I’d intended to use my recent on-line interview about my dogs to segue into a discussion of the contrast between our attitudes toward animals and those of the medievals. I still think that will be a good topic for a blog, but I am going to have to put it on hold. I didn’t have a good week, have been ill again, and I thought I ought to alert you that I still have health “issues,” which might occasionally interfere with my blogs or e-mail responses. It is frustrating without a doubt, and I am still learning how to live with a chronic illness—actually several of them. But as soon as I start researching medieval medicine, that quickly cures any inclination to have a “pity party.” My latest research has been on peritonitis, as I’ve picked that as my disease de jour, a plausible cause of death for one of my characters in Lionheart, and the result is a heightened appreciation for modern medicine!
Anticipating questions about this, I thought I ought to talk about causes of death. It is very rare when we actually know what killed a historical figure. Usually the most we can hope for is the date of death. If chroniclers mention a lingering illness, that would indicate a disease like cancer. But when the death was sudden or quick, then writers have to rely upon our imaginations.
We know that Hal, Henry’s son, died of the “bloody flux,” or dysentery, which was one of the great killers of the MA; Hal would actually have died of dehydration caused by dysentery, and those are the symptoms I describe in his death scene. Henry himself most likely died of septicemia, based upon comments he made to William Marshal in the Histoire. Henry was also suffering from other ailments, including what one chronicler described as “an abscess in his groin,” and a recurring leg injury that dated back to his being kicked by a horse in 1174. After researching head injuries at length, I concluded that Geoffrey probably died of an epidural hematoma. Henry and Eleanor’s daughter Matilda, the Duchess of Saxony, Tilda in DB, died suddenly in June of 1189, and we haven’t a clue as to what caused her death; she was only thirty-three. At least Henry was spared this grief, for he died without knowing it. Eleanor was not as fortunate; she gave birth to ten children and outlived all but two of them, her daughter Leonora in Castile and John.
With respect to the poor soul who is going to die of peritonitis in Lionheart, we know nothing whatsoever about his fatal illness, only that it was sudden and unexpected and does not appear to have been an accident. In cases like this, I look for those ailments known to have had a high mortality rate in the MA. Of course even a minor mishap could prove fatal to medievals, stepping on a nail, for example. Basically, fictional deaths involve a degree of detective work. For those of you who share my morbid curiosity about such matters, feel free to ask for all the gory details about the deaths of various characters in my novels. I’ll be happy to explain why I concluded that Edward IV died of pneumonia or why I chose to let Llewelyn and Joanna’s daughter Elen die of a miscarriage. At least with my mysteries, it is more straight-forward. If a character dies, it is of my choosing, and I also get to select the method of demise, usually a bloody one, of course.
This coming Wednesday, the 19th of November, I will be in Scottsdale, Arizona at my favorite bookstore, the Poisoned Pen, making a joint appearance with Diana Gabaldon and Dana Stabenow, and I ought to have some interesting stories to tell upon my return. Meanwhile, thank you all for the feedback about Author’s Notes. I am very glad that you find them as valuable as I do. And thanks, too, Gabrielle, for the wonderful links. More after Scottsdale.
November 17, 2008