Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 104

Two unfortunate queens

November 14, 1501 was the date of the wedding of the young Tudor prince, Arthur, and his Spanish bride, Katherine of Aragon. She would soon be a widow and many years later, her second husband, Arthur’s brother, Henry, would attempt to use this marriage to rid himself of a wife he no longer wanted, suddenly discovering that his wife (gasp!) had been married to his brother, and citing his own interpretation of Leviticus to argue that his marriage to Katherine was accursed. He must have been greatly surprised when his hither-to docile and dutiful wife balked, insisting that the marriage to Arthur was never consummated and she came to Henry’s bed a virgin. The sad story of what followed is very well known, of course, for although the Tudor dynasty ruled for little more than a hundred years, they managed to capture the imagination of historians, screen-writers, novelists, and the general public.

Henry’s abusive treatment of Katherine was eerily similar in some ways to the way the French king, Philippe Capet, treated his unwanted wife, the Danish princess Ingeborg. Ingeborg endured twenty years of imprisonment, deprivation, psychological torture, and general misery as Philippe sought desperately to end their marriage. He disavowed her the day after their wedding night, had his tame bishops declare the marriage null and void based upon a forged chart showing consanguinity. That did not impress the Popes, either the timid Celestine or the strong-willed Innocent III, and Philippe’s next ploy was to claim that the marriage had not been consummated because Ingeborg had cast a spell upon him. Temporary impotence caused by sorcery was a recognized ground for dissolution of a marriage, but Innocent was not buying this, either, and the impasse dragged on. In 1212, Philippe came up with my personal favorite of his arguments. He finally admitted the marriage had been consummated—which Ingeborg had been insisting all along—but claimed there had been no insemination. (I bet I am not the only one who remembers a claim of smoking pot but “not inhaling.”) Innocent’s response to this was priceless. He told Philippe to spare him “insanities of this kind.” Philippe caved in the following year and released Ingeborg from confinement, although they never lived together as husband and wife. Ingeborg’s story actually had a happier ending than Catherine of Aragon’s, for she outlived Philippe by thirteen years, devoting herself to good works and acts of piety, while being kindly treated by Philippe’s son and grandson. Henry VIII, took a different tack, of course, when he could not browbeat the Pope into getting his own way; he simply started his own Church.
Now back to an impatiently waiting Deadline Dragon.

The pope and the saint

The news reports out of the Philippines are very alarming. A Force Five hurricane has winds of about 160 MPH; this typhoon has sustained winds of 195 MPH with gusts up to 230 MPH. Please continue to pray for all those in the path of this monster storm.
On a happier note, here is a very moving photo of Pope Francis comforting a man deformed by severe tumors. It made me think of the story of St Francis of Assisi reaching out to lepers in the MA.
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/wor...

Why we love dogs

Nothing that interested me on the medieval history front on this date. Today is the day I expect the Deadline Dragon to return, though, as the galley proofs are due. So before I fall off the radar screen again, I thought I’d share the following link.
Over the years, I’ve read about some remarkable feats by dogs. Perhaps the most astonishing occurred in Oregon about twenty years ago. I’ve probably mentioned it before, but I keep getting new Facebook friends, so that is my excuse for posting about it again. A couple was walking their Labrador retriever on the beach when the dog suddenly stopped, whirled, and plunged into the water. He swam out a great distance where a young girl was struggling desperately. When a person is drowning, it is often impossible to cry out for help; most of us do not realize that a majority of drownings occur in silence. But the Lab heard her or else he sensed her need. When he reached her, she grabbed hold of his collar and he then towed her to shore. Now what may seem most remarkable about this is that the girl was a stranger; usually dog heroics involve their own families. But what made this story truly incredible was that this dog was blind. He ended up on the cover of People magazine, deservedly so.
Another great rescue story occurred in Philadelphia about ten years ago. A guy high on PCB went on a one-man crime spree, breaking into cars and finally getting into a house where the family was sleeping. He went upstairs and when he found a nine year old girl asleep in a bedroom, he grabbed her and started down the stairs with her, holding his hand over her mouth. She managed to kick a portrait on the stairway wall, making a noise. It was not enough to wake her parents, but it did awake the family dog, asleep on the third flood. His name was Rocky and he must have caught the scent of an intruder for he took immediate action and confronted the guy on the stairs. The girl’s father said he awoke to holy hell breaking out, snarling and screaming. He came racing out to find his daughter huddled on the stairs and Rocky taking on the intruder. Since Rocky was a Rhodesian Ridgeback and weighed over 100 lbs, he could do some serious damage and did. The guy managed to escape, leaving a trail of blood that the police could easily track. There is no doubt Rocky saved his little girl’s life and he became a national hero, one who got a lot of steak. He was known for slipping out from time to time to visit female dogs in heat, but whenever that happened, the police always gave him a ride back home, sitting in the front seat. And when he died of cancer, it made the Philadelphia Inquirer.
But as amazing as these two stories are, this story of the dog and the abusive babysitter is even more remarkable in some ways, for it involves reasoning. Anyone who has pets knows they are capable of that, but many don’t.
http://www.care2.com/greenliving/dog-...

Henry's good luck

On November 6, 1153, the Treaty of Wallingford was signed, providing that Stephen would hold onto his crown until his death, but Henry (and not Stephen’s surviving son) would be recognized as his heir. Napoleon asked of a general not “Is he good?” but “Is he lucky?” Well, Henry was both good and lucky. Stephen was 57, could easily have lived for another decade. But Henry had less than a year to wait, for Stephen died on October 25, 1154. Henry and Eleanor sailed in a storm to claim his crown and the Angevin dynasty began.
On November 6, 1479, the sad Queen of Castile, Juana, was born. She has gone down in history as Juana la Loca; she was betrayed by the men whom she had most reason to trust—her father, her husband, and then her son. But Christopher Gortner has done her justice in his novel, The Last Queen, which I recommend.
On a non-medieval note, America’s greatest president, Abraham Lincoln, was elected to that office on November 6, 1860.

A queen in exile

I got so involved with Richard III and Buckingham on November 2nd that I totally forgot it was also the birthday of a lady I admire—Constance de Hauteville, unhappy consort of the Holy Roman emperor, Heinrich von Hohenstaufen, and Queen of Sicily in her own right. She was born on this date in 1154, after the death of her father, the great Sicilian king, Roger II. When her nephew, William II, died unexpectedly without an heir (his and Joanna’s only son had died soon after birth) Constance was the heiress to the Sicilian throne. William’s decision to marry Constance to Heinrich had been wildly unpopular in Sicily, for the Sicilians loathed the Germans and shuddered at the very thought of giving Heinrich a claim to their throne. But William bore a bitter grudge against the Byzantine emperor and by making peace with the Holy Roman emperor, he was then free to start a war with Constantinople. I am sure he expected to have more children of his own, too, since Joanna had given birth once and was therefore not barren. (Far from it, as her second marriage would prove.) But his rash decision would have disastrous consequences for his kingdom. He lost the war with the Greeks and then died suddenly at thirty-six, giving Heinrich the excuse he needed to invade Sicily, ostensibly in Constance’s name.
Constance appears in one chapter in Lionheart, when she and Heinrich—on their way to Rome to be crowned by the Pope—unexpectedly met Eleanor and Berengaria—on their way to join Richard in Sicily—in the Italian town of Lodi. Here is the description of Heinrich and Constance; his is so detailed because it comes from a German chronicler.
Lionheart, page 151
* * *
Heinrich von Hohenstaufen was not as Berengaria had envisioned him. He was of moderate height, but seemed shorter because of his slight, almost frail physique. His face would have been handsome if it was not so thin, and his fine blond hair and patchy beard made him seem even younger than his twenty-five years. He could not have been more unlike her brother Sancho or her betrothed, the Lionheart, and her first impression was that he was not at all kingly. But she changed her mind as soon as she looked into those piercing pale eyes, for what she saw in their depths sent an involuntary shiver up her spine.
Thinking that she’d not have wanted to be wed to this man, Berengaria had glanced toward his wife with both sympathy and curiosity, for her father’s sister Margarita had often written to them about life at the Sicilian court. Constance de Hauteville was as tall as her husband, very elegant in a lilac gown embroidered with gold thread and tiny seed pearls. Her veil and wimple hid her hair, but Berengaria was sure she’d been blessed with the flaxen tresses so praised by troubadours, for her skin was very white and her eyes were an extraordinary shade of blue, star sapphires framed by thick golden lashes. Berengaria had expected her to be fair, for the de Hautevilles were as acclaimed for their good looks as Henry and Eleanor’s brood. Time or marriage had not been kind to Constance, for in her mid-thirties now, she was almost painfully thin, and what remained of her beauty had become a brittle court mask. Her manners were flawless, her bearing regal. But Berengaria could see in this aloof, self-possessed woman no traces of the girl in her Aunt Margarita’s letters, the fey free spirit who’d been privileged to grow up in Eden.
* * *
Later in the chapter, Berengaria inadvertently reveals her identity in Constance’s hearing, much to her dismay, for her upcoming marriage to Richard had to be kept from Heinrich’s ally, the French king, who was still under the delusion that Richard was going to wed his sister Alys. Summoning up her courage, Berengaria approaches Constance and asks that the other woman keep her secret.
Lionheart, page 159
* * *
She could go no further, overcome by the futility of her entreaty. Why would Constance agree to assist Richard, the man who’d allied himself with Tancred, who’d usurped her throne? But Constance was waiting expectantly, and she said drearily, “it was a foolish idea. Why would you want to do a service for the English king?”
“You are right,” Constance said. “I have no reason whatsoever to oblige the English king, nor would I do so. But I am willing to keep silent for the King of Navarre’s daughter.”
Berengaria’s brown eyes widened. “You---you mean that?” she stammered. “You will say nothing to your lord husband?”
“Nary a word. Consider it a favor from one foreign bride to another.”
Overwhelmed with gratitude, Berengaria watched as Constance turned away then, crossing the hall to join her husband. It was ridiculous to feel pity for a woman so blessed by fortune. She knew that. But she knew, too, that she’d never seen anyone so profoundly unhappy as Constance de Hauteville, on her way to Rome to be crowned empress of the Holy Roman Empire.
* * *
Constance has a much bigger role in Ransom. Here is her first meeting with Richard at Hagenau during his German captivity, as we see her through his eyes.
A King’s Ransom, page 217
* * *
Richard turned then toward the woman seated beside Heinrich. Constance de Hauteville had married late in life, at age thirty-one, for her nephew, the King of Sicily, had been in no hurry to make a match for her. She was eleven years older than Heinrich and in the seven years they’d been wed, her womb had not quickened. Richard thought Heinrich would never put her aside as barren, though, for his claim to Sicily rested upon her slender shoulders. Joanna had told him Constance was lovely, but he thought she was too thin, the skin tightly drawn across her cheekbones, hers a mouth no longer shaped for smiles. He could see glimpses of the beauty she’d once been in the sapphire-blue eyes. Yet they were opaque, giving away nothing. She put him in mind of a castle long under siege, determined to hold out until the bitter end.
* * *
A little later, Richard seizes his opportunity for a moment alone with Constance.
Ransom, page 291
* * *
“Madame, may I have a word with you?”
“Of course, my lord king.” Correctly interpreting the glance he gave her women, Constance added, “My ladies speak no French, so I rarely get a chance to make use of my native tongue.”
Richard appreciated the subtlety of her assurance that they could speak freely. “My chancellor told me that you interceded on my behalf, getting him an audience with the emperor. If not for your kindness, I might still be enjoying the dubious comforts of Trifels. I wanted to tell you that you have a king in your debt—and I always pay my debts.”
To anyone watching, Constance’s smile was polite, impersonal, and as devoid of warmth as her husband’s own smiles. But Richard thought he caught a spark in those extraordinary sapphire eyes. “You owe me no debt,” she said softly, “for what I did, I did not do for the English king. I did it for Joanna’s brother.”
* * *
Constance had a remarkable life, filled with danger and high drama. At one time, I considered writing about her, but reluctantly concluded it was not feasible. So I was delighted when an unexpected opportunity arose to get her some time on center stage. The short story I wrote for George RR Martin’s anthology, Dangerous Women, A Queen in Exile, is Constance’s story. She was a woman of extraordinary courage and she deserves to be remembered.

It is possible to be too nice; see video

Nothing of historical significance to report on this date—in other words, lots probably happened but nothing that interested me! So I am posting, instead, some videos. The first shows a spectacular display of the northern lights over Lake Superior in Michigan. The second is bit of comfort for my fellow Game of Thrones addicts, assuring us that we have the Purple Wedding to look forward to, and then third proves that it is possible to be too nice. This poor, put-upon Doberman needs to practice how to growl.
http://www.mnn.com/earth-matters/spac...

http://www.today.com/entertainment/ga...

http://www.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/vid...

A scene with Richard III

November 2nd is a significant date on the Yorkist calendar. On this day in 1483, the rebel Duke of Buckingham was executed for treason. It is also important for another reason, which you’ll discover when you read the following scene. Buckingham had been brought to Salisbury the day before, given a trial, albeit one where the verdict was a foregone conclusion, and sentenced to die. He’d pleaded to speak with Richard, who refused to see him. In this scene, Francis Lovell and Richard’s nephew, Jack de la Pole, have sought him out to tell him the execution has been carried out. I chose the cloisters of Salisbury Cathedral because it is such a lovely setting and I had it in mind to contrast the tranquil peace of his surroundings with Richard’s inner turmoil.
Sunne, pages 1037-1039
* * *
Shaded by cedar trees, bathed in blinding sunlight, the cloisters of St Mary offered a refuge of awesome beauty, an almost unearthly quiet. Richard was seated on a bench in the south walkway; he looked up as they approached, rose to his feet.
By common consent, they all moved up the east walkway, sought the greater privacy of the Chapter House. Richard waited until Francis had closed the door and then said only, “It’s done?”
Francis nodded, waited for questions that didn’t come. Richard had begun to wander aimlessly about the chamber, gazing up at the soaring ceiling, the lofty tinted windows that splashed vivid violet and ruby shades of sunlight upon the floor, upon the faces of the two men watching him.
“Will Hastings tried to warn me,” he said at last, not looking at either man as he spoke. “He told me I was a fool to trust Buckingham. ‘Ned made more than his share of mistakes,’ he said, ‘but Buckingham was not one of them.’ Buckingham, he said, was mine.”
Omitted passages where Francis and Jack try to convince Richard that “You cannot blame yourself because you trusted the man. He’d given you reason for trust, after all.”
“Yes,” Richard said tonelessly. “I trusted him. And because I did, my brother’s sons are dead.” He turned to face them both, saw that neither one knew how to answer him. “Tell me,” he said abruptly. “Tell me how he died, Francis.”
They tell him that Buckingham died badly, begging for an audience with Richard right up until the time he was taken out to the block.
“I told him there was no way on God’s earth you’d ever consent to see him and he….well, he forgot all pride, all dignity.” A shadow of distaste crossed Francis’s face, bordering on revulsion. “I’ve never seen a man show his fear so nakedly,” he said slowly.
“Does that surprise you so much, Francis? After all, the man knew he was facing eternal damnation. Would you not be fearful to go before the Throne of God with so great a sin upon your soul?”
Francis was shaking his head. “No, Jack,” he said thoughtfully, “I do not think it was that sort of fear. It seemed to be purely physical, a fear of the axe, of death itself. When he saw there was no hope, he began to plead for time, for a day’s grace. He reminded the priests that it was All Soul’s Day, entreated them to intercede with you, Dickon, to persuade you to postpone the execution until the morrow.”
“Did he, by God?” Richard was staring at Francis. “And that’s all today did mean to him…that it is All Soul’s Day?”
Francis was at a loss. “Dickon?”
Richard turned away. He could feel it starting to slip, the rigid self-control he’d been clinging to these past three weeks, and he bit down now on his lower lip until he tasted blood.
“Today,” he said unevenly, “would have been Edward’s thirteenth birthday.”
* * *
We’ll most likely never know the fate of the “princes in the Tower.” But I remain just as convinced today as I was while researching and writing Sunne so many years ago that the Duke of Buckingham remains the prime suspect.

November 1st in medieval history

November 1st was not a historical date to remember fondly. In 1180, the fifteen year old Philippe Capet was crowned as king of France. While French historians give him high marks as a medieval monarch for greatly expanding French territory at King John’s expense, there was nothing warm or lovable about the guy, as his unhappy Danish queen, Ingeborg, and the French Jews could attest. Henry’s sons, Hal, Richard, and Geoffrey, attended the coronation, and Hal kindly helped to balance the crown on the youthful king’s head as it was too heavy for him. I can’t say I find Philippe very likable, and I have another reason now to look at him askance. I would love to have my novels translated into French, but Philippe appears at his worst in Ransom, so I can’t see French publishers beating a path to my door after it comes out!
November 1st was a bad day for English Jews, too. In 1210, John put a high tallage of 60,000 marks upon the country’s Jews and those who could not pay were arrested and imprisoned until they scraped up the money.

England's best non-king?

October 31, 1147 was the date of death of a man I’ve always admired, Robert Fitz Roy, Earl of Gloucester, illegitimate son of King Henry I and half-brother to the Empress Maude. He was an honorable man who’d have been a good king, probably a far better ruler than either Stephen or his sister. Below are two scenes from Saints. The first scene is one of the few times when Robert’s self-control cracked. Maude is embittered that men still refuse to acknowledge her because she is a woman and her outburst touches a raw nerve with Robert.
Saints, page 343-344
* * *
Rising, she began to pace. “To have come so close and then to have it all snatched away like this….it is so unfair, Robert, so damnably unfair!”
“Life is unfair,” he said, sounding so stoical, so rational, and so dispassionate that she was suddenly angry, a scalding, seething, impotent rage that spared no one—not herself, not Robert, not God.
“You think I do not know that? When has life ever been fair to women? Just think upon how easy it was for Stephen to steal my crown, and how bitter and bloody has been my struggle to win it back. Even after we’d caged Stephen at Bristol Castle, he was still a rival, still a threat…and why? Because he was so much braver or more clever or capable than me ? No…because I was a woman, for it always came back to that. I’ll not deny that I made mistakes, but you do not know what it is like, Robert, to be judged so unfairly, to be rejected not for what you’ve done, but for what you are. It is a poison that seeps into the soul, that makes you half-crazed with the need to prove yourself…”
She stopped to catch her breath, and only then did she see the look on Robert’s face, one of disbelief and then utter and overwhelming fury, burning as hot as her own anger, hotter even, for being so long suppressed.
“I do not know what it is like?” he said incredulously. “I was our father’s firstborn son, but was I his heir? No, I was just his bastard. He trusted me and relied upon me and needed me. But none of that mattered, not even after the White Ship sank and he lost his only lawfully be-gotten son. He was so desperate to have an heir of his body that he dragged you back—unwilling—from Germany, forced you into a marriage that he knew was doomed, and then risked rebellion by ramming you down the throats of his barons. And all the while, he had a son capable of ruling after him—he had me! But I was the son born of his sin, so I was not worthy to be king. As if I could have blundered any worse than you or Stephen!”
Maude was stunned. She stared at him, too stricken for words, not knowing what to say even if she’d been capable of speech. Robert seemed equally shattered by his outburst; his face was suddenly ashen. He started to speak, then turned abruptly and walked out.
* * *
In the next scene, Maude has come to Robert to apologize, something she rarely did.
p. 345
“I am sorry, Robert. I do not say that as often as I ought, but never have I meant it more. You have been my rod and my staff, more loyal than I deserved. You would have made a very good king.”
His shoulders twitched, in a half-shrug. “Well, better than Stephen, for certes,” he said, with the faintest glimmer of a smile.
Omission
“Robert.” Her mouth was suddenly dry. “I am never going to be queen, am I?”
“No,” he said quietly, “you are not.”
She’d known what he would say. But his uncompromising, honest answer robbed her of any last shreds of hope. She averted her face, briefly, and he, too, looked away, not willing to watch the death of a dream.
Omission
“Maude.” She turned back to face him, slowly, and he said, “You are not giving up?”
“You know better than that, Robert. I may have lost, but I’ll not let Henry lose, too. I shall fight for my son as long as I have breath in my body. He must not be cheated of the crown that is his birthright.”
She saw sympathy in his eyes, and what mattered more, respect. “I will do whatever I can,” he vowed, “to make sure that does not happen.” And in that moment, she realized the truth—that he’d been fighting for Henry all along.
* * *

Not a coronation to celebrate

On October 30, 1485, Henry Tudor was crowned at Westminster as the seventh Henry to rule England since the Conquest. He was actually the eighth Henry, but Henry II’s eldest son, my Hal, is ignored by historians even though he was crowned twice. It is not because Hal never truly ruled in his own right, for with fine inconsistency, Edward IV’s eldest son has gone down in history as Edward V and he not only never ruled, he was never crowned. A sad day for Yorkists. A good day for England? I’d offer an emphatic “No” but Elizabeth unbalances that equation. Without a doubt, though, October 30th 1485 should be a holy day for Hollywood screen-writers and novelists.