Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 93

A very courageous cat and a lucky little boy

May 15, 1567 was the day that Mary Queen of Scots married James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, but since that marriage did not end well for either of them, I’d rather focus today on what may be the most heroic cat in the western world. When a four year old boy was suddenly attacked by a neighbor’s dog, the family’s cat came to the rescue and chased the dog off. The boy still needed ten stitches to close the wound, so this could have been even more serious if not for their courageous cat, who’d been adopted by the family five years ago. In case there are any skeptics out there, the entire incident was captured on video. http://www.turnto23.com/news/local-ne...

A bloody May battle

May 14, 1264 was the date of the battle of Lewes, which ended with a dramatic victory for Simon de Montfort and a devastating defeat for his brother-in-law, the English king It began with what seemed to be a total triumph for Henry’s son Edward, for when he turned his knights against the citizen-soldiers of London, they could not hold and fled the field with Edward in hot pursuit.
Falls the Shadow, page 445
* * * * *
From the heights of the Downs, the men of Simon’s army had watched in stunned disbelief. That the Londoners should break and run was no great surprise. But no one had envisioned a catastrophe of this magnitude. Not even the most experienced soldiers had ever seen a rout occur with such shocking speed. In what seemed to be the blink of an eye, it was over, their battle lost before it truly began.
* * * * *
Simon then shocked his men by sending his center and vanguard against Henry, while holding back his reserve.
Page 445
* * * * *
“You would take the offensive? Christ’s pity, man, why? How high can a bird fly if its wing be broken? Edward just crippled us, Simon. You saw it.”
“They saw it, too. Give them time to think about it and they’ll lose all stomach for battle. We attack and we attack now, ere Edward returns to the field and whilst Henry’s men are still in total confusion.” (omission)
Hugh said something about too great a risk, but Simon was no longer listening. With his left wing destroyed, he could not afford the luxury of caution. He’d always been willing to take chances other men spurned; now, that willingness was all he had. He raised his arm, let it fall sharply. Their trumpets blared. The banners of Gloucester and de Montfort caught the wind, and the center and vanguard began their descent from the Downs.
(omission)
Simon swung away from the battlefield, turning to stare at the wooded heights of Offham Hill. A suspicion was stirring, one so improbable that only now was it infiltrating his conscious awareness. “Where is Edward?” He did not even realize he’d spoken the question aloud. Supposition was crystallizing into certainty. “The fool!” He whirled his stallion about. “Hugh, do you not see?” he demanded, eyes ablaze with sudden light, with a wild, surging hope. “I can scarce believe it, but Edward has left the field! If he were regrouping his men, he’d have been back by now. He’s still in pursuit of the Londoners!”
They gazed at him in wonderment. But after a moment, Hugh shook off Simon’s spell. “Simon…Simon, what if you’re wrong?”
“I am not.” Simon was smiling. “As God is my witness, Hugh, I am not!”
* * * * *
Simon then threw his reserves into the battle, too, leading them against Henry, who was not the soldier Simon was, or the soldier Edward would become. The royal line soon broke, and Henry fled the field, taking shelter in the priory, where he found himself trapped by Simon’s victorious men. By the time Edward stopped his slaughter of the hapless Londoners and returned to the field, it was too late, although he did not at once realize it.
Page 452
* * * * *
They drew rein on the crest of the hill, where their first glimpse of the battlefield seemed to confirm Edward’s every expectation. The battle was over, part of the town in flames. Bodies beyond counting lay sprawled in the sun, some already stripped by looters. Men were searching the field for friends or gain, others tending to the wounded, still others chasing loose horses. Only to the south, beyond the priory, did sporadic fighting continue, and that flurry of action degenerated, even as they watched, into a rout..
Edward laughed. “The dolts, they’re going to blunder right into the mudflats! Simon will lose even more men in that marsh than he did in the river.”
“Do you think he still lives, Ned?” Hal asked hesitantly, for he could not imagine Simon dead, any more than he could the sun plummeting from the sky.
“No,” Edward said flatly. “He’s not a man to be taken alive.” Turning in the saddle, he raised his voice. “We’ll give our horses a brief rest; they’ve been roughly used this day. But the sooner we get back to the castle, the sooner we can begin celebrating!”
Some of them were ready to celebrate then and there, and wineskins were soon passing back and forth. It was left to Dayvdd, the outsider, to stumble onto the truth. Moving to the edge of the bluff, he gazed down at the battlefield. So many widows, so many orphans made this day. And not all the tears shed for de Montfort would be English. Llywelyn had suffered a defeat, too, lost an ally worth his weight in gold. His eyes shifted from the trampled meadows to the town. Blood of Christ! For a long moment, he sat motionless in the saddle, scarcely breathing. Could it be that he’d wagered again on the wrong horse?
His sudden shout drew all eyes. Edward was moving toward him, though without haste. Davydd spurred his stallion away from the bluff. “If we won the battle,” he said tautly, “why is the castle under siege?”
* * * * *
Stunned, many of Edward’s knights sought to save themselves and fled. Edward refused to abandon his father, though, and forced his way into the priory where Henry had taken refuge. The next day, he and his father surrendered and Simon de Montfort became, for all intents and purposes, the uncrowned king of England.
I have very vivid memories of exploring that battlefield. My friend Cris, her son Geoffrey, and I had followed a bridle path said to have been the same route used by Simon and his men the night before the battle. We almost turned back a few times, not sure if we were heading in the right direction, but Geoff was sure we were. And then we came out onto the Downs, and saw below us the town of Lewes, saw what Simon and his army would have seen as dawn broke over what would become a major battlefield of the Middle Ages.

Tyrion needs a good lawyer

Nothing medieval to discuss today, but there is always the gritty semi-medieval world of Game of Thrones. Here is the link to EW's delightfully snarky review of Sunday's episode. SPOILERS abound, of course. But I've heard that there are only 3 more episodes to go. Nine episodes for the season? What happened to the tenth one? If that is true, I feel so cheated. http://tvrecaps.ew.com/recap/game-of-...

A wedding in Cyprus

Well, May 12, 1191 was the date of the marriage of Richard of England and Berengaria of Navarre. I’ve said before that I was surprised to find that the marriage seemed to get off to a promising start given its sad ending, but they were polar opposites in so many ways and that rarely makes for a long and happy marriage. I had fun writing these scenes, though, as Richard ambushes the women with his nonchalant suggestion that he and Berengaria wed that weekend. In his best oblivious mode, he cannot understand why Joanna is so dismayed. When she demands to know how they could possibly pull off a royal wedding in just a few days, he casually counters,
“How hard could it be? I assume Berenguela did not intend to get married stark naked, so she must have a suitable gown in her coffers. I thought we’d have her coronation at the same time.” Richard glanced over at his mute betrothed and smiled. “I daresay you’ll be the first and the last Queen of England ever to be crowned in Cyprus, little dove.”
And in that, he was right. She was.
Ironically, although I don’t think she found much happiness in marriage to Richard, he bestowed some of his own celebrity status upon her. Just as he is one of the best known medieval kings, she is better known than many of the other women who wed English kings. How many of them have a street in a French city named after them? Or how many were portrayed in a Hollywood film in which she snatches Richard’s sword and refuses to give it back as he is about to rush off to fight the Saracens? I have my friend Owen to thank for calling this to my attention, since I’ve not seen this epic for myself; he says she also scolds him as “Dick Plantagenet” and that alone would be worth the price of admission.

The perfect Mother's Day story

This is remarkable.


http://www.hlntv.com/article/2014/05/...

And this week on Game of Thrones

Not much of interest to medieval-focused types like me on May 7th. So here is a review for last week’s Game of Thrones episode. Massive spoilers, of course, so read with care. Also a good interview with the creators of the series, who explain they made a promise last season to stop reading the on-line comments about the show A very wise move on their parts; as one says, it probably saved their sanity.
http://tvrecaps.ew.com/recap/game-of-...
And for my British readers, Amazon.co.UK is offering the e-book version of my fourth mystery, Prince of Darkness, at the bargain price of 99 pence. So if you’d like to read it, now is the time to buy it.

Why I love writing about the Angevins

One reason why I so loved writing about the Angevins is that they had such improbable, dramatic lives, and writers are addicted to high drama. Just think of Henry and Eleanor’s marriage. Or those rumors that Henry had seduced his son’s betrothed. Or Eleanor’s rebellion. Or Joanna’s imprisonment, John’s treachery, Geoffrey’s tournament death. As for Coeur de Lion, his entire life was summed up by that great Johnny Cash song, “Partly truth and partly fiction.” What writer would have dared to invent the events of May 6, 1191 out of whole cloth? Not me! After Richard’s fleet was scattered in a storm, Joanna and Berengaria’s ship eventually ran aground off the coast of Cyprus, and they were soon in peril, not from the sea, but from the self-proclaimed emperor of the island, Isaac Comnenus, who saw them as valuable hostages.
Lionheart, page 218
* * *
Their fifth morning at Cyprus dawned in a sunrise of breathtaking beauty, pale gold along the horizon, and a rich, deep red above as clouds drifted into the sun’s flaming path; for a timeless moment, it looked as if the earth itself were afire. Then as if by magical sleight of hand, the vivid colors disappeared and the sky took on the same brilliant blue as the foam-crested waves below, the clouds now gliding along like fleecy white swans in a celestial sea. Enticing scents wafted out into the bay, the fragrances of flowers and oranges and sandalwood, the sweet balm of land, almost irresistible to people trapped in seagoing gaols, ships they’d come to hate for the fetid smells and lack of privacy and constant rolling and pitching, even at anchor. This Sunday gave promise of being a day of surpassing loveliness and Joanna hated it, caught up in a sense of foreboding so strong that she could almost taste it. Something terrible was going to happen today.
* * *
She was right. Isaac’s attempts to entice them ashore having failed, he issued an ultimatum, that if they did not agree to accept his “hospitality,” he would have them taken off the ship by force. Joanna managed to buy them a little more time, promising to come ashore on the morrow. One of the chroniclers who accompanied Richard on crusade describes Joanna and Berengaria as gazing out to sea, despairing, when two sails were spotted to the west. Not yet daring to hope, the ship’s passengers crowded to the gunwale to watch the approaching two ships.
* * *
Page 221
It happened with such suddenness that men were not sure at first if they could trust their senses. There was nothing to the west but sea and sky and those two ships tacking against the wind. And then the horizon was filled with sails, stretching as far as the eye could see. A moment of stunned disbelief gave way almost at once to pandemonium, and for the rest of their lives, there would be men who vowed they’d never experienced an emotion as overwhelming as the joy of deliverance on a May Sunday off the coast of Cyprus.
The sharp-eyed sailors spotted it first. “The Sea-Cleaver! The king’s galley!” But Richard’s women needed to see it for themselves, scarcely breathing until it came into focus, looking like a Norse long-ship, its hull as red as the sunset, its sails catching the wind, and streaming from its masthead the banner emblazoned with the royal lion of England.
* * *
So many of the scenes I’ve written over the years cried out for an Author’s Note, an assurance to my readers that I had not gone hopelessly Hollywood on them, that what I’d described actually happened. The fog at Barnet. The mistake by the Earl of Oxford in attacking John Neville’s men. The Earl of Somerset taking such bloody vengeance upon Wenlock, the man he thought betrayed them to York. A savage storm breaking over the field at Evesham at the moment of Simon de Montfort’s death. The eclipse of the sun as Anne Neville died. The capture of Ellen de Montfort by pirates in the pay of the English king. But few scenes needed an Author’s Note mention as much as Richard’s eleventh hour rescue of his sister and betrothed on May 6th, 1191.

Death of a queen

I did not post on the death date of one of my favorite characters in Saints, Stephen’s queen, Matilda, who died on May 3rd, 1152, but I knew Rania would take care of it for me; thanks, Rania!
I liked Matilda because she changed in the course of the novel. She was a traditional medieval queen and wife when the book began, but as their world was torn apart by war, she rose to the occasion magnificently, developing self-confidence and even boldness as she labored on Stephen’s behalf.
Part of Matilda’s death scene, Saints, page 627-628
* * *
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.
(omission)
“Stephen…..” Not even a whisper in her own ears, but he somehow heard her and leaned over, vivid blue eyes of their lost youth, awash now in tears. “Look after Constance….” But who would look after him? Surely the Almighty would, for even his worst mistakes were well-intentioned. Did this too-clever son of Maude’s have such a good heart? No….God would judge what mattered most.
Stephen was kissing her hand, pressing it against his wet cheek. His beard was grizzled with silver, like an early frost. How old he seemed of a sudden. She wanted to tell him one last time that she loved him, to promise that she’d be waiting for him at Heaven’s Gate. But she could not catch her breath. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, the room was filling with light. She could hear sobbing, but it seemed to be coming from a great distance. It grew more and more faint, until at last she could not hear it at all.
* * *

The Battle of Tewkesbury

May 4th is the anniversary of the great battle fought in 1471 which resulted in a total triumph for the Yorkist king, Edward. It was one of the most challenging battles I’ve had to write about, in part because so much was going on. And of course the chase itself was very dramatic as Marguerite sought desperately to cross the River Severn and Edward moved heaven and earth to catch her before she could slip away into Wales. It may sound strange to pick a “favorite” battle, but this one is mine, speaking strictly as a writer. It had everything—that mad dash for the Severn, a reckless gamble by the Duke of Somerset in an all or nothing throw of the dice, suspense, improbable plot twists, a stunning scene of vengeance that no author would have dared to invent; those who’ve read Sunne will know which one I mean. I meant to quote from a passage involving Edward or Richard, but I decided instead to give center stage to the courageous, honorable and doomed Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset.
Sunne in Splendour, page 477
* * * * *
The Sunne of York bannered the field, swept all before it. The heart had gone from the Lancastrian army. They’d seen their vanguard slaughtered, seen their leaders turn upon each other. Now men cast aside their weapons, sought only to save themselves, and Somerset alone tried to hold them against York.
Devon was dead. So was Somerset’s brother, John Beaufort. Prince Edouard had long since fled the field, urged on by the bodyguards sworn to see to his safety. Somerset’s men drowned trying to cross the Avon, died trying to reach the sanctuary of the abbey. Somerset found himself upon a field with his dead and the exultant soldiers of the White Rose, and as he raged among them, cursing and sobbing, even death seemed to elude him, until at last he sank to his knees, had not the strength to rise, to lift his sword, watching through a red wavering haze the death of the House of Lancaster.
* * * *
On a thoroughly different note, May 4th 1929 is the birthday of the utterly unforgettable actress, Audrey Hepburn. It is much harder to pick my favorite Audrey Hepburn film than it is to pick my favorite medieval battle, but I think maybe it is the bittersweet Robin and Marian

Reality trumps fiction again

I am just surfacing to assure you all that the pneumonia dragon, although still camped out on the porch, has been unable to sneak back in. Hey, who wouldn’t be intimidated by the fierce barking of a 23 lb spaniel? The news has been beyond heartbreaking in the past month, with tragedies around the world that will remained seared in our memories. So I thought you guys would appreciate a feel-good story, and this one delivers with panache. A family loses their dog during Hurricane Sandy, grieve for him, finally decide they are ready to adopt another dog. So they go to their local shelter and…..well, read the story. Amazing how often reality trumps fiction, isn’t it? Oh, and I got a wonderful review for Ransom from the Historical Novel Society, and I’ll try to remember to post it, too.
http://www.nbc40.net/story/25420319/f...