Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 142

The saint and the Angevins

This first entry is not medieval at all, but since I mentioned I, Claudius yesterday and the magnificent Welsh actress, Sian Phillips, who played Livia, I feel I should also mention that on August 20, 14 AD, Agrippa Postumus, the grandson of the Emperor Octavian, who’d died the day before, was murdered. Historians do not know who was responsible; some have suggested the new emperor, Tiberius, Livia’s son by her first marriage, gave the order, although he denied it. But I, Claudius pins the blame on Livia again. Interestingly, the actor who played Agrippa Postumus in I, Claudius was John Castle, who also played Geoffrey in one of my all-time favorite films, The Lion in Winter. So you see, there is a connection—sort of-- between this ancient Roman murder and my beloved Angevins!
Also, on August 20th in 1153, Bernard, the abbot of Clairvaux died; he would be canonized in 1174. He was no friend to the Angevins, supposedly saying “From the devil they came, and to the devil they’ll go.” He also spent a lot of time lecturing Eleanor when she was Queen of France; she didn’t listen. He appears as a character in one scene of When Christ and His Saints Slept, where he crosses verbal swords with Henry’s father Geoffrey, the Count of Anjou, and predicts Geoffrey’s death in thirty days. Geoffrey was not impressed, but others might have been when he died prematurely a few weeks later. That particular scene in Saints is also the one where young Henry meets his future wife. Since I really miss writing about Henry, I can’t resist citing it here.
* * *
He’d seen beautiful women before. He’d never seen one so vibrant, though, or so vividly compelling. She was watching the uproar as if it were a play put on her for benefit, those glowing green eyes sparkling with sunlight and curiosity and silent laughter, and when she glanced in Henry’s direction, she held his gaze, a look that was both challenging and enigmatic.
Henry drew a deep, dazzled breath. He was utterly certain that this was Eleanor of Aquitaine, and no less sure that the French king must be one of God’s greatest fools.
* * *

Froma Roman emperor to the Salem witch trials

On August 19th, the first Roman emperor, Augustus, died in 14 AD. The brilliant BBC television series, I, Claudius, had him poisoned by his wife, Livia, although historians have concluded he died of natural causes. But it is Sian Phillips’s mesmerizing performance as Livia that lingers in my memory and imagination. Of course if she’d really murdered all the people she poisons in I, Claudius, she’d have been history’s most prolific female serial killer! BTW, this wonderful actress is Welsh.
Some sources cite August 19, 1186 as the date of death of Geoffrey, Duke of Brittany, son of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, and one of my favorite characters in Devil’s Brood. But I found a convincing source while researching the book which gave his death date as August 21st, so I’ll wait to write more about him on that date.
On August 19, 1274, Edward I was crowned at Westminster. No comment.
On August 19, 1284, Edward I and Eleanora’s son Alfonso, the youthful Earl of Chester, died at only ten years old. Had he lived, England would have had its first King Alfonso, and his younger brother Edward, born a few months before his untimely death, would have been spared his unhappy reign. I have no doubt that he’d have been far happier had he never been king.
On August 19, 1561, Mary Stuart arrived in Scotland. I am on Team Elizabeth, not Team Mary, but I admit that I feel sympathy for that sheltered eighteen year old setting foot on her native soil for the first time in thirteen years. Perhaps she was doomed by circumstances, although she certainly did her best to court disaster. Another interesting What If in history. What if her young husband had not died when he did and she lived out her life as Queen of France? A happier outcome both for Mary and Elizabeth.
And on August 19, 1692, five unfortunate people were executed in Salem, Massachusetts after being found guilty on a charge of witchcraft. Shockingly, there are a few places in the world today where people are still persecuted and even killed because others believe they are witches.

A captive queen

I somehow managed to forget that on August 15, 1193, the French king, Philippe Capet, wed the Danish princess, Ingeborg, sister of the Danish king, Cnut VI. The wedding took place in Amiens and the next day Ingeborg was crowned by Philippe’s uncle, the Archbishop of Reims. So far this was the typical royal wedding. But it now took a dramatic and astonishing turn, for Philippe then declared that the marriage was over and he meant to have it annulled. Ingeborg, an eighteen year old girl who spoke no French, must have been as shocked as Philippe’s court. Philippe had her confined at the monastery of Saint-Maur des Fosses near Paris while he sought an annulment. His marital follies were to drag out for the next twenty years, making him the laughingstock of Europe, and giving Ingeborg nothing but grief.
At first he put together a false genealogy to show he and Ingeborg were related within the forbidden degree, and he got a council of compliant bishops and barons to agree. Naturally his cousin the Bishop of Beauvais was involved in this up to his neck. The elderly Pope dithered, but eventually rejected Philippe’s claim that the marriage was invalid; Philippe ignored him and married the daughter of a German duke. His contemporaries were as baffled as later historians by his aversion to Ingeborg, for she was said to be blonde and beautiful and even Philippe’s own chroniclers showed considerable sympathy for this young woman, who was being held prisoner and treated rather badly.
But in 1198, a very different Pope from the ineffectual Celestine took power, the strong-willed Innocent III, who at once ordered Philippe to put aside his new wife and take Ingeborg back. Philippe faked a reconciliation to get the Interdict lifted, but Ingeborg remained his prisoner. Even after Philippe’s German wife died in childbirth, Philippe remained adamant in refusing to recognize Ingeborg. He now claimed that their marriage had not been consum-mated because Ingeborg had cast a spell upon him, causing temporary impotence; Ingeborg always swore the marriage had been consummated. So many eerie echoes of Henry VIII’s marital struggles with Katherine of Aragon centuries later! When the Pope rejected Philippe’s claim of impotence by sorcery, Philippe finally admitted the marriage had been consummated, but claimed there’d been no insemination. Innocent III is not one of my favorite popes, but I love his response; he told Philippe to spare him “insanities of this kind.” Eventually, twenty years after her nightmare had begun at Amiens, Philippe capitulated and agreed to recognize Ingeborg as his queen, although they never lived together as man and wife. Fortunately for Ingeborg, she outlived Philippe by thirteen years, for his son and grandson treated her well—at long last. For those who’d like to know more about this bizarre, sad story, I did an article about Ingeborg for The Medieval Chronicles last year; here is the link.
http://www.themedievalchronicle.com/3...
Getting back to August 18th, on this date in 1572, Henri of Navarre, the future King Henri IV of France, wed Marguerite de Valois, sister of the current French king and daughter of Catherine de Medici in Paris. Their marriage was supposed to make peace between the Catholics and Protestants. It did not. Less than a week after their wedding, the infamous St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre occurred, with the number of Protestants slain numbering in the thousands. Marguerite and Henri would later divorce, but she gave him the ultimate wedding gift; she saved him from being slaughtered like so many of his co-religionists. He also had to promise to convert to Catholicism, although he rejected that promise as one made under duress once he was free again. He would, of course, later embrace Catholicism to end the bloody religious wars that had torn France asunder for decades, supposedly saying “Paris is worth a Mass.” C.W. Gortner has a vivid account of the St Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in his excellent novel, The Confessions of Catherine de Medici. This is not a medieval event, but I’ve often thought that I’d like to write about Henri, so I did not want to let his wedding day go unnoticed.

Birth and death on a hot August afternoon

Something happened on August 17, 1153 that no novelist would dare to invent, for readers tend to be rather skeptical of coincidences in novels. On this day King Stephen’s eldest son and heir, Eustace, died suddenly at Ipswich, apparently choking after eating eels. Eustace had spent the summer raiding and pillaging Cambridgeshire and had been cursed by Abbot Ording of St Edmundsbury (today’s Bury St Edmunds) for attacking their abbey, so people were quite quick to conclude that Eustace’s death was divine retribution for such spectacular sins. This was a major blow to Stephen, both as a king and as a parent, and indeed it would soon lead to a negotiated peace with the other claimant for the English throne, the young Duke of Normandy, Henry Fitz Empress. And as if Eustace’s death were not proof enough to medievals that God was on Henry’s side, any doubts of that were erased when word spread that on the very day Eustace had breathed his last, Henry’s new wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, had given birth to a healthy son, William. In fifteen years of wedlock to the French king Louis, Eleanor had presented him with just two daughters, and now she’d given Henry his firstborn son and heir just fifteen months after they’d been wed at Poitiers. I don’t imagine that Louis sent them a christening gift.
Also on August 17, this time in 1473, Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville’s second son was born, named Richard, probably after his grandfather but possibly after his uncle. He would, of course, become better known to history as one of the Little Princes in the Tower. His birth was an occasion for rejoicing, as Edward now had his heir and a spare. But in retrospect, it is a sad day, knowing what lay ahead for this unfortunate youngster.

Spectacular Photos

Another slow day in the medieval world. Since I couldn't find anything to write about, I am offering instead a link to some truly stunning photos of medieval sites.

http://www.lightstalking.com/21-amazi...

Book Giveaway Blog

I just wanted to let everyone know that I have a new blog up, revealing the winner of my book giveaway; your wallets won't be safe, though, for I am also making a number of book recommendations!
Here is the link since Goodreads no longer automatically posts my blogs.

http://sharonkaypenman.com/blog/

WINNER OF BOOK GIVEAWAY

As promised, I conducted a drawing for all those who’d

posted a comment on my last blog.  You

didn’t have to say nice things about my books to enter, although for those who

did, I gave them several chances to win—just kidding, of course!    I was feeling very mellow since I had such

a lovely birthday this week, so I decided to draw two winners.  They are Helen, who posted on July 17th

and Lisa, who posted on August 6th.  

You each have a choice of a signed copy of Lionheart, Devil’s Brood,

Time and Chance, or The Reckoning.  If you

e-mail me via the contacts section on my website, we can make arrangements for

me to mail the book of your choice to each of you.  Here is the link.  http://www.sharonkaypenman.com/contact_penman.htm   Congratulations, and I promise to hold another

book giveaway soon, especially if I get good news about my Balian d’Ibelin

book.  

            Now we move

to the Book Bankruptcy part of the program, where I attempt to lure my fellow

book lovers into financial ruin with me by buying enough books to fill the

Library of Congress.    I recently

discovered that Michelle Moran has a new book out, The Second Empress: A novel

of Napoleon’s Court, which I’ve added to my towering TBR pile; coincidentally,

today happens to be Napoleon’s birthday. 

And I can highly recommend a wonderful, albeit non-medieval book, “I am

Spartacus,” written by Kirk Douglas. 

 

Spartacus is one of my all-time favorite films, and so I was fascinated

to read this behind-the-scenes account of the making of this classic

movie.   With a stellar cast—Douglas,

Lawrence Olivier, Charles Laughton, Peter Ustinov, Jean Simmons, Tony

Curtis—there were some clashes of egos on set, and Douglas has some amusing

stories about their jockeying for position on and off camera.    He gives us an unexpected, uncomplimentary

view of the novelist Howard Fast, restores the multi-talented Dalton Trumbo to

his larger-than-life status, and gives us a revealing look at the young Stanley

Kubrick.  It is also an insightful

exploration of the black-list, one of the more shameful chapters in our history.  Oh, and Douglas offers wonderful glimpses of

his marriage to a remarkable woman.   

For the few who’ve never seen Spartacus, I urge you to remedy this

ASAP.     It is that rarity, a film that

is actually superior to the novel.   As a

writer, naturally I am partial to the printed page.   For years the only case I could cite in

which the film was better than the book was Home from the Hill.  The novel by William Humphrey was very well

done, but so very bleak that readers felt drained by book’s end; at least I

did.   The film, starring Robert Mitchum

and introducing George Peppard, more mercifully offered some glimmers of

hope.     Spartacus, the novel, was told

in flashback, which distanced the reader from the characters and the

action.   The film is more emotionally

engaging, the dialogue is so sharp it is a wonder the writers did not cut

themselves on it, and the acting is uniformly excellent.   For those unfamiliar with these treasures, I

recommend seeing the movie, reading Kirk’s account of its filming and then the

Howard Fast novel, Spartacus.    

            Continuing

on the book bankruptcy tour, I received an e-mail earlier in the summer from

David Blixt, who was directing a production of Shakespeare’s Richard III.   David

told me he was going to give copies of The Sunne in Splendour to the cast and crew

and naturally I thought this was a brilliant idea, so I offered to sign book

plates for them.    It turns out that

David is a Renaissance Man, a director, actor, playwright, author, and blogger.   I am currently reading one of his novels,

Her Majesty’s Will, which is a hilarious tale about young Will Shakespeare and

Christopher Marlow, who stumble into a highly dangerous conspiracy, known to

history as the Babington Plot, in which disaffected Catholics planned to

assassinate Queen Elizabeth and put Mary Stuart on the English throne; this is,

of course, the plot that led instead to Mary’s execution.    I am not far into Her Majesty’s Will since

my pleasure reading is severely limited until I can finish Ransom, but what

I’ve read so far is a delight.   David

has also written novels set in the time of the Roman Empire and Renaissance

Italy, and I am looking forward to reading them, too.   Here is his website.  http://www.davidblixt.com/#!       

            Lastly, I

want to recommend The Seven Wonders by Steven Saylor.  For those of you who haven’t read his

wonderful mystery series set in ancient Rome, you are in for such a treat.  The Seven Wonders, just published this

summer, is a prequel, in which we learn how his major character, Gordianus,

became a Finder, what we would today call a P.I.    Ancient Rome seems to have been a popular

place for private investigators; Lindsey Davies has her marvelous series about

the wise-cracking Falco and John Maddox Roberts has a very entertaining series

with the cynical, sardonic Decius Caecileus Metellus.   Steven Saylor’s series has darker undertones

and is more suspenseful, for we feel sure that nothing bad will happen to Falco

or Decius, but Gordianus’s world is a far more dangerous place.  

            Now I am

retreating back into the 12th century, where Joanna and Berengaria

have finally reached safety in Poitiers, John has taken refuge in France after

getting the French king’s terse warning, “The Devil is loosed,” the “Devil” is

composing a plaintive lament about his German captivity, and Eleanor is moving

heaven and earth to raise the ransom money needed to free her son.   This was such a monumental undertaking that

I doubt it could have been done if not for Eleanor’s determination and iron

will.   Richard certainly knew how

fortunate he was to have her hand on the helm.  

In a letter he wrote to her from Speyer on March 30, 1193, he repeatedly

calls her his “dearest mother” and “sweetest mother,” wishes her “all the

happiness that a devoted son can desire for his mother,” and thanks her for

“your loyalty to us and the faithful care and diligence you give to our lands

for peace and defense so devotedly and effectively.”      This was not a private letter, was  meant to be shared with his council, so it is

formally phrased and in Latin, of course, but it is a revealing glimpse of his

inner thoughts and of the bond between mother and son.  

August 15, 2012        

August 15th, another busy day in history

An eclectic mix of historical events on August 15th, so much so that I strayed out of the MA for a few. On this date in 778 AD, Roland was slain at the battle of Roncevaux Pass in the Pyrenees. Very little is known about him; one legend has it that he was Charlemagne’s nephew. But he became a medieval rock star, the hero of the Chanson de Roland, which was immensely popular in the MA. Coincidentally, Joanna and Berengaria stopped in Blaye after they left Bordeaux in my last chapter. Blaye is reputed to be where Roland was buried, but they were more interested in the romantic legend of the troubadour Jaufre Rudel, the Lord of Blaye, who was said to have fallen in love with the Countess of Tripoli, a woman he’d never met. He took the cross and accompanied Eleanor and Louis on their ill-fated Second Crusade, where he became gravely ill and was brought ashore at Tripoli. The countess was told of his devotion and visited him in time for him to die in her arms. Or so the story goes.
I just mentioned MacBeth yesterday, as he’d become King of Scotland on that date in 1040; well, he died on August 15, 1057, in battle, of course; not too many early kings got to die peacefully in bed.
The one historical event connected to my books occurred on August 15, 1196, when Conrad, the Duke of Swabia, was murdered. Conrad was the younger brother of the Lionheart’s nemesis, the Holy Roman Emperor, Heinrich von Hohenstaufen, and he sounds like a real piece of work. None of the contemporary chroniclers had anything good to say about Conrad, and he was killed by the husband of a woman he’d raped. At least that is one account; another says he was bitten by a virgin he was raping and the wound became infected. This paragon was only twenty-three at the time of his death, and his brother Otto would be murdered a few years later after engaging in more feuds than the Hatfields and McCoys. Heinrich would show a sadistic streak himself once he assumed power in Sicily. Yet the youngest brother Philip, who would rule after Heinrich’s untimely death, seems to have been a genuine nice guy; maybe he was a foundling?
On August 15, 1483, Pope Sixtius IV consecrated the magnificent Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo’s masterpiece, though Botticelli and a few other Renaissance artists had a hand in it, too.
On to the non-medieval. On August 15, 1769, Napoleon Bonaparte was born on Corsica, which I mention because of the huge impact this man had on European history. And on August 15, 1771, Sir Walter Scott was born; of course he wasn’t a “sir” yet. I mention Sir Walter because his Ivanhoe did a lot to popularize the legend of Robin Hood, Richard the Lionheart, and evil Prince John. I also did an introduction for an edition of Ivanhoe some years ago which is not a fond memory, for I came back from a writer’s conference in Anchorage, Alaska very sick with the flu and still had to write that introduction despite feeling as if I ought to be writing my last will and testament.

A Shakespearean king, a Tudor martyr, and a foolish young queen

I would like to thank everyone who sent me birthday good wishes, a lovely way to launch a very enjoyable birthday. It was fun to get greetings in other languages, too; kudos to Stephanie for being the only one to dare a greeting in Klingon. And I am pleased to report that Joanna and Berengaria have safely reached Poitiers after a long and eventful journey from Rome, escorted by a papal legate, Cardinal Melior, and Raimond de St Gilles, future Count of Toulouse.

On August 14, 1040, King Duncan of Scotland was killed in battle against Macbeth, who would rule Scotland for the next seventeen years and would be unlucky enough to attract the attention of an Elizabethan playwright named Shakespeare. The result would be a great play, but not an accurate portrayal of the flesh and blood Macbeth. When the truth comes up against genius, the latter usually prevails, as the victim of another immortal Shakespearean play can testify.
On August 14, 1473, Margaret Pole, daughter of George, Duke of Clarence, and Isabel Neville, was born. She would later wed the Earl of Salisbury and meet a gruesome death at the age of 68, brutally executed by Henry VIII’s axman on a trumped-up charge of treason. Her judicial murder was one of the darker stains on the Tudor record; she would later be beatified as a martyr by the Roman Catholic Church. Hazel Pierce has written a biography of this interesting woman, Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, 1473-1541.
And on August 14, 1479, Catherine of York, the sixth daughter of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville was born. She would later wed Edward Courtenay, son and heir of the Earl of Devon; widowed at 31, she took a vow of chastity and—unlike another king’s daughter, John’s daughter Eleanor (My Nell in Falls the Shadow)—Catherine would hold to hers, dying in 1527.
Then, on August 14, 1561, Mary Queen of Scots left her beloved France for her alien homeland, Scotland. As we all know, this would not end well. I wrote recently that Mary never met a bad decision she did not want to embrace, so she is not a favorite of mine. But never-theless, there is something sad about this date, as the young, naïve queen sails off to her new life, doubtless with a mixture of unease and excitement. I think Margaret George does a fine job of bringing Mary to life in her novel, Mary Queen of Scots.
And for a total change of pace, August 14, 1851 was the birthday of the consumptive dentist and sometime gunman, pal of Wyatt Earp, made famous or infamous by the gun-fight at the OK Corral, Doc Holliday.

Cleopatra and the Kingdom of Jerusalem

One of history’s more celebrated and intriguing women died on August 12, 30 BC, when Cleopatra committed suicide rather than let Octavian bring her back in triumph as a prisoner to Rome. All of the early sources say that she died after being bitten by an asp, an Egyptian cobra. A modern historian has challenged this, saying she more likely died after taking hemlock, but I’m inclined to accept the early sources. Stacy Schiff wrote a successful biography of the famed Egyptian queen, “Cleopatra: a Life”, to follow up on her wonderful biography of Ben Franklin, “A great Improvisation: Franklin, France, and the Birth of America”, and Margaret George has written a novel about Cleopatra which I recommend. Michelle Moran has also written an interesting novel ,“Cleopatra’s Daughter,” about the fates of Cleopatra and Mark Antony’s children, who were sent back to Rome to be raised by his long-suffering wife, Antonia. Her son by Julius Caesar, Caesarian, was murdered by Octavian. He would. I suppose Cleopatra has gotten a small measure of revenge, though, for I’d guess that she is better known today to the general public than Octavian.
And on August 12, 1099, the Battle of Ascalon was fought, in which Godfrey de Bouillon defeated a much larger army in what is considered to be the last battle of the bloody and brutal First Crusade. Godfrey, a younger son of the Count of Boulogne, distinguished himself in battle and was among the first to breach the wall at Jerusalem. When Raymond IV, Count of Toulouse refused the kingship, it was offered to Godfrey, who accepted but refused the title of king, saying that belonged only to God. His reign was a short one; he died the following year in Jerusalem after a prolonged illness. Nearly a hundred years later, Henri, the Count of Champagne, showed the same reluctance to accept the kingship, and while he did marry the Queen of Jerusalem, Isabella, and seems to have been very happy with her during their time together, he never claimed the kingship for himself, continuing to call himself Count of Champagne or sometimes Lord of Jerusalem. I’d keep my fingers crossed that I’ll get to write about Henri in my next book except that it makes typing a bit of a challenge.