Garb and Accessories

Garb: [Turkish Venetian Coat] [Venetian Chemise] [Apron] [Velvet Sleeves (period favour)] [White Doublet, Black Bits] [Jupon] [Flat Cap] [Sleeve Insert] [Belt and Rosary] [Elizabethan/Kiwi Coif]
Accessories: [Ballock Dagger] [Durer Necklace] [Zibellino] [Hat Jewel] [Pomanders] [Mary Queen of Scots Rosary] [More Rosaries] [Mary Queen of Scots Earrings] [Belt and Rosary] [Parade Shield]

I'll cheerfully admit it - I am not a garb fanatic. I tend to spend most of my time doing other things, which explains why I've had virtually two chemises and two basic outfits for the past 20 years. (I figure that suits a Borderer in any case...though I tried to upgrade it so as not to be a scruffy baroness.)

I'm hoping to slowly improve my costuming, but it's not high priority. In the meantime, here are the garb items which I have put some considered work into.

Lady Mathilda had been singing the praises of Turkish garb at length, and looked very fine (and very cool) in her layers of Turkish coats at Canterbury Faire. So when I spotted a Titian painting of a Venetian lady in a faux Turkish coat -- and in green no less! -- I guess I was primed. A casual wander into a fabric shop while visiting Darton brought me face-to-face with some shot green taffeta which looked like it would work well, so it was all on from then.

I dithered a bit about the lining. I wanted a good contrasting linen or silk, but there was nothing to be had in the right colour and weight, so I settled for a copper-coloured lining. Mathilda has advised me to go for something striking, and I like the combination as the coat flares out when I walk or sit.

The patterning for this coat was relatively simple, being made up of lots of rectangles with only one cut across the bias to produce a set of gores to flare out at the sides. The gussets seemed a little unusual, in that they were two squares, sewn across the top of the side panels, but that's what Mathilda and various patterns said. Here's one example from the Renaissance Tailor.

I sewed the shell and the lining separately. Next time I'll be sure to rip/cut the matching pieces at the same time to ensure they are the same size to start with. I'd mostly done that this time round, but not quite. that, and a set of adjustments made to the shell but not to the lining meant the latter's hem dropped at the sides as there was more material in it that in the green. I had intended to have the lining show at the hem as an extra centimetre or two, but that didn't work.

I had just enough gold and green braid from another project to run it down the edges at the front. The addition of a whole heap of rhinestones, along with pearl buttons made for a suitably sumptuous effect that twinkles very nicely in candlelight. (You can see a close-up of the jewelled edge in the picture of the Durer necklace below.)

This project even forced me to make a chemise, my first in 20+ years of being a SCAdian!

A little more bling was added with a floral head-dress with a sparkly necklace wound round it, in imitation of the head-piece worn by Titian's lady. It was a great excuse to -- literally -- let my hair down, and provided a completely different look for me after I stepped down as Baroness at our major week-long Canterbury Faire event. Cool, comfortably, unstructured -- what more could you want!

Titian's painting is circa 1555, so a tad late for mother, who died 20 years earlier, but these coats were around for a while, so I figure I'm not far wrong in chalking this up to her wedding cassone.

Titian's Portrait of a Lady 1555.

My version

If you'd like to see more pictures of Titian's lady, the National Gallery of Art has a great section on her, complete with close-up details of various parts of the painting.

And if you want to know more about this style of Turkish-meets-Venice dress, then check out Mistress Oonagh O'Neill's website.

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Venetian Chemise

My chemise situation has been something of a long-standing joke with the garb folk of my Barony. I had two cotton chemises made for me close on 20 years ago now and that's been pretty much it since then. After stepping up as Baroness, my lord commissioned a smock, but its thigh length makes it less versatile in some regards than a full-length chemise. I did make it look like I had a new chemise at one stage by changing the neckline and cuffs on one to a Venetian style, but I'm not sure if that fooled anyone.

So finally, I took the plunge and bought some linen. And read about chemises, and thought about chemises, and did some more research and thinking and other displacement activity -- anything other than cutting the fabric....Finally, after a year or two of this, I drew up a pattern, thought about it some more, adapted it a bit more and got to work.

The motivating factor was the Turkish Venetian coat that I really wanted to make. I needed a chemise to go under it, and the old cotton ones just wouldn't cut it. I decided I wanted a square neckline as that works best under the rest of my garb, but wondered if I could get the V-neck by having a slit in the centre that could otherwise be tied closed with ribbon. I'd seen the latter approach in some paintings, and had been assured that it was reasonable, so that formed the basis of the plan.

There's nothing overly surprising or tricky about the chemise itself -- it's a pretty standard rip and sew version, where the primary pieces are large rectangles sewn together and pleated into a square neckline. I'm not sure how standard was my idea to encase the raw edges into the neckline on three sides but leave the front ruffle projecting over the top as a nice piece of decoration. I've seen chemises which look like this and have assumed the way I did it was how they did it. I felt very smug as I went round all the internal seams and flat-felled them, though the gussets were not "yummy" (a technical term used by a certain garb Duchess of my acquaintance to describe some beautiful sewing by local ladies).

Some rather intricate knotwork braid in a matching cream was a fortuitous buy at a local haberdashery and added a bit more interest to the neckline. (Sure I couched that myself.) The real score was finding a gold trim for the sleeve ends which was close to an exact match for that depicted in the Titian painting.

I really like this chemise, though I find the semi-fitted gussetted sleeves feel odd after years of wearing what I guess is an open raglan line. The V neck didn't really work -- I suspect I wasn't game enough to cut the slip deep enough for it to take effect. That said, I like how it looks in any case.

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I wanted to make an apron and had intended to do something relatively simple for practical use, but then I got sidetracked by a reference on the lovely Realm of Venus website to a very pretty Italian Renaissance apron with lace insertions from the second half of the 16th century. At last something I could do with all that lace I bought in Venice and elsewhere….(it tuns out that the lace is probably not a period design, thogh I've had various contradictory comments regarding that. It's likely to be the nearest I get though...)

On advice from a far more competent seamstress than I, I made up the eight linen panels of the apron, hand-hemming each individually. I then stitched the lace insertions to the edges. When it came to sewing lace to lace, I took Lady Ginevra's advice and dipped the raw edge of the lace in wax to hold it while stitching over the joins.

The front and back of the apron showing how the seams were finished and the lace attached.

According to the limited information I've seen, the waistband section of the apron was added later. I decided this gave me carte blanche to pleat, rather than gather, part of the waistline and add a longer set of ties to enable me to tie it at the front. The waistband was stitched on with backstitch and turned and hem-stitched on the reverse. I haven't seen any sign of a large bow at the back in any depiction of aprons from my period, although rear views are, admittedly, rare.

Italian Apron 1550-1600, from Bella Lucia da Verona's Realm of Venus.

My version

Reference: Ajmar-Wollheim, Marta and Dennis, Flora (eds); At Home in Renaissance Italy V&A Publications, 2006
Realm of Venus, by Bella Lucia da Verona

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I made this doublet way back when the Shire went Barony (AS30), and wore it just for that occasion. It was based on the various women's doublets in Janet Arnold -- collarless, little shaping, no tabs -- and I never really liked it. When Southron Gaard won the bid for Bal d'Argent (AS41), I pulled it out of my very limited SCA wardrobe and decided I'd give it a makeover. The Bal, run by the Guild of the Silver Rondel, encourages attendees to wear white, with red and blue trim, and it was the only thing I had that was even vaguely suitable.

And so the great makeover began. The sleeves came out and were made into lace-in versions with red and blue ribbons -- they had been set in originally, which severely limited any arm movements above waist level! I made a set of tabs to go around the sleeve opening and around the waist. I cut the waistline higher to give a drop to the front, rather than the flat waistline it had. The side seams came in to make it less boxy and more fitted. I added a small stand-up collar, with an internal one of embroidered and beaded linen. In deference to my limited eyesight I kept the embroidery simple; it was based on the collar in Agnolo Bronzino's Portrait of a Lady in a Green Dress, c1528-32. I changed the buttons over to something flatter than the original round beads.

My doublet's new collar.

Bronzino, detail of collar

I found I had been a little enthusiastic with my side-seam adjustment, so was going to have to wear the doublet partly open, which meant I now needed something suitable to wear underneath. My old corset seemed just the thing to pull it all into shape (in more ways than one!), and was, fortuitously, covered with the same white satin brocade as the doublet. Add my white satin petticoat and I was going to be a suitable iceberg. At the Bal, I wore my scarlet loose gown over the top of the white ensemble for Opening Court, then disrobed for the dancing to a satisfyingly spectacular effect. As it turned out, I was asked to judge the costume award, so didn't get the chance to enter.

We next attended the Bal d'Argent when it came to Ildhafn in AS43. So out came the doublet. This time I wanted to added a bit more to it. I was going to be taking my four-part forepart (a lined forepart which provides me with four different looks depending which way round it is worn; very handy for travelling). I'd added a hem border of gold beads and pearls to the black velvet quarter and had just enough of the embossed velvet left to make a set of sleeves, an escoffion and a cover for the corset.

Various jewellery and scrapbooking findings, white rose bridal embellishments, peridot-style cut "jewels" and fine gold cord served to make up some suitably sumptuous decorations along the sleeve ends and the top of the corset.

I spent forever (OK, not forever, but it seemed like it) sewing a gold running stitch along all the embossed lines of the velvet I planned to use for the escoffion, and adding pearls at the intersection. (It was a good way to while away the time while the family was skiing.) I lined it in linen and sewed it to a headband that had been decorated with some lace edging, scrapbook findings and more pearls. It was a scrap of material and oddly shaped, not really full enough to sit well once made up and possibly a tad heavy at the back to hold. I may need to consider either pinning it in place or adding a hidden comb to help it sit. Looks fancy though.

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Bartholomew at Darton May Crown ASXLIII in his new jupon, accompanied by standard-bearer Eric Braythwayte.

This is pretty basic as far as garb goes - an update to the white satin one my lord had worn for years. I took the approach off some period illuminations from the Manesse anthology. So 14th century German depicting the infamous Ullrich von Lichtenstein. Fortunately Bartholomew is not hugely picky on keeping to his time and place, but I have read that early Crusaders had their jupons or surcoats diapered with shields.

The jupon is red linen, and the appliqued shields are in red and white felt. It has rayonne dagging to match his aarms argent in chief rayonee and a lion dormant gules

On a vaguely related heraldic matter, when Bartholomew was elevated to the Order of the Pelican at Canterbury Faire AS42, I adapted the tabards I'd made for an earlier event so that Dickon wore the lion dormant gules with a label (as eldest son), Pippin had a crescent on his (as second son) and Grace had hers within a lozenge (as Bartholomew's daughter). Just wish I'd gotten a photo of them in it.

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I made my formal flat cap based on a fairly standard design of this type of headware, with the intention of using some of a large number of silver rose studs I had found at a local craft shop.

So it was a real delight to come across a picture of a woman in my exact period wearing something almost exactly like my flat cap. It was described as "a small velvet cap decorated with feathers and jewelled roses" in the painting of an unknown girl c 1569, attributed to the Master of the Countess of Warwick (Plate III in The Visual History of Costume by Aileen Ribeiro and Valerie Cumming; Ratsford 1989).

My rose studs weren't jewelled in the centre, but otherwise are very similar to those in the portrait. I'd used green velvet, rather than red, as all my garb is green (a colour I don't normally wear mundanely and which I make a point of using in my garb as a point of difference).

The hat is covered in trios of small beads, which are based on the beadwork on the bodice of Mary Queen of Scots, as depicted in the 1560-61 painting of her, credited to the School of Jean Clouet (Ribeiro; Fig 43, pg 84).

I spent a lot of time wondering how women kept such hats securely on their heads. I'm a little wary of pins, as I've never been able to secure them effectively enough to be able to brave a nor-wester and be assured of my headgear remaining in place.

So (garb mavins click away now), I've attached two transparent domes to the underside of the hat which lets me click it in place on top of the jewelled coif I wear with it. Looks perfect, stays put.

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Embroidered sleeve inserts, which ran in a band from wrist to shoulder, were a common element in women's garb in Lowland Scotland. I'm not sure why, but I'll cheerfully speculate that it makes it easy to fancy up a plain sleeve and swap them over to a new set when you need to. Typically the sleeves were left open along the back seam to permit the leine-style chemise to drop through, though I think this was predominantly earlier than my period and I chose to close the seam as these sleeves were designed for winter wear.

The sleeve design was based on a red woollen hanging of the late sixteenth century (Howard, Fig 98, pg 89). It has vertical black velvet stripes, one of which has leaves and berries with symmetrical decorations of leaves and fruit applied in black velvet. Couched yellow cord stems and tendrils and French knots are used.

Howard adapted a design from the hanging, and I adapted the design from Howard. I substituted rose studs and beads for the berries of the original (one of these days I'll learn how to make French knots behave), and used whipped chain stitch for the main stem with blackwork in the leaves. This approach made it surprisingly easy to complete -- the actual thinking associated with the design work took several months, the needlework itself only a couple of nights. The rose studs are very similar to ones used in period, as seen in a painting in The Visual History of Costume (Ribeiro and Cumming).

Update: I've now seen and identified the red wool hanging as a wall covering used in Berkeley Castle. The "hanging" actually covers all the walls in the Grand Staircase area, a rather large stairway and vestibule area connecting a number of rooms in the castle. The castle information notes that the Grand Staircase features "fine portraits and Tudor embroidery on locally made woollen cloth covering the walls."

It wasn't until I started sketching the embroidery on the wall that I recognised the design as "my sleeves". According to the guide taking the tour group through the area, the hangings are part of tentage brought back from the Field of the Cloth of Gold, where Henry VIII of England met with Francis I of France in 1520. According to Denise Taylor of the Sealed Knot, the hangings are late 16th-century, with a stencilled and hand-sewn design on red material which had formed part of bed hangings given by Henry VIII; she says that the material, which looks like wool, is said to be the same as that used for soldiers' jackets.

Unfortunately Berkeley Castle has a no-photography policy, so I was unable to get any close-up shots of the embroidery . The Website and guide book has a small general shot of the area but you can't see anything of the embroidery.

References
Howard, Constance; Design for Embroidery from Traditional English Sources; Ratsford 1989
Ribeiro, Aileen and Cumming, Valerie; The Visual History of Costume; Ratsford 1989; Unknown Girl c 1569, attributed to Master of the Countess of Warwick (Plate III)

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Accessories

Accessory? Sure!

I was after an eating dagger suitable for my persona. The highly talented Edward Braythwayte, who likes to barter, was after some standards. And there was an A&S competition in Ildhafn for items that tied in with persona stories. A perfect combination. This is Edward's story that he presented with the dagger:

The knife was originally made in the 1490s for katherine's grandfather, Francis, who was living in Scottish Middle March on the Borders. (See Francis' story here.) Francis’ granddaughter, Katherine, proved to be a staunch and feisty young lass who possessed many qualities which he much admired. He had noted her fondness for his dagger and shortly before his death he had the new sheath and a pricker made which he bequeathed to katherine.

We did wonder if it was a suitable knife for a lady. I had read that such daggers were carried by all types of people, typically hidden under a plaid or more readily to hand by being thrust through a pouch closure or held in the back of a belt. Given that the knife was originally a man's, Edward concluded that "it would seem reasonable to suppose that an old man with the military still in his blood might want his granddaughter to have such a knife for her own protection".

The Dagger

When Edward asked what kind of eating knife I was after, I wasn't too sure. I did want something suitable for a mid-16th century Scotswoman, but I liked the idea of something a little out of the ordinary compared to the standard cutlery.

So I started to look at what was known about knives for that time and place. The sgian dubh -- the small sock-bound dark-bladed dagger -- gets lots of publicity, primarily for its role in the Scottish souvenir trade. Like much of what we think of as quintessentially Scots, it's post-period but commentary on it led me back to its predecessors, the dirk and the ballock dagger.

Ballock daggers, as the name suggests, were characterised by two round "lobes" at the guard, often accompanied by a vaguely -- or totally unsubtle -- phallic hilt and pommel. (The Victorians bowdlerised this to "kidney" dagger.) I have heard that the term also refers to the tendency for the dagger to be carried low and in front of the groin, though that seems hardly practical.

Ballock daggers showed up fairly early on, around the 14th century, and remained popular throughout the remainder of period. In Scotland they morphed into the dirk, which then spun off the sgian dubh. Ballock daggers must have been reasonably ubiquitous as they are seen across all levels of society, from knightly effigies to paintings of burghers.

I looked at a lot of examples, and picked on one which appealed to me most in terms of its look and style. (See Jason Elrod's review of a Manning Imperial replica for further information on it.)

It is thought that this dagger is English or possibly German, dating from around the turn of the 16th century, which suits the persona story nicely. As is the case with many ballock daggers, this one has a fairly complex blade to it. The stiletto approach, along with a reinforced point, makes it clearly a killing weapon, suitable for giving someone a right bollocking, as it were.

I was after an eating knife, and Edward does not make weaponry, so the high carbon steel blade he made was a simple single-edged one. While most ballock daggers had blades 3-4 times the length of the hilt, Edward compromised for practicality and gave the dagger a hilt of four inches and a blade of 8.5 inches. Although a tad short for most period daggers of this type, there are extant versions of comparable size. A single-sided six-inch blade ballock dagger from the 14th century is shown amongst the weaponry on Allen Antiques.

The dagger has an ebony hilt and brass metalwork. As Edward rather carefully remarked in his documentation:

I have chosen to use ebony for the handle mainly for aesthetic reasons, in particular for contrast with the polished brass plate between the blade and handle. Early forms also tended to be more phallic with large rounded lobes and a pommel that terminated in a bulbous knob. Katherine was quite specific about her preference for this early form...

It seemed only fitting to add a little prick to the dagger; a pricker being a common accompaniment useful for everything from staking your claim to a particularly nice piece of roast pork to stabbing another hole in your belt once you've eaten all that meat. (Sir Inigo did remark that my pricker could penetrate his chain mail to a satisfying depth. Hmm.)

Some ballock daggers had metal reinforcing plates on the end of the handle, but we agreed that this would detract from the appearance and...ah...tactile quality of the bulbous end. Edward noted that he'd fitted the handle to the blade "using whittle tang construction in keeping with the original". The pricker was of scale tang construction, also in use during period to give small handles strength.

The blade has been stamped with Edward's fox mark, on the appropriate side used by cutlers and bladesmiths.

Not only did I get a great knife, but Edward finished it off with a lovely leather scabbard. Edward chose to match a period example that was relatively plain with a small amount of incised decoration. As he said:

I considered that a similar style of subdued decoration would be in keeping with the stark form of the Hermitage where Baroness Katherine lives and the bleak windswept Scottish Border country.

The scabbard has a wooden core, covered in vege-tanned leather dyed black to match the ebony handle. It carries my own mark of the tower with the kk initials, picked out in bookbinders goldleaf. I wear it on my belt with a narrow leather thong as a peace tie to ensure no undue surprises. Perhaps a pink bow would make it more lady-like? I'm sure that, whatever the case, my children will continue to roll their eyes every time they notice it, while others just laugh and remark on its beauty and practicality.

References
Allen Antiques
Interknife
Jason Elrod, Manning Imperial Ballock Dagger
My Armoury: Ballock Dagger

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Given that all my garb is green (a point of difference from mundane life), I'm always on the look-out for green accessories. A necklace in a Durer portrait noted on Vangelista di Antonio Dellaluna's lovely Florentine recreation site caught my eye, as it had not only green gems, but also pearls ("both kinds!"). And, even better for me, the portrait was of a Venetian lady from around 1505, so would fit perfectly as something from my mother's wedding cassone.

Vangelista had given it the following description: two strings of four pearls are brought together by single dark green double-cone beads, estimating the pearls to be around 4mm. I used that as a guide, purchasing freshwater pearls of around that size, using rice pearls for economy's sake.

The green beads proved to be a tad more troublesome to source. I hunted through various bead shops, both online and walk-in, and briefly considered ordering some nice Swarkovski crystals (needed to win the lottery first!). Then one evening when sorting out my collection of generic beads, I suddenly came across a whole batch of bicones in my green bead collection -- I'd bought them some years earlier on spec and had forgotten about them.

The first attempt I made to string these was a tad fraught. Those pearls are small, and need very small needles. I bought a pack and some silk thread and started stringing. Just as well I'd bought more pearls than I'd calculated I'd needed, as a batch disappeared into the bowels of the easy-chair....

The resulting necklace looked fine, even if the disparate sizes of the pearls tended to make the pearl sections bow out from having uneven lengths. I was very pleased I'd remembered to knot the end of each pearl section when the silk thread gave way. For version two I went with the much more robust, if highly un-period, tiger tail. By that time I'd also acquired some of the grip beads used to secure ends, so the whole thing was more secure. I also paid more attention to selecting the pearls for each section, so that they lay flatter.

I've since found some darker bicones which are more evenly matched than the first lot, though they are a little more squished towards spherical than Durer's beads. Clearly further experimentation lies ahead.

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A zibellino was a fur worn over the shoulder by ladies apparently hoping that any fleas or other unwelcome insectoidal visitors would be attracted to the fur and not the flesh. It should be noted that this explanation, and the "flea fur" descriptive term sometimes used, is well post-period, having been coined by Wendelin Boeheim in the late 1800s; there's no evidence that this is what they were used for, and fleas would have no interest in a tanned skin lacking warmth and blood. Zibellino derives from the Italian for sable; other references simply cite the fur used.

They were a relatively popular accessory for fashionable northern Italian ladies of the later 15th and 16th centuries, often used as a wedding gifts, hence its inclusion in Caterina's cassone. Charles the Bold was said to have one in his possession in 1467, and they were found through nporthern Italy by the late 1400s. Zibellino were, apparently, associated with childbirth, their use said to increase fertility or chastity (!) and provide protection for a pregnant woman (what kind of protection is not noted).

Although some zibellini appear as plain furs of ermine, sable, marten, lynx and other animals, there are examples of ones where their heads and claws have been replaced with gold versions covered in jewels. In the inventory of 1526, Mary Queen of Scots is noted as having marten and sable zibellini in her possession, one with a jet head. By 1585, the English had caught up with the fashion -- Leicester gave Elizabeth a "Sable Skynne the hed and fourre featte of gold fully furnyshed with Dyamondes and Rubyes" as a New Year's gift.

They were typically worn draped fairly casually over the shoulder, most commonly the right in the various portraits that depict them. Another common pose was to hold them in ones hand, though this may have just been a way of showing off the richly decorated jewelled headpiece; one vesion I've seen appears to be sporting pearl drop earrings! Gold chains were commonly used to attach zibelllini to the girdle at the waist.

Here are some examples:
A Venetian lady of the 1540s with a plain zibellino
A collection of portraits from the 1500s showing zibellini, plain and jewelled

I've got as far as purchasing a tanned possum skin of a suitable size for use as a zibellino. (Possums are a major problem for the New Zealand ecosystem and the more that are turned into furs the better for our native flora and fauna.) Reconstructing some kind of head and fancying up the claws will prove a challenging task, but examination of various portraits out there suggests a not impossible one.

References:
Mistress Oonagh O'Neill, The Muff in 16th Century Dress
Sherrill, Tawny: "Fleas, Furs, and Fashions: Zibellini as Luxury Accessories of the Renaissance"; from Netherton, Robin and Owen-Crocker, Gale (eds); Medieval Clothing and Textiles, Vol. 2

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My version

Henry VIII's hat jewel, 1511

I was looking at a portrait of a young Henry VIII (from 1511) and noticed that the base for the jewelled brooch in his cap was very similar to a finding that I had bought on the off-chance it might prove useful one day. It's difficult to get a clear idea of what jewels were included in the piece - it looks like there are pearls, a red flower-cut cabochon of some sort, and some black rectangular, faceted stones, perhaps jet.

I've made up a brooch to match, as closely as I can. I'm going to make another once I find something to approximate the black stones as I'd rather get a closer match than I have with the first attempt. (Not to mention the fact that the glue I used dried opaque and dulled the lustre.)

The story is that my father, Richard Kerr, while serving with the Scots Guards of Francis I, attended the Field of Cloth of Gold meeting in 1520. No doubt a late-night gambling session brought this brooch into his possession, when a large English chappie lost to Richard at dice. At least, that's what he says.

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I was reading about the findings of the Mary Rose and came across mention of a pierced wooden pomander held on a silk cord by a knot at one end. The shape and size of the pomander were very similar to a large pierced metal bead I had. I filled the bead with rosa damascene wax and threaded it with a ribbon. Apparently these pomanders were thought to be popular as an adornment for sword scabbards, so I've decided that they make suitable gifts for rapier folk.

The pomander, with a large drop pearl attached, is also similar to the pomander depicted around the throat of Eleonora di Toledo, as painted by Allesandro Allori in 1572. I've made a version to match that with a hook that allows it to be worn with a bead and pearl necklace I bought in Venice.

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This rosary is based on the rosary of Mary Queen of Scots and the Penicuik jewels that were once in her possession (Strong, pg 33; Watkins, pg 177). It consists of 50 beads for the decades, 5 slightly larger ones for the Pater Nosters, and a filigree cross with freshwater pearls.

I have tried three variants of this so far, but the first two ended up with all the gilt rubbing off. I'd attributed the first case to the fact that I'd filled the pierced beads with rosa damascene wax, but the second set of unfilled beads also discoloured within a day or two of wearing. Maybe it's my skin type! The third set will not be worn around the throat, although that was a reasonable way to treat rosaries.

I deliberately limited the disparity in the size of the beads so that the Pater Noster is not as obvious in the original. This was partially based on the beads that were available to me and partially because I preferred the rosary to be a subtle one for both persona and philosophical reasons. The same reasoning holds for the substitution of a plain cross for the original crucifix.

For formal references and other comments on rosaries, see the section below. Here's a close-up of Mary's cross and the end of her rosary, courtesy of Paternoster Row.

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I made the Mary Queen of Scots rosary for a Kingdom A&S competition (ASXLIV), but then was enthused enough to make a batch more to use up some of the beads and notions I have accumulated over the years. Here's the documentation that went with them, building on my original research for the rosemash rosaries I made years ago.

The Background

Over the centuries, many names have been applied to prayer beads, such as devotiones, signacula, oracula, precaria, patriloquium, serta, preculae, numeralia, computum and calculi; the latter names clearly reference the use of the beads as a counting systems for keeping track of the number of prayers said. Catholic tradition tracks this approach back as far as the 4th century, when Paul of Egypt was said to have used 300 stones to count his prayers (Gribble, pg 17, quoted in d'Allemtejo).

The Old English form - bedes, or bedys - was a synonym for prayers. By the beginning of the 16th century, "Paternoster beads" became "Ave beads" reflecting the change in the preferred prayer from the Paternoster to the Ave Maria; other names were rosary, chaplet, or crown (Voltz).

References d'Allemtejo, Maestre Rafaella; Historical Paternosters and Rosaries: A Trio of Paternosters: Catholic Devotional Beads of the Middle Ages Dunkerton, Jill; Giotto to Durer, National Gallery Yle 1991 Gardner, Alys, (mka Elizabeth Bennett); "Late Medieval Rosaries", Tournaments Illuminated, Issue 99, Summer A.S. XXVI (1991), pp. 13-16 Gerard, John, (translated by Philip Caraman), The Autobiography of an Elizabethan; Longmans, Green & Co, 1951 Gribble, Richard; The History and Devotion of the Rosary; Pur Sunday Visitor Publishing Division 1992 Rosaries Guild; Journaling the Bead Lightbown, Ronald; Medieval European Jewellery; V&A 1992 Marie Stuart Society Nostradamus (trans Knut Boeser); The Elixirs of Nostradamus: Nostradamus' Original Recipes for Elixirs, Scented Water, Beauty Potions and Sweetmeats; Bloomsbury 1995 Paternoster Row, Lady Christian de Holacombe (Chris Laning) Rosary Workshop: Mary, Queen of Scots, rosary images V&A Collections: The Langdale Rosary Volz, John. Use of Beads at Prayers. The Catholic Encyclopedia Vol. 2. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1907. Waterford Museum of Treasures exhibition: Paternoster Watkins, Susan; Mary Queen of Scots; Thames & London 2001

Typically, rosaries consist of a number of 10-bead sections called decades, with various decorative elements such as larger beads, medals or badges, known as "gauds" or "Paternosters", for the prayer said when reaching this point in the cycle. They have been made from a huge variety of materials, such as knotted cord, finely wrought silverwork, wooden lozenges, lumps of amber, gemstones or pebbles, gold filigree, clay and so on. In some cases they have been intricately carved with highly detailed scenes from the Bible, such as the Chatsworth paternoster boxwood beads made in Flanders in the early 1500s.

Five-decade rosaries, a third of what is now considered standard, become widely used by the laity from 1569, following codifcation by Pope Pius V. However, these shorter forms had been in use for centuries before that and there have been many variations in the numbers of decades used throughout period, generally based on which kind of devotion was being prayed (d'Allemtejo, Paternoster Row, Catholic Encyclopaedia, Lightbown et al). Although typically formed into a loop with a tassel or cross at the end, straight strands of beads have also been common throughout period.

The chaplet is a shorter version, sometimes a simple strand on cord or thread for hanging over belts; others were loops worn as bracelets, necklaces or even as baldrics (Voltz). By the 16th century, the "tenner", or one-decade chaplet, had become popular, and there are many examples in paintings, statuary and rubbings (see d'Allemtejo, Appendix B). These short versions commonly ended with a Paternoster, sometimes multiple ones, as well as an ornamental knot, tassel or special medal, and were popular with men and monks (Rosaries Guild).

Common practice saw longer versions worn around the neck or waist, and it can be quite difficult to distinguish secular necklaces from rosaries when they are treated this way. The usual give-away, certainly in the earlier depictions, is the context and the colour, as most paintings show the rosary in conjunction with the Christ Child or Mary, and almost all of these suggest that the beads were made of coral. Coral was considered to be helpful in warding off diseases and was often associated with children in the form of teething sticks or beads.

Examples of coral rosaries in paintings include:
The Virgin and the Child, from the workshop of Geraard David, 1490-1520
The Virgin and Child with Saints and Donor, by Gerard David, 1509
The Rottal votive panel 1505

There are also many instances of rosaries or chaplets being depicted as held in the hand, pinned at the waist or looped over a belt. There are also instances of rosaries pinned to the wall or hanging from various items of furniture. Among the most well-known are:

The Magdalen Reading, by Rogier van der Waeyden, 1440
Behind the Magdalen is Joseph holding a single-strand chaplet apparently consisting of 16 dark yellow flattened beads and three white-coloured, possibly bone or ivory, gauds (two at either end and one dividing the eight-member decades). They are strung on a dark cord, with a long tallying gap and ending a thick tassel at either end. The tallying gap allows the beads to slide easily over the fingers to keep track, and was a common feature in rosaries, though varying in length from the width of one bead to, in this case, over half a decade's length.

The Arnolfini Wedding, by van Eyck, 1434
A single strand rosary of 28 beads and two larger ones ending in a tassel hangs over a nail in the wall.

Mary Queen of Scots is associated with three rosaries, in various materials:

(1) a five-decade rosary in gold filigree beads with larger versions for the gauds, ending in an ornate crucifix decorated with freshwater pearls.
(2) amber-coloured faceted beads, with a "tail" of extra beads. These are displayed at Traquair House as having belonged to Mary, though the tail makes me think it is possibly of a later date as they didn't seem that common until the 1700s. (Watkins, pg 96)
(3) a long set of gold gauds and enamelled dark red beads, with a large square cross. This is seen depending from her girdle in various portraits; while most of these are post-execution (such as Rowland Lockey's), they have generally been based on a Nicholas Hilliard orginal from 1578. (Watkins, pg 178)

My Versions

History provides a huge choice of possible arrangements and materials. I present six items, with variations to demonstrate how different rosaries or chaplets may have been produced. (1) Mary Queen of Scots Rosary
See above.

(2 & 3) Rose-Petal Bead Chaplets: Two versions
I made these rose-petal beads some years ago when making a rosemash rosary, and have now formed them into period-style chaplets. The size and delicacy of the beads make them more suitable for a lady to use, rather than the bulky beads more favoured by lords.

The plain strand has ten beads divided into two groups. Dividing a strand into various groupings is acceptable practice, these having been seen in manuscript depictions from Geulders at the end of the 14th century and on until the end of period (d'Allemtejo, Appendix B). It is finished with a small medal showing the Angel Raphael meeting with Tobias (a detail from Botticini's 1470 painting The Three Archangels). I made the medal by pasting the detail from a Saints Calendar to a scrapbook frame finding.

The two-decade, 10-bead loop chaplet ends in a tassel.

The beads themselves consist of finely chopped rose petals mixed with a little rosewater, simmered until it can form a ball. An iron pot turns the bead mash the traditional black. These beads have been rolled in rosa damascene wax, as they had dried and dulled in the 15 or so years since I first made them. As far as my research goes and that of others such as Lady Christian de Holacombe of Paternoster Row, this form of bead has no provenance prior to the 1800s. That said, I recently came across a translation of The Elixirs of Nostradamus from 1552 (Bloomsbury 1995), which includes instructions for a petal paste to make lozenges or pills from mashed, simmered flower petals (Part I, Chapter VIII), albeit as a breath freshener or plague remedy primarily. One translation indicates this recipe was for paternoster beads and used black orchids; a number of commentaries on this states that this edition has many mistranslations, in this case of "rose rouge incarnées" which should be red roses (Holacombe, The Nostradamus Repository).

(4) Amber Paternoster
Amber in this context seems to have been most popular in early period with versions from England and Ireland known from the 13th century. An early rosary from 13th-century England consisted of 10 decades of amber disks that varied in size (Lightbown, pg 462, ref d'Allemtejo, Appendix B); an Anglo-Norman one found in Ireland, dating from 1250, was in the form of a single decade chaplet of 15 beads. The Waterford Museum of Treasures refers to this as a paternoster, rather than a rosary.

I was inspired to make this chaplet because I had been given 10 amber beads at the Festival Laurels' Prize Tourney, courtesy of Master Wolfgang, and it seemed a very suitable use for them. They are not worked into beads but have been left as rough disks of varying size as received. This seemed appropriate for an early-period style chaplet complete with the large tassels that seemed favoured by men. The tassels are wool ones I made to match the black linen thread used for stringing the beads; the latter was used for strength as wool would not survive the abrasion of the beads sliding in use.

(5) Purple chaplet
Semi-precious stones were used in rosaries and chaplets, particularly in later period from which survive rosaries of jasper, jet, agate and amethyst. Worked glass beads were also known. In this case, I have used a set of purple glass beads to make a chaplet, with small pierced silver metal beads dividing the end of the decade from the larger Paternoster beads and tassels. These tassels drove me nuts during their production as the thread was highly uncooperative, but it was the best colour for the beads and gold tassels were found in period.

(6) Green Rosary
Faceted glass or gemstone beads were used for rosaries and chaplets. One of the rosaries attributed to Mary Queen of Scots consisted of orangey translucent faceted beads, whether of amber, stone or glass I have not been able to determine. I have used facceted green beads for this five-decade rosary, which has silver rose beads for gauds and ends in a local version of a 14th-century Canterbury pilgrim cross. The latter was cast by Sir Sebastian von dem Schwarzwald as a token for the Midwinter Coronation run by my Barony in AS 42. Equal-armed crosses were common end motifs for rosaries, with Mary Queen of Scots being depicted wearing one in the later portraits of her. And the rose has long had an association with the other Mary, though has no relation to the word rosary itself despite this being a common misperception.

The Outcome

Only two of us entered this category at Midwinter Coronation, which was a little sad, as I figured with the general interest in beads and the relative ease of production it might have attracted more entries. The judges counted each person's entry as a single entry, despite both of us providing multiple versions. The other entry consisted of lovely sets of jewel-toned hand-cast glass beads.

The main issue raised by the judges was my choice of materials for stringing (though I'd expected the tassels to be more of a problem!). I haven't seen much detailed discussion of rosary stringing materials beyond the general identification of linen and silk, so that's something further to keep an eye out for. I just wish I'd thought to put a closure point on the green faceted on, as it's too small for drop over my head!

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The Kingdom S competition for Twelfth Night Coronation AS43 had earrings as a category. I wanted to make a pair of earrings appropriate for Scotland in the mid-1500s, and who better to provide examples - albeit of a limited range - than Marie Stuart, more popularly known as Mary Queen of Scots.

There are about a dozen depictions of Mary drawn or painted at various times in her life, and throughout them the earrings she wore tended to be the same -- small hoops passing through a pierced earlobe, with a pearl suspended from a small ring depending from the hoop. The protrait links in the References box shows how consistent her taste was.

th References Evans, Joan, A History of Jewelry 1100-1870, Dover 1989 Field, Lesley, The Queen's Jewels; Harry N. Abrams, 1997 Metropolitan Museum of Art, Personal Adornment: Earrings Portraits of Mary Queen of Scots More Portraits

This was a common approach to earrings, especially popular on the Continent, where Italian women from many cities wore them, as depicted in a wide range of portraits throughout the 1500s. By 1583, they had become sufficiently popular in England that Stubbes, in his Anatomie of Abuses, fulminates against them along with everything else, declaring that women:

…are not ashamed to make holes in their ears, whereat they hang rings and other jewels of gold and precious stones

Mary clearly took to this style early on, as she wears such earrings in the portraits by Francois Clouet and others, undertaken during the 1550s (aged 13-16). And she stuck with it throughout her life, wearing the same kind of earrings in paintings undertaken during her captivity in England.

There are two main kinds of pearls that Marie is depicted as wearing:
(1) an ovoid cream-coloured pearl
(2) a grey pearl almost teardrop-shaped (though there is a faint possibility it is drawn glass, Marie did have a large number of darker coloured pearls in her possession, and it may be that the darker example is a baroque pearl)

Scotland was known for its freshwater pearl production during the 16th century, with prized natural pearls harvested from the huge shellfish beds of the River Tay. Given my persona back story, it was fitting that Venice, too, was highly regarded as a producer of pearls.

I know Mary had some Venetian jewelled valuables in her possession. Her 1566 testament, wherein she listed items to be given away in case she died giving birth, included "four hundred and four buttons of Venetian work", as well as "a chain of diamonds and pearls, formed of twenty-four pieces each, decorated with two diamonds and twenty-four cordelieres of pearls". Her most valuable pearls were described by the French Ambassador to Elizabeth's court as being like "black muscades" (ie large dark muscatel grapes); these were the ones sold to Elizabeth during Mary's captivity.

My Versions

I decided to see if I could reproduce earrings that looked comparable to the ones from the Clouet portraits. It helped that they were fairly simple, as I hadn't attempted jewellery before. The pearl is the most obvious feature. I needed a fairly large one, judging by the size of the pearl in the portraits. For economy's sake I chose to go with a fake pearl, rather than a real one, but one which approximated the size and slight irregularity of the freshwater style. As for it being an imitation, there's period precedent - the Venetians got so irate at one point with the production of fake pearls they threatened the perpetrators with the loss of a hand! (Evans, pg 78). It would be interesting to check out the period instructions on production of fake pearls and see if I can produce something suitable - another project.

The second version

The pearl is held onto a small hoop through the ear. It is difficult to tell from the paintings, but very close examination of the 1558 Clouet chalk portrait indicates a small point at the bottom of the pearl. This makes it reasonable to suppose that the pearl has been bored through, and something equivalent to a modern head pin has been threaded through it and turned at the top to form a small ring which encircles the hoop. So that's what I did. The loop is based on a cut-down jewellery finding - the modern-day hoops sold by bead shops seem to be significantly larger than that in the portraits of Mary, which depict her earring hoop as hugging reasonably close to the lobe.

I haven't been able to find any information on how such earrings might have been closed. Paintings and chalk sketches don't show the region behind the ear, and earrings are sufficiently small and fragile that it appears relatively few survive. Hunting through various books and online archives hasn't elicited any extant examples from Mary's Scotland, although necklaces, brooches and other items with pearls have survived.

It would appear, from other examples from elsewhere, that simple hoops with a gap for entering the pierced earlobe is not an unreasonable approach, even for a relatively light wire. A small bend in the wire provides a hook to meet a loop in the other end - again an approach used in earrings for over a thousand years, as earrings in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum and elsewhere demonstrate. I've done that for a bit of added security so that the pearl does not come off the hoop.

My workmanship was a little rough - it was the first time I've tried shaping anything like this, and I think the pliers I was using were a little large-scale for what I was attempting. That said, when the earrings are in place, they produced the desired effect. Maneuvering them through the hole in the ear-lobe was a little tricky, however.

I figured rather than worry about having the earrings posted back, the A&S organiser could use them for largesse. The major over-sight was that I hadn't taken a shot of the earrings first! The image here is a shot of my second version, which differed considerably in that these earrings used large freshwater pearls and a commercial hinged hoop, which made them more wearable. The hinging is hidden behind the ear so from the front they look very similar to Mary's when worn. They give the right effect and are easier to wear without the small hook of the original. I have plans to experiment with hanging pearls off a sleeper for a closer look to Mary's earrings.

Outcome: The main thing I learned from the competition feedback from the judges was the need to think about presentation. I'd posted the earrings to the event (2,000 miles away in another country) so they arrived in bubble wrap and a ziplock bag. One judge suggested a velvet-lined box would have been more appropriate. While that would add significantly to the postage, a small square of nice fabric would be a good thing to include next time, with a request that it be used for the display.

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My "fancy" belt makes a nice change from the all-purpose utility belt. It also has a lot of references to my persona.

Suns in splendour from a set of Christmas ornaments; ceramic white roses from a pack of bridal notions; both emblems of the House of York. The pouch depending from the belt is of green velvet, with a small metal scallop shell (so I've obviously been on pilgramage, just haven't figured out where to!) and another sun in splendour at the base, where ornaments and beads tended to be placed.

Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar
A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene.
Chaucer, The Prioress' Tale

The pouch actually holds a rosary which I made from roses. As a recusant Catholic, katherine naturally carries one of these, though not openly in these perilous times.

According to Thurston, many names were applied to prayer beads, such as devotiones, signacula, oracula, precaria, patriloquium, serta, preculae, numeralia, computum and calculi. The Old English form - bedes, or bedys - was a synonym for prayers. By the beginning of the 16th century, "Paternoster beads" became "Ave beads" reflecting the change in the preferred prayer from the Paternoster to the Ave Maria; other names were rosary, chaplet, or crown.

References d'Allemtejo, Rafaella; Historical Paternosters and Rosaries (PDF) de Holacombe, Christian (mka Chris Laning); Paternoster Row Gardner, Alys, (mka Elizabeth Bennett); "Late Medieval Rosaries", Tournaments Illuminated, Issue 99, Summer A.S. XXVI (1991), pp. 13-16 Gerard, John, (translated by Philip Caraman), The Autobiography of an Elizabethan; Longmans, Green & Co, 1951 Mary, Queen of Scots: Rosary Images Rosaries Guild; Journaling the Bead Thurston, Herbert. (transcribed by Anita G. Gorman); The Catholic Encyclopedia, Volume II Use of Beads of Prayers

Rosaries and chaplets are just one of the numerous memory devices used for keeping track of prayer cycles from the 12th century onwards. Typically, rosaries consist of a number of 10-bead sections called decades, with various decorative elements such as larger beads, medals or badges, known as "gauds" or, later, "Paternosters", for the prayer said when reaching this point in the cycle. They have been made from a huge variety of materials, such as knotted rope, finely wrought silverwork, wooden lozenges and, in this case, rose petals. Five-decade rosaries become standard for the laity in 1569, following codifcation by Pope Pius V, but there have been many variations in the numbers of decades used.

The chaplet is shorter, sometimes a simple strand on cord or thread for hanging over belts; others were loops worn as bracelets, necklaces (though this practice was banned for nuns in the 15th century) or even as baldrics (Thurston). By the 16th century, the "tenner", or one-decade chaplet, had become popular. These ended with two or more Paternosters as well as an ornamental knot, tassel or special medal, and were popular with men and monks (Rosaries Guild).

I've made lots of rose mash beads and flattened rose tokens over the years (though I have recently seen that this substance hasn't been documented later than the 1920s for rosary use). A string made a decade ago still has a great scent. My preference, when making rosaries, is to make a look-alike, with only nine rather than 10 beads for the decades. I'm uncomfortable making such a religiously significant object without the intention of using it for prayer. I've also made chaplets, the shorter version, using just nine beads (though I've since found that nine-bead chaplets are also in use for prayer, but this seems to be a post-period practice as a great many non-traditional forms have been developed over the past century).

To Make a Rose Mash Rosary

My rosary's beads consist of finely chopped rose petals mixed with a little rosewater. The mash is slowly simmered in an iron pot for a number of hours until it can be rolled together and hold their form. (If they are too dry, they fall apart, in which case more rosewater can be added; if they are too wet to form a solid shape, then they can be simmered longer to reduce the liquid content). If simmered in a non-iron pot, the beads will turn a tea-brown; using an iron pot or adding a handful of iron nails or old bolts to the mix aids the oxidation process to produce the traditional black coloration.

When forming the beads, oiled palms help to stop the bead mash from sticking. They can be formed into beads for rosaries or chaplets, or pressed into flat disks for tokens. Keeping the size of beads to no larger than a pea, and tokens to no larger than a 20-cent piece, represents the maximum size before the material fails on drying. Beads should be left for a few hours to dry slightly and then strung (trying to find a thin hole in a black bead can be a trial later). Beads should dry to a solid hardness within 3-4 days. It is supposed to be possible to sand them to make them regular and shiny, but I prefer the rougher look my ones have and have yet to experiment with making them look more like plastic!

My rosary uses pearls as gauds and, as with period examples, has a small bottle which could hold perfume or holy water. The next plan is to make a rosary which matches the one used by Mary Queen of Scots, with crystal beads and gold gauds. Another version has pomander beads - filigree enamelled goldwork. These sorts of beads were often filled with musk, cloves and myrrh, in the hope that the scents - if not the prayers! - would protect the wearer from plague.

I'd like to make a rosary out of orange peel, as made by Father Gerard when he was held in the Tower of London in 1597 (Gerard, pg 117). He bribed the guards to supply oranges as he could use the juice to write secret messages (orange juice has a security advantage over lemon juice -- once revealed, it stays revealed, and you can tell if your message has been read). It's not clear how he used the peel to form the rosary, though he does mention sewing crosses of orange peel together. I have corresponded with a group of retired nuns who are devoted to producing rosaries, and they are trying to find if there are any records in their archives regarding this. Further research is required…

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I know, it's not really a garb accessory, but this seemed the best place to put this until one day when I get around to overhauling the entire website and developing a proper, instead of an ad hoc, navigation structure.

This was an entry for the November Crown ASXLIII Kingdom A&S competition. I came at it, as usual, from the ceremonial point of view, rather than from the armoury side. No surprises there. It was a little tricky as I couldn't send the shield over to the event, so had to submit it via photos. Here's the documentation as presented.

Historical Context

The November Crown A&S category specified "parade (ceremonial) shield" which I took to mean the painted lightweight shields associated with imprese (sing. impresa), mottos, allegorical pictures and explanatory verse. These shields were displayed in parades as part of the opening ceremonies for tournaments and also in masques across Europe from the 14th century onwards. By the late 1570s, the increasingly ornate (and thus non-functional), imprese shields had become sufficiently popular that they had replaced standard coats of arms in many tournaments (Strong, pg 144; Young, pg 128).

In England, towards the end of Elizabeth's reign, the Accession Day tilts had become very formalised and provided an opportunity for knights taking part in combat to indicate their wit and learning through the presentation of their imprese. Some lords were sufficiently worried about their lack of such virtues that they hired writers - including the likes of Shakespeare and Ben Jonson - to devise suitably arcane imprese for them. At the tourney, the painted ceremonial shield would be paraded before Her Majesty, and the related motto and poem read out to the assembled company, no doubt to much wise nodding of heads hiding a certain degree of puzzlement.

References Alciato's Book of Emblems Barber, Ricahrd & Barker, Juliet; Tournaments: Jousts Chivalry and Pageants in the Middle Ages; Boydell Press 1989 Georges, Ursula 16th Century Praise Emblems Georges, Ursula; Symbols and Mottoes: The Renaissance Impresa Nuremberg Tournament Book Peacham, Henry: The Minerva Britanna Project; 1612 facsimile Shafe, Laurnce: Art and Architecture at the Tudor Court Strong, Roy; The Cult of Elizabeth; Random House, 1999 Velde Francois, Imprese Young, Alan, Tudor and Jacobean Tournaments; George Philip 1987

While some writers mention carved shields (Georges), implying the use of wood in producing the ornate scrollworked edging of the ceremonial shield, there are also records of paper and pasteboard being used in their construction (Strong, pg 65). As a consequence, very few of these types of shields survive, with the bulk of information about them coming from descriptions of those attending the tournaments or from those who inspected the pasteboard shields which hung for some years in the Waterside Gallery in Whitehall Palace at the turn of the 1600s.

A number of portraits include images of imprese shields along with their bearer and his tournament armour. The latter included full-scale tilting shields, indicating that the parade shields were considered a separate item. In a miniature by Nicholas Hilliard, George Clifford, the Third Earl of Cumberland, is depicted wearing his gear for the 1590 Accession Tilt. His impresa shield (see below) hangs on a tree in the background, showing its motto Hasta Quan and astrological symbols which combine into a meaningful allegory (in this case regarding his defence of the Queen until the end of time, according to Shafe).

Cumberland's Shield

Ceremonial shield design, inigo Jones

Young notes that Jacobean parade shields, of the type seen in Inigo Jones' designs for pageants and tournaments (see above), were considerably smaller than real tournament shields, measuring some 18 inches by 10 inches (pg 130). Cross-checking this against the dimensions in the Cumberland portrait shows the Earl's impresa shield to be approximately this size too.

The full imprese panoply of display came from various sources. Alciato's Book of Emblems was a much-referenced collection from 1531 onwards, along with numerous others such as Ercole Tasso's Della realta e perfettione delle Imprese and Paolo Giovio's Ragionamento delle Imprese. The Nuremberg Tournament Book, recording jousts from 1446 to 1561, includes information on the tourneyers, their costumes, crests and the "humorous, often satirical, emblems that embellished the jousters' shields and horse's trappings". Earlier sources for imprese include the Classical masters, such as Ovid and Vergil, and the Bible.

Paolo Giovio, in his Dialogo dell'imprese (1599), laid out a set of rules for imprese use. The full complement of the imprese operation typically consisted of the following:

• the allegorical image or pictura, often based on a badge or personal/family device (the body, as Velde puts it)
• the motto or inscriptio, preferably in a foreign language, typically Latin though not always (the soul; Velde)
• the verse text or subscriptio, occasionally rendered in prose form, and read out to the assembly
• the ceremonial shield itself, which would have painted upon it the allegorical image and the motto

Giovio stated that impresa should be pleasing in appearance, with astrological and elemental figures, but without a human form (though this latter rule was consistently broken in the less restrictive emblem books). The motto was to be brief, but not too obscure, and the related allegorical emblem should also be not too obscure, but ideally not too obvious. (Velde, Young)

The Impresa

Bearing in mind the above, I began a hunt for a suitable impresa to develop. Choosing an impresa from a list was a period practice, with material taken from published books of mottoes being cited in use at tournaments in Italy, Germany and England (Young, Strong).

I considered a great many mottoes n conjunction with the subscriptio, looking for something which was both meaningful to my lord and to the context of the parade shield's use. Number 78 in Henry Peacham's Minerva Britanna emblem book fitted the bill perfectly.

While his collection was first printed in 1612, the type of material contained within is either the same as or comparable to that of late-period mottoes and allegories familiar to Cumberland and Sir Philip Sydney. Peacham's collection also borrows freely from earlier material by Paradin, Giovo, Ruscelli, Camelli, Contole and Capaccio (Minerva Project). So it seemed not unreasonable to use Peacham's imprese No. 78 Sine Pluma.

This is the subscriptio that appealed to me:

Sine Pluma
This warlick Helme, that naked doth appeare,
Not gold-enchased, or with Gemmes beset,
Yet doth the markes, of many a battaile beare,
With dintes of bullets, there imprinted yet,
No featherie creast, or dreassing doth desire,
Which at the Tilts, the vulgar most admire.
For best desert, still liveth out of view,
Or soone by Envie, is commaunded downe,
Nor can her heauen-bred spirit lowly sue,
Though t'were to gaine, a kingdome, and a crowne:
Beside it tells vs, that the valiant heart,
Can liue content, though wanteth his desert.

Sine pluma means literally "without a plume", referring to the humble nature of the person who takes this impresa for their own -- they aspire to greatness of spirit without requiring the baubles of power, as it were. Strong notes that ceremonial shields often had painted "stinging allusions to the grim realities of court position" (pg 145), and the topic suits this very well with its rather caustic riff on those who strut their stuff.

One of the important points of an impresa was that it should have some relationship to the individual who bears it, reflecting their hopes and dreams perhaps, as well as the more pragmatic demonstration of relevant symbology (Strong, pg 141). Bartholomew began his martial career in the SCA as a light combatant wearing a red helm with a plume; in latter years he has shifted to heavy combat (sine pluma of course!). Although he has fought in a number of Crown Tournaments, it is clearly more for the honour of the involvement than for any chance of winning, so he certainly "liveth out of view" but "can live content" nonetheless.

Peacham notes that imprese should also speak to the person to whom they are dedicated. In this case, the implicit dedication is to the Crown of Lochac. Sine pluma and the virtues it espouses would make this ceremonial shield a very fitting one for presentation at a Crown Tourney Convocation Court, putting the parade shield in its true context. (Sadly budget constraints mean that this couldn't be undertaken for the Crown Tourney it was sent to, but perhaps in future…)

The Shield

The original design for the helm is taken directly from the pictura in Peacham, I freehanded the template for the one edging of the shield based roughly on Cumberland's shield, and mirrored it to the other side for the requisite symmetry. This enabled me to develop a paper pattern to transfer to the shield material.

I used a thin pasteboard for the shield, in line with the period practice. If I were to do it again, I'd pick a heavier version for greater robustness but, given this shield is for single-use ceremonial purposes only, the thinner material is both appropriate and adequate for the task.

Young notes that there is not a great deal of information regarding what the typical impresa shield looked like (pg 130). I have chosen to make something similar in shape to that depicted in the Cumberland portrait, though the description of Sir James Scudamore's one was appealing - shaped like a heart with a turtle on it! (Young, pg 143).

The scrollworked edges are not so strongly curled as Cumberland's but best for the nature of the material used. I suspect that the Earl of Cumberland's shield would have used more costly materials, such as carved wood, in line with his status; the use of cheaper alternatives in this case is not without merit. I lightly wetted and curled the edges around a rolling pin by hand. In future I'd consider more tightly curling the edges of a heavier pasteboard by wetting them heavily and pinning them to a round form to dry, then possibly papier-macheing them to eliminate the wrinkles that would come from this process.

The painting has been done in acrylic. I'd have preferred to use goache as a more period approach, but with multiple coats of paint required to get a good base across a reasonably large surface, the cost wasn't appealing, particularly as I already had acrylic to hand. The same holds for the use of gold paint as opposed to proper gilding. My excuse is that the whole impresa deals with humility and a lack of showiness, so philosophically this approach ties in with that ideal.

Bartholomew's first mixed combat helm was painted red, so it seemed only fitting to paint the helm on the shield that colour. With gules and argent being his heraldic colours, white was the obvious choice for the field. I note that it looks like the Earl of Cumberland used his own livery colours on his shield. Given the heraldic horror of empty space and the convention of including astrological figures on these types of shields, I add a semi of stars across the field. The gold edging follows the example set by the Earl of Cumberland.

I attached a gold ribbon to the rear to hang the shield in a tree for the above photograph, a la Cumberland.

Update: No feedback from judges on this, as the event didn't run the competition.

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