And, son, if you want to have a wife,
Do not choose her for her wealth,
But look, son, she will be your life;
You must consider wisely and take advise,
That she be good, honest and wise.
Though she be poor, take no notice of that
For she shall do you better service
Than shall a rich woman, without doubt.1
These lines are taken from a long poem How The Wise Man Taught His Son, a set of fifteenth-century instructions for the youth of the time about the best ways to get on in life. The son is advised to marry a poor woman as she’ll make a better wife than a rich one. The poem goes on to say that it’s better to have just a dish of pottage and peace and quiet, than a huge feast but an angry and heavy heart. Despite this advice, as we’ll see, marrying for money was the hope of many bachelors.
In medieval England marriage doesn’t require a church service. In 1399 John Esyngwald and Elizabeth Snawe were brought before the Church Court in York Minster, accused of having sex without being married. They appeared before the Dean, claiming that they were indeed married. Apparently, John had said, in private, ‘I take you, Elizabeth, to my wife and to this I plight you my troth’. In return, Elizabeth had said, ‘I take you to my husband and to this I plight you my troth’. Although John went on to swear on the holy gospels that the contract would be made public as soon as convenient, the Church accepted that the couple were already man and wife and their acts of fornication were within marriage and, therefore, legal.2
A simple exchange of vows between a couple – made in the tavern, the street or even in bed – followed by ‘consummation’ (i.e., sex), is considered a valid marriage by the Church. No witnesses are required so it can be difficult for either party to prove or disprove they are married afterwards. It can be a worry as to whether or not a couple are legally wed, especially if the woman discovers she is with child. There is always the possibility that the man may deny having ever made any vow, if his only purpose was to enjoy himself on a Saturday night behind the ale-house.
John Borell, a wax-chandler in London, while still an apprentice, had an affair with Maud Clerk, a maid servant in the household of a disreputable priest, Father Jeffrey. Once John qualified and set up his own shop he wanted to marry a respectable young woman, Letitia. Everything was arranged for their wedding in St Paul’s Cathedral, but as the ceremony reached the point where it was asked if there was any impediment or objection to the marriage, Father Jeffrey stood up, claiming John was already wed to his serving girl, Maud. John denied it but the priest and Maud demanded compensation. The dispute went to court and poor Letitia – the innocent bride – saw all her dowry wasted on lawyers and fines to be paid by her new husband. Their marriage was confirmed as valid but the newly-weds were almost penniless.3
If you are considering marrying some suitable spouse back in time, at least you won’t have to worry about being too closely related for your union to be legal. Nobody has ever considered a great great … etc. grandparent marrying their great great … etc. grandchild, so you’ll be fine on that account. However, others have to consider a number of other relationships that the Church has deemed to not be permitted. These regulations were all set out by the Pope at the Lateran Council meeting in 1215 (the one at which it was decided churchmen must not spill blood, see Chapter 6). The rules apply to everyone, but if you can afford it, you can buy a ‘dispensation’ from the Pope so the Church will overlook the fact that you plan to marry your second cousin once removed, or whatever. This is often necessary for kings, princes and nobles because European royals are so interrelated. This doesn’t make for healthy breeding stock so the rules do make sense, even if the rich often break them. There are other relations, though, that are forbidden to marry and which don’t seem to make sense. The future King Richard III, when he was just the Duke of Gloucester, married his second cousin once removed, Anne Neville. Let’s ask the king to explain about the dispensations required:
Your Grace, I beg you to forgive the intrusion but I hear you required a number of dispensations from the Pope in order to marry your wife, Anne.
I don’t know what business it is of yours but I have a few moments before I open Parliament so … it happened thus. Back in 1471, my brother, King Edward IV, God assoil him, wanted me to wed the Lady Anne Neville, younger daughter of the Earl of Warwick. Warwick and I were first cousins, making Anne my second cousin once removed, so a dispensation was necessary to overcome that impediment to our union. Moreover, Anne was recently widowed, having been wed previously to Prince Edward of Lancaster, a more distant cousin to me, the Devil take the wretch. To wed a cousin’s widow likewise requires a dispensation.
That must have cost a deal of money, sire?
Of course it did. His Holiness demands payment at every turn. It was as well that Edward was dealing with all the legal details and sending the money to Rome. At the time, I couldn’t have afforded it. And more was yet required for my elder brother, George, Duke of Clarence, was already wed to Anne’s elder sister, Isabel Neville. That made Anne and me sister- and brother-in-law twice over, for which impediment another double dispensation was needed.
This must have been getting very expensive, sire.
You jest? And we have yet another chapter in this saga. My lady-mother, the Duchess of York, is Anne’s godmother. That makes Anne my sister in the eyes of God, requiring another dispensation be purchased.
At least, after all those documents were gathered together, there can be no doubt that your marriage to the queen is legal in every way.
Well, I hope so. You see, we didn’t await the arrival of so much paperwork. King Edward was eager to have us wed. We married on trust that the Pope would grant all the dispensations required, despite my brother George trying to bribe the Holy Father not to do so. He wanted all Warwick’s inheritance for himself, through Isabel, you understand. King Edward dealt with everything, filed away all the documents. In truth, I’m not sure we received everything required but you are sworn to secrecy on that score. Break your oath to me and you’ll not relish the consequences.
Never, sire. You can trust me. Cross my heart: I’ll never tell a soul. Thank you for taking the trouble to explain. Thank you, Your Grace.
Oh, do cease your grovelling and be on your way. I have a realm to govern.4
A marriage ceremony.
Before you think about marriage, you had best be certain you have the right partner because divorce isn’t an option for anyone but royalty, unless one partner can’t manage the conjugal rights, in which case your union can be annulled because it hasn’t been consummated. If you’re a woman, however, you’ll have to prove it. If a husband takes his wife to a Church Court and swears that she either can’t or won’t oblige him in the marriage bed, his case will be taken seriously and she’ll be forced to do as she’s told: there’s no such thing as rape within marriage. But if a woman takes her husband to court for the same reason, matters get more complicated.
For example, in July 1432 in York, John Skathelok was put to the test. A group of prostitutes, arranged by the Church Court, went to John, undressed him, touched him and let him touch them in return: all to no effect. His wife, Alice, was examined by midwives who reported that she was ‘well formed’, strong and willing, but John had never ‘known her carnally’ since their marriage, nor any other woman, as the prostitutes had shown. All the facts were reported back to the court, in detail.5 Poor John: these were grounds enough for the marriage to be annulled as though it had never taken place and his reputation with the ladies probably never recovered. Alice was free to find a new husband who could do his duty in the bedchamber.
Within marriage it is expected that the woman must be faithful, but not necessarily the husband. This is because any child she bears is assumed to be his and no man is likely to want to be responsible for some other fellow’s offspring. If the husband is unfaithful, there are no such consequences – unless for the other woman’s partner – so courts rarely hear cases brought by wives whose spouses have strayed, though it does happen.
Alice Hobbys had been wed to William for twenty years and they had five children. At Christmas time 1475, when some gossipy neighbours told Alice her husband had been seen in a brothel, Alice confronted him. William admitted he’d been committing adultery with any number of prostitutes in London, Southwark and northern France since 1462. Alice was so disgusted she ‘rejected his embraces and refused to fulfill the marital debt’, i.e., wouldn’t have sex with him anymore. This last was his major complaint when Alice sued him for divorce in the Church Court. They were, seemingly, a respectable couple but the proceedings revealed William in a new light. He was a surgeon, serving King Edward IV – his time in France had been in the king’s service – and a prominent member of the Barber-Surgeons’ Guild of London. During the enquiry a number of William’s fellow surgeons, including the Master of the Guild and Hobbys’ own son-in-law, came forward to tell of the occasions when they’d seen William visiting brothels.
Two surgeons told of one evening when they had been summoned to treat a Southwark brothel-keeper, wounded by a disgruntled customer. Happening to glance through a hole in the wall into another room, the pair were shocked to see William in bed with a young prostitute. Such outrageous behaviour brought a stern warning from the Master of the Guild, who happened to be one of the eye-witnessses.6
In response to the testimony of numerous reputable men, the court found in Alice’s favour, granting her a divorce from William, but this wasn’t the complete break we would expect in the twenty-first century. She was no longer required to share William’s house or his bed, nor to eat at his table, but they were still considered to be married in the eyes of the law and neither party could wed anyone else until they became widowed. Alice outlived William but never remarried.
On the whole, women aren’t treated too badly in medieval England. Although arranged marriages are a fact of life, especially among the wealthy and titled, true love matches do happen. This case among the Norfolk gentry folk, in 1469, shows how difficult love can make life. Margery, the eldest daughter of Margaret Paston, did the unthinkable and fell in love with the family’s steward, Richard Calle, and they married in secret. When the family found out, they were horrified and tried to keep the couple apart. Here is part of a love letter Richard wrote to Margery:
My own lady and mistress and very true wife […] It seems a thousand years ago since I spoke with you and I had rather be with you than possess all the goods in the world. Alas, alas, good lady, those that keep us asunder remember full little what they do […]
I sent you a letter from London by my lad, and he told me he could not speak with you, as a careful watch was kept upon both him and you […] I suppose that they think we are not contracted together [married] …[despite] how plainly I spoke to my mistress [Margery’s mother, Margaret Paston] at the beginning […]
I marvel much that they should take this matter so hard […] considering it is such a case as cannot be remedied […] and there should be no obstacle against it […] I pray you let no creature see this letter. As soon as you have read it, let it be burned.7
Clearly, Margery couldn’t bear to burn her lover’s letter, else we would not know of it. The Pastons utterly disapproved. In a letter written by Margery’s brother, John, to their eldest brother, he calls Margery ‘ungracious’ and stresses the fact that Richard Calle’s family are only merchants. John is a snob: the Pastons themselves are only a couple of generations on from yeoman farmers.
Margaret Paston, matriarch of the family, had the couple summoned to appear before the Bishop of Norwich. They were questioned separately and the bishop reminded Margery of the shame her marriage brought upon her family, asking if she’s certain her secret vow to Richard is sufficiently binding that their union isn’t in doubt. Margery says if the words of her vow are not enough, she will make them more certain, for she is bound to Richard in God’s eyes, whatever the words are. Richard’s story confirmed Margery’s. The bishop didn’t want to upset the influential Pastons and postponed his decision until later. In the meantime, he sent Margery home.
However, her mother, Margaret, had already decided and sent a message to Margery, saying she would never again be welcome under her roof. Margery returned to Norwich to beg the bishop’s help. He found lodgings for her and eventually decided that their marriage was valid. Margery’s elder brother, Sir John, demanded that it be annulled, but having calmed down, wanted a proper, official wedding to be conducted quickly. Margaret was less forgiving, saying, ‘We have lost of her but a worthless person, and […] if he [Calle] were dead at this hour, she should never be at my heart as she was.’8
Top tip
Marriage can be so casual an affair as to be almost accidental. As for true love… well that too may prove fraught with problems. Choose carefully.
In the twenty-first century, when we talk about ‘swaddling’ a baby, we mean wrapping it securely in a blanket to keep it warm and comfortable while it sleeps and statistics show that restless infants sleep longer when swaddled in this way. However, in medieval times, swaddling is an art form, learned by girls practising on their younger siblings and involving numerous layers and great lengths of swaddling ‘bands’. The intension is to make certain the child’s limbs grow straight and to immobilise the little one and keep him out of harm’s way. In case this task falls to you during your travels, here’s how to swaddle a baby.
A woman multi-tasking, fetching water whilst breastfeeding her swaddled baby.
First, the baby wears a linen shirt; a simple ‘T’-shaped garment open down the front. Most important is the tailclout: a double layer of linen to go around the baby’s bottom. Tailclouts are often reinforced with a flannel square or ‘pilch’, especially overnight, but leakage is a problem. Next, the ‘bed’: a wide cloth that goes from the baby’s chest, down over its feet and up the back. A bib is laid under the chin to catch dribbles or, if the little one is teething and dribbling a lot, a more substantial ‘pinafore’ might be pinned there instead.
It’s vital to keep the baby’s head warm, beginning with a ‘cross-cloth’, a linen band across his forehead. Then a close-fitting woollen cap called a ‘biggin’, sometimes with a second, looser cap or a hood worn as well. For very young babies needing head support, wide linen ‘stay bands’ go over the head and are pinned to the shoulders of the shirt.
Top tip
All these pins are dressmaker’s pins, not safety pins, so mind you use them with care so they don’t stick into the poor baby.
With the baby’s head fixed in position, the rest of his body is swaddled with linen strips about three inches wide, or woollen in cold weather. These are wrapped around, beginning at the chest, working down to the feet and back up again, making certain there are no creases to cause discomfort. In tiny babies, the arms are held at its sides by the swaddling but as the baby grows older, the arms are left free. If this sounds like a lot of effort, don’t forget the infant will have to be unwrapped and rewrapped every time its tailclout needs changing.
But infants aren’t swaddled continuously. They’re allowed to crawl around and the swaddling can come off altogether when the child can sit up. Busy mothers sometimes ‘lace’ unswaddled youngsters into the cradle, making a sort of net across it to keep them from falling out, leaving them free to kick or move about within the cradle. Sometimes, babies are swaddled onto boards to be carried around and these boards have a loop of rope fixed to the back so the little one can be hung up on a hook to watch what’s going on without getting in the way, or even hung safely in a tree while mother works in the fields.
Coroners’ Court rolls show that whatever precautions are taken, children have accidents. Swaddled infants or those laced into a cradle are known to die in fires. Parents are warned not to sleep with their babies for fear of overlaying and smothering them. Once a child is moving around, the dangers increase. Adventurous toddlers fall down wells, into ponds and streams, tumble into fires and boiling cauldrons, or even crawl out into the street to be crushed by a passing cart. Unexpected accidents happen: there’s no such thing as a baby-proof household, but court records show it’s rare to leave infants or toddlers unattended.
Babies who aren’t swaddled are often simply naked or wrapped in blankets against the cold. There is an image of Jesus as a toddler wearing just his open-fronted shirt and nothing else, which must have made toilet-training easier. A baby’s mother is usually its primary carer in poorer families and breastfeeding is free and vital. Poorer parents rarely hire a wet nurse unless the mother dies or is too ill to feed the baby. If no wet nurse is available, other means of feeding include soaking bread or a rag in milk for the child to suckle, or pouring milk into his mouth from a horn. These methods are difficult and the baby’s chances of contracting illness increase due to poor hygiene and the lack of beneficial breast milk to help him fight disease. However, among wealthier folk, wet nurses are common and frequently stay on once the infant is weaned, to care for him through childhood. Even so, mothers are encouraged by the Church to nurse their children themselves.
All children are consoled when they fall over or become sick. They’re bathed and sung to sleep, even having their meat chewed for them. The average medieval child is loved, even if his fragile life might not last a year.
Thomas Tusser was a Tudor commentator who generally gave housewives good and sensible advice, and his instructions apply equally to medieval education [I’ve modernised the spelling]:
We find it not spoken so often for nought,
That children were better unborn than untaught,
Some cockneys with cocking are made very fools,
Fit neither for prentice, for plough, nor for schools.
Teach child to ask blessing, serve God, and to church,
Then bless as a mother, else bless him with birch.
Thou housewife thus doing, what further shall need?
But all men to call thee good mother indeed.
This passage covers all that’s required to educate a young child: a task undertaken most usually by its mother or, perhaps, by its nurse, if the mother isn’t around. The word ‘Cockney’ originally meant a boy-child, spoilt and coddled and therefore effeminate. ‘Cocking Mams’ are over-indulgent mothers whose children are unsuited to being apprenticed, working the land, or even going to school in the future. So Rule No.1 is ‘Do not indulge the child.’
The first thing a child learns is the Lord’s Prayer or Paternoster, the Creed or Credo and the Hail Mary or Ave Maria. The Creed is the litany recited at mass, beginning ‘I believe in one God’. At a baby’s baptism, the godparents promise not only to keep their godchild safe ‘from the perils of fire and water’, but to teach him the basics of the Christian faith. These words, originally in Latin and often together with a basic ABC and numbers, are written on horn books.
DID YOU KNOW?
Horn books aren’t really books but a sheet of parchment (later paper), covered with a transparent layer of horn to protect it, put in a wooden frame, shaped like a small, square table-tennis bat, complete with a handle, so the child can hold it easily. These hard-wearing teaching aids often pass down the generations.
A few words about godparents: in medieval times, child-birth is a women-only affair. The mother may be in labour for days and needs every encouragement from her female relatives, friends and neighbours. These women also have to be on hand to stand as godparents at short notice, if the baby seems unlikely to live and requires immediate baptism. Godparents are also known as ‘godsibs’ or siblings in God. As you can imagine, a group of women sitting around for days do a lot of chatting, and as they run out of topics to discuss probably resort to exchanging rumours. This activity is known as ‘godsibing’ or gossiping.
Children as young as three are expected to attend church and understand when to bow their heads or kneel in prayer, and to reverence God. They also join in family prayers with the household. Thus, Rule No.2 is ‘Teach the child to respect God and the Church’.
You may hate Thomas Tusser’s final instruction: the use of corporal punishment. Beating children is now unlawful in most modern societies but medieval folk have other ideas. ‘Bless him with birch’, as Tusser says. In other words, a good thrashing never does anyone any harm. Physical discipline is thought vital to achieving both learning and manners and children are expected to take it with good grace, even welcoming it as one aspect of the best educational methods. It teaches them to respect authority. If a child misbehaves, there’s no point trying to reason with him because children don’t know good conduct from bad. So Rule No.3 is ‘Do not be lenient: a beating does far more good than harm and is vital to a child’s education.’
You’ll discover that medieval folk live closely alongside animals. A poor family may share their home with a cow or goat and a few chickens, sharing warmth in winter and safety at night. Horses and oxen plough and pull carts. Dogs guard property and herd sheep. A knight has his destrier and a miller has cats to keep the vermin from the grain. Animals provide food, clothing and carry burdens. However, we have another need, companionship, and pets of many kinds fulfill this need.
Cats and small dogs are the most popular pets, but squirrels, birds, badgers and even monkeys and popinjays [parrots] amuse their owners, providing comfort and demonstrating their status. In Leonardo da Vinci’s painting of a Lady with an Ermine,9 a tame stoat with fur to trim the most luxurious garments is obviously included to show the sitter’s nobility.
Cats are a conundrum to medieval minds. They’re useful as they catch mice and rats, and cats’ fur is one of the few skins that lower-class folk can wear for warmth, according to the Sumptuary Laws of 1363, but cats have a devilish side. Edward, Duke of York, wrote a book about hunting, The Master of the Game, in the early fifteenth century and noted ‘if any beast hath the devil’s spirit, it is the cat’. He explained: a cat torments a mouse or bird before eating it, just as the Devil torments sinners before swallowing them down into Hell.
However, cats can redeem their reputations. Exeter Cathedral has cats on the payroll, receiving 1d per week to supplement their diet of rats and mice and a cat-sized hole lets them come through the wall of the north transept in pursuit of vermin. According to a thirteenth-century guide for women who became anchoresses, the Ancrene Riwle, cats are the only companions permitted to them in their self-imposed solitary confinement, but they must not give love to the cats that more rightly belongs to God.
The Countess Eleanor, wife of Simon de Montfort, bought a cat for 2d in 1265. However, others thought their cats were more valuable. In 1294 William Yngeleys brought a court case against his neighbours who took his cat, an animal worth at least 6d, according to William.
In an English Bestiary of the early thirteenth century, cats are given the briefest mention, but thanks to the lively imagination of the illuminator of the manuscript, the accompanying miniature is more informative. The illustration shows three cats – two grey and one black – against a dark blue background with a design of moons and stars in gold to indicate the animals’ nocturnal activities. One grey cat has caught a large black mouse or a rat in its paws. The black cat is demonstrating its cleverness, trying to open a cage to get at the small bird within. And we are all familiar with the third cat, also grey, curled up asleep, choosing the cosiest place in the house next to the fire. The illuminator knows more about cats than the author of the manuscript.
A pet cat with a mouse.
The same author is obviously a dog lover, and in the Bestiary dogs receive six pages of text, describing them as having ‘more understanding than any other beast’. They track creatures of the forest using their sense of smell, guard sheep and their masters’ property, as well as defending their owners. So far, so good. Unfortunately, so the author says, puppies’ tongues are an excellent cure for wounds of the intestines since dogs can heal wounds by licking them. (In a medieval medical text, a remedy for gout consisted solely of boiled puppies too young to have their eyes open.) Our Bestiary author tells a number of classical tales concerning dogs so loyal that they refused to leave their dead or dying masters. However, the historical example shows this wasn’t always the case.
DID YOU KNOW?
King Richard II had a pet dog called Math. The animal was with the king when his cousin, Henry Bolingbroke, took him prisoner and demanded he relinquish the crown. When Richard finally gave in to Henry’s demands, Math deserted his previous master and went to Henry’s side. Assuming the title Henry IV, apparently, the new king took Math’s change of loyalty as a good omen for his reign and the loyalty of England to the new regime.
Matters didn’t work out quite as well as Henry hoped; dogs are not infallible when it comes to foretelling the future.
Lap dogs are a useful accessory for fine ladies. Not only are they status symbols and companions, in cold, draughty castles, they make the perfect living hot water bottles to warm the ladies’ hands or feet. Some noble ladies adore their little lap dogs to the extent that they want them included on their memorials and tombs, to be remembered forever alongside their mistresses. The Arundel tomb in Chichester Cathedral in Sussex shows a dog keeping his lady’s feet warm for eternity. At St George’s Church in Trotton, also in Sussex, the early fourteenth-century memorial brass of Margaret, Lady Camoys, also has a little dog at her feet, and at Norbury in Derbyshire Margaret Fitzherbert is accompanied in death by her tiny dog. Elsewhere, clerics, dukes and knights are depicted on tombs and brasses with their favourite pooches. But this wasn’t just an English tradition: French nobles and their wives, and the Counts of Flanders and their ladies all wanted their pets’ company in the hereafter.