You might not expect it, but eels were a medieval staple—so widespread and valuable that they became a form of currency. In 11th-century England, thousands of eels were paid annually as rent to lords, monasteries, or even the king. Known as “eel-rents,” these were recorded in royal documents like the Domesday Book.

Why eels? They were abundant in rivers like the Thames, could be smoked or salted for long storage, and were acceptable to eat during the many fast days imposed by the Church. Monks farmed them. Peasants trapped them. Nobles dined on them.

But eels were not just food—they were symbols. In a Christian context, they evoked the idea of hidden sustenance from nature, akin to manna from heaven. They were also a humble offering, a sign of submission and piety in an age when spiritual economy often mirrored the earthly one.

One could imagine a medieval pilgrim journeying to Canterbury, fueled by dried eel meat and visions of sainthood, unaware that this slippery creature also formed the backbone of local economies and royal feasts.

The Crusades: Holy Zeal and Shifting Worlds

No discussion of the medieval world would be complete without the Crusades—a series of religious wars launched by Western Christians in the name of reclaiming the Holy Land. From the First Crusade in 1096 to the fall of Acre in 1291, these campaigns reshaped medieval Europe.

Fueled by papal proclamations, visions of eternal glory, and complex political motives, crusaders marched eastward—some with faith, others with greed. They encountered Byzantine splendor, Islamic science, and Eastern trade routes, absorbing new knowledge, goods, and even architectural styles.

But the Crusades also ignited tensions that would smolder for centuries. For European peasants, these wars were sometimes apocalyptic—droughts and comets were seen as divine signs. For the nobility, they were a path to prestige and land. For the Church, they were a way to reassert dominance in an age of schism and reform.

And in the midst of it all, the echoes of older tales—like the Salmon of Knowledge—reminded the faithful that wisdom, power, and truth were rarely what they seemed.

A Medieval Tapestry of Wonder

In the end, the medieval world was a paradoxical realm. Mythical fish swam in the margins of illuminated manuscripts. Roman art rolled beneath church floors. Eels slithered from ponds to payment ledgers. And men and women marched across continents in pursuit of salvation.

The Middle Ages were not dark—they shimmered with complexity. Their chronicles are stitched with superstition and scholarship, blood and beauty. To study this era is to recognize that every mosaic fragment, every folktale, every forgotten eel-rent is a piece of a grand story—one still rolling through the centuries. shutdown123