Category Archives: Medieval History

The Death of Edward the Confessor

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Edward the Confessor was born in 1003 to King Aethelred II and Queen Emma. Little is known about his early years but, after the Danish invasion of 1013, Edward and his family were exiled and fled to Normandy. They returned one year later but were exiled again in 1016. With the support of Earl Godwin, the most powerful nobleman in England, Edward was able to return in 1041 and was crowned king the following year. In 1045 Edward married Edith, daughter of Earl Godwin.

1051, King Edward had been on the throne for nine years and so far, his reign had been peaceful and he had proven himself to be an able and successful monarch.

But, despite a happy union, rumours abounded that his marriage to Edith had yet to be consummated. This created a potentially serious problem – who would succeed to the throne when Edward died?

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So what did the Normans ever do for us?

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What did the Normans ever do for us? By us, I mean the Anglo-Saxons that had been gradually subdued and beaten into submission by the Norman Conquest of the 11th Century. Let us reflect on the conquering achievements of the bastard Duke of Normandy in his role as King of England. In his twenty-one years of rule, what exactly did he achieve?

The first achievement that leaps to mind is castles. The Normans knew how to throw up a mud hill, stick giant wooden stakes around it and shelter behind this relatively secure construction. With the local area secure, they then progressed to upgrade the Motte and Bailey to a stone construction using stone from Norman quarries. These castles would then keep the local population under control and discourage any further insurrection.

So apart from castles, what did the Normans ever do for us?

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The Siege of Kaffa and the Black Death

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Between 1347 and 1350, the Black Death raged through Medieval Europe. Historians and biologists have traced the origins of this deadly pandemic to the remote steppes of Central Asia. Plague had certainly erupted there by 1331 but how exactly did it spread from East to West?

After ravaging Central Asia, the plague descended on China, India and Persia. In China alone, the plague killed around half of the human population. Despite such destruction, commercial activities continued unabated. This meant that the traders, their vessels and the rats aboard became the agents of infection. As they travelled along the established trade routes of the medieval world, they unwittingly carried the plague with them.

The Golden Horde

It is with little wonder then that the plague continued to spread, reaching Southern Russia sometime between 1345 and 1346. Here lay the Mongol-ruled territory known as the Golden Horde, comprising much of Eastern Europe and bordering the Black Sea on the south. According to the Arab writer, Ibn al-Wardi, the Black Death devastated many of the towns and villages throughout the Golden Horde, especially during October and November of 1346. From here, he says, it spread to the Crimea and Byzantium

For several years, the Mongols had allowed a group of merchants from Genoa to control Kaffa, a bustling seaport on the Crimean Peninsula. This was highly advantageous for the Mongols as it provided a direct link to Italy’s largest commercial centre and encouraged trade across all corners of their vast empire. Tensions and disagreements, however, were a common feature of this commercial relationship, arising primarily from their religious differences; the Italians were devoutly Christian and the Mongols had been practising Muslims since the 1200s.

In 1343, in the Crimean town of Tana, these tensions were transformed into violence after a fight between locals and Italians left one Muslim dead. Faced with the threat of execution by the Mongols, the Italians fled the city and headed to Kaffa. Here they were given sanctuary but it was not long before the Mongols caught up with them. What the Mongols had not anticipated, however, was that the people of Kaffa would refuse to let them in. In the face of such insolence, the Mongols had only one choice – they would lay siege to the city.

‘This Pestilential Disease’

In 1345-6, while laying siege to the city of Kaffa, the Mongol army became infected with the Black Death. Gabriele de’ Mussi tells us what happened next:
“Whereupon the Tartars (Mongols), worn out by this pestilential disease, and falling on all sides as if thunderstruck, and seeing that they were perishing hopelessly, ordered the corpses to be placed upon their engines and thrown into the city of Kaffa. Accordingly were the bodies of the dead hurled over the walls, so that the Christians were not able to hide or protect themselves from this danger, although they carried away as many as possible and threw them into the sea.”

Many modern scholars have argued that the Black Death could not have spread through contact with infected corpses. Instead, they argue that rats carrying Yersinia Pestis were somehow able to enter the city. Either way, the siege of Kaffa was to prove fatal for these Italian merchants – and for the rest of Western Europe.

In the summer of 1347, the Italian merchants headed to their ships and the fled the city of Kaffa. En route, however, the Italians stopped at Constantinople, inadvertently infecting the city. Thousands of people were killed, including Andronikos, the son of the Greek Emperor, John VI Cantacuzenos. Those who were able fled the city, many not realising that they were already infected. By the autumn, the western coast of Asia Minor was experiencing the full force of the Black Death and it would not be long before returned home to infect their native Italy.

Kaye Jones

Kaye is the author of 1066 In An Hour
See also The Black Death and Vampires and
The Black Death: Exposing the Myths

The Battle of Sluys

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The 670th anniversary of a not-so-well-known naval battle just passed.  Currently, the Battle of Britain is being commemorated for its 70th anniversary and is being remembered by many around the world.  So, let’s set aside a little time to remember the often forgotten Battle of Sluys, a major turning point in the Hundred Years’ War—a war that practically defined the direction that both England and France would follow for centuries.

The Players

The Hundred Years’ War began in 1337 after nearly three hundred years of disagreements between the Kings of England and the Kings of France over land claims on the Continent.  By the fourteenth century the Capetian dynasty of France had wrested away most of the previously held English territories on the Continent (such as Anjou and Normandy).  King Edward III of England was seemingly passed over in the dynastic succession of France when Philip VI was crowned King of France.  While Isabella (daughter of Philip IV of France), Edward III’s mother, was, by law, clearly not able to become the monarch of France, Edward III made the case that the throne could pass through a female line (thus making him King of France) rather than reverting back a generation to Philip VI, son of Charles, Count of Valois.

Through the 1330s, the French began to build their navy, especially in northern waters.  The English felt that their relations with the Low Countries (today, Belgium and the Netherlands) were threatened by this naval build up.  The Low Countries’ economy depended on cloth weaving and, at the time, the wool provided by England was crucial.  In May 1337, Philip seized Aquitaine and by October Edward took official steps to war.

The Early War

In early 1338, the French began raiding English coastal towns, such as Southampton and Portsmouth, and the Channel Islands.  Flanders rose in rebellion against the local count, Louis de Nevers, who supported the French side—the cloth trade was hurting as a result.  By the end of 1338, the Holy Roman Emperor, Ludwig of Bavaria, joined Edward III against the French.  Early in 1339, the French continued raids on the English towns of Folkestone, Harwich, Hastings, Southampton, Plymouth and Dover.  The English navy was steadily growing in strength as the English army marched ineffectively through France in September and October of 1339.  In February 1340, Edward III was officially crowned King of France in a ceremony in Ghent.

Combat at Sluys

By the summer of 1340, there had been no major battles fought between the English and French.  Following a failed attack on Cinque Ports by the French and the desertion of Italian mercenaries from the French navy, the French fleet in the Channel was severely cut back.  The English heard news of this and rushed to the French coast, raiding towns including Ault and Le Tréport.  Thus the stage was set for the first major battle of the Hundred Years’ War.

The French and English fleets met outside the town of Sluys (today spelled Sluis; L’Ecluse in French) on 24 June 1340.  The English fleet was somewhat outnumbered, but they had advantageous positioning.  Edward himself commanded the English forces and was wounded in the battle.  Combat lasted the better part of the day extending into the evening.  The two French commanders were both captured and killed in an overwhelming victory for the English forces.  The English suffered a few thousand casualties whereas the French suffered nearly 20,000 casualties.  The English captured what French ships were not destroyed by the battle.  The English losses were minor enough that they could assume dominance of the English Channel.

Significance of Sluys

The Battle of Sluys was a major turning point early in the Hundred Years’ War because it virtually destroyed the French fleet.  The majority of French ships had been amassing to invade England.  However, the English victory at Sluys ensured that a French invasion would never come to pass.  Thus, the majority of combat throughout the Hundred Years’ War occurred in France.  To a nation whose history is full of important naval victories, the English victory at Sluys is an early and tremendously important maritime success that should be remembered.

Sarah Jane Bodell

The Battle of Roncevaux Pass

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In his 46 year reign as the king of the Franks and emperor of the Romans, Charlemagne engineered glorious military victories but, on 15 August 778, he suffered one stunning defeat.  This great battle—the Battle of Roncevaux Pass—is best remembered through the oldest extant piece of French literature, the Song of Roland.  The Song of Roland was written several centuries after the actual battle and greatly mythologizes the real events of 15 August 778.

By the eighth century, the Muslims had gained a strong foothold in Europe on the Iberian Peninsula, with the Umayyad capital at Córdoba.  In 711, Charlemagne’s grandfather Charles Martel routed the invading Muslims in southwest France at the Battle of Tours (sometimes referred to as the Battle of Poitiers).  Pepin the Short, father of Charlemagne and son of Martel, assured Frankish control north of the Pyrenees by subduing Aquitaine in 759.  Charlemagne later assumed the title Duke of Aquitaine.

It was against this backdrop that around 777 the anti-Umayyad governor of Barcelona and Girona, Sulayman al-Arabi, requested military help from Charlemagne in return for his submission as well as that of the governors of Zaragoza and Huesca.  The Umayyad ruler, Abd ar-Rahman I, had the upper hand in Iberia and there were indications that another anti-Umayyad force would soon arrive from Baghdad.

Charlemagne the Opportunist

Charlemagne, ever the savvy opportunist, saw a chance to expand the bounds of Christendom (and his own power) into Spain.  He turned his attention away from the Saxons and prepared to head west.  He marched across the Pyrenees with an amassed force—one portion going south through Catalonia and another going north through Gascony and the Basque Country.  From there, al-Arabi added his own forces to those of Charlemagne.  At about the same time, the governor of Zaragoza made an advance of his own against the Umayyads and decided his position of power had increased such that he did not need an alliance with the Franks and claimed to never have pledged allegiance to Charlemagne.  Charlemagne then laid siege to Zaragoza and, after a month of the siege, decided to turn back and head home.

Roncevaux Pass

So, the Frankish retreat began and on the way Charlemagne ordered the defensive walls of Pamplona to be destroyed.  Enemies of the Franks began to form together.  When the task at Pamplona was complete, the Franks again entered the Pyrenees proceeding through the narrow and heavily wooded Roncevaux Pass.  It was here, on the evening of 15 August 778, that Charlemagne’s army was attacked from behind by a force composed mainly of Basques.  The heavy arms and armor carried by the Frankish army put them at a further disadvantage in the cramped situation at Roncevaux.

The Death of Roland

The Franks were caught so off-guard and unready that the ambush became a slaughter of the rearguard.  Among the many killed were a number of noble military commanders including Roland, the governor of the Breton March, and Eggihard, an important mayor of the palace (a high-ranking Frankish government official).  The Song of Roland turned this rout into an epic battle between 400,000 Muslim Saracens and Charlemagne’s substantial army.  The Basques were, in fact, a Christian people and certainly not Saracen and there were almost certainly not 400,000 of them present that day at Roncevaux. Pictured is the moment of Roland’s death, Le Mort de Roalnd, by Jean Fouquet (1420-1480)

Nonetheless, the loss was large and embarrassing enough for Charlemagne to remain absent from the Iberian Peninsula for a number of years following.  The chroniclers of Charlemagne’s life often avoided detracting from his remarkable reputation, but they did not remain silent about this defeat.  The Battle of Roncevaux Pass did blemish the reign of Charlemagne somewhat, though perhaps not as much as purported by the Song of Roland.  Nevertheless, the military career of “Father of Europe” before and after Roncevaux is no trifling matter and the Frankish army stands as one of the most dominant forces the world has ever seen.

Sarah Jane Bodell
See also Charlemagne’s Daughters

Charlemagne’s Daughters

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Charlemagne is well known as the “Father of Europe” for uniting Western Europe during the eighth and ninth centuries and defending it against invaders.  Less is known of his sons and grandsons who weakly continued the Carolingian empire that Charlemagne (pictured with his children and scholars)worked so hard to strengthen.  However, even less is known about Charlemagne’s many daughters, though their lives were certainly no less interesting.

Wives, Concubines, and Children

In Charlemagne’s seventy-odd years of life, he had four wives, six concubines and at least seventeen children.  Charlemagne’s first marriage produced no children and was annulled within a year of its beginning.  With his second wife, Hildegard, he had nine children (the fifth of whom, Louis the Pious, succeeded him as Emperor).  His third wife, Fastrada, bore him two children, and his fourth marriage produced no children.  Less is generally known about Charlemagne’s illegitimate children, but contemporary sources indicate that he greatly loved all his children.  Many of his illegitimate children attained prominent positions particularly within the Church.

None of Charlemagne’s daughters ever married.  His biographer, Einhard, claimed that he loved his daughters so much he could not bear to part with them.  However, it is quite likely he knew that the marriage of his daughters could possibly weaken his imperial claims.  There were occasional negotiations for his daughters to marry, including to the Byzantine emperor (Constantine VI) and the King of Mercia (Offa), but these came to naught.  Charlemagne’s daughters largely did as they pleased and thus became a source of intrigue.

Rotrude

Rotrude (775 – 6 June 810) was the fourth child of Hildegard and Charlemagne.  She, along with her brothers and sisters, was educated at court by scholars recruited by her father.  One such scholar was Alcuin, the English-born scholar, whose letters form a large part of what is known about her.  As a child she was betrothed for several years to the Byzantine emperor Constantine VI (who was also a child), but this arrangement eventually fell apart.  Rotrude had a relationship with Rorgon, Count of Maine, who served at Charlemagne’s court.  Rotrude and Rorgon had at least one child together and possibly a second.  Their relationship did not last long and marriage seems to never have been suggested.  Later in her life, Rotrude became a nun in the abbey where her aunt Gisela (Charlemagne’s sister) served as abbess.  Her son with Rorgon, Louis, rose to prominence in the Church as abbot of Saint-Denis where many of the Carolingian rulers are buried.

Bertrade

Bertrade (779 – 826) was the seventh of Hildegard and Charlemagne’s children.  She had a much longer relationship with an administrator in the court of Charlemagne named Angilbert.  Together they had at least two sons, one of whom (named Nithard) became a notable Frankish historian in the ninth century.  Bertrade’s relationship was fully recognized within the imperial court, but they never married.  Angilbert served as a diplomat but also wrote poetry and served as a lay-abbot.  Einhard and others found these non-marital relations discomforting and attempted to distance Charlemagne from them by claiming that he was unaware of their dalliances.  Charlemagne himself had at least six extra-marital relationships that produced children—it would be wrong to say he was scandalized by his daughters’ relationships.

Piety and Bawdry

Charlemagne is known for his strong support of the Church and his eager involvement in many aspects (including sacral music and prayers).  Yet, there was a dichotomy between his piety and his bawdy behavior and that of his children.  To Charlemagne and his court, non-marital relationships were normal.  Indeed, Charlemagne and his daughter’s lover Angilbert were both canonized.  (Charlemagne’s sainthood was later revoked as an antipope had canonized him, but his beatification still stands.)  Thus, what would have been scandalous in more recent times was more or less unexceptional in medieval Europe.  Arguing that Charlemagne’s daughters were immoral ignores the historical context in which they lived.  Their lives are examples of a bygone era in which the pious and the bawdy comfortably coexisted.

Sarah Jane Bodell
See also The Battle of Roncevaux Pass

The Black Death: Exposing the Myths and Lesser-Known Facts

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I have spent the last few months writing and researching my next book for History In An Hour, The Black Death In An Hour. As a medievalist, I thought my knowledge of this great pandemic was already pretty solid but I’ve come across some amazing, and often very surprising, myths and facts that have shaped both my perceptions of the Black Death era and the content of the book. Here’s a selection of my favourites…

  • The plague-causing bacterium, Yersinia Pestis, was first identified in 1894 by the Swiss-born bacteriologist, Alexandre Yersin. He discovered that this bacterium could be easily transmitted to humans via flea bites.
  • The term ‘Black Death’ used to describe the 14th century plague pandemic was not coined in the Middle Ages. The idea that the Black Death originated in the blackened flesh of its victims is, in fact, a popular misconception. In a poem composed around 1350, the Flemish astrologer, Simon de Covinus, described the great pestilence as the mors atra, (literally black or terrible death). For reasons unknown, sixteenth-century translators of the poem opted to use the word ‘black’, rather than ‘terrible’, and thus the famous phrase was born. In later years, the term ‘Black Death’ became a useful way of differentiating between the medieval plague and England’s modern counterpart, the Great Plague of 1665.
  • Poland was one of the few areas that somehow averted the full force of the Black Death in 1351. Some areas were able to completely avoid it. Historians believe its relative remoteness and sparse population were able to fend off a major outbreak.
  • The Black Death was used as an early form of germ warfare. While laying siege to a group of Genoese merchants inside the walls of the city of Kaffa, the Mongol army became infected with Black Death. Unable to penetrate the city walls, the Mongols began throwing over infected corpses in an attempt to infect their enemies and gain entrance. The Genoese threw the corpses into the sea and, in the summer of 1347, were able to flee the city and sail back to Italy.
  • When the Black Death hit the port city of Venice in 1348, the Great Council formed a prevention committee in an attempt to minimise its damage to the population.. They immediately closed down the city’s waters, isolating incoming ships, until they could be certain that its passengers were healthy.  They set the initial holding period for this purpose at 30 days but, when this was deemed too short, extended it to 40. The modern word ‘quarantine’ derives from the Italian phrase, quaranti giorni, used to describe this 40 day holding period.

Kaye Jones
See also Black Death and Vampires 

Thomas Becket: a Great Medieval Murder

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On 29 December 1170, four knights of King Henry II stormed into Canterbury Cathedral and murdered the Archbishop, Thomas Becket. His death provoked widespread horror and outrage, soon followed by a popular cult and rumours of miracles. Despite being hailed as a martyr and canonised in 1173, Becket remains one of the most controversial figures in English history.

Early Life

Born in 1120, Thomas Becket was the only surviving son of the prosperous London merchant, Gilbert Beket. As a boy Becket was educated at an Augustinian Priory in Merton, Suffolk and later at one of the London grammar schools. Although the youngster mastered the basic curriculum, evidence suggests that he preferred horses and hunting over academia. From 1143 Becket worked as a clerk,  securing employment in the house of  the great London banker, Osbert Huitdeniers and, in 1145, in the household of Theobald, Archbishop of Canterbury. This was a huge achievement for Becket and  would dramatically change the course of his life.


The Rising Star

Although not as well educated as his colleagues, Becket quickly made friends in his new appointment and found favour with the archbishop himself. He spent a year studying law at Bologna and Auxerre before being sent on  missions to the papal curia. By 1154 Becket had secured the archdeaconry of Canterbury and was enjoying the wealth of his many benefices.

The King’s Favourite

Becket may well have played a role in securing the accession of the young Henry FitzEmpress (Henry II) to the throne of England in 1154. Either way, Becket, now serving as the royal chancellor, became a firm favourite of the new king. The two were virtually inseparable and Becket guided the young, hot-headed Henry through the early years of his reign. He played a key role in Henry’s relations with the French King, Louis VII and in the expedition to Toulouse in 1159. When Theobald died in 1161, there was little doubt in Henry’s mind that Becket was the man for the job.

Trouble Ahead?

If Henry expected his new archbishop to submit to this authority, he was very much mistaken. Although initially reluctant to take the post, Becket  threw himself into his new role and responsibilities. He recruited a large household staff, began studying theology and became particular generous in his alms-giving. But on receipt of his pallium and much to Henry’s disgrace, Becket resigned as both chancellor and archdeacon. Moreover, after attending the general council at Tours in 1163, Becket returned to England with a vow to become the defender of the rights of the English Church.

The scene was now set for their first encounter.

“Criminous Clerks”

Under the benefit of clergy, any clergymen accused of committing a crime could not be tried and punished by a secular court of law. This privilege infuriated Henry II (pictured) and in 1163 he proposed that these “criminous clerks” be stripped of their clerical protection. Needless to say, his proposal found no support among Becket or England’s bishops.

In January 1164 Henry and his baron met with Becket and  his bishops at Clarendon, near Salisbury, to further discuss this contentious issue. There, Henry presented the Constitution of Clarendon, a list of 16 clauses including his proposal for the treatment of criminous clerks. According to the chronicler, William of Newburgh, Becket and the bishops were so terrified by Henry’s ranting that they agreed to his demands and swore to abide by the constitutions. Henry may have felt victorious but, shortly after the meeting, Becket publicly repented the oath and reported the events to the Pope, who refused to confirm the new constitutions.

Exile

Henry was determined to punish Becket for his actions. During a land dispute in Pagham, in 1164, Becket was accused of contempt of court and forced to forfeit all his goods. He was next accused of embezzlement and summoned to Northampton. After much discussion, Becket refused to hear the  Council’s verdict and, that night, fled to the court of the French King, Louis VII. Becket was given asylum and returned to the Cistercian Abbey at Pontigny with his family and supporters, banished from England by Henry.

Despite numerous attempts, the two men could not be reconciled. In fact, the situation got worse. In 1166, for example, Becket excommunicated all royal servants who had acted against him and Henry appealed to the Cistercians to expel Becket from the abbey. By 1167, even the Pope was growing weary of their dispute. In 1169, Henry made the first move at a serious reconciliation and offered to  make several concessions, including the removal of any customs that Becket had previously opposed. But this was not enough for the archbishop and he further exacerbated the situation by excommunicating the bishops of London and Salisbury at Clairvaux in 1169.

A Glimmer of Hope

In May 1170, Henry had his son crowned by the Archbishop of York. Although this was a massive blow to Becket, it put them firmly on the road to reconciliation. But it wasn’t the happy occasion that everybody had previously hoped for. Henry broke his promise to meet Becket on his arrival in England and instead seized the lands of the church at Canterbury. In addition, Henry’s son refused to meet him at Windsor and Becket retaliated by excommunicating the Archbishop of York. At his Christmas court in Normandy, Henry heard of Becket’s latest antic and exploded with rage. It is here that Henry uttered those famous words (there are several variations); ‘Will no-one rid me of this troublesome priest?’

Murder in the Cathedral

Four knights – William de Tracey, Reginald Fitzurse, Hugh de Morville and Richard Brito – took Henry’s famous words to heart. They arrived in England on 28 December and travelled together to Canterbury Cathedral. A little after 2am on 29 December, Thomas Becket was dead.

Whether or not Henry wanted Becket dead, he took much of the blame for his murder. Pope Alexander excommunicated the four knights responsible and banned Henry from taking Mass until he had completed penance. For this, Henry promised to provide money for 200 knights to go on Crusade, return all property to the church of Canterbury, abolish all customs deemed negative to the Church and to never interfere with the clergy’s appeals to Rome. He made these concessions publicly at Avranches in 1172 and, in return, secured England’s reconciliation with Rome. Henry was now absolved of Becket’s murder and continued to reign until his death in 1189.

Kaye Jones
Kaye is author of 1066 In An Hour

Blood Libel and the Murder of William of Norwich

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The murder of a twelve-year-old boy is a tragedy in any circumstance.  However, it was the historical circumstances surrounding the murder of a twelve-year-old boy named William in the twelfth century that catapulted him to the status of a saint and instigated a new form of antisemitism that lasted for centuries.

It is uncertain who actually murdered William (probably not a Jew), but in the court of public opinion at the time there was little doubt that Jews were responsible — a claim that likely had more than one driving force.

Murder

The events surrounding William’s death are not entirely clear and are largely based on an account by a monk called Thomas of Monmouth, a contemporary of William’s.  Thomas’ chronicle was completed later in the twelfth century within the monastery at Norwich.  The generally agreed upon date of William’s death is 22 March 1144.  He was last seen alive on the preceding day.  On 26 March 1144, the body of William was discovered in a heath in Norwich, bloodied and mutilated — seemingly tortured.  William’s family initiated a search for him and his uncle, brother, and cousin discovered his body.

William had been an apprentice skinner in the community for several years.  On 21 March, William left his home to seek additional employment as a scullion for the archdeacon of Norwich.  It was on this outing that William was supposedly lured into a Jewish home.  It was reported that the Norwich Jews then ritually murdered William on 22 March in the home of a Jew named Eleazar, just days before Passover.  As has become the pattern with tales of blood libel, William was supposedly murdered to acquire his blood to celebrate Passover.  Various interpretations of Jewish texts at the time were said to indicate that this was a long-standing tradition among Jews.

Reactions

No formal action was ever taken against anyone in the case of William’s death.  The local officials refused to bring charges against the accused Jews because of the lack of any evidence against them.  This inaction stoked anger among the local populace.  William came quickly to be viewed as a martyred saint and was venerated for several centuries.  (The picture of ‘Saint’ William, above, is from the Church of St Peter and St Paul in Eye in Suffolk).

The death of William is the first known instance of the accusation of “blood libel.”  According to this accusation, Jews were supposed to have sacrificed a gentile boy each Passover because the blood was necessary for religious ceremonies. (Pictured is an example taken from the Nuremberg Chronicle, 1493). Several decades later, in 1190, following the massacres of Jews in other English cities, the Jews of Norwich were also massacred.

Anger toward the Jewish community was at a boiling point for several reasons.  During his reign, King Stephen took various measures to protect Jews throughout England from persecution.  Anger toward King Stephen, due to the civil war with Matilda, was directed at Jews who were seen as being in collusion with Stephen.  Additionally, the First Crusade had ended in 1099 and the Second Crusade started soon after William’s death in 1145.  Crusading fervor usually occurred in tandem with antisemitic violence.  So, as unrest grew toward another Crusade in the Holy Land, so did anger toward Jews in Europe.  (The Third Crusade began in 1189—the year before the massacre of Jews in Norwich.)

Consequences

The episode of William of Norwich was just one of many in an increasing antisemitic attitude in England and Europe.  Jews were eventually expelled from England in 1290.  Most of these Jews settled in Spain, Italy and France.  When the Black Death appeared in the mid-fourteenth century, these new communities of Jews suffered enormously from antisemitic violence.  Indeed, this violence was fueled by continued accusations of blood libel and other alleged conspiracies such as host desecration and well poisoning.  Blood libel accusations against Jews have continued through recent history, though most reports of it now occur within the Middle East.

It is possible that the saint cult that appeared in and around Norwich following William’s death was at least partially economically motivated.  The pilgrimage of religious adherents in many parts of Europe during this time provided an economic boon to communities of religious significance.  In fact, William’s uncle and cousin (who discovered his body) became officials at the monastery soon after his death.  William was never formally canonized, but the Norwich area received an influx of pilgrimage (and income).

At least six other blood libel “saint” cults are known to have grown up around boys who were purportedly murdered by Jews in the Middle Ages including Hugh of Lincoln, Robert of Bury, and Harold of Gloucester.  Therefore, it was a growing anger toward Jews fuelled by the Crusades and King Stephen that caused the murder of a boy in Norwich to become a new chapter in antisemitism.

Sarah Jane Bodell

The Battle of Hastings – a brief summary

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Kaye Jones offers a brief summary of the Battle of Hastings in 1066, perhaps the most fateful date in English history.

October 14th, 1066, Senlac Hill, about 6 miles north-west of Hastings: two armies stood opposite each other: the English army of King Harold II in one line; the army of William of Normandy in another.

At around 9:00am the Normans made the first attack raining down on the English countless showers of arrows. But the English were strong; having formed a near-impenetrable shield wall which kept the Normans at bay. William sent in his infantry but the English threw down javelins and stones as the Normans charged up the hill (as depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry). Even the few infantrymen who did make it to the English lines failed to crack the wall.

William Removes His Helmet

A frustrated William sent in his cavalry sooner than he probably should have. Within one hour of battle, the left flank of the Norman army had been completely broken. Under such pressure, the left flank retreated and was soon followed by the remaining two divisions. In the chaos some of the English soldiers made the fatal mistake of chasing after them and breaking their ranks. Rumour quickly spread that William had been killed. To prove otherwise, William removed his helmet and restored some much needed morale to the Norman troops. This show of force proved to be a turning point in the battle as William was able to lead a cavalry charge against the English soldiers who had broken rank.

Despite such bloodshed, the bulk of the English shield wall was still intact. By the afternoon, William realised that breaking the wall was the key to victory. His new tactic involved a number of feigned retreats to entice the English out of their lines and cut them down as they ran. Harold’s brothers, Gyrth and Leofwine, soon became victims of William’s deadly tactics and King Harold was not long after.

Arrow in the eye

Legend has it that he was struck in the eye with an arrow, while others believe he was slain by the sword. The contemporary Song of the Battle of Hastings argues that four Norman knights tore off Harold’s limbs and disembowelled him. Whatever the true cause of his death, the English bravely fought on but, without proper leadership, their cause was lost. The Battle of Hastings replaced Stamford Bridge as the longest and most brutal in English history.

Kaye Jones
Read more about the Normandy Invasion in 1066 In An Hour
Vist Kaye’s new blog: http://kaye-jones.blogspot.com/