Publisher Description

Giles Milton's first book, The Riddle and the Knight, is a fascinating account of the legend of Sir John Mandeville, a long-forgotten knight who was once the most famous writer in medieval Europe. Mandeville wrote a book about his voyage around the world that became a beacon that lit the way for the great expeditions of the Renaissance, and his exploits and adventures provided inspiration for writers such as Shakespeare, Milton, and Keats. By the nineteenth century however, his claims were largely discredited by academics. Giles Milton set off in the footsteps of Mandeville, in order to test his amazing claims, and to restore Mandeville to his rightful place in the literature of exploration.

Author Biography

Giles Milton is the author of the critically acclaimed Nathaniel's Nutmeg, or, The True and Incredible Adventures of the Spice Trader Who Changed the Course of History (1999) and, most recently, Big Chief Elizabeth: The Adventures and Fate of the First English Colonists in America (2000). He lives in London.

Review

"Count on author Giles Milton to be witty, entertaining and intellectually stimulating....Brilliant." --The Plain Dealer (Cleveland) "[Milton] demonstrate[s] his sharp eye for the significant detail or event....Engaging." --The New York Times Book Review "A rare and excellent work that combines scholarship with intrigue, Milton's book may induce that wonderful swoon usually contracted after long hours researching libraries and labyrinths of history." --Publishers Weekly "Pioneer traveller or shameless charlatan, Sir John Mandeville had a huge influence both on the history of exploration and on all subsequent English literature. Here at last is a book which, while always readable and amusing, takes Sir John Mandeville as seriously as he deserves." --John Julius Norwich

Review Quote

Pioneer traveller or shameless charlatan, Sir John Mandeville had a huge influence both on the history of exploration and on all subsequent English literature. Here at last is a book which, while always readable and amusing, takes Sir John Mandeville as seriously as he deserves.

Excerpt from Book

THE RIDDLE AND THE KNIGHT 1 The Inscription I remember a very old man named Jordan telling me much of Sir John Mandeville when I was a little boy ... He didn''t talk so much about his life as about the place of his grave. Alas my memory holds but a shadow of these things. Commentarii de Scriptoribus Britannicus, JOHN LELAND, circa 1540 I n the days when gods dwelt in temples, a soldier named Alban was converted to Christianity. For this crime he was hauled before Britain''s Roman authorities and ordered to renounce his faith. He refused, was tortured and executed. His body was buried where it fell. Years passed and the Romans left. The pagan altars were overturned, churches replaced temples, and imperial rule became little more than a distant memory. But the people of Verulamium didn''t forget Alban. They canonized him, they raised a mighty building over his grave, and they renamed their town St. Albans in honour of their saint. And as the Dark Ages gave way to the Middle Ages, St. Alban became famous throughout the kingdom. For a long time Alban''s bones lay alone in the abbey. But there were always a few like him who led remarkable lives. Some, perhaps, were feudal lords. Others were abbots and priests who performed great and noble deeds. Whatever their achievements, these few--and they were very few--were granted the privilege of being buried inside the abbey near the sacred relics of the saint. And as the priests chanted a Latin dirge, the good burghers of St. Albans laid their heroes to rest beneath the cold stone floor. But with the passing of the years, even these most famous of menwere forgotten, and people shuffled over their graves without realizing whose bones lay beneath the flagstones. Once in a while someone''s curiosity would be aroused by these old tombs. Victorian genealogists would try to decipher the strange script on the stone or take rubbings from the ancient brasses. But soon that, too, became impossib≤ the limestone was worn as smooth as glass and the inscriptions faded completely. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust ... And so, on that cold September evening when I first visited St. Albans Abbey, I found myself unable to make out a single name on the polished stone. It was almost dark by the time I turned to leave, and I had long given up hope of finding the tomb I was looking for. But suddenly there was the loud clunk of a switch and the pillars lining the nave were lit by spotlights. There before me, high up on a thick stone pillar, a row of faint Gothic letters appeared on the chalk-white surface. Much of the inscription had faded or been lost, for centuries of damp, soot, and peeling paint had all but destroyed the words. But here and there a few fragments had survived: exeu ... trus ... Mandeville ... de ... body tr ... monument ... died ... a ... for ... by ... a statute ... I just had time to scribble down these words before the lights were once again extinguished and the great haunches of St. Albans Abbey slunk back into the shadows. Here, at last, was a record of Sir John Mandeville--a long-forgotten knight who was once the most famous writer in medieval Europe. He wrote only one book--an untitled volume known as The Travels --but within its covers Mandeville described how he had travelled farther afield than any European in history--farther even than Marco Polo half a century earlier. He had set off from St. Albans on St. Michael''s day in 1322 with the intention of making a pilgrimage to the churches and shrines of Jerusalem. But thirty-four years later he arrived back in England claiming to have visited not only the Holy Land but India, China, Java, and Sumatra as well. And what stories he had gathered in the years that he was away! Kings and priests studied The Travels to satisfy theirthirst for knowledge of faraway lands. Geographers used his newfound information to redraw their maps. Monastic scribes translated his book from language to language until it had spread throughout the monasteries of Europe. By the time this mysterious knight died in the 1360s, his book was available in every European language, including Dutch, Gaelic, Czech, Catalan, and Walloon. The sheer number of surviving manuscripts is testament to Mandeville''s popularity: more than three hundred handwritten copies of The Travels still exist in Europe''s great libraries--four times the number of Marco Polo''s book. Early readers were intrigued by Mandeville and captivated by his outrageous tales and humorous mishaps. Yet the importance of The Travels lay in a single yet startling passage which set the book apart from all other medieval travelogues. Mandeville claimed that his voyage proved for the first time that it was possible to set sail around the world in one direction and return home from the other. In doing so, he achieved what others said was impossible: his book altered men''s horizons and became the beacon that lit the way for the great expeditions of the Renaissance. Columbus planned his 1492 expedition after reading The Travels . Ralegh studied the book and pronounced that every word was true; while Sir Martin Frobisher was reading a copy as he ploughed his pioneering route through the North-West Passage. Mandeville''s influence on literature was also immense. Shakespeare, Milton, Keats, and many others turned to The Travels for inspiration, and dozens of Sir John''s more outlandish stories found their way into the great works of English literature. Until the Victorian era it was Mandeville, not Chaucer, who was known as "the father of English prose." I discovered the book by accident during a weekend break in Paris. While searching through the shelves of Shakespeare and Co., the famous American bookshop on the banks of the Seine, I pulled down a copy of Flaubert''s journal Letters from Egypt . As I did so, a second volume fell from the shelf--a black-spined Penguin Classic entitled The Travels of Sir John Mandeville . It was a slim book, and the cover was illustrated with a portrait of Sir John taken from an illuminated manuscript. He had a ruddy face, blond ringlets, and a thick beard, and wore a pleated knee-length coat buttoned down to his waist. He looked astrange sort of chap: he held his right arm aloft and appeared to be hailing a ship that was already far out to sea. In the background, a castle stood with its doors open. On this, our first meeting, Mandeville struck me as a retiring, rather serious individual. But as I flicked through his book, an altogether more engaging character began to emerge. Mandeville''s passion was wine, and he describes the local plonk in almost every country he visits. On reaching Cyprus, he is struck less by the island''s glorious cathedrals as by the robustness of the local reds, while his account of Islam begins with an explanation of why Muslims don''t touch alcohol. Gone was the serious explorer: Sir John revealed himself as a bluff, avuncular figure who enjoyed nothing more than regaling his friends with fantastic stories of his travels. After two or three glasses, he''d be describing the maiden offered to him by the Sultan of Egypt. After four or five, he''d be battling through the pepper forests of Malabar as he searched for the elusive Well of Youth. Even in his most sober moments, he can''t resist repeating the local, if gruesome, gossip he has overheard on his travels. Passing a Greek island en route to Cyprus, he is told the tragic story of a knight unable to cope with the death of his lover: On account of the great love he had for her he went one night to her grave and opened it and went in and lay with her and then went on his way. At the end of nine months a voice came to him one night and said, "Go to the grave of that woman and open it, and behold what you have begotten on her ..." And he went and opened the grave, and there flew out a very horrible head, hideous to look at, which flew all round the city; and forthwith the city sank, and all the district round about. The book was divided into two halves, with the first part beginning with a description of Constantinople. From this, the capital of the Byzantine Empire, he claimed to have travelled south to Cyprus, Syria, and Jerusalem, as well as visiting St. Catherine''s monastery in the Sinai desert. Here he recorded his unique insights into life in this monastic community before ending on a dejected note: "They drink no wine--except on days of high festival." It is not until the second half of his Travels --as Mandeville journeys across India and China towards Java and Sumatra--that his stories enter the realms of fantasy. The farther east he travels, the more gruesome the creatures he meets, until he is socializing with women with dogs'' heads, two-headed geese, giant snails, and men with enormous testicles which dangle beneath their knees. He writes with relish about cannibals who eat their babies and pagans who drink from their fathers'' skulls. Yet for all these vivid descriptions, Mandeville continues to give a detailed account of the cities he visits and the people he meets. What was the old rogue up to? Could he really have travelled to the Far East, or was his entire book a fiction? What kept me reading on that first afternoon in Paris was neither the pygmies of China nor the cannibals of Sumatra. I was drawn to the book''s opening pages where Mandeville describes the Greek Orthodox population of Constantinople and the glittering splendour of their churches. Just two years earlier I had married my fiancée, Alexandra, in an Orthodox church in Paris, and although I had not conver

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