Got Medieval

A[n intermittently updated] tonic for the slipshod use of medieval European history in the media and pop culture.

Welcome, PC Magazine Readers (all seven of you)  

A helpful reader clued me in on Got Medieval's latest accolade, of which I was hitherto unaware.  It seems that Got Medieval was just named one of PC Magazine's Top 100 blogs.*


See, there it is, right between the Google System blog and I Has a Hotdog.**  As far as I can tell, mine is the only blog on the list written by an academic. So take that, Top 100 Liberal Arts Professor Blogs.  I don't need you.  I'm in the same league as Failblog and Garfield Minus Garfield.

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*They wussed out and went alphabetical for the top 100, naturally.  I imagine it was so that Wil Wheaton wouldn't feel so bad.  Keep that chin up, former boy genius.  Young you got to make out with young Ashley Judd, so what does it matter that old you's blog totally got pwnd by mine, anyway?
**Ah, the thrilling majesty of a screenshot of a screenshot.

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Holiday Sales Report  

Greetings Investors,

I am pleased to report that Got Medieval Enterprises posted a record profit this year, due in no small part to our lack of records for years previous.  Nevertheless, if we extrapolate this year's growth forward, by this time next year I fully expect to be writing my yearly report from an exotic foreign resort where my every need is attended by serving staff as professional as they are well-endowed.  Coconut shell bikini tops and grass skirts may factor in, but this will depend upon larger trends in the world economy.  There will, of course, be a paper umbrella in my drink, unless a prolonged recession sets in, in which case I will settle for a plastic novelty cup of some sort.  Perhaps a volcano.

GME's strong performance over the past year rests primarily its dominance, as always, of the monkey and poop markets.  By synergizing these two traditional areas of strength we were able to leverage our way into the far more lucrative monkey-poop market.  Thus, the best-selling item in our CafePress store for fiscal 2008 was the Monkey and the Bishop Magnet, surpassing even the Drunk Monkeys upon which our great business was founded so long ago.


I would not suggest we abandon our traditional core product line in favor of this year's darling, however.  Data from the end of the year suggests that as the American credit market continues to experience uncertainty people will become less interested in such scatological fare.  This is evidenced, or so the boys in marketing keep telling me, by the surprising success of our Angelic Magnet.  

Hastily thrown together one night by our VP in charge of procrastination and dropped on the CafePress store with no ad support, this magnet sold nearly as well as the drunken monkeys, representing the number three seller overall.  If the monkey labor union should ever get off the ground--and under an Obama presidency, this is a serious concern--we may have to look into expanding our angelic offerings.  Angels, as you all are no doubt well aware, work for scale to avoid the appearance of conflicts of interest with their traditional employer's stock portfolio.

In conclusion, GME should weather the coming uncertainty well, so long as we retain our commitment to our core product areas while simultaneously prioritizing new development.  It has been my great honor to shepherd GME through 2008, and I predict nothing but success in the year ahead.

Yours,
C.S. Pyrdum
The Guy What Has the Blog
Got Medieval

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Occupational Hazards of the Medieval Stripper (Mmm... Marginalia)  

This week's marginal image comes from Bodleian Library MS Douce 62, a late fourteenth century Italian book of hours:



As you can see, it's a naked lady* talking to a monkish grotesque.  I rather doubt there's anything theologically significant about it, but I imagine their conversation goes a little something like this:

MONK: ...and then then they made me their chief.
NAKED LADY: Yes, yes, a very witty story, and I'm certainly glad I heard it from the beginning rather than being teased with just the ending, but I can't help asking if that is a second head growing out of your... well, out of your whatever is going on down there.
MONK: It might be, or I might just be glad to see you.
NAKED LADY: Ah.  Yes.  I see.  Is that a monk growing out of your crotch, or are you just glad to see me? Is that it?
MONK: Don't be silly.  He's never taken holy orders.  

An odd way to close out Mmm... Marginalia for 2008, I'll admit, but all the medieval-porn-seeking Googlers will be happy.  I may have finally delivered.

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*And though the illuminator made a general mess of her head, he was fairly attentive to the anatomical detail elsewhere on the naked lady, as you can see if you click to expand the image.

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Merry Christmas  

Of the 172 nativity scenes catalogued in the Bodleian's online medieval image database, this one is my favorite:*


I like it because the artist is mindful that oxen and asses have to eat, even on days when the dear Savior is being born.  And since the angel of the Lord there on the right is too busy playing mood music** and Mary has her hands full with baby Jesus, it falls to Joseph to see to the animals' fodder.  Good old reliable Joseph.

Merry Christmas, readers.  I'll be on hiatus until the New Year.  Catch you after the holidays.

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*It's from MS Douce 185, which also contains the six lions I discussed a few weeks back.
**And is also apparently distracted by some marginalia in the upper margin that I helpfully cut in half when I cropped the image.

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Short and Sweet (Mmm... Marginalia)  

I've resolved to try to keep Mmm... Marginalia shorter and sweeter* in the New Year, so here's a little something from a manuscript I've looked at before, the Pierpont Morgan Library's MS G24 (a mid-14th century French collection of 13th-century verse romances), that requires little explanation:


Just a dog-headed teacher lecturing his class made up of six disembodied fox-heads growing out the back of a gryllus's head.**

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*With 20% more kapowza and only trace amounts of filler.
**You see, it's funny because I indicated initially that the image was going to be something very easy to understand, even though it clearly is not.  Comedy gold!***
***And that footnote is funny because it acts as though something easy to understand requires a lot of explanation.  Double gold!

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Internet Source: Middle Ages Hardly Awesome  

Today is a day for linking, apparently.  Via Boingboing, I came across the "Periodic Table of Awesoments", a listing of the fundamental components of awesomeness.  The table confirms what several commenters here have said: Trebuchets are awesome.  Fundamentally awesome, it would appear.



Sadly, little else medieval made the awesoment cut, unless ninjas count. Perhaps medievalia tends to arise primarily in compounds. Or is that awesomounds?

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Penny Arcade's Inferno II: (Not Electric Boogaloo)  

At Penny Arcade yesterday, this gem, about medieval man about town Dante Alighieri:


Silly webcomiteers, the sequel to Inferno is the Purgatorio. Now, while I'm linking web humor, read this take on end-of-semester evaluations from Something Awful.

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These Three Kings (Mmm... Marginalia)  

Christmas is swiftly approaching, so this week's edition of Mmm... Marginalia presents two sets of three kings, with some extra shepherds abiding in their fields just because I'm nice.  The first is found in a 13th-century Flemish manuscript now held by the Koninklijke Bibliotheek, where it adorns the bottom margin:


Just to be clear, the king on the far left is shielding his eyes against the brilliance of the star, not holding his nose.  

Now, if we zoom out a bit, we can see the star that so blinds him, as well the aforepromised shepherds.  


The star is positioned so that it's almost the period to the sentence beginning Verbum caro factum est... or "The Word was made Flesh," referring to that certain manger-dweller that some people today chidingly remind other people* is "the reason for the season."  Medieval Christians were, of course, quite clear that they were celebrating the birth of Christ, the Word, and the anniversary of his Incarnation, and lots of other things that required capital letters when you write them out.  The dude with the red suit just didn't factor into it.  But this does not mean that medieval folk were always as stodgy and solemn about this time of year as the people who mutter about wars on Christmas might have you believe.  I am almost certain that if tacky icicle lights had been invented, the medievals would have tacked them all over the cathedrals for their Christmas masses. 

In other words, just because something was sacred doesn't mean that people in the Middle Ages couldn't have fun with it.  This brings me to the second set of three kings, these found in the lower margin of  Shcaffhausen Stadtbibliothek MS Gen. 8, a fourteenth-century copy of the "Klosterneuburger Evangelienwerk," a German vernacular Bible:



I had originally intended to discuss the way that the artist depicts the passage of time by showing each of the three kings at a different point in the journey*--but then I took a closer look at Joseph on the far right, who's just a lot more fun:  


This is a Joseph we moderns almost never see, one who looks pretty dubious about the story he finds himself written into, the look on his face as he stares down at his adopted holy son sort of a cross between "well I'll be damned" and "now what am I supposed to do?"  Here's a closeup:


You can't help but feel for the guy.  He's old enough to have to walk with a cane (for Chrissake) and now he's expected to change the diapers of this glowing-headed baby.

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*These people being "preachers on the radio" and "me" respectively.  Macon has apparently limitless reserves of Christian radio programming and no good alternative stations.
**Because I grow increasingly dull in my old age.

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Chaucer's Culinary Legacy?  

A reader tipped me off to this bizarre paragraph in an article in last month's New York Times called "England's Culinary Wild West":

Mr. Fearnley-Whittingstall hasn’t gone so far as to use blood as a flooring ingredient, but almost nothing goes to waste. In the kitchen, sheep’s intestines are soaking in cold water for making sausage, and the fridge is a Chaucerian chamber of innards.

Attention, media. I'm willing to cut you a little slack on the word "medieval" if you keep your grubby little hands off Mr. Geoffrey Chaucer. And don't tell me you needed him for the alliteration. Dude was a poet and a pencil pusher for the Plantagenets, not some battle-axe brandishing barbarian. He's no byword for brutality, that's all I'm saying.

Unless, perhaps, you meant to indicate that Chaucer was overly fond of sausage--then we'd be cool. Chaucer loved a good fat joke at his expense.

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CafePress Shipping Deadlines  

For anyone wanting a medieval marginal monkey to put under the Christmas tree or into one of those socks you put by the fireplace, you'd best step to it if you want it to arrive before the fat man is on the roof.


For US Customers, the deadlines are:
  • December 10th for Economy Shipping
  • December 15th for Standard Shipping
  • December 20th for Premium Shipping
  • December 22nd at noon for 1 Day Shipping
For Canadians and Britishers:
  • December 11th for Standard Shipping
  • December 18th for Express Shipping
For everyone else:
  • December 16th for Express Shipping
If anyone wants a $5 off coupon, you can drop me a line through my Contact form above and include the email address you'll be ordering from.  I have five available from my last order.

[UPDATE 12/10] Coupons are all gone.

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Recently Medieval  

It's hard being a medievalist.  You have to read so much to stay abreast of your field.  And it's not just Speculum and Highlights Magazine;* new discoveries are being made every day.  Here are a few things recently deemed medieval around the world that medievalists must now become expert on:

  • Wearing bright orange vests while doing community service -- According to Liberty, a UK human rights group, a new policy forcing people sentenced to community service to wear flourescent bibs that say "Community Payback" while paying back the community is nothing more than "medieval justice," as cruel and unusual as forcing them into stocks.  I agree.  Wearing a vest is completely like being locked up so you're unable to move.  Except for the part where you can move.
  • Austrian girl-on-girl full-mouth kissing, bans upon -- According to an Austrian political action group, a recent ban on some 14-year-old girls' new habit of "theatrically falling into each other's arms and kissing each other on the mouth, sometimes very intimately and for many minutes" reflects an "outdated, medieval world-view." Apparently, the girls were threatening a "kiss-in" in response to the headmaster's belief that he was a "monarch who can impose [his] ridiculous values on pupuls." I'd never considered what, say, Henry II thought of underaged girls playing at lesbianism at school and now I have to, or they'll never give me the keys to the executive medievalist washroom at Kalamazoo.
  • Charging rent by the quarter rather than by the month -- This most medieval of practices was apparently still going on in the UK until just last month. 
  • Walking prisoners across the street -- Can prisoners not catch a break?  In Yolo County, California, prisoners are subjected to the "medieval... ludicrous and dangerous" shame of having to walk across the street from the holding tank to the courthouse, because said "medieval" courthouse--built in 1917!--lacks onsite jail facilities.  I can only hope that the definition of medieval isn't further expanded to include all buildings built in 1917 or I'm really going to have to start waking up earlier.
Sorry to add to your workload, everybody, and right in the middle of exam season, too.

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*Stay tuned for my paper on the shocking Cistercian slant to the theology found in Goofus and Gallant. I'm planning on building a panel at Leeds around it.

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Six Lions Lying Around (Mmm... Marginalia)  

For the sixth day of Christmas,* Got Medieval gives to you six lions laying lying around (in the bottom margin):


The two-page spread above is from Bodleian Library MS Douce 185,*** a peculiar little fourteenth-century Cistercian Sermologium made in the border region between Germany and Switzerland. As you can see, the illuminator here has used borders along the top margin and columns to evoke the outline of a cathedral, turning the whole page into one compound decoration. At the bottom of the compound, holding everything up, are six little lions.  (They are a little hard to see at this resolution, so either click the above image to zoom, or keep on reading.)

Starting in the lower left corner, we have this bemused-looking lion whose tail provides a perch for a marginal violinist:

To his right, we find a lazy lion, curled up like a housecat, and to his right, another musician-supporting lion, this one with a flutist in tow.   


Because he's in the crease between the two pages, it's hard to make out without an extreme closeup, but this third lion is much less tolerant of his human parasite, his expression something along the lines of, "Good God, man, you do realize that that is my tail, don't you?"  By contrast, the fourth lion on the page is completely obvlivious to his musical companion and instead seems to be contemplating taking a bite of the acanthus leaf decoration attached to the column on his back.  The lion to his right is hungry, too, but seems to be considering the words, instead.  


Or, possibly, he's thirsty and preparing to "drink" the word 'liquide' immediately above him and to the left. His tongue is hanging out, after all.

That leaves us with one final lion on the far right who has a dancing maiden on his tail:


I might be reading too much into his expression, but he seems to me a bit happier about his tail-borne companion than the lions with musicians, sort of a "Hey there, baby, check out the column on my back. Impressive, eh? Say, what are you doing once that monk out there flips the page? I know this charming little restaurant. The head waiter is a bishop with a rooster's head where his private parts should be, but he's totally cool. Let's say I pick you up around eight?"

Incidentally, if you were wondering, the main historiated initial on the left hand page is of the Annunciation. That's Mary on the right and the archangel Gabriel there on the left. The scroll he's holding is the medieval-equivalent of a comic-strip dialogue balloon. It reads, "Ave gratia plena dominus tecum benedicta tu," or "Hail (Mary), full of grace, God is with you, you are blessed."

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*Oh, and by the way, you're not allowed to read this post until December 31st, the sixth day of Christmas.**
**This is why you've got to check the footnotes, people.
***Why so many Douce manuscripts in Mmm... Marginalia? Mr. Douce was an avid collector of medieval illuminated manuscripts, possibly the most active and successful ever.  You could spend a career just studying manuscripts he bought.

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Hemp and Hops, Together at Last  

Looks like Andrew Sullivan is getting medieval... in a good way. He recently posted an image from the Bodleian Library's MS Ashmole 1431, apparently a late 11th/early 12th century manual of herbal medicinal use that includes canapus silvaticus, aka "dry hempe," aka "The Assassin of Youth." That's right, I'm tallking about muggles, Indiana ditchweed, snop, vipe, Alice B. Toklas,* the infamous giggle smoke.


In other words, people in the Middle Ages--not necessarily very many people, but some people in the vicinity of Canterbury literate in Latin and able to afford a fancy illustrated manuscript--were aware of the medicinal benefits of marijuana.  From the Ashmole guide, Sullivan concludes: 
Decriminalizing cannabis would not be a radical departure from the norm of human history. It would be a return to it.
This blog is officially neutral on the subject of drug decriminalization, but it is very positive on the idea of driving some High Times-originating web traffic its way.  So, I poked around the Ashmole collection a little more, and what do you know, I found this:


The image comes from a Tudor pattern book (MS Ashmole 1504).  A pattern book is exactly what it sounds like it'd be--a handy visual reference guide to things a manuscript illuminator (in this case, one living in the sixteenth century) might want to draw.  As you can see above, thanks to a happy accident of alphabetization, the vegetative sources of two of man's great vices occupy the same page in the pattern book: hemp and hops.**  It's a tee-shirt waiting to happen, it is.

[Update] Actually, glancing over the rest of the book, it seems it's not arranged strictly alphabetically. Instead, the pages are grouped thematically, then alphabetized within the theme.  The image above is preceded in the manuscript by two medicinal w's (weybrode [now called plantago] and wyld tansy) and followed by two stout arborial a's (alder and aspen trees).  In other words, this page was probably intentionally meant to depict something we might label "two high-producing plants starting with h."

In fact, since it seems that the use of hops was something of a scandal in England around the same time this pattern book was produced, we might even further label this picture "two illicit high-producing h's."  Apparently, hops were a controlled substance in England around the turn of the sixteenth century, banned for use by common ale brewers (but not beer brewers) because they were seen as a "wicked and pernicious weed."*** 

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*I really hope this slang is still in use somewhere.  Gertrude Stein's lover's name being casually dropped by potheads thrills me to no end.
**Or hempe and hoppis, to use the original spelling.
***Like all good quotes, the truth of the matter is more complicated, and there's a fair amount of qualification that needs to be made.  Go elsewhere for that.

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The Mystery of Ælfgyva (Mmm... Tapestry Marginalia)  

This week, I thought I'd write a bit about a more famous bit of marginalia than I usually tackle.  This guy:


A lot of scholarly ink has been spilled trying to explain what this naked guy is doing standing so brazenly in the lower margin of the famous Bayeux Tapestry, right underneath a woman and a clerk who are labeled "ubi unus clericus et Ælfgyva," or (loosely translated) "Look here! It's a clerk and Ælfgyva":


Clearly, there's something interesting going on here.  Ælfgyva is the only named woman in the entire Tapestry,* and there's a naked guy standing right under her with his little naked guy standing out for all to see. But just what is going on is a question that has divided scholars for a long time.

It would help if we could figure out who Ælfgyva is supposed to be.  Her name means "Elf-Gift," which is a pretty name used for lots of Anglo-Saxon women, including those who are also called something else.  I think it must have been the medieval equivalent of how hip dudes in the 1950s  used to call all attractive women "Kitten."**  Some scholars with better eyesight than I can see a hint of a pink veil over her face, so many, many brides and bethrotheds of various Anglo-Saxon and Norman nobles have been suggested over the years.  None of these bridal candidates, however, quite explains the naked man under her.  So other scholars, looking for a lady a touch more naughty, have suggested various mistresses of other Anglo-Saxon and Norman nobles. 

The problem with the mistress angle is that none of them have anything to do with the story being told on either side of the mysterious robed woman.  Immediately before Ælfgyva and her clerk we have William and Harold meeting at court after William secures Harold's release from Guy of Ponthieu, a Norman noble who captured Harold after his ship was run aground in his territory.   On the other end, immediately after the mysterious lady, the Tapestry turns to William and Harold riding out together to scourge Conan (not the barbarian, sadly) and the rebels in Brittany, a Norman province.  

It's fairly clear to me that we are meant to take Ælfgyva as a part of the same narrative chunk as the meeting.  The scene is flanked on either side by castles, which, in the Tapestry-maker's visual lingo, means that it's all one piece.

So that brings us right back to where we started, our conspicuously naked marginal man.  Or, should I say "men"?  If we zoom out a little more in the picture, we can see that there's another naked guy immediately before Ælfgyva's, this one holding an adz (the image should expand if you click it--it's kind of thin, I know):


And now let's zoom in on our naked adz-wielding man:


In addition to being an excellent Scrabble word, an adz (or adze) is a tool for smoothing down wood.  According to Wikipedia, the user of an adz usually stands astride the wood being smoothed and pulls the adz towards him, exactly the sort of motion one would not want to make while naked, if you ask me.  The potential for self-Bobbiting is, I think, clear, and also suggests to me the beginnings of an interpretation of the two naked men in question that, to my knowlege, nobody else has suggested.***  

I believe we are meant to see the man using medieval power-tools in close proximity to his junk as handy shorthand for Harold's state of mind in the scene above.  At this point in the Tapestry's story, Harold has pretty much jumped out of the proverbial frying pan and into the less proverbial sharp blade near one's danglies.  Guy of Pothieu, the man who first captured Harold, was just a minor noble who had the good fortune to own the territory that Harold's ship got shipwrecked upon.  When Willaim subsequently comes along and buys his freedom, Harold is suddenly beholden to a much more powerful man.  Negotiating his way out of that mess is going to be tricky.  Perhaps as tricky as woodworking while your willy is hanging out. 

The second naked marginal man, on the other hand, has his legs parted and his willy on display, as if to say, "Hey, look at me! I managed to use that adz without becoming a castrado, thank you very much!"****  And what do you know, in the next scene, Harold has managed to talk his way out of his predicament.  He now rides out with William as an ally to fight Conan.

Explaining why Ælfgyva is relevant to this bit of fast-talking on Harold's part is a little harder.  Maybe the veil-spotters are right, and Harold just betrothed one of his sisters to William (or betrothed himself to one of William's sisters) in exchange for his freedom. 

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*I suppose an optimist might say that clearly women are more important than men to the Tapestry's architect, since a full 50% of them are named, as compared with the much smaller percentage of named men.  The only other woman depicted in the Tapestry is a mother leading her child away from the thatched-roof cottage that the looting Norman knights have just burninated.  
**Or so Hollywood has led me to believe.
***That's right, kids, this post is veering into "Actual Scholarship™" territory.  I apologize to the readers who come here exclusively for monkeys with trumpets on their butts. Hey, at least he's naked, right?
****"Also, I have this smooth board, if anyone's interested. And what do you mean you don't want it if touched my Tom Johnson? Don't be so square, daddio."*****
*****Also, the naked guy is from the '50s.  Weird, I know.

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Welcome to December  


Remember those happy acorn-feasting swine from November?  I'm sad to say that their time is up.  According to medieval calendars, December is the time to slaughter your swine and to make your sausage with their innards.


Notable medieval dates in December include:
  • December 1st, 1167 -- The Lombard League is founded, uniting the city-states of northern Italy against Frederick I.
  • December 4th, 771 -- King Carloman dies, his Austrasian kingdom passing to some "Charlemagne" character.
  • December 5th, 1484 -- Pope Innocent VIII issues Summis desiderantes, kicking off the German Inquistion, which the Pythons failed to write a sketch about, but which did ultimately produce the Malleus Maleficarum.
  • December 11th, 1282 -- Llywelyn the Last, the last native Prince of Wales, is killed.  A tragedy, surely, but when you name your son Llywelyn the Last, what do you expect?
  • December 12th, 1098 -- The Massacre of Ma'arrat al-Numan.  Crusaders kill 20,000 and, reportedly, eat a few of them when food runs low.
  • December 18th, 1271 -- Kublai Khan renames his empire "Yuan," though probably not from a stately pleasure-dome.  In related news, honey-dew and Paradise milk futures shoot through the roof.
  • December 25th is a good day for being crowned: Charlemagne is crowned the Holy Roman Emperor in 800;  Stephen I, King of Hungary in 1000; William the Bastard, King of England in 1066; Baldwin of Boulogne, King of Jerusalem in 1100; and Roger of Sicily, King of Siciliy in 1130.
  • December 28th, 1065 -- Westminster Abbey is consecrated.
  • December 29th, 1170 -- Thomas Becket, the turbulent priest, assassinated.  

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