Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 81

Outremer

I am finally home from my Outremer adventure, but I have done little but pay off the huge sleep debt I accrued during my trip. It was an amazing experience and I will definitely blog about our time in Jerusalem, our days in Jaffa and Acre, and our hike to the top of the Horns of Hattin, site of Saladin’s great victory over the army of the kingdom of Jerusalem. But I am getting ready to spend a few days in Minnesota in my first genuine, non-work-related vacation in over twenty years. Once I am home again and I’ve managed to placate my spaniel, Holly, for two kennel stays in two weeks, I will tackle the blog. Till then, I’ll pop by here when I can. Lots of interesting historical happenings while I was gone, but I am sure Rania and Koby and others have held down the fort for me on Facebook. Koby is very good at multi-tasking, for he was also guiding us around Acre, ako Akko, and giving me some excellent suggestions about the battle at Hattin.

The sad lot of a medieval princess

On October 4th, 1160, the unfortunate French princes, Alys, daughter of Louis VII, long-suffering betrothed of the Lionheart, was born. Her life got off to a rough start, as her mother died in childbirth. As most of you know, she became a political pawn, as Henry refused to allow the marriage to take place, and indeed, rumors began circulating that Henry had taken her as his mistress. I don’t think he did, for Henry had his flaws, but the one thing he was not was an idiot, and it would have been the height of idiocy to bed the French king’s daughter and his own son’s fiancée. Poor Alys was then caught up in the power play between Richard and Philippe. And when she was finally freed, Philippe, who was about as warm and fuzzy as a cactus, married her off to a teenage boy half her age. But she got the last laugh, for I am sure he expected her marriage to be childless given her age, which would then have given him a claim to her new husband’s lands. She did have a daughter, though, and Eleanor of Castille, queen of Edward I, traces her descent to Alys.
Also on October 4th, 1539, Henry VIII wed Anne of Clives. I wouldn’t say that was the wedding night from Hell, since Philippe’s wedding night with the Danish princess, Ingeborg, was even worse, though it probably came close.
I may be gone for a while now, as we are celebrating our Eleanor of Aquitaine tour this weekend and on Tuesday, we go to Israel!!! But I will eventually surface again, hopefully with some good travel stories.

The saint and the sinner

On October 3rd, 1226, my favorite saint died at the age of 45, Francis of Assisi. Nearly 800 years later, the first Franciscan pope also became the first pope to take the name Francis. I think the saint would approve very much of his namesake, for they share much in common—kind hearts, generosity, and humility. We know St Francis loved animals and I strongly suspect that Pope Francis does, too. He has too much compassion not to extend it to all creatures, great and small.

Also on October 3rd, in 1283, Davydd ap Gruffydd, brother to Llywelyn ap Gruffydd and Prince of Wales since Llywelyn’s death, was executed in a truly barbaric manner—being dragged through the streets of Shrewsbury to the gallows where he was drawn and quartered. I will spare you the gory details. Unlike Francis, Davydd was no saint; I am not even sure we can say he was a good man, although he was undeniably a very charming one, for otherwise he could never have been forgiven so often for his betrayals. (Needless to say, he was great fun to write about.) But whatever his sins, he did not deserve to die like this. Sadly, the only monument to that death is a small plaque in Shrewsbury on the wall of Barclay’s Bank, the site of his execution.

The surrender of Jerusalem and the birth of one of the best-known and most controversial medieval kings

October 2nd 1187 was the day that Jerusalem surrendered to Saladin, having been persuaded by Balian d’Ibelin not to take the city by storm, which would have resulted in the same sort of bloodbath that occurred when Jerusalem fell to the crusaders in 1099. Balian resorted to promises—the offer to ransom the citizens, using the money that Henry II had been providing over the years for the kingdom’s support—and threats—vowing that if they were not allowed to surrender peacefully, they would kill all of the 5,000 Saracen prisoners they held, destroy all of the sites in the city that were revered by Muslims, and fight to the death since they had nothing to lose. Balian’s desperate actions saved thousands of lives and Saladin’s reputation as a man of honor and mercy, for it is doubtful that history would have judged the sultan so favorably if he’d given the order that resulted in a massacre of the city’s inhabitants. The peaceful surrender of the city reflects well on all concerned. Thousands were ransomed with Henry’s money. Saladin’s brother, al-Malik al-Adil, asked for 1,000 of those who could not be ransomed (the money having run out) and then freed them immediately. Saladin agreed to “give” Balian another 500 of these unfortunates and spared the elderly from the slave markets, sending his men to guard the hospitals and protect the patients, agreeing to free the husbands of any women who were freed. It has been estimated that as many as 11,000 were enslaved, but had the city been taken by storm, as Saladin had vowed, it would have been catastrophic for all those trapped within its walls. When I said the surrender reflected well on “all concerned,” there was one notorious exception—the Patriarch of Jerusalem paid his own ransom and those of his household and then left the city with their saddlebags stuffed with as much silver plate and riches as they could carry away, money that could have saved many of the men, women, and children who would end up in the slave markets in Cairo.
And on October 2nd, 1452, Cecily Neville, gave birth to her 12th child and 8th son, whom she named Richard, after his father, the Duke of York.

The Templar and the king

On October 1st, 1189, Gerard de Ridefort, the Grand Master of the Templars, was slain at the siege of Acre. A pity he had not died at the battle of Cresson Springs in May, 1187, for if he had, there might never have been a battle at Hattin. Gerard goaded his fellow Templars into an attack at Cresson Springs, and virtually all of the Templars died that day. Gerard, however, managed to escape. He then had the same unholy luck weeks later at Hattin. The easily-influenced king, Guy de Lusignan, had heeded the advice of his council for once and agreed that they would remain at Sephorie instead of taking Saladin’s bait and rushing to the rescue of Tiberias, which was being besieged by the sultan in order to draw the kingdom’s army into a battle of his choosing. But Gerard then sneaked back after the other lords had gone and convinced Guy that it would reflect badly upon his manhood if he did not take up Saladin’s challenge. The result was an utter disaster for the kingdom, a victory by Saladin that soon led to the fall of Jerusalem. Saladin had executed all of the Templar and Hospitaller knights who’d survived the battle at Hattin, with one exception. Gerard was spared and later regained his freedom. Reynald de Chatillon is often blamed for setting events in motion that led to Hattin, but Gerard de Ridefort deserves even more of the blame in my opinion.
Also on October 1st, this time in 1207, the future Henry III was born. He was one of the longest ruling kings, but not a particularly successful one. He did leave behind a legacy that many kings might have envied, though—Westminster Abbey.

Tell sad stories of the death of kings, Shakespeare's Richard II

On September 29th, 1399, Richard II was compelled to abdicate in favor of his cousin, the future Henry IV. Within five months, he was dead, his death deliberately shrouded in mystery; many historians believe he was starved to death. Whatever Richard’s failings as a king—and he certainly had them—he was also unlucky enough to be born in a time in which deposed kings had a short shelf life. Edward II fared no better than Richard, nor did the young princes in the Tower, whose fate also remains shrouded in mystery and controversy.
Interestingly, though, this was not the case earlier in English history. Henry I, who was never accused of sentimentality, nonetheless did not kill his elder brother and rival for the throne, Robert, the Duke of Normandy. Henry, who was probably one of the most ruthless men ever to ascend the English throne, kept Robert a prisoner from his capture in 1106 until his death in 1134, twenty-eight years later. And when Stephen was captured after the battle of Lincoln in 1141, his cousin, the Empress Maude, held him captive but kept him alive and safe, even though his death would have removed her one rival for the throne. It may be that in the twelfth century, they took the claim that kings were the anointed of God more seriously than the men of the fifteenth century; certainly the belief that John had ordered the murder of his nephew Arthur did considerable damage to his reputation and prestige. As for the second Richard, while historians have not been particularly complimentary in judging his reign, he did take center stage in one of Shakespeare’s most lyrical plays, Richard II. And his deposition and death contributed to the belief that the name Richard was an unlucky one for an English king, with the Lionheart killed at the siege of Chalus, Richard II murdered, and Richard III slain at Bosworth field.

September 29th, an interesting day in history

A mixed bag for September 29th in history. In 1227, the pope excommunicated the Holy Roman Emperor, Frederick II, son of Constance de Hauteville and the unloved and unlovable Heinrich von Hohenstaufen. It was a bit embarrassing since he was on crusade at the time, but Frederick liked nothing better than embarrassing the Church; he was excommunicated at least four times if my memory serves and one pope even called him “the Anti-Christ,” which probably amused him greatly.
And in 1328, Joan, Countess of Kent and future Princess of Wales was born. She would marry Edward, the Prince of Wales, and was the mother of a king, Richard II. She and her husband also have two of the coolest medieval nicknames: the Fair Maid of Kent and the Black Prince, although neither one was contemporary.
In 1547, the brilliant Spanish author of Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes was born. Did anyone see the film with Peter O’Toole and Sophia Loren, The Man of La Mancha? It did not get good reviews at the time, but I really liked it. And in 1564, the love of Elizabeth Tudor’s life, Robert Dudley, became Earl of Leicester. I think another Earl of Leicester, Simon de Montfort, had a far more forceful personality than Elizabeth’s Robin, but Dudley did manage to banish Simon’s shadow from Kenilworth Castle, which now seems very much a part of the Tudor past.

Death of a royal sociopath

Some interesting happenings on September 28th in history.
In 48 BC, the Egyptians murdered the Roman general Pompey, thinking it would please his rival, Julius Caesar; they were so wrong. And in 58 BC, the future notorious Roman empress Livia was born; for those of us who watched I, Claudius, whenever we hear the name Livia, we think, “Don’t eat the figs.” For those who haven’t watched it, rush out to buy it on DVD!
In 1066, William the Bastard landed at Pevensey to launch his invasion of England, which would culminate a few weeks later in his victory at the battle of Hastings.
In 1197, a day that really should be a holiday of some sort, the Holy Roman emperor and sociopath, Heinrich von Hohenstaufen, died unexpectedly at Messina, probably of malaria, though there were suspicions that he may have been poisoned. His death spared the Sicilians much suffering and most likely saved his empress’s life for he suspected Constance of taking part in a rebellion against him. I am sure the news also gave Richard I a great deal of satisfaction and scared the daylights out of the French king, for now two of the men who’d defied Church law to capture a crusader king were now dead; given what we know of Philippe’s temperament, he must have feared that he’d be next to suffer God’s punishment.
Lastly, just for fun, I am throwing in this bit of information. On September 28, 1785, Napoleon Bonaparte graduated from the military academy in Paris at the age of 16. He was 42nd in a class of 51, thus proving that grades are not always helpful in predicting a student’s future.

St Francis would bless this family

September 26, 1181 is the birthdate of my favorite saint, Francis of Assisi. Some of us might want to take a moment to remember this good man.
And here is a good deed that Francis would heartily have approved of. With so much evil and misery in the world, we need to be reminded that there are people like this out there, too.
http://www.today.com/parents/can-you-...

At long last, a new blog!

I finally was able to get a new blog up! Who says the Age of Miracles is dead? Here is the link. http://sharonkaypenman.com/blog/?p=462