Villains: ...or villeins?

By Lindsay Townsend

In English, ‘villain’ means a criminal. This word is derived from the older word ‘villein’ which originally meant a worker on the land and has a history going back to the Roman villa. In the Middle Ages, villeins were bound by law to their land and their lord and had to perform various low-status jobs, such as working in their lord’s fields. Villeins came to resent these ‘dues’ particularly as the lord was often lax when it came to his side of the bargain (such as protection).

Worse, in popular beliefs of the time, villeins were seen as low, crude creatures. In art they were deliberately depicted as ugly, because of their low status. Hence the rather unflattering portraits in the margins of ms such as the Luttrell Psalter. (This has meant that in modern French ‘vilain’ means ‘ugly’.) They were seen as having no entitlements. ‘Villeins ye are, and villeins ye shall remain,’ replied King Richard II after the brutal suppression of the Peasants’ Revolt in England in 1381. The church taught that a villein not doing his lord’s work was not only liable to be fined, but could also expect to go to hell. Villein women were vulnerable to rape and sexual exploitation by their ‘betters’ and no one complained. Andreas Capellanus, writing in the twelfth century, suggested to any knight seeking to embrace a peasant woman that he should ‘not hesitate to take what you seek and to embrace her by force’.

In verse as well as art the villein was depicted as crude, vulgar, stupid and sulky. Court records of the Middle Ages show villeins being fined for not turning up for work on their lord’s land. Any requested for better treatment was regard as the ‘malice’ of servants. ‘What should a serf do but serve?’ asked a monk. One belief of the time was that villeins were descended from Cain, the first murderer.

So perhaps it is not surprising that 'villain' has come to mean a person of evil deeds!

Lindsay Townsend
http://www.lindsaytownsend.net/
http://www.twitter.com/lindsayromantic

Lindsay Townsend writes historical romance set in medieval England and the ancient Mediterranean. Lindsay's latest book, To Touch the Knight, a story of jousting, deception and romance at the time of the Black Death, is published by Kensington Zebra in July.

Villains: Prince Vlad III of Wallachia

By Lisa J. Yarde

Vlad III of Wallachia

Also known as Dracula (son of the Dragon or devil) and Vlad Tepes (the Impaler), the legendary life of this fifteenth century Wallachian prince is filled with accounts of his excessive cruelty. He also inspired the Gothic nightmares of Bram Stoker's Dracula, about an undead count who preys upon the innocent to sustain his life. Dracula wasn't the first vampire in fiction of the Victorian era, but he's arguably the most popular. The mysteries behind the real history of Vlad III of Wallachia have made it possible to mire the past in fantastical imaginings of him as an enduring vampire. 

Who was the real man behind the legend? A murderous villain who impaled his enemies and innocents alike by the thousands, worthy of the vampire stories associated with his legend? A fighter, like his father, who protected his land from the invading Turks? Or, perhaps the truth lies in between; he might have been a pragmatic man, born into a violent time, who used brutal tactics to ensure his country’s survival.

Vlad Dracul

Vlad III was born in 1431, in what is now modern-day Romania. His father Vlad Dracul became Prince of Wallachia and a member of the Catholic military Order of the Dragon, dedicated to fighting the Turkish invasion from the east. His mother’s identity is uncertain, but she may have been his father’s second wife, Cneajna, daughter of Prince Alexandru of Moldavia. Vlad III had brothers; Vlad the Monk (illegitimate; born around 1425), Mircea II (born 1428) and Radu the Handsome (born 1435).  Vlad Dracul ruled a vast territory where hundreds of nobles or boyars vied for power in a state weakened by the persistence of the Turks.

Two momentous events in the youth of Vlad III might have inspired his enduring hatred of the Turks. In 1437, his father signed an agreement with the Sultan Murad II, betraying the tenets of the Order of the Dragon. Five years later, when Vlad III was eleven, Murad II seized him and his brother Radu for their father’s half-support of the Turkish invasion of Wallachia. Radu would live with the Turks until 1468, but Vlad III stayed from 1442-1448. When his brother Mircea II revolted against the Turks, the family risked the lives of the two young boys. They were never harmed, but young Radu had to bear the sexual advances of Prince Mehmed II. During his confinement, Vlad III learned much from his Turkish captors about the fickle nature of politics, and more about cruelty and vice.

Radu the Handsome

In 1447, Vlad Dracul died, assassinated while escaping from disloyal boyars. The nobles captured his son Mircea II, blinded him with a red-hot poker and buried him alive.  A year later at the age of seventeen, the Turks released Vlad III, who later seized the vacant principality of Wallachia. He only held it for two months. He bided his time in Moldavia until 1456, when a council of boyars supported his new reign. They would soon regret their actions.

In the spring of 1457, after having dug up his brother’s remains and seeing the proof of his terrible demise, Vlad III invited two hundred boyars from the city of Tirgoviste and their families to a feast. The elder noblemen and their wives were impaled on sharpened, wooden stakes. The young and able-bodied were marched along the Arges River to the site of the future Castle Dracula. Vlad III also roamed the countryside in disguise and inquired after the condition of his poorest people. Yet, he could be cruel to them – he once invited all the beggars to a banquet in Tirgoviste, where his men locked the doors and burned the occupants alive. As Vlad said, “These men live off the sweat of others, so they are useless to humanity.” Clearly, the Prince of Wallachia wasn’t interested in social reform.

Mehmed II

However, Vlad III reserved his greatest cruelty for the Turks. In 1459, when Sultan Mehmed II sent his emissaries to collect the poll tax and tributes of Wallachian boys into the Janissary order, Vlad nailed the ambassadors’ hats to their heads. When the Turks later attacked, Vlad’s men ambushed them and impaled their leader on the highest stake, based on his rank. Since he spoke Turkish, Vlad was also able to infiltrate Turkish ranks and destroy their camps.

The Venetians and Genoese lauded Vlad’s efforts, but hostility toward the Prince of Wallachia at home and the betrayal of his younger brother Radu placed his rule in jeopardy. King Matthias Corvinus, Vlad’s suzerain, imprisoned him for ten years. The Turks placed Radu the Handsome on the Wallachian throne, where he reigned as Radu III. Upon his release, Vlad married the cousin of Matthias Corvinus, by whom he had two sons. His first wife had committed suicide by jumping into the Arges River, rather than surrendering to the Turks.  In 1476 after Radu’s death, Vlad tried to regain Wallachia, but he was assassinated two months later.

Historians believe that tales of Vlad’s extreme cruelty can be attributed to propaganda by Matthias Corvinus, who was less than helpful in Vlad’s fight against the Turks. Romanian patriots have portrayed Vlad as a patriot, but it is hard to deny the evidence of his villainy toward his own people. 

Lisa J. Yarde writes fiction inspired by real-life events. She is the author of On Falcon's Wings, a medieval novel chronicling the star-crossed romance between Norman and Saxon lovers. She has also written the medieval novels Sultana and Sultana’s Legacy, both set during a turbulent period of thirteenth century Spain.

            

Villains: Pope Boniface VIII

By Sandy Frykholm


No man in the thirteenth century rose to a greater height of power than Pope Boniface VIII. Born Benedict Gaetani, he came from a noble family and was related to three earlier popes. He studied law, and was made a cardinal before he was fifty years old.

Pope Boniface VIII

I consider him a villain primarily for his dealings with his predecessor, Pope Celestine V, and Charles II, King of Naples, a vassal of the church. These three figures are tied together in a strange triangle of historical relationship. Charles was a prisoner in Aragon when his father died, leaving the crown of Naples to him. Naples and Aragon were at war over the island of Sicily, but after years in prison, Charles came to an agreement with the King of Aragon—an agreement which required the consent of the pope. Charles arranged for three of his sons to go to Aragon in his place while he took the treaty to Pope Nicholas in 1289.

Nicholas refused to sign the agreement, and Charles’ sons—ages 8, 12, and 14—remained prisoners.  After a couple of years, Pope Nicholas died. The cardinals split into two camps and for two years they argued, but failed to elect a pope. When they convened in Perugia in 1294, King Charles came to them and asked them to ratify his treaty with Aragon. Though they had the power to do it, the cardinals refused. Cardinal Gaetani, who had dealt with the royal family of Naples since Charles was a child, berated him for bringing his request to the curia, and they parted in anger.

King Charles II of Naples

Charles stopped at an abbey in Sulmona on his way to Naples, and shortly thereafter the retired founder of the abbey, Peter of Morrone, wrote to the cardinals urging them to speed the election, because the church needed a leader. One of the cardinals was a longtime friend and admirer of Peter, and taking his letter as a sign from God, proposed Peter of Morrone as a papal candidate.

Peter, in his mid-eighties, had lived a rustic life, often as a hermit, in the rural mountains of central Italy, part of Charles’ kingdom. He had founded a monastic order and several churches, and his spiritual life was greatly admired by those who knew him.

The cardinals found it expedient to elect him pope, considering his great age and the limited time he was likely to serve. No doubt many of these sophisticated men, including Cardinal Gaetani, believed that a rustic hermit like Peter of Morrone could be used for their own ends.

King Charles heard of Peter’s election within days, and raced back to Sulmona. He arrived at the hermitage before the cardinals’ delegation, and pleaded for his sons’ release. Peter promised to help him, and in fact agreed to visit Charles’ court in Naples before going to Rome.

The cardinals were furious, but Peter was crowned Celestine V, went to Naples, and set up his papal court in King Charles’ castle. By December it was clear to Celestine that he was ill-equipped for the job, essentially a political position. He wanted to resign, withdraw back to his hermitage. With no precedent for the resignation of a pope, Celestine called on Cardinal Gaetani for legal advice.

Ambitious for the ultimate advancement, Gaetani saw the possibilities. He went to King Charles, promising to free his sons if Charles would support Celestine’s resignation and Gaetani’s election. Charles knew Gaetani had the political savvy to fulfill his promise, but did not trust Gaetani. Still, his sons had been prisoners nearly six years.

Pope Celestine V

Gaetani arranged the legal aspects of Celestine’s resignation, and the next day he was elected pope, taking the name Boniface VIII. Celestine’s supporters were convinced that Boniface had coerced the resignation—which I doubt. Boniface requested Celestine to join him in Rome for the coronation, to convince the public that the new election was legitimate. However, as Celestine was traveling to Rome he learned that Boniface planned to imprison him. Celestine escaped with a friend, and for months hid in the mountains and forests.

In May, Pope Boniface heard rumors of Celestine’s whereabouts, and immediately called on King Charles. His assignment: Capture Celestine, and then I’ll sign your treaty with Aragon and free your sons.

Charles had looked to Celestine for spiritual advice, and counted him a good friend. Now he had to capture him, ensuring he would end his life a prisoner of Pope Boniface.

This had to be the bitterest of conflicts for King Charles. He sons had grown to manhood as prisoners in Aragon. To free them, he had to betray his friend. In fact, Pope Boniface did free Charles’ sons, and he kept Celestine in a family castle south of Rome until his death.

Villains come in many forms, some from the low-life criminal element, from whom you would expect no good thing. Others, like Pope Boniface VIII, come from places of privilege and honor, and their villainy is all the more contemptible because of the power they have to do good.

Villains: Livia Drusilla, the Evil Empress

By Stephanie Dray
Powerful women got a bad rap in ancient history. This was especially the case for Rome’s first empress, Livia Drusilla, the wife of Augustus Caesar. She comes down to us as a sort of wicked step-monster of the Julio-Claudian family--one who murders, manipulates and maligns everyone who gets in her way. The ancient writers didn’t much like her. Modern writers don’t like her either.

Played to perfection by Sian Phillips in the mini-series of Robert Graves’ famous I, Claudius, Livia emerges as a delicious villainess. She makes Cruella de Vil look rather civilized for merely wanting to turn spotted puppies into fur coats.

Personally, I find the lure of such extravagant evil too hard to resist.

When writing about my heroine, the orphaned daughter of Cleopatra, who was taken as a prisoner of war at the age of nine and marched through the streets in chains, there were plenty of villains for me to choose from. But my novels aren’t about the the tragedies this real life princess lived through; my novels are ultimately about Cleopatra Selene’s triumphs. Consequently, I needed an antagonist who could show the darker sides of my heroine’s ambitions.

Livia fit the bill.

It’s true that in my novels, Cleopatra Selene plays a dangerous and twisted game with the ruthless Emperor Augustus, who was obsessed with her mother and is now obsessed with her. But I wanted to show the other side of the coin--a woman who was nothing whatsoever like Cleopatra of Egypt, but almost as powerful.

That’s where Livia came in.

Unlike the seductive Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile, Livia was known for chaste and modest public behavior. (At least, after she married Augustus.) She always dressed in voluminous garments that practically covered her from neck to ankle, and of course, her husband would brag that she spun the wool and wove the cloth to make those baggy clothes as well. She was a veritable goddess of domesticity, our Livia. And one who supposedly eschewed expensive jewelry, claiming that her children were the only jewels she needed.

In spite of all this puritanical posturing, Livia was, nonetheless, associated with sexual scandal. According to Suetonius, she was rumored to procure young virgin girls for her husband’s bed. That made me wonder if such girls came from within the emperor’s own household and included vulnerable orphans like Cleopatra Selene.

Livia was also rumored to be a poisoner. She’s known to have concocted tonics and elixirs that she said accounted for her extraordinarily good health and long life, but if you were supping at the imperial palace, you might be better off not drinking the wine. At various points, she’s been accused of murdering Marcellus, Drusus, Germanicus, Posthumous and even Augustus himself. In my novel, she offers Cleopatra Selene a poisoned cup.

But was Livia really such a she-devil?

Her biographer, Anthony Barrett, paints a picture of a much maligned mother of the empire. She had a documented record of altruism against which her detractors could only conjure up rumor and innuendo. She went to the emperor on behalf of the citizens of the Isle of Samos to return them to independence. She is known to have intervened on behalf of one woman accused of witchcraft; she also saved the life of a man who accidentally appeared naked before her, saying that to chaste women such men were like looking at statues. Known to advise her husband on political matters, Livia enjoyed a marriage with him of more than fifty years. Especially tricky, considering that she never gave him a child and he rather desperately needed an heir.

I can’t point to a single documented event in which Livia did an evil deed. Her worst crime, it seems, was to have lived for so long, and exerted such power over the empire as the wife or ancestress of every Julio-Claudian emperor.

For the misogynistic Romans, the only way to explain her political success was to make her a monster.

In the end, Livia was deified and worshipped as a goddess, so maybe she’ll have the last laugh. Certainly, the one regret about my own novels is that I so enjoyed exploiting her bad reputation.

Expect lots of wickedness and depravity in Song of the Nile, but in the third and final book of the trilogy, I hope to redeem myself by giving Livia a little bit of empathy. So, what about you? Are there women in history that you love to hate?

Stephanie Dray's SONG OF THE NILE, sequel to her debut historical fiction novel, LILY OF THE NILE, is available now from Berkeley Books. Both novels are set in the Augustan Age and feature Cleopatra's daughter.