Trial by combat, dispute resolution

It's a trope that appeals to Hollywood. Two great warriors staring one another down before the first move; a highly choreography fight scene, preferably with special effects, then ensues.

How often does the hero have to battle the robot monster from mars alone? Why does no one ever try and help Super Man? Why does MI6 only have one competent spy?

One-on-one combat is deeply embedded across human cultures and comes laden with honour and valour. It was a passage from the 14th century St Albans Chronicle that had me musing upon it this week and wondering when the tradition started. In it, the abbot of Battle Abbey is attempting to defend the town of Rye from the French whom he threatens with eternal damnation, and refuses to permit single combat to take place due to his position and ethics as a religious man (St Albans Chronicle, eds. Taylor and Watkiss, I, pp. 133).

Make love not war and all that.

Judging by the chronicle's evidence, it was still a widely acceptable way of deciding a dispute but I'm sure you're already been reminded of a much more famous instance:

Now the Philistines gathered together their armies to battle, and were gathered together at Shochoh, which belongeth to Judah, and pitched between Shochoh and Azekah, in Ephesdammim.

And Saul and the men of Israel were gathered together, and pitched by the valley of Elah, and set the battle in array against the Philistines.

And the Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israel stood on a mountain on the other side: and there was a valley between them.

And there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, named Goliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span.

And he had an helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a coat of mail; and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels of brass.

And he had greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass between his shoulders.

And the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his spear's head weighed six hundred shekels of iron: and one bearing a shield went before him.

 And he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel, and said unto them, Why are ye come out to set your battle in array? am not I a Philistine, and ye servants to Saul? choose you a man for you, and let him come down to me.

If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be your servants: but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye be our servants, and serve us.

And the Philistine said, I defy the armies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight together.

When Saul and all Israel heard those words of the Philistine, they were dismayed, and greatly afraid.

 - Book of Samuel, Chapter 17

Written somewhere around the 7th century BC, we're getting closer to lending some antiquity to this practice. But wait, Troy wasn't just a poor film starring Brad Pitt I hear you cry. No, no it wasn't.

"As he spoke he drew the keen blade that hung so great and strong by his side, and gathering himself together be sprang on Achilles like a soaring eagle which swoops down from the clouds on to some lamb or timid hare--even so did Hector brandish his sword and spring upon Achilles. Achilles mad with rage darted towards him, with his wondrous shield before his breast, and his gleaming helmet, made with four layers of metal, nodding fiercely forward."

 - The Iliad, Book XXII, Chapter 22 

(Pot image above, https://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/online_tours/greece/the_myth_of_the_trojan_war/achilles_fights_hector.aspx)

So famous is this particular example of single combat (written around the 8th century BC) that the British Museum even has examples of 6th century BC merchandise.

Zipping back now all the way to 2000 BC, the Epic of Gilgamesh recounts the meeting of the King Gilgamesh and the wildman Enkidu who was sent to combat Gilgamesh's tyranny:

Strewn is the couch for the love-rites, and Gilgamish (now) in the night-time

Cometh to sleep, to delight in the woman (but) [Enkidu], coming

(There) in the highway, doth block up the passage to Gilgamish, [threat’ning]

He with his strength . . .Burgeon’d [his rage], (and) he rush’d to [attack] him: they met in the highway. Enkidu barr’d up the door with his foot, (and) to Gilgamish entry—

[He] Would not concede: they grappled and snorted(?) like bulls, (and) the threshold

Shatter’d: the (very) wall quiver’d as Gilgamish 1, Enkidu grappled,

Snorting(?) like bulls, (and) the threshold they shatter’d, the (very) wall quiver’d.

 - 2nd Tablet, translated here: http://king-of-heroes.co.uk/the-epic-of-gilgamesh/reginald-campbell-thompson-translation/of-the-meeting-of-gilgamish-and-enkidu/

Which summed up means that Enkidu fought Gilgamesh (elaborate prose is hard when you're writing on stone). The conclusion of the fight is that Gilgamesh sees the error of his ways and repents.

Sources dry up after this and I'm left wondering just when and where the practice did begin. Was it born out of a desire to settle disputes and avoid the suffering of many; or is it instead a primal instinct from our early ancestors, pitted against nature itself for survival, given a romantic twist?

N.B.

I'm not a classicist so do please feel free to correct my google found dates for the pre-medieval sources.

 

 

Guest blog - Toads mean Trouble: Amphibious Assassins in Gerald of Wales’ The Journey through Wales

Today I have the great pleasure of introducing as a  guest blogger, Ruth Salter. A colleague and fellow coffee ranter, she works mostly on the miracles of medieval saints.

Over to Ruth -

If you were asked to think of an unassuming British animal, I would hazard a guess that the first creature to come to mind would be something – small, brown, possibly squeaky – like a mouse or hedgehog.  So unassuming is the toad that I bet you’d not have even given it a second thought (if it wasn’t for the title of this post).  Yet whilst we might think of toads as little more than ‘dry frogs’ (a phrase I once heard a five year old use to describe them with some accuracy) our medieval counterparts were much more wary of these pesky polliwogs.1

Medieval bestiaries grouped amphibians with reptiles which, whilst now known to be incorrect, is perhaps not such a surprising association to have made considering outwards appearances.  Like many other ‘reptiles’, toads were seen to be dangerous, in fact the German abbess Hildegard of Bingen (d.1179) warned in Physica that: ‘just as dangerous winds come forth with lightning and thunder and hail, [the toad] has some diabolical art in it.’2  Indeed, if a cat were to lick a toad or serpent then the cat would become ‘harmful and poisonous’ to people; although with seemingly little issue for the cat itself (maybe due to their nine lives).3  For those that are becoming concerned over the prospect of amphibious encounters it is worth noting that Hildegard highlighted frogs were less dangerous than toads because they were ‘cold and a bit watery’, which clearly had a detrimental effect on their powers.4  Discovering why toads had such a bad reputation is harder, there is little direct mention of toads in the bestiaries, nor in their forebears; and this lack of reference to toads, and reptiles in general, in Classical anthological sources has not gone unnoticed.5  However, whatever the cause, it is clear that toads were considered to be dangerously poisonous.

But how poisonous were toads?  In the Life and Miracles of St William of Norwich one account highlights the dangers of this poison in a miracle involving Wimarc, a woman imprisoned at Gainsborough during Stephen’s reign (1135-54).6  Wimarc, along with other prisoners had to endure ‘miserab[le] cold, hunger, stench and attacks of toads’ so in order to secure their freedom they decided to poison the gaoler: ‘they took a toad (of which, as I said, there were many in the prison) and mixed its poison with the drink…and invited the gaoler to drink it’.7  However, the suspicious gaoler was less than willing to accept a drink from his captives (funny that) and requested they drank first, seeing their hesitation and fear he knew not to trust the offering and forced them to drink instead:

Immediately the venom crept through the limbs of each, and all of them swelled up in so wonderful and horrid a manner that any man who saw them would be convinced that their skin must burst…The poison saturated them through and through and the life was brought to the doors of death.8

Only Wimarc survived and, having been released, she suffered for seven years from a ‘monstrous swelling’ which no doctor could cure.  Turning to the saints she eventually came to St William’s tomb in Norwich Cathedral where, after a few days, she kissed the tomb and ‘vomited all that poisonous discharge on the pavement…it was horrible – no, unbearable, that there was enough of it to fill a vessel of the largest size, that the bystanders were so constrained to leave the place, and the sacrists to cleanse the spot and strew it with fragrant herbs’.9  Wimarc, however, now appeared completely cured from her swelling, as if she had never been poisoned and, after giving thanks, returned home.

A similar account of toad-based poisoning can also be found in the Peterborough Chronicle which refers to torturers using reptiles and amphibians.10  Clearly toads are dangerously venomous and we must learn to be a lot more wary of them (or be prepared to undertake a journey to Norwich to the boy-martyr William for some help).  So why, in the title did I refer specifically to Gerald of Wales’ The Journey through Wales?11  Well, Gerald’s account reveals another terrifying aspect of toads: not only are they poisonous but they also have a habit of stalking their victims (not so unassuming now are they?).

In his memoir of travelling around Wales with Archbishop Baldwin of Canterbury in 1188 (to rouse would-be crusaders to take the cross) Gerald records many fanciful tales of animals, including self-castrating beavers and tricksy weasels, but no animal comes across more terrifying than the toads of Cemais who stalked, and eventually devoured, a young man from the neighbourhood:12

 

In our own days a young man who lived in this neighbourhood, who was lying ill in bed, was persecuted by a plague of toads.  It seemed as if the entire local population of toads had made an agreement to go to visit him.  Vast numbers were killed by his friends and by those looking after him, but they grew again like the heads of the Hydra.  Toads came flocking from all directions, more and more of them, until no one could count them.  In the end they young man’s friends and the other people who were trying to help were quite worn out.  They chose a tall tree, cut off all its branches and removed all its leaves.  Then they hoisted him up to the top in a bag.  He was still not safe from his venomous assailants.  The toads crawled up the tree looking for him.  They killed him and ate him right up, leaving nothing but his skeleton.13

No reason is given for why this unfortunate youth should have been targeted by the toads, perhaps they took a disliking to him following some unrecorded insult, or perhaps toads are just so menacing a foe that they need no rational to support their decisions.  Either way, Gerald makes it clear that toads are determined and single-minded in their decisions; when they chose to stalk they’ll do it to the death and not even trees or beheading will stand in their way.  But, on a plus side (if one can be found) these Welsh toads do not use their natural poison, although Gerald does refer to them as ‘venomous assassins’, so at least the poor chap from Cemais is spared the pain suffered by Wimarc before his demise.¹⁴  However (let’s be honest) neither fate is appealing and the message is clear – avoid toads at all costs!

So next time you come across a toad, you might just want to reconsider becoming acquainted, and if you do decided to go ahead and greet that assisinous amphibian be prepared for the consequences that will (undoubtedly) follow.

Late 13^th C French Psalter. Marginalia showing a stork catching a frog or toad. Bodleian MS. Douce 118 f.134^v.

Footnotes

1 - Polliwog derives from the late medieval word polwygle, meaning tadpoles (the larval stage of development in both frogs and toads.  Tadpole, itself , comes from the Middle English ‘taddepol’ ‘tadde’ (toad) and ‘pol’ (head) whist polliwog ‘polwygle’ is ‘pol’ (head) and ‘wygle’ (wiggle) – pretty simple really! 

2 - Hildegard of Bingen. Physica. trans. Throop, P. (Healing Arts Press, Rochester. 1998) Reptiles.iv

3 - Hildegard of Bingen. Physica. Animals.xxvi 

4 - Hildegard of Bingen. Physica. Reptiles.v

5 - Douglas, N.  Birds and Beasts of the Greek Anthology. (Chapman and Hall Ltd., London. 1928) p.56 Digital Ed. Badke, D. (2003): http://bestiary.ca/etexts/douglas1928/douglas%20-%20birds%20and%20beasts%20of%20the%20greek%20anthology.pdf [last accessed 11^th August 2014]

6 - Thomas of Monmouth.  The Life and Miracles of St. William of Norwich. ed. & trans. Jessop, A. & Rhodes-James, M. (Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. 1896) 6.xiii

7 - The Life and Miracles of St. William of Norwich. 6.xiii

8 - The Life and Miracles of St. William of Norwich. 6.xiii

9 - The Life and Miracles of St. William of Norwich. 6.xiii

10 - ‘Toads: Man-Eating; Poisonous’ from In the Middle (16^th February 2006) http://www.inthemedievalmiddle.com/2006/02/toads-man-eating-poisonous.html [last accessed 11th August 2014]

11 - Gerald of Wales.  The Journey through Wales in The Journey through Wales and The Description of Wales. trans. Thorpe, L. (London, Penguin Books. 1978)

12 - Gerald of Wales.  The Journey through Wales 1.xii (weasels) and 2.iii (beavers), also see 1.vii (dogs), 2.iii (salmon) and 2.vii (mice)

13 - Gerald of Wales, The Journey through Wales. 2.ii

14 - Gerald of Wales, The Journey through Wales. 2.ii

Manuscripts

Bodleian MS. Douce 118 ff.134^v-135^r via Luna, Bodleian Library Manuscripts Online: http://bodley30.bodley.ox.ac.uk:8180/luna/servlet/detail/ODLodl~1~1~38961~122073:Psalter-?sort=Shelfmark%2CFolio_Page&qvq=w4s:/what/MS.%20Douce%20118;q:Douce%2B118;sort:Shelfmark%2CFolio_Page;lc:ODLodl~1~1&mi=174&trs=225 [last accessed 14^th August 2014]