A Day in the Life of an Early Medieval Knight

By Lisa J. Yarde

The image of the chivalrous, medieval knight in shining plate armor with he and his horse outfitted in heraldic symbols is typically what many envision when they think of knights throughout history. But that ideal evolved from the 13th to 15th centuries, after such warriors had been in existence from at least 300-500 years before. The legends of King Arthur and his knights begun in Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain, and the romantic concepts of chivalry and courtly love inspired by writers like Sir Walter Scott in Ivanhoe, also heavily influenced commonly held opinions about the role of knights. The Roman Catholic church too played an essential role in the development of knightly orders. The Knights Templar, and the Hospitallers or Knights of Saint John in the Holy Land, and the Spanish military orders of Alcantara, Calatrava, and Santiago who fought against the Moors, performed their duties guided by monastic principles, but this did not prevent excesses or barbarism. The reality of knighthood was very different for those who lived during the early periods where the practice became instituted.

Crusaders of the Knights Templar  

In terms of their place in society of the Middle Ages, knights were the lowest rung of the European warrior aristocrats. In Latin, the term miles developed for reference to a free man, a soldier who fought distinctly on horse and wore some form of armor in France's 10th century. In Germany, knights held the same rank, but they had greater restrictions, unable to wed or own property without the lord's consent. Knights began as the servants and soldiers of a military overlord. As castles developed in strategic locations, nobles needed the services of men-at-arms who could defend them from incursions like Viking raids. As payment for their fighting skills and oaths of loyalty and protection, the lord might give money or more importantly, grants of land called fiefs, as an element of feudalism. The land grant technically reverted to the lord once the knight died, but his eldest son could receive it. The concept of hereditary birthright came into being, leading to the adoption of heraldic symbols. Once the type of helmet changed to cover a knight's face, heraldic devices allowed easy identification.  

Battle of Hastings reenactment

During the early years of knighthood, anyone who could afford the training and equipment, including specially bred warhorses such as the Norman French destrier, might obtain an apprenticeship as a warrior. The cost of the warhorse alone, eight times that of a regular riding horse such as a rouncy or palfrey, would have been prohibitive so few below the rank of minor lord might have tried for a knighthood. Knights rode their destriers into battle because the stallions were naturally aggressive, but another, calmer mount would have been required for everyday use. Training started in boyhood, where the future knight lived as a page. The famed knight and statesman, William Marshal began life as a younger son of a minor nobleman named John fitz Gilbert and trained as a page for his uncle William of Tancarville starting in 1155. There's little information on actual training steps. Study would have included use of swords and spears, as well as time at the quintain, a pole with a cross beam, weighted on either side by a heavy sack of sand at one end of the cross beam and shield on the other. The rider had to strike the shield and get out of the way before the sack walloped him. After some years and a show of aptitude, the page might become a squire, a young man who served his lord in every capacity from dress and meals to aiding with his armor and horse. He cared for the horse and his lord's weapons. Recognition as a knight came from the top down. It became common to knight a man on the eve of a battle or for his prowess in a fight, such as the knighting by the Norman Duke William of a sixteen year-old Robert de Beaumont when the Battle of Hastings took place. 

Geoffrey of Anjou's heraldic device

By the 12th and 13th centuries, a man entered service as a knight through a formal dubbing ceremony, first evidenced by King Henry I of England's knighting of his new son in-law, Geoffrey Plantagenet, Count of Anjou in 1128 at Rouen. Henry also granted Geoffrey a hereditary symbol, a shield described as "azure with lioncels"; the lions in which continued to be used by Geoffrey's descendants among the kings and queens of England. One mainstay of the early knighthood ceremony was the blow to the head of a newly knighted man. As the Church influenced the ritual, the knight became expected to spend the evening prior to the ceremony in prayer and reflection on his future duties. The film Kingdom of Heaven shows such a scene with Orlando Bloom being knighted by his father, portrayed by Liam Neeson, but the purpose of the buffet to the head and the customary words accompanying it aren't clear in history. During later centuries, a new knight might receive a light tap on each shoulder with a sword. He gained his spurs and sword, and might perform feats at a tournament given in his honor.

     

The tournament, which began as military games meant to hone battle skills in the 12th century, became pageantry by the 14th century. These events derived from earlier displays such as the free-for-all melee into combat with formal rules, allowing a knight to demonstrate his skills and earn prizes. Blunted weapons and lighter armor with padding were used. Sometimes, tournaments substituted for actual warfare, as in 1172 during a conflict between the counts of Burgundy and Nevers. The largely anachronistic A Knight's Tale starring the late Heath Ledger does accurately depict some of the ritual fighting involved in tournaments. Knights who rose to prominence during such events, like William Marshal who competed in 16 tournaments from 1167 to 1183 and became counselor to four successive English kings as well as the first earl of Pembroke, were not commonplace.

A warrior in his hauberk with shield and sword

What did the average early medieval knight, not a landowner, do? Likely, his lord assigned him to a garrison for the protection of a castle or important manor from raids. Early castles started as timber and earthworks set on a mound, often with a moat and palisade walls, but they could still be breached or set afire. A knight defending the territory might have risen early in the morning, had some bread and ale or beer. He might not look any different from any other man within his lord's hall, wearing his linen shirt and a tunic, long breeches called braies, knee-length stockings or chausses; that is, until he donned his armor. He wore an iron helmet, usually conical among the Norman French worn over a bowl-shaped hairstyle severely cropped at the sides and back. The knight also put on a chain-mail hauberk with hammered rings fashioned like a shirt or coat, which fell to the knees. Sometimes a mail coif or hood went under the helmet. By the 12th century, the Normans commonly added a vertical nasal bar protecting the face. Knights also carried shields. When knights were not at their duties they might often be at training with the quintain or practicing with swords against each other. Most people in the Middle Ages were illiterate and the average knight would have been as well. Hunting also provided a means to pass the time and helped improve horsemanship. 

An idealized knight

A knight earned his living in violent combat and defense of his lord. Some took their powers too far and harassed local communities, such that the Church invoked the "Peace of God" and the "Truce of God" starting in the 10th century, for the protection of innocents. Regardless of his daily activities, the measure of a knight lay in his prowess in battle on horseback, to control one's mount and effective use of weapons. The 12th-century noble-troubadour Bertran de Born extolls the virtues of brutal knightly warfare best in one of his poems,

"Great is my joy when I see knights and armored horses ranged on the battlefield.

And I like to see the foragers  send the people and the cattle fleeing before them 
and it pleases me when I see many soldiers come running after them; and it warms my heart to see strong castles besieged, the palisades smashed and broken down, and to see the army on the river-bank protected on all sides by ditches, and strong, tight-made palisades.

And I am well pleased by a lord when he is the first to attack, on horseback, armored, fearless: thus does he inspire his men with boldness, and worthy courage. And when the battle is joined each man must be ready to follow him with joy: for no man is held to be worthy until he has taken and given many blows.

Maces and swords, colorful helms, shields riven and cast aside: these shall we see at the start of the battle, and also many vassals struck down, the horses of the dead and wounded running wild. And when he enters the combat, let every man of good lineage think of nothing but splitting heads and hacking arms; for it is better to die than to live in defeat. 

I tell you, I find no such savor in eating or drinking or sleeping as when I hear the cries of “attack!” from both sides, and the noise of riderless horses in the shadows; and I hear screams of “Help! Help!” and I see great and small alike falling into the grassy ditches and the dead with splintered lances, bedecked with pennons through their sides."        

Sources: 

Daily Life in Medieval Europe, Jeffrey L. Singman

Everyday Life in the Middle Ages, Sherrilyn Kenyon

Norman Knight - AD 950-1204, Christopher Gravett

The Knight in History, Frances Gies

William Marshal: Knighthood, War and Chivalry, 1147-1219, David Crouch 

Betran de Born's verses from the United States Naval Academy website at http://www.usna.edu/Users/history/abels/hh205/bertrandeborn.html 

All images derived from Wikimedia Commons or licensed from Fotolia 

Lisa J. Yarde writes fiction inspired by the medieval period. She is the author of historical novels set in medieval England and Normandy, The Burning Candle, based on the life of Isabel de Vermandois, and On Falcon's Wings, chronicling the star-crossed romance between Norman and Saxon lovers. Lisa has also written four novels in a six-part series set in Moorish Spain, Sultana,  Sultana’s Legacy, Sultana: Two Sisters, and Sultana: The Bride Price where rivalries and ambitions threaten the fragile bonds between members of a powerful family.

Travails of Travel: A Day in the Life of a Medieval Pilgrim

By Kim Rendfeld

In 779, the Sister Elisabeth ­decides to embark on a pilgrimage, leaving the safety of the abbey where she has spent most of her life. With her womanly courses passing, Elisabeth guesses she is 50 years old. Having lived longer than most medieval women, she is keenly aware of her mortality and the possible fates for her soul in the afterlife. A pilgrimage is one way for her to do penance and spend less time in Purgatory, perhaps even avoid it.

With Elisabeth are her good friend, the lay sister Illuna, about age 35, and a man in his late 20s whom she calls Sebastian and introduces as an abbey tenant. If she and Illuna were younger, Elisabeth would worry about the risk to their virtue. At her age, she is more concerned about safeguarding her life and the jewels paying for the journey and has asked Sebastian for protection.

The other pilgrims in the group have their own reasons for travel. They might be seeking a cure for a disease or doing penance for a crime not bad enough to warrant execution.

In this era, Europe is covered with forests, and with progress at 12 to 15 miles per day, pilgrims could spend several days away from civilization in the form of a city, village, or abbey. In the woods, they start their day with sunrise prayers as the fire allowed to burn through the night still smolders. Sebastian and the men are tired from taking turns to watch for brigands. And they fear not only human enemies. Bread was left in the trees to appease kobolds, and the faithful hope their crosses will protect them from ghosts and demons and other creatures.

Camping near a stream, the pilgrims wash their faces and hands, and those who are hungry break their fast. Beer is the beverage of choice, but water is not out of the question. Then, it is time to load carts and saddlebags. Elisabeth and Sebastian ride horses, while Illuna drives a cart with supplies. Other pilgrims use oxen and horses to pull carts. Those who cannot afford livestock use a handcart instead.

The group travels for a few hours. At midday, the pilgrims need to rest their animals and let them graze, so the humans might as well eat. The rounds of bread they brought with them are hard and must be moistened just so they can be chewed. Even then, the travel bread has the texture of wet leather. In addition the pilgrims have brought dried meat along with a few fruits and vegetables. Another option is to boil some grains like barley or oat along with vegetables.

 

After the meal, more hours of travel follow. Although not on a schedule, the pilgrims hope no one breaks a cart wheel or a spooked horse bolts.

This particular day of travel ends at sunset in the forest, and the pilgrims say prayers and make camp. No one in this group has brought a goat leather tent, shelter for the wealthy, but they can use cloth and sticks, large fallen branches leaning against a tree, or sheepskin cloaks for protection. They are traveling in the spring, facing rain rather than snow.

Sister Elisabeth would rather rest in an abbey. As the daughter of a count, she could ask the abbot or abbess for their hospitality of herself and her two companions. If she were a lady traveling with many servants, she could stay in the hostel for important guests, while other pilgrims use the one for commoners. In a city, she could be the guest of a bishop or count, assuming her family is not feuding with theirs. Commoners might stay at an inn and hope the innkeeper won’t steal from them. In these civilized places, the animals would need to rest for three days before the journey continues.

Here in the woods, someone lights a fire to keep away the night creatures, and the men discuss who will take the first watch. Sister Elisabeth looks forward to reaching the church in the next city, where she can pray before the saint’s relics. Being in the physical presence of a saint is worth the bad food, the uncomfortable sleep, traveling in the rain, the risk of being murdered, and the fear of demons.

Sister Elisabeth and her companions appear in Kim Rendfeld’s novels The Cross and the Dragon (2012, Fireship Press) and The Ashes of Heaven’s Pillar (forthcoming, Fireship Press). Both books include scenes where pilgrims experience hardship. For more about Kim, visit www.kimrendfeld.com, read her blog at www.kimrendfeld.wordpress.com, like her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authorkimrendfeld, or follow her on Twitter at @kimrendfeld.

A Day in the Life of Marie Antoinette, Dauphine of France

By Ginger Myrick

Marie Antoinette is one of the most controversial and polarizing figures in French history. She was alternately revered and reviled, though most of the groundwork for the blame placed upon her elegant shoulders—and her subsequent downfall—was laid long before she set foot on French soil at only fourteen years of age.

She spent her early years as an Archduchess of Austria, a member of the ruling house of the Holy Roman Empire. Her entire family regularly attended state functions required of their exalted status, but despite this and the fact that their royal residence at the Hofburg Palace was situated in close proximity to the Austrian people, her home life was lived in a very private manner. None of it could have prepared her for the strange and uber-public rituals instituted at Versailles by Louis XIV nearly 100 years before her arrival. Let’s take a look at a typical day in Marie Antoinette’s life as described in a letter to her mother in July of 1770, two months after becoming Dauphine of France.

Between 9 and 10 every morning, Marie Antoinette would rise and take a bath. The French saw her habitual washing as an affectation, as some of them went many days, sometimes even weeks, without fully submerging themselves in water. (This is an especially revolting idea considering that the elaborate poufs of the era required much pomade and false hairpieces that would often be worn for long stretches at a time, attracting fleas and lice and who knows what else.)

After Marie Antoinette’s bath she was dressed informally for her morning activities according to the solemn ritual of lever, literally translated as ‘to get up’. This was a crucial part of the system of etiquette at Versailles along with the coucher—to go to bed—at the end of the day. Everything had to be presented to the esteemed personage during these ceremonies. She could reach for nothing herself. These processes served the dual functions of reinforcing the image of the semi-divine status of the royal family while putting their courtiers in their places. They also had another unforeseen effect of creating rivalries and establishing a pecking order among the nobles in attendance. On one noted occasion Marie Antoinette—shivering in her state of undress—was kept waiting for her clothing while a series of consecutively higher ranking ladies entered the room, vying for the honor of handing the Dauphine her underwear.

After she was suitably attired, Marie Antoinette typically attended her morning prayers then ate breakfast. She was known to be a light eater, so her meal usually consisted of a cup of hot chocolate and a breakfast roll. During these informal times she could receive her husband’s younger sisters, Mesdames Clothilde and Elisabeth, who were nine and six respectively thus unbound by the rules of etiquette. Although not much is written about her relationship with Clothilde, who was married off five years later eventually to become the Queen of Sardinia, Marie Antoinette formed a lasting bond with Elisabeth who lived with her up until her final confinement in the Conciergerie in August of 1793.

Mid-morning Marie Antoinette paid a brief visit to Mesdames Tantes—her husband’s unwed aunts Adélaïde, Victoire, and Sophie—in their apartments. Sometimes the king would join them if he happened to be in residence.

Afterward she would return to her rooms to have her hair styled before Chambre was called at noon, the procedure during which she donned her official court dress for the day. In the letter to her mother Marie Antoinette writes, "At eleven o’clock I have my hair done. At noon, all the world can enter—I put on my rouge and wash my hands in front of the whole world. Then the gentlemen leave and the ladies remain, and I am dressed in front of them.” When she was properly attired, she attended Mass, and then the spectacle would begin anew at the royal family’s afternoon meal, grand couvert.

These everyday functions usually performed behind closed doors became public exhibition. Anybody inclined to come gape at the royals could do so as long as they were suitably dressed. If not, the required items could be rented at the gate. As a result, the palace was thronged with spectators on a regular basis hoping to catch a glimpse of how the other half lived. For Marie Antoinette’s husband, Louis Auguste, who had been born at Versailles and knew nothing else, the circus was unremarkable, but to her, these procedures were so distressing that she ate very little, if anything at all.

After dining, she and her husband would visit for an hour or so before she returned to the apartments of the spinster aunts. Then she would make her confession to the Abbé de Vermond, who would release her to go to her music lessons, a passion of hers since childhood. One final visit to Mesdames Tantes, and the remainder of her evening would be spent in quiet activities of her choice, walking in the manicured gardens, playing cards, or perhaps embroidering handkerchiefs or some special item for the king or her husband.

To end her day, she and her husband would go through the process of coucher before being put to bed together around 11 o’clock, the Dauphin’s usual bedtime. Of course, in the beginning the whole of France waited with bated breath for the consummation of their marriage, but after a few months things relaxed, and Louis Auguste would return to his own bed to sleep, which was typical for the French court. The actual deed would not be accomplished for seven years.

Later in her tenure Marie Antoinette would be known for her rebellious streak—sneaking out to attend masked balls, hosting all-night gambling parties, and flouting the stuffy etiquette of the decaying regime at Versailles—but in her early years, she was docile and eager to please, knowing that any misstep would be reported to her mother, the Holy Roman Empress, the person she wished to please above all others. Living her life under such constant scrutiny was a heavy burden to Marie Antoinette, and when her husband was crowned Louis XVI in 1775 and gifted her Le Petit Trianon, it became her private sanctuary, an escape from the public madness. But as Dauphine, she was expected to gracefully bear it all.

Ginger Myrick was born and raised in Southern California. She is a self-described wife, mother, animal lover, and avid reader and knitter. Along with the promotion for THE WELSH HEALER, and EL REY, she is currently crafting her third novel, which takes place during the U.S. Civil War. She is a Christian who writes meticulously researched historical fiction with a ‘clean’ love story at the core. She hopes to persevere with her newfound talent and show the reading community that a romance need not include graphic details to convey deep love and passion.

Tough Love: A Day in the Life of Juana of Castile, also known as la Loca

By Kathryn A. Kopple

If by chance you type her name into a search engine, you will get dozens of results, including Juana of Castile, necrophilia.  Apparently, the woman, born to the monarchs Isabel I and Fernando II of Castile and Aragón in 1479, remains a perverse individual to many, a reputation that has dogged her for over five hundred years.  Her story, unfortunate in many ways, has been told and retold in plays, poems, novels, and movies.  Few of her biographers have been able to resist the dark legend that surrounds her—and whether the accounts are sympathetic or sensational, hard historical evidence is difficult to come by. 

Juana of Castile

In 1956, Amarie Dennis published Seek the Darkness:  The Story of Juana La Loca.   In this torrid book, the case for Juana’s supposed lunacy begins with a snapshot of her childhood.  She was the third child of two of Europe’s most formidable sovereigns, crusaders, whose military campaigns made for a peripatetic life.  Without missing a beat, indeed, admitting to “conjecture,” Dennis describes Juana “as a silent and moody child, not given to the wholesome laughter of children, old for her age and wise with the wisdom gathered from continuous association with people who were years her senior.”  She is further described as a witness to “storybook events;” she “seems to have wandered in a dream-world;” she was “pensive.”  “Her mouth was small and pouting;” she was “a prey to moodiness and a seeker of seclusion (15).”  From this description, the reader can only assume that Juana was abnormal from the start, unable to separate reality from fantasy, and deeply anti-social.

Or, we can turn to José Luis Olaizola’s Juana, la Loca, subtitled:  The tragic life of one of the most legendary figures of the Spanish monarchy.  Descriptions of the woman who would one day inherit an empire are plentiful.  Popularly known as “doña Juana, la Loca de amor” or "doña Juana, the love sick,” the author takes issue with the notion that Juana was the victim of erotomania.  Instead, due to the extreme suffering the world inflicted on her, she drank from a chalice of tears until she drained it to the dregs (9).  For those who have a taste for lachrymose prose, Olaizola’s book makes for quite the read.   Juana lived one hell of a life, and few would envy her position.

Coat of arms of Juana's parents, Isabella of Castile
and Ferdinand of Aragon

With a little more certainty, we can say that Juana, being third in line for the succession, would have passed into obscurity had not Prince Juan, heir to Castile and Aragón, died shortly after his marriage; nor is it incidental that he too is said to have had his young life extinguished due to excessive love.   Love is also given as a reason for why the monarchs’ second child, Isabella, retreated into temporary solitude after the death of her husband.   Catherine of Aragón would eventually become the wife of Henry Tudor only to be divorced when she could not provide him with a son.  Her refusal to accept the divorce as legitimate is also characterized as the result of her steadfast love for her lord.  Either Isabel and Fernando’s children were extraordinarily sensitive creatures, or they were oblivious to the political underpinnings of royal marriages.  The former seems unlikely.  What is more likely is that these arranged unions often led to conflicting interests.  Once Juana had been married off to the Philip IV, Archduke of Burgundy, son of Maximilian I, she wielded little influence and even less power.

In, Juana the Mad, Bethany Aram dispenses with the sentimental approach common to Juana's biographers.  She also manages to dispel any illusion that Juana was hopelessly in love with Philip, known as “the Fair.” Her research focuses on the complex system of codes, symbols, and courtly practices that governed Juana in matters personal and political.

Juana with her parents

After bearing children, it became clear that Juana’s loyalties lay not with her sovereign parents nor her husband, but in securing the Spanish crown for her offspring—and, in particular, for the son who would one day be known as Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor.  History proves that royal succession is rarely straightforward, and in Juana’s case, the distrust between Spain and Burgundy was acute. The power struggle over the will left by Isabel I has marked Juana in ways that are as contradictory as they are negative.

Philip's actions prior to and after the death of the queen indicate that he intended to deny Juana of her inheritance.  He was not the sort of man to play second to his wife, much less allow her to rule while he stood idly on the sidelines.  Chroniclers have spared him little, describing him as a womanizer, a drunkard, a spendthrift, a pawn of the French, and a wife-beater.  Even his nickname, “Philip, the Fair,” may refer to his vanity rather than his appearance or any sense of justice.     

According to Aram, after Isabel’s death, Juana and Philip set out for Spain.  Juana appeared before her subjects in Murcientes in July 1506.  Fernando was still alive, and out of deference to her father, she stated that she would respect his wishes, dress in the Castilian manner, and refuse female attendants.  Philip had already sought to deprive her of her ladies in an effort to isolate her.  Juana’s objections to establishing a court of her own may have been an attempt to appease him.   Despite these concessions, Juana wanted to have the Cortes (the government of Spain) moved to Toledo, her birthplace.  Philip intervened, perhaps with Fernando’s assistance, and insisted that the Cortes be held in Valladolid.  At this point, we must realize that Juana was essentially a political captive.  Unless she was willing to mount a revolt against her husband, she had no choice but to acquiesce.  On July 10, Philip and Juana made a ceremonial entrance to Valladolid.

Juana and Philip before her subjects

Juana’s reputation was not helped due to a falling out with her mother prior to the queen’s demise.   Philip capitalized  on the rupture in his determination to have Juana declared unfit.  He had kept Fernando appraised of Juana’s health, sensing that the king was not above playing sides against his daughter.  As a result, Philip was declared proprietary ruler by the Cortes, which gave him power over his wife, as well as her Castilian possessions.  A bloodless and masterful coup if there ever was one.  Weeks later, Philip would be dead, having fallen ill during festivities held in his honor.

And the rest, as they say, is legend.  From the moment of Philip’s death, Juana took charge of her husband's corpse, jealously guarding the coffin, and fending off the Burgundians and Castilians in attempt to have him entombed beside her mother in Granada.  This led to the macabre peregrinations that made Juana infamous.  In addition, her refusal to appoint a regent, as Aram points out, demonstrated an unwillingness to allow others to rule on her behalf.  And yet, everything she did exacerbated the crisis, causing the populace to think her either mad, unable to rule, or both. In the end, Fernando had her locked up.  She lived out the rest of her days as many a dispossessed queen before her--a prisoner whose only solace was that she had achieved one of her aims:  Charles V would indeed succeed her.

Sources

Aram, Bethany, Juana the Mad: Sovereignty and Dynasty in Renaissance Europe, John Hopkins University Press, 2005.

Dennis, Amarie, Seek the Darkness:  The Story of Juana la Loca, Madrid, 1956.

Olaizola, José Luis, Juana, la Loca, Editorial Planeta, 1996.

All images via Wiki Commons

Note:  All translations are mine.

Kathryn A. Kopple is the author of Little Velásquez, a novel set in 15th century Spain.