John looked at de Leon who was shivering and sweating at the same time. ‘Jaston, you have no imagination,’ he said as if disappointed with his knight. ‘We did that to the last upstart lord of Devizes.’
‘You have something else in mind then sire? Perhaps the moat or the mill pond?’
John gave his standard bearer an amused glance. ‘Let us hope we have no need for either of those,’ he said. ‘Untie my lord Hervey’s bonds. I am sure he will be more than amenable to negotiation – hmmm?’
Hervey de Leon swallowed and gave a vigorous nod of approbation.
2. A deleted straight out fight scene Oxfordshire August 1153
John drew rein and patted Aranais’s damp silver neck. The August day was sultry with thunderstorms threatening on a horizon darkening with fists of purple cloud. Twists of charcoal-dark smoke smudged the horizon and the direction of the wind sent the stench of burning towards John and his men. The horses flickered their ears and sidled. Unconsciously, John lifted his right hand off the bridle to rub his thumb over the thickened ridge of scar tissue around his left eye socket. He thought of the fields around Marlborough three summers since and the pall of smoke lying over the wasted harvest fields.
While Stephen continued to lay siege to Wallingford, Henry in his turn was harrying Stephen’s siege castles across the Thames at Crowmarsh. Stephen had increased the garrison at Oxford by three hundred knights and had been sending patrols out to devastate Henry’s resources and raid the villages on which he was depending for supplies.
‘That’ll be Martel and de Chesney, the bastards,’ said Benet. He spat over the side of his saddle.
‘Indeed,’ John said quietly, ‘and we’re going to do something about them.’ He was frustrated and angry that they had been chasing phantoms hither and yon for a week now – arriving too late to smoking, bloody devastation after the raiders had gone. At last though, he had found his quarry and blocked off the road to their Oxford bolt hole. De Chesney was constable of Oxford Castle and Martel, as one of Stephen’s senior commanders had joined him in the field. John was eager to make a reckoning - not just because of recent events or what Martel had done to William, but because of all the years of struggle that had begun with a single lamprey. John was ready to embrace peace, but first the scales had to be balanced.
He directed Benet to take half the men and the archers and conceal themselves among the trees lining the road. Then, he took the rest of the troop and set out to lure de Chesney and Martel into the ambush.
The smell of smoke grew stronger as John advanced towards the burning village. He rode at a moderate pace, knowing he would need speed from Aranais soon and he required energy in reserve for the fight to come. His hands were steady on the reins, his heart calm. He knew what he had to do. So did his men. At his nod, two of the more lightly armed split off and hid at the roadside.
Five furlongs…six. Thunder rumbled in the distance and as the sound died away, he heard the sound of horses on the hard-baked summer road. A large troop, but one whose members had already exerted themselves in battle and who would be burdened with loot. John drew his sword and signalled his troop to keep close order and be prepared to turn at a moment’s notice.
Round the next bend in the road, the two groups came face to face. John pricked Aranais lightly with the spur and the stallion reared and pawed the air. William Martel, who was heading the troop with de Chesney, reined back and the two companies stared at each other, dust swirling in misty puffs from under the horses’ hooves, thunder growling, and the wind of the imminent storm hissing through the trees.
De Chesney was already gesturing to his knights, bringing them forward, lances quivering, shields presented, weapons drawn.
‘John FitzGilbert!’ bellowed Martel across the lightning space between them, ‘You are outnumbered. Throw down your arms and yield, or come to death!’
John laughed. ‘The devil didn’t take me at Wherwell, and I afford him more respect than you! I won’t yield to a mere minion!’ He gave the signal, whirled Aranais and spurred him to a gallop.
De Chesney bellowed the command to charge and Martel drew his sword and pricked his stallion. John kept his head low and prayed he had judged the distance correctly. He had marked the wayside trees as they rode and counted them down now. A twisted oak, a tall young lime, and then two hoar apple trees. As the last man in his troop galloped reached the latter, the knights either side of the road, whipped up the rope they had laid across the road and brought down the horse of the knight leading the chase. Hard behind him, Martel almost tangled in the rope himself, but managed to wrench his mount aside and hang on by clinging to the chest strap.
‘Loose!’ John bellowed and his archers sent arrows whickering into the pursuing troop. Sword drawn, John turned Aranais and charged, turning route into attack.
De Chesney roared the order to retreat, but it was easier said than done with battle joined, and those who did manage to flee down the road found the trap sprung behind them. A second rope was lashed across the road at chest height and the road itself was strewn with dozens of caltrops – wicked three-pronged spikes to maim a horse in an instant. The only recourse was to scatter into the woods with each man for himself.
John fought with cold fire, his goal to reach Martel and either take him prisoner or render him hors de combat. If he killed him, he would not let it trouble his soul. However, Martel was protected by his knights and being an accomplished warriors himself, no helpless prey. When John finally did succeed in finding a gap and winning through to engage him, Martel fought back hard, teeth bared in a silent snarl, his determination the equal of John’s. Neither man wasted breath on words. Blood poured from Martel’s mouth where a tooth had cut his gum. John’s lungs were burning with effort and sweat was blurring his limited vision. One more blow. One more strike in the right place…. A knight attacked John on his blind left side, winning past his shield and splaying his hauberk rings with the force of the blow. John gasped. Jaston should have blocked the assault, but Jaston’s horse was down and the knight was staggering to his feet, blood pouring from a sword cut to his cheek. Benet spurred into the gap and laid about with his mace, forcing the knight to withdraw.
Martel disengaged, leaped his horse across the roadside ditch and disappeared into the trees. De Chesney had already fled the battleground.
‘Shall we chase?’ Benet wheezed.
John’s shoulder was numb where Martel’s knight had struck him and he suspected his collar bone was cracked if not broken. He glanced swiftly round, assessing who was still in a fit condition. ‘No,’ he gasped, ‘let them run. ‘We have their pack horses of booty and the arms and armour of their dead and wounded. Strip them to their braies and leave them. Benet, see the caltrops gathered up. We can use them again and I wouldn’t have innocent folk or our own men damaged by them.’
‘Sire.’ The knight swiftly relayed orders.
John turned to look at Jaston who was pressing a linen bandage hard against his wounded cheek. ‘Get that stitched as soon as we return to camp. Patrick’s physician is good and neat.’
‘I am sorry my lord. Bastard ran a lance straight into Ferrand’s chest. Nothing I could do. If I had…’
‘You did your best,’ John interrupted. ‘Skill in battle is one thing, but a man needs luck too.’ He switched the reins to his right hand. ‘Martel and de Chesney will return to Oxford minus two parties of men except for the few and without the supplies they set out to raid. It’ll stop them for a while.’ He pointed to a riderless stallion being held by one of their serjeants. ‘Take the chestnut for yourself. He looks lively enough.’
Jaston nodded. ‘You are all right sire?’
John gave him a mordant smile. ‘I’ll live,’ he said, which wasn’t quite the same thing.
Moving on, he assessed the damage. His own men had escaped lightly. No-one had been killed although there were a few nasty sword cuts, cracked bones and heavy bruising.
He studied the handful of prisoners. Those who could afford ransoms would be sold back to their families. Those who couldn’t…well it was up to Henry what he did with them. Hang a few to make an example. Cut off their right hands so they could no longer wield a weapon. As the lethargy of aftermath settled over him, and his shoulder began to throb with pain, he found that he did not much care at the moment whether the scales were balanced or not. He turned Aranais for Henry’s camp and it began to rain in hard, needle drops, while over his head lightning veined a sky that was as dark as Purbeck marble.
For today's Medieval Monday snippet, I'm posting a few excerpts from the Pipe Rolls of King John. There's a decent explanation of what these were at Wikipedia. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pipe_rolls but basically it was to do with keeping a record of England's finances from year to year. They're a sort of glorified accounts book, but among the figures, you find various aspects of social comment.
On November 12th 1201, John wrote to his justiciar Geoffrey Fitzpeter, 'We lost our precious stones and jewels which we were wont to wear about our neck, which Bartholomew the bearer of these presents found and freely and faithfully brought us. For his service we have given him at Berkhamstead where he was born a rent of 20 shillings, and therefore we command you that you assign the rent of 20 shillings to him without delay. On the pipe roll for Michaelmas 1202, this appears on the Berkhamstead account. 'Et Bartholomew qui invenit et rediddit Regi lapides pretiosos et jocalia que ipse amiserat xx s. quos ei R. in redditu assignauit.Which translates to: 'To Bartholomew who found and restored to the king the precious stones and jewels which he had lost, 20 shillings which the king has assigned him in rent.'
Concerning jewels again, there is in an enigmatic entry on this same pipe roll, the meaning of which has now been lost, but hints at John's usual secretive dealings. 'Episcopus Norwic' debet c m. quia tradidit R. unum anulum cum smaragdo quem R. ei tradiderat coram aliis.Which translates to: 'The Bishop of Norwich owes 100 markes "because he handed the king a ring with an emerald which the king had handed him before others." Make of that what you will. A hundred marks is a large sum of money. It would take an ordinary hearth knight on the pay of a shilling a day almost two weeks to earn a single mark.
In the pipe roll of 1209 there is another enigmatic entry. 'Episcopus Winton' tonellum vini boni. quia no reduxit ad memoriam R. de zona danda comitisse de Albemar'.The bishop of Winchester owes a tun of good wine 'because he did not remind the king to give a belt to the countess of Aumale.' This is interesting, since historian Sidney Painter believed that Hawise of Aumale was one of John's mistresses and that her son, ostensibly called William de Forz, should in actual fact be William FitzRoy. But why the Bishop of Winchester should be in trouble for not reminding him is a matter lost in time.
We get a glimpse of the prisoners taken at Mirebeau where Prince Arthur was captured - eventually leading to him never being seen again. On the Hampshire account £8 7s 4d were charged for the maintenance and carriage of prisoners taken at Mirebeau. 'Et in corredio et carriagio prisonum captorum apud Mirebel viij li. et vij s. et iiij d.
John's interest in books is shown by an entry on the 1203 pipe roll. 'Et Johanni de Kemesie xl11j s. et x d. ad cistas et carretas ad ducendos libros R. ultra mare. John of Kempsey was paid for chests and carts to take the king's books across the sea.
He may also have liked his garden. There's an entry for enclosing his garden at Marlborough. Et pro claudendo gardino R. apud Merleberg x li et v s. et vj d.
The pipe roll of 1208 has an entry concerning the men of Cornwall who owed 500 marks 'for having a sheriff who will treat them justly and 200 that the king will remit his ill will towards them."
Marcher lord Walter de Clifford, sheriff of Hereford, paid John 1,000 marks to look the other way - for having his good will and that no enquiry should be made upon him touching his exactions on the county of Hereford. 'Walterus de Clifford M m. pro habenda benevolentia R. et ne inquisitio fiat super eum de prisis suis in comitatu Hereford.'
I could go on forever, but I have a novel to write! However, these snippets from above go to show how fascinating, fun and informative mining the primary sources can be! I'll post some more on another occasion.
Later this week, I'll be posting a couple of out-take chapters from A Place Beyond Courage.
I was talking to author friend Helen Hollick about medieval names and cultural survival when we met for lunch recently and I said I had been meaning to list some of them as a Medieval Monday post. I have in my possession the Feet of Fines for Norfolk 1201-1215 and for Suffolk 1199-1214. It's a list of cases brought before judges on the travelling circuit at this time and much of it is concerned with property law and small business that gives us the names of the local populace. East Anglia was once part of the Danelaw and there are strong Scandinavian influences at work in this region, as well as Anglo Saxon and Norman. So let's see. Here is a list of names by origin dating to 150 years AFTER the Battle of Hastings. Names of Anglo Saxon and Scandinavian origins seem to be surviving in families at this point although from studying the data it becomes clear that many of the parents with Anglo Saxon and Scandinavian names are now giving their children Norman ones. So for example, Elfstan calls his son Richard, Gunnild calls her son Robert. Brictmar calls his son William. As the Middle Ages progresses, so does the increase in the popularity of certain names. By the early post medieval period, the names William and John accounted for 40% of all boys' names in Parish registers.
