800 years ago today, one of the most important battles in European history was fought outside the tiny village of Bouvines in northern France. King John I of England (that’s the bad guy from the Robin Hood stories) tried to conquer France, which was under the control of King Philip II. A coalition of soldiers from the Holy Roman Empire, England, and Flanders attacked the smaller French army at Bouvines, but the coalition army was exhausted after a long march and they were decisively routed despite a significant numerical advantage. The badly weakened and humiliated John I was soon forced by his nobles to sign the Magna Carta, which checked the powers of the English monarchy. The opposite occurred in France, where the victory consolidated power in the French crown.
In celebration of the 800th anniversary, the village of Bouvines presented a sound & light show reenacting the battle and the events that led to it. My family was visiting, and along with a few members of the Laurenty family, we got to see the show. The actors were speaking French and I only caught some of what they said, but through noticing leitmotifs in the accompanying score I learned that both Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien and House Lannister of Casterly Rock were involved somehow. Highlights of the spectacle included a joust, lots of fighting, and a guy who I’m pretty sure was Robert Baratheon beating the hell out of his prisoner, the Duke of Flanders, for five minutes straight.
Isaac, Graziella, and Julian stage an intervention about my baguette habit.
But in addition to the sound and light show there was a medieval fair filled with all sort of wonderful medieval things. Medieval booths sold medieval food, a medieval blacksmith showed small children how to forge a lumpy medieval nail, and a medieval band played medieval songs on a medieval electric guitar. There was a guy demonstrating medieval weapons and armor, so of course we headed over to take a look. Graziella, Isaac, Julian, and I donned and armed ourselves with swords and axes. Then, because they are terrible people, they attacked me mercilessly.
The medieval precursor to the Michelin Man was a character named “Gambeson Guy”.
With friends like these, I decided it was time for a coat of chain mail. Whenever anybody talks about chain mail they emphasize how heavy it is. It’s true – it’s certainly not light – but when you wear it the weight is spread out across your shoulders and it’s not too bad. But underneath the mail you wear a quilted garment called a gambeson to protect against shock and abrasion. It’s thick, it restricts movement, and above all, it’s hot. I put this thing on in the early evening after a day that had been cool all along, and within seconds I was sweltering. I can’t imagine wearing that four hours on end in the hot sun, while running around and swinging an axe or sword or whatever. (In fact, this was one of the factors that led to the disastrous French defeat at Agincourt in 1415. French soldiers were so exhausted after charging several hundred yards to the English lines that they were unable to get back up if were knocked over, and many suffocated in their armor.) With a mail hood on my head, the nasal helm no longer fit me, so I was upgraded to the great helm. It looks awesome, but you can’t see a damn thing, and breathing doesn’t seem to have been a big priority for the designers. But it was enough to allow me to take my revenge.
Hum epic music as you look at this picture.
Uh-oh
Once the chaos of hand-to-hand combat ended, the real challenge began: removing the chain mail. I raised my arms and leaned forward, and my trusty squires got to work. The mail coat slipped up off my body and around my head, enveloping me in darkness. And then it stopped. It turns out that I have a very large head (it’s all the brains, undoubtedly) and the mail simply didn’t want to let go. I finally appreciated the full weight of the thing when it was all draped around my head, trying its best to pull me to the ground. But thanks to the help of my trusty squires we were able to remove it without resorting to decapitation. I remember flailing blindly in darkness, the sensation of metal rings slowly slipping over my skull, and then finally a sound like a cork being pulled from a bottle as my head popped free. Blinking in the sudden light, I looked up to see a crowd of thirty people who had gathered to watch the excitement.
Having survived my ordeal with the chain mail, I was given a pair of mail mittens (these ones fit quite nicely, thankfully) and invited to a lesson in the use of the two-handed great sword.
The armorer taught me a few blocks and we ran through a series of strikes. In the last move he showed me, he swiped his sword sideways to block my downward blow, knocking aside my blade with his hilt. He pivoted, punching his pommel toward my face, and it was curtains for me.
This was not the first time Bouvines has commemorated the battle. One hundred years ago, on the 700th anniversary, the village installed stained-glass windows depicting the French victory in their church. The fact that much of the defeated coalition army was German was not lost on the village, as anti-German sentiments were running high. Archduke Franz Ferdinand had just been assassinated in Sarajevo, and Europe was on the brink of war. Within a few months, the town of Bouvines would be overrun by the advancing Germans, and the fields of Flanders would once again be a battleground.
Brendan en Bourgogne 