Lies of the Flesh, page 28
However, there is some evidence to suggest that the elites could at least understand what was being said by those of lesser status. Indeed, they would have been foolish not to. I think this would have been particularly true on small estates such as Fran’s Hilton Beacon, whose lords surely played a much more hands-on role in their management than larger ones. To that end, I have not attempted to distinguish between those whose first tongue might be French and those who were native English-speakers.
As for sounding ‘medieval’ (whatever that may have been), I wanted to have my characters speak in a way that is easily accessible to the reader without sounding too modern. I use a wonderful website called etymonline.com, which keeps me within the ballpark. In the end, however, it was more important to me to have lifelike protagonists than technically accurate language.
The sharp-eared among you will have noticed that the dialect spoken by the native English-speaking Westmorlanders (as opposed to the more ‘proper’ English spoken by those whose first language was probably French) is very similar to Scots. I used Ann Wheeler’s The Westmorland Dialect, in three familiar dialogues, which was published in Kendal in 1821 and has a dictionary at the back. The words there were transcribed phonetically, but the relationship to the Scots language (which isn’t homogenous either) is clear. This shouldn’t come as a surprise. Scots is descended from the Anglo-Saxon spoken in what became Lothian and the Borders but was once the very tip of the old Northumbrian kingdom permanently acquired by the Scottish kings more than a thousand years ago. In other words, the Anglo-Saxon spoken in Westmorland and that spoken in Scotland were once the same, though a millennium of different political circumstances and borrowings will have caused a degree of divergence.
Lastly, I really should address the use of the word ‘cunt’ in Chapter 15. That’s not a word I’m comfortable saying, because it’s used now to be extremely insulting to women. In the Middle Ages, however, it was merely the word for vagina, and everyone, from aristocratic women to peasants, had no problem with it. By the end of the fourteenth century, that was changing, perhaps because members of what was then called the middling sort (what we might call the bourgeoisie) were seeking to differentiate themselves from those below as social mobility increased after the outbreak of plague in Western Europe in the middle of the century. The obvious example is Chaucer’s wife of Bath, who was certainly not afraid to speak her mind in the plainest terms. But there’s also Le Ménagier de Paris (The Good Wife’s Guide), essentially a ‘how-to’ manual for the fifteen-year old bride of an elderly middle-class Parisian. In this fascinating compendium of social mores and practical advice, he tells her not to pick up ‘vulgar, lewd or ribald words’ from her servants, including ‘filthy’ ones for her private parts. That he should need to do so speaks volumes about what was surely entirely normal, but becoming frowned upon for certain women.
1 There are others. For example, The Life of Hilaria/Hilarion originated in Egypt sometime after AD 500 and was translated into French in the fifteenth century; The Life of St Marinos the monk was probably written in Greek between the early sixth century and the mid seventh century, but there were also medieval French and German versions. There was even a court case in London in the late fourteenth century, where a man called John passed himself off as a woman named Eleanor, the details indicating that John experienced what we would now call gender dysphoria (Janin Hunt, Medieval Justice: Cases and Laws in France, England and Germany, 500–1500, Jefferson, 2009).
2 Sarah Roche-Mahdi, ‘Introduction’ in Le Roman de Silence, Michigan, 2007, p. xx.
3 Heather J Tanner, ‘Lords, wives and vassals in the Roman de Silence’, Journal of Women’s History, volume 24, number 1, Spring 2012, p. 138.
4 Le Roman de Silence, p. 125.
Acknowledgements
As always, this book is far more than just the work of the person whose name features on the front cover. I am so grateful to the many people who have helped Lies of the Flesh along its way. My heartfelt thanks to Sheila Griffiths, Juliet Hancock and Rian Stubbs, who were good enough to read earlier versions and provide constructive criticism, which certainly helped to knock the plot and its characters into shape.
Then there is the fabulous team at Birlinn – Hugh Andrew, Alison Rae, Mairi Sutherland and the sales/publicity staff – who have once more shown faith in me and eased my second novel out into the wild, along with Craig Hillsley, who did another formidable editing job to improve the text beyond measure.
Finally, I want to thank my family for holding my hand and keeping me sane. To Nick, who has given me encouragement of every kind whenever it’s been needed. To Finn, for listening and for helping with my research. This book is dedicated to you, and to my mum, Margaret Watson, who is loved and missed so much.
F.J. Watson, Lies of the Flesh
