Uhtred of Bebbanburg returns!

I'm going to write (scholarly writing) for a couple of hours, and then reward myself with the new Uhtred of Bebbanburg novel, Death of Kings. The series (6 books so far) follows the adventures of a ninth-century Thor-worshipping Saxon warrior who loves to poke fun at the pieties and 'middle class values' of Anglo-Saxon life.

From The Burning Land (the previous book):

Next morning it was raining like the world was ending and so I waited until the wind and weather had done their worst. I roamed the monastery and eventually found myself in a dank corridor where three miserable-looking monks were copying manuscripts. An older monk, white-haired, sour-faced and resentful, supervised them. He wore a fur stole over his habit, and had a leather quirt with which he doubtless encouraged the industry of the three copyists. "They should not be disturbed, lord," he dared to chide me. He sat on a stool beside a brazier, the warmth of which did not reach the three scribblers. 

"The latrines haven't been licked clean," I told him, "and you look idle." 

So the older monk went quiet and I looked over the shoulders of the ink-stained copyists. One, a slack-faced youth with fat lips and a fatter goiter on his neck, was transcribing a life of Saint Ciaran, which told how a wolf, a badger, and a fox had helped build a church in Ireland, and if the young monk believed that nonsense then he was as big a fool as he looked. The second was doing something useful by copying a land grant, though in all probability it was a forgery. 

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Animal Metamorphosis in Celtic and Classical Myth

via Wikimedia Commons

I just finished the delightful new novel The Scottish Prisoner, which makes extensive use of the Wild Hunt myth. The Wild Hunt is a widespread European myth (although, as Gabaldon points out in the author's note, not a native Celtic one.) It is a spectral group of hunters led by a mythological figure, frequently the Norse god Odin.

I vaguely recalled a story associated with the Wild Hunt about a girl having to pull her fiance out of the procession and hold him while the fairies transform him into a series of animals. I (again, vaguely) thought there might be interesting similarities between this story and the 'courtship' of Peleus and Thetis, in which he compels her to wed him by restraining her while she transforms. Actually reading up on these narratives made everything quite a bit more complicated.

The Wild Hunt story comes from a Scottish ballad called Tam Lin. Everything I told you above is true, except that the fiance is a) a fairy who b) assaults young women traveling through 'his' territory. Not to mention that c) his fiancee is pregnant and d) he's about to be given to the devil as the fairies' 'tithe to hell', a tax paid every seven years.*

His fiancee, Janet, wants to avoid having to marry an older knight she doesn't love just because she is pregnant. She has returned to Tam Lin's forest to obtain an herb that will cause her to miscarry. Tam Lin tells her how to turn him back into a mortal man, explaining that he believes he is about to be given to the devil by his fairy buddies. She does so and weathers the anger of the fairy queen to, presumably, live happily ever after.

Thetis is a minor goddess in the historical period in ancient Greece who may have been much more powerful in prehistoric times. Zeus would like to 'marry' (make baby gods) with her, but fears the prophecy that her son will be more powerful than his father. She is married off to the Greek hero Peleus to neutralize this threat. The sea god Proteus, an expert on metamorphosis, tells him how to overcome Thetis' transformative abilities. She agrees to marry him after he creeps up on her asleep and restrains her through a series of transformations into water, fire and serpents. Apart from his skill at goddess-abducting, Peleus is a rather unremarkable hero, a grandson of Zeus and a companion of Heracles, like most of the generation prior to the Trojan War.

The Peleus and Thetis myth is a distasteful story even by ancient standards. (Although the modern 'love match' was an alien concept, complaints about arranged marriages and the unequal treatment of goddesses are not unknown in Greek literature.) Surprisingly, I found that 'Tam Lin' was far less egalitarian than I remembered. Tam Lin commits serial assaults on woman and only agrees to marry Janet because it's better than an eternity spent in Hell. Janet is motivated less by love than a desire to avoid unwed motherhood or marriage to the "auld grey knight" who revealed her secret.

The differences between the stories come down to one thing: female agency. Neither myth reflects a romantic world, nor one particularly fair to women, but any ancient Greek would have been shocked at the notion of a woman lying in wait for a demigod lover and forcibly restraining him as a way of saving his life (so to speak). There are strong, forceful women (within limits) in Greek literature, but the total impossibility of a myth like Tam Lin reminds us not to look for Wonder Woman in the megaron.


*This is all based on the earliest version, Child 39 A.  The 'tithe to hell' plays an important role in Gabaldon's novel. Pin It

Re-enactment and the joy of research

via Wikimedia Commons

This story, about Viking re-enactors on Lindisfarne Island, reminded me that my favorite historical fiction author, Elizabeth Chadwick, is also a re-enactor. The page about this on her website surprised me. It seems natural for someone like Chadwick to view historical re-enactment as a quirky hobby that goes well with her other interests.

Instead, she considers it a form of research:

Once you have been thoroughly kippered cooking a cauldron of pottage over an open fire, you know exactly what it's like and you know darned well that no-one with hanging sleeves ever got cooking pot duty! I have stood on a battle field and viewed it through the eye slits of a jousting helm. I have felt the weight of a mail hauberk on my shoulders and gripped a sword in my hand.

I have had some students who did medieval re-enactment who I considered, well, a little odd. But Chadwick's description really go to me. When was the last time I felt that kind of connection to the ancient world?

Belonging to a beleaguered academic discipline takes a lot out of you. You feel like you constantly have to apologize, to your students for making them learn all the principal parts of the verb (it's a 'dead language' after all), to your parents for having to move far away to chase that one good job. This blog is my way of getting some of the joy back.

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