A most impressive fresco of a sculptured horseman in trompe-l’oeil perspective dominates the north aisle of Florence’s Duomo. Painted in 1436 by Uccello (best known perhaps for his painting of St George and the Dragon in London’s National Gallery) the Latin inscription indicates that it represents Ioannes Acutus Eques Britannicus Dux Aetatis Suae Cavtissimus et Rei Militaris Peritissimus Habitus Est. A rough translation informs us that this is “John Hawkwood, British knight, the most careful leader of his age and in matters of war the most skilled”. It is an extraordinary monument in an already extraordinary building and at first leaves us wondering why an Englishman from Essex is commemorated so prominently in a Tuscan cathedral.

Hawkwood, who died in 1394 in his seventies, was variously known as Jean Haccoude in France and Giovanni Acuto in Italy, but his calling wasn’t that which we might associate with, say, an Arthurian knight — he was a condottiere, a mercenary, leader of the White Company of mercenaries, and worked for various despots, first in France and then extensively in Italy, receiving a pension from Florence before his death there. Mercenaries owe allegiance to none except those who pay them, and sometimes not even then, and are frequently a law unto themselves.

As a schoolboy I had little idea of the realities of medieval knighthood, vaguely aware that the chivalrous knights of Arthurian tales were supposed to abide by a code of honourable warfare. So, when we came to ‘do’ Chaucer’s Prologue to The Canterbury Tales and a couple of the tales themselves, I found his Knight tedious – as the verray, parfit gentil knight he lacked any of the ironic or humorous attributes Chaucer gave to the other pilgrims, and the list of battles in which he’d participated meant nothing to me, to the other A-level students and, I suspect, the teacher himself.

So when in 1980 I came across a library copy of Chaucer’s Knight I was excited: here at last was the reason why none of us ‘got’ this character at school — he was a paid professional soldier, with none of Chaucer’s epithets to be taken at face value, neither faithful, complete nor well-born. And I was doubly excited, for the author was Terry Jones, best known then as a member of the Monty Python team but now also as screenwriter, actor, director, author and TV documentary presenter. What insights could he, would he provide?

I found that this Oxford history graduate had at school, some half dozen years before me, also been perplexed by the contrasts within the “witty yet compassionate” portraitist of some of his pilgrims who was also responsible for “apparently dull and interminable pieces” such as the tales by the Knight and the Monk. At university he found that historians thought it self-evident that the Knight was a mercenary but that it was “anathema to literary scholars”. Almost laughably, while on location filming that parody of history Monty Python and the Holy Grail at a Scottish castle he gained more insights into medieval responses to mercenary duplicity. And he realised that Chaucer had even carried out secret negotiations with his contemporary Sir John Hawkwood, the mercenary of the age.

So Jones sets out to explain the ‘jokes’ in Chaucer’s portrayal of the Knight by reference to the military background, providing a commentary on the real meanings of Middle English words used to describe the Knight’s character and actions in the Prologue, underlining the subtext of The Knight’s Tale and explaining why the Knight rudely interrupts the Monk in the middle of his tale. I can’t overemphasise how comprehensive yet readable Jones’ text is: while copiously referenced, the general reader can take or leave the footnotes without seriously doubting that the tenor of his argument is correct. There are maps and (in this early paperback edition) several monochrome illustrations and, for the more finicky, a quarter of the text is taken up with an appendix, detailed yet fascinating notes, bibliography and index.

A fascinating picture emerges of the change in ethics from a feudal society to the professional, commercially-oriented society familiar to us 600 years on. Chaucer’s satire is strangely relevant even now and Jones leaves no stone unturned to hammer home his point. This must be the essential companion to any reading or re-reading of the Prologue or The Knight’s Tale. And perhaps a helpful preparation for any future visit or re-visit to Florence to view the portrait of one probable inspiration for Chaucer’s professional soldier.

http://wp.me/s2oNj1-knyght ( )

I liked this book because it changed the way in which I saw Chaucer. Actually, it tainted everything I read from Chaucer, once I finished Jones’ book. I am grateful to him for encouraging that. The book is controversial in the literary world. English professors downplay its message due to its de-emphasis on literary associations. I myself found a clear argument that Chaucer was being far more playful in the Tales than I had ever imagined. Jones uses the Knight’s Tale as a claymore sword to wreak havoc over all the other accepted interpretations of the other Tales. For the English major looking to put Chaucer into a wide context, this book will challenge that project. I found that after reading Jones’ book, I preferred the Chaucer I discovered afterwards than the monumental Chaucer who lacked any fiery impulse. ( )

As an undergraduate my Chaucer lecturer began his lectures on 'The Knight's Tale' with a ringing (and unconvincing) denunciation of Terry Jones' thesis. If his intention was to discourage us from believing Jones, he failed. Several of us raced to the library to get our hands on Jones' book and I remember reading it eagerly and finding it entirely convincing.

Years later, with a great deal more experience in litrary analysis and a far greater knowledge of Chaucer under my belt, I re-read Jones and was surprised to find his thesis rathe more threadbare. It is still a provocative and entertaining book, and one which shook up the usually somnolent field of Chaucer studies, but his central thesis simply doesn't stand up to detailed scrutiny. His work has some serious and ultimately fatal flaws.

Firstly, Jones argues we should not just look at where the Knight fought, but where he didn't fight. Why no mention of him fighting in France like a good English knight? He must, argues Jones, be a mercenary. But it's hard to see how Chaucer could be indicating this with a list of *Crusading* campaigns. The heartlands of mercenary activity in the 14th Century were in the endless wars in Italy, so why doesn't Chaucer have his mercenary knight fighting there? Jones himself constantly refers to examples of mercenaries in Italy to illustrate many of his points, but never explains why this supposedly archetypal mercenary didn't campaign there.

Secondly, Jones goes to great lengths to argue that the crusades the Knight took part in were not noble, chivalric and virtuous ventures, but actually grubby, savage and often futile affairs. This may be true from a modern person's perspective, but what Jones (who has an admitted anti-Church bias) thinks about these campaigns is irrelevant - it's how they were seen in Chaucer's time that is important. And, unfortunately for Jones' thesis, in Chaucer's time they simply *were* seen as noble, chivalric and virtuous ventures.

Thirdly, Jones devotes a great deal of attention to the Knight's appearance, saying this is an obvious clue to his mercenary status. "One might expect a glorious figure in shining armour, with banners flying, a dragon on his shield and a crested helm glinting in the sun.' he argues. Instead, we have a figure in a fustian gypon stained with rust. Again, this argument is weak. A chivalric paragon may have worn armour and carried banners on campaign, but the Knight was on a pilgrimage. He goes on to argue that the Knight's fustian 'gypon' is a sign that the Knight is poor and that it is stained by his mail 'habergeon' because, unlike a real knight, he doesn't wear a coat of plates or breastplate and fauld over his mail and under his gypon or surcoat. He goes on to present evidence that Italian mercenaries went into battle more lightly armed in this manner, but that some form of plate over the mail shirt was ubiquitous for knights in this period. But Jones is simply wrong on that last point, however, and the Alliterative Morte Arthur depicts an arming scene where no less a chivalric paragon than King Arthur himself wears a gypon directly over his mail.

Fourthly, Jones completely ignores the Squire, who is the Knight's son and whose description follows that of the Knight in the 'General Prologue'. In stark contrast to his father, the Squire is presented as fashionably and brightly dressed in the latest style, with great emphasis on his up to-date hairstyle and courtly manners. Unlike his father, the younger man has fought not for the sake of Christendom, but 'in hope to stonden in his lady grace.' (GP l. 88). His campaign was 'in Flaundres, in Artoys and Pycardie' (GP l. 86) - most probably a reference to the 'Pseudo-crusade' of Bishop Henry Despencer in 1383. Unlike his father's crusading campaigns, the Squire took part in one that was widely condemned at the time and regarded as a debasement of the crusading ideal. Jones argues that Chaucer tends to be wry and satirical in his characterisation, but forgets that three of his characters - the Knight, the Parson and the Ploughman - seem to be paragons representing the Three Estates, while it is the *other* characters who stand in satirical relation to them.

Jones' book is provocative and highly readable, but in many places it seems he is straining to find something - anything - to support his ideas while skating over alternative interpretations. For this reason (and not academic snobbery) his thesis has been largely rejected, though his book has been welcomed. This book is recommended, but it should be read with due caution. ( )