Archive for the ‘Research’ Category

One of the difficulties of researching medieval times is that of repetitive names, and people with a multitude of names.  In medieval Scotland, there are an abundance of Williams, Alexanders, and Roberts.  Even adding last names doesn’t always help. 

Take the name John Comyn.  In the time of Robert Bruce, alone, there are several of them important enough to have come down in history.  The best known is the John Comyn, Guardian of Scotland, slain by Bruce before the altar of Greyfriars Kirk.  That John Comyn is also known as John III Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, and the Red Comyn. 

His father, John II Comyn, also Lord of Badenoch, also a Guardian of Scotland at one stage, was the Black Comyn,  and, like his son, fought for the crown of Scotland with a Robert Bruce–although with Robert Bruce’s grandfather,also Robert Bruce,  known as “The Competitor,” in the late 1200’s, whereas John III, the Red Comyn, fought with the younger Robert Bruce, of Braveheart and Bannockburn fame.

Home of the Comyn Family

Home of the Comyn Family

Current with this John Comyn was his cousin, John Comyn, differentiated by  the title Earl of Buchan.  In an interesting, perhaps sad, twist, this John Comyn, Earl of Buchan, though a great supporter of John Baliol and enemy of Robert Bruce, was also the husband of the remarkable Isobel MacDuff, Countess of Buchan, who left her husband to ride north and claim the MacDuff family’s traditional role of crowning the Kings of Scotland, by placing the crown on Robert Bruce’s head, shortly after he murdered her husband’s cousin, John Comyn, at Greyfriars Kirk.

Confused yet?

Actually, writing it all out has made it all much clearer.  Now for my second act… on to the Alexander Comyns and Alexander MacDougalls!

February 10 is the day Robert Bruce killed John Comyn in front of the altar of Greyfriars Kirk in Dumfries, in 1306.  The two families, Bruces and Comyns, had long been at odds over the throne of Scotland, and in the days after John Baliol’s failed kingship, the rivalry renewed.  Bruce and John Comyn agreed to meet at Greyfriars to discuss matters. 

Whether Bruce went with the intention of killing Comyn, or whether the crime was committed in the heat of an argument is unknown, but the end result is remembered 700 years later: Robert the Bruce, Scotland’s greatest king, killed a man in front of an altar on holy ground.  The deed launched him on a more abrupt road to kingship and war with England than he most likely intended.

Killing was not an unusual matter in medieval life.  Killing a man on holy ground, however, was a serious matter.  Bruce knew that he would be ex-communicated for it, and, more importantly, that an ex-communicated man cannot be crowned king.  His answer was the race to Scone, where he was crowned before the Pope could get the news and proceed with the ex-communication.

The killing at Greyfriars also cemented some of the great families of Scotland against Bruce as king, and leading them to side with England in the years leading up to Bannockburn.  Who’s to say what would have happened, had tempers stayed cool at Greyfriars that day.  Would Scotland have had an easier time, had the Comyns and their kin not turned against Bruce?  Or would Scotland have had a harder time, with continued infighting amongst the clans?  Regardless, the incident stands out as a major event in the life of Robert Bruce and the history of Scotland.

More on John Comyn tomorrow.

The last week and a bit has flown by with lots of detail work on manuscripts and immersion in the world of medieval music and ale–more ale than music this week.  And I should add, I don’t mean literal immersion.  Just in case anyone wondered.  Although it certainly would have helped me answer my question: how does the taste of today’s ale or beer compare to the taste of medieval ale?

Ale, in short, was largely the drink of the medieval day, made with malted grains (oats, barely, or wheat, for instance), water, and yeast.  It may have been flavored with spices, herbs, sugars, or fruits.  Beer, by contrast, contained hops, which gave it a touch of bitterness and helped with preservation.  Most speculation is that medieval ale was weaker than today’s, and had little to no carbonization, although these points, like any others, are up for debate.  In medieval England, it was served fresh, meaning still, or only very recently done, fermenting.

As usual, opinions vary about the state of things seven hundred years ago.  Both music and ale have similar problems: we have no direct experience of their medieval versions.  In the world of music, we have a few manuscripts from which to re-create a few pieces, but not many, and we can’t hear the actual instruments, nor how a medieval bard would have interpreted what manuscripts we have.   

In the world of ale, a few written household records have survived.  Judith Bennett quotes many such medieval sources in her book Ale, Beer, and Brewsters in England, and these sources were used to construct two possible recipes for medieval ale, and brew several batches, using no modern equipment.  

Opinion on medieval ale veers strongly toward it having been sweet; the brewer says the ale from his first recipe was definitely not sweet, although this may be due to the ale being deliberately weak.  He describes one batch as quite cloudy, tasting ‘tannic,’  like ‘liquid bread,’ and apparently being quite low in alcoholic content.  Despite this, he says, it was ’quite drinkable and refreshing.’  Further batches, produced from a recipe that would have been more appropriate for an aristocratic household, gave tastes ranging from paint thinner to pleasant apple.

 We can safely say there would have been a great variety in the taste of ales from one town to the next, depending on the individual brewer, and the ingredients and equipment available.  But it seems that in general, they would have been sweeter and weaker than what we know today.

sources: Recreating Medieval English Ales by Paul W. Placeway, Getting Medieval by Jeri Westerson

I discovered Nigel Tranter in a 14th Century castle tower, with the gray stones rising all around us, and the chirpy clerk waiting hopefully at her cash register for us to choose from the array of shiny, plastic trinkets, whiskey bottles, and colorful books about Castle Doune.  

I don’t know why Nigel Tranter caught my eye, but he did: a thick, green book with an archaic painting of Robert the Bruce in a flowing red beard adorning the front.  The book was The Bruce Trilogy, a collection of Tranter’s three novels about Robert the Bruce.  It was so much of what I had gone to Scotland to learn, wrapped up in one giant volume.  I considered the price and the exchange rate, and reluctantly left it on the shelf.  Within minutes of getting home, I hit amazon and found a used copy for significantly less. 

 It arrived in days, and for several days afterward, I was lost in the world of Robert the Bruce– as a hot-headed young man, as the eager, new husband of Elizabeth deBurgh, as both friend and enemy of Edward Longshanks, “The Hammer of the Scots.”  

In between reading of Bruce living in a cave, hunted by Longshanks, ferrying in secret across swamps, and reigning supreme at Bannockburn against impossible odds, I read up on Nigel Tranter himself.    A native of Glasgow, he is a man who deserves far more recognition on our side of the Atlantic.  He is a prolific author in the worlds of both fiction and non-fiction.  His fiction alone spans from children’s books to historical fiction to Westerns and contemporary and adventure novels.  His non-fiction is a testament to his love of Scotland, covering castles, counties, and landscapes.

While we all have different opinions of what good historical fiction is, I personally like historical accuracy.  There are those authors with reputations for playing fast and loose with historical facts, twisting facts to fit the story they wish to tell.  Tranter, by contrast, has a reputation for impeccable research, down to the fine details.  There are those storytellers, for instance, who have liked to dramatize the death of Longshanks in ways it didn’t actually happen.  When you read Tranter’s historical fiction, you will read something very close to the historical record, in story form. 

Among Tranter’s novels, I have only been lucky enough to read The Bruce Trilogy so far, but thoroughly enjoyed the detailed look at one of Scotland’s– I would even say the world’s– greatest men.  We see the forces that shaped him, turning him from a reckless young man with a hot temper, to a firm and determined leader, capable of taking on the greatest army the world had ever seen, with his small band of 5 or 6,000, and not only surviving, but triumphing, and turning Scotland’s fate.

If you love Scotland or medieval times, I consider The Bruce Trilogy a must read.

Hogmanay is a Scottish celebration that occurs in The Minstrel Boy, book 2 of The Blue Bells Trilogy.  It is the Scottish New Year’s Eve celebration, although by all accounts, much wilder than how your average American rings in the New Year.

With roots going back so far that the origin of the word itself is no longer known, but it originated in deep winter celebrations of sun and fire, and moving from there into the Roman Saturnalia, a Baccnalian event if ever there was one.  The Reformation drove much of the Hogmanay celebrations underground until the 17th Century, and in recent years, they have become far more extravagant even than what most of the 20th Century knew. 

Hogmanay celebrations these days are large events, often held at castles.  They include music of all sorts, rock bands, pipe bands, drinking, revelry, lots of kissing– it is New Year’s Eve, after all–fire ceremonies, swinging fire balls, fireworks, and singing of Auld Lang Syne.  In smaller towns, Hogmanay may be celebrated with ceilidhs (dances).

One youtube clip shows “1000 Pipers” marching down the Royal Mile outside of Edinburgh Castle: 1000 Pipers

Be prepared: this is a lot of bagpipes!  And I’m saying that like it’s a good thing.  It’s quite a sight to see so many marching in their kilts and sporrans, all playing together.

Scottish History at Suite 101 explains the reasoning behind the “first footing” tradition of it being considered good luck for the first person to cross your door at midnight to be a tall, dark-haired man: in the days of the Viking attacks, you didn’t want to see shorter, blonde men.  They were often raiding, pillaging, and raping.

Interestingly, as I search for details on how Niall might have celebrated at Glenmirril, I find that, with the exception of a few sketchy paragraphs about old traditions, and no details as to just how old those traditions are, there is virtually nothing.  There is plenty about medieval Christmases, but no mention of Hogmanay in the same period.  As Niall lived just after the days of the Viking raids, he may have still been celebrating very much like their Yule, which is also thought to have been a strong influence on Scottish Hogmanay.  He lived long before the Reformation that drove it underground, so chances are high that he did in fact celebrate it.

What jumped out at me, the more education I got, was how much there is to know, and how little of that any one person can touch even in a lifetime.  There’s a vast world of knowledge in just one small corner of one subject– say learning all about jazz as a music major.  There’s jazz history, jazz musicians, jazz theory, arranging, instrumentation, the evolution from one style of jazz to another, a wealth of scales and arpeggios and chord structures and progressions to learn, to use either as a composer or as an improvising musician.  Now expand jazz to the whole field of music.  Now expand music to all of a society’s culture in general– art, literature, fashion.  Add to that sciences– medicine, physics, chemistry and more– and a multitude of skills necessary to keep society running smoothly.  If you love to learn, you will never run out of things to study.

Today’s question was another seemingly simple question: what might the chapel at Castle MacDougall look like?  In my initial draft, I called it ‘gothic.’  But then I decided I better check the years in which architecture was actually considered ‘gothic.’  It turns out the years are accurate: gothic architecture began in the 1100’s in France, and spread out to the rest of Europe, continuing into the 1500’s. 

But Europe is a broad term, and it turns out even gothic is a relatively broad term– if you want to be specific (or is that picky) about it.  I like to be, and found, in the process, that there is great regional variation in what the word means. 

A gothic cathedral in France, for example, would likely be built out of limestone, and feature a narrow transept, the crossarm which divides the long nave (where the pews are) from the choir.  Its eastern end– the choir– is likely to be polygonal with a ring of chapels (a ‘chevet.’)  The cathedrals of this time in France are more often found as ruins out in the country– because the prevalent order, the Cistercians, liked to build farther out.

A gothic cathedral in England, by contrast, may well be built of not only limestone, but red sandstone, dark green Purbeck marble, and timbered “hammer-beam” roofs.   Its transept is likely to have strongly projecting arms, compared to France’s rather narrow ones, its eastern end is going to be square, and the whole structure is probably going to be in a town, where England’s dominant order, the Benedictines, liked to build.

Typical of gothic church construction are pointed arches, ribbed vaults, and flying buttresses.  They exaggerate height and emphasize light.  I found this particularly interesting, as the word gothic, today, tends to have darker connotations.  Gothic fiction, for example, combines romance and horror.  A wikipedia article on gothic fiction says: The ruins of gothic buildings gave rise to multiple linked emotions by representing the inevitable decay and collapse of human creations.  And: Gothic writers often associated medieval buildings with what they saw as a dark and terrifying period. Gothic fiction features such ‘light’ themes as hauntings, madness, doubles, decay, death, mystery.  Where are you, Edgar Allen Poe!  The cast includes a variety of madmen, evil-doers, and creatures of the night such as werewolves, demons and vampires, who you would most likely not want as your neighbors.  (Then again, maybe you would.)  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gothic_fiction)

Gothic fashion is typically dark, even morbid.

The word gothic, as applied to the architecture itself, was originally an insult, meaning barbaric or rude.

And yet, with the word gothic having so many dark and negative connotations,  the hallmarks of gothic architecture are light and height.  Solid walls have been replaced with rows of roof-supporting columns that let light flow through the building.  Ceilings soar high, with clerestory windows that pour in light.  The height and vertical emphasis give a feeling of lifting to Heaven, or airiness and lightness (in the other sense of the word.)  I personally find gothic cathedrals to be incredibly beautiful.

Gothic Cathedral

Gothic Cathedral

…all of which brings us back to the chapel at Castle MacDougall. 

A castle chapel is not a cathedral.  What applies to Europe between the 12th and 16th centuries is not necessarily accurate for the west of Scotland in 1314.  And even if it does, could the thieving MacDougalls, the Darth Vader of the 14th century, really have a beautiful, light and airy chapel?  It would be an interesting contrast to the character of the MacDougall.  Maybe that’s exactly what he will have.  Then again, maybe not.

It’s been fun, but right now, I’m back at square one.  Next I’m going to research specific churches of the thirteenth and fourteenth century Highlands.  And we’ll see what MacDougall’s chapel looks like in my head in a few days.  At least I know what Amy finds there!

What do you think MacDougall’s chapel should look like?