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Fossier lumps Medieval workers into three categories: those working for wages, those working without pay, and those who work for minimal, or undefined (even non-cash) benefit. The wage-earners were often city-dwellers, earning by the day or by the piece of work produced. The unpaid might have been slaves (for a certain period), but most worked within the family unit in farms, or similar endeavors. What struck me as fascinating was the third sort, living with minimal (or no) fixed pay, but "living on advantages attached to the activity..." These are the characters that strike us as odd, when we encounter them in Shakespeare, Chaucer, or even Dumas. These are characters that live on the fringes, working the system and finagling their way through life. How downright un-Medieval of them.
It wasn't enough for the Church to mess with the social and spiritual lives of its adherents; it had to mess with the economy too. Because the Bible says you're not supposed to covet your neighbor's ass (there may be additional support for this line of thinking) the Church essentially outlawed profit motive, at least any more profit than your neighbors'. Price fixing and standardization of products (density of the weave in cloth, or the size of a loaf of bread) were widely practiced in Medieval Europe. You were supposed to work for the good of the community, not to line your own pockets (this is why money-lending was only allowed to the Jews). If you wanted to "get ahead," you had to be the only game in town, deal in bulk, or find some shady way to cut costs.
Creating a system of standardization is all well and good for the wage-earners, but for those fringe characters I mentioned, it doesn't quite do the job. Limits, like the ones enumerated above, only really work when you are dealing with a physical end-product. Fossier identifies these people in a wide range of roles, including,
"...the ministerial, who served as the agent or the accountant of the demesne,
but also the chaplain and the bodyguards. It also included all of those, from
the apprentice old-clothes dealer to the village knight, who lived with no schedule
and no wages on what they could glean from their 'office,' which might come
in the form of a portion of the taxes collected, the alms or oblations of the faithful,
or the profits from occasional pillage or minor theft." (Fossier pg 124)
A tax-collector (widely reviled in all literature in all eras), who might earn a percentage of the taxes he collects, is much more difficult for the Church to control than a baker. Service industries would generally provide a venue for this loophole. Fossier also identifies household servants (like those odd hangers-on you see in Romeo & Juliette) as belonging to this group. Incidentally, most of the servants of the church fit roughly under this umbrella, since they produce no tangible product and have no fixed income.
Trying to wrap your mind around living in such a condition is not simple. The tax-collector example is one of the easier ones, but even if you do your job to the letter of the law people will hate you (especially if you find everything they were trying to hide from you when you stop by for the accounting). When you put money in the "poor box," who do you think is poorer than the priest, who owns nothing? A knight with no wars or quests to impress his lord with must have had a hard go of it. Cheating seems like a tantalizing option.
Lackey, or hanger-on, always seemed an unlikely role to choose for oneself, but in a world as strictly regimented as this, it begins to make more sense. Social strata were not fixed, but limits on how you earned money created a significant barrier to improving your lot in life (plus the Church told you that you shouldn't want to). Tax-collector and other governmental roles required some serious connections. By attaching yourself to a rich household, not only were you assured the basics (food, shelter, clothing), but your fortunes might rise with theirs. Being a companion to the heir to a house might allow access to the higher strata of society, or at least their victuals and booze. Becoming the confidant of a lord could have all kinds of perks otherwise unattainable (including those political appointments unavailable to the rank-and-file).
Living in a modern world where we all try to save for retirement, have to pay for health insurance, and have to fill out mountains of paperwork to keep track of it all makes this undocumented world a little hard to envision. Handshake agreements were common, since most folks couldn't read anyway. Piss off the wrong person and you were out on your ear, no takesey-backseys. In this marginal group life was especially tenuous. You served at the will of those above you, and you'd best not forget it. This is the essence of Feudalism (as much as I said the institution didn't really exist). These relationships and social obligations were what shaped the world they lived in and allowed it to function.
Once the Church fragmented (the Protestants and all that junk), the strictures on commerce began to relax. With that, the merchant class really blossomed and the Medieval Period drew to a close. Those in between groups began to disappear. For the writer of Fantasy, this brings an interesting question. If we want to include this dynamic in our society, how do we reproduce it? Do we need a church to forcibly remove excessive profit (or usury)? Are there other forces we can use to create social stratification without immobility? Fun fun fun. If you have some ideas, please feel free to share in the comments.
Referencing The Axe and the Oath (Fossier 2010) pgs 117-131
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