Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 135

IN JUST SIX WORDS OR LESS

Some of you may remember a few years ago when

six-word memoirs became the rage.  

Supposedly this trend could be traced to an anecdote about Ernest Hemingway.  Challenged to write a short story in just six

words, he sat down and scribbled:  “For

sale, baby shoes.  Never worn.”    Whether that was true or not, many people

were inspired to take a shot at it, and at least one book of their split-second

memoirs was published.  I thought it

might be fun to try it for historical figures. 

But first let me give you some examples from Six-word Memoirs.  They are funny, ironic, wry, poignant,

tragic, playful, disillusioned, clever —in other words, they run the gambit of

human emotions.  

Here are some I found

sad:   “I still make coffee for two.”  “I like girls. Girls like boys.”  “I hope to outlive my regrets.”   “Everyone

who loved me is dead.”    “Was father.

Boys died. Still sad.”   “So devastated.  No babies for me.”    “Coulda, woulda, shoulda.  A regretful life.”

Here are some I thought

were clever or amusing or thought-provoking.  

“Verbal hemophilia; why can’t I clot?’   “Woman seeks men; high pain threshold.”   “Perpetual work in progress.  Need editor.” 

“Memory was my drug of choice.”   “Came,

saw, conquered.  Had second

thoughts.”  “Always working on the next

chapter.”   “Lapsed Catholic.  Failed poet. 

Unpublished prayers.”    “Like an angel.  The fallen kind.”   “Giraffe born to a farm family.”  “Tried not believing everything I

thought.”    “The militant who became a

monk.”

            Okay,

everyone ready to play?   How about this

one for Henry II, a bit trite but true:  “Happier

if I’d had only daughters.”    Or

Richard, musing on his deathbed at Chalus. 

“Damn!  Should have worn my

armor.”     Eleanor: “Rebellion?  Probably not a good idea.”      John: 

“Why do people not trust me?”   

Hal:  “I was king; no one cared.”      Geoffrey: 

“I was always the forgotten son.”   

Thomas Becket: “A saint now.  I

win, Henry.”      The Empress Maude:  “I was cheated of my destiny.”     Eleanor and Henry’s daughter, Leonora: “I

couldn’t live without my husband.”   

Berengaria: “If only I’d had a child.”     Joanna: “I found love, but too late.”   The French king Philippe: “God rot all those

accursed Angevins.”      His unhappy queen, Ingeborg: “Why did I ever

leave Denmark?”        King Stephen:  “The crown brought me little happiness.”    Here’s another one for Henry, which

probably crossed his mind during his last days at Chinon:  “Betrayed by all whom I loved.”    Rosamund Clifford:  “Loved by Henry, forgiven by God.”     Henry’s illegitimate son Geoff, the

Archbishop of York:   “I never wanted to

take vows!”     Richard again, “The

Lionheart legend lives on, Philippe!”      

Eleanor: “A mother shouldn’t outlive her children.”     Geoffrey of Anjou, who died within a month

after Bernard of Clairvaux prophesied his death:  “Don’t get Bernard gloat about this.”    Or Maude again, maybe wistfully this time:  “I’d have been a good queen.”      Her brother Robert, barred by

illegitimacy from the throne: “I’d have been a better king.”      And

I’m going to cheat now and give John the last word, this one from Here Be

Dragons: “I always knew I’d die alone.”

            Moving

on to Llywelyn Fawr:  “Poor Wales, so

close to England.”    Joanna:  “I loved him; he forgave me.”      William de Braose, who was hanged by

Llywelyn for his infidelity with Joanna: 

“Hellfire, no woman is worth this.”   

Llywelyn’s son Gruffydd, about to escape from the Tower:  “Now if only the sheet holds.”      Llywelyn’s grandson, Llywelyn ap

Gruffydd:   “God help Wales once I’m

dead.”   His wife, Ellen de

Montfort:  “But we had so little time

together.”     Their daughter

Gwenllian:  “Tell me, please, where is

Wales?”   Davydd ap Gruffydd:  “Could not live with my regrets.”    His wife Elizabeth de Ferrers:  “My crime? 

That I loved Davydd.”     Their

son Owen, imprisoned from the age of three by Edward:   “Why am I being held here?”    

            Edward

I:  “For me, more was never enough.”    Henry III: 

“Westminster Abbey was my true legacy.”  

Simon de Montfort:  “I died for a

just cause.”    Also, “My brother-in-law

was such a fool.”    His wife, Nell: “I’d

do it all over again.”      Their son

Bran:  “Never enough wine to drown

memories.”  Guy de Montfort, who

committed suicide in a Sicilian dungeon after Edward I blocked a ransom:

“Please God, let me go mad.”     

            Edward

IV:  “Burned my candle at both

ends.”      Richard III:  “Please bury me at York Minster.”     Anne Neville: “I wanted Middleham, not

Westminster Palace.”     Elizabeth

Woodville: “I should have known—damn Edward!”     Edmund, 17 year old Earl of Rutland: “This

cannot be happening to me.”   Marguerite

d’Anjou:  “My life?  Much grief, few joys.”       Cecily Neville: “My life?  It lasted too long.”    Elizabeth of York:  “My life? 

I did my duty.”  Henry Tudor:  “Tudors lay claim to Hollywood next.”    George of Clarence:  “What’s that? 

A butt of malmsey?”      

            Okay,

how about everyone else giving it a try?  

You can choose any historical character, though Henry VIII and his wives

might be too easy.    You can write your

own memoirs instead, if you wish.  (You

may notice that I cravenly ducked that one.)   

Have fun.

October 21, 2012    

   

An emperor, an earl, a duchess,and a duke

On October 21, 1209, Richard’s nephew, Otto IV, was crowned Holy Roman Emperor. Want to bet Heinrich was spinning in his grave like the proverbial top? Otto had actually been elected in 1198, thanks in large measure to the efforts of Richard and his good friend, the Archbishop of Cologne. But Otto found himself competing with Heinrich’s youngest brother, Philip, the only good Hohenstaufen.  After Philip was assassinated in 1208, Otto no longer had any rivals, although his reign did not end well for him. Here is an interesting thought. If Heinrich had not died so unexpectedly in 1197, might Richard have considered making Otto his heir? He made Otto Count of Poitou in 1196, which may indicate he was thinking along those lines. But then the post of emperor suddenly became vacant and that was too good an opportunity to pass up. I think Otto’s life might have been happier, though, had he not become emperor, for he was never really at home in Germany; one historian even called him their first foreign emperor.
And on October 21st, 1204, one of the heroes of the Third Crusade, Robert Beaumont, the Earl of Leicester died. I liked Robert, an important character in Lionheart and a character, too, in Ransom. One report said he’d died a leper, but I am happy to report that historians do not believe it. I’m glad Robert was spared that, at least, for I am sure he did not have a fun time during the two years that he was held prisoner by the French king; he’d made a fool out of Philippe when the French king tried to capture Rouen and Philippe was not one for forgiving and forgetting.
And on October 21, 1221, Constance of Brittany’s daughter Alix, by her second husband, Guy de Thouars, died in childbirth, at the age of twenty. She was recognized as the Duchess of Brittany rather than her elder sister Eleanor after the Breton lords became convinced Arthur was dead because they feared that John would try to rule Brittany through Eleanor, who was his prisoner; Eleanor, of course, would spend the rest of her life as an English prisoner, first of John and then his son. Alix had been wed at 13 to Philippe’s cousin, and after she died in childbirth, she was succeeded by her son, named John! She also had a son named Arthur, who only lived for four years.
Lastly, on October 21st, 1449, George, Duke of Clarence, one of the most screwed-up brothers of a king in medieval history was born. In light of what we know about Brother George’s misspent life, I don’t see this as a day to celebrate, and isn’t that a sad epitaph?

Malala, a kind-hearted coach, and Spock

Nothing medieval to report on today’s date, so instead I am posting about an apparent miracle. It looks as if Malala Yousufzai is going to survive and without the sort of crippling brain injury that being shot in the head at point-blank range usually causes. She cannot speak yet as she still has a tube in her throat, but she is out of her coma, was able to stand with help, and even to communicate by writing notes to her doctors at the Birmingham hospital. But even if she somehow manages to make a full recovery from this appalling and cowardly assault—it takes great courage to board a school bus and gain down defenseless school girls—I do not see how she can go home to Pakistan, for the Taliban has sworn to try again. They have also vowed to kill her father, so I think her family is in great danger, too. So the price Malala may have paid for daring to say publicly that girls have the right to an education is life-long exile from her country. Uninformed people like to toss around the word “medieval” to describe crimes that we find offensive or shocking, but there is nothing medieval about this monstrous act. Nothing human, either. Please pray for this brave teenager. Here is a link to an excellent story about Malala.
http://www.cnn.com/2012/10/15/world/m...
Here is another story that I want to share. In a small Ohio town, a high-school coach performed an act of kindness that is sure to have touched the hearts of all who heard about it. One of his players, a freshman on the team, had lost his father two days before their next game. The coach, a man named Brett McLean, arranged with several of his players to do something for this grieving boy, Logan Thompson. In the fourth quarter of an October 5th game, one of McLean’s players, Michael Ferns, had opened up daylight on opposing players and was heading for an easy touchdown. Instead he stepped out of bounds at the one-yard line. On the next play, the coach sent Logan into the game with instructions to grab the handoff and follow Michael Ferns’s blocking into the end zone. The play worked to perfection. You don’t have to be a football fan to understand how much this meant to Logan. Afterward, he tweeted, “Looking straight up into the sky after scoring my first varsity touchdown…I know the old man was watching! Love and miss you so much, Daddy.”
I’ll close with some personal good news—I have thwarted Demon Spawn’s evil agenda by buying another backup computer, a HP laptop like Melusine, who is still recovering from her little jaunt over to join Demon Spawn on the Dark Side. I was going to call him Spock, but since I got him in hopes of finishing A King’s Ransom by deadline and thus avoiding having to go into the Witness Protection program, it occurred to me that I ought to get Richard on my side in this technological smack-down. So now I am thinking of calling him Lionheart instead. What do you all think?

King John, Roger Mortimer, and George Washington

Sorry I wasn’t around yesterday, but it was a slow medieval news day and I was very busy with John’s capitulation to Brother Richard at Lisieux. So this was not a fun day for my John, although not as bad as today was for the real John—he died on October 19th, 1216, apparently of dysentery, which was a deadly disease in the MA; those it claimed included Henry II’s son Hal, Edward I, and Henry V. John died at Newark Castle and his death may have saved the throne for his son, for the English lords then rallied to young Henry and the French were defeated. I’ve been asked occasionally if John really said some of the things he says in his death scene in Here Be Dragons. The answer is no; there was no one around to take down his last words, as he was abandoned by his last loyal courtiers once they realized he was dying. Sic transit Gloria mundi—thus passes the glory of the world. But I think—hope-- I did justice to the real John. We know he had a sardonic sense of humor, so I can see him jesting about auctioning off his choice body parts when the abbot asked him if they could have his heart and bowels for burial at Croxton’s abbey of St John the Evangelist. And I find it easy to imagine John really saying this, too:
* * *
As the spasm passed, John lay back, closed his eyes. “I think I always knew…”
“Knew what, my liege?”
John turned his head, looked at the abbot for a long time without answering. “I always knew, he said, “that I’d die alone…”
* * *
Also on October 19th, 1330, Queen Isabella’s lover, Roger Mortimer, was arrested at Nottingham Castle on the orders of the young King Edward III, after using a secret passage to get into the castle; how cool is that? Well, not so cool for Roger, who’d be executed the following month.
And on October 19th, 1469, Fernando of Aragon wed Isabella of Castile. Christopher Gortner’s The Queen’s Vow dramatizes the life of this controversial and powerful queen.
Lastly, it may not be medieval, but on October 19th, 1781, Lord Cornwallis surrendered to George Washington at Yorktown, ending our Revolutionary War. Actually, Lord Cornwallis did not attend himself; he claimed to be sick and sent someone else to surrender his sword rather than have to yield to a colonial. Bad form, Lord C, definitely bad form.

King/Queen Hadwiga of Poland

Yesterday, I’d wanted to write a little about a remarkable young woman, Jadwiga, who was crowned King of Poland on October 16, 1384. Polish law had no provision for a female ruler, and by calling her a king, it was made clear that she was not a queen consort, but a monarch in her own right. Her life was a relatively brief one; she died at 25 after giving birth to a daughter, who also died. But it was certainly a life not lacking in drama and she made a lasting impression on her countrymen. She was very well educated, speaking no less than six languages! (Latin, Bosnian, Hungarian, Serbian, Polish, and German). She was a patron of the arts and was celebrated for her charitable activities. She was venerated in Poland as a saint, although she was not canonized until 1997. My Polish friend, Kasia, posted about Jadwiga on my blog and agreed to let me repost it here, below.

“Jadwiga, known today as Saint Jadwiga (patron saint of Poland and of all queens) was crowned king in her own right in the Wawel Cathedral on 16 October 1384. “She was crowned king”. Sounds great, don’t you think?:-) Anyway, Jadwiga was partly Angevin, partly Hungarian, and a descendant of the royal Piast dynasty. She married Władysław Jagiełło, one of the greatest kings of Poland and Lithuania, the founder of the new dynasty and the victor of the Battle of Grunwald (1410). Jadwiga is best remembered for her charitable deeds, church foundations and the restoration of the Kraków Academy (our first university), known today as the Jagiellonian University. She died aged 25 from complications after giving birth to a daughter, who also failed to survive. Our Nobel Prize winner, Henryk Sienkiewicz (Polish version of Sharon Kay Penman:-)) immortalised her in his great two-part novel “Krzyżacy” and our great countryman, John Paul II canonized her in 1997”

That was yesterday. On October 17th, 1091, London was struck by a tornado, believe it or not. And apparently a powerful one, too.
On October 17th, 1171, Henry II landed in Ireland, where he’d gone to avoid the fallout from the murder of Thomas Becket. Nature cooperated and that winter was so severe that Ireland was cut off from the rest of the world because of savage storms in the Irish Sea. By the time that Henry left Ireland in the spring of 1172, some of the outrage had cooled and he was able to strike a deal with the Church that was reasonably favorable to him.

And on October 17th, 1346, the Battle of Neville’s Cross was fought between England and Scotland. The Scots king, David II, (son of Robert the Bruce) was wounded and captured. He was turned over to Edward III and ended up being held as a prisoner for eleven years, although his captivity was said to be a comfortable one. His ransom was set at 100,000 marks, which was never paid even though David was eventually freed. David apparently engaged in a bit of trickery, offering to bequeath Scotland to Edward or one of his sons in return for the cancellation of the ransom, all the while knowing that the Scots would never agree, and indeed, in the following year, the Scottish parliament refused to accept Edward’s son Lionel, Duke of Clarence, as the next king of Scotland. David died unexpectedly in 1371; interestingly, he was planning to marry his mistress, Agnes Dunbar, at the time of his death, a la John of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford.

Patron Saint of Computers

Today's Facebook Note

Nothing medieval of note on this date; well, there was something, but it is rather complicated, so I need some time to write about it. Speaking of which, I am guessing some of you may have noticed that I haven’t been hanging around on Facebook as much as I usually do. I really miss our interactions, but I have no choice, for that looming deadline for Ransom is bearing down on me like a runaway freight train. I will try to drop by whenever I can, knowing that I can count on Ken and Stephanie, among others, to take up the slack—a tactful term for mischief-making.
Meanwhile, Radar Max has sent me this fascinating article about the Patron Saint of Computers. What, you didn’t know we had one? A reasonable assumption, since computers generally call more demons to mind than saints. I personally continue to believe that the saint for computers ought to be St Jude, who is the poster-child for lost causes. But if you would like to find out to whom you should be addressing your prayers, here is the link. http://www.howtogeek.com/trivia/who-i...

A dog's love

Not much medieval happened on October 15th. A few interesting historical occurrences on this date—in 1793, Queen Marie Antoinette was tried and convicted, executed the next day; so much for appeals. And in 1815, Napoleon began his final exile on the isolated island of St Helena. But even I can’t come up with a medieval connection for either event.
So, instead, here is a remarkable dog story, which my friend Jim shared with me. Here is what he reported:
For the past 6 years, a German shepherd called Capitán has slept next to the grave of his Argentinian owner every night at 6pm.
His owner, Miguel Guzmán died in 2006. Capitán, the dog, disappeared while the family attended the funeral services. A week later relatives of Guzmán were visiting the cemetery when they were astounded to find the dog next to the owner's grave.
The cemetery director says that the dog comes around each night at 6pm, and has done so for the past 6 years!
Here is a link to the story in the Daily Mail. http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/artic... And here is a link to an ABC News story.
http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/headlines...

Here is another story, not as sad, about a rescue dog who was so distraught when his master was hospitalized that he tracked him down, two miles away! This is the link and photos. Naturally I like to think that Tristan and Holly would do as much for me should the need arise. http://www.care2.com/greenliving/resc...

Battle of Hastings

Well, October 14th wasn’t as busy as yesterday, but there are some interesting historical happenings.
The best-known event was the Battle of Hastings, a battle that changed history in ways that are still reverberating today. As we all know, William the Bastard—more politely known to posterity as William the Conqueror—was the victor, and the Saxon King Harold Godwinson was slain on the field. Helen Hollick has written a novel about Harold and Elizabeth Chadwick’s novel, The Conquest, also deals with this period in English history from the vantage point of both Normans and Saxons.
On October 14, 1322, Robert Bruce defeated Edward II at the battle of Byland, forcing Edward to accept Scottish independence.
According to Wikipedia, one result of the implementation of the Gregorian calendar was that there was no October 14th in 1582 in the countries of Italy, Poland, Portugal, and Spain. Please don’t ask me why other countries got to enjoy the 14th, for I haven’t a clue. But I bet at least one of my readers will know!
And on October 14, 1586, Mary Queen of Scots went on trial on a number of charges, including conspiracy and the planned assassination of her cousin Elizabeth. I think the best novel about Mary is still Margaret George’s Mary Queen of Scots.

An amazing day

You won’t believe all that happened on October 13th in history. So fasten your seat belts.
On October 13th, 54 AD, the Roman emperor Claudius was poisoned. According to the wonderful BBC series, I, Claudius, the poisoner was his unloving wife, Agrippina, who wanted to pave the way for her son Nero. Margaret George is currently at work on a novel about Nero and Boudica; I’m counting the days till that one comes out!
On October 13th, 1162, Henry II and Eleanor’s second daughter and namesake, later known as Leonora, was born. I did a Historical Note about this very interesting woman recently, which can be found on Facebook or my blog.
On October 13, 1259, the Provisions of Westminster were adopted. This was a revision of the Provisions of Oxford, adopted the year before, which have sometimes been called England’s first written constitution, meant to curtail the powers of the monarchy. Readers of Falls the Shadow will remember how important these provisions were to Simon de Montfort. Henry III managed to get them annulled, leading to the Second Barons’ Rebellion and the battles of Lewes and Evesham.
On October 13, 1278, Llywelyn ap Gruffydd, Prince of Wales, was finally able to marry Eleanor de Montfort (Ellen in my novels) at Worcester Cathedral. Edward had paid pirates to kidnap Ellen on her way to join Llywelyn in Wales and then held her hostage for three years. But he paid for the lavish wedding—the man did have a sense of humor, although in this case, it was definitely flavored with malice.
On October 13, 1307, Philippe IV of France (a nasty piece of work if ever there was one) ordered the arrest of the Knights Templar, in one of the more blatant injustices of the Middle Ages.
On October 13th, 1399, the first Lancastrian king, Henry IV, was crowned, having forced the abdication of his cousin, Richard II. Brian Wainwright’s Within the Fetterlock and Edith Pargeter’s A Bloody Field by Shrewsbury are excellent novels about this period in British history.
And on October 13th, 1453, Marguerite d’Anjou, queen of Henry VI, gave birth to a son, named Edward. The Yorkists were highly skeptical of his paternity, but that was only to be expected under the circumstances. No one can prove that Edward was Henry’s son, just as no one can prove that he was not. Actually, that can be said of any historical figure, so I think we should give the queen the benefit of the doubt. What is indisputable is that Marguerite was fiercely devoted to her only child.

A queen's husband, lost crown jewels, a battle betrayal

On October 12, 1176, William d’Aubigny, Earl of Arundel, died. He is best known for wedding Queen Adeliza, the widow of Henry I. Elizabeth Chadwick’s Lady of the English, gives us a very appealing account of their courtship and marriage.
On October 12, 1216, King John—who was not having a good year—lost his crown jewels in The Wash.
On October 12, 1459, the Battle of Ludford Bridge was almost fought. The Yorkist army was already skittish, for they saw the king’s standard flying in the Lancastrian camp and were hesitant about opposing the king himself, even a figurehead king like poor Henry VI. The death blow to their chances occurred that night when Andrew Trollope and six hundred of his men defected to the Lancastrians. The Duke of York and the Earls of Warwick and Salisbury retreated to Ludlow Castle and then fled the country, York and his younger son Edmund going to Wales and then to Ireland, his elder son Edward going to Calais with the Earl of Warwick. York’s wife, Cecily Neville, and her two young sons, George and Richard, were left in Ludlow, awaiting the Lancastrian army the next day on the steps of the high cross. It is interesting to speculate how history might have been changed had Edward been the son to accompany his father to Ireland. If he had, he'd have been with York at Sandal Castle the following December, when York rashly left the castle and fell into a Lancastrian trap. Would Edward have been the one to die on Wakefield Bridge instead of Edmund? Might there have been a King Edmund? It is impossible to answer the first question, but I don’t think a King Edmund was in the cards. Edward won over the Londoners with his personal charm and then won the crown itself on the battlefield. Take him out of the equation and who knows what might have happened.
On October 12, 1492, the crew of Columbus’s Pinta sighted land—the Bahamas—although Columbus remained convinced until his death that he’d found a way to the East Indies.
And on October 12, 1537, the future Edward VI was born. Jane Seymour, his mother, would soon die of childbed fever, so she did not get to enjoy the triumph of doing what neither Katherine of Aragon or Anne Boleyn could—give Henry VIII his longed-for son. On one of my Facebook pages, they have an interesting thread going, picking a particular historical figure and then speculating what he or she would have liked or loathed about life in the 12th century. We had some very imaginative and often amusing posts, but the winner has to be Rania. She picked Henry VIII and said she would like to be present when he learned that it was the man, not the woman, who determined the sex of a child.