Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 17

Not so fortunate as fair

I see glimmers of light at the end of the tunnel, so here I am to do one of my favorite things—chatting about history with my readers. Since I was missing for much of March, I have a lot of catching up to do. The post below is three years old, but I am assuming most of you have the same faulty memories that I do and you won’t remember much about it. 😊

March 20, 1469 was the date of birth of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville’s daughter Cecily. Here is what I wrote about Cecily for the new AN for the 30th anniversary edition of Sunne; it had to be edited out of the hardcover AN for Sunne because of space concerns, but the new e-book edition of Sunne in the UK and the US has the new AN in its entirety.
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We also know more about the life of Edward’s daughter Cecily, for since Sunne’s publication, it has been established that she wed Ralph Scrope in late 1484. He was the son of Thomas, Lord Scrope, but we know little about this brief marriage. Henry Tudor had it annulled upon becoming king so that he could marry her to his uncle, John, Viscount Welles. He was in his forties and Cecily only eighteen, but what little evidence there is suggests the marriage was a happy one. They had two daughters, both of whom died before the viscount’s death in 1499. Cecily had often been in attendance to her sister the queen, but in 1502, she made what had to be a love match with a man of much lesser status, a mere esquire, William Kyme. Tudor was furious, banishing her from court and confiscating her estates. But she had an unlikely champion in Tudor’s mother, Margaret Beaufort, who’d apparently become fond of Cecily, and she interceded with her son on Cecily’s behalf. After the death of her beloved sister, Elizabeth, in 1503, Cecily and her husband retired from the court and settled on the Isle of Wight. She and William had a son, Richard, born in 1505 and a daughter, Margaret, born in 1507. Since Cecily died on August 24, 1507, she may have died from the complications of childbirth. This marriage, too, appears to have been a happy one. I would like to think so, for this daughter of York, said by Sir Thomas More to have been “not so fortunate as fair,” had suffered more than her share of sorrow in her thirty-eight years.
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On March 20th, 1413, the first Lancastrian king, Henry IV, died. His health had deteriorated in the last years of his life and at one time, he apparently suffered from a disfiguring skin condition. Some claimed he’d been inflicted with leprosy as divine punishment for the execution of a prelate, the Archbishop of York, who’d taken part in a rebellion against Henry. But according to his entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, his bones were examined in the 19th century and they concluded that he showed no signs of leprosy. I confess I wondered if 19th century science was advanced enough to draw such a conclusion, but I simply don’t know enough about Henry’s life to have a horse in that race. It had been predicted that he would die in Jerusalem, which must have discouraged him from taking part in any crusades, but he collapsed and died in the Jerusalem Chamber of the abbot of Westminster…..or so it is said. He is a major character in Brian Wainwright’s excellent novel Within the Fetterlock

Lastly, on March 20, 1549, Thomas Seymour was beheaded. Among his crimes was the suspicion that he’d seduced the young princess, Elizabeth. She was kept under close watch by hostile observers, and when they flung the news of his death at her, she responded with remarkable coolness, saying that “Today died a man of much wit, but little wisdom.” Of course by then she’d already learned one of life’s most painful lessons, that there was no one she dared trust.

Can this relationship be saved?

I feel as if I received a pardon, for the copy edited manuscript is done and I’ve waded through the tax swamp without being sucked down into the quicksand. Now I can catch my breath and start chatting with my readers again! Lots of interesting historical occurrences in the month of March, so I’ll be kept busy trying to catch up. Meanwhile, here is another update about those eagles in need of marital counseling, Liberty and Justice. They seem to have reconciled, but he is continuing his wandering ways and how patient will she be? They need to keep an eye peeled for a sneaky raccoon, too.

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/...

A free book

A quick hi, for I am not free yet, just going temporarily AWOL. I wanted to alert my readers that today and tomorrow you can get Stephanie Churchill's The Scribe's Daughter for free. I really liked this book and you cannot beat that price! So do check it out here.
https://amzn.to/2TL3yec

A medieval cat with a sense of humor

I am sorry for having disappeared again, but I got a nasty surprise recently; I discovered that the copy editor for my new book had made some incorrect changes in dialogue without querying me about them first, as is customary. So I’ve been literally working around the clock to restore the original dialogue, which meant that real life came to a screeching halt. This week I was able to get the manuscript off to my editor, but now I have to go back to working upon my income tax records in preparation for seeing my CPA next week. Before I tackle that depressing task, I wanted to zip over to Facebook and Goodreads. It is so sad, but not surprising, that I have to yet again express my sorrow for a murderous attack upon innocent civilians, this time in New Zealand. There truly are monsters who walk among us and often there is no way to tell—not until it is too late. I know all our hearts go out to the victims of the two mosque shootings and to the people of New Zealand, who are experiencing a horror that has become all too familiar.

I went looking in my archived posts for something to cheer us up, and came upon an amusing
story of a mischievous medieval cat and a monk who was probably not happy with his cat’s contribution to his work. For all of us who love cats, we will nod and smile as we read this. There is a constant in our world, after all—our feline friends have not changed at all down through the centuries. Here is a photo of the evidence and an interesting article about cats, mice, and medievals. http://medievalfragments.wordpress.co...

Justice and Liberty--together again

A quick visit to say hi before I disappear back into the void, AKA the copy-edited manuscript. I also have good news to share. I don’t know how many of you have been following the soap-opera saga of Justice and Liberty, two bald eagles who are the stars of a DC web-cam. They’ve been a devoted pair, together for 14 years, which is impressive even by human standards. But then Justice suddenly disappeared. Liberty remained at their nest, where she was soon being courted by other male bald eagles. She eventually accepted one and they flew off together, presumably into the sunset. Then a plot twist—Justice re-appeared as abruptly as he’d disappeared. We have no idea where he was or what he was doing during his time going walkabout—or flyabout. He must have had a plausible explanation, though, for on Friday, he was reunited with Liberty, who seems to have forgiven him, their 14 years together counting for more than a brief fling with that other eagle. Not totally a happy ending, for the eggs in their nest are not expected to hatch. But there’s always next year. And they are still doing better than another celebrity eagle couple, Mr President and First Lady; according to their webcam, they did not even lay any eggs at all this year. The story below has links to more news about Justice and Liberty and also a link to their webcam.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-...

Dragons and a Lionheart

I feel as if I am playing hide and seek with a dragon again, but at least a Copy Editing Dragon won’t take up residence the way my Deadline Dragons always do. He does require constant attention, though, so I have to keep this brief. For today’s history post, I am looking back to a dramatic day in February of 1194 involving one of my favorite characters, Eleanor of Aquitaine. I miss writing about the Angevins….sigh.

On February 4th, 1194, Richard Lionheart was finally freed from his German captivity after paying an astronomical ransom. He’d been held for one year, six weeks, and three days. But two days earlier, he’d been double-crossed by Heinrich, who announced to the assemblage of German and English lords and prelates that he’d had a new offer from the French king and Richard’s brother John and, with an utter lack of shame, invited Richard to better it.
From A King’s Ransom, Chapter Twenty
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While Richard glanced down at the letters, the Archbishop of Rouen hastily translated Heinrich’s comments for Eleanor. The letters were indeed from Philippe and John and, as Richard read what was being offered and what it could mean for him, his numbed disbelief gave way to despair and then, murderous rage.
His fist clenched around the letters and he flung them to the floor at Heinrich’s feet. But before he could speak, his mother was beside him. “Wait, Richard, wait!” She was clinging to his arm with such urgency that she actually succeeded in pulling him back from the dais. “Look around you,” she said, her voice shaking, but her eyes blazing with green fire. “Look!”
He did and saw at once what she meant. Virtually every German in the hall was staring at Heinrich as if he’d suddenly revealed himself to be the Anti-Christ. Not a word had yet been said, but their expressions of horror and disgust left no doubt as to how they felt about their emperor’s eleventh-hour surprise. “Let them speak first,” Eleanor hissed. “Let the Germans handle this.”
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The Germans did handle it; led by Richard’s friend, the Archbishop-elect of Cologne, they forced Heinrich to honor the original terms for Richard’s release. But Heinrich saved face by insisting that Richard would not be freed unless he did homage to the German emperor. Richard was outraged and refused, but again his mother interceded, convincing him that he had no choice. He was then freed on February 4th, although the forced act of homage left some deep psychic scars. I very much doubt that he’d have regained his freedom if not for Eleanor’s fierce, maternal devotion. Unlike Henry, Richard had always been willing to rely upon her intelligence and political acumen and they made a formidable team. Had Henry only been as sensible, he and Eleanor would have made a formidable team, too.

Now I hear a dragon calling my name again. Did I mention how much I miss writing about the Angevins?

Copy editing and historical happenings

A quick escape from the copy-edited manuscript morass to say Hi. Copy editing is absolutely essential and I have great admiration for those who undertake this challenging task. It takes a laser-like concentration, a good memory, and a high tolerance for boredom since the copy editor does not get to read for the plot or the characters; they have to focus on details, not the big picture. Having said that, there has never been a writer who enjoyed the experience either. Even with a good copy editor, it can be stressful; with a bad one, it can be sheer torture. I am very lucky, for I’ve only had two really bad copy editors in my long career, one who was intent upon rewriting the book for me—not in his job description—and one who was—to put it politely—very anal-retentive. To give you an idea of the flavor of his work, I had written that Richard closed his eyes. He queried, “First establish that his eyes are open?” Unfortunately, this was Sunne, my first book, and therefore my first copy-editing experience, so I suffered in silence for much too long, assuming this sort of insanity was the norm.
Happily, the copy editing for The Land Beyond the Sea really does fall into the normal range. It is still time-consuming, though, and naturally I had to deal with computer sabotage. I was horrified to discover this weekend that Mischief, my current laptop, had deleted all of my responses to CE queries after the fifth chapter. I learned long ago never to waste time trying to figure out why computers do things, but this does seem a bit extreme, no? Anyway, before I disappear again to into the editing swamp, here is a Today in History post for everyone, very late, of course.
On February 1st, 1327, Edward III was crowned King of England; he was only 14 and the government remained in the hands of his mother, Queen Isabella, and her lover, Roger Mortimer. Jumping forward a few centuries, on February 1st, 1587, a conflicted Elizabeth I finally signed the death warrant for her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots. And on a much happier, albeit non-medieval, occasion, Abraham Lincoln signed the Thirteenth Amendment on February 1st, 1865 after it had been approved by the House and the Senate, and then sent it to the states for ratification. It would eventually be ratified by the requisite number of states in December of 1865. The Thirteenth Amendment abolished slavery in the United States, completing what had begun with Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation in 1863. My British readers can be proud that your parliament abolished slavery thirty years earlier than your cousins in the colonies.

To be a queen

Sorry to disappear again, but I’ve had to devote most of my waking hours to working on the copy-edited manuscript of The Land Beyond the Sea. This is never fun, for by this time, writers have become thoroughly sick of their own books, having had to dwell upon them at great length as they tried to make the manuscripts ready for submission, then going over their books again with their editors, and then with copy editors. The longer the book, the more tedious it becomes; I remember being so eager to escape Sunne that I’d was almost ready to root for Henry Tudor at Bosworth!

Today’s historical post is a few days late. On February 13, 1177, Eleanor and Henry’s daughter Joanna, age eleven, wed William de Hauteville and was crowned as Queen of Sicily. It seems as if she and William had a happy marriage, although I doubt that she was thrilled about his harem of Saracen slave-girls. Yes, medieval women were realists when it came to male fidelity, but I suspect Joanna would have seen a harem as a bit much. Certainly “my” Joanna thought so. Joanna has always been a favorite of mine, the daughter most like Eleanor, and I was delighted to give her so much time on center stage in Ransom.

And on February 13, 1542, silly little Catherine Howard became yet another victim of her husband’s monstrous ego. When Henry VIII discovered that she’d had a colorful past prior to their marriage, he was so outraged that he pushed a bill of attainder through Parliament making it treason for an “unchaste” woman to marry the king, then sent Catherine to the Tower, where she was beheaded on this date. It could be very dangerous to be a Tudor Queen, and I am not just thinking of Bluebeard’s wives. Jane Grey paid with her life for her family’s all-consuming ambition. So did Catherine Howard, although she had none of Jane’s intelligence or education, which makes her pathetic story all the sadder. Marriage to the aging, ailing, hot-tempered Henry was more than punishment enough for any sins of her feckless youth. Despite the legend, though, she did not say that she died the Queen of England but would rather have died the wife of Thomas Culpepper. Those about to be executed in Tudor England did not make defiant gallows speeches, wanting to spare their family from royal retribution. But Catherine really did ask for the block to be brought to her the night before her execution; she wanted to practice kneeling and putting her head upon it so she would be sure to do it correctly come the morning. How pitiful is that?

A dangerous day for medieval royalty

I am taking a break from working on the copy-edited manuscript to visit my Facebook friends and chat about this date in medieval history, for it was quite a busy day. February 10th was the date of death of two dukes, a king, one of those treacherous Stanleys, and the worst king-consort ever. Only two of them—maybe two and a half—were worth mourning.

On February 10, 1126, William, the ninth Duke of Aquitaine, also known as the first troubadour duke, died after a long and eventful life. He had a keen sense of humor so he may have been amused that today he is mainly remembered as the grandfather of our Eleanor. But he also had a healthy ego, so maybe not. I would have grieved for him—unless I was one of his wives!

On February 10, 1134, Robert, the Duke of Normandy died after being held prisoner by his not-so-loving younger brother, Henry I, for twenty-eight years. Robert seems to have been a feckless sort, certainly no match for the ruthlessness of Brother Henry, but he probably didn’t deserve nearly three decades of captivity.

On February 10, 1163, Baldwin III, King of Jerusalem, died. He was only in his 33rd year and by all accounts was a good king, an adroit politician, and a courageous battle commander. He also seems to have been a genuine good guy, charming, affable, and handsome. His death dramatically changed the history of the Holy Land, for he’d not yet had children with his beautiful bride, the seventeen year old Byzantine princess, Theodora, and so the crown passed to his younger brother Amalric, the Count of Jaffa. Amalric had none of Baldwin’s charisma, being taciturn and introverted. He proved to be a capable king, though, but he, too, died prematurely, leaving a thirteen year old son as his heir, the boy who would tragically become known to history as the Leper king. Had Baldwin not died so young or had Amalric lived long enough for his queen, also a Byzantine princess, to give him another son, the kingdom’s doomed march to Armageddon might not have happened. There is no doubt that Saladin is one of history’s more fascinating figures, a brilliant politician, but his great victory at Hattin was based in part upon the disunity among his Christian foes, just as the first crusaders took advantage of Saracen discord to carve out the kingdom of Outremer eighty-some years earlier. Baldwin III does not appear as a character in my new novel, being dead by the time the book opens, but Amalric makes a few appearances and his son is a major character, of course. Had I lived then, I would definitely have mourned Baldwin.

On February 10, 1495, William, Lord Stanley, was executed by Henry Tudor, accused of treason, irony at its best. Party time!

Lastly, on February 10, 1567, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, was messily murdered, a death that was richly deserved. One of my favorite scenes from the wonderful film, Mary, Queen of Scots, had Elizabeth (the incomparable Glenda Jackson) and Cecil practically falling on the floor laughing upon learning that Mary had been foolish enough to take their bait and marry Darnley.

A difficult death scene to write

I hope all of my readers are coping with this endless winter (and summer, of course, Down Under.) A huge snow “event” in the Seattle region, too much rain in California, more icy weather in the Midwest, and a nasty storm battering the UK. Maybe it is time to run up the white flag and hope Mother Nature shows some mercy? Now on to historical happenings. I confess this particular post is not a new one, but it is over three years old, so I am hoping that you all have faulty memories like mine!

February 2nd was an important day on the medieval Church calendar—Candlemas. And this date resonated in several of my novels. February 2nd, 1141 was the battle of Lincoln, in which Stephen was defeated and taken prisoner by Robert, the Earl of Gloucester, on behalf of his sister, the Empress Maude. At the risk of seeming blood-thirsty, I like writing of battles and this was a good one, filled with high drama and suspense. February 2nd was also the date of an important Yorkist battle, at Mortimer’s Cross in 1461. Edward, who’d become Duke of York and head of his fractured family upon the death of his father at the battle of Wakefield barely a month ago, was trying to prevent Owen Tudor and reinforcements coming out of Wales from joining the Lancastrians, and he forced a battle not far from Wigmore. Even before the fighting began, he faced a challenge when a parhelion appeared in the sky, a phenomenon that made it look as if there were three suns overhead. Naturally this frightened his soldiers, but the quick-witted Edward cried out that the suns represented the Holy Trinity and was an omen of victory; he would later adopt this as his cognizance, the Sunne in Splendour. Having staved off disaster, he then proceeded to defeat the Lancastrians, captured Owen Tudor, and had him executed—not surprising, since the heads of his father and brother and uncle were even then on poles above Micklegate Bar in York. Edward then went on to receive a hero’s welcome by the city of London and shattered the Lancastrian hopes in a savage battle fought in a snowstorm at Towton on Palm Sunday. What is truly remarkable is that Edward was not yet nineteen years old.

I thought of Edward’s parhelion when I was reading a chronicler’s account of the building of Richard I’s beloved “saucy castle, “ Chateau Gaillard. I was familiar with the exchange between the kings over Chateau Gaillard. Philippe, fuming at seeing this formidable stronghold rising up on the Vexin border, vowed that he would take it if its walls were made of steel. When he was told this, Richard laughed and said he’d hold it if its walls were made of butter. But there is another story about Gaillard not as well known. In the spring of 1198, Richard was personally supervising the construction, as he often did, when a shower of blood suddenly fell from the skies. Naturally, this freaked out everyone—everyone but Richard. The chronicler reported that “The king was not dismayed at this, nor did he relax in promoting the work in which he took so great delight.” Now I confess my first reaction to this story was an uncharitable one, wondering if the chronicler, William of Newburgh, had been hitting the wine when he wrote this. Shower of rain and blood? But when I Googled it, I discovered that red rain has indeed fallen at various times, and there were even some unsettling photos of a red rain in India that really did look like blood. Clearly strong-willed men like Richard and Edward were not as superstitious as their brethren.

For me, though, February 2nd has another, sadder meaning, for on this date in 1237, Joanna, daughter of King John and wife of Llywelyn Fawr, died at Aber and was buried at Llanfaes, where her grieving husband established a friary in honor of her memory. Below is that scene from Falls the Shadow, page 26
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Joanna closed her eyes, tears squeezing through her lashes. So much she wanted to stay, but she had not the strength. “Beloved…promise me…”
Llywelyn stiffened. She’d fought so hard to gain the crown for their son. Did she mean to bind him now with a deathbed bow? He waited, dreading what she would ask of him, to safeguard the succession for Davydd. Knowing there was but one certain way to do that—to cage Gruddydd again. And how could he do that to his son? How could he condemn him to a life shut away from the sun? But how could he deny Joanna? Could he let her go to her grave without that comfort?
“Llywelyn…pray for me,” she gasped, and only then did he fully accept it, that she was indeed dying, was already lost to him, beyond earthly cares, worldly ambitions.
“I will, Joanna.” He swallowed with difficulty, brought her hand up, pressing her lips against her palm. “You will have my every prayer.”
“Bury me at…at Llanfaes…”
His head jerked up. He had an island manor at Llanfaes; it was there that Joanna had been confined after he had discovered her infidelity. “Why, Joanna? Why Llanfaes?”
Her mouth curved upward. “Because…I was so happy there. You came to me, forgave me…”
“Oh, Christ, Joanna…” His voice broke; he pulled her into an anguished embrace, held her close.
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