Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 101

Murder in the cathedral

December 29th was the date of one of the most shocking events of the Middle Ages, the murder of Thomas Becket in his own cathedral. Henry’s angry, heedless words had set it in motion and he would pay a high price for his careless rage, Becket’s death casting a shadow across his reputation, stirring up all sorts of trouble with the Church, and probably causing Henry some personal grief himself, for it was said of him that once he loved, he never entirely turned his affections away from that person. I think he likely mourned the Becket he remembered, the friend who’d been as close as a brother. I was originally planning to post a scene from Becket’s death in Time and Chance, but instead I think I’ll go with Henry’s penance scene the following year at Canterbury Cathedral. Humbled and shaken by the rebellion of his own queen and sons, he made a spectacular act of contrition, submitting to a flogging by the monks and then holding an all-night vigil by the slain archbishop’s tomb. (Marsha, this one is for you!)
Devil’s Brood, pages 246-247
* * *
He’d not been able to invoke the saint’s presence, but it was easier to imagine Thomas’s earthly spirit lurking in the shadows, watching his abasement with sardonic amusement. (omission) Had the man he’d known and trusted and loved ever truly existed? Or had he been a fiction from the very first? Henry desperately wanted to know the answer, an answer only Thomas Becket could give him.
“It is just the two of us now, Thomas. No one else can hear our secrets, so why not talk to pass the time? We have hours to go till dawn, time enough for honesty if nothing else.”
(omission)
He waited, heaving a sigh that echoed in the stillness. “Come, Thomas, hold up your part of the conversation. You need not do anything dramatic, like loosing a thunderbolt or performing one of your miracles. But at the least, you could extinguish a few candles to show you are paying attention. Surely that is not too much to ask?
(omission)
Henry leaned forward, rested his head upon his drawn-up knees. He was either burning up with fever or losing his mind. “Sancte Thoma,” he mumbled, “requiescat in pace.” But there was as much pain as mockery in his voice, and when he looked up, he saw the crypt through a haze of hot tears. “Do you know why I did not grieve for you when you died, Thomas? Because I’d already done my grieving. I trusted you, I had faith in you, I loved you more than my own brother. And then you turned on me. But it need not have been that way. You could have served both me and the Almighty, and what a partnership we could have forged, what we could not have done together!”
(omission)
His tears were falling faster now, but there was no one to see them. “I am truly and grievously sorry that our paths led us to this place, this night. I do mourn you, Thomas. But do I think you are a saint? God’s truth, I do not know. You are the only one who can answer that question, my lord archbishop. We both know you could never resist a challenge. So take it up. Prove my doubts are unfounded. Prove me wrong.”
Dropping to his knees, he winced at the pain that action caused his fevered, battered body. “St Thomas,” he said in a low, husky voice, “guard my realm.”
* * *
And Becket did, at least in the eyes of his medieval contemporaries, for at the same time that Henry was praying before his tomb, the Scots king was being captured at the siege of Alnwick, thus effectively ending the rebellion against him.
In our time, December 29th is significant because tonight my green birds are going to win their division title and advance to the playoffs in their rookie coach’s first season. Fly, Eagles, fly.

King John

You will still find histories, even biographies, of King John that declare he was born on December 24, 1167. They are wrong. John was born in 1166. Had he been born in 1167, he could not have been Henry’s, for he and Eleanor were apart when she’d have needed to conceive for a December 1167 birth. Interestingly, while some of John’s biographers get this wrong, none of Eleanor’s do, all correctly placing John’s birth in 1166. How did this confusion develop? A misreading of an entry in the chronicle of Robert de Torigny, abbot of Mont St Michel, erroneously placing it in 1167. So how about John’s Christmas Eve birth? Again, there is no evidence to support this traditional date. Since he was christened John, an entirely new name not found in the family trees of either of his parents, it seems reasonable to assume he was named after the saint whose day it was, St John the Evangelist, which means that he was born on December 27, 1166.
John was Eleanor’s tenth child, her eighth with Henry; one chronicler mentioned a ninth child who was either stillborn or died young, but that has not been verified. Surviving at least ten trips to the birthing chamber is a remarkable accomplishment for any woman, especially one in the Middle Ages. Eleanor was forty-two at the time of John’s birth, and a strong case can be made that she’d just learned of Henry’s liaison with Fair Rosamund Clifford, one that was serious enough for him to have ensconced the girl at Woodstock palace. So how welcome was this fourth son, needed neither as an heir nor a spare, a son who might well have been a living reminder of an unhappy time in her life and her marriage?
No historian can truthfully answer that, of course, although some have tried. Fortunately, historical novelists have greater latitude in such matters and I can say for a certainty that my fictional Eleanor did indeed have ambivalent feelings toward her last child. Is she, then, to blame for John’s problem personality? Well, both Henry and Eleanor made their share of parental mistakes; they failed to instill any sense of brotherly solidarity in their sons, and not only did they have favorites, they compounded that sin by making it abundantly clear. But I think Henry has to shoulder most of the blame for the man that John became, for he was the primary influence during John’s formative years, Eleanor being held prisoner from the time that John was six until he was nigh on twenty-three. The last of the Angevin eaglets was undoubtedly clever, capable, undeserving of the mocking sobriquet given by his enemies, “John Softsword.” But for whatever reasons, he seems to have been the most emotionally damaged of the Devil’s Brood, and his kingship would be a failure. He is, however, great fun to write about! .

The wonderful world of Dana Stabenow

I hope the lovely after-Christmas glow lasts for the rest of the year; people seem kinder and friendlier during this time, don’t they? My sympathies to all those unfortunate people still without heat or power due to the recent ice-storms.
I have a post-Christmas gift for you all. I am a devoted fan of Dana Stabenow’s Kate Shugak mysteries, set in Alaska. The first one I encountered was Breakup when I was attending a Bouchercon and I practically walked around all day with my nose in the book, unable to put it down. I immediately read all of the earlier ones and a new Kate Shugak mystery is a cause for great celebration in the Penman household. They are well written, suspenseful, have original, three-dimensional characters, deliciously dark humor, a wonderful wolf-hybrid named Mutt, a mesmerizing ambiance, bringing Alaska to vivid, vibrant life, and every now and then, Dana lets one of the bad guys get eaten by a grizzly bear—very satisfying! You probably can tell by now that I really like this series. Well, I just learned that the first book in the series, A Cold Day for Murder, is currently being offered for free on Amazon.com, Amazon.UK, Amazon.AU, and Kobo. Here is one of the links. http://www.amazon.com/Cold-Murder-Kat... What better way to venture into Kate Shugak’s world and see if you want to hang around? The books just get keeping better, too, and there are 19 of them, plus two other series and several excellent stand-alone books. The first books in the other two series are temporarily being offered for free, too. And Dana is now trying her hand at historical fiction, with a novel coming out about Marco Polo’s granddaughter, Silk and Song. And the woman also has a website that is sure to inspire awe and envy in her fellow writers.
http://www.stabenow.com/ Be warned, though; if you go to take a quick look, you’re likely to be there for days.
Now…when did Amazon open an Australian branch? How come my Aussie friends didn’t tell me? How cool and long overdue.

Silent Night

I want to wish a wonderful Christmas to my Facebook friends who celebrate it. And for all of you, a special holiday gift. Click here to listen to a stunning rendition of Silent Night in Welsh and English. Hauntingly beautiful. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WHOJSP...

An elusive queen

Richard I’s queen, Berengaria, died on December 23rd, 1230, at about age 60. She was buried at L’Epau, the abbey she founded during her long widowhood. As I’ve said at other times, I do not think history has been fair to Berengaria, faulting her for not being another Eleanor of Aquitaine and not giving her enough credit for the quiet courage she displayed on crusade and during her long struggle with her brother-in-law, John, who treated her rather shabbily after Richard’s death. A good example of how dismissive historians can be is a comment by Elizabeth Hallam, who has written her current entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. Ms. Hallam reports that chroniclers described her as beautiful and prudent, but then adds that Richard of Devizes’s snide comment that she was more prudent than pretty is more convincing. Yet Richard of Devizes never laid eyes upon Berengaria, whereas Ambroise, who was far more complementary, did. So why does she give greater credence to Richard of Devizes? Because he was snarkier? I’ve said this before, too, that I see her as a young woman who was dealt a bad hand and played it as best she could. But she remains an elusive figure, an elegant ghost who did not share her secrets and left few footprints in the sands of history.

And so it began....

I didn’t get to post this yesterday, but December 19th, 1154 was a very important day for the Angevins and future historical novelists. On this date the Plantagenet dynasty began with the coronation of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. My friend Kasia made the interesting observation, that their son Hal, the future Young King, was present, too, since Eleanor was six months pregnant at the time, giving birth to Hal on February 28, 1155. She wonders if that would qualify as a third coronation for him?

A touchng story

Here is another remarkable story of the bond between man and dog, in this case a guide dog and his blind owner who fainted and fell onto the subway tracks in NYC. People were so moved by the story that they are trying to find a way to make sure the two get to stay together.
http://dailynightly.nbcnews.com/_news...

Christmas Music

I did this last year and the responses were so interesting that I thought it would be fun to do it again. What are your favorite Christmas songs? And are there any that you loathe? I love What Child is This because it is set to the music for Greensleeves, my all-time favorite song; I have stoutly refused to believe that it was written by Henry VIII and am happy to report that there is now evidence that it dates from the Elizabethan era. I also love Silent Night, The Little Drummer Boy, which was a favorite of my father’s, and I’ll be Home for Christmas, although I find it unbearably sad, for I always envision the singer as yearning for loved ones now dead or possibly a soldier in wartime far from family. Others I like are Christmas Eve—Sarajevo by the Trans-Siberian orchestra, Silver Bells, and the cheery Dominick the Christmas Donkey. I never cared much for A Partridge in a Pear Tree, but because my mother enjoyed it, I now listen to it with a smile. As a rule I do not like gimmick-style Christmas songs like I Saw Mama Kissing Santa Claus (ugh) or Santa, Baby, or All I Want for Christmas Are my Two Front Teeth. But with fine inconsistency, I confess to being amused by Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. And who doesn’t like Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, which teaches us a valuable life lesson. So….what do my Facebook friends like to listen to while trimming the tree or wrapping presents?
PS For anyone interested in medieval Christmas music, you can find A Feast of Songs, Holiday Music from the Middle Ages, on Amazon.

A murderous Roman emperor, a tragic queen

I am catching up from yesterday, although I’m sure Rania has filled in the gap admirably. December 15th was the birthday of two utterly disparate historical figures, truly the Odd Couple to be mentioned in the same sentence. In 37 AD, the future Roman emperor Nero was born and on December 15, (or possibly the 16th) 1485, Catherine of Aragon was born. If only someone could have gone back in time to warn her of the misery that lay ahead of her, maybe this very pious princess might have taken vows. But while Henry VIII’s marital follies have fascinated historians and novelists for centuries, his family life seems as wholesome as the Waltons when compared to what Nero got up to in his thirty-one years. Margaret George is working on a novel that will showcase Nero and one of history’s more intriguing figures, Boudica, and I am very eager to read it—no pressure, of course, Margaret!

Peter O'Toole, a shooting star

I feel as if a shining light has been extinguished. Peter O’Toole was a brilliant actor, a man of great personal charm, and he will be missed by so many. He was perfection in Lion in Winter, doing a better Henry than Henry himself could have done. His Lawrence of Arabia is a film for the ages. My Favorite Year is one of my own favorite films. R.I.P., Peter.