Leman — A lover.
Long Sword — One of the periods most important military innovations, a double-edged sword almost forty five inches long, with a sharp, armour-piercing point and a simple cross guard and heavy pommel. The cross guard and pommel could be swung like an axe, holding the blade — some men only sharpened the last foot or so for cutting. But the main use was the point of the weapon, which, with skill, could puncture maille or even coats of plates.
Maille — I use the somewhat period term maille to avoid confusion. I mean what most people call chain mail or ring mail. The process was very labor intensive, as real mail has to have each ling either welded closed or riveted. A fully armoured man-at-arms would have a haubergeon and aventail of maille. Riveted maille was almost proof against the cutting power of most weapons — although concussive damage could still occur! And even the most strongly made maille is ineffective against powerful archery, spears, or well-thrust swords in period.
Malle — Easy to confuse with maille, malle is a word found in Chaucer and other sources for a leather bag worn across the back of a horse’s saddle — possibly like a round-ended portmanteau, as we see these for hundreds of years in English art. Any person traveling be he or she pilgrim or soldier or monk, needed a way to carry clothing and other necessities. Like a piece of luggage, for horse travel.
Partisan — A spear or light glaive, for thrusting but with the ability to cut. My favorite, and Fiore’s, was one with heavy side-lugs like spikes, called in Italian a ghiavarina. There’s quite a pretty video on YouTube of me demonstrating this weapon. .
Pater Noster — A set of beads, often with a tassle at one end and a cross at the other — much like a modern rosary, but straight rather than in a circle.
Pauldron or Spaulder — Shoulder armour.
Prickers — Outriders and scouts.
Rondel Dagger — A dagger designed with flat round plates of iron or brass (rondels) as the guard and the pommel, so that, when used by a man wearing a gauntlet, the rondels close the space around the fingers and make the hand invulnerable. By the late 14th century, it was not just a murderous weapon for prying a knight out of plate armour, it was a status symbol — perhaps because it is such a very useless knife for anything like cutting string or eating. .
Sabatons — The ‘steel shoes’ worn by a man-at-arms in full harness, or full armour. They were articulated, something like a lobster tail, and allow a full range of foot movement. They are also very light, as no fighter would expect a heavy, aimed blow at his feet. They also helped a knight avoid foot injury in a close press of mounted melee — merely from other horses and other mounted men crushing against him.
Sele — Happiness or fortune. The sele of the day is the saint’s blessing.
Shift — A woman’s innermost layer, like a tight fitting linen shirt at least down to the knees, worn under the kirtle. Women had support garments like bras, as well.
Tow — The second stage of turning flax into linen, tow is a fiberous, dry mass that can be used in most of the ways we now use paper towels, rags — and toilet paper. Biodegradable, as well.
Yeoman — A prosperous countryman. Yeoman families had the wealth to make their sons knights or squires in some cases, but most yeoman’s sons served as archers, and their prosperity and leisure time to practice gave rise to the dreaded English archery. Only a modestly well-to-do family could afford a six foot yew bow, forty or so cloth yard shafts with steel heads, as well as a haubergeon, a sword, and helmet and perhaps even a couple of horses all required for some military service.
PROLOGUE
Calais, June, 1381
Evening was falling.
The air was soft enough for a man to stand outside clad only in his shirt, but winter’s arm had been dreadful and long and the bite of a chill was close. Men took advantage of it to stand in the inn’s yard and exchange blows with swords against bucklers, or to wrestle, or just to lift stones. When one of the inn’s young women went to the well, every male head turned, but there was a discipline to their postures and their tongues that went with the matching jupons and the warlike equipment.
The inn-yard gate began to open, and the men in the yard stiffened at the sound of heavy hooves striking the cobbles.
An old archer put his flask of wine behind his leather bag on the ground and gave a sharp whistle. Most of the activity in the yard came to a stop, but two pages continued to wrestle, and a tall squire put his boot into a wrestler’s hip.
‘Sir William!’ he hissed.
The gates came back against their wrought-iron hinges. The innkeeper, a prosperous middle-aged man who could have passed for a gentle in any town in Europe, appeared in the yard, hat in hand. He bowed as Sir William Gold entered the yard, six feet and a little of scarlet wool and black, topped by hair that, though going grey, still maintained a sheen of copper. Behind him, his body squire, John de Blake, carried his sword and helmet.
The innkeeper took the knight’s horse. ‘Vespers any moment, Sir William,’ he said. He nodded at the men in the yard.
‘Thanks, Master Ricard,’ Sir William said, and swung down from his horse. ‘Do I smell apples?’
Master Ricard grinned. ‘Apple pies, my lord. That have been making all the day. Last autumn had a fine crop.’ In Calais — the jewel in the English Crown of mainland possessions — Master Ricard’s Flemish-English was the norm, not the broad Midlands accent that William Gold used.
‘Well, it will have to wait until after Vespers,’ Sir William said. He looked around the yard, eyes passing easily over two young pages, who stood bashfully rubbing their hips and glaring at each other. ‘I’m sure you will all join me?’
A bell — from the church whose back wall overhung the inn yard — began to ring, carrying easily in the evening air.
‘Was your meeting at the castle … productive?’ Master Ricard asked carefully.
‘Hmm,’ Sir William replied. He saw movement coming out of the inn’s main door and he inclined his head. ‘Master Chaucer.’
‘Sir William,’ the other man answered. He was thinner — almost lean — in the rich black of a prosperous merchant, but wearing a heavy-bladed basilard, the mark of a fighting man in most circles, and as he exchanged bows with the red-haired knight they might have been a mastiff and a greyhound.
Chaucer bowed, a tiny smile lingering around his lips, as if he found something funny but was too well bred to mention it. ‘May I join you for church?’
‘Please!’ Sir William said. He took the other man’s arm and they walked to the gate, the men-at-arms and archers in the yard falling in behind them in order of rank — military rank, and in some cases social rank. John de Blake was a fully armed squire, outranking the pages and counting as a man-at-arms; but his social origins outranked those of most of the other men in the company, and he fell in behind his master. And the company’s master archer did not fall in at the head of the archers, but instead came last of all, using his will and his fists to move the slow and the unlucky past the long brick wall and into the nave of the church — the long, high nave.