The creature that Edward and Tristan fight in this episode is not a dragon. Not in the strictest sense of the word. What they fight is a particularly large, particularly aggressive Nile crocodile. And though it seems a bit farfetched that a Nile crocodile would prowl the waterways of England, it has happened at least once, and probably more times than that.
King Richard I, while on crusade, was reportedly given a crocodile as a gift. He is said to have sent the creature back to England and kept it in a menagerie at the Tower of London. The caretakers of this “dragon” had no way of knowing how to properly pen this creature, and the croc escaped in the Thames and drifted along the east coast of England, terrorizing villagers of Essex and Kent.
Another crocodile seems to have escaped from the Tower in 1405. And, after leaving the Thames, this one found the River Stour and the village of Bures (called Bure back them). The croc horrified the people of the village, ate a few sheep, ate a few shepherds, and grew fat and lethal. The people of Bures called it a dragon and discussed sacrificing virgins to it, but Sir Richard Waldegrave prohibited any sacrifice and sent his archers after the beast. They shot the croc, and the animal, in one story, fled to Wormingford, where it was killed by a knight (another Sir George, oddly).
The village of Bures still recalls the glory of its brush with a dragon. If you visit Bures today, you can see the massive silhouette, outlined in white, of a dragon upon a hillside. There is, from what I understand, another dragon artwork in the village. It is in the St. Stephan’s Chapel, a historic church where King Edmund was crowned in 855. There is, reportedly, a dragon etched or painted on the wall of the church.
But finding St. Stephan’s in the maze of farmyards and bridle trails is a quest worthy of Sir Edward himself.
Episode 6: Historical Note
Norwich, in the Middle Ages, was one of the largest cities in England. Its history fluctuates like a pendulum between the wonderful and horrible. In 1174, one of the most magnificent cathedrals in England was built there. Four years later, a boy was killed in the city and the large Jewish community was blamed for it. The result was a horrendous massacre of the Jews of Norwich. The Hospital of St. Giles (now known as the Great Hospital) was built in 1249 and became one of the finest hospitals in England. But in 1274 the entire city was excommunicated because of a riot against the monks of the cathedral. From sacks by the Flemings and the French to the flourishing of the wool trade, Norwich’s history is a fascinating one. I have yet to find any reference to disfigured demons roaming the streets of the city, but if Sir Edward speaks of such things, it must be true.
King Richard II had a tumultuous twenty-year reign. His father, Edward the Black Prince, died a year before his own father, King Edward III. The Black Prince’s death no doubt came as a shock to the people of England, who adored him and were expecting a long and successful reign from the prince. So when Edward III died a year later, the people were likely not impressed that instead of heralding the reign of the Black Prince, the crown was placed on the head of ten-year-old Richard. Not an auspicious start.
A council was created to advise the young king. The boy’s uncle, John of Gaunt, lobbied to have himself appointed regent, to rule England until the boy came of age. But a council was appointed to advise the boy instead, and John of Gaunt was on that council.
Richard showed occasional flashes of brilliance, as in his handling of the Peasants’ Revolt, but as he grew and took control of the kingdom, he became insular. He relied on very few advisers, close friends whom he rewarded and spent his time with. He did not interact well with the rest of his nobles and this brewed a resentment that spilled over in 1387, when a group of lords calling themselves the Lords Appellant wrested control of the kingdom for a short time.
Although Richard regained his throne from the Lords Appellant, his reign did not end peacefully. Years later, Henry of Bolingbroke, one of the three leaders of the Lords Appellant, raised an army and ousted the embattled king. Henry became King Henry IV, and Richard became a prisoner in the Tower of London and, it is said, died in captivity.
Another of the leaders of the Lords Appellant was none other than Richard FitzAlan, Earl of Arundel and patron to Sir Edward Dallingridge. Edward must have been torn by loyalties when it came to King Richard. On one hand, FitzAlan, a personal friend of Edward’s father, was leading a revolt against the king. On the other, Richard signed the order allowing Edward to build Bodiam Castle, which was Edward’s crowning achievement.
Episode 7: Historical Note
It was not my original intent to make the island fortress a monastery. I had in mind a windswept island off the coast, and a stormy boat journey in the driving rain for Sir Edward. But something happened to me on a day-trip to Norfolk that changed my mind. A man handed me a booklet on St. Benet’s Abbey, a place that had fallen into ruin in the area now known as the Norfolk Broads.
For those not familiar with the Broads, they are a series of interconnecting waterways and lakes that are believed by many to be mostly man-made. Why were these huge lakes and channels created? There is a lot of speculation, but in this episode, Edward tells us one of the most widely held views. Peat. In the Middle Ages, peat was one of the most common forms of fuel. It was used for ceramics, baking, glassmaking, brickmaking, brewing, and just about any process that involved running a hot fire for long periods of time.
What is peat? It’s basically a type of dead vegetation and soil, common in bogs and marshes. The northeast corner of Norfolk had vast amounts of peat, so men were hired to dig it from the earth. And dig they did. The massive pits they dug eventually flooded and created the many lakes of the Broads. And the channels? Some speculate that the channels were dug to allow the peat to be stacked onto ships and sent off to wherever the peat was stored and dried.
On that day in Norfolk, the day I was sold the booklet, I saw for the first time exactly what Edward, Tristan, and Belisencia saw: a ship sailing through a meadow. If you get a chance to visit the Norfolk Broads, I recommend visiting St. Benet’s Abbey, if only to see the miracle of sails cutting through pastures and fields, which they still do.
St. Benet’s never had the religious importance of St. Edmund’s Abbey, but it had a storied history. It was built in AD 1020 as a monastery for Benedictine monks, but even before that it was a place of religious importance. Hermits formed a community there in the ninth century, and churches were built and destroyed on the site several times before King Canute granted the land for the Benedictine monks.
Historians have pieced together what the abbey might have looked like in its prime and, sadly, we must rely on their vision. The monastery survived Henry VIII’s reformation only to fall into a slow spiral of decay and ruin. Fortunately, there are old illustrations and documents detailing what the church looked like and, in this story, I have tried to keep the descriptions as faithful to history as I can. The only embellishment I added was the bridge across the River Bure, outside the abbey. Edward always seems to need bridges where there were none.
There is not much left of the abbey now. A gatehouse that was turned into a mill in the eighteenth century, a few battered flint walls, and impressions on the ground of old fishponds. But the site is still consecrated, and an open-air mass is held on the grounds once a year by the bishop of Norwich.
When I toured the remains of the abbey and read the history of the place, I realized that I had found my island. Not only would it be unexpected for the fortress to be inland, but it was a real fortress on a real island; I wouldn’t have to invent one. Edward’s story is one that has always been grounded in history, and when writing it, I always prefer the resonance of true history to places I conjure.
Edward is healed (he hopes for the final time) by the alchemist using something known as Malta fungus. The fungus, scientific name Cynomorium coccineum, is real. It grows in the Mediterranean and in the Middle East. Crusaders brought some back to Europe and, as the alchemist points out, the Knights Hospitaller found a large store of it growing on a roc
k near the island of Gozo (one of the Maltese islands). The fungus was highly sought after by everyone, from the Europeans to the Chinese, as a curative for a long list of ailments, including infection. And modern-day science seems to cautiously agree with history: there is some evidence that Malta fungus can help with everything from HIV to impotence. Thanks to my copy editor, Marcus Trower, for pointing out this wonderful tidbit of history.
Episode 8: Historical Note
Sometime in the middle of the fourteenth century, a disease crept into England. Historians to this day still disagree as to the cause of the affliction, but whether it piggybacked into the country on fleas or hurtled in on nasal discharges, one thing is certain: the Black Death changed England more profoundly than any other event in history. There was no cure for this disease, but not from lack of effort. History records hundreds of attempted remedies. These ranged from eating crushed gems to drinking vinegar and water, from washing in urine to covering the victims with feces, and, perhaps one of the oddest attempts, rubbing a live chicken over the patient’s body. Chickens may be clever, but they weren’t smart enough to cure the plague.
The so-called Red Death in my story, Edward’s plague, would have been similar in many ways to the Black Death of the mid-fourteenth century. It is unlikely that the citizens of England could have developed a cure for Edward’s Red Death. Prayer was still seen as the primary weapon against such illnesses. And even in the Middle East, where science and medicine flourished among Muslim and Jewish scholars, it is doubtful that a cure would have developed, especially in such a short amount of time. But the concept of using dragon blood, though it might sound a bit fanciful, is not as farfetched as it may seem.
The dragon that Praeteritus kills in this episode was, as I mentioned earlier, a Nile crocodile that escaped from a menagerie into the waters of southeastern England (something that happened a few times in the Middle Ages). Crocodiles are very special creatures. They are fiercely territorial, leading to vicious fights among them. These fights result in terrible wounds, but the wounds almost never become infected. Odd, considering that crocodiles marinate in warm rivers seething with bacteria. Their ability to resist infections is so extraordinary that scientists have been studying crocodile blood for years. And their studies have yielded some amazing results. Apparently the crocodile’s immune system can kill HIV and a host of other infections. It is entirely possible that, in the future, new medicines for old diseases will be developed on the basis of these studies.
The power of dragon’s blood.
In this final episode, Belisencia revealed herself to be Elizabeth of Lancaster, daughter to John of Gaunt and cousin to Richard II. Elizabeth, in reality, was the feisty third child of Gaunt and eventually became the Duchess of Exeter. As mentioned in this episode, she was married to John Hastings, the earl of Pembroke, when she was seventeen and he only eight. But perhaps Elizabeth’s greatest claim to fame is as the sister of Henry Bolingbroke, a man whom Edward Dallingridge might encounter in a future Scourge novel. Elizabeth of Lancaster’s marriage to John Hastings was annulled in 1386, and she married twice more, finally finding happiness with Sir John Cornwall.
History has no record of her love affair with a knight named Sir Tristan of Rye.
As for Edward, his quest for the cure may be at an end, but he has yet to see Elizabeth’s smile. It is a long journey from St. Benet’s Abbey to St. Edmund’s Bury, and in these times of madness anything can happen on the English trails.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank the countless employees of English Heritage and the National Trust for their tireless assistance. In particular, I would like to single out Mike Williams for answering my questions about Bodiam Castle and for providing crucial information about Sir Edward Dallingridge.
Thanks should go out once again to the Fairfield Scribes, the best group of writers and friends in the world. And to David Pomerico, my editor, for continuing to believe in The Scourge. Alex Kahler was the content editor for Nostrum, and I am forever in his debt for his unerring judgment and for motivating me to do my very best. I would also like to thank Marcus Trower, my copy editor, for his wonderful work with the manuscript and for his plot inspirations.
Most importantly, I want to thank my fiancée, Annabelle Page, for driving me anywhere I want to go in her country, for reading and critiquing each and every word I write (usually more than once), and for doing anything and everything I ask of her (without a single complaint).
About the Author
Roberto Calas has worked as a graphic designer, newspaper reporter, magazine editor, and once owned a company that sold swords and armor. The second-generation Cuban American is the author of The Scourge and The Beast of Maug Maurai, and is an aficionado of fencing, ice hockey, and history. He lives in Sandy Hook, Connecticut.
This book was originally released in episodes as a Kindle Serial. Kindle Serials launched in 2012 as a new way to experience serialized books. Kindle Serials allow readers to enjoy the story as the author creates it, purchasing once and receiving all existing episodes immediately, followed by future episodes as they are published. To find out more about Kindle Serials and to see the current selection of Serials titles, visit www.amazon.com/kindleserials.
Nostrum (The Scourge, Book 2) Page 31