Masters of Stone: the Medieval Stonemasons

In our twenty-first century urbanised world, buildings of enormous height and size are all around us and are so familiar a sight that we rarely pay them much attention. We are accustomed to living, working and shopping in them. When a new one is built, we see huge cranes and other heavy machinery employed, with elevators and lifts taking contractors up to where they need to be. 

Canterbury Cathedral © E.M. Powell

Anybody time-travelling from the medieval world to now would be understandably astonished by what we can achieve. Yet the reverse is also true. We cannot of course travel back to medieval times. But we can stand next to a vast cathedral such as Canterbury and wonder how on earth it could be constructed by people who had only the most basic of tools.  

There has been a cathedral in Canterbury for more than 1,400 years. Saint Augustine consecrated the first cathedral there not long after his arrival in the year 597. There is no trace of the original building, as a fire in 1067 destroyed it and it had to be completely rebuilt. Archbishop Lanfranc oversaw much of the construction, but it was his successor, Archbishop – and later Saint – Anselm, who built the ‘glorious quire’ –of which more later––and the enormous crypt. 

The credit might be Anselm’s but his hands were not the ones that wielded axes, hammers and chisels, and mixed mortar that is still holding up the walls after almost a thousand years. Those people, with their remarkable skill and ingenuity, were the medieval stonemasons. 

Building- Canterbury or Anglo-Catalan Psalter 12th Century 
Public Domain- British Library

The stonemasons’ guild, the Worshipful Company of Masons, is one of the ancient Livery Companies of the City of London. It was formed for the purpose of regulating the craft of stonemasonry and ensuring that standards could be properly maintained and rewarded. The earliest available records of regulation from the Court of Aldermen are from 1356.

The preceding two centuries had already seen massive growth in stone construction–royal, ecclesiastical and municipal–and alongside that came major developments in the skill of stone masonry. Stonemasons were by no means a homogenous group. Their skills ranged from the most basic to outstanding artistry, though categories of worker were fluid. Rates of pay varied from job to job too.

Before stone could be used as building material, it first had to be dug from the earth and that was the task of the quarrymen. The records use the term ‘quarrymen’ to refer to those who owned the quarries as well as those who worked in them. While the quarry owners were frequently men of means and high social standing, those who actually worked within the quarries were not. The work was back breaking, digging and breaking stone in poor conditions that led to health problems like silicosis, a lung disease induced by inhaling flinty or siliceous particles. The quarriers also partially or completely worked the stone before it was transported to its destination, as this saved on cost. In addition to providing the supply of stone, the quarries often served as schools where stoneworkers could learn the basics of the craft, before moving on to more skilled employment and better rates of pay. 

Canterbury Cathedral interior stonework
© E.M. Powell

Roughmasons and layers prepared wall stone with scappling hammers and might also hew stone with an axe into the approximate shape required. Fine carving was done with a mallet and chisel and this was the work of the freestone mason. The freestone mason did not simply step in and apply the last artistic flourishes. He would also have had to be an expert stone hewer and layer to ensure that intricate work fitted perfectly and robustly together. Building work was not solely the preserve of men either. The records show women working as masons’ servants and plasterers. 

Overseeing any project was the master mason, frequently assisted by an undermaster or a second master mason. Master masons were not just the most skilled stone workers: they were architects, designers and visionaries as well as capable administrators. They had shared responsibility with the abbey or nobleman who had embarked on the construction project for the financial accounts. These covered every aspect of expenditure: wages, materials and transport. The master masons were involved in the hiring and dismissing of their workers. 

Mason and carpenter, Bruges, 15th Century 
Public Domain- British Library

In general, masons were a highly mobile group. They travelled to where the biggest and best-paying jobs were, including from country to country. Quarrymen tended to live locally to their work. 

In order for the best work to be produced, the most suitable materials had to be sourced. Huge quantities of wood went into building a structure like Canterbury Cathedral. But wood is much easier to source and transport than stone. And it could not be just any stone: it had to be soft and easy to carve. Canterbury’s cream limestone came from Caen in Normandy as it could be delivered by ship, rather than trying to move stone along medieval roads. 

Canterbury Cathedral Choir
© E.M. Powell

Such transport was not without risk. An account exists from the days of William I of a flotilla of fifteen ships that were sailing from Caen with cargoes of stone. Fourteen carried stone for the king’s new palace at Westminster and one was full of stone for Saint Augustine’s abbey in Canterbury. The ships foundered in a terrible storm and fourteen were lost. The one with the Canterbury stone was about to suffer the same fate. The master and crew prayed to Saint Augustine himself, bailed furiously and made it as far as the Sussex port of Bramber, where the ship split open and all the stone ended up on the sands. The master got hold of another ship, reloaded his cargo and delivered the stone to the abbey. A delighted abbot paid the master ‘a bonus of some shillings’. A relieved master offered half the money to God and Saint Augustine in thanks for his miraculous escape. 

Speaking of saints and miracles, Canterbury Cathedral’s most famous archbishop is another saint: Thomas Becket, who was murdered there on 29 December 1170. He was slain by four knights acting on one of King Henry II’s legendary outburst of temper. The knights’ original intention may have been to arrest Becket, who had been engaged in a monumental power struggle with the King for several years. But the situation quickly deteriorated, and Becket was hacked to death on one of the altars. The Martyrdom is still maintained in the cathedral and one can stand at the very spot. 

Sculpture of the sword's point at the Martyrdom-
site of Becket's murder in the cathedral.
© E.M. Powell

The miracles quickly began. Word quickly spread and the devotion to Becket the Martyr began, with his tomb becoming a major site for pilgrimage. 

It was a huge stroke of good fortune that the monks had chosen to place Becket’s body in a stone tomb in the crypt while they set about constructing a shrine. For on 5 September 1174, fire broke out in three cottages near the cathedral. Unknown to everybody before it was too late, the blaze spread to the roof of the cathedral. A monk, Gervase of Canterbury, wrote a vivid account of the fire, with its black smoke and scorching flames. Consumed by flames, the roof collapsed into the choir and its wooden seats. The flames rose up ‘a full fifteen cubits, scorching and burning the walls’ and causing terrible damage to the stone pillars. Anselm’s choir was destroyed. Gervase describes the reaction of those who witnessed it. He talks of people overcome with ‘grief and perplexity’ blaspheming at such an event and unable to comprehend that it had happened. 

Notre Dame Fire
Baidax, CC BY-SA 4.0 

A modern reader might dismiss this as an overreaction. But on April 15 2019, fire broke out in the roof of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris and millions worldwide witnessed a medial cathedral burn in real time.  People’s reactions on social media and on news reports were almost identical to those reported by Gervase eight centuries ago.  

Back in twelfth century Canterbury, the monks were faced with the daunting task of reconstructing their fire-ravaged choir. They commissioned master mason William of Sens, known for his brilliance and technical expertise. Unfortunately for him and for future generations, William fell from faulty scaffolding in the choir in 1178. He was badly injured and never recovered. He was replaced and the work was finished by another mason, William the Englishman. 

Stone conservation work, Canterbury Cathedral
© E.M. Powell

The stonemasons of Canterbury Cathedral continue their work to this day, with a team of over two dozen. Their job is to conserve and to preserve the building. And they work with tools on blocks of stone brought in from a quarry near Caen- just as the masons of a millennium ago did. 

Anselm's Crypt in Canterbury Cathedral, original site of Becket's tomb.
The figure is Transport by sculptor Antony Gormley.
The work is made from nails from the repaired roof of the cathedral.
© E.M. Powell

~~~~~~~~~~~

References:

Foyle, Jonathan, Architecture of Canterbury Cathedral (London: Scala Publishers Ltd., 2013).

Gimpel, Jean, The Cathedral Builders (New York: Harper Colophon Press, 1983).

Guy, John Thomas Becket (London: Viking, 2012).

Keates, Jonathan and Hornak, Angelo, Canterbury Cathedral (London: Scala Publications Ltd., 1980).

Knoop, Douglas and Jones, G.P., The Mediaeval Mason: An Economic History of English Stone Building in the Later Middle Ages and Early Modern Times (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1933).

Urry, William, The Normans in Canterbury: Occasional Papers No.2 (Canterbury Archaeological Society, 1959)

Urry, William, Canterbury Under the Angevin Kings (University of London, The Athlone Press, 1967).

Woodman, Francis, The Architectural History of Canterbury Cathedral (London, Boston and Henley: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1981).

Websites:

The Worshipful Company of Masons 

Canterbury Cathedral- stonemasons

I wrote this post for the English Historical Fiction Authors blog where it was published on November 15, 2020.

The Murder of Thomas Becket

Midwinter in England can indeed be bleak. Iron-hard frosts, smothering snow, torrential rain and gales: all can sweep down on these short days where daylight is gone by mid-afternoon. But at day's close on the twenty-ninth of December 1170, an event occurred that stunned medieval England and all of Christendom. Archbishop Thomas Becket was brutally murdered by four knights in his own cathedral at Canterbury. The knights came to Canterbury following an outburst by Henry II, king of England and much of France. It was a tragedy that had been set in motion many years before.

Canterbury Cathedral

© Shane Broderick Photography 

The son of a London merchant, Becket cut an imposing figure. He was over six feet tall (well above average for the period), with an aquiline nose, a "large brow", and "long and handsome face". He had a quick mind and a particular capacity to absorb and retain huge amounts of information. One chronicler states that he could even detect and react to distant smells and scents! Though he had stammered in his youth, he largely overcame this and was a fluent orator.

Appointed as Henry's Chancellor in 1155, Becket did not disappoint the King. He performed brilliantly in the role and the two men, Henry thirteen years younger than Becket, became extremely close. William Fitzstephen records "Never in Christian times were there two greater friends, more of one mind."

Henry makes Becket Archbishop of Canterbury
Liturgical comb c. 1200

© 2014 E.M. Powell 

One mind, perhaps, but of course Henry was king. And he was a king who was engaged in power struggles with Rome. On the death of Archbishop Theobald in 1161, Henry appointed Becket as Archbishop of Canterbury, believing Becket would simply do his bidding and act at all times on his behalf. Henry could not have been more wrong. Becket stood firm against Henry in matters of ecclesiastical law and power. Their disputes dragged on until in 1170 Henry had his son anointed as king by the Archbishop of York, a ceremony that was witnessed by ten other bishops. Becket's response? He excommunicated the bishops from the pulpit at Canterbury Cathedral on Christmas Day. When news reached Henry, he went into one of his legendary rages.

And his rages were indeed legendary. Henry could really let rip when roused. According to John of Salisbury, Henry once became so enraged during a debate about the King of Scotland that he flung off many of his clothes and started "chewing on pieces of straw." John also has Henry describing himself as "a child of anger." One of Henry's charters states that if anyone "should attempt to quash...this grant, he will incur the disfavour, anger and indignation of Almighty God and me."

Canterbury Cathedral
© Shane Broderick Photography 

So it was when Henry was informed of the news of Becket's latest actions. He "struck his hands together and exclaimed against it vehemently", his face "white with fury." His tirade against Becket was about the man's ungratefulness, too: he had raised Becket to a high position, and the only response was treachery. He worked himself up to a frightening pitch, ending with the words: "He has...shamed my realm; the grief goes to my heart, and no-one has avenged me!" Unfortunately, a group of barons who were listening took him at his word. They set off for Canterbury to avenge their king.

And who were these knights? It is unlikely they were part of Henry's intimate circle and acted to increase their favour with the king. William of Canterbury gives us their names and their descriptions. First was Reginald Fitzurse. "Urse" means "bear", and William claims the name indicated the man's savagery. Hugh de Morville's surname translates as "a village of death." William de Tracy is acknowledged as a brave fighter, but had a "sinful way of life." Richard le Bret became the Brute "on account of the depravity of his life." It was these who headed for the cathedral in which the holy man they sought was to be found.

Canterbury Cathedral

© Shane Broderick Photography 

The accounts of events from eight hundred and forty four years ago can often be sketchy. In the case of Becket's murder, we have detail upon appalling detail, as five monks were eye-witnesses to it and wrote their version.

When the knights arrived at Canterbury Cathedral, daylight was fading. They first took off their armour and went to confront Becket who was in the Episcopal Palace. They most likely had come to arrest him but Becket simply refused to comply. That did not help the situation. The knights went back out and started to put on their armour once more. The monks and clerks who were with their Archbishop were extremely concerned by now for Becket's safety. Even if no-one expected murder, they were aware that Becket could be hideously maimed or wounded in such a tense situation. No doubt Becket himself was also aware that this was now a very real possibility. The monks hustled him through to the Cathedral, though he protested throughout.

Carrying on with the rhythm of the day, the Office of Vespers was being sung, the monks voices echoing into the cathedral's high roof with the only light from candles or lamps. Such illumination would hardly have  pierced the chill darkness and cast instead deep shadows. Once the monks saw Becket, they halted their prayers, rejoicing that he was safe. It was only a temporary reprieve. As he walked to the altar, the knights burst in, armed with hatchets and an axe, Fitzurse yelling "Where is the archbishop, the traitor of the King?"

The Murder of Thomas Becket
Public Domain

Becket kept his composure, replying: "Here I am, not a traitor of the King, but a priest. Why do you seek me?" The knights were not so calm. They surrounded Becket, in a shouting, clamouring group, their lethal weapons ready and raised. Grabbing hold of Becket, they tried to manhandle him away but he grabbed for one of the stone pillars and refused to move. Then the Archbishop delivered an insult to Fitzurse, calling him a panderer or a pimp and challenged Fitzurse to kill him. This seemed to tip Fitzurse over into murderous rage, and he roared at de Tracy to strike. Becket bent his head in submission. He knew he was going to die.

Chasse showing the Martyrdom of Saint Thomas Becket c1190

© 2014 E.M. Powell 

De Tracy's first strike took off the top of Becket's skull and glanced off, injuring Brother Edward Grim. The watching appalled monks fled in panic, as Becket took another blow to the head but still remained standing. He must have been in unspeakable agony and shock, yet managed to speak for the last time: "For the name of Jesus and the good of the Church, I am ready to embrace death." De Bret thrust his sword through Becket's head with such force that the sword shattered on the altar stone. A cleric who had accompanied the knights scattered the Archbishop's brains, declaring, "He won't get up again." It was over. The knights left the cathedral and went to the Episcopal Palace, where they ransacked Becket's possessions.

Becket's body lay cooling on the altar as the traumatized monks made their way back in. Over the next few hours, people converged on the cathedral in horrified disbelief. Those who came dipped their fingers in the blood of their martyred Archbishop, daubed their clothes with it, and collected as much as they could. Terror still filled the air, with rumours flying around that the murderers were coming back to take the body, or to slay others. It was feared that the knights would defame Becket's corpse, and pull it across the city behind a horse, or display it on a gibbet. This could not be countenanced. The monks decided to bury Becket in the crypt as quickly as possible.

Canterbury Cathedral

© Shane Broderick Photography 

The miracles began that very night. A man who dipped part of his shirt into Becket's blood went home to his paralysed wife. As he wept in his telling of the murder, she asked to be washed in water containing some of the blood. She was cured immediately. A shrine was erected to Becket in the cathedral. An astonishing 100,000 people came to pray and visit Canterbury Cathedral in 1171 alone. The attributed miracles mounted up and in ten years, there were a total of 703 recorded. Becket’s intercession was in healing, casting out demons. He was prayed to by women in childbirth. When Queen Eleanor, the wife of King Henry III was expecting her fourth child, 1,000 candles were lit around Becket’s shrine.

Reliquary casket with scenes of the martyrdom c1173-80

© 2014 E.M. Powell 

And what of Henry, the king whose supposed utterance of "who will rid me of this meddlesome priest?" set the murder in motion? Henry had to give in on the matter of church courts. He also performed a number of acts of penance for the man who had once been his dear friend. The most extreme was on the streets of Canterbury on 12 July 1174, where he was scourged by eighty monks before spending the night praying at Becket’s tomb. (You can read my post on those events here.) In death, Becket had been victorious.

Canterbury Cathedral

© Shane Broderick Photography 

Saint Thomas Becket was a venerated saint for the next four hundred years. Until the arrival of another King Henry, Henry VIII. This Henry was going to take on the church. And win. When he achieved his aim of total control of the church, Henry VIII denounced Becket as a traitor. Becket’s shrine was destroyed, his bones were burned and the mention of his name was outlawed.

Canterbury Cathedral

© Shane Broderick Photography 

But Henry didn’t manage to erase the memory of Becket. People continued in their devotion to him as a saint. Today, Canterbury Cathedral still marks the place of Becket’s martyrdom and thousands continue to visit every year. Think of him today, at day’s close.

References:
Photographer Shane Broderick specializes in studies of castles, churches and places of pilgrimage. To view more and to see his other work, please visit his Facebook Page at Shane Broderick Photography. You can also view his video here for more on Canterbury Cathedral. His photographs on this post have been used with his generous permission.

Abbott, Edwin A.: St. Thomas of Canterbury: His Death and Miracles, A & C Black (1898)
Cathedral: Murder at Canterbury, BBC TV (2005)
Gervase of Canterbury: Thomas Becket's Death, from History of the Archbishops of Canterbury, Internet Medieval Sourcebook, Fordham University
Grim, Edward: The Murder of Thomas Becket, Internet Medieval Sourcebook, Fordham University

Guy, John: Thomas Becket, Penguin Books (2012)

Jones, Dan: The Plantagenets: The Kings Who Made England, William Collins, (2013)
Staunton, Michael (ed.): The Lives of Thomas Becket, Manchester University Press (2001)
Warren, W.L., Henry II, Yale University Press (2000)
Weir, Alison: Eleanor of Aquitaine: By the Wrath of God, Queen of England, Vintage Books (2007)

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I first wrote this post or an edited version of it for the English Historical Fiction Authors blog in December 2014.

Thomas Becket: The Blood of a Martyr

On July 12 1174, King Henry II of England did public penance in Canterbury for the murder of Archbishop Thomas Becket. The infamous murder had taken place in Canterbury Cathedral in the cold and dark of a December evening in 1170.

Henry II doing Penance at the tomb of Thomas Becket
By John Cassell (Internet Archive) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Yet here was Henry, ruler of England and much of France, walking barefoot along the rough cobbled streets in the heat of July, making his way to a tomb in the cathedral. It was Becket's tomb, and the slain Archbishop was now a canonised saint. Thousands of pilgrims had already made their way there but one doubts if anyone that day expected to see the king follow suit.

As if his humble progression was not astonishing enough, Henry then prostrated himself at Becket's tomb and spent many hours in prayer. He begged for forgiveness from Becket for the uttering of his words that had sent a group of knights to murder the archbishop.

© E.M. Powell 

The king had good reason to do so. He was facing the loss of his crown to a rebellion led by his Queen, Eleanor of Aquitaine, their three eldest sons and King Louis of France. Henry believed that his failure to repent for Becket's death had led him to this point.

Now that he had come to make his belated penance, Henry's public display of humility reached new heights. He removed his upper clothing and was subjected to strikes from over seventy scourge-wielding monks. His royal flesh was torn and his blood flowed freely from his chastisement. While the chroniclers at the time were stunned, more modern interpretations are that the scourging of the king must have been relatively light, for otherwise he could not have survived so many blows.

© E.M. Powell 

If only the assault on Becket had been so forgiving. There are eye-witness accounts of how he died and they are brutally graphic. It will suffice to say that the monks who converged on the dead Becket were able to collect splashed blood and and the results of his massive head wound from the stone floor of the altar.

Yet their gathering of Becket's life-force and his stained clothing were the first acts in propelling Becket along the road to sainthood. It may seem repugnant to some modern sensibilities but blood was seen as an immensely powerful force in medieval society.

This power could be seen to be evil. Necromancers (when summoning demons) followed instructions that they should write their symbols or incantations in the blood of cats, bats and even a hoopoe. There was widespread belief that a murdered corpse would bleed afresh in the presence of the murderer.

© E.M. Powell 

But of course blood was also seen to have the power of good. Devotion to the shedding of Christ's blood and miracles resulting from it had existed since the seventh century. One early reported miracle was the transformation of the host into a bloody finger to convince a woman who doubted her faith.

And so it was with Becket, viewed by all as a martyr who had died for his beliefs.Within hours, a steady stream of people had arrived, looking for cures to all manner of afflictions from Becket's holy blood. Miracles were attributed to him immediately. The cloths stained with his blood brought cures to local women. There are accounts of people dabbing it on their eyes to cure their sight. Holy water containing Becket's blood started to be sold. The story of Canterbury as a place of pilgrimage had begun.

© E.M. Powell 

An astonishing 100,000 people came to pray and visit Canterbury Cathedral in 1171 alone. Becket was made a saint in 1173, making his a very swift canonization. His popularity as a saint grew.The attributed miracles mounted up and in ten years, there were a total of 703 recorded. Becket’s intercession was in healing, casting out demons. He was prayed to by women in childbirth. When Queen Eleanor, the wife of King Henry III was expecting her fourth child, 1,000 candles were lit around Becket’s shrine. 

Myths also grew up around Becket. One woman claimed she had taught a bird to pray to the saint. When the bird was hunted by a hawk, it sang out Becket’s name and was released. A story circulated that while Becket was alive, he needed a woman to mend his clothes while on his travels. The woman that did so in a convent mysteriously disappeared after completing her task. The woman was deemed to be Our Lady.

And what of Henry II, one of Canterbury's most famous pilgrims and repentant sinners? The very next day, as he nursed his wounds from his penance, he received news of important victories for his troops. As far as Henry's subjects were concerned, Saint Thomas Becket had spoken: the penitent king had been granted his miracle. The rebellion was swiftly crushed. 

References:

Guy, John: Thomas Becket, Penguin Books (2012)
Jones, Dan: The Plantagenets: The Kings Who Made England, William Collins, (2013)
Kieckhefer, Richard, Magic in the Middle Ages, Cambridge University Press (2000)
Lindhal, Carl et al., Medieval Folklore: A Guide to Myths, Legends, Tales, Beliefs & Customs, Oxford University Press (2002)
Warren, W.L., Henry II, Yale University Press (2000)
Weir, Alison: Eleanor of Aquitaine: By the Wrath of God, Queen of England, Vintage Books (2007)
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This post or an edited version of it first appeared on the English Historical Fiction Authors blog in July 2014. 

A Dead Man's Tongue (and other Medieval Relics)

            

Reliquary Casket with Scenes from the Martyrdom of Saint Thomas Becket
c1173-80 The Met Museum Public Domain

I write medieval. 1170 medieval, which is when my thriller The Fifth Knight, based on the murder of Thomas Becket, is set. A lot of people said that it wasn’t a good time period. Too far back. Too remote. Readers wouldn’t engage. Hmm. I’ve never been sure about that. Because people were still people, even in 1170. While there have of course been huge changes to us and our world in the last 800 years, many things remain the same. As people, we have our loves, our hates, our struggles to deal with whatever the world throws at us.

And boy, can the world throw stuff. War, disease, famine and death is still a pretty good summary of what people have to face across the world of 2012. You can also add in tsunamis, earthquakes and hurricanes. Same as it was in 1170. And for all of these terrifying things that happen, we don’t fear them or react to them in a detached way. We fear them because we fear for our loved ones, for ourselves. The desire to protect, to keep safe is as old as humanity. (Those of you who have stopped by to find out about the Dead Man’s Tongue are probably by now getting restless. Don’t worry, you’ve not been mis-sold.)

One of ways medieval people tried to keep themselves safe, to ward evil and harm from them was to appeal to the saints. The medieval church had a very strong culture of sainthood. The saints had been born ordinary people, but had lived their lives and died with such devotion to and sacrifice for God that the church had canonised them.

The Martyrdom of Saints Agatha, Agnes, Cecilia, Lucy & Catherine
c1300 The Getty Public Domain

 

A pillar of the culture of sainthood was the concept of relics. In modern day Catholicism, you have classes of relics. First class relics are the bodies of saints or parts of their bodies, including bones, soft tissue and hair, and yes, a tongue. Such relics are housed in churches built and dedicated to that saint and are the subject of great devotion.  Second class relics are taken from the clothing of the saint. Third class relics include anything touched by the saint, or by touching an object to a first or second class relic. The belief is that people who pray to  these relics can be granted favours by God.

And did medieval people ever need those favours. In 1170, people lived a harsh live, with a life expectancy of late forties for the wealthy (and considerably lower for the poor). Things we (at least we in the privileged western world) take for granted were enormously risky for our 1170 dweller, who had access only to herbal medicine.  Childbirth, a chest infection, a broken limb, a bad dose of food poisoning: the vast majority of us, thank goodness, can come through all these in one piece. Modern medicine sees to that. But without modern medicine, so much becomes life threatening.

Reliquary Chasse British 1207–13 The Met Museum Public Domain

The choice of saints suggests that the chasse was made for Christ Church, Canterbury, a foundation rich in relics 

If illness weren’t enough, there were risks of crop failure and starvation. Famines and food shortages were a regular feature of medieval life. Throw in wars and conflict, where just one injury could be enough to end a life and we begin to see why people sought protection where they could. For many, their devotion to the saints was all they had. So to have relics, to have a link to a saint in your possession, was hugely valued.

The containers used to keep relics in are called reliquaries. Those containing first class relics are fabulously made of gold, silver and precious stones and can be found today in churches across the world. But in my research for The Fifth Knight, I came across the far less grand thread-boxes. Archaeologists have found at least three dozen of these in women’s graves going back as far as the seventh century. Tiny boxes, with scraps of material and herbs, a defence against harm. Heartbreakingly, one of the finds was in a baby’s grave.

Saint Anthony of Padua c1469
The Getty Public Domain

You could argue that such practice is consigned to the history books and has no relevance today. But pay a visit to a church such as the magnificent Saint Anthony’s Basilica in Padua, Italy and you will see devotion to a saint’s relics as real as it would have been in 1170. Saint Anthony’s tongue is indeed on display in a magnificent gold reliquary. It may be shrivelled and black, but it is still recognisably a tongue.

Many would think it strange that thousands of people go to see it every year. Under normal circumstances, most of us would turn down the opportunity to see a human body part. But it’s when you look around the church, you see it’s not about that. There is photo after photo of loved ones. People have placed them there, asking for the saint’s help. In the remarkable Museum of Popular Devotion next door, there are hundreds of exhibits people have submitted to show their prayers being answered. Many of these are in picture form and have no words to explain them. They don’t need to. They show people ill, in car accidents, in peril at sea. Child after child falling from a balcony, a window. One even shows a burning TV! But in all, Saint Anthony is represented as having intervened, as saving the loved one.

The Healing of the Blind by Touching Saint Anthony's Body
c1465 The Getty Public Domain

I think the women who kept their thread-boxes would understand  those pictures immediately, no matter how many centuries separated them. A hope, a plea, that loved ones will be kept safe from harm, that they can be kept safe from peril. I don’t think that ever changes. So yes, I write medieval. But it doesn’t feel remote to me.