Edgar’s widow, Queen Elfrida, is credited with founding a Benedictine abbey on the site of that church as penance for her suspected role in killing her stepson, Edward the Martyr, in 978 C.E. Although Elfrida was buried (circa 1002 C.E.) at Wherwell Abbey, she made sure that the relics of Saint Melor, a boy allegedly killed under circumstances similar to those of Edward the Martyr, were housed in the new abbey of Amesbury. When those bones actually arrived is unknown. They may have been in the original Saxon church at the time Elfrida founded the abbey, or she herself may have possessed the relics and wished to build them a proper shrine. Along with all other items of value, Saint Melor’s bones disappeared many centuries ago, possibly into the hands of either the Seymour family or King Henry VIII.
There is an interesting side note to Elfrida’s story. The facts of Edward the Martyr’s murder are cloudy, although his successor quickly claimed his half-brother was a saint, thus deflecting any suggestion that he himself was involved in an apparent coup. Indeed, Edward might have been rather a brutish fellow, given to insane rages, whose death brought a great sigh of relief to many. Or else he was a rightful king slaughtered in cold blood. To add to the confusion, some now believe that the queen was innocent of any involvement in the assassination. Whatever the truth, her stepson’s death brought her own son, Athelred, to the throne—a monarch now commonly and erroneously nicknamed the Unready.
Up to the reign of King Henry II, Amesbury remained a Benedictine nunnery under the rule of an abbess. Whether or not assertions of monastic irregularities were manufactured by Henry II, who needed to found or re-found three monasteries to fulfill a vow after the murder of Beckett, Pope Alexander III did send two reform-minded bishops, Bartholomew of Exeter and Roger of Worcester, to investigate allegations of immoral behavior there in 1177.
After their visit, Abbess Beatrice was pensioned off (she was rumored to have borne three illegitimate children, although there are allegations that Henry made up that story to get even with her for some act of insubordination many years before), and the other nuns were offered the choice of staying or going to other houses. None stayed.
King Henry soon invited the Order of Fontevraud to formally accept Amesbury as one of their priories, the rededication celebrated in May 1177 when the abbess of Fontevraud Abbey brought twenty-five religious to repopulate the place. Henry paid all travel expenses for the arriving nuns and gave them twenty barrels of wine, a gift that might have helped soothe any lingering effects of their hazardous journey across the Channel from Anjou.
Amesbury Priory quickly became a favorite place with high ranking families and quite wealthy as a consequence. Eleanor, widow of Henry III, retired there in her later years and was buried on the grounds. (The location of her grave has been lost.) A daughter of Henry III (Beatrice), two daughters of Edward I (Mary and Eleanor), a great-granddaughter of Henry III (Isabel of Lancaster), and a daughter of Piers Gaveston (Joan) all lived or took vows there. Catherine of Aragon stayed at Amesbury before her ill-fated marriage to Prince Arthur. Although the fortunes of the house waxed and waned over subsequent centuries, it remained active until December 1539 when Prioress Joan Darrell reluctantly surrendered the priory to Commissioners of King Henry VIII at the Dissolution.
There is little left of the old priory today, although the architecture of the remaining church provides some tantalizing clues to what has vanished. In addition, The Amesbury Millennium Lectures (edited by John Chandler and published by the Amesbury Society) as well as A Short Guide to the Abbey Church of Saint Mary and Saint Melor Amesbury do much to suggest what a magnificent Fontevraudine monastery this must have been. For those who value history, the disappearance of this historic priory, in all its evolutions from a single gender monastery to double house, is a tragic loss.
Since many details about the priory in 1272 are unknown, I have taken some liberties in describing Amesbury at the time of my Eleanor’s visit. Records show that Henry III did donate ten cartloads of lead for roofing, but the tapestries in Prioress Ida’s lodgings were woven only in this author’s imagination. I do not know if there was a library, and there is no evidence of a scriptorium, but it is reasonable to assume that there must have been at least some place to store books. The religious at Amesbury would have been quite literate, and readings at meals were a standard practice. I decided both sides of the priory deserved a couple of illuminators and at least a small collection of books.
Although some have argued that the extant parish church may not have been part of the priory itself, I have made it so. There is evidence on the outside walls that indicates roofing was attached and could have formed part of a cloister. There is a blocked doorway that is consistent with an entrance to a Chapter House. The church was clearly larger at one time with more chapels, and parts of this building not only date to 1272 but much earlier. Work on the church has revealed a stone column base that may have belonged to Queen Elfrida’s original foundation. The Saxon Cross, mentioned in this book, was too wonderful not to place where my Eleanor could enjoy it, and this wheel cross may also belong to Elfrida’s time. Fragments are on display at the church and were discovered under the chancel in 1907.
I must confess that I brought a butterfly, the Marsh Fritillary, to Amesbury a few weeks early to distract Sister Beatrice from her sad thoughts. The Chalkland Blue, a butterfly with delicate markings that make the uniquely colored wings look like embroidery, was so tempting, but they are a July and August creature. This book may be fiction, but the wise mortal does not mess too much with Mother Nature even in a novel.
To the best of my knowledge, no one ever tried to steal the Amesbury Psalter, which now rests quite safely in All Souls University Library at Oxford. The work was done about 1250 by the anonymous but famous Sarum Illuminator or Sarum Master, whose Salisbury school also provided Psalters to royalty as well as to Wilton Abbey. His work is evidence of a uniquely and well-regarded English style: elongated bodies, delicate and expressive faces, elaborate and deeply folded garments. For those who want to see a sample of the Psalter itself, the Internet provides a color version of at least one page if one searches under “Amesbury Psalter.” Margaret Howell’s book Eleanor of Provence has a black and white photograph of the same page, and that biography may be available through the public library system.
Although many Psalters were intended for general monastic use, some predated the Book of Hours, common in the later Middle Ages, and were used for personal devotion. In the sample illustration mentioned in the paragraph above, we can see a small figure at the bottom left of the page. We might assume that this woman is a Fontevraudine nun, although her attire is not distinctive and could be either a nun’s habit or the simple dress of a widow. (Nuns, then as now, tended to dress in a manner similar to seculars.) In any event, it is believed that the figure was the original owner of the manuscript, since a generic depiction of that person in the work itself was common practice. Her actual identity is unknown, although I have let Brother Baeda believe it to be a nun of Amesbury. Either she or the person who gave her the Psalter must have been quite wealthy, considering the quality of the work. The inclusion of the two feast days of Saint Melor (one of which was May 6) in the Calendar does point to a resident of Amesbury Priory.
Although the manuscript is in reasonably fine condition, I found a description that noted a tear in the corner of one page which shows evidence of an attempted mending. Needless to say, I took advantage of that detail for this story and decided that Prioress Ida would have wanted any damage to such a precious item properly repaired.
I freely admit to a fondness for ghosts, dating back to Grade Three when I wrote my first and last (until now) story about them. I am not alone in this interest. People have been discussing and seeing them for as long as we have records, a fact that suggests the spirits have been of importance, probably from the time we first developed speech and could talk about them. Maybe the desire to keep ghosts at bay was the real reason our ancestors discovered fire with such
delight, not some culinary interest or a desire to upgrade the cave with better heating.
In any case, the early Christian church had a major problem with the creatures. They were a pagan thing, always inclined to bother the living if their earthly bodies were not properly buried (Antigone scattered dust on her brother’s body at the cost of her own life), or if the living didn’t properly pay Charon to ferry souls across the Styx—the latter suggesting that pagans not only thought you could but should take at least some of it with you. Thus Augustine of Hippo insisted, in his De Cura pro Mortuis Gerenda (On the Care to Be Taken When Dealing with the Dead), that the dead were not able, by their nature, to involve themselves in the affairs of the living.
Nonetheless, belief in ghosts and the sightings thereof stubbornly persisted with the secular crowd. As the first millennium approached, the Church began to agree there might be some good reasons for ghosts to wander around. After all, the times were troubling, and many believed the end of the world would come on January 1, 1000. The dead could be as restless as the living under the circumstances.
As years went on, there was another reason to support acceptance of uneasy spirits. Although the Christian concept of Purgatory had been around since the beginning of the faith, it became increasingly popular until formally codified in the 15th century. In a society where killing in battle was rather frequent, many died with less than cleansed souls. If nothing much could be done for those in Hell, and those in Heaven didn’t need prayers, increasing value was placed on prayer for those in that interim spot for the spotted soul. Without question, the idea that one could do something to help a distressed family ghost move more quickly to Heaven was very appealing and found growing favor in the Church, as did the idea that sightings could prove instructional (saints) or frightening enough to change earthly behavior. Spectral wild hunts (where spirits rode on spiked saddles or dressed in flesh-charring armor) were quite effective at the latter.
As we do today, the medievals varied in whether or not they believed in ghosts. Some, like Beatrice and Eleanor, thought that only saints came by occasionally for instructional purposes in dreams or visions. Others, like Wulfstan, were equally certain that less perfect souls returned to trouble the living with more malevolent intent. As for the truth, I leave that debate to others.
Since I have discussed medieval views on sexuality and orientation at some length in prior books, I will add only a short note to provide illumination on Thomas’ particular concerns in this one.
His era was a warrior culture that essentially defined masculinity as one man’s ability to conquer another. The notion of adulthood involved a more tribal concept of survival: taking on the responsibility of marriage, a family, and the fathering of children.
For monks, men who might fulfill a socially important function but were prohibited from doing either of those above-mentioned things, a different definition had to be developed. It should not come as a surprise that the definitions for them were quite similar to the secular ones. A monk could prove his masculinity by conquering temptation with the strength of his will. Manhood was achieved when he took responsibility for leading others to God and defeating their erroneous ways with his powerful reason as any father might his children.
The battle against lust, especially after celibacy became the rule for priests, appears to have taken up almost as much philosophical time as defining heresy. There are numerous and erotically graphic descriptions of the temptations saints-in-the-making overcame. Many in the Church concluded that men and women who suffered most from sexual torments were deemed more worthy of God’s grace than those who did not. It seems that Satan found mortals who didn’t experience nocturnal emissions and erotic visions of many wondrous varieties just too boring to care about.
In any event, whether the monk wrestled against sexual longing for a woman or for a man was somewhat irrelevant. Winning the battle defined the man. Whether he participated in formal debates or struggled (like Brother Thomas) against those possessing a particular darkness of soul, success was the mark of manhood.
Bibliography
This book could not have been written without the help of Christine and Peter Goodhugh. Their generosity in taking photographs, answering innumerable questions on aspects of Amesbury history, directing me to the right places for other information, and countless acts of kindness is immeasurable. I am deeply grateful.
One of my joys, as an amateur in history, is the ongoing discovery of details about the medieval period. Since I know others would share that pleasure, I like to list some of the books I have found useful when I write each tale.
As always, the resources deserve all credit when I get it right. Factual errors and failures of understanding are my fault alone.
Aelred of Rievaulx, Spiritual Friendship, trans. Mary Eugenia Laker SSND, Cistercian Publications, 1974.
Peter Brown, Augustine of Hippo: A Biography, University of California Press, (new edition with epilogue), 2000.
Andrew Joynes, Medieval Ghost Stories: An Anthology of Miracles, Marvels and Prodigies, The Boydell Press, 2001.
Ruth Mazo Karras, From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Late Medieval Europe, University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003.
Ruth Mazo Karras, Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others, Routledge, 2005.
Jean-Claude Schmitt, Ghosts in the Middle Ages: The Living and the Dead in Medieval Society, trans. Teresa Lavender Fagan, University of Chicago Press, 1998.
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