The Middle Ages—often imagined as a time of knights and castles—were in truth a complex, interconnected tapestry of ancient legacies, folklore, strange diets, and bloody pilgrimages. In this third installment of Medieval Chronicles, we dive into a whimsical yet scholarly exploration of curious elements that shaped the medieval mind: from the mystical Salmon of Knowledge to the enduring legacy of Roman art, the humble eel’s unlikely prominence, and the religious wars that engulfed Christendom—the Crusades.

The Salmon of Knowledge: Myth Meets Memory

Long before the sword of William the Conqueror or the decrees of the Pope stirred Europe, ancient Celtic mythology thrived across Ireland and Britain. Among its most enduring legends is that of the Salmon of Knowledge, a mystical fish said to possess all the world's wisdom.

According to the tale preserved in Irish lore, the salmon gained its omniscience by eating the hazelnuts of the sacred Well of Segais. A druidic poet, Finn Eces, sought this fish for seven years, intending to consume it and acquire its knowledge. Yet fate intervened: the young warrior Fionn mac Cumhaill, tasked with cooking the salmon, burned his thumb and instinctively put it in his mouth—thus gaining the fish’s wisdom himself.

In the medieval period, this story took on new layers. Christian monks, who preserved Celtic sagas by inscribing them in Latin and Irish, often framed the salmon as an allegory of divine truth. The story hints at a medieval worldview where knowledge was both sacred and dangerous—something passed down through accident, destiny, or divine will.

Rolling Roman Mosaics: Fragments of a Forgotten Empire

While the Salmon of Knowledge represents the mythical past, another kind of memory lived on in physical form—Roman mosaics, relics of an empire that had long collapsed by the Middle Ages. These intricate floor designs, often buried beneath fields or churches, sometimes “rolled” through time—literally. Medieval builders and farmers occasionally removed mosaic slabs and reused them in walls, barns, or even roads.

In Britain, places like Lullingstone Villa and Bignor Roman Villa boasted mosaics that local lords and monks marveled at centuries later. Some believed these ancient artifacts were the work of giants or mythical craftsmen. Others considered them pagan relics best hidden or destroyed.

However, the medieval curiosity toward such remnants reveals a subtle reverence for the past. Even while rejecting Roman polytheism, monastic scholars studied Roman engineering, poetry, and law. Mosaics, with their faded gods and geometric perfection, were windows into a lost age—a theme that haunted the medieval imagination. shutdown123