Which Crusader Will Rule Jerusalem? 1099

With Jerusalem conquered and slowly being cleaned up from the stench and disease of rotting body parts, the big question was who should become its ruler.

The Princes’ Crusade set out with a number of ambitious aristocrats, but by three years later, the ranks had thinned. The Duke of Normandy, Count of Flanders and Count of Boulogne all seemed content with their original lands and titles back home, and the French King’s brother had gone home. There were five remaining noblemen, and two had already seized territory as Count of Edessa and Prince of Antioch.

So the last three contenders were Raymond Count of Toulouse, who had a lovely patrimony back in southern France but was determined to become the ruler of something in the Holy Land; Godfrey of Bouillon—brother to Count of Edessa and Count of Boulogne, himself (insecurely) Duke of Lorraine but definitely still in the hunt for more titles; and Tancred, nephew of the new Prince of Antioch and grandson of the Norman who conquered southern Italy.

Tancred was hotly ambitious but lower in status, so he didn’t really have a chance at Jerusalem. Jerusalem was considered to be the center of the world; it was also where Christ would return. It was even the principle city of the region in secular terms, since Tel Aviv didn’t exist and Jaffa was just a small port. But overall, it was the Holy City, center of the world.

On July 22, they held a council at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. Raymond of Toulouse stated that he could not be King in a city where Jesus had worn a crown of thorns. It is almost certain that he hoped the other princes would insist on electing him anyway; Bohemund had pulled a similar stunt at Antioch, allowing them to reject him and then come back in a panic and “force” to him lead. But instead, Godfrey of Bouillon quickly agreed that it would be a really impious act to be king in the city where etc., so he offered to be an uncrowned ruler. The others in the council just as quickly accepted his offer.

Raymond, who was not a Norman, felt that the council had been rigged by the other Normans. This time, the breach between the disappointed prince and the successful one could not be bridged. Raymond pulled his forces away from Jerusalem and began to act independently. When Raymond’s army did not coordinate with the others, their forces were cut in half. They had already left knights behind in Cilicia, Edessa, and Antioch. The remaining knights had to guard Jerusalem and be prepared to assault other Muslim-held cities, which meant every town except the Antioch and Jerusalem: Jaffa, Ascalon, Acre, Tyre, Sidon… There were just not enough boots on the ground.

The council had to determine more feudal hierarchy, creating and assigning titles. Tancred was made Prince of Galilee, so that he was responsible for holding the land between Antioch and Jerusalem. Other knights were made Counts of Haifa, Nazareth, and Beirut, assigned to be vassals to Tancred. Even smaller towns and regions were assigned to be under them. In this way, the Crusaders could divide governing, taxation, and defense as efficiently as they knew how.

We usually remember Godfrey as King Godfrey of Jerusalem, even though he turned down the title and remained, officially, only a Duke (“dux”). He acted as a king, trying to mediate disputes and use the collective knights and infantry to extend their territory. His first challenge came quickly as the Fatimids rode in force to take back Jerusalem. Jerusalem was captured on July 15, and by August 10, Godfrey was leading the troops southward to meet the Fatimids in the desert.

During those few short weeks, a monk had discovered a fragment of the True Cross. Our modern minds find this very hard to believe; but it only matters to the story that everyone at the time believed it. The True Cross came to have its own cult, in a sense, people whose faith largely centered around knowing that the relic was here and could be carried with the troops or in procession to church before a battle. In this case, both the True Cross and the Holy Lance of Antioch were carried by priests in front with the Crusade’s leaders. Reluctantly, Raymond of Toulouse came too.

Al-Afdal led the Fatimid army himself, and although numbers are uncertain, he probably had twice as many men as the Latins. His intent was a siege of Jerusalem, but the Crusaders met him outside Ascalon (modern Ashkelon). It’s hard to believe, but the Crusaders found the Fatimids and prepared an attack before Fatimid scouts had alerted al-Afdal. They forced a battle in the open fields, and in this first Battle of Ascalon, the Crusaders won relatively easily and very decisively. When al-Afdal fled, he left behind a lot of plunder for the knights to carry away. Ascalon itself refused to surrender, and the Crusaders had no will to batter it down.

Most of the leading knights now went home. They had vowed to go to Jerusalem, and they’d done it. The only leaders who stayed behind were the ones primarily interested in the new feudal structure of this hot, dry place: Tancred Prince of Galilee, Godfrey of Jerusalem, Bohemund Prince of Antioch, and Baldwin Count of Edessa. Many more unsung knights also went home, leaving a very small force to guard Jerusalem. Over the next year, a fresh wave of pilgrim knights helped build it up again, but from this time, Godfrey began finding his men often outnumbered.

Godfrey spent most of his time away from the city, staging battles and sieges of all the nearby coastal towns still ruled by Fatimid Muslims. But in June 1100, he became ill outside Caesarea and died.

Godfrey’s only heir was his younger brother in Edessa. So Baldwin left Edessa with his Armenian wife Arda, and came to Jerusalem. This time, he accepted a real coronation. On Christmas Day, 1100, he was crowned in Bethlehem.

A distant cousin of Godfrey and Baldwin, the younger Baldwin of Bourg, inherited the County of Edessa. He had been the older Baldwin’s right hand man, so he was well prepared to take over. He married a local girl, and soon after, new Crusaders arrived and included his best friend from home, Joscelin of Courtenay. Edessa’s power shifted from Count Baldwin and Sir Baldwin, to Count Baldwin II and Sir Joscelin. Count Baldwin II and the new King Baldwin of Jerusalem are both major players in the story going forward.

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War Gear of the First Crusade

When the organized Princes’ Crusade armies set out, they had the best standard weaponry of the time. So what did the average soldier carry?

The most important weapon of the era was the spear, whether it was a throwing lance (or even dart) or a pole-ax that included a spear point with other hooks and barbs. Spears are the primary weapon of the Bayeux Tapestry. Their shafts were eight or nine feet long, probably made of ash wood. Spear heads were made of iron, and the quality of the iron (therefore how sharp its edge stayed) varied with the owner’s wealth.

Imagine being a foot soldier who had to walk across Germany, Hungary, Bulgaria, and then Anatolia (Turkey). Do you want to carry that spear the whole way? While it might make an okay hiking staff occasionally, you don’t want to wear out the ash pole by constantly slamming it on the ground. You will bring a pack horse (or donkey or mule) along to carry your gear, with the spear tied into the bundle.

The pack horse will also carry your mail shirt, the most expensive gear you own. It’s made of iron wire that was wrapped around a stick while hot, so that it cooled into a non-springy spiral. The wire was cut into rings, and the ends of the rings flattened, with holes bored into each side. When the rings were hooked together like the Olympic symbol, tiny rivets slipped into the holes, securing the rings shut.

Tens of thousands of iron rings are fitted into your shirt. It may only cover your torso, protecting at least your vital organs. If you can afford more rings, your shirt hangs down as a curtain around your upper legs, too. It’s split in front to let you ride a horse or walk easily, but it forms a swinging barrier for any blade aiming to cut your leg off. If you can afford even more rings, it has arm protection too.

The mail shirt is very heavy and uncomfortable, and it must be stored wrapped in oiled cloth to protect it from rusting. When you wear it, you need a quilted tunic against your skin so that the rings won’t pinch and cut you. So that’s another key part of your gear, a linen quilt-shirt that’s stuffed with wool or other padding (when cotton starts being imported, that will be its first use).

The Bayeux Tapestry, which shows the fathers of the current Crusaders, also shows mail shirts being carried with a pole through the arms, between two men. This suggests the weight as well as the need to let gravity keep the rings straight. I don’t think the Crusaders managed them this way, but it does suggest how heavy and inconvenient they were.

You have a linen hood to go under your helm, and probably a padded cap as well. The helm is made of plate iron, probably with some chain mail attached to the bottom edge as neck protection.

You also need a light-color linen tunic to go over the mail, to reflect the sun. First Crusaders may have learned this part the hard way. A mail shirt gets very, very hot in the Middle Eastern sun. This concern was probably also why the Princes’ Crusade set off in August, 1096: so that the hottest months were already past. When fighting pilgrims (they still just called themselves pilgrims at this time) wore a fabric cross as the Pope had suggested, they put it on the outer reflective tunic.

If you’re a knight or in training to be one, you have at least one sword, but if you are a foot soldier from the manors and towns around the province, you don’t. Sword technology going into the First Crusade was similar to what’s found in Viking graves. The blade had been specially treated to increase the carbon content; some of its metal might qualify as steel. The pommel had a guard on each side of the hand, while the iron shaft at the handle’s core was covered by wooden grips carved to fit the hand. Some swords were made so large and heavy that they required two hands, but I think they came later than 1100.

Shields were made of wood: plywood layers with the grains crossed to make it stronger. Shields couldn’t stop a hurtling spear or a direct blow from a sword. They could block arrows or turn less direct blows. It was worth having a shield, more than not, but it wasn’t a big iron plate you could hide behind. That would have been way too expensive and heavy. The shield was covered with linen to stop splintering, and then shellacked with paint. It carried the lord’s insignia.

The rest of your gear, piled on the pack horse, consists of food and water storage containers, small tools, and extra cloth items like a blanket. You always carry a knife at your belt, the way modern people routinely put on wristwatches. Your boots are made of leather, but they have soft soles like moccasins. You probably have some extra soles along, with a needle and awl; you may even have an extra whole pair of boots in the pack, knowing that you’ll be walking. Somewhere in Bulgaria or Anatolia, your pack horse will die, and you’ll have to decide what you can heft on your back.

The Princes, of course, had even more gear: tents, chests of money, more extras of everything, and servants who needed gear just to tend the gear.

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Candlemas: End of Christmastide

The formal end of the holiday season was Candlemas, the Feast of the Presentation or Purification. It commemorated the day when, according to Jewish law, Mary presented herself at the Temple for ritual purification. It was 33 days after a boy infant’s circumcision, which was eight days after his birth. Traditionally, it was celebrated on February 2, or in some countries, the Sunday immediately after.

Candlemas was one of the days that served as a milepost in the medieval year. It began the farmer’s fiscal year, so it also began and ended some employment. It marked about halfway through the cold winter, so farmers could take stock of their remaining stored food and meter it out. Many servants knew that at Candlemastide, their employment would be ended or extended with a handshake.

The priest blessed candles that were brought to the church to be lit with a new fire. Christians tied this to Jesus as the Light of the World. It’s obviously another fire-related custom that might have held over from pagan times, related to the lengthening days. In France and Belgium, they make crepes to stand for the sun. Candlemas led to Groundhog Day because in Germany, they developed a superstition about clear skies. If there was enough sun for a hedghog to see his shadow, there would be more winter.

If Christmas decorations had not been taken down after Twelfth Night and Epiphany, then they were certainly taken down at Candlemas. The fun was over, and it wouldn’t be long until the Lenten fast began. In hard years, people were rationing food for survival purposes, waiting until the earliest edible plants grew again.

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Twelfth Night Parties

Christmastide lasted for twelve days, just as in the song. The Twelfth Night also commemorated Epiphany, the coming of the Magi to see Jesus. Its celebration required a feast that, over time, accumulated some unique customs.

Twelfth Night parties required costumes, particularly eye-covering masks, so they were probably the origin of the English tradition of “fancy dress balls” with guests in costume. Some of the games and plays would need costumed and masked roles, so these costumes could be worn to the party. They think that the images of mummers wearing animal heads especially applied to Twelfth Night. In Spanish tradition, they had a costume parade known as the Cabalgata de Reyes, the parade of kings.

It was already typical at Christmas parties to elect one guest as Lord of Misrule, a sort of Master of Ceremonies. But at a Twelfth Night party, they needed a King and Queen “of the Bean.” In full form, the ceremony required two cakes, the King’s Cake and the Queen’s Cake, to be sliced up for guests, and in each cake a dried bean or some other inedible prize would be discovered in one piece. The finders of the bean became King and Queen.

King’s Cake recipes are still going strong and vary by region. In northern France and Belgium, it’s a galette, a puff pastry with almond frangipane filling. Bakeries sell paper crowns with the cake, and each one has a fève, that is, a fava bean—only it’s probably a tiny figure of the Christ Child. In Mediterranean France and Portugal, the cake more like a sweet raisin bread, ring-shaped and decorated with candied fruit. In German-speaking countries, the cake is baked as a ring and the “fève” is an almond.

Spain’s Roscón de Reyes is a ring-shaped sweet bread, but it is typically sliced in half, horizontally, and filled with sweet cream. It is often decorated with candied dried fruits, and it always has either a bean or a tiny Christ-Child. They connect hiding the baby figure with the flight of Mary and Joseph from Herod, down to Egypt. The person who receives the baby figure in his or her piece is supposed to bring it to church on Candlemas, the February date that commemorates forty days after the birth, when Mary brought Jesus to the Temple.

The important drink for Twelfth Night was Wassail. Wassail means “be well” in Anglo-Saxon, so it originally served as a greeting. Ale, cider or wine with honey, ginger, and nutmeg was heated and then garnished with roasted crab apple pulp that floated on the top. It was used to greet and toast guests.

But Twelfth Night had another ritual using the Wassail: greeting the trees. In the country, people bundled into cloaks and went outside, where they stood in a ring around a tree. If they were in an orchard, they chose the oldest tree that bore the most fruit. If in a forest, the largest tree with the most cones. In town or castle, they may have used a tree in a tub of earth or an artificial tree.

Madeleine Pelner Cosman, in her book Medieval Holidays and Festivals, gives us the ritual:


Twelve wassailers surround the tree, forming a circle. They carry large glasses or tankards. These are half-filled with apple cider, with three small pieces of roasted caraway seedcake floating on the surface. Rhythmically, the wassailers walk around the tree, chanting this rhyme:

Hail to thee, old apple tree! / From every bough / Give us apples enow / Hatsful, capsful, / Bushel, bushel, sacksful / And our arms full too.

Lifting their glasses to the tree, they toast it and shout “wassail.” They take a few sips of the cider. Then each eats one piece of the seedcake and places the other two on the branches of the tree or below it in the tub. A second time they slowly march around the tree, chanting their rhyme. At this circling, the tree drinks. Each wassailer pours the remaining cider into the tub surrounding the tree’s roots. A third chanting procession around the tree ends with wild shouts of “hurrah,” stamping, shaking of noise-makers, and banging on the empty cider tankards.

Also out in the countryside, on Twelfth Night they lit bonfires. The ritual carried on the theme of twelve, which seemed a particularly lucky number. One large bonfire was ringed by twelve smaller fires. The large middle fire was known as Old Meg. In an indoors setting, candles and a large candelabra could substitute for the fires. Guests stood around the fires or candles, shouting “Wassail” as each was lit.

It’s obvious that these customs stemmed from older pagan times, and some other customs and games have the same feeling. For example, six guests wearing ox horns (or even ox-head masks) and boots with bells danced in a circle around the tree. The King and Queen of the Bean select the Best Beast, and master of ceremonies known as the Surveyor crown its horn with a cake that has a hole in the middle. As the “ox” tries to throw the cake off, people bet where it will land: in front of the ox, or behind. After it falls, the guests are served miniature doughnut-shaped seed and raisin cakes. It’s clearly some kind of fertility rite, but it was acceptable in Christian times because the oxen were present at Christ’s birth in the stable.

The appearance of a band of Mummers to act the usual play was announced by the arrival of a Hobby-Horse. In the countryside, this may have been no more than a man riding a broomstick horse with a painted wooden head. In classier places, it was a wicker body that fitted over a man’s body with a harness. The wicker would be covered by embroidered horse blankets, while the horse’s head would look at much like a real horse as they could devise. This kind of outfit is known in contemporary England as a Pantomime Horse. Kate Beckinsale is fond of them.

The standard Mummers’ play could be dressed up by some extraordinary theme. The boy king Richard II was visited by a group of Mummers that included cardinals, a pope, and African princes with gifts. Another medieval court function was visited by Mummers representing King David and the Twelve Tribes. King Henry VI met a group of Mummers dressed as grotesque peasants who brought their comic marital disputes for his judgment.

In one way or another, St. George would kill the Turkish Knight or the Dragon, and a Doctor would come and bring it back to life. Some Mummers would act out the battle scene with mock swordfighting dances that eventually became the Morris Dancers of today’s English folk scene. The fight became more and more symbolic, until it only had sticks clacked against each other or even white scarves standing in for the sticks.

After the Mummers, they played a game called Oranges and Lemons. The name signals that it was a later-developing song and game, since in early medieval times, Spain was not yet exporting citrus to the north. But once Arab-settled Andalusia had a well-developed fruit trade, they could count on citrus for winter parties; then orange and lemon flavored the Wassail.

Two guests were ready to be Orange and Lemon, dressed or marked in appropriate colors. They joined their hands in an arch, the way children are taught to play “London Bridge is falling down.” The other guests filed under the arch while they all sang the song that Orwell quotes in 1984: “Oranges and Lemons! Say the Bells of St. Clements.” Six of the great London churches had a line about their bells, and at the end, the song ran, “Here comes a candle to light you to bed, Here comes a chopper to chop off your head! Last, last, last, last, last man’s head!” Then the arch dropped down to catch the person passing under, as in the “London Bridge” game. Those who were caught had to line up behind (that is, next to) either Orange or Lemon, and eventually when all were lined up as arches, they had a tug of war.

At midnight, the last event required most lights in the hall to be put out. In a great hall, they rigged ropes and pulleys to float a candelabrum across the ceiling. In a humbler place, the candle might be held aloft on a pole. This represented the Star of Bethlehem, and in came the Three Kings to find the Christ Child. An actor playing King Herod tried to stop them with some shouting and shoving, but outwitting and dodging him, the Kings found their way to a nativity scene at one end of the hall. There, they could give their gifts. This ceremony ushered in Epiphany, the Feast of the Magi, as the new day dawned.

Much credit goes to Madeleine Pelner Cosman. Medieval Holidays and Festivals: A Calendar of Celebrations. New York, Scribner, 1981.

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Medieval Hanukkah: Food and Light

Hanukkah celebrates the recovery of Jerusalem and rededication (chanukkah) of the Temple in 164 BC. The Maccabees, priests who also served as secular rulers, discovered that the holy oil (among other things) had been profaned, with only enough pure oil left for one day. It would take a week to sanctify more, but the lamp stayed lit for that week until they had more oil. The story of the lamp is told in the Talmud, not in the Book of Maccabees, but it seems that the festival dates back to Jesus’ time (John 10:22)—usually translated “Feast of Dedication” in English Bibles—and certainly took place in winter. The holiday was known as “Lights” to Josephus (roughly 90 AD), so the lamps were already part of it. It was certainly celebrated during the Middle Ages and was roughly much as it is today, with one important change from the past.

In the Talmud, directions are to celebrate the holiday by lighting at least one candle for each of eight nights, outdoors. More lamps or candles could be lit, but it was specifically to be a public display. At least by the 11th century, Jews in Europe were allowed to move the lights indoors for privacy and safety, just as they were also permitted not to keep a mezuzah on a front door if the Gentiles might steal it or harass them. The light had to be near the door in any case, with different traditions as to which side of the door and in what order the candles should be lit.

What did the lights look like? Menorahs seem to be the norm, although the very poor might have made do with one candle. Some manuscripts give us paintings of splendid menorahs; the most famous is one in the Rothschild Pentateuch.

As Hanukkah observance evolved, medieval Jews included the story of Judith with the story of the Maccabees. Judith was a beautiful widow who seduced and beheaded the Assyrian general who had invaded Israel. In the seduction story, she gave him milk or cheese to make him thirsty, and then sleepy, so commemorating her role suggested dairy products. But the story of the miraculous lights suggested oil, which became the dominant theme for Hanukkah food.

We have rabbinical records to thank for what we know about Hanukkah food, since there was a persistent question: which blessing should be used for a food? The rituals for bread and general grain products were specific, so what constituted bread? The medieval Hanukkah food options were all discussed in one or another book, giving us the names and often the descriptions of many foods. (I am indebted for this section to a 2010 paper by Susan Weingarten of Tel Aviv University.)

The three main Hanukkah breads were levivot, sufganin, and isqaritin. They did not involve potatoes as modern latkes do, and probably all were more or less made with wheat flour. They all were sweetened with honey, and most of them were probably fried. Rashi, a famous rabbi in Troyes, France explained levivot as flour mixed with boiling water, then fried. A medieval poem that describes Hanukkah food suggests they are most like pancakes or flatbread.

Isqaritin” seems to be borrowed from Greek escharites, cakes baked on the hearth, then dipped or soaked in honey. Egyptian and Yemenite Jews make zalabiya, fried dough balls soaked in honey. A similar recipe is in the 10th century al-Warraq cookbook from Baghdad.

Sufganin now refers in modern Hebrew only to jelly doughnuts, but its original range was wider. A 14th century rabbi in Perpignan (now in France, then in the Kingdom of Aragon) described two kinds of dough, one dry enough to be rolled, perhaps like pasta, the other runny like pancake batter. The drier dough product may have been like beignets, the runnier one like crepes. A rabbi in northern France, around the same time, compared some sufganin to “fritols” and “rissols.” Fritelle means deep-fried dough, and a rissole is pasta wrapped around something. The medieval rissole recipe given in the famous 14-century housekeeping book Le Ménagier de Paris specifies stuffing rissoles with dried fruit, nuts, and spices. Another 14th century German rabbi speaks of khromazil, perhaps something like fritters (now made with matzah meal).

In 14-century Seville, the rabbi specified that sufganin meant al isfenj, which meant “sponge” in Arabic. In Moroccan Jewish cooking, sfenj is the traditional Hanukkah dessert. It’s also an ordinary doughnut, often eaten for breakfast, and it can be made with an egg in the center. In the Wikipedia article on sfenj, I learned that the Israeli labor union lobbied to make jelly-filled European doughnuts the official “Sufganiyot” of Hanukkah: because it’s really, really hard to make them at home. Sfenj is much simpler.

Boiled “breads,” that is, what we’d call noodles or pasta, also showed up in the medieval Hanukkah files. As far back as the 11th century, rabbis were arguing about whether “vermicelli” (in various outlandish medieval spellings, but all coming from Latin vermiculi “little worms”) were to be considered bread or not. Rashi (of Troyes) argued that vermiseles are boiled, not baked, so they are not bread. Similarly, a form of ravioli qualified as sufganin in 12th-century Vienna. The Sefer ha’Agur (15th century Germany) speaks of both aravoli and calzoli (calzones) as sufganin. And from what we can tell of contemporary recipes, they could be stuffed with either meat or cheese, either savory or sweet. The 13th-century book Or Zaru’a even speaks of halazzani: lasagna. A 14th-century cookbook describes layering lasagna not with tomato sauce or even meat, but with spices (if you’re making it for Hanukkah, don’t forget honey and maybe some cheese for Judith).

There are even medieval rabbinical sources discussing waffles. Is it bread if it’s cooked between two irons heated on the fire? So we can add waffles and pizzelles to the medieval Hanukkah list. But not dreidels or gifts, both of which seem to have developed later under the influence of Christmas.

Thanks again to Susan Weingarten for the very detailed food information.

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Christmas: Yule and Evergreens

When Pope Gregory first sent Latin missionaries to the outer northern wilds of Europe, he instructed them to make it easy for converts. If they were used to gathering on a hilltop somewhere on a certain day, find a saint’s day that might be celebrated by gathering on a hilltop. If they have a spring festival, tell them to do the same things in honor of a saint or of Jesus’s resurrection. Build wooden or stone churches near where their pagan shrines were, since that’s where they are used to going. Try to adapt the culture.

It’s *somewhat* syncretistic, but Gregory seems to have meant not to keep pagan customs alive—-but to be gentle with the process of conversion. Today we might frame it in terms of not forcing people to give up their culture needlessly; it’s embarrassing to think that at one time, “becoming a Christian” in Africa entailed changing your name and dressing like a Victorian, as though Christians could not have native names or live in traditional ways. The adoption of some pagan traditions has confused the meaning of the holiday for everyone, becoming a popular target for debunkers who want to say it’s all about the pagan gods like Helios, Mithras, or Odin. I don’t think that’s true, but it’s obvious that some of these pagan traditions gave us the trappings we’re familiar with in northern Europe and America.

Germanic people had a long tradition of burning a Yule log for 12 days in midwinter. They kept a feast in the darkness after the solstice; they often roasted a whole boar. The boar may have been on the menu because it was a big, tasty animal that could be more easily hunted with spears in deep snow, or it could have had some religious significance, since each of the gods had a totem animal. The boar was the animal of Tiw, the god whose name gave us Tuesday. It was also good eating.

Yule was a celebration of life in the time when winter seemed dark and cold, so they always went out to collect evergreen branches as home decoration. Christmas decorations did not come into the house or hall until Christmas Eve. There may have been a superstition about its being bad luck to bring outdoor, woodsy things into the house. If so, it goes with the general trend that both conquered peoples and suppressed religions end up being associated with hard-to-see things that slip through the woods: brownies, elves, sprites, and so on. But during Christmastide, it was safe. This period lasted from Christmas Eve to Twelfth Night.

Evergreens are the only leaves that still look alive during the coldest winter; it’s the only color in a northern snowscape. They may have had ritual significance in pagan religion, but they were still great decorations. Ivy usually decorated outside the house, and holly inside. Holly, of course, adds the appeal of red berries. Once pagan religion was far enough in the past that it didn’t seem as dangerous, the church accepted holly as a decoration, pointing out that it also had thorns and the berries were red as blood, so they could bring to mind Christ’s death.

Mistletoe is more deeply connected to pagan myths; a dart made of mistletoe killed Balder, the beautiful Norse god. Mistletoe is a parasitic plant that feeds on a host plant, some other kind of tree. Its green leaves allow some photosynthesis, but mostly it’s living off the tree or shrub it has colonized. It appears as a ball of green leaves nesting in the midst of the branches. Celtic druids observed rituals when collecting mistletoe, especially if it grew on an oak. When it was finally allowed into the house in Christian times, it must have still seemed dangerous, leading to the custom of kissing under mistletoe. This custom probably wasn’t around yet in medieval times.

The Holy Thorn Tree at Glastonbury was a type of hawthorn that flowered in the winter. Its white flowers opening near or on Christmas Day led to a legend that it had been planted by Joseph of Arimathea: he set his walking stick there, and it grew and flowered. The tree that grows on the church grounds has been carefully kept alive by taking cutting from it frequently in case the tree dies.

Evergreen branches of the pine sort could have been used to decorate, too. But even in Germany, where the Christmas tree custom seems to have originated, they weren’t bringing a tree into the house yet in medieval times. Many customs that we think of as medieval are actually from the 16th and 17th centuries. The tree’s use in English custom begins with Queen Charlotte, German wife to King George III.

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Advent Fasting: Fish

The chief issue in fasts was to avoid all animal products, so most obviously, meat was right out. Fish, on the other hand, was okay for some reason. I don’t think there’s any real logic to it, though maybe others disagree. The stipulation that fish was the only thing to use in a meat course at castles and monasteries meant that year round, and even more at Advent and Lent, there was a steady market for fish. Some fish could be caught fresh in lakes or rivers, but most fish was obtained through much more planning and work.

Monasteries knew in advance that they’d be fasting for every possible fast day year round, so they put a lot of effort into growing fish. Some monasteries figured out that letting their sewage flush into the fish pond was actually good for the fish. They tried to build near or over a stream that could carry water in and sewage out, and then they dammed it up on the outflow side to make the fish pond.

Mill ponds were great for fish and for eels, too. The miller’s landlord often asked for eels as part of the rent. Eels could be found in streams and lakes, too. Peasants could spear or trap them. But they rarely ate eels; the cash value was too great. Eels went to the town, monastery or castle.

During the Medieval Warm Period, carp began to move up the Danube River to regions that previously had been a few degrees too chilly for them. The cash value of a five-foot carp was so great that many entrepreneurs invested in long-term fish ponds. Carp farming was so popular that the increased standing water at fish farms made malaria a newly dangerous disease in France and Germany. Carp were moved to a new pond each year, so that in a chain of ponds, you always knew the age and size of its inhabitants. It took about five years for a carp to grow to table length, but then the Abbot or Baron would pay a lot.

By far most fish at table was not fresh: either dried or salted/pickled. The fish preserving industry was one of the largest enterprises of its time. By the late Middle Ages, it was really a huge international business that spurred the creation of the Hanseatic League, an armed monopoly in Northern Germany and Southern Sweden. At Hanse ports, no other ships were allowed. The amassing of barrels, salt, and fish took hundreds of people in different cities. The Hanse may be considered the first global corporation that wielded more power than a nation by itself.

Cod came from the far north Atlantic, including Canada. During the late medieval decades, Basque fishermen were fishing the cod banks near the St. Lawrence River without disclosing that they’d found a New World. (You know how fishermen are! They will never disclose their personal spot to rivals.) Cod also came from Iceland and all around Norway. Cod was most often flayed, perhaps at sea, and then hung to dry in the cold wind. Prepared this way, it was called stockfish—-and “stock” referred to a stick of wood.

Cod stockfish were sometimes smoked, and frequently salted. When caught at sea, they were usually salted so that they would not spoil during the two weeks the ship stayed out. Stockfish had to be soaked for a long time, sometimes with many changes of water to remove salt, then pounded with a hammer to make it possible for teeth to chew it.

It was tasteless, once reconstituted. Cooks had to find ways to season or fry it, but stockfish was never very good. On the other hand, Norwegians still eat Lutefisk as a holiday food: it’s basically re-hydrated stockfish. Lutefisk is soaked in water for two weeks, some of that time in a lye solution. It becomes gelatinous.

Herring came from the north Atlantic and the Baltic, brought to port in huge nets by the millions. In Hanseatic League cities, hundreds of women gutted many herring per minute. The herring were packed firmly in salt and the barrels closed tightly. Ships were specially built to accommodate as many barrels as possible. Monasteries and armies bought barrels and barrels of the stuff.

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Advent Begins

Advent, in Latin “the coming,” was the time of mental preparation for trying to experience, emotionally, the birth of Jesus. In monasteries, it would have been a sober, thoughtful time. In secular life, it was still officially a fast, though each week, only three days had to be fasting.

When it began after Martinmas, it lasted six weeks, and that is how the Orthodox Church still counts Advent. At some point, perhaps during the Reformation (post-medieval) years, Advent was shortened to just four weeks, defined by the four Sundays before Christmas.

During a fast, all animal products were shunned. It wasn’t difficult for the poor to avoid meat, since they ate it rarely. But avoiding cheese, the main protein food of the poor, was hard. Even harder, in the northern regions where animal fat was the primary cooking oil, it was hard to cook at all—and hard to stay warm with a fat-free diet as the days got colder.

Eating butter or other animal fat was a sin, but only a sin to make up with penance. The priests knew people were struggling to get enough calories. As the medieval period went on, the church began allowing parishes to buy a “butter indulgence” for those weeks. By the 13th century, the Advent fast was less and less practiced in Western Europe.

In the Church, Advent was marked by a series of Bible readings that led up to Christmas. Some of these readings were dramatized with simple acting. In the next entries, I’ll look more at both liturgical drama and fast-time cooking.

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November Holidays

This is a break from the Muslim history series for the month of December, 2022.

Feast days were the points around which illiterate people organized their sense of time. In November, they had Martinmas (St. Martin of Tours) and Catterntide (St. Catherine of Alexandria). Martinmas came first, on November 11. It marked the beginning of winter, so it was a time for preserving meat. Salted beef was called “Martlemass beef.”

Martinmas was also the day of a famous fair that ran for 8 days in Nottingham. Based on the legend that St. Martin once cut his military cloak in half to share with a poor man, a folk custom began of carrying lanterns from door to door, asking for treats. It’s not clear to me when this started, though.

In some parts of England, it was also the time for paying rent or starting and ending contracts. The Scottish year was divided into four fiscal/legal terms, with Martinmas as one of the points (the others were Candlemas, Whitsunday and Lammas). I think the Advent fast began after Martinmas for some medieval Christians.

St. Catherine’s Day, called Catterntide in England, fell on November 25. While St. Martin of Tours lived a holy life, he didn’t die in an interesting way—-but St. Catherine did, and her feast day recalled it. She was beheaded at age 18 by the Roman Emperor Maxentius, but first he ordered her to be tortured on a breaking wheel. (I think this was just using a wheel, rather than a hammer, to smash people’s bones.) In the story, the wheel broke when it touched her, rather than the other way. Celebrations for St. Catherine recalled her unmarried state and the wheel.

In medieval Europe, women spun thread, and in later years they used a wheel (in early years, just a spindle and distaff). So Catherine’s Day was celebrated by spinners and lacemakers, and English celebrations often included a wheel with fireworks. There was also a traditional cake with caraway seeds. In France, it was a day for unmarried women to pray for husbands. Girls over 25 were “Catherinettes” and helped to make a special hat for her statue. In later years, they wore the hats themselves in a pilgrimage to her shrine. New Orleans’ French culture hosts a hat parade! In Estonia, it was a day for celebrating women and not shearing sheep.

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First Crusaders Sack Jerusalem, 1099

The Crusaders besieged Jerusalem on June 7, 1099, exactly a year after their siege of Antioch. Between Antioch and Jerusalem, they had passed by Fatimid-ruled cities but these governors had permitted them to go without opposition. The Fatimids abandoned Jaffa on the coast and concentrated all defenses inside Jerusalem.

Jerusalem is situated on a hilly plateau on the eastern edge of the Great Rift Valley’s last rift. King David had captured it because of its location; it was a natural stronghold, unlike coastal Jaffa. Attackers always wanted to find some point looking down on the city, and it was difficult with Jerusalem. The Mount of Olives and Mount Zion were both just outside the city walls, but some other approaches to the city were impassible. The princes grouped in roughly three forces under Raymond, Godfrey, and Tancred the nephew of Bohemond, who had risen in status during the Crusade. Tancred was intent on becoming a prince in the Holy Land; he wanted to do what Bohemond had done in Antioch, becoming the personal conqueror and subsequent ruler. The Duke of Normandy and Count of Flanders were content to be part of Tancred’s forces, although they may not have viewed it quite like that.

The army needed siege engines, but they were in a land without good timber. They solved the problem by purchasing some Genoese ships docked at Jaffa. The ships, dismantled, provided them enough timber to make three wheeled siege engines, ladders and some catapults. The siege engines were built on the plain and then reassembled on the hilltops near city walls.

As they prepared and planned for the big assault, a priest had a vision from Adhemar Le Puy, the Papal Legate who died of typhus a few months earlier at Antioch. He suggested that the Crusaders should imitate Joshua by marching around Jerusalem. The men fasted for three days and then walked barefoot around the city. At nightfall on July 13, 1099, they began the attack.

While catapults hurled missiles from both sides of the city walls, the Crusaders filled in defensive ditches meant to keep out wheeled siege engines. The first siege tower went up against the wall on Mount Zion, but the Egyptian forces defended the wall fiercely. Godfrey of Bouillon suddenly noticed in the pre-dawn light that the north-eastern gate was not well defended. While Raymond’s men kept up the attack on Mount Zion, other forces rushed siege engines to this new point. At dawn, both attacks were pressed simultaneously. The Fatimid forces were not able to keep up both defenses, and by mid-day, Godfrey crossed from his siege engine to the top of the wall. The first men into the city flung open the gate that’s now where the Damascus Gate is located. (The city walls from 1099 were destroyed completely in 1244, and later rebuilt in 1538, so old as the current gates are, they are not the same ones that Godfrey flung open.)

Tancred’s men rushed in, cheering. On Mount Zion, the men of Provence heard the cheering and raced to enter the city lest the Normans get all the spoils. Within a few days, all of the city’s residents and defenders were dead. This may not be truly accurate; chroniclers of the conquest of Jerusalem were eager to magnify the slaughter, writing like fans of a winning Superbowl team. But from what historians can tell, it was probably true enough.

Tancred aspired to rule Jerusalem. He wanted to be in control of the city’s sacking; as part of this, he wanted to spare a small group of Fatimid defenders. When he discovered about 300 men (many North Africans) crowding onto the roof of Al-Aqsa Mosque, he posted his banner there, placing them under his protection. They remained there overnight, as massive slaughter went on all around them. Thousands of Muslim clerics, families with small children, and groups of Jews were killed. Some Jews hid in a synagogue, which the Crusaders burned down. But in the morning, men under Raymond of Toulouse climbed onto Al-Aqsa, took down Tancred’s banner, and slew the men there. Raymond was not going to allow Tancred that sort of sovereignty.

In a last sweep of the city, knights killed the inhabitants of houses they liked and marked the houses with their arms. There were some survivors who got ransomed by the Fatimids, and some survivors who were forced to clean up and bury the dead. But to a great extent, the city was left deserted. Simon Sebag Montefiore, in his book about Jerusalem, says that the Crusaders had to go outside the city into the eastern countryside and find local Christian peasants to move in. These, he said, became the medieval Arab population. Jews did not come back into the city until Saladin retook it in 1187.

Jerusalem had not been conquered in such a devastating way since 70 AD. When the original Muslim conquest took place, its leaders were interested in mostly leaving city economies intact so that they could tax them. The Crusaders’ victory was ideological. Their vision of Jerusalem did not include Muslims or Jews; their idea of diversity meant Armenian Christians, Latin Christians, and Greek Christians. It was part of the hardening of ideology in this period; it set a bloody precedent.

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