Today, the term Middle-earth conjures a fictional realm of spirits and sorcery made famous by J.R.R.Tolkein's epic fantasy The Lord of the Rings. His invented tales of the wizard Gandalf, Bilbo Baggins, the hero Aragorn, the fire-demon Balrog, rings of power, Queen Galadriel, quests through ancient and evocative landscapes - the whole fantastical world of magic and adventure - have made his among the most popular novels over the last fifty years.
But now there is another remarkable story to be told: Middle-earth really existed. Historical research has revealed that, stretching from Old England to Scandinavia and across to western Europe there arose, about two thousand years ago a argely forgotten civilisation which foreshadowed Tolkein's imagined world.
[...]
The people of the real Middle-earth had a vision of life animated by beings beyond the material world - elves, dwarves, giants and fire-breathing dragons. They believed that real wizards cast spells and flew on eight-legged horses. A life-force enchanted everything. Berserker warriors were believed to change into bears, and heros journeyed on perilous quests for truth in the land of the giants. The cosmos was held together by an interlaced web of golden threads visible only to the wizards. And at the centre of it all lay Middle-earth, inhabited by people and suffused with a magical power.
THE DARKLING PLAIN
Douglas R. Mason
The north-west of England,
13th Century
CORPSE CANDLE
Paul Doherty
A mystery featuring medieval sleuth Hugh Corbett
England,
early 14th century
There was a patter of bare feet on the beaten earth floor and Aelfgyth, late but willing, was among the company nervously smoothing down a stained yellow robe from where it had been hitched up in a plaited thong belt. There was already a sweet smell of decay about the shabby room, but from the fresh stink she carried with her, it was likely she had been busy with the pigs when the summons came. She said, 'Here, Master. What do you lack?' and stopped with her head hanging down under the stares of Alain's men-at-arms.
The host put a hand flat on her chest and shoved her away. 'When will I teach you not to push yourself forward? This gentleman was speaking to me. Away. Bring a new loaf and cook a pan of eggs. And broach the barrel I fetched up yesterday. Lively now, or you'll feel the weight of my hand.'
She was off again at a run, hair flying in a dark brown pennant, and he was ready to wink and nod at Alain and draw him aside as far as space allowed.
Edward of Breckland thought that it was a very rat hole to be cornered in [...] They would, however, pay dearly for running him down. He half turned on the settle, drew his legs underneath him to take his weight on the balls of his feet. Under cover of the cloak he loosened his sword in its sheath. He was coiled like a spring ready to leap up and confront them.
'It was murder, wasn't it?' Ranulf asked sitting down on a stool.
'Murder, and a cunning one,' Corbett agreed. 'But proving it and discovering the assassin will be difficult. We are going to have to poke with a long, sharp stick. In many ways Abbot Stephen was a strange man. Oh, he was holy enough and learned but self-contained and mysterious; a knight-banneret who decided to become a priest. A soldier who decided to hunt demons.'
'Demons!' Ranulf exclaimed.
Corbett smiled thinly. 'Yes, Ranulf, our late Abbot was an officially appointed exorcist. Abbot Stephen would be called to assist with people who claimed to be possessed, and houses that were reputedly haunted.'
'Sprites and goblins!' Ranulf scoffed. 'A legion of devils wander Whitefriars and Southwark, but they are all flesh and blood. The wickedness they perpetrate would shame any self-respecting demon. You don't believe in that nonsense, do you?'
Corbett pursed his lips. Ranulf stared in disbelief. Chanson, delighted, stood rooted to the spot. He loved nothing better, as he'd often whispered to Ranulf, than sombre tales about witches, warlocks and sorcerers.
