The knightly Order of the Dragon in medieval history

On this date, in December 1408, a new chivalric order appeared in Hungary, partly modeled on the Order of Saint George. The Order of the Dragon, formed under the patronage of King Sigismund of the House of Luxembourg and his second wife, Queen Barbara of the House of Cillei. The dire circumstances that led to the creation of the Order, the roles of its most prominent members, and its relevance during the last century of the Middle Ages partly inspired my newest novel, Order of the Dragon – Book One, coming December 16, 2022. In it, Prince Vlad of Wallachia (modern-day Romania) seeks a knighthood within the Order of the Dragon, while hoping to rule his homeland, and save his family and people from the threats posed by the rapacious Ottoman Empire.

During the previous century, before the Order arose, most of Eastern Europe saw the Ottomans under their leader Osman Bey, who came from the Anatolian region of Turkey, conquering the lands formerly held by the Byzantine Empire. Although the European nations responded to the Turkish incursions, the invasion of the Balkans occurred. After Osman’s son Orhan captured the strategic port of Gallipoli in 1354 and made it one of the first Ottoman strongholds in Europe, the Turkic expansion seemed inevitable. Most devastating to the populations of the Balkans was the practice of devşirme; the claiming of Christian boys between the ages of seven/eight and twenty, stolen from their families and trained as future soldiers and bureaucrats of the Ottoman Empire.

Most of Serbia became a vassal state when Sultan Murad I, the son of Orhan, paid the ultimate price for his victory at the Battle of Kosovo in 1389. Within seven years, the Ottomans established almost full control over Bulgaria at the Battle of Nicopolis in 1396, after they eliminated a coalition that comprised warriors from Hungary, Wallachia, Bulgaria, France, and Germany. Fifteen thousand European fighters and their leaders died at Nicopolis, but King Sigismund numbered among the survivors. Only the Mongol capture of Murad's son, the Turkish Sultan Bayezid I in 1402 and the subsequent civil war of eleven years between his sons offered hope of a respite.

Details about the Order of the Dragon survive. With Saint George, the dragon-slayer as its patron, the knights of the Order pledged themselves to two duties; the defense of King Sigismund and his family, and the defeat of the Turks. Part of the statute of the Order that survives in a copy from 1707 shows that the king held the following expectation: “…in company with the prelates, barons, and magnates of our kingdom, whom we invite to participate with us in this party, by reason of the sign and effigy of our pure inclination and intention to crush the pernicious deeds of the same perfidious Enemy, and of the followers of the ancient Dragon, and (as one would expect) of the pagan knights, schismatics, and other nations of the Orthodox faith, and those envious of the Cross of Christ, and of our kingdoms, and of his holy and saving religion of faith, under the banner of the triumphant Cross of Christ …”

The Order was not only intended to fight the Turks, but also to preserve Sigismund’s hold on the throne. History shows that he faced constant danger. Born in Bohemia (the modern-day Czech Republic) he ascended the Hungarian throne through marriage in 1385. Years later, when his first wife Queen Mary died in a riding accident along with the child she carried, Sigismund feared he would lose power. He answered Pope Boniface IX’s call for a new crusade against the Ottomans, which ended in disaster at the Battle of Nicopolis. Revolts arose against Sigismund’s reign, but he allied himself with powerful noblemen to keep control of the kingdom. Many of those men would become the first knights of the Order of the Dragon.

Its members, who were called Draconists, included princes and nobility who had lost their lands to Turkish attacks. The Draconists often wore, suspended from a necklace, the image of a curled-up dragon with its tail coiled around its neck. On its back, from the neck to its tail, the red cross of Saint George stood out against the background. Latin inscriptions of “O quam misericors est Deus” (meaning, how merciful is God) and “Justus et paciens” (meaning, just and patient) accompanied the dragon emblem. The Order’s members also displayed a seal in the form of an Ouroboros, an ancient dragon motif. They wore red garments with a green mantle on ceremonial occasions and donned a black mantle on Fridays.

Some of the members numbering between twenty-one and twenty-five first inducted into the Order include the following persons who feature prominently in my new novel, Order of the Dragon – Book One:

· Sigismund of Luxembourg, King of Hungary.

· Barbara of Cillei, Sigismund’s wife and Queen of Hungary.

· Hermann II, Count of Cillei, father of Queen Barbara.

· Frederick of Cillei, son of Hermann II and brother of Queen Barbara.

· Stefan Lazarević, Serbian ruler who abandoned the Ottoman alliance after his father’s death at the Battle of Kosovo in 1389 and later allied with King Sigismund.

· Fruzhin, Prince of Bulgaria, the maternal nephew of Stefan Lazarević, and a surviving son of the Bulgarian ruler murdered after the Battle of Kosovo, Ivan Shishman.

· Nicholas II Garai, married to Queen Barbara's sister, the Palatine or chief officer of Hungary under King Sigismund, who also rescued him when Hungarian revolts occurred after the losses at Nicopolis.

· Stibor of Stiboricz, the governor of Transylvania.

· Pipo of Ozora, count of Temes, a Hungarian magnate, Florentine by birth.

· Hrvoje Vukčić Hrvatinić, Grand Duke of Bosnia and an erstwhile enemy of King Sigismund.

· Wladyslaw II Jagiellon, King of Poland and Supreme Duke of Lithuania, who was also an erstwhile enemy of King Sigismund.

· Vytautas of Lithuania, Grand Duke of Lithuania.

· Ernest of the House of Hapsburg called the Iron Duke of Austria.

Others would join them over the years, including the rulers of England, Denmark, Sweden, Norway, and Aragon in Spain. Learn more when Order of the Dragon – Book One makes its debut later this week.

Pre-Order available here or on Amazon

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Note: The images included in the post; 1. The ceremonial sword of the Order of the Dragon, 2. The dragon emblem, 3. Sigismund of Luxembourg,  4. Fruzhin, Prince of Bulgaria, and 5. Pipo of Ozora, are in the public domain and may be found at Wikipedia.

"A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste."

Having spent years studying the medieval period, I've learned people of the Middle Ages would have agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly. Some of the best examples of ribaldry or risqué humor originated in medieval times. Can you guess what's being referred to in these medieval riddles? 

1. I'm told a certain something grows in its pouch, swells and stands up, lifts its covering. A proud bride grasped that boneless wonder; the daughter of a king covered that swollen thing with clothing.
2. A strange thing hangs by a man's thigh, hidden by a garment. It has a hole in its head. It is stiff and strong and its firm bearing reaps a reward. When the man hitches his clothing high above his knee, he wants the head of that hanging thing to poke the old hole (of fitting length) it has often filled before.
3. I am a wondrous creature, a joy to women, useful to neighbors; not any citizens do I injure, except my slayer. Very high is my foundation. I stand in a bed, hair underneath somewhere. Sometimes ventures a fully beautiful churl's daughter, licentious maid, that she grabs onto me, rushes me to the redness, ravages my head, fixes me in confinement. She soon feels my meeting, she who forced me in, the curly-haired woman. Wet is her eye.
4. The young man came over to the corner where he knew she stood. He stepped up. Eager and agile, lifted his tunic. With hard hands, thrust through her girdle. Something stiff, worked on the standing. One his will. Both swayed and shook. The young man hurried, was sometimes useful, served well, but always tired sooner than she, weary of the work. Under her girdle began to grow. A hero's reward for laying on dough.

"Just copying another boring manuscript here."
Uh-huh. Right.

Have you guessed the answer to any of these examples? I'll bet none of them is what you’re thinking of right now! These examples of ribaldry date from the tenth-century, and come from the Exeter Book. Monks in the service of Bishop Leofric of Exeter copied them. Yes, you read that correctly - monks! Don't be so shocked. The medieval period was an age of overwhelming illiteracy and monks were often among the rare few who could read and write. 

In the Middle Ages, humorists often used sex as a metaphor, implying sexual situations where none existed, particularly in the form of riddles above. We often think medieval people had no sense of humor, in part because of the supremacy of the Church in their lives, but humor has always been a part of historical traditions. The Church couldn't have frowned too much on it, particularly if monks were set to the task of transcribing salacious riddles. 

Speaking of which, here are the answers:

1. Bread dough
2. A key
3. An onion
4. Churning

So, whatever you were thinking of as alternative answers, get your dirty, little mind out of the gutter!

The Burning Candle: Cover Art & Copy help

My next title will make its debut this summer. Just got the preliminary cover art ideas from Lance Ganey, who I may have mentioned is brilliant, at one or fifteen million other intervals. The Burning Candle is the fifth of my covers that he's worked on. Lance has an incredible talent for turning my rough ideas and blurred images with horrible resolutions into something that always brings tears to my eye when I first see it. This time was no different.

Now, I need the blurb and YOUR help. Please tell me here, on Twitter or my Facebook page which, if any, of the following versions you find most appealing:

Version 1 

Willful. Passionate. Scandalous.
Isabel de Vermandois, the spirited descendant of  French kings and Russian grand princes, becomes the wife of Comte Robert de Beaumont in the eleventh century. He is a hero of the Norman victory at Hastings and a loyal counselor to successive English kings. As his young bride, Isabel enters the decadent court of  King Henry I. Long-buried secrets in Robert's past threaten to shatter her world, as does the passionate interest of William de Warenne, Earl of Surrey.  

Based on the life of a remarkable woman, the ancestress of medieval Scottish royalty and English nobility, with a legion of living descendants, The Burning Candle is a story of duty and honor, love and betrayal.    

Version 2

Wife. Mother. Lover. 
In eleventh-century France on the eve of the First Crusade, Isabel de Vermandois becomes a bride. Her marriage to Robert de Beaumont, Comte de Meulan offers a desperate escape from her cruel parents. But is the match the key to her salvation or damnation? 

When Isabel discovers Robert is hiding terrible secrets that could destroy their marriage, she must learn painful truths and gain the strength to survive. Can she also find the courage to love again? 

Based on the life of a remarkable medieval woman, The Burning Candle, is a story of duty and honor, love and betrayal.

Version 3

Love is for those who have choices. She has none.      
In eleventh-century France on the eve of the First Crusade, Isabel de Vermandois becomes the wife of a man old enough to be her father. He is Robert de Beaumont, Comte de Meulan. A hero of the Norman victory at Hastings and loyal counselor to successive English kings, Robert is not all Isabel had expected. Cruel and kind by contrast, he draws her into the decadent court of King Henry I. As Robert's secrets are unraveled, Isabel finds her heart torn in two. Her duties as a wife and mother compel her, but an undeniable attraction to the young William de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, tempts her. In a kingdom where love has no sway over marital alliances, Isabel must choose where her loyalties and her heart lie. 

Based on the life of a remarkable medieval woman forgotten by time, The Burning Candle, is a story of duty and honor, love and betrayal.

Still undecided? Join the club. While you're considering the versions of the blurb, here's that cover:

 
P.S. If the couple looks familiar, that's Francisco Hayez's Il Bacio (The Kiss) dated 1859, from artwork available in the public domain.  

An ancient, magical city: Segovia

Where do we go from here? Oh, I see

Last Sunday, I missed doing my blog post on Segovia, but today I've got my act together (I think). First, I wish I had more pictures from this particular setting, as it was my favorite among all the cities I toured in Spain and later, Portugal. My camera chose to die on me at various points. Damn it all to hell! Oh well. If you missed the earlier related post on Avila, you can view it here. 

Segovia is a city of crumbling eighth-century walls, eighty towers, three imposing gateways, twisting alleys winding their way past Gothic and Romanesque churches with stained glass windows and ornate chapels. It boasts the most amazing views of the Spanish landscape, and apparently has some of the best suckling pig in the country. I wouldn't know. Sorry, but after our tour guide Lisa talked about the little baby pigs being killed after 28 days...it killed my appetite, too. Although I've researched the history of Spain for Sultana, of course my concentration was on events in Andalusia under the rule of Nasrid Dynasty. But I've since learned that events in Segovia played an important role in the final demise of the Nasrids.



Segovia's 2000-year old aqueduct

 The tour bus took us south of Avila while our guide Lisa explained that Segovia, like many other cities of Spain, has an ancient history that predates the Romans. Its name has CeltiIberian origins and means "city of victory" which is appropriate for reasons I'll get to in a bit. When the Romans occupied Segovia, they built a towering monument that has been featured on the city's coat of arms, an ancient aqueduct that has stood since at least 2,000 years. The aqueduct is almost 20 miles long, stretching from the Fuente Fria River until it reaches Segovia. It's comprised of 25,000 granite blocks held together without any mortar, at least by the Romans. Isabella of Castile and her husband Ferdinand of Aragon repaired parts of the aqueduct. It soars to 95 feet at its greatest height and provided water until at least the mid-1900's. They just don't build stuff like the Romans did anymore.

When the Moorish invaders conquered Spain in the eighth century and renamed Segovia, Siqubiyyah, it's unclear whether it was a large settlement. I saw nothing that would indicate Segovia's Moorish past except its eighth century walls. Considering that the Spanish re-conquered the city three hundred years before they defeated the Nasrids in Granada, it makes sense. The Moors held Segovia until the late eleventh century (possibly in 1088) under King Alfonso VI of Castile.

After seeing the aqueduct, I stopped to have some lunch in a nearby homestyle restaurant. The seafood paella was nothing to write home about, which wasn't great since I'd been craving it for two days. Please, my sister makes better paella and she should, having lived in Spain during her college years. Unfortunately, the following was overheard during lunch, from another obviously American tourist (who was thankfully, NOT in my tour group): "You seem like you know Spanish. So, if I wanna order the suckling pig in Spanish, do I ask for roasted cojones?" Dead silence followed. It's not that the Spanish have no sense of humor but some things just don't need a reply. My apologies on behalf of the ugly American in that room. Meh.

Part of the reason the roasted cojones didn't go over so well is that Spain is still a country where religious roots run very deep. It's no surprise that Segovia is dotted with Catholic churches. Unfortunately, I did not get a chance to see all of them, especially the church of San Miguel, where Queen Isabella was crowned. Here are some I did see:



Segovia's Church of Saint Martin



A Romanesque church, whose name I obviously
didn't get. I love the backdrop of the sky, very
moody and inspiring of some sort of mystery.
It's a writer thing. If you're not a writer, don't even try.

Cathedral at Segovia

The highlight of Segovia's religious architecture is its Gothic cathedral. This is where the darned camera started acting up! So, I have no beautiful stained glass windows streaming light into the cathedral to show you, nor the floor-level crypts where the bishops were buried, or great shots that would give you the full sense of majesty in this place. All I can do is describe what I experienced. I'm not Catholic (although some tenets of my Anglican upbringing make me question that) and I'm not even deeply religious. So, if I tell you Segovia's cathedral blew me away, trust me that it is an amazing sight. You trust me, don't you?


Chapel of Saint Antonio, Segovia

 The cathedral is huge. Inside, an amazing silence reigns over the space. The best time to visit any popular site in Spain is February-March; it's the off-season (except for the Prado Museum maybe, which as I mentioned in the Avila post, does not seem to have an off-season) and it's less likely to be crowded. No one's voice rose above a whisper, which I can only presume means that the entire tour group was as overawed as I was. The floor is stonework and the interior is ringed with golden, ornate chapels dedicated to various saints on behalf of Segovia's nobles. If you can ever see this monument, do yourself a favor and go.

The slate spires of the Alcazar,
which supposedly inspired
the building of the castle at
Walt Disney World

Lastly, the tour stopped at Segovia's Alcazar, which is derived from the Arabic word, al-qasr, meaning fortress. Built by at least 1120, the castle was the favorite of several Spanish monarchs, first used as an official home by King Alfonso VIII and his Queen, Eleanor of Plantagenet. Prior to their residence, presumably a Moorish fortress existed on the site. The Alcazar would have been prime real estate to anyone, situated in a strategic location. It's built atop a rocky promontory that straddles the Eresma and Clamores rivers. The view is breathtaking all-around. Did I happen to mention that Segovia was my favorite stop? I'm sure I must have. The sight of the Alcazar made the trip worthwhile and it has a great history. Queen Isabella took shelter in it while she waited to be crowned. Since its construction, it has been a royal palace (11th - 16th centuries), a state prison (17th - 18th centuries) and home of the Royal Artillery School. In 1864, fire gutted most of the interior and nearly 30 years later, it was re-built.

The tower of John II at Segovia

The approach from the direction of the cathedral brings the soaring edifice of the New Tower or Tower of John II of Castile into view. If you're supposing that a sight like this would make a medieval buff like me squeal like a little girl, you'd be absolutely right. I swear sometimes I was born in the wrong century. Of course, the entryway is accessed via a wooden bridge presumably replacing the drawbridge. Looking down on either side, there's moss growing in what must have been the moat. And here's where the dang blasted camera finally gave up the ghost. Crap! Again, you'll just have to follow along as I describe, or even better, go see it for yourself! You could do worse than spending a few hours exploring Segovia.

After a sharp turn, there's a short hallway featuring walls with a few wooden shields bearing heraldic colors and devices. A turn to the right takes you into the armory room which has, you guessed it, suits of armor, plus flags and pennons, more shields, cannon and mortar. There's even a mounted rider on a carpisoned horse. If this place doesn't stir your imagination of the medieval past, nothing will. Another turn leads you into what is called the throne room (didn't ask the guide how authentic that was). A red velvet canopy and curtains provide the backdrop for two ornamental chairs with velvet cushions. Interestingly enough, to me at least, the ceiling of this room mirrors some of the work found in the Alhambra. Further on, there is the Hall of Kings. The title is appropriate, as it has wall carvings of Spanish Kings and Queens from Pelagius of Austurias down to Queen Juana of the Mad claim, who was Ferdinand and Isabella's daughter. I specifically looked for the image of Alfonso X, as he is one of the adversaries of my protagonists in Sultana. The carving looked like all the other depictions of him that I have seen, except here he was older than in most paintings or statues. The cold wind blowing into this room made us hurry on to a smaller space, featuring a bed with a canopy and what looked like wall tapestries. Our guide informed us it was, in fact, a series of paintings.

In addition to being the place where Queen Isabella was crowned, Segovia is also the site where she spent some of her married life with Ferdinand of Aragon. Except for when they were afield campaigning against the Moors. As I walked the stonework floors they might have also trod, I couldn't help but wonder something. How much of the planning of the eventual overthow of the Nasrid Dynasty might have taken place behind these cold, masonry walls within the 'city of victory'? In the end, I was truly sorry to leave Segovia via the San Andres gate, but if my plans to live in Spain hold true, I know I'll be back.

Next Sunday, it's more pics and views from my trip in Portugal. I'll show you the fascinating stonework at the Jeronimos and Batalha monasteries, the ancient ramparts of medieval Obidos and tell you about a sickeningly sweet drink from ginja berries, the mystical wonder at the cathedral of Our Lady of Fatima and a perfect little coastal village called Nazare. Also, I'll let you in on a secret: the Portuguese make the BEST pastries and bread, and I have the proof. In pictures, of course.  Before I go, some other photos from Madrid.

Agricultural Ministry

Royal Palace / Eastern Palace

National Library

How could I forget? The mariachi band at Plaza del Sol



Fountain at the Plaza del Sol

Plaza Mayor

Fourth century Temple of Debod, a gift from the Egyptian people to Spain in 1968

Don Jamon's tapas bar, one of the best tilework facades

Thanks, as always, for stopping by the blog.

Being There: Avila

 

The medieval walls at Avila, with non-medieval people walking around

Taking a break from SampleSunday on Twitter. Instead, I wanted to devote a few posts to my recent trip to Spain and Portugal. It was one of the best and most memorable vacations I've had in a long time.

I haven't been in Spain since November 2001 and I'd been planning to return. It won't be another 10 years before I'm back. To truly paraphrase Gertrude Stein, Barbados and America are my countries, but Spain is my hometown. Considering that I still speak bastardized Spanish (enough to get me around without looking like an "ugly American" - more on that later!), people are often surprised by my affinity for Spain, its people and culture. Dependent on if I win the lottery or wait for retirement in an odd 30 years, if you want to look me up in the future, I'll be at a white-washed, two-storey house on the Cuesta de las Tomasas, in a hillside neighborhood in Granada called the Albaicin, enjoying an amazing view of the Alhambra every morning.

If you've ever noticed the header of this blog, "The adventures of a struggling New York writer who'd rather be in medieval Spain," you've probably figured out how much a tour of Avila meant to me. First off: getting there. In the comfort of a coach bus, somewhat bleary-eyed, I set off early on the morning of Friday, February 18, leaving the hotel in the urban Madrid town of Torrejon, which has an almost industrial complex feel to it.  

Atocha Station, Madrid. Yes, those are palms.

I headed for Atocha Station in central Madrid. Atocha is not only a metropolitan hub for the local train lines operated by RENFE; you can link to other transportation services throughout Spain. At left, what the people of Madrid think a train station should look like. Grand Central Station has nothing on Atocha.

After a few wrong turns (come on, it's impossible NOT to get lost when you speak a bastardized form of a beautiful language) and a little meandering, met up with the tour guide with the easily remembered name of Lisa. She pointed out various sites along the way as we began our drive down the Gran Via, which looks a lot like any congested street during an early morning commute. Traffic jam? Check. Great, I definitely feel right at home.

La Gran Via, on a normal traffic-clogged day


While Lisa (the tour guide, not me in some weird guise) talked about all the great things we would see on this day trip to Avila, with a second stop at Segovia (next Sunday's blogpost - stay tuned!), I forced myself to wake up and pay attention to my surroundings as we were leaving the city. I'd been in Spain since early Wednesday morning; 3am in New York City, I'll have you know, and had taken a tour bus that day to get acclimated to central Madrid. It is truly one of the most beautiful Spanish cities, home to the Prado Museum, which I'd managed to get a shot of the day before the trip to Avila. You can't tell from this shot but the line around the Prado was ridiculous. Why didn't I go in? If you know me, you know how much I love HATE waiting in long lines. Maybe the next trip to Spain will include a tour of the Prado. Is there like an off-season at that place? Sheesh.

Prado Museum, Madrid

If I wasn't such a medieval buff, I could have found myself happily enjoying the sights of Madrid alone, but part of why I'm so enthralled by this country is its early history. Another thing; Spain has the most fascinating contrasts of colors. Okay, let me stop right there. If I wanted to, I could probably come up with 100 things that make Spain super amazing, but if I had to tick off just a few, I'd start with it's history and geography. It's a land of varying browns, red ochre and greens. I'd never seen sage-green grass before but managed to get a shot of it on the later drive to Segovia, which doesn't quite do it justice. Still, you'd get the general idea. Spain is also a country of amazing mountainous views, with steps hills and wide valleys. The colors and terrain shifts as you move northward. Driving from Madrid up to Avila, you climb slowly, and those reds and browns become more startling. Then, you see this:


Snow-covered mountains on the way to Avila

Again, taking photos with my Blackberry's camera isn't going to quite do this vista justice, but it was truly one of the most amazing sights of the morning sun glinting off pristine, snow-capped mountains. Within 20 minutes, the tour bus was on the outskirts of our first stop.



Avila is one of Spain's oldest cities and, as our tour guide explained, has existed as a major settlement from pre-Roman times. After the Moors invaded Spain from North Africa, Avila remained in their hands until the late eleventh century. The plan for its medieval walls, which encircle the old city limits, started in 1090 to keep out future Moorish incursions. Avila is the birthplace of Saint Teresa, one of only three women recognized by the Catholic Church as a Doctor of the Church. It is also home to many religious monuments, including cathedrals and convents and the mini-palaces of the nobility. Sights include the Basilica of San Vincente, Monastery of Saint Thomas, San Jose Convent, San Juan Bautista Church and Los Davila Palace. A few shots around Avila follow.

Which way to Segovia? Oh, that way!

Next Sunday: Segovia, where Isabella of Castile was crowned and married Ferdinand of Aragon, a city of medieval stained glass and the Alcazar of the Spanish royals.

Thanks, as always, for stopping by the blog.
             



Avila's Medieval gateway

 



Entrance at Avila's 12th century Basilica de San Vicente



Another shot of the Basilica



 



Avila's cathedral tower



Cobblestone streets at Avila



Birth place of Saint Teresa of Avila