Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 119

A death at Chalus

I am glad to see that Goodreads has posted my new blog below, with the excerpts from A King's Ransom and musings on Game of Thrones and Downton Abbey.
Here is today's Facebook note.

There are so many incidents in which the death of one man changed the course of history. Abraham Lincoln, Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great all come to mind. England’s history would certainly have been different if Richard III had not died at Bosworth, or if Edward VI had lived to a ripe old age, denying the throne to his half-sister Elizabeth. The death of Henry I’s sole legitimate son on the White Ship sinking is another example. As is the death of Richard I.
The Lionheart died at 7 PM on Tuesday, April 6th in 1199. He was forty-one and had reigned less than ten years. I always thought it surprising that he’d lived as long as he did. In Lionheart, I had a scene where Richard was gravely ill with what they called quartan fever and we call malaria. He was hallucinating and in his fevered dream, he was tormented by his brother John and the French king, who boasted of what they planned to do to his kingdom once he was dead. He was then visited by Brother Geoffrey, who explained cheerfully that, unlike John, he’d have been willing to wait to claim the crown. “Face it, Richard, you’ll never make old bones. Other men lust after women. You lust after Death, always have. You’ve been chasing after her like a lovesick lad, and sooner or later, she’ll take pity and let you catch her.”
And at Chalus, she did.
Richard’s death was a great shock to his contemporaries, and obviously had a dramatic impact upon English and French history. But it also affected German history and the history of the region of France known today as the Languedoc. Heinrich von Hohenstaufen’s sudden death at the age of 32 was also one of those deaths that changed history, resulting in the election to the imperial throne of Richard’s nephew, Otto, son of his sister Matilda. Otto gained the crown in large measure because he had the backing of his uncle; Richard used both his political clout and his money to make it happen. But Richard’s death took away that support. Compared to Richard, John was a weak reed, and when Otto’s troubles began, he did not have the help of the one man who might have been able to right his sinking ship of state.
The fate of Languedoc is even more closely tied to Richard’s careless encounter with that Chalus crossbowman. Ten years later, Languedoc would be ravaged by the so-called Albigensian crusade, one of the darker episodes on the history of the medieval Church, in which the threat of heresy was used as an excuse to steal the lands of the southern lords and to introduce the Inquisition. This would nor have happened if Richard were still alive in 1209. He would never have permitted French troops to invade a land he considered within the Angevin sphere of influence. The Dukes of Aquitaine had claimed Toulouse since the time of Eleanor’s grandmother, and the ties were even stronger by 1209, for they were blood ties; the Count of Toulouse was Richard’s brother by marriage and his young son was Richard’s nephew. Had Richard been alive to cast his formidable shadow over Toulouse, the Albigensian crusade would not have happened—at least not then. I think it was inevitable that the south would have been conquered; its culture was too worldly, its society too tolerant, its lands too rich. But these horrors would have been visited upon later generations, and the people ruled by Count Raimond, the young Viscount of Carcassonne, and the lords of 13th century Languedoc would have been spared the persecution, the massacres, and the Inquisition.
Richard’s death had personal as well as political consequences, of course. It devastated his mother, who was with him when he died. His sister Joanna was said to be inconsolable. His illegitimate son was reported by one chronicler to have slain the Viscount of Limoges, whom he blamed for his father’s death; although that chronicler, Roger de Hoveden, is one of the most reliable of the 12th century historians, historians in our age tend to discount this story because no other source confirms it. But that it was believed by some shows the depth of a son’s grief and rage. Although Richard had pardoned the man who’d shot him, after his death, Mercadier had the man put to a gruesome death, indicating this cynical mercenary mourned his king. And the one and only time that Berengaria ventures from the shadows, the only time that we catch a glimpse of the woman, not the queen, comes from the account of St Hugh of Lincoln, who stopped by her castle at Beaufort en Valle to offer her comfort on his way to preside over Richard’s funeral at Fontevrault Abbey. Here is what was written of that meeting:
“Hearing, however, that Queen Berengaria was staying in the castle of Beaufort, he left the high road and journeyed through a wild forest region to that town in order to comfort her for the death of her husband. His words went straight to the soul of the sorrowing and almost broken-hearted widow and calmed her grief in a wonderful way.”
So we know that Berengaria grieved upon learning of Richard’s death, but did she weep for Richard himself? For what might have been? Perhaps for herself, envisioning a hard future without Richard’s protection? Or for all of those reasons? We do not know, for she took her secrets to the grave. She was just twenty-nine when Richard died, but she never married again, her long widowhood stretching more than thirty years. Richard had provided generously for her, but John treated her very shabbily, and it would be the French king, Philippe, who would eventually come to her aid. She settled in Le Mans, where today there is a street named after La Reine Berengere, and her lovely effigy rests in the abbey that she founded in her last years, on the outskirts of the city.
Richard, of course, rests at Fontevrault Abbey, having asked to be buried at his father’s feet as a gesture of repentance. Eleanor is buried there, too, as are Joanna and her son. The interloper is Isabelle d’Angouleme, John’s second wife, who died at the abbey after having to seek shelter there from the wrath of the French king; originally buried in the nuns’ cemetery, she was moved into the church with her Angevin in-laws at the request of her son, Henry III. When I’ve been at Fontevrault, I’ve sometimes thought that Berengaria belonged there more than Isabelle. But would she have wanted that? Whatever her feelings for Richard might have been, I suspect she might not have wanted to share eternity with Eleanor.

New blog up

I wanted to mention that I just posted a new blog, A King's Ransom and More Random Thoughts. I won't post it here unless Goodreads fails to do so. They'd stopped for a while, but then resumed the practice. I have posted some excerpts from Ransom, and did some musing about Game of Thrones and Downton Abbey.

A KING’S RANSOM AND MORE RANDOM THOUGHTS

A KING’S RANSOM AND MORE RANDOM THOUGHTS

 I just finished Chapter 33 of Ransom, which ended well for Richard, not so well for the French king.  The happiest day of Philippe’s life had to be the day that Richard died at the siege of Chalus.  But I am taking a quick breathing space to put up a new blog.  I thought you  might like to read some brief excerpts from Ransom since the ones I’ve posted in the past were well received. 
 Aboard the pirate ship Sea Wolf, November  1192.
*     *     *
 The ship shuddered, like an animal in its death throes.  Its prow was pointing skyward, so steep was the wave, and the men desperately braced themselves, knowing the worst was to come.  The galley was engulfed, white water breaking over both sides, flooding the deck.  And then it was going down, plunging into the trough, and there was nothing in their world but seething, surging water.  Richard heard terrified cries of “Jesu!” and “Holy Mother!”  Beside him, Arne was whimpering in German.  The bow was completely submerged and Richard was sure that the Sea Wolf was doomed, heading for the bottom of the Adriatic Sea.
 “Lord God, I entreat Thee to save us, Thy servants!”  Richard’s voice rose above the roar of the storm, for he was used to shouting commands on the battlefield.  “Let us reach a safe harbor and I pledge one hundred thousand ducats to build for Thee a church wherever we come ashore!  Do not let men who’ve taken the cross die at sea and be denied Christian burial!” 
*     *     *
 Aboard the pirate ship Sea Serpent, December 1192
*     *     *
 At last the shoreline came into view, greenish-grey under an overcast, dull sky.  The pirates were manning the oars again.  As soon as they had reached the shallows, they plunged into the water to beach the galley.  The ground was marshy and they sank into it almost to the tops of their boots, but even a quagmire seemed like Eden to them after their ordeal on the Sea-Serpent.
 The pirates were positioning the anchors to keep the galley from being caught in the next high tide and cursing among themselves as they confirmed that the rudder had indeed broken off.  The wind had a bite and the men began to shiver.  A silence fell as they looked around at the most barren, bleak landscape any had ever seen.  No trees.  No vegetation, just salty marsh grass.  No sounds but the surging of the surf, not even the cries of sea birds.  No signs of life.
 Richard spoke for them all when he said at last, “Where in God’s Holy Name are we?”
*     *     *
 Austria, December 1192
*     *     *
 By late afternoon, they could see castle walls in the distance.  Even before Gunther pointed toward it and said, “Durnstein,” Richard knew that he was looking at Leopold’s “impregnable stronghold.”  It cast a formidable shadow over the valley, perched high on a cliff above the Danube, as rough-hewn, ominous, and impassable as the surrounding mountains.  Richard would normally have assessed it with a soldier’s eye, seeking its weaknesses and weighing its strengths.  Now he saw only a prison.
*     *     *
London   January 1193
*     *     *
 Eleanor was sitting up straight now, no longer slumped back in the chair as if her bones could not bear her weight, and Andre saw that color was slowly returning to her cheeks; that sickly white pallor was gone.  As he watched, it seemed to him that she was willing her body to recover, finding strength from some inner source that defied her advancing years, and he felt a surge of relief.  It had shaken him to see her looking so fragile, so vulnerable, so old.  She was on her feet now, beginning to pace as she absorbed the impact of the emperor’s letter, and when she turned to face Andre, he saw that her hazel eyes had taken on a greenish, cat-like glitter, reflecting nothing at that moment but a fierce, unforgiving rage.
 “They will not get away with this,” she said, making that simple sentence a declaration of war.  “We shall secure my son’s freedom, no matter what it takes.  And we will protect his kingdom until he can be restored to us, Andre.”
*     *      *
Marseilles  August 1193  Joanna’s first meeting with the son of the Count of Toulouse, who was a controversial figure because of his tolerance of the Cathar heretics.
*     *     *
 There was so much tension over Raimond de St Gilles’s impending arrival that Mariam joked privately to Joanna, “It is as if we are expecting the Anti-Christ.”  Joanna smiled sourly, for her sense of humor seemed to have decamped as soon as she’d learned of Alfonso’s double-cross, for that was how she saw his surprise.  Soon afterward, she found herself seated on the dais with Alfonso, Sancha, and Berengaria, awaiting the Anti-Christ’s entrance.
 There was a stir as he entered the hall, for he was accompanied by a rising troubadour star, Ramon de Miravel.  Joanna never noticed the troubadour, though, for she saw only Raimond de St Gilles.  He was taller than average, with a lean build and the easy grace of a man comfortable in his own body.  She had never seen hair so dark—as glossy and black as a raven’s wing—or eyes so blue, all the more striking because his face was so deeply tanned by the southern sun.  He was clean-shaven, with sharply sculptured cheekbones and a well-shaped, sensual mouth that curved slightly at the corners, as if he were suppressing a smile.  He was not as conventionally handsome as her brothers or her husband, but as she watched him approach the dais, Joanna’s breath caught in her throat, for the first time understanding what the troubadours meant when they sang of a “fire in the blood.” 
*     *      *
 Now, on to those random thoughts.   Sometimes it can be a good thing to be late to the party.  I was very, very late to the George R.R. Martin party.  I had not read any of his Ice and Fire novels until HBO began running the Game of Throne series.  I would follow Sean Bean anywhere so I tuned in, and was hooked.   Naturally I then moved on to the books.  But I was spared the endless waits between books, six years for one of them!  And now it has happened again.  I did not watch Downton Abbey when it first aired.   Once I did come to the Downton party, I enjoyed myself enormously.  It reminds me of one of my all-time favorite series, Upstairs, Downstairs.  And no waiting—I can move on to Seasons Two and Three.   I know many of my readers share my fascination with Game of Thrones.   Are many of you fans of Downton Abbey, too?
 I hear there is going to be a television series in the U.K. based up Philippa Gregory’s novels, The Cousins’ War.  And of course the media remains keen on stories about the king in the car park.  I will admit that I hope Sunne benefits from this surge of interest in the Wars of the Roses!  I have already been given a rare opportunity—I was able to make revisions for the new hardcover edition of Sunne coming out in September.  Nothing drastic; Richard still loses at Bosworth Field, I’m sorry to say.  But Sunne was a learning experience for me, it being my first novel, and I subsequently concluded that when it came to writing medieval dialogue, less is more.   I have also written a new Author’s Note;, for how could I not discuss  the remarkable discovery of Richard’s lost grave.  I will try to include the new Sunne cover in this blog, but no promises, for Melusine has been her usual contrary self lately, joining Demon Spawn on the dark side.  I don’t mean to brag, but I doubt that anyone has the sort of computer troubles that I do.  
April 5, 2013

 

Roger Ebert, R.I.P.

I was sorry to hear of the death of the film critic, Roger Ebert. I admired him greatly for his long and courageous battle with a debilitating and disfiguring form of cancer. He was also a longtime advocate for equality for all, fighting for rights for women, minorities, and gays, and we can never afford to lose people like that. Here are some of his best quotes. My own favorite is the “worth more to get out” one. Think how much improved our world would be if we all followed his kindness philosophy.
“No good film is too long and no bad movie is short enough.”
“Kindness covers all of my political beliefs. No need to spell them out. I believe that if, at the end, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn’t always know this and am happy I lived long enough to find it out.”
“Every great film should seem new every time you see it.”
“No matter what they're charging to get in, it's worth more to get out.”
“To say that George Lucas cannot write a love scene is an understatement; greeting cards have expressed more passion.”
“If you have to ask what it symbolizes, it didn't.”
“If he's going to persist in making bad movies, he's going to have to grow accustomed to reading bad reviews.” -- referring to Rob Schneider in “Deuce Bigelow: European Gigolo.”
“"Doing research on the Web is like using a library assembled piecemeal by pack rats and vandalized nightly.”

Game of Thrones--again

Nothing much happened on the medieval front on April 4th, so I’m going with quasi-medieval. Here is an amusing article about the first episode of the new season of Game of Thrones. But do not watch it unless you’ve already seen the show or like lots of spoilers. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michael...

Heroes

Here is a remarkable story about a courageous, quick thinking man, a devoted dog, and two very lucky little girls.
http://www.cnn.com/2013/04/02/world/a...

A dog in peril

Today's Facebook Note

In my first mystery, The Queen’s Man, I had a scene in which Justin rescued a young dog who’d been thrown from a bridge into the Fleet River tied to a sack of rocks. I tried to set this scene in the medieval context, so there was not the outrage among the bystanders that you’d likely have found today. As proof of how our views of animals has evolved over the centuries, a real dog faced a similar fate in the Philadelphia area yesterday, deliberately tied to a rock in a creek so it would drown. This dog was rescued by a passerby who waded into the creek to save her, and the story not only made the local news, it is on today’s MSNBC page here.
http://usnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2013/... She is an elderly dog who has clearly suffered from abuse and neglect, but I will be surprised if they are not bombarded with requests to adopt her. In The Queen’s Man, Justin found himself “adopted” by the young dog he’d saved, and Shadow would later repay him in full measure.
I will not be able to spend much time on Facebook as I struggle to meet my looming deadline for Ransom, but I will try to stop by whenever I can give my Angevins the slip. Meanwhile, Charlemagne was born on this date in 742 and Henry III’s brother Richard, the Earl of Cornwell and later Holy Roman Emperor died in 1272.

Eleanor of Aquitaine

April 1st, 1204 is the death date of one of the most remarkable women of the Middle Ages, Eleanor of Aquitaine. She was queen of England and France, yet she is known to posterity by neither title, and I think that would have pleased her, for her love of her duchy was the lodestar of her life. She was in her eightieth year, a vast age for her time and a respectable one for ours, having outlived two husbands and enemies beyond counting. But she also outlived eight of her ten children, including her favorite son. She endured much tragedy in her life, but surely one of her worst ordeals must have been to watch helplessly as Richard paid in pain for his earthly sins. She rallied, though, to gain the throne for her youngest son, John. Yet I wonder if she believed their dynasty would survive, for she knew that John, for all of his cleverness and ambition, had some serious character flaws, with one that would prove fatal to a king—his inability to trust others, which made it impossible for them to trust him.
I did not dramatize her death in Here Be Dragons; John and Joanna learned of it from a distance. Since Dragons, Eleanor has taken a starring role in five more of my historical novels, plus all four of my mysteries. So I felt that I owed her a death scene and I plan to write one for her in A King’s Ransom. It will be an epilogue, so I shall be giving her the last word. I suspect she will enjoy that.

Game of Thrones countdown

Happy Easter!
On March 31, 1146, Bernard of Clairvaux preached his famous sermon in favor of the Second Crusade at Vezelay; Louis and Eleanor were among those in attendance and both took the cross.
On March 31st, 1492, Isabella of Castile and her husband, Fernando of Aragon, issued the Alhambra Decree, banishing all Jews into exile So neither date is one we’d want to commemorate, for both would result in great suffering.
The good news is that Game of Thrones, Season Three, finally arrives tonight. Here are several interesting stories about it.
http://theclicker.today.com/_news/201...
http://theclicker.today.com/_news/201...
http://insidetv.ew.com/2013/03/29/gam...

Grumpy Eleanor of Aquitaine

I assume many of you are on Facebook, too. This link was posted on my personal Facebook page and I have been sharing it. Some of the posts are very funny.

https://www.facebook.com/GrumpyEleano...