Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 98
February 10, 2014
Death had a very 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 very 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, 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 before dying of dysentery 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 the bait and marry Darnley.
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 very 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, 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 before dying of dysentery 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 the bait and marry Darnley.
February 9, 2014
Did Marius need to die?
Not a good day for those of us who have misgivings about zoos. The story of Marius, the young, healthy giraffe killed by a Danish zoo because he was not needed for their breeding program is one that I find infuriating, for at least one other zoo offered to take Marius. The story of the mother lion and cubs put down at Longleat is also troubling. In both cases, the attitude of the zoos harkens back to the idea that animals are property to be disposed of as the owners see fit, and I do not accept that, for this mindset hampered the acceptance of anti-cruelty laws for years. It is only fairly recently that society has come around to the position that owning an animal does not mean its owner can neglect or abuse it with impunity.
http://www.cnn.com/2014/02/09/world/e...
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/artic...
On the bad winter front, the UK’s weather woes continue, with flooding along the Thames and the city of Worcester cut off from the rest of the world. Worcester is, of course, the final resting place of King John, who had his own unpleasant experience with water during his crossing of the Wash not long before his death. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-26111598
http://www.cnn.com/2014/02/09/world/e...
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/artic...
On the bad winter front, the UK’s weather woes continue, with flooding along the Thames and the city of Worcester cut off from the rest of the world. Worcester is, of course, the final resting place of King John, who had his own unpleasant experience with water during his crossing of the Wash not long before his death. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-26111598
February 8, 2014
One of the scariest photos I've ever seen
We all naturally focus upon the wretched weather in our own areas, be it frigid temperatures and ice in much of the US, the deadly drought in California, the scorching heat wave Down Under, and the massive flooding in Europe. But this photo of a storm in Cornwell is as scary as anything I’ve ever seen. Southern and western England and Wales are desperately in need of a respite. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-... And here is a video of more storm damage that will make its viewers want to move hundreds of miles inland, as far from the sea as they can get. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-26070143
February 6, 2014
My favorite non-medieval king
What a wretched week for so many around the globe. Three-quarters of a million people lost power in the Tri-State area alone; we were much luckier where I live, being spared the ice storm. The UK is taking another pounding; some of the photos of the waves and flooding are as scary as anything I’ve ever seen. Minneapolis has had seven straight days of temperatures below zero, and that is not counting the windchill. If it keeps up, we may have to chip in to send Stephanie away to someplace warmer—like Anchorage. I am starting to get a bit nervous about my book tour, for March is a very perverse month.
On the historical front, my favorite non-medieval king, Charles II, died on February 6th, 1685. I was planning to post a quote about the horrific measures his doctors took to try to save him, but I can’t find the book, so you’ll have to take my word for it. Charles would make a great character in a book and I am sorry I won’t be able to give him an extended turn on center stage. But you can spend time with him in Priya Parmer’s excellent novel about his most famous mistress, Nell Gwyn. http://www.amazon.com/Exit-Actress-No...
On the historical front, my favorite non-medieval king, Charles II, died on February 6th, 1685. I was planning to post a quote about the horrific measures his doctors took to try to save him, but I can’t find the book, so you’ll have to take my word for it. Charles would make a great character in a book and I am sorry I won’t be able to give him an extended turn on center stage. But you can spend time with him in Priya Parmer’s excellent novel about his most famous mistress, Nell Gwyn. http://www.amazon.com/Exit-Actress-No...
February 5, 2014
Ice storm
I hope all of you being battered by this latest winter storm are staying warm and safe. Ice storms are scarier than snow, and already half a million people in the Philadelphia area have lost power. My own power has been flickering off and on so if I don’t surface again on Facebook, it will mean I’ve become one of the storm victims, too.
February 4, 2014
Scene from A King's Ransom
February 4th is an important date in the Angevin calendar; on this day in 1194, Richard I was finally released from his German captivity after the payment of a staggering 150,000 silver marks. I suspect there must have been some of his subjects who wondered if he was worth such a vast sum, but his mother would have paid twice that amount to set him free and she was the driving force behind the collection of the ransom. Eleanor disappeared from Lionheart once Richard sailed for the Holy Land, but she has a prominent role in Ransom, protecting her son and his kingdom, then coming to her daughter’s aid in Joanna’s time of greatest need, and finally securing the crown for her last-born son, John.
Richard was imprisoned for almost as long as the time he’d spent in the Holy Land and it was a very stressful time, including a trial before the Imperial Diet at Speyer where he was accused of betraying Christendom to the Saracens, and a stint in chains at the dreaded Trifels Castle, always with the threat hanging over his head of being turned over to the French king. Here is a brief scene from February 4th, 1194.
A King’s Ransom, pages 333-334
* * *
The outer courtyard was thronged, for they had a huge retinue—Eleanor’s ladies, Richard’s knights, men-at-arms, the lords and bishops and abbots who’d accompanied the queen from England, and those in attendance upon the Archbishop of Cologne and the Duke of Brabant, who intended to escort Richard across Germany, none of them trusting in Heinrich’s safe-conduct. Eleanor had tried to anticipate all of her son’s needs. She’d ruled out river travel because she was sure he’d want to be on horseback after his long confinement, engaging mounts for the men, horse litters for herself and her women, and for Richard, a spirited grey stallion that brought a delighted smile to his face. Although he’d been able to dress well in recent months, she’d still made sure to bring a wardrobe suitable for a king. And she assured him that English ships would be awaiting their arrival at Antwerp.
She had forgotten one of Richard’s needs, though, something he found as essential as air. But Andre had not, and as Richard stood beside his new stallion, talking soothingly to accustom the animal to his presence before mounting, Andre approached with a large hemp sack. “I thought you might want this,” he said, opening the bag to reveal a scabbard of Spanish leather.
Sweeping his mantle back, Richard fastened the belt and then drew the sword from its scabbard. He saw at once that a superior bladesmith had labored to create this superb weapon, with a thirty-six inch blade and an enameled pommel, reminding him of the sword he’d been given by his mother upon his investiture as Duke of Aquitaine at age fifteen. He admired its balance, his eyes caressing that slender steel blade as a lover might, and when he glanced toward his cousin, Andre thought he finally looked like himself.
“Do you know how long it has been since I’ve held a sword in my hand, Andre?”
The other man shook his head.
“One year, six weeks, and three days.” For a moment, their eyes held, and then Richard sheathed his sword, swung up into the saddle, and gave the command to move out.
* * *
Richard was imprisoned for almost as long as the time he’d spent in the Holy Land and it was a very stressful time, including a trial before the Imperial Diet at Speyer where he was accused of betraying Christendom to the Saracens, and a stint in chains at the dreaded Trifels Castle, always with the threat hanging over his head of being turned over to the French king. Here is a brief scene from February 4th, 1194.
A King’s Ransom, pages 333-334
* * *
The outer courtyard was thronged, for they had a huge retinue—Eleanor’s ladies, Richard’s knights, men-at-arms, the lords and bishops and abbots who’d accompanied the queen from England, and those in attendance upon the Archbishop of Cologne and the Duke of Brabant, who intended to escort Richard across Germany, none of them trusting in Heinrich’s safe-conduct. Eleanor had tried to anticipate all of her son’s needs. She’d ruled out river travel because she was sure he’d want to be on horseback after his long confinement, engaging mounts for the men, horse litters for herself and her women, and for Richard, a spirited grey stallion that brought a delighted smile to his face. Although he’d been able to dress well in recent months, she’d still made sure to bring a wardrobe suitable for a king. And she assured him that English ships would be awaiting their arrival at Antwerp.
She had forgotten one of Richard’s needs, though, something he found as essential as air. But Andre had not, and as Richard stood beside his new stallion, talking soothingly to accustom the animal to his presence before mounting, Andre approached with a large hemp sack. “I thought you might want this,” he said, opening the bag to reveal a scabbard of Spanish leather.
Sweeping his mantle back, Richard fastened the belt and then drew the sword from its scabbard. He saw at once that a superior bladesmith had labored to create this superb weapon, with a thirty-six inch blade and an enameled pommel, reminding him of the sword he’d been given by his mother upon his investiture as Duke of Aquitaine at age fifteen. He admired its balance, his eyes caressing that slender steel blade as a lover might, and when he glanced toward his cousin, Andre thought he finally looked like himself.
“Do you know how long it has been since I’ve held a sword in my hand, Andre?”
The other man shook his head.
“One year, six weeks, and three days.” For a moment, their eyes held, and then Richard sheathed his sword, swung up into the saddle, and gave the command to move out.
* * *
February 3, 2014
Super Bowl--the aftermath
Well, the Super Bowl was fun for Seattle. For the rest of us, not so much. Even the SB commercials were not up to par, though a few were hit out of the park, if I can mix sports with wild abandom. Grading the teams is a non-brainer, A for the Seahawks, F for the Broncos (sob) But here are the grades for the commercials. I am sure it comes as no surprise that I loved the Clydesdales and the puppy ad.
http://bleacherreport.com/articles/19...
http://bleacherreport.com/articles/19...
February 2, 2014
Candlemas, the Super Bowl, and OMG, more winter!
February 2nd….ah, where do I start? It is Candlemas, an important medieval Church holiday. It is also Groundhog Day in the US; given how the winter has been going so far, I suspect there will be a mob gathering with torches and pitchforks if Punxsutawney Phil dares to forecast six more weeks of winter. It is also the Super Bowl, of course, and for the non-football fans out there, there is the Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet and this year the Kitten Bowl on the Hallmark Channel. And for medievalists, it is the anniversary of the death of Llywelyn Fawr’s wife, Joanna, on February 2, 1237. It was a sad scene to write.
Falls the Shadow, pages 31-32
* * *
An intimate enemy, Death, capricious and cruel, ultimately invincible. But Llywelyn did not fear his own demise, and he truly thought he’d taken its measure, knew the worst it could do. And then Death claimed his wife.
There was a Welsh proverb: for every wound, the ointment of time. To Llywelyn, it was an empty promise, a hollow mockery. Time would not heal. Till the day he died, he would grieve for Joanna. Now he sought only to learn to live without her. But so far it was a lesson that eluded him, for Joanna’s was an unquiet grave. She came to him in the night, filled every room with her unseen presence, a tender, tempting ghost, beckoning him back to a past that was far more real to him than the joyless, dismal world he now inhabited. It had been more than two months, the longest he’d ever gone without a woman in his bed, but he felt no stirrings of desire. The woman he wanted was dead. It was April and all about him were the miracles of new life. He looked upon this verdant, blossoming spring, a spring Joanna would never see, he looked upon a field of brilliant blue flowers—the bluebells Joanna had so loved—and at that moment he’d willingly have bartered all his tomorrows for but one yesterday.
* * *
PS I am so looking for a pitchfork. Not only did that wretched little rodent curse us to six more weeks of winter, we are getting another snowstorm tomorrow.
Falls the Shadow, pages 31-32
* * *
An intimate enemy, Death, capricious and cruel, ultimately invincible. But Llywelyn did not fear his own demise, and he truly thought he’d taken its measure, knew the worst it could do. And then Death claimed his wife.
There was a Welsh proverb: for every wound, the ointment of time. To Llywelyn, it was an empty promise, a hollow mockery. Time would not heal. Till the day he died, he would grieve for Joanna. Now he sought only to learn to live without her. But so far it was a lesson that eluded him, for Joanna’s was an unquiet grave. She came to him in the night, filled every room with her unseen presence, a tender, tempting ghost, beckoning him back to a past that was far more real to him than the joyless, dismal world he now inhabited. It had been more than two months, the longest he’d ever gone without a woman in his bed, but he felt no stirrings of desire. The woman he wanted was dead. It was April and all about him were the miracles of new life. He looked upon this verdant, blossoming spring, a spring Joanna would never see, he looked upon a field of brilliant blue flowers—the bluebells Joanna had so loved—and at that moment he’d willingly have bartered all his tomorrows for but one yesterday.
* * *
PS I am so looking for a pitchfork. Not only did that wretched little rodent curse us to six more weeks of winter, we are getting another snowstorm tomorrow.
February 1, 2014
A King's Ransom
I am very happy to report that the first review of A King’s Ransom is a good one—huge sigh of relief. This comes from Booklist.
Penman follows up her best-selling Lionheart (2011) with a panoramic retelling of the tumultuous last years of Richard the Lionheart’s life. In addition to detailing the long road home from the Third Crusade and his brutal imprisonment at the hands of the Holy Roman emperor, she continues to explore the complex nature of Richard’s relationships with his demanding and determined mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine; his long-suffering wife, Berengaria; his sister Joanna, Queen of Sicily; and a host of other superbly rendered historical figures. Breathing life into a revered legend is never easy, but Penman has absorbed herself so fully into the heart and mind of her protagonist that an undeniably flawed but refreshingly human Richard virtually walks off the pages. This atmospheric fictional biography showcases the author’s mastery of all things medieval while providing some refreshingly new twists on the life and times of a hallowed hero.
HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: Penman has a well-deserved reputation for serving up meaty historical fiction. Lionheart was a huge best-seller; expect no less from this masterful sequel.
— Margaret Flanagan
Penman follows up her best-selling Lionheart (2011) with a panoramic retelling of the tumultuous last years of Richard the Lionheart’s life. In addition to detailing the long road home from the Third Crusade and his brutal imprisonment at the hands of the Holy Roman emperor, she continues to explore the complex nature of Richard’s relationships with his demanding and determined mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine; his long-suffering wife, Berengaria; his sister Joanna, Queen of Sicily; and a host of other superbly rendered historical figures. Breathing life into a revered legend is never easy, but Penman has absorbed herself so fully into the heart and mind of her protagonist that an undeniably flawed but refreshingly human Richard virtually walks off the pages. This atmospheric fictional biography showcases the author’s mastery of all things medieval while providing some refreshingly new twists on the life and times of a hallowed hero.
HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: Penman has a well-deserved reputation for serving up meaty historical fiction. Lionheart was a huge best-seller; expect no less from this masterful sequel.
— Margaret Flanagan
January 29, 2014
"She has miscarried of her savior."
On January 29, 1536, Anne Boleyn was prematurely delivered of a stillborn son. Less than four months later, she was dead, sacrificed to Henry’s obsession with having a male heir—and possibly his roving eye, which had already alighted upon Jane Seymour, whom he wed eleven days after Anne’s execution. Henry was a class act. It is widely believed that Anne’s “failure” to give Henry a living son sealed her doom; this was the belief at the time, too, the Spanish ambassador Chapuys writing “She has miscarried of her savior.” However, the creator of one of the best websites about Anne, the Anne Boleyn Files, does not agree. You can read her argument for yourself here. http://www.theanneboleynfiles.com/the... I personally believe the miscarriage did mark a fatal turning point in their relationship, but then, I am certainly not an expert when it comes to the Tudors. In fact, when I typed the opening sentence in this post, I was amused to find that I’d written that Anne Neville was the one delivered of a stillborn son. We know where my sympathies lie, of course, but I do spare some of it for Anne Boleyn. Whatever her flaws, she did not deserve the death she got, any more than Katherine of Aragon or silly little Katherine Howard did
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