History is filled with taxes so strange they sound fictional: beard taxes, window taxes, hat taxes, even salt taxes that helped spark revolutions. But few levies capture the imagination quite like the so-called “medieval fart tax.” It sounds like a punchline to a Monty Python sketch—peasants lining up to pay a lord for passing gas. Yet behind the absurd name lies a real and fascinating glimpse into medieval law, performance culture, and the flexible, often bizarre nature of feudal obligations.
The “fart tax” was not a widespread policy blanketing Europe. It did not require villagers to pay coin each time they broke wind. Instead, it appears in a specific and well-documented case from 12th-century England—a curious arrangement that reveals as much about medieval entertainment and land tenure as it does about bodily humor.
To understand the story, we have to start with feudalism itself.
Feudal Obligations: More Than Just Money
In medieval Europe, land was power. Kings granted estates to nobles; nobles granted smaller parcels to knights and tenants. In exchange, these holders owed service—military service, agricultural labor, goods, or sometimes specialized skills.
Not all obligations were monetary. Some tenants were required to provide a certain number of days of plowing per year. Others owed chickens, grain, or barrels of ale. A miller might grind flour for the lord. A blacksmith might maintain weapons.
In this flexible system, unusual services occasionally appeared in legal records. These weren’t always dignified. Some tenants held land in exchange for playing music at court. Others served as jesters or acrobats. Entertainment itself could be a recognized and recorded form of rent.
Which brings us to the most famous flatulent in medieval history.
Roland the Farter
In the 12th century, during the reign of King Henry II of England, a court entertainer named Roland—often referred to in Latin records as “Rolandus le Fartere”—held land in Suffolk under a most peculiar condition.
According to entries in the Liber Feodorum (the “Book of Fees”), Roland held approximately 30 acres of land on the condition that each year, at Christmas, he would perform “unum saltum et siffletum et unum bumbulum” before the king.
Translated loosely, this meant: “one jump, one whistle, and one fart.”
That was it.
Each Christmas, Roland was obligated to leap, whistle, and pass gas in the king’s presence. In exchange, he maintained his land tenure.
At first glance, this seems absurd. But in context, it makes a strange kind of sense.
Court Jesters and Bodily Humor
Medieval courts were not perpetually solemn halls of armored seriousness. They were vibrant spaces filled with feasts, music, storytelling, and performance. Jesters played an important role, often licensed to mock authority or perform outrageous acts that would have been inappropriate for others.
Bodily humor, far from being taboo, was a staple of medieval comedy. Literature of the period—from Chaucer’s tales to French fabliaux—is filled with jokes about flatulence, digestion, and other earthy matters.
Roland’s annual performance was likely part of a broader Christmas celebration, a time when social norms relaxed and spectacle reigned. His jump, whistle, and fart were not random acts—they were choreographed entertainment, a comedic flourish to mark the holiday.
In this context, the “fart tax” was less about taxation and more about performance-based land tenure.
Was It Really a Tax?
Calling Roland’s obligation a “tax” is somewhat misleading. In medieval terminology, it was a form of serjeanty—a specific type of landholding in which the tenant owed a particular service directly to the crown.
Grand serjeanty might involve carrying the king’s banner into battle. Petty serjeanty could involve supplying arrows or maintaining equipment.
Roland’s obligation fell somewhere between practical and theatrical. It was unique enough to be recorded but formal enough to be legally binding.
In other words, it wasn’t a joke scribbled in the margins of history. It was recognized as legitimate tenure.
Why Record Something So Ridiculous?
Medieval bureaucracy was surprisingly meticulous. Land rights were serious business. Recording the precise terms of service prevented disputes and preserved inheritance claims.
Roland’s performance might sound comedic, but the land attached to it was valuable. By documenting the obligation in official records, the crown ensured clarity about what was owed and why the landholder retained it.
Interestingly, later records suggest that Roland’s descendants struggled to maintain the same terms. Eventually, the land was divided, and the original obligation faded. Whether his heirs continued the performance is unclear—but the legend endured.
Symbolism and Social Function
Beyond humor, Roland’s service may have had symbolic weight.
Medieval festivals often embraced inversion—temporary reversals of hierarchy and decorum. Kings could be mocked. Social rules could loosen. Bodily humor, normally suppressed in polite society, became a shared release.
Roland’s performance might have functioned as ritualized irreverence—a reminder that even royalty participated in communal laughter. In a rigidly hierarchical society, such moments of sanctioned absurdity may have strengthened bonds rather than undermined authority.
There’s also a practical element: entertainment was valuable. In an age without screens, recorded music, or digital distraction, live performance mattered. A skilled jester could be as prized as a skilled archer.
Medieval Attitudes Toward the Body
Modern readers may find the idea crude, but medieval culture often embraced physicality in ways later eras tried to suppress.
Medical theories of the time, rooted in humoral balance, saw bodily functions as natural and even necessary indicators of health. Flatulence wasn’t purely embarrassing—it was physiological.
Literature and art of the Middle Ages frequently included ribald humor. Manuscripts contain marginal illustrations of monks mooning each other. Fabliaux poems revolve around outrageous bodily mishaps. Laughter was earthy and unapologetic.
Roland’s performance wasn’t an aberration—it was consistent with the comedic culture of the time.
Other Strange Medieval Obligations
While Roland’s “fart service” is the most famous, medieval records contain other unusual tenures.
Some tenants were required to provide a dish at a royal banquet. Others had to present a ceremonial glove or perform a specific chant. One family held land in exchange for keeping the king’s hunting dogs.
These obligations highlight how personalized feudal arrangements could be. They weren’t standardized tax codes—they were negotiated relationships.
The fart tax stands out because of its vivid imagery, but it’s part of a broader tapestry of eccentric duties.
Did Anyone Else Have to Fart for Land?
No evidence suggests widespread flatulence-based taxation. Roland appears unique.
However, medieval Europe did have other levies with colorful reputations—like the “scutage” payment to avoid military service, or the “heriot,” a death duty requiring a tenant’s best animal upon passing.
None matched Roland’s theatrical flourish.
It’s worth noting that historians caution against exaggeration. Popular retellings often inflate the story into a systemic “fart tax” imposed on peasants. That’s inaccurate. It was a singular and specific service obligation, not a general levy on digestive activity.
The Power of the Absurd in History
Why does the medieval fart tax endure in public imagination?
Partly because it humanizes the past. Medieval history can feel distant—cathedrals, crusades, kings in armor. A court jester jumping, whistling, and farting before Henry II collapses that distance. It reminds us that medieval people laughed, joked, and appreciated the ridiculous.
It also challenges assumptions about dignity and decorum. The same society that built towering Gothic cathedrals also institutionalized comedic flatulence as a legal land service.
History is rarely tidy.
Legacy and Modern Echoes
Today, Roland’s obligation is often cited in lists of “weird historical taxes.” While the label is catchy, it oversimplifies a more nuanced reality.
Still, the story resonates because it blends law, humor, and humanity. It shows that medieval governance wasn’t purely austere. It had room—occasionally—for spectacle.
In a world where taxes are now calculated through complex algorithms and revenue codes, the idea of owing a leap, whistle, and fart feels almost refreshingly straightforward.
A Final Reflection
The medieval fart tax wasn’t really a tax. It was a performance contract, embedded in feudal law, recorded with bureaucratic seriousness, and executed with comedic flair.
Roland the Farter likely stood before the king each Christmas, delivered his peculiar routine, and secured his livelihood for another year. In doing so, he carved a permanent, if humorous, footnote into English history.
What makes the story endure isn’t just the shock value—it’s the reminder that even in eras we associate with rigidity and piety, laughter held official standing.
Some people paid rent in coin. Some in grain. Some in military service.
And one man paid it with a jump, a whistle, and a well-timed burst of air.
History, it turns out, has always had room for a good joke.