Sir Thomas More by Hals Holbein (Accessed via Wikipedia ) During lockdown, we had Time. Remember that? I was in my probationary year of teaching: almost certainly among the most exhausting years for any profession. All my time had been taken up with school work, and I regularly stayed at school until after 6pm, having arrived there at eight in the morning. Now, children, this is not sustainable and, very soon, I decided I didn’t like working where I was. Then I realised that I didn’t like teaching at all. But, in fact, neither was particularly true: I just needed to be true to myself and to say no, which would give me the ability to manage my work/life balance in a more appropriate way. What does this have to do with historical fiction, I hear you say? Well, during March 2020, we went into lockdown and suddenly I went from working ten-hour-days to ten-hour-weeks. I met up with my class on Google Meet, I put work up for them on a meticulously designed Google Classroom, but I just h...
The Bocksten Man
(Photo Courtesy of Halland Museum of Cultural History)
Over the last couple of weeks, I feel like I've got to know The Bocksten Man rather well, which is funny because I don't even know his name. But then, no one does. We all love a mystery. There is an age-old appeal to them, as people try to crack ancient codes, or unearth hidden tombs. But his mystery is far sadder. His is a mystery of death.
When he was unearthed in 1934, people were amazed by how complete his possessions were. He has become an invaluable source for textile historians, with some of the most intact garments from his time (mid-1300s) in Europe. Definitely a useful find to pull out of the bog!
But what really fascinates me - and many others - is who he was. This was an individual of note. Not necessarily a noble, but certainly someone who moved amongst them. His clothes were neat and well-made, and his gugel length (not a euphemism – a gugel was a cowl with a long tail) was of a design to suggest he was a well-to-do individual. He was someone whose disappearance would have been noticed.
But apparently not. There is no known account that could link him to his murder, and his murder was particularly cruel. He received three substantial blows to the head, the third one killing him, suggesting he was almost certainly outnumbered by his attackers. Perhaps they were robbers who ambushed him. The site where he was found had been a secluded point even then. Now it's part of a nature reserve called Bocksten Mosse. There was no money found on him, but he was still in possession of two knives, and his belt also carried a leather pouch which may have been used as a purse. He also carried a token believed to have carried the mark of the Order of the Holy Ghost, an order of religious hospitallers. Clearly he would have been recognisable to any who found him.
So here's how the murderers solved that problem: he was pinned to the bottom of the lake, impaled face down on shafts which are believed to have been timber roof supports. People have speculated over this perhaps more than anything else about him. Was it because he was there to recruit soldiers for the war against Denmark and the local men didn't want to fight a war? They would have to get rid of the evidence or the authorities would be after them. Or perhaps he was deemed so evil, his spirit would return if it wasn't pegged down. Or did his ghost return, seeking revenge? There is nothing to suggest he was impaled immediately after being murdered - the assailants may have returned a short time later and done this.
But all these scenarios - whether he was pressing people into war or deemed so great a threat from beyond the grave - lay a certain amount of blame on the shoulders of The Bocksten Man. Just maybe he was not only a victim of murder, but also degradation. It was time to tell his story...
And I did! I stumbled across World History Encyclopaedia’s Ink of Ages Fiction Prize. My go-to source of inspiration for short stories is to research historical mysteries, and that was how I met The Bocksten Man. After losing myself in his world for a week, I compiled a story which explained each of the aspects of his mystery. Unfortunately, the story ended up 1500 words too many, so quite a few bits had to get chopped out. But I have the ideas now, and the research to back them up. Perhaps - if my story fails to get anywhere - I will immerse myself in his world once more and tell the full account of who I believe The Bocksten Man was, and swing the scales in his favour.
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