Templar Fic: A Crozier for Christmas

[Marc_du_Temple]

A Crozier for Christmas

December 23rd, 1195

Christmastime in Paris was not merely a time of joy, but also inversion, when the world of Christendom and many of its conventions were flipped on their own heads. A time when an impudent little boy from the Notre Dame choir could write a letter of excommunication for Gilbert Horal, Grandmaster of the Knights Templar, so long as he wore the bishop's miter and wielded his crozier while doing so. To humor the people, Horal had sent the sergeant Hereward Parsons and chaplain Juste du Orleans to seek out this whelp and reason out how his excommunication may be lifted.

Hereward scratched his curly beard repeatedly while they marched single file from the Paris Temple to the soaring cathedral, and found different ways to ask the chaplain questions less spiritual than practical. "If we simply wait until the Feast of The Holy Innocents, would the problem not solve itself?" All of them seemed worded so that an affirmative answer would get them to turn around; that was no exception. In spite of the rules against idle chatter, Hereward had made no secret of the fact that he would rather be stationed somewhere that called for fighting men to show their mettle more often than Paris. He could not fathom why the grandmaster had chosen him for this task, yet he dared not go so far as to question it, only to question how best to see it through.

Juste chuckled and shook his head, causing snow to shimmer down from the fringes of his red and white biretta, some of it getting caught in his tawny beard. "One should never keep a bishop waiting. Besides, it would do nothing for our reputation as sly men to wait for the 'true' bishop's return instead of facing this humor head-on. Are we, the monks of God who seldom run from deadlier foes than ourselves, too afraid to face a chorister?"


"Well, then why on this blasted cold Saturday?" Hereward grumbled again.


"If we waited much longer it would be Christmas Eve. Hardly a time to distract Paris, and no sense to labor so fiercely on a fasting day."


Hereward spat in a way that would have been unbecoming had he worn the white and red of a knight instead of the black and red of a sergeant. They arrived at the cathedral some forty minutes later, delayed by the push and pull of the festivities of the season, including more than one street performance of a mystery play; Juste had a certain fondness for those in general, whereas Hereward preferred the more valorous tales to the rest. At this time of year he would be contented by the resolute obedience of St. Joseph and the three wisemen in their repeating quest after the Light.


As they climbed the steps to the towering, fortress-thick wooden doors of Notre Dame Cathedral, the bells in the belfry soaring above tolled the hour of terce. Inside of the nave, the flock of the city jostled for position, the better to hear the mass and the fiery young "Bishop" Gerold. Nobody challenged the two Templars as they found preferred positions, close enough to see the lectern clearly. On schedule, Bishop Gerold rose from his seat amongst his chorister peers and reverently walked up to the lectern. The congregation murmured and chuckled amongst themselves in the language of Franceis, while his peers whispered boyish encouragements in Latin.


Even Hereward could not help but grin a little at the innocent irreverence of the tradition. Yet young Bishop Gerold was not smiling with his eyes at all. Instead, he looked like he had just managed to stop bawling minutes ago. His eyebrows, blonde slivers on a grey little face, were furrowed in a conflicted concentration. On opposite sides of the nave, the two templars shared a glance speaking intrigue, but held their peace.


In a thick Norman accent, the boy bishop spoke, projecting his high voice for the whole cathedral to hear his homily. "Good day, children of God. Or, considering what you are in relation to my fellow clergy, perhaps 'adults' of God is more apt! ... Father Julius' face is like a gargoyle's if it were made of sandstone, but his heart is compassionate for us lambs. Whereas the magister cantus bellows with the wrath of an angel. ... chastisement can serve the purpose of righteousness. And the greater the mistake, the greater the chastisement. On behalf of my fellow cherubs, I speak now to the parents ..." and that is when the two Templars stopped listening, but the cooing noises that rose up in the great nave told them that part was as well received as the rest. The boy was making the most of his brief opportunity to be heard, there was no doubt of that, nor of the evil eyes they received when he spoke of chastisement.

The duo ignored the unwanted attention and patiently waited for the end of the mass, when the boy and his fellow choristers would go parading through the streets in their costumes, performing mock blessings and receiving affectionate offerings. When that time came, the crowd in the nave parted down the middle, creating an opening for the boys to easily march through. As they passed, Juste caught the eye of Bishop Gerold. That, he thought, is a most unbalanced youth. He and Hereward were quick to close the gap after the boys, for they had much to discuss as the crowd followed after the bishop.


Hereward spoke first. "His jibes do not go unnoticed."

"Not by us, nor by the city," agreed Juste.

"What do you think his motive could be? What impels him to do such a thing? Could he be ..." Hereward made the sign of the cross here, "possessed?"

"I would not rule it out," Juste repeated the gesture, "After all, the latest in the work of the scholastics suggests that the fallen ones can misguide people in ways most subtle. But it does not follow that because someone has a problem with the temple that they must be possessed, so I will not accuse the boy of such a thing without a closer look."

"Then we had best catch up with him, brother," Hereward decided, striding toward the grand doors and drawing up his dark cloak. The reedy chaplain followed closely, pleased to see his fellow invested in their mission, now that their quarry had shown some mettle.


Out in the grey winter morning light on the busy street, the parade of the choristers in their vestments had already left the vicinity of the cathedral. The street was deserted save for a squat and hunched secular serf, identifiable as such to the duo even beneath his shoddily spun wool garments. They approached him in the middle of his laboring. He was deep in concentration, keeping the streets swept and unburdened with snow, thus he did not notice them, with his eyes affixed on the cobblestone beneath his boots. They were flicked profusely with handfuls of the salt he kept in a pouch on his girdle.


Patiently, Juste asked, "Where did the boy bishop and his entourage go, son?"

The serf shook his head. "I pray to my saints every night for no involvement in any ecclesiastical troubles, Father. Not even between a child and the temple."


"We simply wish to pay tribute to the new bishop," Hereward insisted with a warm smile.

"Right. Like Herod did to our Lord? It's not yet time for the recounting of that story," the serf retorted.

"Be warned," the sergeant loomed over him. "A secular soldier would be prideful enough to punish such talk as that."

"I only mean that surely you would not spare this spoiled child the rod," spoke the serf, defensively.

Hereward snorted, "That is not a bad idea."

"Please," Juste broke in. "On my honor as an ordained priest and a brother in the temple, I vow that we mean only peace between this child and our order. This is a time of good humor, and we only wish to see that maintained."

With a considering sigh, the serf gestured northwards. Juste thanked and blessed him, whereas Hereward gave him a quarter of the livres in his pouch, pressing them firmly into his gloved hand with a pat on the back.


. . .


On an old stone bridge over the Seine, Bishop Gerold and his spellbound followers were just reaching the northern side and singing an indiscriminate mix of bawdy and holy songs, made all the more powerful by the cultivated talent he and the other choristers possessed. The tunes rang all across the city at some points, in a polyphonic pandemonium, stirring snow in the air and the water of the river below.


On the river itself, water had begun to coalesce into clumps of ice the night before, but there was no fear of it freezing over. Lucky for the Templars. They had taken up space on a barge being pushed back across the river by men with beards not unlike their own, but with faces that were subtly different. Their clothes were that of working men, as was the grit in their swinging of the oars and rowing staves. At the edge of the barge, Hereward knelt over the sloshing water, allowing the cold to sharpen his focus instead of hampering it. He gazed through the dark blue below, recalling the lessons of his father on countless days on the water. A sliver of a slight change in the color below him, and he stabbed the water with his sword. It was with immense satisfaction that he found himself wrestling a small but desperately writhing fish on the end of his blade. On the north side, the pair departed the broad craft, but not before Juste turned to face their deliverers. He spoke as he blessed them with his hand: "Surely, this is a gemilut chasadim as well as a boon for the people we must minister to." For the efforts of the men they had imposed themselves upon, Hereward gave them his fish.

While they climbed the stone steps leading up to the level of the streets, Hereward spoke. "Juste, may I remind you that it is Saturday?"

"There is no need. Why do you do it?"

"Jews do not work on Saturdays."

Juste smiled, unperturbed. "How strange. God's blessing that someone was there to take us across."

Hereward shook his head. "Someone who heard you speaking a strange Hebrew phrase."

"Piloting a Jew's barge," Juste countered. "Perhaps he was a Greek hired hand."

"Regardless ..." Hereward whispered sharply, "Where did you learn such talk as that, brother?"

With a shrug, Juste answered, "It is important for a priest as well as a Templar to know his neighbors well."

"There are limits to such knowing," Hereward muttered. "You know The Rule."

"And have I broken it? Or have I given us a chance to get ahead of that boy? He won't be rushing to wherever he plans to go next. No, he will be stopping to embrace 'his flock'," du Orleans chuckled.

"At any rate, you do nothing to discourage the rumours of our spiritual infidelity." Hereward knew he had gone too far as soon as he had said it, but he could not take it back. So instead he added, "You may tell me my penance as you wish, Father."

Reaching the top of the stairs and with the bridge in sight, Juste only said, "Perhaps later."

On that bridge, the slowest of the choristers was scampering after his brothers and the laity, The Paris Temple growing bigger in the north-facing skyline ahead. Bishop Gerold planned to make the approach seem incidental and uncoordinated. Yet being only a boy, he did not know every street and alley of the city as some others might, and more than that, he was afraid to go down certain paths of real unknowns. So the route they took was like that of a single-minded snake through the underbrush. At most doorsteps, they would stop and put on their show, receiving trinkets the people there thought were befitting such children.

Puppets were well-received. "Blessed are those who trust in the One who pulls their strings, to give them an appropriate finale!" Spinning tops were so hypnotic that the young bishop nearly forgot himself. "With such dynamism, we must be active for one another!" Dice were even better. "Let us recall the chances the saints have taken to give us this time of wisdom and cast our dice in their names, friends!" Little flutes and other instruments from wealthier Parisians were more than any of the boys anticipated. The ones who loved their schooling appreciated them, whereas the ones looking for an escape did not. For his part, Gerold said thank you and gave a rote blessing.

Then a kindly old peddler gave the group a set of pine figurines to divide amongst themselves. All knights, with little painted tabards, broadswords, warhammers, lances, and shields. Some were mounted and some were on their own two feet, in wide or long stances. Whoever had made them had had much experience with such men, perhaps in petty skirmishes within Christendom or in Outremer. Ordinary children would have marveled with appreciation, but Bishop Gerold was not ordinary, and too many of those tabards bore the cross of the temple. He threw his down in disgust. "Beware of braggarts who live by the sword and die by the sword! Knaves who kneel in blood and stand away from society!"

"What shall we do about such men, Father?" echoed a deep voice with an accent like the strings of a desert instrument. The question came from a cloaked man with but a shock of red hair reaching down to his cheekbones and skin tanned by the sun of a foreign land. He wore a dark coif to avoid freezing in the snow. His dusty Hospitaller cloak did a poor job of hiding his multifaceted, contradictory nature. He wore the mail of a warrior, the gloves of a healer, and the boots of a man of the desert, laced in a way forbidden to Templars, but ultimately highly practical. More than that, he was not alone, but was quickly joined by two brother knights of Saint John.

The crowd quieted at the noticing of these men. So did the choristers, including the young bishop. The red-haired Hospitaller grinned with a decayed mouth and became sheepish as he knelt. "Apologies for disturbing your focus, Father. But we too have a gift for you." And with a snap of his fingers, the second of the brothers revealed a wooden sword and offered it to Gerold. "It may be that braggarts wield the sword, but so have virtuous men. The Templars' beloved Bernard de Clairvaux himself spoke in praise of chastisement administered by the righteous."

The boy bishop's bloodshot blue eyes lit up with a resurgence of inspiration. He took up the blade with thankfulness and said aloud, "Blessed are you three knights, who give good counsel and know when to wield the olive branch and the rod." With a dramatic flourish, he crossed the blade and the shaft of the crozier and spoke louder than before. "Grandmaster Gilbert Horal is excommunicate by my decree, for being a robber of his own kind. For under his command, the usurious Templars have seized the assets of many of their debtors. Leaving nobles, guildsmen and anyone else with the means and foolishness to trust in them adrift, their children to wander dispossessed. And for what? Does he use this wealth of resources to attack the Saracen? No, it seems that he prefers to build and not to use. For such indolence, excommunication does not go far enough!" If there were any who remembered the pretend nature of his investment, they could not be heard over the roar of his supporters, including the Hospitallers.

A little further up the road to the Paris Temple, Hereward peered out at the scene from an alleyway, with a scornful expression on his lined yet young face. So, they wish to meddle in this game, too, he thought. As knowledgeable as that young bishop seemed to be concerning the Franceis lexicon and the recent controversies of The Order, Hereward doubted he could know of the tensions brewing between the Hospitallers and the Templars. Oftentimes, they were allies in the quest to safeguard pilgrims from afflictions of the soul, plague, and injuries brought forth by men, beasts or foul fortune, but they were never one. God forbid that, Hereward thought. He would rather be in competition with the Hospitallers until the end of days than to have to perfectly reconcile their asymmetries, and he knew his was the opinion held by nearly all.

Most recently, the Templars had begun to earn the ire of the Hospitallers for their lack of aggression in Outremer. A great irony had seemingly been cast upon the healer knights like a spell of vainglory, leading to them increasingly being the first to rush in against the Saracen while the Templars were more defensively minded. Grandmaster Horal himself had complained of the lack of understanding of realities in the region from men such as the Hospitallers and the European secular knights. The loss of Jerusalem had so rocked the world of the crusaders that all searched for answers in their own ways, and not even the half-way success of the Third Crusade was enough to satisfy. Something the Templars knew too well, for their part in it. But that was during the previous era. Before Horal's redirecting of their efforts. The idea that these three Hospitallers would goad on this charismatic youth to taunt the Temple pushed a boundary, and yet it broke neither of their sacred rules. In his mind, an equally harmles retaliation was forming. A way for him to release the energy he longed to expend in holier combat.

One more twisting city block before the gates of the temple would be in sight. One last chance to appeal to the bishop's better nature. At the corner facing the temple's lowered drawbridge and walls, now a stone's throw away, the Bishop Gerold was accosted by a disheveled penitent. A bearded, short-haired man whose facial features were obscured by charcoal dust, whose cloak was a foul and old-looking thing, and whose tunic was torn open to bare his scarred, modestly muscled chest to the cold. Hereward hoped Juste knew what he was doing. It seemed as if he was the furthest of all from remembering the jest they were partaking in. The penitent chaplain's voice quavered as he spoke in accented Ecclesiastical Latin, "Bishop Gerold, have mercy on my contrite heart!"

Like the others who treated him perhaps more seriously than he deserved, this man's desperation compelled the chorister bishop, but not towards wrath. He dropped the wooden sword, letting it clatter on the stones. "Peace, son. What is it that troubles you?" he asked in the same language as he moved to stop the man's trembling. Meanwhile, the crowd stood abated, watching their bishop at work.

Juste did not show it, but the contact was what he had been waiting for. Subtly, he checked the spirit of the boy for signs of demonic possession but felt nothing. "Estne diabolus, filius?"

The boy frowned and answered him, still in the same language. "The only devils I know are the Templars."

Juste sighed and continued their secret conversation, looking as much like a penitent bearing his soul to the wrong bishop as before. "You are mistaken, but I am thankful you are only misled and not overtaken, child. Is it the Templars who have put such anger in your heart? Such ingratitude for the things you have been given? The friends who support you even on this day? Who put sulfurous wind beneath your wings? Demons approach from a variety of angles, in as many guises." He glared at the Hospitallers, sure they understood some of his words. "This position of yours is meant to bring joy to all of Paris, including yourself, but I can feel the turmoil in your spirit. I can see it in your eyes. If you could, you would bring serious consequences upon these fellow Christians, would you not?"

"I would bring the world down upon Grandmaster Horal. The rest of you are in my way," Gerold declared.

"You are most perceptive," Juste smiled, shivering. "Were you not doing what you are doing now, I would recommend you for a page. We have use for such keen spirits. But let me speculate again. I heard your accusation of how we have robbed good people of their homes. Could your family have taken a terrible gamble with the Temple?"

Tears welled up in the boy's eyes. "I was the son of nobles in Normandy. Until my father lost valuable assets when he failed to repay loans from the temple. He knew he could not support me anymore, and so he gave me to the church. In Rouen, I used to tell my tutors how my day would go." His voice finally cracked, "Now, on my first day of agency in a year, you judge me, Father?"

"No, son. However, I question the wisdom of someone who offloads their children as they would another inconvenience. That is how you ended up in France from Angevin, is it not? Not spirited away by Templars, but given away by your own family. And yet, even in that, you should be counted as blessed. Here: I, too, have a gift for you." He groped around for something of his worth parting with.

Mere yards away, obscured by the crowd, the Hospitallers had heard enough. Their leader stepped forward, a pillar of coal surging up in a motley sea. "You have troubled our young bishop enough ..." but before he could finish chastising Juste, his vision turned white as his face became cold, rocked by the impact of something that shattered into uncounted pieces, quickly melting against his skin. He whirled, angrily sputtering to his brothers: "What was that?!" They were just as stunned when the balls of snow struck them, too, but together they found the source: a Templar sergeant with a wild beard and disproportionate daring in his eyes. Composing themselves, they shared glances and nods between themselves. Then they retaliated, chasing Hereward down an alleyway with snowballs flying after him like furies. Their yelps could be heard even at a distance, for Hereward was no stranger to such combat as this. Twenty winters had he spent preparing for this moment.

Good work, brother, Juste smiled beneath his blackened face. He had found what he had meant for young Gerold, before he was interrupted. Delicately, like he held a relic, he presented a clay flask with rings for attachment at the side of a girdle, and two knights astride a single horse embossed on the side: classic Templar iconography. In Franceis he spoke, "A gift I received during my service after the taking of Acre. I had to ask the permission of the local master to keep it. Too much of a good thing can foster envy among brothers, or an inane individuality in the holder of such things. But you are already above your brothers, not unlike a local commander might be."

"It is magnificent, Father," the boy replied in the same tongue, examining it in his hands with more reverence than even Juste had.

"Thank you," Juste agreed. "You must be thirsty. Drink. I also received permission for my allowance of hippocras to be taken on the road, today."

Gerold eagerly popped the cork of the flask and drank, only to exhale sharply at the shocking aftertaste.

"Perhaps you may appreciate it more when you are older, Father" Juste suggested in good humor.

The bishop sealed the flask and fastened it at his waist. "Perhaps," he agreed. "Let me do something for you, now, chaplain of the Poor Knights." He bent down to the snow-covered street and scooped up a handful. Then he rubbed it over the man's face until he no longer was marked by penitence.

Every man, woman, and child in the street was so engrossed by the unfolding drama that none, not even Juste du Orleans noticed a man briskly striding across the oaken drawbridge to meet the players of this strange game. His ancient black buckled boots hit the wood and stone like the sound of a battering ram. He was kept warm by an unadorned but well-trimmed wool cloak, painted only by the red cross of the Temple and held in place by a badge clasp of temple white emblazoned with a straightforward dark blue cross reaching to the cardinal ends of the shield-shaped coat of arms. His only embellishment was a shining bronze buckle on his roughspun girdle. He was unarmed, but the blue eyes set within his wizened and white-bearded face could freeze the devil himself in his tracks. This was Grandmaster Gilbert Horal and the youthful bishop knew it at a glance. Juste fixed his shirt and turned to kneel before his master. He was shortly joined by Hereward, who had failed to lose the Hospitallers, but was considerably drier than the pursuing knights now were. For their part, they stood silently, while the townsfolk murmured to themselves.

The Grandmaster spoke with a thick Aragonese accent, belying his distant origin. "Rise, brothers," was all Horal said in greeting to his sergeant and chaplain before addressing the boy bishop. "Well, you have taken on the responsibility of not only a man but a clergyman. Do you have the wisdom and mercy befitting such a man?"

Bishop Gerold smiled sheepishly. "I lift my excommunication, Grandmaster. Perhaps I cannot see the purpose in the decisions that have been made for me, but men such as the ones you sent in your stead speak volumes on your behalf."

Horal nodded approvingly. "May you be blessed as you have blessed us today, Bishop."

With guilt, the boy whispered, "I fear that I have started something I cannot undo with mere words."

"Of course you do," Horal nodded. "You have discovered the power of a man to act, and thank Iesus it was by such innocent means as this. Do not trouble yourself with what you have inspired and what will come of it, for you have done your part. We will be ready, as is our duty, for whatever arrows assail us. Only do not forget what you have learned, yourself."

"I can promise that much," Gerold said, fingering the gifted flask at his hip.

With that, the Templars returned to their home, pulling the drawbridge behind them. The Hospitallers, thwarted in their fraternal antics, returned to healing efforts for a time. And young Bishop Gerold and his entourage felt a beatific peace wash over their restless hearts, all in time for their parts in the special Vespers heralding the birth of their Lord.

As they strode across the bridge into the Temple, the men of The Order spoke amongst themselves. Hereward began, keeping his head bent as he spoke: "This assignment has shown me much of the subtleties that permeate the world of the Temple. Not every problem can be solved with a bit of metal. What caused you to show yourself to the young bishop when you did, Grandmaster?"

"Would you believe that I heard a voice telling me that if nothing else, I should see the work my younger brothers had done to make straight my path to remittance? Lest I let a pebble on the road cause The Order to stumble before our time, heaping ridicule and worse upon the name of Solomon's Temple."

"Who said this thing?" Juste asked curiously.

"I dare not guess," Grandmaster Horal sighed. "But I am thankful for such counsel." He smiled, reflecting on the cleverness and bravado of these two men of his order. He had much to be thankful for, this Christmastime.

[revanne]

Well done Marc!

I love how you mix, threat, pathos and fun. 

If only all impending combat could be resolved into a snowball fight.

[Marc_du_Temple]

Well done Marc!

I love how you mix, threat, pathos and fun.

If only all impending combat could be resolved into a snowball fight.

Indeed, if only! Thank you for your time. Bibliography forthcoming, by the way.

[Marc_du_Temple]

And thank you to Nezz for being a wise beta reader. Her advice was quite helpful.

[Evie]

Welcome to our fanfic writing ranks! I'm definitely going to need to refresh my memory on KK's Templar books. (I own them, it's just been years since I read them.) It was nice to see the Rule of Inversion being used to such good effect in a story. That's a tradition that is little known about these days but always seemed to me like it would be a fun one to explore.

[Marc_du_Temple]

Welcome to our fanfic writing ranks! I'm definitely going to need to refresh my memory on KK's Templar books. (I own them, it's just been years since I read them.) It was nice to see the Rule of Inversion being used to such good effect in a story. That's a tradition that is little known about these days but always seemed to me like it would be a fun one to explore.

I could send you a link to a source that might interest you. The merits of the boy bishop in practice have been debated, but it's actually still around in certain places.

https://www.liturgicalartsjournal.com/2021/01/customs-and-traditions-boy-bishop.html

And if you're wondering where this would go in the short story chronology, it would be after the one that opens the volume Crusade of Fire, about Hugues de Payen; then the one where Thierry goes after a head in the first volume, Tales of The Knights Templar; and then the one in Crusade of Fire where they deal with the siege of Acre. However, there are no KK characters in this. I am currently away from my collection, or else I would find their names.   I chose to play it safe like Richard Woods did with his short story trilogy and write something that could coexist but does not necessarily cross over. A task made much easier by KK & Deborah Turner Harris' deep research and rigorous editing. Their Templars are almost the real deal.

[JudithR]

Google Salisbury Cathedral -I'll try to find the link and post it.  They went for the full blown this year.  There're also mentions in parish records and, again online for which I'll have to look again banishing it as "superstitious".  Went, came and went again during the English Reformation.

[JudithR]

Hi Marc, Below are some interesting factoids.  Salisbury have a Chorister Bishop this year
https://www.salisburycathedral.org.uk/keeping-up-a-medieval-tradition/

This is what we (or rather I) compiled this year for St Nick's Day.  There's much more info on the web.  St Nicholas seems to be patron saint of everything nobody else wanted. 

Saint or Klingon?
Quotations are taken from Old Parish Life pp 273 -278

Winter sets in, for our ancestors a time of eking out their stores until the spring.  Added to this there was

P273 "Advent Sunday (nearest Sunday to November 30th the feast of St Andrew)
The start of the ecclesiastical year, heralding, as it does the coming (Latin adventus) of Christ [both the celebration of the Incarnation [his first coming], and the anticipation of his second coming at the end of time]. In earlier centuries Advent, running from this day until the start of Christmas Day, is kept as a fast like Lent, albeit with less strictness."

One of the reliefs from the Advent fast, was the feast of St Nicholas [6th December].  Nicholas of Myra (270 – 343) died on this day (saint's days are often kept as the date of their death (birth records in the past being both patchy and unreliable).  Nicholas is the patron saint of sailors, merchants, archers, repentant thieves, children, brewers, pawnbrokers, toy makers, unmarried people and students.
 
Whether he did attend the first Council of Nicea and punch Arius is disputed, and, despite his appearance in iconography, he [probably] wasn't related to Lt Worf.

 Michael the Archmandrite's hagiography can be found by following the link below

https://www.stnicholascenter.org/who-is-st-nicholas/stories-legends/classic-sources/michael-the-archimandrite

Pre-reformation, the feast of St Nicholas, as the patron saint of children, was marked by the election of a chorister as a boy bishop.  His incumbency ran until Holy Innocents.  Salisbury Cathedral was one of the better-known venues.

P274 [when the custom was obsolete] John Gregory wrote. "The Episcopus Choristarum was a chorister bishop chosen by his fellow children upon St Nicholas daie...From this daie till Innnocents daie at night [he] was to bear the name and hold the state of a bishop, werably habited with a crozier or pastoral-staff in his hand, and a miter upon his head... The rest of his fellows from the same time being were to take upon them the style and counterfaict [counterfeit] of prebends [Cathedral Canons}"

P276 "Away from Salisbury, the custom is recorded as early as circa 1200 at St Paul's in London and around 1220 at York Minster.  At Heton, near Newcastle, in 1299 a boy bishop says vespers before Edward I, then on his way to Scotland... At York in 1367 it is ordered that the boy elected should be the one who has served longest in church and is most useful...In 1390 it is added that he should have a good voice.  Six years later the boy ...is John de Cave ...cathedral accounts give a detailed picture of his tenure, including a great feast held on the eve of Innocents' Day:

Bread...7d| Lord's bread...4| Ale...21d|Veal and mutton 9d...| Sausages ...4d| Two ducks...4d|
 Twelve chickens...2s6d| Eight woodcocks and one plover...2s 2d| Three dozen and ten field-fares...19d| Small birds...3d| Wine...2s 3d| Spices...1d| Sixty wardens [pears]...5d| Honey...2d| Mustard...1d| Flour...2d| Two pounds of candles ...2d|Fuel...1d| to the cook...6d [1]

Over the following weeks the bishop pays a series of visits to monasteries and noble households in the surrounding area accompanied by a servant, a 'seneschal' or steward and four singers.  They visit Bridlington, Fountains Abbey, and Leeds, among other places, dining and collecting donations along the way

The custom spreads from cathedrals to a number of parishes...St Nicholas, Bristol ...1481 'the clerke and the suffragan [are] to dress up the bisshopes sete ageniste Seinte Nicholas daye'...

There is more scattered evidence in the inventories of many churches, mainly but not always in large cities

1473 A liell chesebyll for Seint Nicholas bisschop. (St Mary, Sandwich, Kent)
1500 To the child bishop at Christenmes for 1 paire cloffs [gloves] ...1d| 1505 For making the child bishop see [in the sense of a bishop's throne??] ...6d
1535 Unto the goodman Chese, broiderer, for making of a new miter for the bishop against St Nicholas night ...2s 8d(All Hallows Staining)"

But
P277 "In 1541 [reign of Henry VIII] the custom is banned by royal decree.

Whereas here-tofore diverse and many superstitions and childish observations have be used, and yet to this day are observed and kept, in many and sundry parts of this realm, as upon Sainte Nicholas, Sainte Catherine, Sainte Clement, the Holy Innocentes, and such like, children be strangelye decked and appareled to counterfeit priestes, bishops, and women, and so be ledde with songes and daunces from house to house, blessing the people and gatheringe of money; and boyes do singe masse and preache in the pulpit, with suche other unfittinge and inconvenient usages, rather to the derision than any true glory of God, or honour of his saintes: The kinges majestie therefore, minding nothing so moche as to avaunce the true glorye of God without vaine superstition, willeth and commaundeth, that from henceforth all suche superstitions be lost and cleerlye extinguished throughowte his realmes and dominions, forasmoche as the same do resemble rather the unlawfull superstition of gentilitie*, than the pure and sincere religion of Christe.
 
*i.e. of the Gentiles or heathens [no-one was politically correct in the 16th century]

Like other old customs it is revived under Queen Mary [Mary Tudor, Mary I],
1556 [diary of Henry Machin] The 5 day of December was Sant Necolas even, and Sant Necolas went abroad in most part in London singing after the old fassion, and was reseived with amny good pepulle into their howses, and had muche good chere as ever they had had, in many places"

Interestingly, the visits of the boy bishop and his retinue now seem not to be exclusive to noble households.

But not everyone welcomed them

"Gertrude Crokehey dwelling at St Katherines by the Tower of London being then in her husbandes house, it happened in the yeare 1556 that the popes cildish ST Nicholas went about the parish, whiche she understanding shut her dore against him, not suffering him to enter into her house"

"P278 After the accession of Elizabeth [EIR 1558 – 1603] the custom falls away again, this time for good"

"Good" being until the twentieth century during which there were local revivals continuing until today.  Nowadays the Chorister Bishop [alternative name for the Boy Bishop], who has a very, very short incumbency, hours rather than days, is as likely to be a girl chorister as a boy.

The link to the Salisbury ceremony is given below:
https://www.slow-travel.uk/post/boy-bishop-ceremony-salisbury-cathedral..

[Evie]

Nicholas is the patron saint of sailors, merchants, archers, repentant thieves, children, brewers, pawnbrokers, toy makers, unmarried people and students.
 

And interestingly enough, also of prostitutes, though not due to frequenting them! IIRC, it was believed that he provided dowries for three impoverished sisters after their father's death, thus sparing them the need to become prostitutes in order to survive. So that is why Celsie's sanctuary for women needing protection and education in how to support themselves without having to resort to such dire straits, which I think I first introduced in the story Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered, was named after St. Nicholas.

[revanne]

Nicholas is the patron saint of sailors, merchants, archers, repentant thieves, children, brewers, pawnbrokers, toy makers, unmarried people and students.
 

And interestingly enough, also of prostitutes, though not due to frequenting them! IIRC, it was believed that he provided dowries for three impoverished sisters after their father's death, thus sparing them the need to become prostitutes in order to survive. So that is why Celsie's sanctuary for women needing protection and education in how to support themselves without having to resort to such dire straits, which I think I first introduced in the story Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered, was named after St. Nicholas.

Though at least he is spared  the annoyance of being pestered by people who lose things unlike poor St Anthony.

[Evie]

Nicholas is the patron saint of sailors, merchants, archers, repentant thieves, children, brewers, pawnbrokers, toy makers, unmarried people and students.
 

And interestingly enough, also of prostitutes, though not due to frequenting them! IIRC, it was believed that he provided dowries for three impoverished sisters after their father's death, thus sparing them the need to become prostitutes in order to survive. So that is why Celsie's sanctuary for women needing protection and education in how to support themselves without having to resort to such dire straits, which I think I first introduced in the story Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered, was named after St. Nicholas.

Though at least he is spared  the annoyance of being pestered by people who lose things unlike poor St Anthony.

Oh, I didn't realize there was a saint for my ADHD....   

[JudithR]

I deliberately left prostitutes off this list (internal censorship not of my making it's as all age as we can manage)

[Marc_du_Temple]

Marc_Du_Temple
Rhemuth Castle
A Crozier for Christmas: Annotated Bibliography(Rough Draft)

Primary Sources

Clairveaux, Bernard, In Praise of The New Knighthood.

Harris, Deborah Turner and Katherine Kurtz, The Temple and The Stone, Warner Books, 1999.

Harris, Deborah Turner and Katherine Kurtz, The Temple and The Crown, Warner Books, 2001.

King, E.J., The Rule, Statutes And Customs of The Hospitallers. 1934.

King Louis VI, King Louis VI Rules that Ecclesiastical Serfs Shall Be Able to Testify Against Free Men, 1108, http://uncg.edu/~rebarton/peasant-servitude.html

Kurtz, Katherine, et al., Tales of the Knights Templar. Warner Books, 1995.

Kurtz, Katherine, et al., On Crusade: More Tales of the Knights Templar. Warner Books, 2003.

Kurtz, Katherine, et al., Crusade of Fire: Mystical Tales of the Knights Templar. Warner Books, 2002.

Upton-Ward, Judith, The Rule of the Templars. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1992. https://www.prioratodisanmartino.com/download/The.Primitive.Rule.pdf

For my part, this informed details such as the Hospitallers having laced boots unlike those of the Templars, and kept me from writing Gerold being ushered into the order at his precocious age. It is also responsible for how I handled any concerns regarding individual property of Templars.

Secondary Sources

Barry, "Templar Biography: Gilbert Horal," September 4, 2019, accessed 12/1/2024, https://www.travelingtemplar.com/2019/09/templar-biography-gilbert-horal.html

Butler, Alan, The Knights Templar: Their History and Myths Revealed. Shelter Harbor Press, New York, 2016.

While not exactly an academic book, it is not exactly a waste of time, either. Rather, I think the author raised the majority of questions people have had about the Templars (including the Scottish ones ) but did not declare for anything, and certainly nothing too outlandish. However, the outlandish questions are not excluded. At any rate, this is where I got the idea of Horal's crest being a blue cross on white, and maybe a half dozen unexplored ideas for where else the Templars could have ended up besides the places KK covered.

Cameron, Euan. Enchanted Europe: Superstition, Reason, and Religion 1250-1750. Oxford University Press, 2010.

I could not get away with citing Thomas Aquinas and his conception of higher and lower powers by name, due to the irreconcilable chronology issue of this story taking place decades before his time, but Scholasticism was already a thing by 1195, so perhaps the ideas he codified were beginning to coalesce.

Canfield-Dafilou, Buchs and Chevallier, "The voices of children in Notre-Dame de Paris during the Late Middle Ages and the Modern Period" Journal of Cultural Heritage 65 (2024): 160-168.

C.G. Addison Esq., The Knights Templars, Third Edition, London, Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, Paternoster Row, 1852, https://ia601704.us.archive.org/11/items/knightstemplars00addirich/knightstemplars00addirich.pdf

Cohen, Naomi W. (Naomi Wiener). What the Rabbis Said : the Public Discourse of Nineteenth-Century American Rabbis. New York: New York University Press, 2008.

This was helpful for introducing me to the concept of gemilut chasadim a year ago. As far as secondary sources on Rabbinical Tradition go, this might be one of the greater sources. When I learned that the Paris Temple would be just over a bridge from Notre Dame, I decided the Templars could then take a barge across. But who would be working so hard at this time of year? Why, the Parisian Jews, of course. This was complicated when I double-checked important historical dates and concluded the story would make the most sense on a Saturday, but I stuck with the basic idea anyway.

"The History of The Flask," accessed 12/1/2024, https://slightlyalabama.com/blogs/news/82468163-the-history-of-the-flask?srsltid=AfmBOoo9CGUiopr6GhEs5Ms2eVu1VIStU_

"The History of Road Salt," accessed 12/1/2024, https://www.draglamsalt.com/blogs/the-history-of-road-salt

Hoskin, Matthew. "Vernacular Religion in the Latin Middle Ages 1: Homilies." Classically Christian. May 22, 2017. Accessed December 1st, 2024. https://thepocketscroll.wordpress.com/2017/05/22/vernacular-religion-in-the-latin-middle-ages-1-homilies/

"How to celebrate Christmas like a medieval monk," accessed 12/1/2024, https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/inspire-me/celebrate-christmas-like-a-medieval-monk/.

Larsen, Timothy, ed. The Oxford Handbook of Christmas. First edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020.

Nicosia, Marissa, "Hippocras, or spiced wine," accessed 12/1/2024, https://rarecooking.com/2018/12/10/hippocras-or-spiced-wine/

Team Mesa, "How Deep is The Seine River in Paris?" February 8, 2024. accessed 12/1/2024, https://hello-mesa.com/blogs/news/how-deep-is-the-seine-river-in-paris#:~:text=The%20Seine%20is%20central%20to,areas%20up%20to%2030%20feet.

Viar, Lucas, "Customs and Traditions: The Boy Bishop," January 5, 2021, accessed 12/1/2024, https://www.liturgicalartsjournal.com/2021/01/customs-and-traditions-boy-bishop.html

A very charming article about a very charming yet equally controversial tradition. When I found out about the Boy Bishops, I knew exactly what a low-stakes Christmas antagonist should look like.

[Marc_du_Temple]

I'm going to revisit this later, when I have my books on hand. Some details deserve a second look.

I always appreciate how with the books taking place in the real world, KK and DTH had bibliographies accompanying the fun bits. It helps explain why the stories feel so real at times. And the Deryni books are quite based in reality too, in their own way!

[DoctorM]

Excellent, Marc!

I always love a good bibliography!