Authors: Priscilla Royal
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Historical
Satan's Lullaby (19 page)
And with great relief, Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas laughed and shouted for joy.
A few years ago, while enjoying an author tea at The Poisoned Pen in Scottsdale, Arizona, I had a delightful conversation about medieval history with fellow reader, Paula Davidon. When she asked if I had read Archbishop Eudes Rigaud’s account of his travels around his archdiocese in thirteenth-century Normandy, I confessed I hadn’t. In such moments the process of plot development often begins.
Not long after, Paula sent me a copy of the archbishop’s dictated chronicle in which he discusses, with fascinating detail, his visits to the religious houses under his authority, the inadequacies he found, and the remedies he recommended. I knew then that I would have to put Prioress Eleanor through this ordeal. Life must never get too comfortable for her.
There was one problem. Almost all Orders did live under the oversight of a local prelate, like Archbishop Eudes Rigaud of Rouen, and received regular visits from him to make sure the physical buildings were maintained, fiscal affairs were in order, and everyone kept to their vows in both major and minor ways. The Order of Fontevraud was different.
Instead of the local prelate, Fontevraud was under the rule of Rome and placed there in 1244, with the approval of Pope Innocent IV, which suggests that the Order was well-regarded and skillfully run. Popes did not allow lax Orders to have this privilege because it gave the Order leaders more leeway in decision-making and control over their daughter houses. The abbots and abbesses of houses under Rome’s rule could order the investigative reviews as they saw fit. Records indicate that they were a little less dedicated about scheduling them than Eudes’ chronicle would suggest he was.
Although the abbesses in Anjou approved some visitations, very few have been recorded for the English daughter houses of Fontevraud and these were almost exclusively concerned with fiscal affairs. The pattern suggests that Prioress Eleanor would have had good cause indeed to wonder why her religious house was being singled out if Abbess Isabeau ordered an assessment of all aspects of Tyndal Priory from fish ponds to monastic shoes.
Isabeau Davoir (or d’Avoir) was the fourteenth abbess at Fontevraud Abbey and ruling head of the Order from 1276 to 1284. Her kin were the noble family of d’Avoir in Anjou, and her problem with querulous monks, who did not like female rule, is part of historical record. Eventually, she got papal approval to send the rebellious ones off to other priories. Her second notable achievement was the successful acquisition of a relic from the true cross for the abbey.
Nothing else is known about her, including anything about brothers. Presumably there was one to inherit the family title. If she also had a younger one, he might well have opted for a career in the Church. His birth would have put him on the fast track for ecclesiastical promotion much like the fictional Father Etienne Davoir, a man who bears absolutely no resemblance to Archbishop Eudes whom I found quite charming.
There is a general assumption about religion in the medieval era. This can be summed up by the image of Christians kneeling in a church, a group whose frequent adherence to ritual was set in stone and whose beliefs were standardized or else deemed heretical.
The image is fallacious. First, not everyone in Europe was Christian, although that was the dominant creed. Second, the average Christian had little in-depth understanding of the faith, and practices deemed common today in Catholicism were not always honored. Third, there were long periods in which a fair tolerance for differences of opinion existed as long as certain fundamentals weren’t questioned. (Jesus was the messiah, for instance.)
In this book, I do portray some differences amongst the professional religious. Prioress Eleanor believes in a compassionate and tolerant God who is outraged most by cruelty and injustice. Brother Thomas feels free to argue constantly with his. Father Etienne sees God as a stern, unbending task master who must be strictly obeyed without question. Some theologians said a Christian must never doubt or question but just accept the faith as preached by the professionals. Others argued that Christian tenets could and must be proven with reasoned arguments and that questioning was an acceptable path to faith.
If the theologians exhibited variety in their approach to the Christian religion, the laity was just as diverse.
Canterbury Tales
offers a good survey course. In my series, Gytha and Signy are conventionally devout, but the critical and casual approach, suggested by Ralf and Conan, was not unusual.
In all religions, faith leaders worry about the laxity of the lay folk. Will they follow those in religious authority on morals, compliance with financial support, and attendance at group rituals? For medieval Christians, it was no different.
Baptism was a non-negotiable, basic requirement for entrance into the faith, and Christian families did this dutifully. Once that was done, however, there was surprising variance in almost everything else having to do with the faith. Some of this was understandable. The complex rules over when a dutiful Christian couple might have sex would drive a modern computer mad, let alone a medieval human. There was a lot of disobedience going on with that.
What might surprise many is that knowledge about the intricacies of faith was not obligatory for the laity. Robert Grosseteste, the mid-thirteenth century bishop of Lincoln, clarified that the average Christian was only required to know the Ten Commandments, the seven Deadly Sins, and have a rudimentary understanding of the seven sacraments. (Others did think memorizing a prayer or two was good.) Those with vocations to serve God were expected to have a far greater understanding in order to advise and preach. In reality, many of those, especially the local priests, were as ignorant of the rules and details of the faith as the laity.
In general, attendance at Mass on Sundays and feast days was expected, but non-attendance was so common it was regularly bewailed. Tithing was part of a Christian’s obligation, but tithes were not always collected with any regularity, except in England where compliance seems to have been rather good. Annual confession was a duty around Easter as was taking the Eucharist. Many did adhere to that. Many others did not.
As for respect due the professional religious, the literature of the day was filled with mockery of the foibles of priests, monks, and nuns. Bishops came in for their share when they chose to chastise local priests for having unsanctioned wives—despite having mistresses themselves. (And I won’t even get into the Borgias.) Like an archaeological dig of the town dump that brings us a picture of life amongst the common folk, secular literature provides us with a peek into what the average Christian practiced (or didn’t) and thought.
So Ralf’s contempt for the more lenient punishments given clerics is echoed in historical quotes by kings; his snide comments about the professional religious, his friends excepted, is repeated in much literature of the time; his infrequent church attendance is supported by recorded theological wailing. Conan’s remarks and behavior also fall into that category. Unapproved scoffing and lax adherence to ritualistic practices was scolded but not ardently punished most of the time.
That noted, medievals, like many moderns, were frightened of the afterlife. This terror eventually brought most medieval Christians back to the fold in times of stress or on their deathbeds. Ralf is a different man when faced with the possibility that his wife could die in childbirth. Even Conan might utter a prayer before he next faces the Welsh. Rulers, notorious for lifetimes of brutality and rampant greed, often donned a monk’s robe and took religious vows on their deathbeds. King William Rufus, overcome with fear during a dire illness, piously chose a later sainted Archbishop of Canterbury, a decision he came to rue when his health crisis passed. Like Rufus, Ralf will probably return to his irreverent self after the child is born.
Autumn crocus is an ancient remedy. The first mention is in the Egyptian
Ebers Papyrus,
the oldest known medical text from approximately 1500 BCE, where parts of the plant were mentioned as useful in the treatment of inflammation. Later, the Greeks discovered it could be an effective remedy for acute cases of gout, although Alexander of Tralles in the sixth century CE wrote the most complete treatise on its specific value as a gout medication. The medicine was composed of the plant’s dried seeds, flowers, and corms. It wasn’t until 1820 that the alkaloid
colchicine
was isolated and discovered to be the valuable element. Today, modern medicine still prescribes the vital part of autumn crocus for acute gout attacks in the form of a tiny purple pill called Colchicine.
The problem with autumn crocus is its toxicity. Before 1820, it was very difficult to concoct a remedy with it that didn’t cause serious side effects or even death. In fact, the plant was best known as a poison. The amount of the alkaloid colchicine in the various parts of the plant varies dramatically, and a safe dosage would not have been easily measurable many hundreds of years ago.
Since physicians were reluctant to put their lives on the line with their noble patients, a jar of autumn crocus was not the first thing they reached for to treat gout. History might have been a tad less bloody if a few kings had gotten the remedy. On the other hand, a few more royal doctors would have gotten their necks stretched on the scaffold if the gout cure killed the patient. Even today, a patient is at risk for unpleasant or even severe side effects, but, in medieval times, the correct dosage would have been difficult. Obviously, autumn crocus could be used successfully or the Greeks and others wouldn’t have written so enthusiastically about it.
I have always presented Sister Anne as observant, analytical, and well-educated, thanks to her father who had access to medical treatises not always available to most western physicians. With her education, use of a conservative dose and careful observation, all possible with a resident sub-prioress, Sister Anne could have successfully used the remedy, but even she would not have used autumn crocus on a regular basis or with a transient patient.
Many of us may assume that only men suffer gout since afflicted women are rarely mentioned. It is true that men get the disease more often and earlier in life. My father did. So imagine my surprise when I awoke one morning to a very red and increasingly painful toe joint. Post-menopausal women with a family history can and often do suffer from gout. I was not pleased by the paternal gift.
Fortunately, I am a writer so found distraction from the flare-up in researching the background of that wonderful, little purple pill. Once I discovered what a fascinating history it had, I knew the treatment must show up in a book. I also wanted company in my misery and decided that Eleanor’s sub-prioress was the perfect person to benefit from my experience. After what Sister Ruth’s brother tried to do to Prioress Eleanor and Brother Thomas in
Satan’s Lullaby
, I also hope that brother shares the family medical tendency to painful little uric acid crystals.
Sneezing was problematic in the medieval period. One belief, of the many prevalent theories, was that a sneeze expelled the soul from the body. Another was the fear that demonic creatures filled the void in the body left by the sneeze. In order to call the soul back, or to keep Satan at bay, the words “God bless you” were uttered. The expression is still used.
As a final note, the term
English Channel
was not used in the thirteenth century. The most common name for that body of water separating the British Isles from the continent was
British Ocean
(
Oceanus Britannicus
)
or
British Sea
(
Mare Anglicanum
). The first known reference to the
English Channel
(
Canalites Anglie
)
was on an Italian map of 1450 within a translation of Claudius Ptolemy’s second century
Geographia.
In the course of researching any new book, I always find useful and entertaining sources that I love to share with readers. Here the joy of fiction and the excitement of academic discovery can join in a common, harmonious purpose. The following titles are a few of the latest which I hope you will enjoy as much as I have.
Bishops, Clerks, and Diocesan Governance in Thirteenth-Century England,
by Michael
Burger,
Cambridge University Press, 2012.
Episcopal Visitation of Monasteries in the Thirteenth Century
, (second, revised edition), by C. R. Cheney, Manchester University Press, 1983.
The Holy Bureaucrat: Eudes Rigaud and Religious Reform in Thirteenth-Century Normandy
, by Adam J. Davis, Cornell University Press, 2006.
The Register of Eudes of Rouen,
translated by Sydney M. Brown and edited by Jeremiah F. O’Sullivan, Columbia University Press, 1964.
Religious Life for Women c.1100-c.1350 (Fontevraud in England),
By Berenice Kerr, Oxford University Press, 1999.
Oxford Dictionary of Popes,
by J.N.D. Kelly, Oxford University Press, 1986.
Medieval Travellers: the Rich and Restless,
by Margaret Wade Labarge, Orion Books, 1982.
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