Research is fascinating, isn't it? I've been reading about the Tudor period in history since I was in my teens and yet, in writing the Luke Ballard stories, I am learning new things every day. The Sweating Sickness is a case in point. A writing friend asked exactly what it was and, despite me thinking I did know, when it came down to it, I had no idea.
It seems to have been a Tudor phenomenon, arriving for the first time in England in 1485 - the year of the Battle of Bosworth and the beginning of the Tudor dynasty. Its last recorded occurrence was in 1551, the year in which 'Treasons' is set.
For many years, I thought it synonymous with the plague, but it had symptoms all its own and was, in reality, much more rapid than the plague. People would die within three hours of its onset and if they lasted for 24 hours, they were considered past the danger point. One other interesting thing about the sickness was that it seemed to attack those who were gluttonous or drunks - those who enjoyed the pleasures of the table. There have been many theories as to what is actually was, one being hantovirus, but whilst the two diseases share some symptoms, the evidence is circumstantial.
The only treatment for it was to abstain from food, apply moderate heat, only drink a small quantity of "mild drink" and wait out the 24 hours. Those who were attacked in the daytime would immediately go to bed in their day clothes to avoid a chill. Those attacked at night stayed in bed. All were completely covered, not even exposing a hand or foot to the air.
The bodily matters that were expelled along with profuse perspiration gave rise to a horrible stench around those who were sick. From descriptions, it appears that these odours could have had an ammonia base, but they certainly caught in the throats of all who were near the stricken person. It is also fairly certain that it was not manual contact that spread the contagion, but breathing in these pestilential atmospheres that either surrounded the beds of the sick or were apparent in the tainted air of unventilated spaces.
Luke Ballard, Detective, Apothecary and Elemancer keeping the Tudors safe at Hampton Court Palace
Friday, 12 November 2010
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Birthing customs in Tudor England
In ‘Treasons’, Queen Madeleine is pregnant with Henry IX’s first child and the much-needed heir. It was the common belief that women were responsible for the sex of the unborn child. Men, of course, could not be seen to be anything other than the superior gender and the King, being the centre of the universe of the court, was the supreme symbol of manhood.
For many years, I have wanted to go back in time and tell Henry VIII the good news that the man’s chromosomes dictate the sex of the child and the mother has nothing to do with it. It would have been an interesting conversation.
In researching for the customs attendant on births in the Tudor era, I am indebted to David Cressy and his book “Birth, Marriage & Death: ritual religion and the life-cycle in Tudor and Stuart England”.
Royal and aristocratic birthrooms had to be snug, darkened and kept warm for the period of labour. One guide stated that the childbed woman “must be kept from the cold air because if is an enemy of the spermatical parts…and therefore the doors and windows of her chamber in any wise are to be kept close shut”.
The room would be hung with arras, tapestry hangings. In Hamlet, Polonius is stabbed whilst hiding behind an arras curtain. The doors would be guarded and the windows covered. It was believed that the woman’s mind would be distracted by light, so the room was designed to echo the womb by being warm, dark and comfortable, thus keeping evil spirits at bay.
The soon-to-be mother would be surrounded by female friends, called gossips – from the term god-sip, a sister in the Lord. In middle class houses, there was frequent complaint at the amount of money it took to feed and house all these women, but in royal circles, the gossips would be lodged nearby to the birthing chamber. Many priests, suspicious of this overwhelming femininity, would call for the pregnant woman to spend more time thinking about spiritual matters than being distracted by her friends. Not such a bad thing when many births ended with the death of the mother and the child.
When the time came for the Queen to retire to the chamber, she would be accompanied by all her ladies and gentlewomen, no man being permitted access. She would, in effect, be in purdah, until she had given birth and the father was presented with his newborn child.
Popular belief has maligned midwives as being drunken witches with few hygiene rules or otherwise painted them as having mystical ancient wisdom, countering patriarchal tyranny. Most midwives were respectable married women or widows who regularly attended church. They held a very important place in the household, being the only people who could touch the pregnant woman intimately. They would, in extremis, give the newborn baptism. It was also common for midwives to carry the baby to the font at its christening and attend the new mother at her churching – the purification and thanksgiving service for the new mother, celebrating her return to everyday life about six weeks after giving birth.
For many years, I have wanted to go back in time and tell Henry VIII the good news that the man’s chromosomes dictate the sex of the child and the mother has nothing to do with it. It would have been an interesting conversation.
In researching for the customs attendant on births in the Tudor era, I am indebted to David Cressy and his book “Birth, Marriage & Death: ritual religion and the life-cycle in Tudor and Stuart England”.
Royal and aristocratic birthrooms had to be snug, darkened and kept warm for the period of labour. One guide stated that the childbed woman “must be kept from the cold air because if is an enemy of the spermatical parts…and therefore the doors and windows of her chamber in any wise are to be kept close shut”.
The room would be hung with arras, tapestry hangings. In Hamlet, Polonius is stabbed whilst hiding behind an arras curtain. The doors would be guarded and the windows covered. It was believed that the woman’s mind would be distracted by light, so the room was designed to echo the womb by being warm, dark and comfortable, thus keeping evil spirits at bay.
The soon-to-be mother would be surrounded by female friends, called gossips – from the term god-sip, a sister in the Lord. In middle class houses, there was frequent complaint at the amount of money it took to feed and house all these women, but in royal circles, the gossips would be lodged nearby to the birthing chamber. Many priests, suspicious of this overwhelming femininity, would call for the pregnant woman to spend more time thinking about spiritual matters than being distracted by her friends. Not such a bad thing when many births ended with the death of the mother and the child.
When the time came for the Queen to retire to the chamber, she would be accompanied by all her ladies and gentlewomen, no man being permitted access. She would, in effect, be in purdah, until she had given birth and the father was presented with his newborn child.
Popular belief has maligned midwives as being drunken witches with few hygiene rules or otherwise painted them as having mystical ancient wisdom, countering patriarchal tyranny. Most midwives were respectable married women or widows who regularly attended church. They held a very important place in the household, being the only people who could touch the pregnant woman intimately. They would, in extremis, give the newborn baptism. It was also common for midwives to carry the baby to the font at its christening and attend the new mother at her churching – the purification and thanksgiving service for the new mother, celebrating her return to everyday life about six weeks after giving birth.
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
Royal Servants in Tudor times
The archetypical modern view of servants is that they are downtrodden, exploited souls who have no option but to run around after someone else. Even as recently as the First World War, though, the attitude to being 'in service' was very different. Yes, you may be on call from 6am - 11pm, but you had a safe home, all the food you needed and, in the main, employers appreciated you because they knew they could not function without you.
In Tudor times, servants had immense influence and, therefore, power. Although Henry VII, a very private man, learned the hard way that the fewer people he trusted the safer he was, his successor was a very different man. Whereas Henry VII surrounded himself with people of lower status to ensure that they would not get ideas above their stations, Henry VIII had a wide circle of friends, men of standing, who came from noble families. There were always Howards, Greys and Talbots at court, in capacities as gentlemen of the bedchamber and the various posts around the King's 'bathroom' activities. In Great Harry's court, they had to be linguists with exquisite social graces, as well as having military training.
The King was the centre of everything at court - the primate, in the same way as the Elizabethans regarded the sun as the primate of the heavens because it was the brightest star. So there would be plenty of scrabbling on and over rivals to obtain the choice places, even if that meant wiping the royal bottom and bathing the mountain of flesh that Henry became in his later years. Why? A perfect opportunity to ask for favours either for themselves or their families. The young Henry was known to be indulgent and, on more than one occasion, when he had agreed a course of action with a minister, would then be persuaded to change his mind by one of his close servants. This frequently enraged Cardinal Wolsey, but constant attendance upon the monarch bred a closeness that made saying no difficult at times.
So next time you wrinkle your nose at the thought of some unfortunate courtier having to carry out Henry's bodily waste, think on. The courtier in question might just have been promised a nice rich widow or an estate stripped from a traitor. Then again, your sympathy might well be justified, because, when it came to his sense of self, Henry was just as likely to execute men he had counted as friends from childhood, if he thought they had crossed the line.
In Tudor times, servants had immense influence and, therefore, power. Although Henry VII, a very private man, learned the hard way that the fewer people he trusted the safer he was, his successor was a very different man. Whereas Henry VII surrounded himself with people of lower status to ensure that they would not get ideas above their stations, Henry VIII had a wide circle of friends, men of standing, who came from noble families. There were always Howards, Greys and Talbots at court, in capacities as gentlemen of the bedchamber and the various posts around the King's 'bathroom' activities. In Great Harry's court, they had to be linguists with exquisite social graces, as well as having military training.
The King was the centre of everything at court - the primate, in the same way as the Elizabethans regarded the sun as the primate of the heavens because it was the brightest star. So there would be plenty of scrabbling on and over rivals to obtain the choice places, even if that meant wiping the royal bottom and bathing the mountain of flesh that Henry became in his later years. Why? A perfect opportunity to ask for favours either for themselves or their families. The young Henry was known to be indulgent and, on more than one occasion, when he had agreed a course of action with a minister, would then be persuaded to change his mind by one of his close servants. This frequently enraged Cardinal Wolsey, but constant attendance upon the monarch bred a closeness that made saying no difficult at times.
So next time you wrinkle your nose at the thought of some unfortunate courtier having to carry out Henry's bodily waste, think on. The courtier in question might just have been promised a nice rich widow or an estate stripped from a traitor. Then again, your sympathy might well be justified, because, when it came to his sense of self, Henry was just as likely to execute men he had counted as friends from childhood, if he thought they had crossed the line.
Friday, 1 October 2010
Historical notes behind the Luke Ballard books
It's all very well writing an alternate history, but, unlike novels set in an unknown future, it still has to have a sound historic base. I am pedantic enough - and passionate enough about history to require as many historical facts that fit my premise to be as accurate as I can make them. Not always easy given a 500 year time lapse and the known inaccuracies of some "historians".
In reality, Anne Boleyn miscarried the boy child who would have been born around July 1534. Most historians have agreed that Henry VIII tired of Anne's imperious ways and quick temper. He was heard after her execution to say he was tired of women trained in the French court, which, of course, Anne had been. He sought refuge with Jane Seymour - who, incidentally, as David Starkey points out, managed to obtain in 6 weeks what it took Anne to achieve in 6 years, namely the crown.
However, Dr Suzannah Lipscombe has published "1536: The year that changed Henry VIII" in which she puts forward a compelling argument that Henry did not tire of Anne at all and a contemporary poem supports her point of view. In a nutshell, Dr Lipscombe quotes sources saying that in the autumn and winter of 1535, Henry and Anne were "merry together"and that as late as April 1536, Henry manoeuvred Chapuys, the Spanish ambassador to bow to Anne, therefore recognising her as Queen. It appears that rumour of Anne's behaviour reached a high official - probably Thomas Cromwell - who took the matter to Henry. Henry was so stunned by the accusations that he would not at first believe them, but then ordered an investigation warning that if the accusers were wrong, they would suffer death. To fully appreciate Henry's shock, we must remember that a 16th century cuckold was thought to lack sexual dominance and, of course, this would be unthinkable for Henry. So we are left with the intriguing question in our minds. Was Anne thrown to the wolves because the investigators preferred that she should die rather than they be proved wrong? There is no doubt that Henry VIII felt desperately betrayed and that this set the seed for the bloody tyrant who developed in his last ten years.
In the Luke Ballard books, Anne safely delivered her son in July 1534 and he is now Henry IX. I have a passing reference to Cromwell attempting to catch Henry VIII's eye with Jane Seymour, but the plan miscarrying and Anne biding her time before turning the tables on Cromwell and having him executed. In reality, he was executed for being unable to release Henry VIII from the marriage with Anne of Cleves. Anne Boleyn in my world is an elemancer, an extension of the commonly held belief that she was a witch. I like to think that Dr Lipscombe is correct and that, until very shortly before her unjust execution, Henry and Anne were happy together. Since the age of 14, I have believed her completely innocent of the accusations made against her.
In reality, Anne Boleyn miscarried the boy child who would have been born around July 1534. Most historians have agreed that Henry VIII tired of Anne's imperious ways and quick temper. He was heard after her execution to say he was tired of women trained in the French court, which, of course, Anne had been. He sought refuge with Jane Seymour - who, incidentally, as David Starkey points out, managed to obtain in 6 weeks what it took Anne to achieve in 6 years, namely the crown.
However, Dr Suzannah Lipscombe has published "1536: The year that changed Henry VIII" in which she puts forward a compelling argument that Henry did not tire of Anne at all and a contemporary poem supports her point of view. In a nutshell, Dr Lipscombe quotes sources saying that in the autumn and winter of 1535, Henry and Anne were "merry together"and that as late as April 1536, Henry manoeuvred Chapuys, the Spanish ambassador to bow to Anne, therefore recognising her as Queen. It appears that rumour of Anne's behaviour reached a high official - probably Thomas Cromwell - who took the matter to Henry. Henry was so stunned by the accusations that he would not at first believe them, but then ordered an investigation warning that if the accusers were wrong, they would suffer death. To fully appreciate Henry's shock, we must remember that a 16th century cuckold was thought to lack sexual dominance and, of course, this would be unthinkable for Henry. So we are left with the intriguing question in our minds. Was Anne thrown to the wolves because the investigators preferred that she should die rather than they be proved wrong? There is no doubt that Henry VIII felt desperately betrayed and that this set the seed for the bloody tyrant who developed in his last ten years.
In the Luke Ballard books, Anne safely delivered her son in July 1534 and he is now Henry IX. I have a passing reference to Cromwell attempting to catch Henry VIII's eye with Jane Seymour, but the plan miscarrying and Anne biding her time before turning the tables on Cromwell and having him executed. In reality, he was executed for being unable to release Henry VIII from the marriage with Anne of Cleves. Anne Boleyn in my world is an elemancer, an extension of the commonly held belief that she was a witch. I like to think that Dr Lipscombe is correct and that, until very shortly before her unjust execution, Henry and Anne were happy together. Since the age of 14, I have believed her completely innocent of the accusations made against her.
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
Elemancers, Sunderers and Order
Just because my hero, Luke Ballard, is an elemancer - a magician who performs his magic using the elements - does not mean that he is all powerful. What a boring story it would be if he was! No, Luke must work within set parameters, precisely in the way that sunderers, mortal enemies of elemancers, do not.
All magic must be grounded in logic. Empedocles, born in 490BC, was a Greek philosopher who, some claimed could control the weather, destroy evil and cure old age. He established the four ultimate elements, fire, water, earth and air. Each elemancer in my books has a special affinity with one of these elements and it affects the way he/she is able to perform their magic. The elements are eternally united in love (elemancy) and perpetually torn apart by strife (asunder).
Mix this with the basic tenets of Elizabethan World Order and Chain of Being - the hierarchy of the universe ordained by God and the fundamentals of elemancy are born. Elemancers work for the good of mankind through the grace of God, to maintain the balance necessary for the world to function properly and for man to function within the world. Sunderers on the other hand work solely for personal power and to cause chaos and disorder.
The order of the universe was a recurring theme in Renaissance literature and many of Shakespeare's plays deal with the results of men's activities creating imbalance. Thus when Northumberland says in Henry IV Pt 2 'Let Order Die', the 16th century audience would have at once understood the depth of his grief for his dead son and heir and the strength of his desire for revenge.
The magic that Luke uses to maintain the cosmic balance is of the cause and effect variety. His spells gather data, information that will help his investigations, but which will not provide the answers as to whodunnit. As a balance to this way of magic, sunderers coerce their victims through threats and dark magic to obey.
This continual fight for balance is only part of the conflict that Luke must work with and through. He is part of a society where heedless gossip can easily lead to a spell in the Tower or worse. One of his main attributes is an unfailing sense of justice, especially for the poor and oppressed who, frequently innocent, are used as handy scapegoats for the crimes of the nobility. Will Luke ever come to terms with his loyalty to the King and his determination that the guilty, be they never so high, must and will be made to answer for their crimes?
All magic must be grounded in logic. Empedocles, born in 490BC, was a Greek philosopher who, some claimed could control the weather, destroy evil and cure old age. He established the four ultimate elements, fire, water, earth and air. Each elemancer in my books has a special affinity with one of these elements and it affects the way he/she is able to perform their magic. The elements are eternally united in love (elemancy) and perpetually torn apart by strife (asunder).
Mix this with the basic tenets of Elizabethan World Order and Chain of Being - the hierarchy of the universe ordained by God and the fundamentals of elemancy are born. Elemancers work for the good of mankind through the grace of God, to maintain the balance necessary for the world to function properly and for man to function within the world. Sunderers on the other hand work solely for personal power and to cause chaos and disorder.
The order of the universe was a recurring theme in Renaissance literature and many of Shakespeare's plays deal with the results of men's activities creating imbalance. Thus when Northumberland says in Henry IV Pt 2 'Let Order Die', the 16th century audience would have at once understood the depth of his grief for his dead son and heir and the strength of his desire for revenge.
The magic that Luke uses to maintain the cosmic balance is of the cause and effect variety. His spells gather data, information that will help his investigations, but which will not provide the answers as to whodunnit. As a balance to this way of magic, sunderers coerce their victims through threats and dark magic to obey.
This continual fight for balance is only part of the conflict that Luke must work with and through. He is part of a society where heedless gossip can easily lead to a spell in the Tower or worse. One of his main attributes is an unfailing sense of justice, especially for the poor and oppressed who, frequently innocent, are used as handy scapegoats for the crimes of the nobility. Will Luke ever come to terms with his loyalty to the King and his determination that the guilty, be they never so high, must and will be made to answer for their crimes?
Monday, 20 September 2010
When reality pokes its head above the parapet
Wasn’t it George Orwell who said in that brilliant but depressing book “Coming Up For Air” something like ‘you remember it all so perfectly and you remember it all wrong’?
Well that’s me at the moment. Having a complete scene in my head of Luke and Grace creeping from Henry IX’s apartments round the corner to Queen Madeleine’s rooms to examine the scene of the first murder, I realise after a few hundred words that I’ve got the geography the wrong way round. It doesn’t help, of course, that the Tudor royal apartments are no longer there – curse you, William III. In a way, though, it shouldn’t matter that much. But in my head, it does.
I’m going through one of those horrible phases when I am desperate to get on with the book and my head is teeming with characters, only to go blank, fingers poised over keyboard when I get there. I’ve always maintained that the only way to get through something like this is to keep the fingers tapping on the keyboard until you find the rhythm again. Having mapped out the general plot, I now need to just let my imagination and the characters take me where they want to go, but my brain is so stuffed full of unimportant stuff like what I’m cooking for dinner tonight and why my golden retriever has suddenly become very disobedient, that my usually disciplined writer’s head has been replaced by Mrs Thinkaboutanythingbutthebook Head. It doesn’t help when I meet the almost embarrassed old chap on the dog walk who can never think of anything to say but ‘written any more books lately?’
I have discovered one fabulous thing, though. Whoever wrote the words ‘if music be the food of love, play on’ was dead right. I can write moving dialogues of heart-rending prose to Craig Armstrong’s film music, especially the balcony scene of Romeo and Juliet. So, whenever I need my character to emote, it’s just a matter of flicking a switch and letting the music send my pen scribbling. Eric Whitacre’s music is brilliant for this, too, except that I sometimes find myself actively listening as well, which, whilst brilliant for the soul, is death to word counts.
So, I’ve figured that what I need to do is find the right music and Luke will stir from his enforced halt on the walk to the Queen’s apartments and begin moving his investigation forward.
Well that’s me at the moment. Having a complete scene in my head of Luke and Grace creeping from Henry IX’s apartments round the corner to Queen Madeleine’s rooms to examine the scene of the first murder, I realise after a few hundred words that I’ve got the geography the wrong way round. It doesn’t help, of course, that the Tudor royal apartments are no longer there – curse you, William III. In a way, though, it shouldn’t matter that much. But in my head, it does.
I’m going through one of those horrible phases when I am desperate to get on with the book and my head is teeming with characters, only to go blank, fingers poised over keyboard when I get there. I’ve always maintained that the only way to get through something like this is to keep the fingers tapping on the keyboard until you find the rhythm again. Having mapped out the general plot, I now need to just let my imagination and the characters take me where they want to go, but my brain is so stuffed full of unimportant stuff like what I’m cooking for dinner tonight and why my golden retriever has suddenly become very disobedient, that my usually disciplined writer’s head has been replaced by Mrs Thinkaboutanythingbutthebook Head. It doesn’t help when I meet the almost embarrassed old chap on the dog walk who can never think of anything to say but ‘written any more books lately?’
I have discovered one fabulous thing, though. Whoever wrote the words ‘if music be the food of love, play on’ was dead right. I can write moving dialogues of heart-rending prose to Craig Armstrong’s film music, especially the balcony scene of Romeo and Juliet. So, whenever I need my character to emote, it’s just a matter of flicking a switch and letting the music send my pen scribbling. Eric Whitacre’s music is brilliant for this, too, except that I sometimes find myself actively listening as well, which, whilst brilliant for the soul, is death to word counts.
So, I’ve figured that what I need to do is find the right music and Luke will stir from his enforced halt on the walk to the Queen’s apartments and begin moving his investigation forward.
Wednesday, 15 September 2010
What is a holiday?
Most people view a holiday as a time to get away from the domestic chores and routine. So did I until last week when we took a bus trip to Germany. I was away from the computer, away from the distractions of the Internet and e-mail and spending quite a lot of the time sitting on a bus.
It turned out to be a fantastic opportunity to just let my imagination play with the possibilities of 'Treasons'. The rest of the bus soon grew used to me scrabbling in my bag for the Moleskine notebook - thank you Writers' Forum - grabbing a pen and scribbling furiously. Quite often ideas came at mealtimes. The short-sighted obese man squinting at his food would make a wonderful self-important court official. The bent elderly eccentric, cutting up his food into tiny bites, the self-important woman preening as she looked around to see if anyone had more diamonds on than her. Once my bus companions found out I write, they did the usual 'don't put me in it' and 'there are plenty of people here for you to pick on'. I did listen with interest to one lady, whose grandparents had fled from Russia about how the Russians broke the spirits of the troublemakers in their prisons. That, too, will appear in some form in 'Treasons'.
The best bit about the whole experience - apart from the hotel pool and seeing the Mohne Dam - was the fact that I had ample opportunity to sit with Paul, drinking Stella and finally putting the bones of the plot together. Now I've done that, I need to concentrate on my 'family' of characters. So, here I sit in the Word Shed, the usual gales of the third week of September howling outside, Rufus asleep on the floor and I travel back to 1551, Hampton Court and Luke's apothecary shop....
It turned out to be a fantastic opportunity to just let my imagination play with the possibilities of 'Treasons'. The rest of the bus soon grew used to me scrabbling in my bag for the Moleskine notebook - thank you Writers' Forum - grabbing a pen and scribbling furiously. Quite often ideas came at mealtimes. The short-sighted obese man squinting at his food would make a wonderful self-important court official. The bent elderly eccentric, cutting up his food into tiny bites, the self-important woman preening as she looked around to see if anyone had more diamonds on than her. Once my bus companions found out I write, they did the usual 'don't put me in it' and 'there are plenty of people here for you to pick on'. I did listen with interest to one lady, whose grandparents had fled from Russia about how the Russians broke the spirits of the troublemakers in their prisons. That, too, will appear in some form in 'Treasons'.
The best bit about the whole experience - apart from the hotel pool and seeing the Mohne Dam - was the fact that I had ample opportunity to sit with Paul, drinking Stella and finally putting the bones of the plot together. Now I've done that, I need to concentrate on my 'family' of characters. So, here I sit in the Word Shed, the usual gales of the third week of September howling outside, Rufus asleep on the floor and I travel back to 1551, Hampton Court and Luke's apothecary shop....
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