gesso: a material that lies under paint or gold leaf, made with a binder (usually animal glue) mixed with chalk, clay or pigment
gruit: an ale made with herbs, spices or other additives
habit: a simple gown worn by a nun or monk
hurdy-gurdy: a stringed instrument played by turning a crank, which rubs a wheel against the strings
illuminated manuscript: any book containing handwritten text and paintings, typically with parchment pages, created for either secular or religious purposes
kneeler: a prayer desk with a surface for kneeling and a ledge on which to place a prayer book
lady: the title of a noblewoman, typically the wife of a lord (see below)
lime: a mineral compound that can be used as an ingredient in paint, especially white paint
lord: a loose term denoting members of a high social class who had authority over others, whether as landowners or military leaders
madder: a plant-based dye ranging from peach to red, also used medicinally
mastic: an aromatic gum that is added to paint as a binder or varnish
miniature: any painting in an illuminated manuscript, regardless of size. “Miniature” refers to “minium,” a red lead-based pigment
muller: a glass instrument with a flat bottom for grinding pigments
nave: the main and largest section of a church, where the congregation gathers
paternoster: the Christian prayer, often called the Lord’s Prayer, which begins, Our Father Who art in Heaven
pattens: wooden overshoes meant to raise one’s feet above wet or muddy ground
peasant: any member of society not of the nobility. Peasants could be poor or wealthy, free or bound to a lord
psalter: a prayer book containing the Book of Psalms
psaltery: a stringed musical instrument similiar to a small harp
quarter days: days beginning each quarter of the year, when rents were collected and town authorities appointed (see “The Quarter Days” at the beginning of this book)
reeve: an elected official who oversaw work on a lord’s manor
rood: a cross
rood screen: in a church, a tall, openwork separation wall between the chancel and the nave
scapular: a long cloth with an opening in the center for the head that is worn as part of a religious habit
shawm: a medieval double-reed woodwind instrument similar to an oboe
terre verte, aka prason: a green pigment—literally, “green earth”
theriac: an ancient medicinal concoction that could serve as an antidote or a sedative
weld: a plant-based dye yielding a range of soft greens
wimple: a cloth worn under a veil, from beneath the chin upward to the top of the head
woad: a dark blue plant-based dye similiar to indigo
Medieval books referred to:
Bald’s Leechbook (9th century AD)
De Materia Medica, by Dioscorides (50–70 AD)
De Poetica, by Aristotle (ca. 335 BC)
Martyrology, by Bede (8th century AD)
Physica, by Hildegard von Bingen (1150–58 AD)
The Rule of Saint Benedict, by Benedict of Nursia (516 AD)
Author’s Note
Go ahead and picture me in full nerd form: wearing a linen gown and veil, with a pouch and cup hanging from my belt, watching twenty guys in homemade armor reenacting a battle. I’ve always been a medievophile, and it was a no-brainer that I’d eventually write a book about the Middle Ages. I devour books and movies about it, and yes, even belonged to a medieval reenactment society. My illustration work is directly influenced by medieval art, and I’m inspired by many of the great thinkers of the time like Hildegard of Bingen.
Yet here I was, writing a book on my favorite time period, and finding I knew almost nothing. I spent hours just trying to find out, for example, whether or not carts were used to transport groups of people across long distances. (The result: inconclusive. I plead artistic license for Edyth’s journey in Chapter 1.) I couldn’t take anything for granted, except human nature.
Then, about halfway through the writing of this book, something miraculous happened.
A team of researchers discovered, in the ruins of a German convent graveyard, the skull of a medieval nun.* They were looking at her teeth for evidence of her diet when they found something unusual embedded in the enamel: microscopic flecks of a bright blue mineral: lapis lazuli, a pigment as valuable as pure gold.
But she was a woman, some opined. Surely—in their caricatured view of women’s options in the Middle Ages—a woman wouldn’t have been illuminating manuscripts. Only men had that privilege. Surely she wouldn’t have been entrusted with such precious materials. She must have been the cleaning lady.
But though women of the time had fewer rights, they weren’t like the repressed slaves of The Handmaid’s Tale. Just read a bit of Chaucer or Margery Kempe and you’ll quickly discover that, though society had a different structure than ours, medieval women were every bit as saucy and strong-willed as they are now (present company definitely, ahem, included). Women richly contributed to the artistic and intellectual spirit of the times, whether or not we know their names. And this forgotten nun, who likely got that otherworldly blue in her teeth by licking her paintbrushes to a fine point day after day, laughs at our stereotypes from beyond her grave.
What is the value of a human life? Does it have to be epic to be meaningful?
* * *
We don’t know for sure how many people died from the Plague outbreak of 1347–1351, but safe estimates arrive at approximately half the population of Europe. For centuries, everyone was tightly interwoven within the hierarchy of the manorial system. Yes, kings and lords wielded power over their vassals, and social mobility was rare, but there was a certain cohesion within local communities. Barring catastrophic personal choices, and natural disasters and famines that caused everyone to suffer, people had a measure of assurance that meant their basic needs would be met, through work, or charity in some cases.
In the aftermath of the Plague, however, when every other person was dropping dead, labor became scarce, and workers were in demand. People began to leave their villages, to set their own prices and put a monetary value upon their skills. The fact that the nobility had died at the same rate as the peasantry was a huge leveler. One’s birth or status mattered less than one’s abilities. The manorial system eventually unraveled. Greater emphasis was placed on the individual, and people could move up—or down—the class ladder.