Quenhyth recalled the day vividly. It had been after dusk, and the streets were deserted as he had struggled through the blizzard to the inn. When he had seen Josse, he had stopped dead in his tracks and stared in disbelief. It was the man who had stolen away his lovely Bess and broken his young heart: Josse was older and more handsome, and the fickle tavern wench had abandoned Quenhyth for the sturdy messenger without a backward glance. To soothe his hurt, Quenhyth had decided to give up his apprenticeship as a fishmonger and become a physician instead, wanting to change every aspect of his unhappy life.
When the snow had sloughed off Bene’t College’s roof to land on Josse, Quenhyth’s first reaction had been to rush across and begin digging him out. But he had stopped himself. If Quenhyth could not have Bess, then Josse should not have her, either. He had stood for a long time, staring at the pile of snow and thinking about what would be happening underneath. And then he had gone to the tavern.
When he attended Josse’s requiem – the only person to do so – Quenhyth felt a grim satisfaction. Life was definitely looking better: he was reconciled with his father, Gray had left Michaelhouse to take up a new appointment in Suffolk, and no one had discovered his connection with the messenger he could have saved. Yes, he thought; things were turning out very well indeed.
Two weeks later, Kenyngham met Bosel the beggar, who made his customary plea for spare coins. The elderly friar emptied his scrip in search of pennies, and did not notice Josse’s forgotten parchment flutter to the ground. Bosel noticed, however, and snatched it up as soon as Kenyngham had gone. He peered at it this way and that, but since he could not read, the obscure squiggles and lines meant nothing to him. He sold it to Robin of Grantchester for a penny.
Robin suffered from poor eyesight when the light was dim, and could not make out the words, either. He did not care what it said anyway, because parchment was parchment, and too valuable not to be reused. He scraped it clean with a knife, then rubbed it with chalk, and sold it for three pennies to Godric, the principal of Ovyng Hostel. Robin went to spend his windfall on a jug of spiced ale at the King’s Head, where he listened, yet again, to Agatha relating the tale of the camp-ball and the gargoyle at St Mary the Great.
Later that night, Godric wrote a prayer on the parchment he had purchased from Robin. Then he folded it, and took it to the grassy mound in St Michael’s churchyard, where Ailred had been laid to rest. He scraped a shallow hole and inserted the prayer inside, before bowing his head and walking away.
HISTORICAL NOTE
CHRISTMAS IS PAGAN IN ORIGIN, AND CELEBRATED MIDWINTER and the shortest day. The Church saw that people were unlikely to relinquish this popular glimmer of fun in the dark, fog-bound days of December, and incorporated it into its own religious calendar. Even today, some pagan motifs survive – the decking of homes and churches with green boughs, the eating of special foods, and the singing of particular songs.
Many of the traditions associated with Christmas today derive from the Victorians – the giving of gifts, the ‘season of peace and goodwill’, silver balls and glittery tinsel. In the fourteenth century, Christmas seems to have been a far more earthy and raucous occasion – an excuse for eating and drinking, and having a rollicking good time. Records from Benedictine abbeys list extra food and treats that were purchased for the festival, while contemporary chroniclers report kings putting on lavish entertainment and supplying astonishing amounts of food for lucky guests. But although the records of one or two Cambridge Colleges mention Christmas, it is not known exactly what happened there. Term was over, so it is possible some scholars went home. However, travelling in winter could be difficult, so it is likely that many remained.
Christmas marked the end of Advent, so the lifting of dietary restrictions meant feasts – and feasts meant meat. Richer folk had roast boar (flavoured with rosemary and bay, and often with an apple), although the poor made do with boar-shaped pastry.
Marchpanes (the medieval equivalent of marzipan) were a traditional favourite at Christmas. They were fashioned into models called ‘subtleties’. Over the years, these became increasingly elaborate, with scale models of castles and cathedrals served by Cardinal Wolsey in 1527.
Other foods included hackin (a large sausage that went into boiling water at daybreak), shrid pie (a meaty, oblong affair that had a basket with a doll on the top – an early version of a crib), mutton, pork, cheese and souse (pickled pig feet and ears). To drink there was mead, church ale (strong beer that was sold in churches or churchyards) and ‘lambswool’ (hot ale mulled with apples). Wassailing, which survived the Victorianisation of Christmas, had its origin in toasting the success of fruit trees, and involved using stored fruit and plenty of alcohol.
Christmas entertainment took two forms. Experts could be hired in, or games could be organised for everyone to play. Records show that King’s Hall hired people with the mysterious titles of ‘buccinator’, ‘fistulator’, ‘ludens’, ‘ioculator’, ‘lusor’, ‘wayt’ and ‘pleyar’. It is probable these folk were professional entertainers, although whether they were hired in groups or did individual turns is difficult to say. In addition to these shadowy figures, there were also municipal entertainers – town ‘waits’, although these were not mentioned in Cambridge until 1394. In 1350–51, King’s Hall spent two shillings and fourpence on minstrels. In 1306, a woman called Matilda Makejoy was paid as a minstrel, indicating that women, as well as men, were in the business.
Entertainment that could be joined by everyone included indoor and outdoor games. Gambling was frowned upon by Church and University alike, but restrictions were relaxed at Christmas, and small stakes on games of chance were permitted. Dicing with bones (the familiar cubes of today came later) could take several forms. Hasard was a straightforward throwing game, while raffle used three dice and you had to roll higher scores than your rival. Cross and pile was essentially heads and tails, while queek involved rolling pebbles across a chequered board, with bets being placed on whether they would land on light or dark squares. The more intellectual backgammon was being played in England in the eleventh century, and chess arrived with the Conquest. Merels was a board game akin to solitaire. Cards were a later invention, and did not become popular until the fifteenth century.
Outdoor games were often rough, particularly camp-ball. This was basically rugby, and involved a leather ball that had to be passed between fellow team members. There were two goals, which could be several miles apart, and hundreds of people joined in. It was often violent, and people were sometimes stabbed, usually when they fell against knives carried in belts. Mostly the ball was thrown, although ‘kicking camp’ used feet. ‘Ice-camping’ involved a lot of skidding and shoving on frozen rivers and lakes, while ice bandy-ball was a bat and ball game that also had few fules.
Boy bishops and lords of misrule are mentioned in fourteenth-century manuscripts. These were a paradox: they turned rank and social order upside-down, but at the same time they reinforced the rules by underlining what was normal for the rest of the year. It was a symbolic occasion, where seniors waited on their juniors, gambling was permitted and cross-dressing was a source of entertainment. Nevertheless, matters sometimes got out of hand, especially in a town like Cambridge, where the atmosphere was often volatile.
The climate of northern Europe has not remained unchanged over the last six hundred years. The ‘Little Ice Age’ of the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries underlines the Earth’s capacity for environmental change on a global scale. The fourteenth century experienced its own set of ‘unprecedented’ weather conditions, just as we are today. The climate after 1200 grew colder, and there was an increase in rainfall. Records tell us there was an exceptionally long and bitter winter in 1306–07, while there was a series of very wet summers between 1310 and 1317. In a country where weather is naturally unpredictable and variable – especially when the economy was strongly rural and poor harvests affected lives at every level – weather was a popular topic of conversation. Then
, as now, folk would doubtless claim that things had been better in the past.
The Fraternity of Fishmongers became the Company of Fishmongers in the early 1370s. Several prominent names emerge during the middle of the fourteenth century, showing that this guild was powerful in the City of London, and that its members wielded considerable influence. Walter Turke was a fishmonger, who lived in Chepe in 1350. He had a house near the old fish market, and was buried in St James’s Church on Garlicke Hythe. Friday Street was a popular location for fishmongers, since it was convenient for the river, but not too close to the noxious stenches of fish. Friday Street today is a noisy canyon of glass-sided buildings, and only its name suggests its ancient origins.
Finally, many of the characters in this book were real people. Ralph Langelee was Master of Michaelhouse until 1361. William (Gotham) and Michael (de Cawston) were also members of Michaelhouse in the middle of the fourteenth century, as were John Clippesby and Thomas Suttone. Thomas Kenyngham was a founding member, who resigned his Mastership before 1354. John Wynewyk was a Michaelhouse benefactor, mentioned in the Otringham Book (Otringham was Master of Michaelhouse in 1423, so Wynewyk’s association was before this date).
Ovyng Hostel was owned by Michaelhouse. It was purchased in 1329 by John de Ilegh – the executor of Hervey de Stanton’s will – and was a house with a long garden that stood at the junction of Milne Street and St Michael’s Lane. Like other Cambridge halls of that time, it would have had a principal and a handful of students. Little is known about it, and we do not know who was its principal in the 1350s.
Cambridge in the fourteenth century was very different to the pretty, much-visited town we know today. It would have been indescribably dirty, and even the lives of rich merchants would have been bleak compared to our own. The Church dominated almost every aspect of life, and murders and accidental deaths were far more common than now. However, walk through Cambridge early one morning, before the streets are full of students on bicycles flocking to lectures and cars choke the narrow streets, and you will sense something of the past in the sturdy Colleges and ancient street patterns. You may even hear scruffy scholars called to meals when church bells chime the hour or imagine the noisy, boisterous crowds that once gathered in the Market Square to play Christmas camp-ball or to rail against weak or corrupt town officials. Visit, and see for yourself!
For more information on the Bartholomew novels and medieval Cambridge, visit the Matthew Bartholomew website at www.matthewbartholomew.co.uk.
Bartholomew 09 - A Killer in Winter Page 51