Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 15
May 6, 2019
Another Deadline Dragon and the Battle of Tewkesbury
I am sorry to report that I may be falling off the radar screen for a while; I have to do more proof-reading for my publisher and another Deadline Dragon has taken up residence until I am able to get it done. I’ll do my best to give him the slip and stop by now and then in the next few weeks. Meanwhile, here is a very old post about the Battle of Tewkesbury.
On May 4, 1471, the battle of Tewkesbury was fought between the Yorkists and Lancastrians. The victory would go to Edward and the hopes of Lancaster would die with their prince, leaving Marguerite d’Anjou to endure a living death for the next eleven years. When she finally did die, few noticed. The French king did ask for her dogs, though; Louis XI loved dogs.
As odd as it may sound, I enjoyed writing about the battle of Tewkesbury. The battle itself and the events leading up to it were very dramatic and most writers are hopelessly addicted to drama; it is in our DNA. I got to write about the wild race—with Marguerite determined to cross the River Severn to safety and Edward just as determined to stop her from joining with Welsh rebels and postponing their reckoning. The battle itself included an ambush, rather rare in medieval battles, a betrayal, which was not so rare, and a bloody confrontation between two of the Lancastrian leaders, which was beyond rare. Edward showed why he is considered a superior medieval general, Richard showed why Edward had entrusted him with the vanguard despite his youth, and George…Well, George was George, taking credit for ordering his men to kill the young Lancastrian prince.
Tewkesbury is one of my favorite English towns and I have loved its cathedral since my first visit so many years ago. I have never entered it without feeling a strong sense of the past, without envisioning the ghosts of those long dead soldiers as they huddled in the shadows and listened as the abbot sought to keep Edward from entering in pursuit of them. He would pardon the men who’d sought sanctuary in the abbey church—all but the Earl of Somerset and thirteen Lancastrian captains who were taken by force and tried for treason before the Earl Marshal and the Lord Constable, Edward’s eighteen-year-old brother Richard—who grew up in a hurry even by medieval standards. They were found guilty, of course, and beheaded the next morning in the town’s market square, in the shadow of the stone high cross. Edward waived the penalty of disembowelment, the gruesome death for treason since Edward I had ordered it for the Welsh prince, Davydd ap Gruffydd. Unlike the first Edward, the fourth one was capable of showing mercy to his enemies—and sparing a man a drawn and quartered death was definitely a mercy.
On May 4, 1471, the battle of Tewkesbury was fought between the Yorkists and Lancastrians. The victory would go to Edward and the hopes of Lancaster would die with their prince, leaving Marguerite d’Anjou to endure a living death for the next eleven years. When she finally did die, few noticed. The French king did ask for her dogs, though; Louis XI loved dogs.
As odd as it may sound, I enjoyed writing about the battle of Tewkesbury. The battle itself and the events leading up to it were very dramatic and most writers are hopelessly addicted to drama; it is in our DNA. I got to write about the wild race—with Marguerite determined to cross the River Severn to safety and Edward just as determined to stop her from joining with Welsh rebels and postponing their reckoning. The battle itself included an ambush, rather rare in medieval battles, a betrayal, which was not so rare, and a bloody confrontation between two of the Lancastrian leaders, which was beyond rare. Edward showed why he is considered a superior medieval general, Richard showed why Edward had entrusted him with the vanguard despite his youth, and George…Well, George was George, taking credit for ordering his men to kill the young Lancastrian prince.
Tewkesbury is one of my favorite English towns and I have loved its cathedral since my first visit so many years ago. I have never entered it without feeling a strong sense of the past, without envisioning the ghosts of those long dead soldiers as they huddled in the shadows and listened as the abbot sought to keep Edward from entering in pursuit of them. He would pardon the men who’d sought sanctuary in the abbey church—all but the Earl of Somerset and thirteen Lancastrian captains who were taken by force and tried for treason before the Earl Marshal and the Lord Constable, Edward’s eighteen-year-old brother Richard—who grew up in a hurry even by medieval standards. They were found guilty, of course, and beheaded the next morning in the town’s market square, in the shadow of the stone high cross. Edward waived the penalty of disembowelment, the gruesome death for treason since Edward I had ordered it for the Welsh prince, Davydd ap Gruffydd. Unlike the first Edward, the fourth one was capable of showing mercy to his enemies—and sparing a man a drawn and quartered death was definitely a mercy.
May 3, 2019
Death is being forgotten
This date resonated with me as it marks the death of a queen and the birthday of a would-be queen if her husband’s claim to the crown had been successful. And since I wrote about both women, I wanted to acknowledge them today. As Samwell Tarley said on Game of Thrones, death is forgetting and being forgotten.
On May 3rd, 1152, Stephen’s queen, Matilda, died, and he never seems to have recovered from her loss. I liked Matilda and tried to give her a death scene she deserved. Saints, page 627.
* * *
Matilda had always envisioned time as a river, flowing forward inexorably into the future, forcing people to keep up with the current as best they could. No more, though. Time had become tidal. Lying in the shuttered dark of an unfamiliar bedchamber, she could feel it receding toward the horizon, leaving her stranded upon the shore. As a little girl in Boulogne, she’d often walked along the beach, throwing back the starfish trapped by the ebbing tide. Now, forty years later, when it was her turn to be marooned by the retreating waves, there was no one to save her as she’d saved the starfish, but she did not mourn for herself. Dying was not so terrible, for all that people feared it so. She was in God’s Hands, a feather floating on the wind, waiting to see if He would call her home.
* * *
On May 3rd, 1415, Cecily Neville was born, and she gave birth to her daughter Margaret on May 3rd, 1446—the ultimate birthday present. This happened in my own family, as my grandmother and my mother shared the same birthday, February 19th.
I had such a long post yesterday that I forgot to mention this. On May 2nd, 1194, Richard I gave Portsmouth its first charter before sailing for Normandy; he and Eleanor would never set foot on English soil again. Richard seems to have been interested in making Portsmouth the base for an English navy; he showed a flair for naval warfare during his time on Crusade and he was planning to use his beloved Chateau Gaillard as a means of controlling river traffic on the Seine.
On May 3rd, 1152, Stephen’s queen, Matilda, died, and he never seems to have recovered from her loss. I liked Matilda and tried to give her a death scene she deserved. Saints, page 627.
* * *
Matilda had always envisioned time as a river, flowing forward inexorably into the future, forcing people to keep up with the current as best they could. No more, though. Time had become tidal. Lying in the shuttered dark of an unfamiliar bedchamber, she could feel it receding toward the horizon, leaving her stranded upon the shore. As a little girl in Boulogne, she’d often walked along the beach, throwing back the starfish trapped by the ebbing tide. Now, forty years later, when it was her turn to be marooned by the retreating waves, there was no one to save her as she’d saved the starfish, but she did not mourn for herself. Dying was not so terrible, for all that people feared it so. She was in God’s Hands, a feather floating on the wind, waiting to see if He would call her home.
* * *
On May 3rd, 1415, Cecily Neville was born, and she gave birth to her daughter Margaret on May 3rd, 1446—the ultimate birthday present. This happened in my own family, as my grandmother and my mother shared the same birthday, February 19th.
I had such a long post yesterday that I forgot to mention this. On May 2nd, 1194, Richard I gave Portsmouth its first charter before sailing for Normandy; he and Eleanor would never set foot on English soil again. Richard seems to have been interested in making Portsmouth the base for an English navy; he showed a flair for naval warfare during his time on Crusade and he was planning to use his beloved Chateau Gaillard as a means of controlling river traffic on the Seine.
May 2, 2019
Some thoughts about a great prince, medieval honor, a murdered queen, and one of my rants
A belated Happy May Day to my readers and a reminder to my fellow Game of Throners that there are just four days to go till more of our favorite characters die. I was astonished by some of the criticism by reviewers that HBO had somehow copped out by killing “only” six characters. With three more episodes still to go, they could hardly have staged a massacre at Winterfell, not unless they planned to devote the rest of the season to Cersei gloating about her victory. My only quibble with the episode was that it looked as if it had been filmed at midnight at the bottom of a mineshaft; in other words, it was dark (literally, not figuratively) even by GOT’s murky standards. Now….on to my Today in History post. It is a rerun, I freely admit, but surely the statute of limitations does not stretch past four or five years? So we venture back into the past.
May 2nd was an interesting day on the historical calendar. On May 2nd, 1230, William de Braose, grandson of Maude de Braose, who’d been starved to death in one of King John’s dungeons, was publicly hanged by Llywelyn Fawr, having been caught in the bedchamber of Llywelyn’s beloved wife, Joanna. I say “beloved” because there is no other explanation for what he did---he forgave her and eventually restored her to favor, even though doing so was a great political risk. In the MA, cuckolded husbands were figures of fun, especially older men married to younger women, as was the case with Llywelyn and Joanna. His risk was compounded by the fact that Joanna’s lover was, like her, Norman-French, so Llywelyn’s Welsh subjects were even more outraged by her behavior. If the skeptics need additional proof that Llywelyn loved his wife, upon her death, he established a Franciscan friary in her honor, a gesture right up there with Edward I’s Eleanor crosses for his deceased queen.
I hope I have not spoiled the suspense for new readers to Dragons. I also want to say that few speculations have offended me as much as the later suggestion by some English historians that Joanna had not committed adultery, that she was complicit in Llywelyn’s scheme to lure William de Braose to his death. I do not even know where to start with this lunacy. First of all, it is an outrageous insult to the Welsh, to a great prince, and to his wife. Moreover, there was no reason whatsoever for Llywelyn to have set de Braose up like that; not only was he on good political terms with de Braose at the time, his son Davydd was plight-trothed to de Braose’s young daughter, Isabella, and amazingly enough, the marriage proceeded even after de Braose’s execution. Lastly, anyone who could believe this would have to be woefully ignorant of medieval life and politics. A prince of Llywelyn’s stature and importance would never have impugned his wife’s honor like that, or his own honor, making him vulnerable to mockery and ridicule while ruining her reputation.
Okay, end of rant. May 2nd was also the date in 1536 when Anne Boleyn was arrested and taken to the Tower of London, which would, as we know, soon lead to her execution. Anne certainly had her share of flaws, probably one reason why she continues to fascinate people so many centuries after her death. But I doubt that anyone--certainly no historian that I am aware of—believes that she was guilty of adultery and incest. Henry had truly become a monster by then, willing to sacrifice several innocent men in order to rid himself of a wife he no longer wanted. I have always thought that the Lord Mayor was one of the most courageous men in Tudor England, for he dared to say publicly after Anne’s sham of a trial that no proof had been offered of her guilt.
Hmmm…I am still in rant mode, so here goes another one. The most ludicrous historical speculation I’ve ever encountered was an article written some years ago in which Henri, the Count of Champagne, nephew to the Lionheart and the French king, and husband to Isabella, Queen of Jerusalem, was accused of being the one behind the murder of Isabella’s former husband, Conrad of Montferrat. This author totally ignored the fact that not a single contemporary cast the slightest suspicion on Henri, who was very highly regarded both by the Franks and the Saracens. Thanks to the Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais, Richard was accused of the killing, as readers of Lionheart and Ransom will remember, and a reputable Saracen chronicler lay the blame at Saladin’s door. But no historians today believe that either man had any involvement in Conrad’s death, for it would have benefited neither one, and it is safe to say that people rarely if ever act against their own self-interest. One chronicler reported that Conrad had offended the deadly sect, the Assassins, by seizing one of their ships, and they retaliated when he refused to release the crew or cargo. Historians have always accepted that as a plausible explanation, especially given what we know of Conrad’s impetuous nature. So how, then, did Henri suddenly become the object of suspicion in the mind of one writer? Because no one had ever suggested it before, and no, I am not making that up; that was the gist of his argument. Apparently, the fact that no one had ever considered Henri as a suspect was enough for him to conclude that Henri was so cold-bloodedly ambitious that he’d commit murder and treason just on the chance that he might then step into Conrad’s shoes. That Henri was reluctant to marry Isabella initially and never called himself King of Jerusalem were shrugged off as inconvenient facts, I guess. This cockamamie theory was first advanced nearly fifty years ago, and would probably have flourished in the Age of the Internet where no conspiracy theory seems too implausible to find some believers. And now I really am done ranting for the night!
May 2nd was an interesting day on the historical calendar. On May 2nd, 1230, William de Braose, grandson of Maude de Braose, who’d been starved to death in one of King John’s dungeons, was publicly hanged by Llywelyn Fawr, having been caught in the bedchamber of Llywelyn’s beloved wife, Joanna. I say “beloved” because there is no other explanation for what he did---he forgave her and eventually restored her to favor, even though doing so was a great political risk. In the MA, cuckolded husbands were figures of fun, especially older men married to younger women, as was the case with Llywelyn and Joanna. His risk was compounded by the fact that Joanna’s lover was, like her, Norman-French, so Llywelyn’s Welsh subjects were even more outraged by her behavior. If the skeptics need additional proof that Llywelyn loved his wife, upon her death, he established a Franciscan friary in her honor, a gesture right up there with Edward I’s Eleanor crosses for his deceased queen.
I hope I have not spoiled the suspense for new readers to Dragons. I also want to say that few speculations have offended me as much as the later suggestion by some English historians that Joanna had not committed adultery, that she was complicit in Llywelyn’s scheme to lure William de Braose to his death. I do not even know where to start with this lunacy. First of all, it is an outrageous insult to the Welsh, to a great prince, and to his wife. Moreover, there was no reason whatsoever for Llywelyn to have set de Braose up like that; not only was he on good political terms with de Braose at the time, his son Davydd was plight-trothed to de Braose’s young daughter, Isabella, and amazingly enough, the marriage proceeded even after de Braose’s execution. Lastly, anyone who could believe this would have to be woefully ignorant of medieval life and politics. A prince of Llywelyn’s stature and importance would never have impugned his wife’s honor like that, or his own honor, making him vulnerable to mockery and ridicule while ruining her reputation.
Okay, end of rant. May 2nd was also the date in 1536 when Anne Boleyn was arrested and taken to the Tower of London, which would, as we know, soon lead to her execution. Anne certainly had her share of flaws, probably one reason why she continues to fascinate people so many centuries after her death. But I doubt that anyone--certainly no historian that I am aware of—believes that she was guilty of adultery and incest. Henry had truly become a monster by then, willing to sacrifice several innocent men in order to rid himself of a wife he no longer wanted. I have always thought that the Lord Mayor was one of the most courageous men in Tudor England, for he dared to say publicly after Anne’s sham of a trial that no proof had been offered of her guilt.
Hmmm…I am still in rant mode, so here goes another one. The most ludicrous historical speculation I’ve ever encountered was an article written some years ago in which Henri, the Count of Champagne, nephew to the Lionheart and the French king, and husband to Isabella, Queen of Jerusalem, was accused of being the one behind the murder of Isabella’s former husband, Conrad of Montferrat. This author totally ignored the fact that not a single contemporary cast the slightest suspicion on Henri, who was very highly regarded both by the Franks and the Saracens. Thanks to the Duke of Burgundy and the Bishop of Beauvais, Richard was accused of the killing, as readers of Lionheart and Ransom will remember, and a reputable Saracen chronicler lay the blame at Saladin’s door. But no historians today believe that either man had any involvement in Conrad’s death, for it would have benefited neither one, and it is safe to say that people rarely if ever act against their own self-interest. One chronicler reported that Conrad had offended the deadly sect, the Assassins, by seizing one of their ships, and they retaliated when he refused to release the crew or cargo. Historians have always accepted that as a plausible explanation, especially given what we know of Conrad’s impetuous nature. So how, then, did Henri suddenly become the object of suspicion in the mind of one writer? Because no one had ever suggested it before, and no, I am not making that up; that was the gist of his argument. Apparently, the fact that no one had ever considered Henri as a suspect was enough for him to conclude that Henri was so cold-bloodedly ambitious that he’d commit murder and treason just on the chance that he might then step into Conrad’s shoes. That Henri was reluctant to marry Isabella initially and never called himself King of Jerusalem were shrugged off as inconvenient facts, I guess. This cockamamie theory was first advanced nearly fifty years ago, and would probably have flourished in the Age of the Internet where no conspiracy theory seems too implausible to find some believers. And now I really am done ranting for the night!
April 29, 2019
Free book!
Yesterday, I posted about David Blixt’s new book, Shakespeare’s Secrets, and while I am eager to read it, we still have to pay for the privilege. 😊 I am happy to report that at least for today, another of David’s books is being offered for free on Amazon’s mother ship; I’ll check to see if that holds true for their UK and Down Under flag ships. Master of Verona is a great book; I was reading it as our plane flew into a severe thunderstorm and while the other passengers were holding their breaths and shuddering every time the plane did, I barely noticed, so caught up in the machinations and betrayals and plot twists in medieval Italy. David really should be one of HBO’s writers for Game of Thrones; he shares their quirky humor and ability to surprise innocent viewers and readers. I will be back later to discuss last night’s episode of GOT, which was dark in every sense of the word. Meanwhile, here is the Amazon link for Master of Verona. What I found most remarkable about it is that his main character—Machiavelli meets Richard the Lionheart—was a real person.
https://www.amazon.com/Master-Verona-...
https://www.amazon.com/Master-Verona-...
April 28, 2019
Shakespeare's Secrets and other random thoughts
For Game of Thrones fans—we are legion—winter is not only here, we are about to be trapped in a blizzard of grieving as characters we love meet bloody ends. Stay strong, guys. Valar Morghulis.
April 28th was the birthdate in 1442 of one of my favorite kings, Edward IV, a favorite with me because he was always so much fun to write about. Edward was not only the life of the party, he was a writer’s dream character—swaggering, shrewd, and sardonic, if you’ll forgive the alliteration.
And I have good news for those who enjoy David Blixt’s books as much as I do. We get two books in less than a year! His What Girls are Good For, a novel about Nellie Bly, was published last November, and I just learned that he has a new one coming out in a few days. Shakespeareans should also be interested, or anyone who just appreciates good writing. Here is the link. https://www.amazon.com/Shakespeares-S...
April 28th was the birthdate in 1442 of one of my favorite kings, Edward IV, a favorite with me because he was always so much fun to write about. Edward was not only the life of the party, he was a writer’s dream character—swaggering, shrewd, and sardonic, if you’ll forgive the alliteration.
And I have good news for those who enjoy David Blixt’s books as much as I do. We get two books in less than a year! His What Girls are Good For, a novel about Nellie Bly, was published last November, and I just learned that he has a new one coming out in a few days. Shakespeareans should also be interested, or anyone who just appreciates good writing. Here is the link. https://www.amazon.com/Shakespeares-S...
April 26, 2019
The world is too much with us
One of the drawbacks of life in the 21st century is that we are intimate witnesses to history as it happens. My mother often told my brother and me that weeks and often months would go by before news of world and national tragedies would trickle into their small rural corner of Kentucky. They were shocked by these tragedies, of course, but they were spared the immediacy of the suffering and that made it easier to deal with. In our time, we turn on the television or computer and watch the horror and slaughter as it is happening. We bleed with the victims of a Pittsburgh synagogue shooting, the dying after a terrorist attack on two New Zealand mosques, and now those who died in the Easter massacres that took place throughout Sri Lanka. Many people find it overwhelming. I am not sure human beings were meant to cope with so much heartbreak, but it is our fate to be born at a time when communication is instantaneous and modern technology makes mass murder far too easy. All we can do is to grieve for the loss of more innocents, offer prayers for their shattered families, and brace ourselves for yet more suffering.
Sorry to sound so bleak, but it is hard not to be pessimistic, given the sad state of our country and the world in general. So I seek refuge from reality in a fantasy television show that is even more violent than the world we live in or in the books I write, where the landscape is usually littered with bodies by the last page. Which is why I like that quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.”
.
My Today in History post is late, as usual. April 23rd seems to have been a very popular day for significant events. In 1014, the Irish king Brian Boru was killed; Morgan Llywelyn wrote a novel about this remarkable man called The Lion of Ireland. In 1151, Adeliza of Louvain, the widow of King Henry I, died at the nunnery of Affigem. I always found her to be a sympathetic figure and was glad she had a second act after Henry’s death, wedding the Earl of Arundel and becoming a mother. She only appeared in one chapter in Saints, but she is a prominent character in Elizabeth Chadwick’s Lady of the English, sharing star billing with her stepdaughter and friend, the Empress Maude. In 1348, Edward III created the Order of the Garter. In 1445, the fifteen-year-old Marguerite d’Anjou wed Henry VI. William Shakespeare died on April 23, 1616 and is traditionally said to have been born on this date in 1564. That wasn’t medieval, of course, but Will definitely deserves a mention. And I’ve always had a soft spot for Charles II, who was crowned on April 23rd in 1661.
Sorry to sound so bleak, but it is hard not to be pessimistic, given the sad state of our country and the world in general. So I seek refuge from reality in a fantasy television show that is even more violent than the world we live in or in the books I write, where the landscape is usually littered with bodies by the last page. Which is why I like that quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.”
.
My Today in History post is late, as usual. April 23rd seems to have been a very popular day for significant events. In 1014, the Irish king Brian Boru was killed; Morgan Llywelyn wrote a novel about this remarkable man called The Lion of Ireland. In 1151, Adeliza of Louvain, the widow of King Henry I, died at the nunnery of Affigem. I always found her to be a sympathetic figure and was glad she had a second act after Henry’s death, wedding the Earl of Arundel and becoming a mother. She only appeared in one chapter in Saints, but she is a prominent character in Elizabeth Chadwick’s Lady of the English, sharing star billing with her stepdaughter and friend, the Empress Maude. In 1348, Edward III created the Order of the Garter. In 1445, the fifteen-year-old Marguerite d’Anjou wed Henry VI. William Shakespeare died on April 23, 1616 and is traditionally said to have been born on this date in 1564. That wasn’t medieval, of course, but Will definitely deserves a mention. And I’ve always had a soft spot for Charles II, who was crowned on April 23rd in 1661.
April 22, 2019
Game of Thrones last night and a real-life medieval countess
Before getting to medieval history, I have to ask my fellow Game of Thrones fans if they loved last night’s episode as much as I did? I won’t mention specifics since I am sure there are people who’ve not been able to watch it yet, but I thought it hit all the right notes and a number of the scenes were very touching and/or powerful. One small spoiler: there was a Ghost sighting!
Now back to a time without dragons. This is late, but Nell de Montfort was fun to write about and I felt I owed her a mention. So here it is.
On April 13, 1275, Eleanor de Montfort, Countess of Leicester, daughter and sister of kings, widow of Simon de Montfort, died in exile at Montargis, France. So here is a belated recognition of the death of a woman who knew both great joy and great tragedy in her sixty years. The Reckoning, pages 137-138
* * *
Nell’s dreams were deeply rooted in her yesterdays. They were, for the most part, tranquil and reassuringly familiar. With the blurring of time’s boundaries, her loved ones were restored to her, her family was once more intact, inviolate. She awakened from such dreams with regret, often with confusion. So it was now. The darkness was aswirl with floating lights; they swam before her dazzled eyes like phosphorescent fish in a black, black sea. For a moment she was lost, adrift on unknown currents. But as her eyes adjusted to the dark, the fish transformed themselves into the flickering flames of a servant’s candelabra, and she returned to reality with a rueful smile. This was no alien world. She was in her chamber at Montargis, on an April eve in Holy Week, and although death waited in the shadows, she had nothing to fear, for she had made her peace with God.
There was a great comfort in knowing that all had been done. Her confessor had shriven her of her earthly sins, her will had been made, and she’d arranged for largesse to be distributed to members of her household, to the nuns and villagers who’d sought to make her exile easier. Nothing remained now except her farewells.
(omissions)
“I want Ellen to have my jewels, Marguerite, except for my ruby pendant. That is for you. I’ve named Amaury as my heir, for Ellen will have Llywelyn to look after her, and the Church would not allow Guy to inherit. Dearest, will you and Philippe entreat Edward on my behalf, ask him to allow my will to be carried out? And….and urge him to be fair to my son. Amaury is innocent, should not have to pay for Guy’s sins. Make Edward see that, Marguerite, make him see that he ought to let Amaury come home…”
“Of course we will, Nell.” Marguerite tried to sound confident, as if she truly believed that Edward would heed them. But then, she doubted if Nell believed it, either. “Nell, you must not give up. I spoke to your doctor and he still has hope, thinks you might yet rally….”
“Simon does not think so,” Nell said softly and then smiled at the startled, dismayed looks on their faces. “My wits are not wandering. I always knew that Simon would come for me when my time was night. And now….now he is close at hand. I can feel his presence….”
“Truly, Mama?” Ellen whispered, sounding both awed and envious.
“Truly, love. And you know your father; he’s never been one for waiting. He always swore that I’d be late for the Last Judgment…” Nell lay back weakly on the pillow, fighting for breath. “I will not let his first words to me be ‘I told you so’” she said, summoning up one last smile, and her children discovered that it was possible to laugh while blinking back tears.
* * *
Now back to a time without dragons. This is late, but Nell de Montfort was fun to write about and I felt I owed her a mention. So here it is.
On April 13, 1275, Eleanor de Montfort, Countess of Leicester, daughter and sister of kings, widow of Simon de Montfort, died in exile at Montargis, France. So here is a belated recognition of the death of a woman who knew both great joy and great tragedy in her sixty years. The Reckoning, pages 137-138
* * *
Nell’s dreams were deeply rooted in her yesterdays. They were, for the most part, tranquil and reassuringly familiar. With the blurring of time’s boundaries, her loved ones were restored to her, her family was once more intact, inviolate. She awakened from such dreams with regret, often with confusion. So it was now. The darkness was aswirl with floating lights; they swam before her dazzled eyes like phosphorescent fish in a black, black sea. For a moment she was lost, adrift on unknown currents. But as her eyes adjusted to the dark, the fish transformed themselves into the flickering flames of a servant’s candelabra, and she returned to reality with a rueful smile. This was no alien world. She was in her chamber at Montargis, on an April eve in Holy Week, and although death waited in the shadows, she had nothing to fear, for she had made her peace with God.
There was a great comfort in knowing that all had been done. Her confessor had shriven her of her earthly sins, her will had been made, and she’d arranged for largesse to be distributed to members of her household, to the nuns and villagers who’d sought to make her exile easier. Nothing remained now except her farewells.
(omissions)
“I want Ellen to have my jewels, Marguerite, except for my ruby pendant. That is for you. I’ve named Amaury as my heir, for Ellen will have Llywelyn to look after her, and the Church would not allow Guy to inherit. Dearest, will you and Philippe entreat Edward on my behalf, ask him to allow my will to be carried out? And….and urge him to be fair to my son. Amaury is innocent, should not have to pay for Guy’s sins. Make Edward see that, Marguerite, make him see that he ought to let Amaury come home…”
“Of course we will, Nell.” Marguerite tried to sound confident, as if she truly believed that Edward would heed them. But then, she doubted if Nell believed it, either. “Nell, you must not give up. I spoke to your doctor and he still has hope, thinks you might yet rally….”
“Simon does not think so,” Nell said softly and then smiled at the startled, dismayed looks on their faces. “My wits are not wandering. I always knew that Simon would come for me when my time was night. And now….now he is close at hand. I can feel his presence….”
“Truly, Mama?” Ellen whispered, sounding both awed and envious.
“Truly, love. And you know your father; he’s never been one for waiting. He always swore that I’d be late for the Last Judgment…” Nell lay back weakly on the pillow, fighting for breath. “I will not let his first words to me be ‘I told you so’” she said, summoning up one last smile, and her children discovered that it was possible to laugh while blinking back tears.
* * *
April 19, 2019
A great cathedral and a great man
I would like to wish a Happy Passover and a Happy Easter to my Jewish and Christian readers. I heard on the news today that Easter services at Notre Dame were cancelled for the first time in nine centuries and was overwhelmed by sadness. While the iconic cathedral is the heart of France, cited by one historian as the embodiment of civilization, and one of the most popular tourist sights in the world, it is more than that. It is also the church of many Parisians and so I was glad to learn that plans are in the works to build a temporary edifice for worshippers on the site. Attending a religious service in one of the great cathedrals is an experience that no one soon forgets. I never visited Paris without visiting Notre Dame, where I always lit candles for the souls of some of the men and women I’d loved writing about—and yes, that included Eleanor and Henry and their turbulent brood. I never missed lighting a candle for their forgotten son, Geoffrey, who’d been buried in that magnificent cathedral in August, 1186.
Today’s History Post ventures from the Middle Ages. Wednesday was the date of death of my favorite Founding Father, Benjamin Franklin, who died of pleurisy on April 17, 1790. He was 84, a respectable age today and a vast one back in the 18th century. About fifteen years ago, I did some extensive research about colonial America and the Revolutionary War. It was a way of escaping from a painful reality, for I was taking care of my dad then as this wonderful man fought a battle he could not hope to win with Alzheimer’s. I became fascinated with this period of history in general and Ben Franklin in particular. He’d always been a favorite of mine and the more I learned about him, the more convinced I became that America owes its independence to two men, George Washington, who miraculously managed to hold the colonial army together, and Ben Franklin, who bedazzled the French court into throwing in with the Americans; had they not done so, I think it exceedingly likely that the British would eventually have prevailed.
Being a writer, I found myself seriously tempted to write about this period in our history; it really was our first civil war. John Adams, who was in a position to know, once commented that 25% of the population were rebels, 25% were Tories, and the rest were on the fence, hesitant to commit themselves. I even went so far as to envision two fictional families, one in Boston that supported independence and one in Philadelphia that supported the crown. I was looking forward to bringing Ben into the storyline, naturally; he’d be as much fun to write about as he must have been to know in person. But that would end up as a book not written, which I do regret, especially on days like this. Rest in peace, Ben; you earned it. And if any of my readers have some free time, use it to find out more about this remarkable man.
Today’s History Post ventures from the Middle Ages. Wednesday was the date of death of my favorite Founding Father, Benjamin Franklin, who died of pleurisy on April 17, 1790. He was 84, a respectable age today and a vast one back in the 18th century. About fifteen years ago, I did some extensive research about colonial America and the Revolutionary War. It was a way of escaping from a painful reality, for I was taking care of my dad then as this wonderful man fought a battle he could not hope to win with Alzheimer’s. I became fascinated with this period of history in general and Ben Franklin in particular. He’d always been a favorite of mine and the more I learned about him, the more convinced I became that America owes its independence to two men, George Washington, who miraculously managed to hold the colonial army together, and Ben Franklin, who bedazzled the French court into throwing in with the Americans; had they not done so, I think it exceedingly likely that the British would eventually have prevailed.
Being a writer, I found myself seriously tempted to write about this period in our history; it really was our first civil war. John Adams, who was in a position to know, once commented that 25% of the population were rebels, 25% were Tories, and the rest were on the fence, hesitant to commit themselves. I even went so far as to envision two fictional families, one in Boston that supported independence and one in Philadelphia that supported the crown. I was looking forward to bringing Ben into the storyline, naturally; he’d be as much fun to write about as he must have been to know in person. But that would end up as a book not written, which I do regret, especially on days like this. Rest in peace, Ben; you earned it. And if any of my readers have some free time, use it to find out more about this remarkable man.
April 17, 2019
A bloody field at Barnet Heath
It seems almost miraculous that the medieval rose windows somehow survived the conflagration at Notre Dame. I found it somehow comforting that the world seems to be mourning with the French people.
I’d naturally like to chat about Sunday’s episode of Game of Thrones. But I missed posting about an important date on the medieval calendar—April 14, 1471, the day when the battle of Barnet was fought between the forces of Edward IV and the Earl of Warwick.
This was the first major battle I’d “fought,” and it set the bar high for drama—the eerie, dense fog blanketing the field, Richard’s vanguard outflanking the enemy, and then the Earl of Oxford returning to the field after shattering Edward’s left wing and accidentally attacking his own side. The victory went to Edward and among the dead were the Earl of Warwick and his brother John. But Warwick’s allies still had to be defeated, for on that same Easter Sunday, Queen Marguerite and her seventeen year old son landed at Weymouth, ending seven years of French exile. So Edward and I would have another battle to fight in just three weeks.
This was the battle in which Richard, age 18, proved himself to his brother. Hard for us to imagine men commanding armies at 18 or 19, isn’t it?
Sunne, page 401
* * *
In the third hour, Exeter’s line began to give way before them. Slowly at first, and then more rapidly, they were falling back. Richard’s men found a last surge of strength, flung themselves forward, shouting for York. The Lancastrians were in confusion, no longer giving resistance. The thought now was of flight and men broke ranks, began to scatter.
The fog was thinning at last. Men were becoming visible on Richard’s left, men who wore the colors of York. He understood then; the van had joined with the center. Ned had smashed through Johnny’s wing.
The Sunne banner of York gleamed white and gold. Edward’s white polished armor was dulled with dirt, dented and scratched, dark with the blood of other men. He moved forward; men parted to let him pass. Reaching Richard, he raised his visor. Richard saw he was smiling.
Richard felt no elation, neither triumph nor relief…not yet. Only numbness, a weariness of body and mind unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Slowly he lowered his sword to the ground, let the bloodied blade touch the grass.
* * *
Many men died on that spring morning at Barnet Heath, the most famous being Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick and his brother, John, the Earl of Montague, who rode into battle against York wearing their colors under his armor. Torn between loyalty to his brothers and his Yorkist cousins, he has always seemed a tragic figure to me.
This next death is not at all medieval, but is well worthy of note. On April 14, 1865, the greatest American president, Abraham Lincoln, was shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford Theatre. He never regained consciousness, dying early the next morning. Coincidentally, there was a disturbing story in the Philadelphia Inquirer this week about John Wilkes Booth. There have always been rumors that the man shot in that barn was not Booth, rumors usually dismissed. But by using the facial recognition techniques relied upon by police departments and forensic experts, a claim is now being made that Booth did indeed survive, living under two different aliases in Texas and Oklahoma, not dying until almost forty years after the assassination of President Lincoln. I admit I do not want to believe it, for I’d hate to think that Booth evaded earthly justice for a murder that brought so much suffering to so many. Here is the link to the story. https://www.philly.com/news/john-wilk...
I’d naturally like to chat about Sunday’s episode of Game of Thrones. But I missed posting about an important date on the medieval calendar—April 14, 1471, the day when the battle of Barnet was fought between the forces of Edward IV and the Earl of Warwick.
This was the first major battle I’d “fought,” and it set the bar high for drama—the eerie, dense fog blanketing the field, Richard’s vanguard outflanking the enemy, and then the Earl of Oxford returning to the field after shattering Edward’s left wing and accidentally attacking his own side. The victory went to Edward and among the dead were the Earl of Warwick and his brother John. But Warwick’s allies still had to be defeated, for on that same Easter Sunday, Queen Marguerite and her seventeen year old son landed at Weymouth, ending seven years of French exile. So Edward and I would have another battle to fight in just three weeks.
This was the battle in which Richard, age 18, proved himself to his brother. Hard for us to imagine men commanding armies at 18 or 19, isn’t it?
Sunne, page 401
* * *
In the third hour, Exeter’s line began to give way before them. Slowly at first, and then more rapidly, they were falling back. Richard’s men found a last surge of strength, flung themselves forward, shouting for York. The Lancastrians were in confusion, no longer giving resistance. The thought now was of flight and men broke ranks, began to scatter.
The fog was thinning at last. Men were becoming visible on Richard’s left, men who wore the colors of York. He understood then; the van had joined with the center. Ned had smashed through Johnny’s wing.
The Sunne banner of York gleamed white and gold. Edward’s white polished armor was dulled with dirt, dented and scratched, dark with the blood of other men. He moved forward; men parted to let him pass. Reaching Richard, he raised his visor. Richard saw he was smiling.
Richard felt no elation, neither triumph nor relief…not yet. Only numbness, a weariness of body and mind unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Slowly he lowered his sword to the ground, let the bloodied blade touch the grass.
* * *
Many men died on that spring morning at Barnet Heath, the most famous being Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick and his brother, John, the Earl of Montague, who rode into battle against York wearing their colors under his armor. Torn between loyalty to his brothers and his Yorkist cousins, he has always seemed a tragic figure to me.
This next death is not at all medieval, but is well worthy of note. On April 14, 1865, the greatest American president, Abraham Lincoln, was shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford Theatre. He never regained consciousness, dying early the next morning. Coincidentally, there was a disturbing story in the Philadelphia Inquirer this week about John Wilkes Booth. There have always been rumors that the man shot in that barn was not Booth, rumors usually dismissed. But by using the facial recognition techniques relied upon by police departments and forensic experts, a claim is now being made that Booth did indeed survive, living under two different aliases in Texas and Oklahoma, not dying until almost forty years after the assassination of President Lincoln. I admit I do not want to believe it, for I’d hate to think that Booth evaded earthly justice for a murder that brought so much suffering to so many. Here is the link to the story. https://www.philly.com/news/john-wilk...
April 15, 2019
Notre Dame on fire
I was planning to post today about last night’s Game of Thrones and the battle of Barnet, which took place on April 14, 1471. But when I got home, I checked my email and there was one from a friend, alerting me that Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris is on fire. This is truly heartbreaking. Notre Dame is one of my favorite cathedrals and I cannot imagine Paris without it. The spire has already collapsed. This is a terrible blow to those who love history and to people of faith. Please pray that some of it can be saved.
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/europe/n...
https://www.nbcnews.com/news/europe/n...
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