Medieval Woman: Blogging with Historical Novelist Susan Higginbotham

Moving House

2011-07-29T01:08:00.002-04:00

Since I turned in my completed manuscript on Thursday, the duchesses have released me from bondage to blog again. I've decided, however, to move my blog over to WordPress. I like Blogger, but WordPress offers some features that Blogger doesn't. So hereafter, I'll be blogging at this address. I've already got a new post up.

You'll note that my new blog has a new title: History Refreshed with Susan Higginbotham. I thought "Medieval Woman" was too limiting now that I'm writing about the Tudors as well.

Because my first few blog posts didn't transfer over to WordPress, and since it will probably take a while for people to start following me at the new blog, I won't delete this blog.

Hope to see you over at the new address!

Blogging Hiatus: A Bulletin From the Duchesses

2011-06-23T21:51:00.002-04:00

We, the Duchesses of Suffolk and Northumberland, wish to inform the gracious readers of this blog that until Susan Higginbotham delivers a completed manuscript about us to her publisher on or about August 1, 2011, she will not be posting on this blog.

(Even if it's something really interesting? Susan asks forlornly.)

(Nay, say the duchesses.)

So there you have it. Don't blame Mistress Higginbotham, please. Blame us.

Historical Novel Society--San Diego 2011

2011-06-20T18:37:00.017-04:00

I'm back from the Historical Novel Society's fourth North American conference, held in San Diego this weekend. As promised, here's my recap, with the caveat that there was a choice of panel discussions offered and I can only report on the ones which I attended. (Sadly, I didn't take notes, as I was too busy enjoying the discussions, so I'm writing here from memory--if there's anything I got wrong, let me know.)

Friday night kicked off with a dinner banquet, with Harry Turtledove as the keynote speaker. Turtledove is primarily an author of alternative history, which isn't a genre I prefer, but I found him to be an engaging and lively speaker. I definitely plan on looking into his "straight" historical novels someday.

Since I've been pondering trying to write a young adult novel at some point, the first panel I attended Saturday morning was "Adult Versus Young Adult Fiction," moderated by Gina Iorio, a librarian, with Susan Coventry, C. C. Humphreys, Pamela Bauer Mueller, and Dori Jones Yang as the panelists. The impression I took away from the panel is that the only hard-and-fast rule about young adult fiction is that the protagonist has to be in his or her teens; otherwise, the fast-growing genre offers a lot of room for play and has a growing appeal for adult readers as well.

Next was "Making Characters Believable," moderated by Jess Wells and featuring Gillian Bagwell, Christy English, Tony Hays, and Kathryn Johnson. I found it interesting to see how a variety of authors accomplished this challenging task.

One of the hot-button topics in the historical fiction community has been the perception that in order to attract readers (and publishers), historical novels require "marquee names"--the Anne Boleyns and Eleanor of Aquitaines of the world, as opposed to lesser-known historical characters and ordinary folk. Mary Sharratt moderated the panel, which included Susanne Dunlap, C. W. Gortner, Vanitha Sankaran, and Margaret George, some who have chosen the famous for their protagonists, some of whom have not. This panel attracted a lot of audience questions. The consensus appeared to be that while there is a preference for marquee names, the well-written novel about lesser folk can find a home, provided that it tells a compelling story.

The lunch speaker was agent Jennifer Weltz, who stayed around to moderate an editor's panel on "Selling Historical Fiction" with Deni Dietz (Five Star), Shana Drehs (my own editor from Sourcebooks), Heather Lazare (Crown), and Charles Spicer from St. Martin's. I didn't stick around for the entire panel, as I had to primp for my own panel discussion, but there was a very interesting discussion on the e-book phenomenon.

Next up was "Whose Side Are You On? Turning the Antagonists of History into Sympathetic Protagonists," moderated by Elizabeth Kerri Mahon and featuring Emma Campion (writing about Alice Perrers), C. W. Gortner (writing about Catherine de Medici), Anne Easter Smith (writing about Richard III), and your friendly blogger (writing about Margaret of Anjou). We talked about how we went about portraying in a sympathetic light those who have been traditionally cast as history's villains.

Our keynote speaker at dinner was Cecelia Holland, who gave a very short and very successful speech on the role of the historical novelist, proving that one doesn't need to give a long talk to captivate an audience! The dinner was followed by a fashion show, spanning ancient times through the nineteenth century and emceed very entertainingly by Valerie Sokol. I was one of the participants, so I can't offer pictures, but I suspect a few will be appearing on the web over the next few days.

A hit of the last conference was the "Saturday Night Sex Scene" readings, which were repeated (with new scenes, of course) for this conference. I confess that I missed these, however, since at that time jet lag was beginning to tell on me and my hotel room was looking awfully good. (There were also "Friday Night Fight Scenes" for the pugilistically inclined.)

On Sunday, editor jay Dixon, novelist Sarah Mallory, and librarian Barbara Sedlock offered a program on "Library Research." Sedlock gave us a brief rundown on ways to find repositories of primary source materials on line, complete with a nifty handout, which I'll be utilizing soon. Mallory reminded us that while research is essential for the historical novel, the author needs to avoid the trap of turning the finished product into an "information dump." Dixon gave us cautionary tales of the novelist who doesn't do enough research, and also offered some helpful reminders on British versus American usage and a cheat sheet for addressing the nobility.

The last session I attended was "Writing Biographical Fiction: How Much Fiction, How Much Fact?" moderated by Frederick Ramsay and featuring Margaret George, Cecelia Holland, Joyce Elson Moore, and Susan Vreeland as panelists. I have to say that this was my favorite panel of the conference, and I really regret not being able to recap what was said. The panelists offered a variety of opinions on such topics as to how one should treat pastimes that might offend modern sensibilities, such as bear-baiting, and the moderator asked good questions and drew out each of the authors (none of whom were showboaters). (Another reason I liked this panel was because every person on it was wearing spectacles. Glasses rule!)

One of the best aspects of the conference, however, was what took place before, after, and in-between discussions--getting to mingle with readers, bloggers, and fellow authors. I seldom get a chance to do this in person, so it was a real boon for me. I would mention some of the people I met, but I have a terrible head for names and faces, and I'm afraid I'd leave someone out. If I met you, it was a delight!*

I also enjoyed San Diego itself, though I didn't get to venture out much except for during a few hours on Friday afternoon. My hotel room had a fine view of the Santa Fe train depot, and there are few things I find more soothing than the sound of train whistles blowing in the night.

Looking forward to the HNS North American Conference for 2013!

*Unless you're the man who, when I mentioned at breakfast that I had thought I had seen you on a certain website, you responded, "Oh, I've been on lots of sites!" and shoved a multi-page handout about your prize-winning books in my face and told me to read it, without bothering to ask me anything about my own self or whether I was interested in seeing said handout. When you scooted off seconds later to speak to someone who was evidently of more use to you, there's a reason I let someone else have your seat next to me. You lost a potential reader that morning, dude, and you're not getting her back until you use the manners your mother taught you.

Go West, Medieval Woman, Go West

2011-06-15T22:40:00.004-04:00

On Friday at dawn, I'll be heading out to San Diego for the Historical Novel Society conference this weekend. This is my first time in attendance, as various things prevented me from going to the last several conferences, so I'm really looking forward to it! Some of my favorite writers and/or bloggers will be there, so I will have to be an extrovert for the weekend and meet and mingle!

I'll be a panelist on Whose Side Are You On? moderated by Elizabeth Keri Mahon. My co-panelists are C. W. Gortner, Anne Easter Smith, and Emma Campion, so I'm in good company! We'll be discussing what inspired us to write about historical figures who have traditionally got bad press, such as Margaret of Anjou in my case.

In addition to the panel, I'm also participating in a group book-signing and taking to the runway at the historical costume pageant on Saturday night.

I've figured out how to tweet from my cell phone, so I'll try to pass along Twitter updates as I attend the various presentations. I'll be blogging about my weekend once I return, as I know others will too, so it will be interesting to compare experiences.

See you on Monday!

The Other Jane Seymour: A Follow-Up Letter

2011-06-08T22:57:00.019-04:00

In my last post, I mentioned that after the execution of their father, Jane Seymour and three of her sisters came to live with their aunt Elizabeth, Lady Cromwell. As the following letter to William Cecil indicates, Lady Cromwell wasn't entirely happy about having four young girls (the oldest of the four, Margaret, was twelve) thrust into her care:

After the due manner of my most hearty commendations unto you, good Master Cecil, I dare not think any unkindness that my lady, your bed-fellow, and you did not, according to your promise, see the poor house of Launde. I ensure you it would have been greatly to my comfort, and I most heartily pray you, when you come into these our parts again, to take my poor house as your own, where you shall be so heartily welcome as my heart can think to the nearest friend I have in the world.

Your great gentleness, many ways shewed towards me, emboldeneth me to trouble you with these my letters, whereby it may please you to understand that, where it pleased the king's majesty and his most honourable council to will me to take into my tuition my four nieces, I thought it my duty, and the rather being moved by your friendly advice declared unto me by your gentle letters, to satisfy the council's honourable requests and not to refuse them; although, if I should have declared unto my said honourable lords at that time what charge and other cares I, being now a lone woman, am troubled with, I doubt not but it would have pleased them, of their honours, to have accepted in good part my reasonable cause to have refused them. Wherefore, considering with myself the weighty burden and care which nature bindeth me to be mindful of, as well for the bestowing of my own children, as also for such poor family as my late lord and husband hath left me unprovided for, enforceth me to require your help and advice, that hereafter, about Christmas next, or shortly after then, by your good means, my said honourable lords of the council may understand that, when my said nieces have accomplished a full year with me, then my trust is that they shall be otherwhere provided for and bestowed than with me: trusting that there be places enough where they may be, better than with me; and, as I do perceive by them many ways, much more to their own contentations and pleasings. And even as I was bold to write unto the king's highness' most honourable council, that I, being a lone woman, not nigh any of my kinsfolk, whereby I the rather am destitute of friendly advice and counsel, how to use myself in the rule of such company as now I am careful of, so now I am likewise bold to declare the same unto you, being not at any time either instructed by you or any other of my said honourable lords, how to use my said nieces; considering that I have, in some cases, thought good that my said nieces should not all wholly be their own guides, but rather willing them to follow mine advice, which they have not taken in such good part as my good meaning was, nor according to my expectation in them.

Trusting, therefore, so much in your worship, that you will so tender my aforesaid desire, as the same may so come to pass that my request herein may be satisfied in convenient time, and without any displeasure towards me for my good meaning. And thus I beseech the living God to send you continual health and much increase of honour. From Launde, the 25th of October, 1552.

Yours always assured to her power,

Elizabeth Cromwell.

To the Right Honourable Sir William Cecil, Knight, one of the king's highness' privy council,
Give these.

Though Lady Cromwell may strike us as rather coldhearted, it can't have been easy, suddenly having four bereaved young girls dropped into her household. Nor could the girls have been the most congenial of houseguests: their father was dead, their mother was a prisoner, and they had been torn away from the luxurious existence they had known as the daughters of the very wealthy Duke of Somerset. Moreover, Lady Cromwell herself was a widow; her husband had died in 1551, leaving her with five children of her own to support. Now instead of five young people in the house, she had nine.

Lady Cromwell's letter must have produced at least some of the desired effect: on November 1, 1552, the council, which had originally granted her 50 pounds per annum for each girl, increased this sum to 100 marks per girl. Whether this made relations between Lady Cromwell and her nieces more amicable is unknown, but in August 1553, Mary I released the Duchess of Somerset from the Tower, after which she presumably reclaimed custody of her children. Lady Cromwell herself ceased to be a "lone woman" in the spring of 1554: she married John Paulet, Marquess of Winchester.

Sources:

John Strype, ed. Ecclesiastical Memorials, relating chiefly to Religion and the Reformation of it, and the emergencies of the Church of England under King Henry VIII, King Edward VI, and Queen Mary. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1822.

Mary Anne Everett Wood, ed. Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies. London: Henry Colburn, 1846.

The Other Lady Jane

2011-06-05T00:25:00.001-04:00

Tudor England possessed not one but two Lady Janes who were noted for their learning, whose parents aspired to marry them to the king, and who died tragically young. The first Lady Jane needs no introduction; the second probably will: Lady Jane Seymour.

Jane Seymour, niece to Henry VIII's queen by the same name, was born in 1541 to Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford (later Duke of Somerset) and his wife, Anne Stanhope. She was the third of the couple's six daughters.

Like their contemporary Jane Grey, Jane Seymour and her sisters received an excellent humanist education. In a letter that Mary Anne Everett Wood dates to 1548, seven-year-old Jane and her eight-year-old sister Margaret wrote to their cousin Edward VI, who would turn 11 in October 1548:

It cannot be expressed, O! king most serene, with what hope and joy that literary gift which we have received from your highness has overflowed our spirit, and what a sharp spur we find it to be, in order to embrace those things and to cleave with all labour and sedulousness to those studies wherein we know your highness to take so much delight, and to be so deeply learned; wherein we also, whom your serene highness wishes to see best instructed, hope to make some advancement. And these present tokens of your singular good-will, which no power of words can do justice to, show plainly how many thanks are due from us, more than many others to your majesty; should we attempt any act or expression of thanks, your deserts, always proceeding more and more in perpetual vicissitude, would not only seem to press upon us but would certainly oppress us: especially as we have nothing, nay, we ourselves are nothing, which we do not justly owe to your highness. Wherefore, while forced to fly to your clemency, we yet doubt not that a prince of such heavenly kindness, who has loaded us with so many and so great benefits, will also add this one, that he will not think that those things are bestowed upon ungrateful persons, which belong to a grateful spirit. Whereof these letters, which are wont to be substitutes for the absent, will be but a faint proof; while we pray for all happiness to your highness, with a long continuance thereof.

The most devoted servants to your majesty,

Margaret Seymour,
Jane Seymour.

Jane's parents encouraged the girls to correspond with religious reformers, as did the parents of Jane Grey. On June 12, 1549--a few months before her father, who had been named Protector for Edward VI, was imprisoned in the Tower for the first time--the eight-year-old Jane Seymour wrote this letter to Martin Bucer and Paul Faguis, who were living in exile in England and had taken up posts at Cambridge:

I have perused your letter, most reverend fathers, which has not only pleased, but highly delighted me. For I easily perceived therein your singular good-will towards me, a grace and eloquence equal to that of Cicero, together with a most abiding remembrance of me, which, as it is in most persons of very rare occurrence, I cannot sufficiently admire in you. But when I consider in what way I can recompense the sincerity of your friendship, I plainly perceive that this is quite out of my power; and that I can only offer you, as I shall do as long as I live, my warmest acknowledgments. I dare not presume to write to you how very acceptable were the books that you presented to my sister and myself, for fear lest my ineloquent commendation of them may appear impertinent. From your exceeding praise of the addresses of myself and my sister, which we might more truly be said to babble than to recite before you, I perceive your incomparable benevolence and friendship, abounding in such kind exaggeration respecting us. For neither my sister nor myself assume to ourselves a single atom of this commendation, nor have we any right to do so. My mother, thank God, is in good health: she desires her best respects to you both, and also thanks you for your salutations to her grace. Farewell, both of you, and may your life long be preserved! Dated at Sion, June 12, 1549.

Your attached well wisher,

JANE SEYMOUR

Jane and her sisters were tutored by John Crane, as well as by Nicholas Denisot, a French humanist and poet. It was through the latter's efforts that Jane and her older sisters, Anne and Margaret, became published authors in 1550. Their book, published in Paris, was The Hecatodistichon, a collection of 104 Latin distichs commemorating the recently deceased Marguerite de Navarre. The following year, another edition, Le Tombeau de Marguerite de Valois, was published with translations from the Latin into French, Greek, and Italian. It was not until the twentieth century that the sisters' efforts were translated into English, first by Brenda Hosington and second by Patricia Demers. Demers' translation of the first three distichs appears below:

1. Ann. This holy urn covers the ashes of the queen of Navarre, an urn covering a great body with mean earth.
2. Margaret. Here the queen, the nurturing Margaret, who excels any woman of either a greater name or piety, lies dead.
3. Jane. Nurturing Margaret lies dead, but in body only; neither was she dor- mant in mind earlier, while she lived, nor does she only lie dead now.

The sisters' literary efforts attracted praise from the French poet Pierre de Ronsard, who wrote odes in the girls' honor, and from Nicholas Grimald, who composed five poems in honor of the sisters. The verses addressed to Jane, edited by Steve Spanoudis, can be found here and read in part:

"The worthy feates that now so much set forth your noble name,
So have inure, they still increast, may more encrease your fame."

Grimald also praised young Jane's linguistic abilities, crediting her with knowledge of Latin, French, Italian, and Spanish.

The publication of The Hecatodistichon had coincided with an upswing in the Seymour family fortunes: the girls' father, the Duke of Somerset, had been released from the Tower and restored to the king's council, though not to his position as Protector. In October 1551, however, Jane Seymour's life took a tragic turn. Her father was once again arrested and sent to the Tower; this time, Jane's mother was imprisoned as well. Among the accusations against Somerset was that he was attempting to persuade Edward VI to marry his daughter Jane. Jehan Scheyfve, the Spanish ambassador, reported that Somerset had admitted as much: "This point he seems partly to have confessed, saying that history showed that the Kings of England had usually married in the country, and that he would have done nothing without the Council's consent."

Jane, however, was not destined to be a king's consort but a felon's daughter. On January 22, 1552, the Duke of Somerset, having been convicted of felony, was beheaded on Tower Hill. Because Jane's mother remained a prisoner in the Tower, Jane and three of her sisters, Margaret, Mary, and Catherine, were sent to live with their aunt Elizabeth Cromwell, a widowed sister of Somerset. The king provided four hundred marks per year for the girls' maintenance. (Elizabeth Cromwell was well situated to sympathize with her nieces' plight; her husband, Gregory Cromwell, was the son of Henry VIII's chief minister Thomas Cromwell, whose own career had ended on the scaffold.)

Following Mary I's successful fight for her throne, Jane's mother was released from the Tower. Jane's own fortunes improved: she went to court as one of the queen's maids. There she became friendly with another teenage maid of honor: Katherine Grey, the younger sister of the executed Jane Grey. There was an obvious basis for friendship: not only were the young women close in age and well educated, they had both suffered through the executions of their fathers and the blighting of their own prospects.

One day at court, Jane Seymour fell ill and was sent to her mother at Hanworth to recover. Katherine Grey accompanied her. There, Katherine caught the eye of Jane's brother Edward, Earl of Hertford (a title he had lost after his father's execution but would regain in Elizabeth's reign).

Jane then assumed the role that she is most famous for: that of go-between in the ill-fated romance of Hertford and Katherine. The couple carried their courtship from Mary's court into Elizabeth's. Although Katherine's mother, Frances, Duchess of Suffolk, approved of the couple's relationship and drafted a letter to Elizabeth pleading for her to allow them to marry, Frances died before the letter could be sent. As Hertford's own mother was opposed to the match, Hertford and Katherine were left with Jane Seymour and her servant Glynne, who carried tokens and messages for the lovers, as their sole allies. Finally, in Jane's presence, the couple agreed to marry the next time Elizabeth should go on an outing and leave the young women behind.

The three young people were taking an enormous risk. Katherine stood so close to the throne that her marriage was a matter of state. Youthful passion could explain Katherine and Hertford's actions, but what motivated Jane--affection for her brother and her friend, a romantic nature, a love of intrigue, or something else--is unknown. Perhaps after a childhood spent as a model pupil, followed by the downfall and death of her father, she had become reckless.

In November or December 1560, the couple finally had their chance to marry when Elizabeth went on a hunting trip, leaving her maids behind. Jane and Katherine slipped off the next morning to Hertford's house at Cannon Row, after which Jane hastened to find a priest to perform the marriage. Jane was the only witness to the marriage. Afterward, she gave ten pounds to the priest--the name of whom neither Hertford or Katherine knew--and dutifully offered the newlyweds "comfects and other banqueting meats." The couple, however, preferred to consummate their marriage immediately, after which Katherine and Jane returned to court.

Over the next few months, Hertford and Katherine continued to meet secretly, sometimes with the help of Jane, who went with Katherine several times to Cannon Row. The inevitable soon occurred: Katherine became pregnant.

Jane could be of no help to her, for on March 19, 1561, at age nineteen, she died at court. It has been suggested that she had been ailing for some time, but her death at court, instead of at her mother's home, suggests to me that her illness was a sudden one. Unaware of the intrigue in which her maid had been involved, Elizabeth gave Jane a grand funeral:

The sam day of Marche [March 25, 1461] at after-none at Westmynster [was brought] from the quen('s) armere my lade Jane Semer, with [all the quire] of the abbay, with ijC. of (the) quen('s) cowrt, the wyche she was [one] of the quen('s) mayd(s) and in grett faver, and a iiiixx morners of [men and] women, of lordes and lades, and gentylmen and gentyllwomen, all in blake, be-syd odur of the quen('s) preve chambur, and she [had] a grett baner of armes bornne, and master Clarenshux was the harold, and master Skameler the nuw byshope of Peterborow dyd pryche. [She was] bered in the sam chapell wher my lade of Suffoke [Frances, Katherine Grey's mother] was.

Later, Hertford erected a memorial table to his loyal sister Jane at Westminster Abbey:

The Noble Lady Jane Seymour, Daughter to the renowned Prince Edward, Duke of Somerset, Earl of Hertford, Viscount Beauchamp, Baron Seymour, and to the Right Noble Lady Anne Dutchess of Somerset, his Wife, departed this Life in her Virginity at the age of nineteen Years, the nineteenth of March, Anno 1560 [1561], in the second Year of the most happy reign of Queen Elizabeth, and was honourably buried in the floor of this Chappel: to whose Memory, Edward Earl of Hertford and Baron Beauchamp, her dear Brother, hath caused this Monument to be made.

Katherine at last revealed her secret marriage several months after Jane's death. Both Katherine and Hertford were imprisoned in the Tower, where Katherine gave birth to the couple's first son; afterward, the lieutenant allowed the couple to visit privately, resulting in the conception of a second son. Katherine died in 1568, having spent her last years in the custody of various individuals. Hertford was luckier: having likewise been entrusted to the keeping of various people, he was finally released in 1571 and eventually remarried.

Tragic as her death at age nineteen was, Jane Seymour at least was spared the disillusionment of seeing the marriage she had done so much to promote turn out so sadly. She also avoided the consequences of Elizabeth's wrath, which surely would have fallen on her as go-between as well. Instead, she received one last poetic tribute, this one by Walter Haddon, a lawyer who also composed Latin verses. Translated by George Ballard, it reads:

On the Death of Lady Jane Somerset.

For genius fam'd, for beauty lov'd:
Jane bade the world admire:

Her voice harmonious Notes improv'd,
Her hand the tunefull Lyre.

Venus and Pallas claim'd this Maid,
Each as her right alone,

But Death superiour pow'r display'd
And seiz'd her as his own.

Her Virgin dust this mournfull Tomb,
In kindred Earth contains,

Her Soul which Fate can ne'er consume
In endless Glory reigns.

Sources:

George Ballard, Memoirs of Several Ladies of Great Britain Who Have Been Celebrated for Their Writings or Skill in the Learned Languages, Arts, and Sciences. Oxford: W. Jackson, 1752 (on Google Books).

Patricia Demers, "The Seymour Sisters: Elegizing Female Attachment." The Sixteenth Century Journal, Summer 1999.

Susan Doran, ‘Seymour, Edward, first earl of Hertford (1539?–1621)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, May 2010 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/25161, accessed 4 June 2011]

Susan Doran, ‘Seymour [Grey], Katherine, countess of Hertford (1540?–1568)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/25157, accessed 4 June 2011]

Harleian MS 6286

John Gough Nichols, ed., The Diary of Henry Machyn, Citizen and Merchant-Taylor of London, from A.D. 1550 to A.D. 1563. London: The Camden Society, 1848.

Hastings Robinson, Original Letters Relative to the English Reformation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1846 and 1847.

Jane Stevenson, ‘Seymour, Lady Jane (1541–1561)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/68051, accessed 4 June 2011]

Mary Anne Everett Wood, ed. Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies. London: Henry Colburn, 1846.

The Letters of Frances Grey, Marchioness of Dorset

2011-05-30T12:50:00.000-04:00

Three letters by Frances Grey, Marchioness of Dorset and later Duchess of Suffolk, have been preserved in printed sources. Mary Anne Everett Wood, the nineteenth-century editor of Letters of Royal and Illustrious Ladies of Great Britain, knew of no others in existence. The letters appear in three separate sources: Samuel Haynes' A Collection of State Papers Relating to Affairs in the Reigns of King Henry VIII, King Edward VI, Queen Mary, and Queen Elizabeth (volume 1); Patrick Fraser Tytler's England Under the Reigns of Edward VI and Mary (volume 1); and in Wood, volume 3.

The first two letters are addressed to the recently widowed Thomas Seymour, in whose household Jane Grey had been residing before the death of Seymour's royal wife, Katherine Parr. Stunned by the death of his wife from what was probably childbed fever, Seymour had decided to send his ward, Jane, back to her parents, but had since regrouped and now wished Jane to continue in his household, where his mother would be living. After Thomas wrote to Jane's parents and went in person to persuade them, Jane did return to Thomas Seymour's household, but not for long, for Thomas was arrested for treason in January 1549 and executed on March 20, 1549. (The "lady of Suffolk" Frances refers to in the first letter was her stepmother, Katherine, Duchess of Suffolk.)

The recipient of the third letter, purely personal in nature, was Francis Talbot, the fifth Earl of Shrewsbury, born in 1500. Shrewsbury supported Lady Jane's accession to the throne three years after the date of the letter here, but probably reluctantly; he quickly declared his allegiance to Queen Mary. Talbot was the son of George Talbot, fourth Earl of Shrewsbury, and Anne Hastings. Through his mother, Francis was the grandson of William Hastings, murdered by the future Richard III on June 13, 1483.

___________

Frances to Thomas Seymour, Lord Admiral of England, September 19, 1548:

Although, good Brother, I might be well encoragid to ministre such Counsaile unto you as I have in store, for that yt hath pleased you; not onlye so to take in worthe that I wrytt in my Ladie of Suffolk's Lettre, but also to require me to have in redines suche good Advises, as I shall thinke convenient against our next metyng; yet considering howe unhable I am to doe that hereto belongithe, I had rather leave with that Praise I have gotten at your Hand, then by seking more, to lose that I have alredie wune. And wheras of a Frindlye and Brotherlie good Wyll you wishe to have Jane my Doughter continuyng still in your House, I give you most hartie Thankes for your gentle Offer, trustyng nevertheles that, for the good Opinion you have in your Sister, you will be content to charge Hir with hir, who promyseth you, not onlye to be redye at all Tymes to accompt for the ordering of your deere Neese, but also to use your Counsaile and Advise in the bestowing of hir; whensoever it shall happen. Wherfor, my good Brother; my request shalbe, that I may have the Oversight of hir with your good Will; and therby I shall have good Occasion to thinke, that you do trust me in such wise; as is convenient that a Syster to be trusted of so loving a Brother. And thus my most hartye Comendations not omytted, I wyshe the holle Delyverans of your Gryefe and Contynuance of your Lordshipes Helthe. From Broadgate 19th of this September.

Tour lowyng Sister and assured Frende,

Francys Dorsset

To the right Honorable and my very good Lorde my Lard Admirall.

__________________

Frances to Thomas Seymour, October 2, 1548

Mine own good brother,

I have received your most gentle and loving letter, wherein I do perceive your approved goodwill which you bear unto my daughter Jane, for the which I think myself most bounden to you, for that you are so desirous for to have her continue with you. I trust at our next meeting, which, according to your own appointment, shall be shortly, we shall so communicate together as you shall be satisfied, and I contented; and forasmuch as this messenger does make haste away, that I have but little leisure to write, I shall desire you to take these few lines in good part: and thus wishing your health and quietness as my own, and a short despatch of your business, that I might the sooner see you here, I take my leave of you, my good brother, for this time. From my Lord's house in Broadgate, the second of October.

Your assured friend and loving sister,

Frances Dorset.

______________

Frances to Francis Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, June 15, 1550.

After my most hearty commendations to you, my very good lord, forasmuch as at this present I have divers of my friends in Shropshire, whom I have cause to gratify with venison this summer, and, debating where I might be best provided for them, have thought good most heartily to desire you to bestow one stag upon me for this purpose, to be taken within your park of Blackmeyr, and to be delivered unto this bringer at such time as he shall farther attend you for the same. Your lordship's favour wherein to be shewed, the rather at this my request, shall not fail the semblable requital thereof, at any time hereafter when occasion shall require. And thus I bid you right heartily farewell.

From Loughborough, the 15th day of June,

Your lordship's assured friend,

Frances Dorset.

To my very good lord, my lord the Earl of Shrewsbury.

Lady Jane Grey, the Abused Child?

2011-05-23T23:54:00.008-04:00

In August 1550, Frances Grey, Marchioness of Dorset, made one of the worst mistakes of her life. She went hunting, leaving her daughter Jane at home to receive a visitor. The conversation that took place in her absence would damn her reputation for centuries.

The visitor was Roger Ascham, and the account he wrote of this encounter in his book The Schoolmaster, twenty years after it occurred, has become famous—and notorious:

Before I went into Germany, I came to Broadgate in Leicestershire, to take my leave of that noble lady Lady Jane Grey, to whom I was exceeding much beholding. Her parents, the duke and duchess, with all the household, gentlemen and gentlewomen, were hunting in the park. I found her in her chamber, reading Phaedo Platonis in Greek, and that with as much delight as some gentlemen would read a merry tale in Boccace. After salutation, and duty done, with some other talk, I asked her, why she would leese such pastime in the park? Smiling, she answered me; "I wist, all their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas! good folk, they never felt what true pleasure meant." "And how came you, madam," quoth I, "to this deep knowledge of pleasure and what did chiefly allure you unto it, seeing not many women, but very few men, have attained thereunto?" "I will tell you," quoth she, "and tell you a truth, which perchance ye will marvel at. One of the greatest benefits that ever God gave me, is, that he sent me so sharp and severe parents, and so gentle a schoolmaster. For when I am in presence either of father or mother; whether I speak, keep silence, sit, stand, or go, eat, drink, be merry, or sad, be sewing, playing, dancing, or doing any thing else; I must do it, as it were, in such weight, measure, and number, even so perfectly, as God made the world; or else I am so sharply taunted, so cruelly threatened, yea presently sometimes with pinches, nips, and bobs, and other ways (which I will not name for the honour I bear them) so without measure misordered, that I think myself in hell, till time come that I must go to Mr Elmer; who teacheth me so gently, so pleasantly, with such fair allurements to learning, that I think all the time nothing whiles I am with him. And when I am called from him, I fall on weeping, because whatsoever I do else but learning, is full of grief, trouble, fear, and whole misliking unto me. And thus my book hath been so much my pleasure, and bringeth daily to me more pleasure and more, that in respect of it, all other pleasures, in very deed, be but trifles and troubles unto me."

I remember this talk gladly, both because it is so worthy of memory, and because also it was the last talk that ever I had, and the last time that ever I saw that noble and worthy lady.

Ascham’s recollection, however, was not the first time he referred to his Bradgate visit. In a letter to John Sturm on December 14, 1550, in which he discussed various learned English ladies, he wrote, “This last summer . . . I turned out of my road to Leicester, where Jane Grey was living with her father. I was immediately admitted into her chamber, and found the noble damsel—Oh, ye gods!—reading Plato’s Phaedro in Greek, and so thoroughly understanding it that she caused me the greatest astonishment.” If anything disturbed Ascham about his encounter with Jane the previous summer, he did not see fit to mention it to Sturm at the time.

On January 18, 1551, Ascham wrote to Jane personally:

In this long travel of mine, I have passed over wide tracts of country, and seen the largest cities, I have studied the customs, institutes, laws, and religion of many men and diverse nations, with as much diligence as I was able: but in all this variety of subjects, nothing has caused in me so much wonder as my having fallen upon you last summer, a maiden of noble birth, and that too in the absence of your tutor, in the hall of your most noble family, and at a time when others, both men and women, give themselves up to hunting and pleasures, you, a divine maiden, reading carefully in Greek the Phaedo of the divine Plato; and happier in being so occupied than because you derive your birth, both on your father's side, and on your mother's, from kings and queens! Go on then, most accomplished maiden, to bring honour on your country, happiness on your parents, glory to yourself, credit to your tutor, congratulation to all your friends, and the greatest admiration to all strangers!

It is Ascham’s much later recollection of his visit with Jane—published long after Jane and her parents were dead—that has colored our view of Jane and her family ever since. Nonfiction and fiction alike have used this incident to create a lurid picture of a pathetic young girl, viciously abused at worst and emotionally deprived at best by her cruel parents.

There are a number of reasons for doubting this portrayal, however. First, Jane Grey was not waiting tables in order to pay for her high-powered education: it was provided by her parents. While Jane’s parents, Henry and Frances Grey (the Marquis and Marchioness of Dorset, known after October 1551 as the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk) may have been motivated in part by a desire to make their daughter as attractive a marriage partner as possible (and responsible parents, of course, did their best to ensure a good marriage for their children), it is also possible that they recognized their daughter’s intellectual gifts and wished to encourage them. And would the unfeeling, authoritarian parents of legend have allowed Jane to skip the hunting trip and enjoy her book in solitude in the first place?

Moreover, in allowing Jane to receive visits from men like Roger Ascham in the privacy of her chamber and to correspond with him and other scholars, the duke and duchess were hardly acting like people with something to hide, as one might expect from parents who were mistreating their daughter even by contemporary standards. While Jane’s parents might have seen the correspondence she sent and received, they weren’t present at their daughter’s famous meeting with Ascham, about which Ascham later spoke openly. Indeed, the fact that Jane complained so freely about her parents belies the fact that she was cowed by them.

Correspondence by those who knew Jane also fails to bear out the notion of Jane as a mistreated, abused child. If anything, the picture that emerges is of a father, at least, who took pride in his daughter’s intellectual accomplishments and shared her religious views. In July 1551, Jane wrote to thank the reformer Henry Bullinger in Zurich for “that little volume of pure and unsophisticated religion” which he had sent to her and her father; both were reading it, she added. Earlier, in May 1551, while Jane’s father was in Scotland, John ab Ulmis wrote to Bullinger that he had been visiting Jane and her mother at Bradgate, where he had been “passing these two days very agreeably with Jane, my lord’s daughter, and those excellent and holy persons Aylmer and Haddon [Jane’s tutor and the family chaplain].” Ulmis went on to gush, “For my own part, I do not think there ever lived any one more deserving of respect than this young lady, if you regard her family; more learned, if you consider her age; or more happy, if you consider both.” In a letter written that same day to a Conrad Pellican, a scholar of Hebrew, Ulmis urged Pellican not to be bashful about writing to a nobleman’s daughter. He dated his letter from “the house of the daughter of the marquis.” The previous year, in December 1550, Ulmis noted that Jane was translating a treatise “On marriage” from the Latin to the Greek as a New Year’s gift for her father, whom Holinshed described as “somewhat learned himself, and a great favourer of those that were learned.” Henry Grey himself wrote of Jane in December 1551 to Bullinger, somewhat pompously (but then, so is the rest of the letter), “I acknowledge yourself also to be much indebted to you on my daughter’s account, for having always exhorted her in your godly letters to a true faith in Christ, the study of the scriptures, purity of manners, and innocence of life.”

Even John Aylmer, the tutor that Ascham recalled Jane speaking of so fondly, believed that the adolescent Jane needed a firm hand. As he wrote in a letter to Bullinger in May 1551:

For what favour more useful to herself, or gratifying to the marquis, or acceptable to me, can possibly be afforded her, not only by you, but also by any other person of equal learning and piety, than that she, whom her father loves as a daughter, and whom I look upon with affection as a pupil, may derive such maxims of conduct from your godly breast, as may assist her towards living well and happily? And you are well able to determine, in your wisdom, how useful are the counsels of the aged to guide and direct young persons at her time of life, which is just fourteen. For at that age, as the comic poet tells us, all people are inclined to follow their own ways, and by the attractiveness of the objects, and the corruption of nature, are more easily carried headlong unto pleasure, which Plato calls the bait of mischief, than induced to follow those studies which are attended with the praise of virtue. In proportion therefore as the present age teems with many disorders, must more careful and discreet physicians be sought for; that the diligence, and labour, and exertion of excellent men may either remove or correct such evils as are implanted by the corruption of nature, and the infirmity of youth: for as we feed off the too luxuriant crops, and provide bridles for restive horses, so to these tender minds there should neither be wanting the counsel of the aged, nor the authority of men of grave and influential character. You have acted therefore with much kindness in administering to the improvement of this young lady; and if you will proceed in the same course, you will afford great benefit to herself, and gratification to her father.

In December of that year, Aylmer suggested that some words about clothing and music might be in order:

It now remains for me to request that, with the kindness we have so long experienced, you will instruct my pupil in your next letter as to what embellishment and adornment of person is becoming in young women professing godliness. In treating upon this subject, you may bring forward the example of our king's sister, the princess Elizabeth, who goes clad in every respect as becomes a young maiden; and yet no one is induced by the example of so illustrious a lady, and in so much gospel light, to lay aside, much less look down upon, gold, jewels, and braidings of the hair. They hear preachers declaim against these things, but yet no one amends her life. Moreover, I wish you would prescribe to her the length of time she may properly devote to the study of music. For in this respect also people err beyond measure in this country, while their whole labour is undertaken, and exertions made, for the sake of ostentation. If you will handle these points at some length, there will probably, through your influence, be some accession to the ranks of virtue.

One wonders how Jane took being offered her cousin Elizabeth as an example!

James Haddon, a chaplain at Bradgate, also wrote in December 1551 to Bullinger: “You can indeed confer no greater obligation upon his grace than by continuing (as you have once done already) to impart godly instruction to his daughter. For, although she is so brought up, that there is the greatest hope of her advancement in godliness, yet your exhortations afford her encouragement, and at the same time have their due weight with her, either as proceeding from a stranger, or from so eminent a person as yourself.”

Haddon, it should be noted, felt it necessary to take in hand not only Jane, but her parents, whose card-playing sent him off on a lengthy diatribe to Bullinger in August 1552. After noting that the couple had suffered a relapse over the previous Christmas, he wrote, “I bear with it, just as a man who is holding a wolf by the ears. But I perceive some good arising from this concession, which in fact is no concession at all, but in some measure a remission of duty, or rather of strictness in the performance of it; because I do not find fault in public, although individually and in conversation I always reprove in the same way as heretofore. But because they see that I in some measure yield to them, even against my own opinion, and consider that I deal tenderly with this infirmity of theirs, they are willing to hear and attend to me more readily in other respects.” The duke, at least, showed no hard feelings, for in October 1552, Haddon, about to take up a position to which he had been appointed by the king, wrote, “But it has pleased God to render his grace so much attached to me, and me too in my turn so devoted and attached to his grace, that I cannot entirely separate from him, but must occasionally visit him.”

Of Jane’s parents, it is Frances who has become the chief object of opprobrium by modern writers, although Jane in Ascham’s recollection did not single her out for complaint. As Leanda de Lisle, who along with Eric Ives is almost unique in not accepting modern accounts of Frances at face value, writes in The Sisters Who Would Be Queen, “While Jane is the abused child-woman of these myths, Frances has been turned into an archetype of female wickedness: powerful, domineering, and cruel.”

Frances Grey is a much more shadowy figure than her husband and her daughter, but contemporary sources do not support her portrayal as a vicious woman who terrorized her hapless daughter. Unlike Anne Seymour, Duchess of Somerset, whose difficult personality elicited negative comments from everyone from Katherine Parr on down, none of Frances’s contemporaries seems to have disliked her. Queen Mary treated her kindly, and the ambitious Bess of Hardwick, who chose Frances to be the godmother of her first child, still had “an agate given to me by my Lady Marquess” in 1567. Though she is often portrayed as a dominant figure in making her daughter queen, at least one source, the Marian sympathizer Robert Wingfield, wrote that she was “vigorously opposed” to the match of Jane and Guildford Dudley. There is no evidence that she shared her daughter’s or her husband’s intellectual interests, but there is equally no evidence that she discouraged her daughter’s intellectual development or that she resented her because she was not a boy, although she certainly must have grieved for the loss of her son who died as an infant. (For that matter, despite the prevailing notion that Frances spent most of her time in the saddle, there’s no evidence that she particularly enjoyed hunting, other than her one recorded absence on a hunting excursion on the day that Ascham showed up at Bradgate.)

Jane’s expiatory letter to Queen Mary, written while Jane was a prisoner, is notable for its refusal to blame any of the events of the summer of 1553 on her parents. If anything, Jane comes out of her account as something of a mother’s girl, complaining that her mother-in-law, the Duchess of Northumberland, had reneged on her promise that “I could remain with my mother” and that when the duchess told her that she had been made heir to the Crown, “I cared little for those words and refrained not from going to my mother.”

It is often stated that Frances’s callousness toward her daughter is shown by her failure to plead with Mary for her life and by her remarriage just weeks after the death of Jane and Henry Grey. Frances’s hasty remarriage is a myth; she married her second husband, Adrian Stokes, a year after she had lost her daughter and her husband to the headsman. As for the former charge, it is recorded that Frances successfully pleaded with Mary to free her husband in 1553, but it does not necessarily follow that Frances made no request at the same time to free her daughter. There is no evidence that she visited her daughter in the Tower, but there is likewise no evidence that the Duchess of Northumberland, who is known to have been working desperately to free her sons, visited her imprisoned children either. It may simply be that permission for such a visit was denied.

Before her death, Jane wrote to her father in her prayer book (Eric Ives has suggested in his book Lady Jane Grey that a second letter to Henry Grey, stylistically different from the one in the prayer book, may not be genuine) and to her sister Katherine. No letter to Frances survives, but Michelangelo Florio, Jane’s erstwhile tutor in Italian, stated that Jane wrote to her mother. It is quite possible that the letter has been lost or that Frances destroyed it, perhaps because it was purely of personal, not of religious, value. The absence of a surviving letter, then, does not suggest that Jane and her mother were estranged at the time of Jane's death.

So what of the recollection by Roger Ascham which began this piece? Assuming that Ascham was recalling the conversation correctly twenty years after the fact, it may be that Jane’s parents were strict disciplinarians—as indeed, Tudor parents were expected to be. It may be that that they were perfectionists. It may also be that Jane, as an unusually intelligent girl, resented being treated as just another daughter from whom misbehavior or slacking off would not be tolerated. But to damn Jane’s parents through this single outburst by a teenage girl, recalled years after the fact, is both anachronistic and irresponsible.

The Death of Henry VI

2011-05-21T11:50:00.040-04:00

On May 21, 1471, Edward IV and his forces, having defeated their Lancastrian opponents, rode triumphantly into London. With them was a very high-profile captive: Margaret of Anjou, queen to Henry VI. Margaret was brought to the Tower, where her husband was already a prisoner. Just weeks before, the couple's son, Edward of Lancaster, had died at age seventeen at the Battle of Tewkesbury.

The night his queen arrived at the Tower, Henry VI died. Though the Historie of the arrivall of Edward IV in England, and the finall recoverye of his kingdomes from Henry VI, the official account of the Yorkist triumph, claimed that the former king had died of "pure displeasure and melancholy," few believed this, then or now. The Milanese ambassador summed up the general feeling about the matter: "King Edward has not chosen to have the custody of King Henry any longer, although he was in some sense innocent, and there was no great fear about his proceedings, the prince his son and the Earl of Warwick being dead as well as all those who were for him and had any vigour, as he has caused King Henry to be secretly assassinated in the Tower, where he was a prisoner. . . . He has, in short, chosen to crush the seed."

Henry VI's remains were exhumed in 1910. According to W. H. St. John Hope, who was present, some hair was still attached to the skull. The hair was "brown in colour, save in one place where it was much darker and apparently matted with blood." As W. J. White has pointed out, however, Hope did not have the qualifications to identify the substance as blood; he was an architectural historian. Dr. A. Macalister, a professor of anatomy who was also present at the exhumation, supplied Hope with a report about the condition of the remains, but made no mention of the hair or the blood. He did, however, state that "the bones of the head were unfortunately much broken," although again as White points out, this does not necessarily indicate a violent cause of death; the bones could have been broken over time, especially since the corpse had previously been exhumed in 1484 and moved from Chertsey Abbey to Windsor.

Even if the evidence from the exhumation does not conclusively prove that Henry VI died a violent death, it still seems likely that he did. Henry had suffered many reversals over the years before his death, and had personally witnessed the Lancastrian defeat at Barnet, having been dragged along to the site with Edward IV's army. While the news of his son's death at Tewkesbury and his wife's being taken captive must have been shattering for Henry VI to hear, it is hard to believe that it was such an unexpected shock that it would have caused his death. And with Edward of Lancaster dead, it would have been foolish for Edward IV to keep the Lancastrian cause alive in the shape of his father.

If Henry was murdered, as seems most likely, the identity of his murderer or murderers is one of the best-kept secrets in English history. Richard, Duke of Gloucester, has been credited with the deed in popular legend, but there is no evidence that he was the murderer or that he carried the deed out alone if he was. He was present at the Tower the night of Henry's death, but so were many others.

The next morning, Henry VI's body was treated with all of the respect due to that of a deceased king. The Issues of the Exchequer record the following expenses:

To Hugh Brice. In money paid to his own hands, for so much money expended by him, as well for wax, linen, spices, and other ordinary expenses incurred for the burial of the said Henry of Windsor, who died within the Tower of London; and for wages and rewards to divers men carrying torches from the Tower aforesaid to the cathedral church of Saint Paul's, London, and from thence accompanying the body to Chertesey. By writ, &c, —15l. 3s. 6 1/2d.

To Master Richard Martyn. In money paid to him at different times; viz., at one time to his own hands 9l. 10s. 11d., for so much money by him expended for 28 yards of linen cloth from Holland, and for expenses incurred, as well within the Tower aforesaid, at the last valediction of the said Henry, as also at Chertesey on the day of his burial; and for a reward given to divers soldiers from Calais guarding his body, and for the hire of barges, with masters and sailors rowing the same on the river Thames to Chertesey aforesaid; also at another time 81. 12s. 3d., for so much money paid by him to four orders of brethren within the city of London; and to the brethren of the Holy Cross therein; also for other works of charity; viz., to the Carmelite brethren 20s., to the Augustine Friars 20s., to the Friars Minors 20s., and to the Friars Preachers, to celebrate obsequies and masses, 40s.; also to the said brethren of the Holy Cross, 10s.; and for obsequies and masses said at Chertesey aforesaid, on the day of the burial of the said Henry,—52s. 3d. By writ, &c,—18l. 3s. 2d.

Henry, as these records indicate, was buried at Chertsey Abbey in Surrey. (A drawing of the abbey can be found here.) There his body rested until 1484, when Richard III had the remains moved to St. George's Chapel at Windsor Castle--just feet away from where the king who had supplanted him, Edward IV, had been buried the year before.

Sources:

Frederick Devon, Issues of the Exchequer. London: John Murray, 1837.

W. H. St. John Hope, "The Discovery of the Remains of King Henry VI in St. George's Chapel, Windsor Castle." Archaeologia, 1911.

W. J. White, "The Death and Burial of Henry VI." Parts I and II. The Ricardian, September 1982 and December 1982.

Guest Post by D. L. Bogdan

2011-05-17T12:25:00.000-04:00

I'm delighted to feature a guest post from D. L. Bogdan, author of Secrets of the Tudor Court and Rivals in the Tudor Court, her latest novel. I've eagerly read both novels. The first features Mary Howard, Duchess of Richmond, daughter of Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, while the second features Thomas Howard, his duchess, and his mistress. Anyway, here's D. L. Bogdan!

In my new book RIVALS IN THE TUDOR COURT, I delve into the lives of Thomas Howard, 3rd Duke of Norfolk, his fiery wife Elizabeth Stafford, and mistress, the vulnerable and submissive Bess Holland. In the novel I try to examine why Thomas became the brutal man he was in later years while exploring a set of very unique and intense family dynamics. Married to the Lady Anne Plantagenet, daughter of Edward IV, in his early years, the couple is destined for tragedy as they lose all four of their children, followed by Anne herself. The Duke’s subsequent marriage to Elizabeth is no less tragic, though much of it seems to be of self induced—Elizabeth’s single-minded devotion to Catherine of Aragon, Thomas’ indifferent, and at times supportive, attitude toward Henry VIII’s changeable morals, his intense fear of loss, and the eventual taking of a mistress, all culminated toward the sabotage of any potential happiness the couple could have enjoyed.

One of the most interesting aspects of writing this novel was getting to know Elizabeth Stafford. What little remains of her legacy indicates a strong woman ahead of her time. Her willingness to serve as messenger between the Spanish ambassador and Queen Catherine of Aragon during her fall from favor, for example, reveals a daring and loyal woman with spirit. In addition, the letters to Lord Privy Seal Cromwell outline her struggle with her abusive husband during a time when such issues were not only kept silent, but were accepted as the standard. As with some instances today, it was saddening to see the lack of support from her family. I was never able to ascertain if it was out of fear of Norfolk that her son, the Earl of Surrey, and daughter Mary Howard seemed to side with their father against her. Knowing Norfolk’s grip on power and his penchant for manipulation provides plausible reasons why it would be easier on those to side with him, but it is tragic nonetheless. Even Elizabeth’s own brother refused to help her, stating in one letter that her nature was “willful and sensual”. No matter what conclusions we can draw, we are still left with more questions than answers. One of the joys of being a novelist is trying to answer these questions through dramatic interpretation.

This novel, as with its predecessor SECRETS OF THE TUDOR COURT, was a vehicle for me to explore an issue that is close to my own heart: abuse. The impact of any form of abuse is felt throughout an entire family and I wanted to share the full gamut of emotions that it can evoke; confusion, isolation, terror, anger, regret, love-hate, and blurred boundaries are just a few of them. As a survivor of domestic violence, it was important for me to share my interpretation of the Howards’ story as an illustration of hope for the abused of today, not because the story is a happy one by any means, but because of the simple fact that Elizabeth showed immense courage and strength by reaching out for help and exposing the Duke of Norfolk for what he was, despite the consequences to her reputation and relationships with her family. To have that kind of fortitude in such a dark era serves as an inspiration to me and I hope will encourage others to reach out for the help that is readily available now. We are fortunate enough to live in a time where, unlike Norfolk’s women, our cries can be heard. That more than anything is the message I hope people will take away from RIVALS IN THE TUDOR COURT.

Visit D. L. Bogdan at her website or at her blog.

Hugh and Eleanor at Tewkesbury Abbey

2011-05-13T13:28:00.006-04:00

I got an e-mail the other day from Stephanie Decavallas, who did this beautiful drawing (in two color schemes) of Eleanor de Clare, heroine of The Traitor's Wife, and her husband, Hugh le Despenser the younger, at Tewkesbury Abbey. Naturally, I wanted to share it with my blog readers! Which version do you prefer?

You can find the rest of Stephanie's work here (and order a print). Thanks again, Stephanie!

The Victorians Strike Again: The Tablette Booke of Ladye Mary Keyes

2011-05-04T13:02:00.007-04:00

While checking something for a future blog post, I looked into David Baldwin's biography of Elizabeth Woodville and found this discussion of Mary Grey, younger sister of Lady Jane Grey: "In 1577, the year before she died, she compiled a memoir of the troubles that had beset her family, which was eventually published as The Tablette Booke of Ladye Mary Keyes. This provides a fascinating insight into her life at Bradgate (and the strict manner in which she, Jane, and [her sister] Katherine were brought up there), and is a unique, personal source of information for Jane's last days in the Tower."

Alas, David Baldwin was caught by that dirty trickster, the Victorian Lady Novelist. Like the purported diary of Elizabeth Woodville, The Tablette Booke of Ladye Mary Keyes is fictional, though, as Leanda de Lisle notes in her book The Sisters Who Would Be Queen, it has fooled other writers besides Baldwin. It was published in 1861 by Flora Francis Wylde, who also produced an "autobiography" of her own grandmother, Flora MacDonald, described by Hugh Douglas in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography as "so full of obvious inaccuracies that it could not have been written by the heroine."

The Tablette Booke is, however, great fun. Here's the splendid scene where the foster-mother of the very good Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, confronts the very bad John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, in his prison cell and tricks him into converting to Catholicism. (I've added paragraph breaks for the reader's convenience.)

He was sittinge verie melancholie in his Pryson Roome, his Armes folded and Eyes bente downe, havinge sat in that Posishon for manie Houres. Truelie harte-broken was this humbled Man, for on that Afternoone had he taken Leve of alle his Familie, wiche painefulle Partinge over, he seemed like unto One deade to everie Thinge: his Faculties appeared benumbed. Wile in this State, at about eighte o' the Clocke, the Doore was unbarred, wiche flowlie openninge, showed the rinkled Face of the ould Crone. He started from his Settel. "What com you for, Beldam, to disturbe my laste Houres? fain woulde I be alone and endevor to seeke a quiett Minde and Conscience."

"Ha!" quothe she; "what saithe your Grace — a quiett Conscience? What shoulde give it to you? What have youre late Actes beene to merit suche a Bleffinge? aske youre nobel Harte, Monster!"

"Begone, Woman, tormente me no more; jeer not this at my miserabel Fate, but be satisfied, if youre bitter Wrathe and Malice can be appesed." He waved his Hande: "Go, I dye To-morrow at Noone."

"No, dye youre Grace wille not, if my Advice and Counselle be followed."

"What Advice! what woulde you have me to do?" almoste scremed the franticke Man, the Love of Life springinge up in his Veines, overcominge the Hatred and Contempte for the humbel Beinge before him; "telle me quicke, what am I to do? Take alle I have—Howses, Landes, Monie, my Jewels, Plate, alle—alle,— but, oh, spare my Life!" What a wretchedde State for this prowde Nobel to be reduced to! he hid his Face and wepte aloude.

The oulde Woman eyed him withe a witheringe Looke of Scorne for manie Minutes. There was a deade Silence. At lengthe she did steppe quite close to him. "Duke of Northumberlande" saide she sternlie, foldinge her Armes, "let us speke of former Daies. Youre Spyte and Rancor was wreked on my Foster-Son, the Duke of Somersett; by youre eville Speche and more vile Counselle was that nobel Beinge put to Dethe; and it was to avenge his moste foule and cruelle Murder that I tookt a solemn Oathe to destroye you: nowe knowe, that had not youre owne Ambishon led you on, Steppe by Steppe, to worke oute youre owne Ruine, these Handes shoulde have dabbled in youre Bloud, for I woulde have stucke a Dagger in youre Harte. Naye, starte not, my prowde Duke; it shoulde have beene done: but holde, the same Lippes that saide the Vowe can unsaye it, and soe shalle it be, if you do as I shalle telle you."

"Oh, I wille do anie Thinge, everie Thinge," exclamed the wretchedde Man; "what is it?"

"Simplie this," saide the Crone; "youre Life is spared, and youre Pryson Doores open, if you wille forsweare your vile hereticke Noshons, and become a faithfulle Member of the Holie Romijhe Churche: all that is required is, that youre Recantashon be mayde in a publicke Manner."

Northumberlande becam whyte as the Plaster on the Walle; his Face was ghastlie to beholde; and when his Emoshon allowed of Speche, he indignantlie rejected the demon-like Proposal. Even this harde-harted, bad Man was shocked at an Idea wiche moste certainlie did com as a Temptashon from the Eville One. "What!" cried he, "woulde you have me selle my Soule to save my Bodye? No, — leve me, I wille dye a true Protestante."

"Then farewelle, stiffe-necked, obstinate Foole! dye in youre Sinnes." She mayde a Stryde to the Doore.

"Yet stay," gasped the miserabel Man, "is there no other Waie to save me?"

" None; soe you perishe To-morrowe. See," continued his Tempter, taking a Parchemente from under her Cloke —"see you this Seale, my Lorde? It is that of the Councille, withe Quene Mary's Signe Manuel; it wantes youre Name writt under youre Hande, with mine as a Witnesse, to save youre Life, to restore you to Freedom and Happienesse, to Honour, Welthe, and Stashon, and to the Bosom of youre owne nobel Familie. I see you waver; com, here is a Penne, my Lorde Duke: no longer delaye, for Time is preshous."

Withe a Looke of Agonie, and a Grone eskapinge from his overwroughte Harte, he seised the Penne and affixed his Name. Moste truelie had Satan got Holde of a Victim. The Conteste in the Minde of the poore Man was dredefulle; but he yielded to the dire Necessitie of the Momente. The Love of Life was stronger than the Force of Religion in his Soule. The oulde Crone clutched the Paper, and truelie did her Eyes glisten. "Duke of Northumberlande" saide she, "youre Life is nowe safe; yet true it is, that for Forme's Sake, you wille have to appeare on the Skaffolde, and after redinge of this Paper, you wille be free as the Aire you Brethe. By To-morrowe's Lighte wille oure Holie Catholicke Churche have gained a truelie nobel Converte. Gardiner shalle heare youre Expresshon of Repentance, wiche for oure Triumphe muste be mayde in Publicke, and on an ignominious Skaffolde. Heare you that, moste prowde and hawtie Duke?" She lauffed ironikallie when she did leve the Chamber, and Northumberlande shuddered at the sinister Looke she did caste on him . . .

Wedding Tips from the Royals Themselves

2011-04-28T15:18:00.007-04:00

Did you really think that this blog was going to let the royal nuptials between Prince William and Kate Middleton pass without notice?

First, this blog is located in North Carolina, home of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and I'm proud to say that they've done things up right for the ceremony with these Gold Ring doughnuts:

(Sadly, it looks as if you have to be in the UK to get them.)

Anyway, in a shameless attempt to get in on the royal wedding excitement, I've assembled a list of wedding tips from those who ought to know best: some medieval and Tudor rulers.

Edward II: No wedding is complete without your best chum. And make sure he looks HOT.

Edward III: Let your mother and her boyfriend pick out your bride, and things will work out just fine.

Henry V: Get some value with your bride, like France.

Henry VI: Put your foot down when your bride says, “Honey, can you give Maine back to my uncle Charlie? Pretty please?”

Edward IV: A quiet little ceremony will do just fine.

Richard III: Don’t want your mother-in-law meddling in your wedding ceremony? No problem! Keep her in sanctuary.

Henry VII: Let your mother and the bride’s mother pick out your bride, and things will work out just fine.

Henry VIII: If at first you don’t succeed . . .

Lady Jane Grey: Whatever you do, don’t marry a guy named Dudley.

Mary I: Don’t let a little rebellion stand in the way of marrying the man you love.

Elizabeth I: Whatever you do, don’t marry a guy named Dudley.

The Execution of Edmund Dudley

2011-04-25T01:47:00.013-04:00

On April 24, 1509, just three days after Henry VII died, “yerely in the mornyng the morow after Saint George day by thavis of the king and his councell were taken Sir Richard Empson knyght and Mr Edmund Dudeley esquire and sent as prisoners to the Tour of London.” The young king, Henry VIII, had decided to signal to the people that his reign would be much different from his father’s, and his first step was to arrest his father’s notorious, unpopular officials, Richard Empson and Edmund Dudley.

Life had been good for Edmund Dudley. He was a grandson of John Sutton, Baron Dudley, who when he died as an octogenarian had managed to serve Henry V, Henry VI, Edward IV, and Richard III and to receive an annuity from Henry VII. Born around 1462, Edmund Dudley trained as a lawyer and entered Parliament. His talents attracted the notice of Henry VII, who eventually made him the president of his council. It was his zeal in collecting revenue for the king, however, that made him and Empson hugely unpopular and that would lead to disaster for them.

Edmund Dudley married twice. His first wife, Anne, was the daughter of Thomas Windsor of Stanwell, Middlesex; she bore Edmund a daughter, Elizabeth, who married William Stourton. (Elizabeth and William’s son, Charles, was hanged for murder in 1557, arising out of a personal dispute.) Edmund’s second wife was Elizabeth Grey, sister of John Grey, Viscount Lisle. By her he had three sons, John, Andrew, and Jerome.

Like other servants of the crown, Edmund had taken full advantage of the opportunities for profit such service offered, and he had grown wealthy in the king’s employ. His house in Candlewick Street in London sat at the corner of Cannon Street and Walbrook. An inventory taken of Edmund’s goods in August 1509, after his conviction for treason, listed the contents of a Hall, a Great Parlor, a Little Parlor, a Counting-House, a Square Chamber, a Little Chamber within the Square Chamber, a Little Square Chamber (N.B.: not to be confused with the Little Chamber within the Square Chamber), a Little House for the Bows, an Armor Chamber, a Gallery Next to the Great Chamber, a Great Chamber, a Great Wardrobe, a Little Wardrobe, a Closet without the Little Wardrobe Door, a Low Gallery by the Garden, and a Great Chamber. There was also a “Lady Litton’s Chamber,” a Buttery, and a Kitchen. His goods included several “French chairs,” tapestries, carpets, doublets of crimson velvet, black satin, and purple satin, gowns lined with fur, a riding gown of black velvet, a great coffer with two lids, cushions, a cup of silver and gilt, enameled with images of kings, a gilt cup with the Dudley arms, a basin with the arms of Edmund’s second wife, a book of statutes, a little printed book in French, two other books, seven pieces of imagery embroidered for the months of the year, and a closh board covered over with a green cloth. Edmund had a young daughter and three small sons living in 1509, but there are no signs of these children's belongings in the inventory. Perhaps by then Edmund Dudley’s wife and children had left the house and had been allowed to take their possessions with them.

The charge against Dudley was that on April 22, he had “conspired with armed force to take the government of the King and realm.” The charge seems absurd; Dudley had thrived under the reign of Henry VII and surely must have been hoping to do the same under that of his son, whom he had once given a gold ring set with a pointed diamond. S. J. Gunn suggests that Dudley and Empson might have actually summoned armed men to London, either out of fear of their political enemies or in anticipation of political instability following the death of the first Tudor king. "[S]teps they had taken with no thought of treason were, as so often in the politics of Henry VIII's reign, twisted into the stuff of which indictments were made." Despite the trumped-up nature of the charge, Dudley was convicted on July 18, 1509.

Having imprisoned and convicted Edmund Dudley, Henry VIII dithered about what to do with him. Languishing in the Tower, Edmund busied himself with drawing up a list of people whom he believed had been unjustly dealt with by the late government and in writing a treatise entitled The Tree of Commonwealth, in which he depicted the state as a tree upheld by roots of godliness, justice, truth, concord, and peace. He also plotted to escape from the Tower, but said in his will that he intended to do it only if his attainder “had passed both Commons, Lords, and King.” In his will, he was at pains to exonerate two of his servants, Thomas Michell and William Franke, who were in danger because of his “lewd demeanour” for attempting to break out of the Tower. They “did but their duty as servants," he wrote, and had refused to assist his escape.

In August 1510, Henry VIII finally gave the order to execute his father’s officials, possibly because the king had heard complaints of Dudley and Empson while the king was on progress that year. Edmund Dudley and Richard Empson were executed on Tower Hill on August 17, 1510, in what G. J. Meyer termed “a cynical act of judicial murder, done purely for political and propaganda purposes.” Dudley was buried at London Blackfriars, Empson at London Whitefriars.

Edmund Dudley’s oldest son, John, six years old at the time of his father’s death, was put in wardship and eventually found favor with the king who had executed his father. His career under Edward VI brought him the dukedom of Northumberland and the virtual rule of England, while his ill-fated attempt to place Lady Jane Grey upon the throne earned him his own appointment with the headsman on Tower Hill on August 22, 1553, forty-three years after his father’s execution. On December 7, 1552, nine months before his own death, the Duke of Northumberland made his only recorded comment about his father: “And, for my own part, if I should have past more upon the speech of the people than upon the service of my master, or gone about to seek favour of them without respect to his Highness' surety, I needed not to have had so much obloquy of some kind of men; but the living God, that knoweth the hearts of all men, shall be my judge at the last day with what zeal, faith, and truth I serve my master. And though my poor father, who, after his master was gone, suffered death for doing his master's commandments, who was the wisest prince of the world living in those days, and yet could not his commandment be my father's charge after he was departed this life; so, for my part, with all earnestness and duty I will serve without fear, seeking nothing but the true glory of God and his Highness' surety: so shall I most please God and have my conscience upright, and then not fear what man doth to me.”

Sources:

J. S. Brewer, ed., Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, Henry VIII. Vol. 1. (online).

S. B. Chrimes, Henry VII. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1999.

Hugh Collins, ‘Sutton, John (VI) , first Baron Dudley (1400–1487)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Oct 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8155, accessed 25 April 2011]

M. M. Condon, ‘Empson, Sir Richard (c.1450–1510)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8799, accessed 25 April 2011]

S. J. Gunn, “The Accession of Henry VIII.” Historical Research, October 1991.

S. J. Gunn, ‘Dudley, Edmund (c.1462–1510)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, May 2010 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8147, accessed 25 April 2011]

C. L. Kingsford, “On Some London Houses of the Early Tudor Period.” Archaeologia, 1921.

G. J. Meyer, The Tudors: The Complete Story of England’s Most Notorious Dynasty. New York: Delacort Press, 2010.

Patrick Fraser Tytler, ed., England under the Reigns of Edward VI and Mary. London: Richard Bentley, 1839. Vol. 2.

The Daisy and the Bear: A Guest Post by Karen Clark

2011-04-23T13:14:00.010-04:00

I'm happy to welcome Karen Clark to the blog today to post about her book, The Daisy and the Bear, which is already gracing my own Kindle. In the words of Margaret of Anjou herself, "C'est une huée."*

*If Margaret of Anjou spoke American English and used Google Translate. And there's really no earthy reason why she can't do either, is there?

_______________

Everyone knows about the complicated love life of Margaret of Anjou and the many men who have been put forward as candidates for Real Father of her son, Edward, Prince of Wales. Various generations of the Beaufort family, the Earl of Wiltshire, the Duke of Suffolk and even her husband, Henry VI, have been suggested. All this, of course, is mere conjecture, not in the least supported by any reliable source. It could almost be said that these names have been put forward to prevent history from stumbling on the right one – the Real Real Father of Margaret of Anjou’s son. It’s a 558 year old mystery…

… that has now been solved!

It wasn’t difficult to piece it all together. All I needed was an over-active imagination, a complete lack of scruples and the realisation that, of all the men Margaret knew or had dealings with, there was one name that was prominently – and consistently - missing from the list of her lovers.

As everyone who has ever read a work of historical romance should know, if a couple haven’t fallen in love at first sight and married in defiance of custom and a significant authority figure, they’ve fallen in love at first sight, come to a bitter impasse over something and parted ways, become bitter and implacable enemies but, some time before the last paragraph, come together again in glorious, passionate and eternal love. And that is just what happened between Margaret of Anjou and her glorious, passional and eternal lover – Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick!

In The Daisy and the Bear, I tell the story of these two unlikely lovers: their chance meeting, the joy they find in each other and their son and the destruction their thwarted love brings to England and everyone they know.

Through this heady tale is woven the story of Warwick’s brother, John, and the two great loves of his life; the sweet and enduring passion that exists between the frail and angelic® Richard, Duke of Gloucester, and Warwick’s daughter (and prawn) Anne. You’ll also be delighted to know that I haven’t forgotten the Most Beautiful Woman in England, or Warwick’s other prawn, Isobel, and her unbalanced and difficult husband, George, Duke of Clarence. Young Ned, tall, handsome, libidinous king, and his witchy Woodville wife; the taciturn and hardbitten Earl of Salisbury; the noble Duke of York; various scheming and amoral Dukes of Somerset; the pathetically mad king Henry VI… They’re all there, the Yorkists you love and the Lancastrians you hate.

But it’s Warwick and Margaret who take centre stage, as well they should, for theirs is a timeless tale, untold until now, that simply screamed to be written and hollers to be read.

This is the Wars of the Roses like it’s never been told before. And it’s at least as historically accurate as some of the least historically accurate, award winning novels available in Leading Bookstores.

Available at Lulu.com (in paperback) for $14.99 (cover art by Jesse Watson)

Or on Kindle through Amazon ($7.99)

My thanks to Susan for inviting me to visit her blog, it’s such a nice place to be!

For more (and more historically sound) on the Nevills, feel free to drop by my blog: A Nevill Feast.

Poetry Corner: William Wordsworth on "the Shepherd Lord"

2011-04-19T13:21:00.007-04:00

Little did I know until this morning that the great Romantic poet William Wordsworth himself had a particular interest in the legend of Henry Clifford, the so-called "Shepherd Lord" who was supposedly brought up among sheepherders following the death of his father the day before the Battle of Towton. I'll have to save the story of the Shepherd Lord for a later post, but here, in the meantime, is Wordsworth's 1807 poem, "Song At The Feast Of Brougham Castle Upon The Restoration Of Lord Clifford, The Shepherd, To The Estates And Honours Of His Ancestors," in Poetry X 7 Jul 2003, (19 April 2011).

High in the breathless Hall the Minstrel sate,
And Emont’s murmur mingled with the Song.—
The words of ancient time I thus translate,
A festal strain that hath been silent long:—

“From town to town, from tower to tower,
The red rose is a gladsome flower.
Her thirty years of winter past,
The red rose is revived at last;
She lifts her head for endless spring,
For everlasting blossoming:
Both roses flourish, red and white:
In love and sisterly delight
The two that were at strife are blended,
And all old troubles now are ended.—
Joy! joy to both! but most to her
Who is the flower of Lancaster!
Behold her how She smiles to-day
On this great throng, this bright array!
Fair greeting doth she send to all
From every corner of the hall;
But chiefly from above the board
Where sits in state our rightful Lord,
A Clifford to his own restored!

“They came with banner, spear, and shield;
And it was proved in Bosworth-field.
Not long the Avenger was withstood—
Earth helped him with the cry of blood:
St. George was for us, and the might
Of blessed Angels crowned the right.
Loud voice the Land has uttered forth,
We loudest in the faithful north:
Our fields rejoice, our mountains ring,
Our streams proclaim a welcoming;
Our strong-abodes and castles see
The glory of their loyalty.

“How glad is Skipton at this hour—
Though lonely, a deserted Tower;
Knight, squire, and yeoman, page and groom,
We have them at the feast of Brough’m.
How glad Pendragon—though the sleep
Of years be on her!—She shall reap
A taste of this great pleasure, viewing
As in a dream her own renewing.
Rejoiced is Brough, right glad, I deem,
Beside her little humble stream;
And she that keepeth watch and ward
Her statelier Eden’s course to guard;
They both are happy at this hour,
Though each is but a lonely Tower:—
But here is perfect joy and pride
For one fair House by Emont’s side,
This day, distinguished without peer,
To see her Master and to cheer—
Him, and his Lady-mother dear!

“Oh! it was a time forlorn
When the fatherless was born—
Give her wings that she may fly,
Or she sees her infant die!
Swords that are with slaughter wild
Hunt the Mother and the Child.
Who will take them from the light?
—Yonder is a man in sight—
Yonder is a house—but where?
No, they must not enter there.
To the caves, and to the brooks,
To the clouds of heaven she looks;
She is speechless, but her eyes
Pray in ghostly agonies.
Blissful Mary, Mother mild,
Maid and Mother undefiled,
Save a Mother and her Child!

“Now who is he that bounds with joy
On Carrock’s side, a Shepherd-boy?
No thoughts hath he but thoughts that pass
Light as the wind along the grass.
Can this be He who hither came
In secret, like a smothered flame?
O’er whom such thankful tears were shed
For shelter, and a poor man’s bread!
God loves the Child; and God hath willed
That those dear words should be fulfilled,
The Lady’s words, when forced away
The last she to her Babe did say:
“My own, my own, thy fellow-guest
I may not be; but rest thee, rest,
For lowly shepherd’s life is best!”

“Alas! when evil men are strong
No life is good, no pleasure long.
The Boy must part from Mosedale’s groves,
And leave Blencathara’s rugged coves,
And quit the flowers that summer brings
To Glenderamakin’s lofty springs;
Must vanish, and his careless cheer
Be turned to heaviness and fear.
—Give Sir Lancelot Threlkeld praise!
Hear it, good man, old in days!
Thou tree of covert and of rest
For this young Bird that is distrest;
Among thy branches safe he lay,
And he was free to sport and play,
When falcons were abroad for prey.

“A recreant harp, that sings of fear
And heaviness in Clifford’s ear!
I said, when evil men are strong,
No life is good, no pleasure long,
A weak and cowardly untruth!
Our Clifford was a happy Youth,
And thankful through a weary time,
That brought him up to manhood’s prime.
—Again he wanders forth at will,
And tends a flock from hill to hill:
His garb is humble; ne’er was seen
Such garb with such a noble mien;
Among the shepherd-grooms no mate
Hath he, a Child of strength and state!
Yet lacks not friends for simple glee,
Nor yet for higher sympathy.

To his side the fallow-deer
Came and rested without fear;
The eagle, lord of land and sea,
Stooped down to pay him fealty;
And both the undying fish that swim
Through Bowscale-tarn did wait on him;
The pair were servants of his eye
In their immortality;
And glancing, gleaming, dark or bright,
Moved to and fro, for his delight.
He knew the rocks which Angels haunt
Upon the mountains visitant;
He hath kenned them taking wing:
And into caves where Faeries sing
He hath entered; and been told
By Voices how men lived of old.
Among the heavens his eye can see
The face of thing that is to be;
And, if that men report him right,
His tongue could whisper words of might.
—Now another day is come,
Fitter hope, and nobler doom;
He hath thrown aside his crook,
And hath buried deep his book;
Armour rusting in his halls
On the blood of Clifford calls,—
‘Quell the Scot,’ exclaims the Lance—
Bear me to the heart of France,
Is the longing of the Shield—
Tell thy name, thou trembling field;
Field of death, where’er thou be,
Groan thou with our victory!
Happy day, and mighty hour,
When our Shepherd, in his power,
Mailed and horsed, with lance and sword,
To his ancestors restored
Like a re-appearing Star,
Like a glory from afar
First shall head the flock of war!”

Alas! the impassioned minstrel did not know
How, by Heaven’s grace, this Clifford’s heart was framed:
How he, long forced in humble walks to go,
Was softened into feeling, soothed, and tamed.

Love had he found in huts where poor men lie;
His daily teachers had been woods and rills,
The silence that is in the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

In him the savage virtue of the Race,
Revenge and all ferocious thoughts were dead:
Nor did he change; but kept in lofty place
The wisdom which adversity had bred.

Glad were the vales, and every cottage-hearth;
The Shepherd-lord was honoured more and more;
And, ages after he was laid in earth,
“The good Lord Clifford” was the name he bore.

A Rogue's Gallery: Guest Post by Nan Hawthorne

2011-04-17T10:50:00.007-04:00

A Rogue’s Gallery

By Nan Hawthorne

The Crusade of 1101 surely has a permanent place in the Crusades Hall of Infamy. The three bodies that set out from Constantinople, split up instead of combining forces because of petty resentments and rivalry, and as a result none of the three ever made it out of Turkey. Out of literally many thousands of pilgrims, from noble knights to men at arms to clerics and the largest group, peasants with their entire families, fewer than about 150 escaped massacre or enslavement. Those who did survive were all leaders and their household knights. Such a shamefully dramatic story was tempting fodder for a historical novel, and the fact that there are no eyewitness accounts made it all the more tempting, and that is why I set my novel Beloved Pilgrim at the Crusade of 1101.

Of course, I wanted to know just what happened to these weasel-y fellows who left their foot soldiers, clergy and peasants to the slaughter. This is what I found out about some of them.

The hero of the First Crusade, Count Raymond IV of Toulouse, was the Byzantine emperor’s choice to lead the first of the three bodies of crusaders. Outnumbered by the Lombard contingent that was loyal to his archenemy, Bohemond, he was forced to turn north and east to where the man was said to be imprisoned by the Danishmend. Perhaps that is why he was so ready to sneak away when it was obvious that Kilij Arslan, the Seljuk general, would win Merzifon Plain that day. Toulouse literally slipped away in the dark. He was welcomed with opulent gifts when he reached Constantinople in spite of the dismal end to his quest. However, when he landed in Antioch, Tancred, nephew of Bohemond, had him arrested and imprisoned for his cowardly desertion. He was not jailed long, but lived just a few years longer before succumbing to a fever.

Stephen of Blois, the father of the future King of England of the same name, had run from the siege of Antioch, and was said to be barred by his wife, Adela, from their home until he turned right around and went back to the Holy Land. He survived the Battle of Merzifon, but later died fighting valiantly in the Battle of Ramleh.

At that same battle the Constable of the Holy Roman Empire Henry IV, Conrad, fought so valiantly, though he too had turned tail and run from Merzifon, that the Saracens treated him with honor at his surrender. They let him and his forces live, though made slaves. The redoubtable Conrad himself disappeared into slavery in Egypt, never to be heard from again.

Perhaps the most sensational story is that of the Margravine Ida of Austria. She was part of the third wave of William II of Nevers. While William escaped with a handful of his household, Ida was not so lucky. Though there were legends that she went on to be married to a great Turkish leader and the mother of the even more legendary Zenga, there is no basis for this story. It is far more likely that she was tipped out of her elegant litter and trampled to death in the massacre at Herakleia.

Nan Hawthorne is the author of Beloved Pilgrim, a novel of a woman who chooses to live and fight as a man during the doomed Crusade of 1101. You can find the novel at Amazon.com and Smashwords.com.

Links:

On Amazon

On Smashwords

Autism Awareness Giveaway Hop

2011-04-11T12:55:00.018-04:00

I'm very pleased to be participating in this giveaway, because I have a special connection to autism: my 20-year-old son was diagnosed with this condition when he was two. Our family is fortunate enough to be living in an area where the attitudes about autism are generally enlightened, but as the occasional ignorant outburst by a public figure indicates, much work remains to be done. It's especially important to keep autism in the spotlight in these times of cost-cutting, where public programs assisting the disabled are always at risk.

For more information about autism, check out some of these sites:

Autism Society of North Carolina
Autism Society of America
Autism Speaks

As my contribution to this blog hop, I'm giving away one copy of my first historical novel, The Traitor's Wife. My novel, set in fourteenth-century England, is not about autism, but it does feature a king, Edward II, who was out of step with his times in many ways. I hope that reading it will help you see this period through fresh eyes--and that reading the other blog posts on this tour will help you see autism through fresh eyes as well.

The giveaway on this blog closes April 14. If you leave your e-mail address, you may want to substitute "at" for "@" and "dot" for "." to avoid getting spam.

Ten Tips for Scaffold Success

2011-04-09T02:16:00.005-04:00

For the most part, those who found themselves facing the block in Tudor England went to their deaths gracefully, abiding by certain conventions. Here, taken from historical examples, are ten ways those condemned to death could make the best out of the worst situation:

1. Practice makes perfect. According to Eustace Chapuys, Katherine Howard asked that the block be brought to her before her execution and “placed her head on it by way of experiment.” It must have worked; no one complained that the queen put her head in the wrong place on the big day.

2. Dress snappily. This wasn’t the time to have the Tudor equivalent of Tim Gunn sigh, “Oh, dear.” Anne Boleyn was elegantly and tastefully dressed in a gray or black gown, over which she wore a mantle of ermine. Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, “was splendidly attired, as he used to be when about to attend upon the king.”

3. Guilty, sort of. Even for those who were innocent of any crime, this wasn’t the time to say so; rather, the condemned man or woman would acknowledge the legality of the process that had brought him or her to the scaffold. The clever, however, could convey a good deal in what was left unsaid: Anne Boleyn, in saying, “By the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak of that whereof I am accused and condemned to die,” carefully avoided any admission of wrongdoing while staying within the bounds of scaffold propriety.

4. It could always be worse. John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, thanked the queen for granting him the nobleman's death by beheading: “And now I beseech the Queen's highness to forgive me mine offenses against her majesty, whereof I have a singular hope, forasmuch as she hath already extended her goodness & clemency so far upon me that where as she might forthwith without judgment or any further trial, have put me to most vile & cruel death, by hanging drawing, and quartering."

5. Don’t get your hopes up. The approach of fast-riding horsemen caused the overexcited crowd at the execution of the popular Duke of Somerset to speculate that a pardon had arrived. The duke, knowing that this was most unlikely, helped to quiet the crowd himself, thereby averting what could have easily become a riot (and gaining points for good behavior as well).

6. Don’t be stingy with the executioner. A well-paid executioner was much less likely to bungle the final job. The Duke of Somerset gave his executioner some gold rings, together with all of his clothes. Thomas More, having been persuaded to change into a less elaborate outfit than that originally planned (thereby depriving his executioner of his richest garments), made up for the deficiency by compensating his executioner with an angel (a coin) of gold.

7. Avoid a wardrobe malfunction. The Duke of Somerset, after placing himself in position for the ax, had to be ordered to rise and remove his doublet because it covered his neck. The Duke of Northumberland likewise had to rise to retie his blindfold because it slipped at the last minute.

8. Do a credit check first. The hapless Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, had to put up with the ultimate indignity: the appearance of one of his creditors on the scaffold, asking “How shall I do for the money that you do owe me?” (Suffolk managed to send him off with the words, “Go thy way to my officers.”)

9. Leave ‘em laughing. Thomas More famously quipped, "I pray you, Master Lieutenant, see me safe up, and for my coming down let me shift for myself,” and advised his executioner, "Pluck up thy spirits, man, and be not afraid to do thine office: my neck is very short.”

10. Look on the bright side. Thomas Palmer, executed alongside the Duke of Northumberland, told the crowd, “I do not doubt that I have a good morrow and shall I trust have a better good even.”

Eleanor of Aquitaine: A Medieval Queen by Christy English

2011-04-07T09:10:00.019-04:00

I'm delighted to be hosting a guest post today by Christy English, author of To Be Queen: A Novel of the Early Life of Eleanor of Aquitaine. Christy is one of the most charming authors around, and her enthusiasm for her subject is palpable! Here, without further ado, is Christy on one of the most perenially fascinating of English queens:

Like Margaret of Anjou in Susan’s lovely novel, THE QUEEN OF LAST HOPES, Eleanor of Aquitaine was queen in a time when men dominated the political scene. Raised as a young girl to be the heir to the duchy of Aquitaine, Eleanor always knew that she would have to marry in order to hold her territories safe from encroaching enemies.

Before she became duchess, Eleanor’s marriage to the King of France, young Louis VII, was arranged. After her father’s death in March of 1137, the marriage negotiations were concluded by Eleanor herself with the help of her loyal churchman, the Bishop of Limoges. So in July of 1137, accompanied by 500 knights as a show of force both to Eleanor’s vassals and to her enemies, Louis came to Bordeaux where Eleanor had locked herself away upon her father’s death.

In spite of Louis’ caution, there were at least two plots to kidnap Eleanor on her wedding day before the marriage could be consummated. Eleanor and Louis were forced to flee to the stronghold of Taillebourg held by her faithful vassal, the Baron of Rancon.

But Eleanor was not kidnapped on her wedding day, and the marriage was consummated, making her Queen of France.

The Ruins of Fortress of Taillebourg Where Eleanor and Louis Spent Their Wedding Night

The Parisians did not crown their queens, so Eleanor never had a coronation. She spent the next fifteen years of her life vying with the Church for supremacy in the heart and mind of her husband. Though Eleanor ruled her duchy and other lands, she depended on her husband for political power. Like all medieval queens, even a woman as strong as Eleanor often had to turn to the strength of men to accomplish her will.

As Eleanor and Louis went on Crusade in the Holy Land, Eleanor began to feel confined by her marriage. Though she and Louis had been married for years, Eleanor had yet to have a son. Unlike most medieval queens, Eleanor held the duchy of Aquitaine in her own right and thus could not be put away in a nunnery while Louis conveniently married someone else. But in this case, it was Eleanor who longed for her freedom. And she was one of the few women in medieval Europe with the power and wealth to seek it out.

It took her five years, but in March of 1152, Eleanor was granted an annulment from her husband, the King of France. Giving up the kingdom of France and its crown was no hardship though, for she married young Henry Duke of Normandy a few months later. Within two years, Henry of Normandy and Anjou had become King of the English, and on the day her second husband was crowned, Eleanor was crowned at his side. Eleanor had already given birth to one son and was pregnant with another when she became queen for the second time in her life.

Eleanor of Aquitaine’s Seal

Though Henry and Eleanor lived to turn on each other, with Eleanor raising an armed rebellion, for fourteen years she and Henry lived and ruled in harmony. During the first decade of their marriage, Eleanor served as regent in Normandy and Anjou when Henry was in England, and would hold England for him when he was in Normandy or Anjou. Eleanor’s partnership with Henry was one that served them both. A medieval queen who ruled a major duchy in her own right, Eleanor was always a force to be reckoned with.

Susan, thank you so much for hosting me today. TO BE QUEEN: A NOVEL OF THE EARLY LIFE OF ELEANOR OF AQUITAINE is in bookstores now.

For those who want to know more about Eleanor's adventures, please find me on my blog, on Twitter and on Facebook.

The Real Edward of Lancaster

2011-04-01T00:00:00.001-04:00

As regular readers of this blog know, I am fascinated with medieval genealogy and with the Wars of the Roses and have continued to research these topics even while writing my current novel, which is set in Tudor England. Recently, my delving into French sources (undertaken with the aid of a professional researcher) revealed a startling fact: that Henry VI, once thought to have not set foot in France after 1432, traveled to Rouen in 1441 and sired an illegitimate son. The son's identity?

None other than Edward IV.

Though he left the governance of France to subordinates, the young Henry VI did in fact have an interest in his overseas possessions. Lacking self-confidence, however, he chose not to travel to France in his royal capacity. Thus, in the late summer of 1441, the nineteen-year-old king, assuming the guise of a simple archer, journeyed to France. It was not the only time the king would pose as a humble subject: in 1445, greeting his new bride, Henry pretended to be a mere squire.

Dressing as an archer offered several advantages to Henry. It allowed him to dress simply, as he preferred. It also allowed him to mingle with the common soldiers and to get a feel for the conditions in which they were fighting. And--perhaps most importantly for our purposes--it showed off his manly physique. (The exhumation of Henry VI's bones in the nineteenth century revealed the king to have been strongly built.)

Although the disguised Henry had initially joined the Duke of York at Pontoise, the duke, concerned about his wife's well-being, sent the young archer back to Rouen to ensure her safety. Lovely and lonely, Cecily Neville was much taken with the handsome, inexplicably well spoken young archer. Henry, meanwhile, was so overcome with the duchess's beauty that he broke his vow to remain chaste until his marriage. The result, born on April 22, 1422, was young Edward.

Before returning to England, Henry had revealed his deception to the duchess, who in turn told her secret to her husband. The Duke of York had little choice except to accept the boy as his own. To do otherwise would have been to proclaim himself a cuckold, something the proud duke had no desire to do--particularly when the father was a man otherwise known for his chaste living. The duke therefore allowed his son to grow up unaware that he was the firstborn son of the King of England. Henry VI, meanwhile, suffered intense guilt over having broken his youthful vow of chastity. So crippling was his shame that when he finally married, he could not complete the marital act. Only in early 1453, after he unburdened himself in a written confession to Margaret of Anjou, was he able to consummate his marriage and father a child upon his wife. It is this confession, filed in the archives of Angers following Margaret's death and long ignored by French scholars who failed to recognize its significance, which reveals the truth about Edward IV's parentage.

It is possible, of course, that the document could have been forged by someone in the French court who wished to discredit Edward IV as illegitimate. Other evidence, however, tends to corroborate the confession. Henry always seemed well disposed toward young Edward, creating him Earl of March at a very young age. Significantly, after the Duke of York fled to Ireland after Ludlow, Henry treated the Duchess of York very generously.

Most telling, however, is the 1460 Act of Accord in which Henry VI disinherited his own son by Margaret of Anjou in favor of the Duke of York and his progeny. As Henry was younger than the Duke of York, Henry might well have expected that he would outlive York and that his actual successor would be Edward, Earl of March. Might the passivity with which Henry accepted the Act of Accord be in reality an act of love for the handsome, vigorous son whose paternity he never dared to acknowledge openly? And might Henry VI's failure to lead his troops in person at Towton be a reluctance to fight against his firstborn son?

Henry VI died after the victorious Edward IV's return to London in 1471. Contemporaries widely believed that he was murdered, while Edward IV himself put it about that the king died of melancholy. It is quite possible, however, that Henry, with his legitimate son by Margaret of Anjou dead, was overcome by joy at realizing that his firstborn son had survived Tewkesbury and could thereafter rule in peace. Henry's surfeit of joy caused him to suffer a fatal heart attack.

As for Henry's secret lover, Cecily of York, whether she ever revealed the truth about Edward's parentage to any of her children can only be speculated upon. It is notable, however, that in 1484, Richard III had Henry VI's remains moved from Chertsey Abbey to Windsor Castle. Was he following the secret instructions of his mother, who could pay this posthumous tribute to the "archer" she loved only after Edward IV was dead?

We may never know the answers to some of these questions. One thing, however, is now clear: as this transcription in modern English of Henry VI's anguished confession to Margaret of Anjou indicates, Edward IV was a Lancastrian king.

Giveaway Winners

2011-03-31T00:18:00.002-04:00

Thanks to all who entered Margaret's birthday giveaway! The winners (who have been notified) were pressedposies and Shannon. Happy reading!

In Which I Create a Brand-New Conspiracy Theory

2011-03-28T13:50:00.002-04:00

As some of you might know, there's a school of thought which believes that Edward IV was poisoned and that the Woodvilles (of course) were the main suspects. The theory, first proposed by one R. E. Collins in a book whose co-author claims to have been in communication with the shade of Richard III, rests upon mighty flimsy evidence--a request by Anthony Woodville for a copy of a document authorizing him to raise troops, Anthony's proposal that his nephew the Marquis of Dorset replace him as deputy constable of the Tower, and the household ordinances drafted for Prince Edward in which it was stated, "we wil that our said sonne observe and kepe theis articles before written touchinge his person, and that he ne take upon him to give, write, sende or commande any thinge withoute thavise of the said bishop [of Rochester], lord Richard [Grey] and Erle Rivieres." Since Anthony already had been authorized to raise troops, and was merely obtaining a copy of a permission he already had at a time when trouble was looming with both the French and the Scots, it's hard to see anything sinister in that. The proposal about the Tower merely substituted one Woodville for another, and was being discussed with the constable, Lord Dudley, who had appointed Anthony as his deputy in the first place. As for Prince Edward's household ordinances, they were promulgated under the authority of Edward IV himself and were concerned with the rearing of the young boy (including such subjects as the prince's bedtime); they did not address the eventuality of who would govern the realm in case of a royal minority. There's also the problem that there's no evidence that Edward IV was poisoned, nor did contemporaries (including Richard III, who certainly could have benefited from making such an accusation) ever suggest that the Woodvilles played a role in his death. Nonetheless, the conspiracy theory has gained some fans, which means, in my opinion, that it's time to take the heat off the Woodvilles with a spanking new conspiracy theory.

The villain? John de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk.

Now at first glance, John, married to Edward IV's sister Elizabeth, and hitherto regarded as a bit of a nonentity, might seem an unlikely suspect. As we'll see, however, the facts of his life simply ooze with sinister implications.

-- John was the only son of William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk, Henry VI's murdered adviser. In short, he was from a Lancastrian family. Need I say more?

-- John was married at a very young age to Margaret Beaufort, who we all know was an evil person, because certain historical novelists tell us so. Although the marriage was annulled when the parties were still children, it's quite possible that some of Margaret's evilness rubbed off on John.

-- John was forced to marry Elizabeth, a daughter of the Duke of York, in 1458. The marriage portion the duke offered was a mere 2300 marks, paid in installments and far less than the amount the duke had offered with his first daughter, Anne. Did John spend hours on end brooding on this injustice, mayhap?

-- Despite loyally supporting his brother-in-law, John never played an important role in Edward IV's reign, giving him yet another injustice to brood upon.

-- Following the defeat of the Lancastrians at Tewkesbury, Margaret of Anjou spent some time in the custody of John's mother, Alice de la Pole, before being returned to France. Did Margaret--often thought to have been broken in spirit following her son's death at Tewkesbury--actually take one last opportunity to stir up trouble in England by planting murderous ideas in the mind of Alice's son?

-- When Richard III's only legitimate son died in 1484, Suffolk's son John, the Earl of Lincoln, may have been regarded as the king's heir.

So now we have our suspect: a man from a Lancastrian family, associated with such sinister figures as Margaret Beaufort and Margaret of Anjou, whose marriage had brought him inadequate rewards and whose son had a distant claim to the throne. Do you see where this is headed? To clear the way for the Earl of Lincoln to take the throne, all John had to do was to bump off Edward IV, Edward IV's sons, Richard III's son, and Richard III himself, and keep the Duke of Clarence's son, the Earl of Warwick, from taking the throne. And that, dear readers, is exactly what he did, destroying the royal family one by one like so many dominoes. Edward IV, the Princes in the Tower, and Richard III's son were all murdered by John, who then arranged for the Stanleys to betray Richard III at Bosworth, thereby leading to Richard III's own death.

Unfortunately, John did not reckon on one thing: the counter-plotting and the double-crossing of the unspeakable Margaret Beaufort, who still bore a grudge from being cast off as John's bride so many years before. Instead of falling in with John's cunning plan and allowing the Earl of Lincoln to be crowned king, therefore, Margaret decided to put her own son, Henry Tudor, on the throne. The Earl of Lincoln (whose wife, it should be remembered, was a niece of the sinister Elizabeth Woodville) was therefore forced to join the Lambert Simnel conspiracy, which purported to be in favor of putting the Earl of Warwick on the throne. It's likely, however, that the conspiracy's hidden, ultimate goal was to place the Earl of Lincoln on the throne. And who better to pull Lincoln's strings than his Machiavellian father, John? (Indeed, John was so Machiavellian, I propose that the word "Machiavellian" be replaced with "Poleian.")

Sadly for John, the conspiracy failed, and the Earl of Lincoln was killed at the Battle of Stoke. Amazingly, John was never implicated in his son's treason--surely a sign of his skill as a conspirator--and lived undisturbed until 1492. The cause of his death is unknown, but I would venture to suggest that Margaret Beaufort, still bitter over being spurned and determined that her own dastardy deeds must never come to light, poisoned him.

By now some of you might be saying, this is all very clever, but where's the evidence? And isn't it a bit irresponsible to accuse a historical figure of a serious crime without some proof? To which I can only say, that's the sort of hidebound, unimaginative thinking that gave us such nonsense as the presumption of innocence. We're here to think outside the box, not to box ourselves in by dreary standards created by elitists.

And besides, just wait until I find a psychic to support my theory.

A Birthday Giveaway of The Queen of Last Hopes

2011-03-23T09:15:00.002-04:00

It's Margaret of Anjou's birthday today! She was born on March 23, 1430 (or possibly March 24) in Lorraine, probably at Pont-à-Mousson or Nancy, to Rene of Anjou and his wife Isabelle, the daughter of the Duke of Lorraine. Although Margaret was the younger of Rene and Isabelle's two surviving daughters, she was the one eventually chosen to be the bride of Henry VI, as a marriage had already been arranged for her older sister.

Older sources give Margaret's year of birth as 1429, but C. N. L. Brooke and V. Ortenberg disproved this in an 1988 article in Historical Research entitled, "The Birth of Margaret of Anjou."

The Battle of Towton, where Margaret's forces were defeated on March 29, 1461, was fought just days after Margaret's thirty-first birthday.

Anyway, in honor of Margaret's birthday, I'm giving away two copies of my novel about her, The Queen of Last Hopes. One copy is reserved for a winner outside of North America. All you need to do to enter is leave a comment wishing Margaret a happy birthday! The giveaway ends March 28, as March 29 is a date Margaret would rather not think about. Please note whether you're an entrant outside North America and leave an e-mail where I can contact you. Good luck!

The Great Precedence Battle of Katherine Parr and Anne Somerset

2011-03-18T20:45:00.004-04:00

One episode of Katherine Parr's life that almost never fails to be mentioned is the battle between her and Anne Stanhope, Duchess of Somerset, for precedence following Katherine's remarriage to Thomas Seymour. Thomas was the younger brother of Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, Lord Protector to Edward VI. As generally reported, the Duchess of Somerset, indignant that she should have to give way to the wife of her husband's younger brother, fumed, "If master admiral [Thomas Seymour] teach his wife no better manners, I am she that will," and even physically forced the queen out of her appointed place.

But is there less to this dispute than meets the eye?

First, Anne never uttered the comment attributed to her. Rather, she is reported by Peter Heylyn, writing in the seventeenth century, as merely having thought it. The passage from Heylyn gets rather extravagant--so much so that it is worth quoting in full:

Thomas Lord Seimour, being a man of lofty aims and aspiring thoughts, had married Queen Katharine Parr, the relict of the King deceased; who, looking on him as the brother of the Lord Protector, and being looked on as Queen dowager in the eye of the court, did not conceive that any lady could be so forgetful of her former dignity as to contend about the place. But therein she found herself deceived; for the Protector's wife, a woman of most infinite pride, and of a nature so imperious as to know no rule but her own will, would needs conceive herself to be the better woman of the two. For if the one were widow to the King deceased, the other thought herself to stand on the higher ground, in having all advantages of power above her:

"For what," said she within herself [italics added], "am not I wife to the Protector, who is King in power, though not in title; a Duke in order and degree; Lord Treasurer, and Earl Marshal, and what else he pleaseth; and one who hath ennobled his highest honours by his late great victory? And did not Henry marry Katharine Parr in his doting days; when he had brought himself to such a condition by his lusts and cruelty that no lady who stood upon her honour would adventure on him? Do not all knees bow before me, and all tongues celebrate my praises, and all hands pay the tribute of obedience to me, and all eyes look upon me as the first in state; through whose hand the principal offices in the court, and chief preferments in the Church, are observed to pass? Have I so long commanded him who commands two kingdoms? And shall I now give place to her who, in her former best estate, was but Latimer's widow, and is now fain to cast herself for support and countenance into the despised bed of a younger brother? If Mr Admiral teach his wife no better manners, I am she that will; and will choose rather to remove them both,—(whether out of the court or out of the world, shall be no great matter)—than be out-shined in my own sphere, and trampled on within the verge of my jurisdiction."

Unless we are to suppose that Peter Heylyn had the gift of reading the mind of a woman who had been dead for many decades when he wrote, we must put down his account of Anne's thoughts to imaginative reconstruction.

The companion story of Anne's forcing the queen aside comes from a very dubious source: the Chronicle of King Henry VIII of England, or the so-called Spanish Chronicle, which also gives us the story of Katherine Howard's unlikely scaffold declaration that she would rather die the wife of Thomas Culpepper. (Among other choice errors, it has Henry VIII marrying Anne of Cleves after the execution of Katherine Howard.) The queen/duchess feud is reported thusly:

Hardly a year had passed after the marriage of the Queen with the Admiral before there was great jealousy between the Queen and the Protector's wife, who seeing that the Queen was the wife of the younger brother, resolved not to pay the usual honours to her. When the Queen saw it she was much annoyed, and said to her husband the Admiral, "How is this, that through my marriage with you the wife of your brother is treating me with contempt and presumes to go before me? I will never allow it, for I am Queen, and shall be called so all my life, and I promise you if she does again what she did yesterday I will pull her back myself." The Admiral was greatly grieved at this, first that his brother should not treat the Queen with more respect, and next because he did not wish these two to be on bad terms; so he spoke to the Duke about it; but as he (the Duke) was more ruled by his wife's desires than anything else, instead of trying to pacify the Admiral, said, "Brother, are you not my younger brother, and am I not Protector, and do you not know that your wife, before she married the King, was of lower rank than my wife? I desire, therefore, since the Queen is your wife that mine should go before her."

Here the Protector showed his great arrogance; and it is thought when he got the Queen to marry his brother it was principally to exalt his own wife over her, as he was Protector. The Admiral was very sorry at what his brother said, and he replied, "My brother, I am sorry there should be any anger between them, but I can tell you that the Queen is determined not to allow it, so do not blame me for it." And no more passed.

The next day, at the time when they usually went to the chapel of the palace to hear matins, the Protector's wife came and thrust herself forward, and sat in the Queen's place; and as soon as the Queen saw it, she could not bear it, and took hold of her arm, and said, "I deserve this for degrading myself from a Queen to marry an Admiral."

This is entertaining indeed, but unlikely. For one thing, the passage follows a chapter in which a match-making Protector arranges the marriage between Thomas Seymour and the queen himself--when Katherine Parr's and Thomas Seymour's letters to each other, and Edward VI's journal, make it clear that the Protector opposed the marriage. For another thing, assuming that Katherine Parr's marriage took place in May or June 1547, "hardly a year" after the marriage brings us to the spring of 1548, when Katherine Parr was not at court jostling with the Duchess of Somerset, but at her own manors, and later Sudeley Castle, preparing for the birth of her first child (born on August 30, 1548). In fact, the Duchess of Somerset was also pregnant in the spring of 1548, giving birth in July. It's hard to believe that the fine sight of two heavily pregnant great ladies jockeying for position would have gone unnoticed at court.

Other accounts of the alleged battle for precedence are more prosaic, but also problematic. Nicholas Sander in the Rise and Growth of the Anglican Schism, published in 1585, whose anti-Protestant bias is quite apparent, writes,

The protector, the duke of Somerset, had a brother, Thomas Seymour, admiral of the fleet, who had married Catherine Parr, the last wife of Henry VIII., after the king's death. Between her and the wife of the protector there sprung a quarrel about precedence, and the quarrel was not confined to the wives, it passed on to the husbands. And as the rivalry grew from day to day, and as the protector's wife gave her husband no rest, matters came at last to this: the protector, who, though he ruled the king, was yet ruled by his wife, must put his brother to death, that he might satisfy his ambition without let or hindrance. But as Thomas Seymour was innocent of everything for which he deserved to die, except heresy, and as the protector, himself a heretic, could not lay that to his brother's charge, it was necessary to have recourse to falsehood.

John Clapham, writing about Elizabeth I in 1603, picked up the theme of the battle for precedence, but I have not seen his work. The story, however, is presented in full bloom by John Haywood in The Life and Raigne of King Edward the Sixth, published in 1630, three years after the death of its author. Heywood, it is safe to say, had issues with women:

O wiues! The most sweete poison, the most desired evill in the world. . . . [T]here is no malice to the malice of a woman, so no mischiefe wanteth where a malitious woman beareth sway, a woman was first giuen to man for a comforter but not for a counsailor, much lesse a controler and directer.

For Hayward, all of the Duke of Somerset's problems began at home, starting, of course, with the quarrel over precedence.

This woman [the duchess] did beare such invincible hate, first against the Queene Dowager for light causes and womens quarrels, especially for that she had precedency of place before her, being wife to the greatest Peere in the land, then to the Lord Sudley [Thomas Seymour]for her sake. That albeit the Queene Dowager dyed by childbirth, yet would not her malice either dye or decrease. . . . The Duke embracing this womans counsaile (a womans counsaile indeede and nothing the better) yeelded himselfe both to aduise and demuise for destruction of his brother.

John Foxe also noted a quarrel between the ladies, but did not assign a cause:

Now it happened (upon what occasion I know not), that there fell a displeasure betwixt the said queen and the duchess of Somerset, and thereupon also, in the behalf of their wives, displeasure and grudge began between the brethren; which, albeit, through persuasion of friends, it was for a time appeased between them, yet, in short space after (perchance not without the privy setting-forward of some, who were back friends to the gospel), it brake out again, both to the trouble of the realm, and especially between to the confusion of them both, as after it proved. First, to the lord admiral's charge it was laid, that he purposed to destory the young king, and translate the crown unto himself; and for the same being attainted and condemned, he did suffer at Tower-hill the twentieth of March 1549. As many there were, who reported that the duchess of Somerset had wrought his death; so many more there were, who, misdoubting the long standing of the lord protector in his state and dignity, though and affirmed no less, but that the fall of the one brother, would be the ruin of the other; the experiment whereof, as it hath often been proved, so, in these also, eftsoons it ensued.

Now, there is no doubt that the Duchess of Somerset had a prickly personality, and also no doubt that Katherine Parr disliked her. In a letter to Thomas Seymour written early in the couple's courtship, she wrote, "This is not his first promise I have received of [the Protector's] coming, and yet unperformed. I think my lady hath taught him that lessson, for it is her custom to promise many comings to her friends and to perform none." In another letter to Thomas Seymour, this one composed after the couple had married, the queen stated, "This shall be to advertise you, that my lord, your brother, hath this afternoon a little made me warm. It was fortunate we were so much distant, for I suppose else I should have bitten him. What cause have they to fear having such a wife? It is requisite for them continually to pray for a short dispatch of that hell." In neither letter, however, does Katherine mention any quarrel about precedence; the cause of her anger in the second letter appears to have been the Protector's handling of her dower lands. Katherine also was involved in a dispute with the Protector about his appropriation of the queen's jewels; if some of these jewels had ended up gracing the person of the duchess, it's easy to see how this would have angered the queen.

So what does that leave us with? As Retha Warnicke and Linda Porter both note, there is no contemporary evidence that the queen and the duchess battled for precedence; the source nearest in time, the Spanish Chronicle, is unreliable. The later sources each have the dispute about precedence leading to a feud between the Seymour brothers--but contemporary evidence of Seymour's scheming against his brother, which led to Seymour's execution in 1549, makes it clear that no help was needed from Anne Somerset. It seems most probable, then, that while the two women had no love for each other, their supposed battle over precedence was used by later writers to explain and oversimplify the much more deadly contest between the Seymour brothers.

Sources:

Stephen Reed Cattley, ed., The Acts and Monuments of John Foxe, Vol. VI. London: Seeley and Burnside, 1838.

John Hayward, The Life and Raigne of King Edward the Sixth, ed. Barrett Beer. Kent State University Press, 1993.

Peter Heylyn, Ecclesia restaurata: The History of the Reformation of the Church of England. Vol. I. James Craigie Robertson, ed. Cambridge University Press, 1849.

Martin A. Sharp Hume, ed., Chronicle of King Henry VIII of England. London: George Bell and Sons, 1889.

Susan James, Kateryn Parr: The Making of a Queen. Aldershot: Ashgate, 1999.

John G. Nichols, "Anne, Duchess of Somerset." Gentleman's Magazine, vol. 177, 1845.

Linda Porter, Katherine the Queen: The Remarkable Life of Katherine Parr. London: Macmillan, 2010.

Nicolas Sander, Rise and Growth of the Anglican Schism. David Lewis, trans. London: Burns and Oates, 1877.

Retha M. Warnicke, "Inventing the Wicked Women of Tudor England: Alice More, Anne Boleyn, and Anne Stanhope." Quidditas: Journal of the Rocky Mountain Medieval and Renaissance Association, 1999.

The First Battle of St. Albans: More From Whethamstede

2011-03-13T19:57:00.007-04:00

A while back, in the best tradition of putting the cart before the horse, I posted a translation by Hannah Kilpatrick of an account of the aftermath of the first Battle of St. Albans. Here is the account of the lead-up to the battle and the battle itself, as seen in Registrum Monasterii Sancti Albani, otherwise known as Whethamstede's Register.

_____________

Meanwhile, while they remained deliberating, the King, having been informed of their arrival, sent the Duke of Buckingham to them to enquire whether their intentions were peaceful or otherwise. And they responded, to a man:

“We are the King’s faithful liegemen, and we intend no harm to him, nor did we come here for such a cause as to intend harm to any man. However, may that impious man be handed over to us who lost Normandy and neglected Gascony, and who has brought the realm of England to her current miserable state, bringing her who was until recently the queen of nations, the prince of provinces, to sit like a derelict widow, who has not for consolation any other son but those whom she must devour, together with all their substance. Give him over to us, without the trouble of a fight, or the injury of peace, and we will return peacefully to our homes. But otherwise, if our desire be not granted to us, and the King will not part with him for any of the reasons we have said, then let him know, that we will not voluntarily cede the field, nor, frustrated in our intent, return to our homes without our desired prey."

The king having been informed of their words and desires, and thinking them more than reason or law would allow, chose rather to try the doubtful outcome of battle rather than either lose this Duke [Somerset] or betray him into the hands of his enemy. And hearing this, to the sound of loud horn blasts these enemies charged in, tearing down barriers, into the centre of St Peter’s Street, where finding their way blocked by the King’s troops they fought together for a short space of time with such atrocities that here you might see brains shaken from the skull lying in the street, there another severed arm, in a third place a punctured throat, in a fourth a perforated chest, and the whole broad street was filled with the bodies of the slain, from here to there on all sides; so that one might see a shield driven back by a shield, a boss by a boss, or a sword threatened by a sword, a foot by a foot, a spearhead by a spearhead, so that, for a very short time until one side should cede victory, the outcome was in doubt, fate’s dice game perfectly balanced.

Yet finally, whether through terror sent from heaven, or by some spirit of frenzy from within or without, turning their backs, many of them were turned to flight, the greater part being of the king’s troops; and, dashing off in different directions into gardens and fields, brambles and briars, hedges and woods, they sought each for himself a place and a bolthole where he might creep and hide snugly, until such a time as the tempest of battle might be quite calmed. Among these were many of the knightly class, men who seemed goodly enough in form, but were more like Paris than Hector in disposition. And because to these men

It was more pleasing to lie upon a soft couch
Twined in the arms of a tender woman
Than to have one’s right shoulder burdened with shield or spear,
Or to have one’s hair confined by a helmet.

And therefore pursuing softness rather than knighthood, and seeking out the nearby farms rather than battle, they abandoned the King in the field of battle, and sought out scattered places where they might hide themselves. They and others of the royal household were among those men who for the most part, because they were dressed in soft clothes, or out of a softness of spirit hated the sight of blood, removed themselves from the camp, that they might not see their own spilt. They were furthermore of that easternmost region of the kingdom, the inhabitants of which are all (by reason of their origins) soft and womanly, and very delicate, as in this couplet:

He who is born under the morning star and in the warm lands
His soul is softened by the clemency of the skies.

therefore they were stricken by the spirit of terror and left their lord alone in the camp; and they fled as the sheep or the tiny lambs flee the shepherd at the approach of the wolf.

The Marital Misadventures of Edward Seymour

2011-03-05T23:10:00.001-05:00

Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford and Duke of Somerset, married twice: the first time to Katherine Fillol, the second time to Anne Stanhope. Though his first wife was repudiated and died in obscurity, her descendants would ultimately succeed to her family dukedom.

Katherine Fillol was the daughter of Sir William Fillol. She and Edward Seymour (whom we'll call Hertford from now on to avoid confusion, although he did not obtain his earldom until 1537) had two sons together: John and Edward.

At some point, the marriage of Hertford and Katherine went sour. In his will, dated May 14, 1527, William Fillol gave his daughter an annuity of forty pounds "as long as she shall live virtuously and abide in some house of religion of women." (William also states, "I will that, in the best wise that may be, that the wall above the high awter wyndowe be made playne, in Horton Church, with playster of parys, yf yt made be reasonable had, & that playne & surely made, that Jesus be paynted therevppon, sitting upon a Rainbow, in as large stature as the rome will give, & underneath hym ymages arysing in significance of the Dome to come." I must admit that the Rainbow Jesus makes me giggle.) More pointedly, Hertford and Katherine were not to "have any part or parcell" of his estates, except for some land in Sussex.

Plainly, something had happened to estrange Katherine from her father and from her husband, and it seems to have involved the paternity of Hertford's oldest son, John. In 1540, Hertford, who was now married to his second wife, obtained this grant:

Grant to the earl of Hertford that the lands he now holds in fee simple may descend as follows:—The manors of Mochelney, Drayton, Westhover, Yerneshill, Camell, Downehed, Kylcombe, and Fyffec, Soms., to the heirs male of himself and lady Anne, his wife, or any future wife he may have; with contingent remainders in tail male to Edward Seymour, his son by his late wife, Katharine, dec., one of the daughters of Sir Wm. Fylolle, dec., to Henry Seymour, brother of the Earl, and to Sir Thos. Seymour, youngest brother of the Earl; with remainder to heirs female of the Earl's body; with remainder to the right heirs of the said Edward Seymour. All other his possessions which he has or hereafter may hold to be judged to descend in the same manner.

Under the terms of the grant, Edward, Hertford's second son by Katherine, would inherit only if Hertford left no male heirs by his second or any subsequent wife. John was cut out altogether.

It is not until later that writers would explicitly accuse Katherine of adultery. Peter Heylyn, writing in the seventeenth century, had this explanation for the disinheritance of Hertford's offspring by his first wife:

Concerning which there goes a story, that the Earl having been formerly employed in France, did there acquaint himself with a Learned man, supposed to have great skill in Magics: of whom he obtained, by great rewards and importunities, to let him see, by the help of some Magical perspective, in what Estate all his Relations stood at home. In which impertinent curiosity, he was so far satisfied, as to behold a Gentleman of his acquaintance, in a more familiar posture with his wife, than was agreeable to the the Honour of either Party. To which Diabolical illusion he is said to have given so much credit, that he did not only estrange himself from her society at his coming home, but furnished his next wife with an excellent opportunity for pressing him to the disinheriting of his former Children.

A tawdrier explanation can be found in this marginal note that appears in Vincent's Baronage in the College of Arms: "repudiata quia pater ejus post nuptias eam cognovit." This note, which older sources like the Complete Peerage preferred to leave discreetly untranslated, suggests that Katherine had committed adultery with her own father-in-law, John Seymour. Nothing else, however, supports the story that Katherine and her father-in-law were lovers. It is noteworthy that John Seymour did have an illegitimate son, John, who may have been confused with Katherine's son John, thereby giving rise to the report that the elder John Seymour had fathered Katherine's child.

Modern writers, even authors of nonfiction, have improved upon the bare allegation of incest. Alison Weir in The Six Wives of Henry VIII writes that "the scandal had shocked even Henry VIII's courtiers," while Elizabeth Norton in her biography of Jane Seymour states that the relationship between Edward Seymour and his father "would have been irreparably damaged" and that society would have "shied away from any alliance with" the Seymour family. Joanna Denny in her peculiar biography of Anne Boleyn writes of "the great scandal that attached to the Seymour name." None of these writers give any sources for their statements. In fact, there is no contemporary evidence of hostility between John Seymour and his son, no evidence that Hertford's marital difficulties excited any interest at Henry VIII's court at the time, and no evidence that the Seymour family was shunned. Far from being a pariah at court, Hertford enjoyed increasing royal favor throughout the 1520's, long before his sister Jane came to Henry VIII's attention. Thus, while Katherine Fillol may have been unfaithful to her husband, or at least may have been thought by him to have been unfaithful, there is no contemporary evidence to support the later story that her sexual partner was her father-in-law.

Nothing seems to be known about Katherine after her father made his will. By March 9, 1535, when the couple were given a grant of land, Hertford had married his second wife, Anne. It is said in various places that Hertford divorced Katherine, but there are no records of such a proceeding. More likely, Katherine had simply died, leaving Hertford free to remarry.

Hertford did not entirely throw off his sons by Katherine. Accounts from 1536 and 1537 refer to a "Mr. Edward" who was delivered to the Prior of Sempringham and who received a coat, hose, and a doublet, and to a "Mr. John Seymour," who was supplied with money for a winter coat and other necessaries, for "necessaries against Christmas," and for "necessaries against Easter." (It may be, however, that the John referred to was Hertford's illegitimate brother, not his son by Katherine.)

More is known, naturally, about the two men as adults. John Seymour represented Wooton Bassett in Parliament. He is often said to have accompanied his father to prison in the Tower in 1551; in fact, the John Seymour who was imprisoned was Hertford's illegitimate brother. The younger John took advantage of his father's execution in 1552 to attempt to recover lands of his mother that Hertford had sold without her assent. He was successful, but he did not live long to enjoy them. He died in December 1552, unmarried and childless. In his short will, witnessed by his recently pardoned uncle John, he left the bulk of his property to his brother Edward:

That I John Seymor hath and doth give and bequeathe thes p[ar]celles and somes of money as followith /. In primis I give and bequeathe to Mastres Yonge for her paynes taken with me vjli xiijs iiijd /. Item I give and bequeathe to Mystres Alice for her paynes taken with me vjli xiijs iiijd /. Item I give and bequethe unto Thomas Wright my boye xxs /. Item I give and bequeathe unto Nicholas Skynner my s[e]rv[a]unte twentie poundes /. Item I give and bequethe unto Mother Yonge fourtie shillinges /. Item I give to Richard Whytney the lease of Bridgenorth and of Clarley and of Bevyngton which is all but on lease of the kinge / and also I give hym the lease callyd Seynt Mary Lande of Martley /. Item I give to Thomas Bydyll three poundes / Also I make my brother Sir Edwarde Seymor thelder my full Executour and I give hym all my landes and goodes that is unbequeathed he to paie and discharge all my debtes
Witnesses Richard Corbet. John Skynner / John Seymor

John Seymour was buried at Savoy hospital.

Edward Seymour accompanied his father to Scotland in 1547 and was knighted there. He also gained by his father's death; in June 1553, he was granted a number of lands, including Berry Pomeroy in Devon. He married Jane Walsh and died in 1593, a prosperous man. Although he had only one son, another Edward, that was enough to mean that in the eighteenth century , the dukedom of Somerset would pass to his descendants. Two hundred years after Katherine Fillol had been put aside by her husband, her descendants had been restored to their rightful inheritance.

Sources:

Barrett L. Beer, ‘Seymour, Edward, duke of Somerset (c.1500–1552)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Jan 2009 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/25159, accessed 5 March 2011]

S. T. Bindoff et al. The House of Commons, 1509-1558. London, Secker & Warburg, 1982.

Calendar of Patent Rolls.

Frederick Arthur Crisp, Abstracts of Somersetshire Wills. Volume 2. 1888.

Peter Heylyn, Ecclesia restaurata: The History of the Reformation of the Church of England. London, 1674.

Historical Manuscripts Commission, Report on the Manuscripts of the Most Honorable the Marquess of Bath, Preserved at Longleat. Vol. IV, Seymour Papers. London, Her Majesty's Stationery Office, 1968.

Letters and Papers of Henry VIII.

A. Audrey Locke, The Seymour Family: History and Romance. Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1914.

PROB 1/29 (Will of John Seymour)

William Seymour, Ordeal by Ambition: An English Family in the Shadow of the Tudors. London: Sidgwick & Jackson, 1972.

Search Terms, January and February 2011!

2011-03-01T09:10:00.012-05:00

Does a search term post need any introduction?

compact of thankless earth - analysis

Some things are best left unanalyzed, I always say.

illustrated naked and helpless women in literature

Find an interest in life and pursue it, I always say also.

who the father of edward of lancaster?

Richard, Duke of York. Run and put that on Wikipedia. Now.

this is the most commonly reproduced depiction of edward v of england and richard of shrewsbury 1st duke of york otherwise known as the princes in the tower.they were the only living sons of edward iv and after his death were brought to london. edward was held in the tower of london after his coronation and richard joined him after being forced out of sanctuary with their mother. they were declared illegitimate by an act of parliament and richard duke of gloucester edward iv’s brother was made king richard iii.the princes were kept in the tower and it believed that they were eventually murdered or else died of plague. either way it was royal ambitions of richard iii that condemned them to their imprisonment and their early deaths.

In case you're wondering why Google was down the other day, this search string is why.

melusine despencer

Ah, so that's how the battle of Boroughbridge was won.

melusina water goddess elizabeth woodville

Watch out, Woodvilles! Melusine has been cheating on you with the Despensers!

susan higginbotham she-wolves

Only when I don't have my morning Coca-Cola.

a photo of margaret of anjou the wife of henry vi

She meant to get it developed when she got to England in 1471, but stuff happened.

The First Battle of St. Albans: From Whethamstede's Register

2011-02-26T20:50:00.001-05:00

Thanks to Hannah Kilpatrick, here's a translation from the Latin of the account of the aftermath of the first battle of St. Albans given in Registrum Monasterii Sancti Albani, otherwise known as Whethamstede's Register.

At the battle, which took place on May 22, 1455, Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, and Thomas, Lord Clifford, were killed by the forces of Richard, Duke of York. Historians of the battle tend to believe that the three men were targeted for elimination, rather than simply happening to perish in the fighting. Certainly the subsequent behavior of their heirs, who were eager for vengeance, suggests that they thought so.

The chronicle describes the preliminaries to the battle and the battle itself. For purposes of this post, we'll pick up the narrative with the hapless Henry VI being told by the Duke of York what a great favor his forces have done him by killing Somerset:

The King, seeing that almost all his men had either turned to flight or were slain in the battlefield, and that he stood with no guard under his own banner, with no hope of relief, at the suggestion of the few men who remained that he should flee before the bows and avoid the peril of the darts and arrows that flew dense as snowflakes around his head, removed himself to the meagre hospitality of a certain [grain merchant?]’s cottage, where he remained with his men, until such time as the Duke of York came to him, and with these words he greeted and comforted him:

“Rejoice, illustrious Prince, and may these men rejoice also who stand about you, all you lords. Now that impious slanderer [i.e., Somerset] has been thrown down, he who night and day would accuse me and my brothers - I mean these lords here present with me - in your sight, your Majesty. And therefore by the grace of God, that man who had a just cause against him has been proven victor, and that impious enemy for his impietas has come to great ruin. Rejoice therefore, for his downfall is like another hanging of Aman in the opinion of the common people. All now rejoice together at this downfall, just as formerly the Jews delighted at the hanging of their greatest enemy. Rejoice further, that this downfall will pacify the common people throughout your kingdom. And indeed he was detested of children and youths, of maidens and wives, and also by all others of all sexes and ages, so that wherever he walked or rode by the common roads in the city of London, or anywhere, they would call down curses upon him, and would curse him according to the imprecation of the Psalm, in this way: ‘May his days be few, may his children be orphans, may his wife be a widow, and may his name be remembered no more’. Rejoice therefore, Prince, rejoice, for that curse has trickled like water into his flesh, like oil into his blood. Rejoice further that this downfall will raise you to the heights of honour, higher than you have ever risen yet while he whispered in your ear. I am, and always was, and all my followers are and were your faithful - indeed, your most faithful - liegemen; and we will always remain, as much as any man, while flesh is wedded to spirit and spirit rules flesh, or if you prefer while will is subject to reason, your most ready servants, in advance or retreat, proceeding at the nod and nomination of your royal self."

And having said these things, he led him out with all due reverence from that humble cottage, and led him first to the bier [Somerset’s?] then to his chambers, and there made him remain for all that day. And in the morning he led him to London, where in the Bishop’s Palace lodging was prepared for him, and there he made him remain throughout the ensuing Pentecost, continually, for all of that sacred week, attended in all things by the two aforementioned Earls, impeding his obsequies and everential observances. And this was the beginning, middle and end of that Battle.

The following passage describes the "pillage, plunder and rapine" by York's men that took place after the battle. The fact that Yorkist troops engaged in such excesses tends to be ignored by certain authors, who prefer to give the impression that only the Lancastrians, notably at Ludlow, enjoyed the spoils of victory. Although the chronicle's anti-northern bias is evident, other accounts confirm that the town was pillaged. (C. A. J. Armstrong in his article "Politics and the Battle of St. Albans, 1455" discusses the aftermath of the battle at length.)

Meantime, while the Duke of York was (as has been told) consoling the King, and comforting him, the victors were left idle, and being too eager and avaricious, passed their time with pillage, plunder and rapine, incapable of restraining their hands either at home among their neighbours or outside among enemies. They were all, for the most part, of the northerly parts of the kingdom; and therefore, although stronger in arms and more ready to war, also to the spilling of blood, according to this metre:

He who is born with the Northern hoarfrost in his veins
[Read ‘is’] Indomitable in war, and Death’s lover.

Nevertheless, because that people are more penurious than pecunious, having more an abundance of peas and barley, wheat and grain, than of rich purple dyes, or ebony, or ivory, or Tyrian cloth, or gold, or silver, upon coming to a place so much more opulent and sumptuous, that is the southern regions of the kingdom, they turned their hands to plunder, their fingers to pillaging, sparing not king nor peer nor pleb nor knight., nor any other man at whose house plunder might be found. And thus one man, robbed of his golden vase, thought like Prince Agathocles to eat from clay plates and drink from earthenware vessels, or from cups of mean price and little renown.

Another man, robbed of his horse and arms, was forced to abandon his own home, weaponless, poor and on foot, miserable less from the theft than from the shame and derision that followed him to his own people.

And a third man, relieved of all the gold and silver in his purse or money pouch, was forced to beg borrowed money to convey him to his people, but he was happy in this: that he had escaped so, with no worse damage in that furious uproar.

And so far increased the strength and violence of this despoliation and rapine, that rumour even reached the Monastery that the thieves would reach there and despoil it. And that voice was true and faithful, and so it would have happened save that Sir Alban valourously donned his arms, and set his shield against the enemies of his church. With that Knight and Martyr defending her, his church remained safe, to the extent that it was later found to be free of any despoliation or heavy cost of goods.

The chronicle then moves on to describe the burial of the dead:

The said battle being over, and the victory achieved through the favour of Mars by the Duke of York’s side having been reported, what followed was dolorous indeed and brought tears to the eyes of the beholders: the corpses of the slain lay scattered about in great number at every street corner; nor did any man wish, for fear of raising the anger of the said Duke, to prepare ditches to bury them.

Among them lay the bodies of three illustrious lords; the body, that is, of Lord Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, the body of Lord Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, and the body of Lord Thomas Clifford, Earl of Clifford. For fear of the aforementioned duke, no man dared to touch these corpses or to perform pious obsequies over them, because the said lords were so odious to him. The Abbot hearing this, and, remembering well the actions of Tobias, went boldly before the person of the Duke and intrepidly spoke to him in this way:

“Good and illustrious prince. Many and many a quality are laudable in a prince, but it is believed to be no small virtue after victory to spare the vanquished, rather than to wield the sword of vengeance further against them. Trojan Aeneas was certainly praised in these terms, and Achilles the Greek; also the Roman general Julius who, upon seeing the head of Pompei, his enemy, is said to have been moved to compassion, even to tears. Therefore may you too be moved to compassion, good prince, on the vanquished and conquered, or more, the overthrown and the slaughtered. I say not your enemies and adversaries, but indeed, your cousins, your compatriots, your kin; and command their bodies to be gathered away as could not be denied them by the compassion not only of any Christian man, but of the meanest and lowest man of all. To rage further against them after their death is not proper, nor sound, nor the act of a generous mind; rather it is bestial, brutish, or wolfish. We read it written:

Let the wolf and the filthy bear worry the dying,
Just as all the other creatures of the lower orders of beasts.

And also,

The greater a man is, the more his anger may be calmed,
nor is a generous mind easily moved.
For the noble man asks nothing but the palm of victory,
And all his desire is won when his enemy falls

For today, Prince, you have the palm, you have the victory, you have all that your soul desired as regards their persons. For today let your rage be calmed therefore, nor let it vent itself any further against their bodies, when so many men passing by and seeing them lying there in that way are moved to compassion. Indeed they lie now in the most despicable way, despoiled of their arms, denuded of their clothes, with nothing at all to cover them; and to cause them to lie to any longer is not the deed of a pious prince but truly of a tyrant like Creon who, due to a similar deed, was believed by the Duke Theseus to be visiting a similar torture on the dead. Pious victory, Prince, becomes rather impious savagery where it is not followed by compassion. More damnable than laudable is that victor who in triumph persists too far, and knows not afterwards how to return his sword to its sheathe, nor restrain the spirit of vengeance. Therefore, that your victory may be known as pious and your triumph as laudable, in the work of benignity, goodness and clemency, in the work of charity, piety and compassion, in any works that may be pleasing to the angels, welcome to man, and dear to God, in order that it may be worthy of eternal reward may the soul of a prince be touched by that sincere pietas which raises princes above men, that they might aspire to be equal with God, according to this saying,

The great clemency of God raises our lowly clemency.

and, by that same pietas, to the removal of their bodies into their tombs may you graciously give your consent.”

The Duke, moved to pietas by the Abbot’s words, put away the rancour and gall of his disposition, and consented most graciously that their bodies be entombed; and more, he vehemently entreated the Abbot to take special care over the burial. This permission granted, the Abbot quickly sent out monks and servants to bear the bodies back to the church, where they might be received with honour; and later, having performed the funeral obsequies, in the Chapel of the Blessed Virgin there was made the place of their tomb.

And therefore the three lords already mentioned were also entombed there, and placed in lineal order of their dignity, according to state, rank and honour; and all men rejoiced together over this who were accustomed to applaud and sing praises to deeds of charity, clemency and pietas; and truly such a scene would sadden only those who are wicked and impious and desire especially to pursue vengeance beyond the natural term of life.

And of these lords, and of their place of burial, there was written a short verse in this way:

Those whom Mars, whom Mars’ savage fate and sister
Struck down through war and slaughtered in the middle of the city
Death has entombed them here like these men;
And after their death he has given them eternal peace.
He is the one who stands in the centre, without whom no man can aspire to rest.
Here a quarrel, there a fight; Death is takes a man’s arms and lays them down.
Death, fate, and Mars, who scattered these lords.

Bad Historical Fiction: 2211

2011-02-19T14:49:00.003-05:00

We’ve all seen them: the historical novels where heroines are horrified about entering into an arranged marriage, even though it was the accepted practice among their social class; where the hero despises blood sports; where even mild corporeal punishment is viewed in the way we view child abuse. But sit back now, and think into the future, when our own time becomes the subject of historical fiction. Can we count on seeing glaring anachronisms two hundred years from now? Unless human nature changes drastically, I say, you betcha!

And I’ve even given future historical novelists a bit of help.

***

Anne Neville banged her fist on the steering wheel of her brand-new Mini-Cooper as she neared Harvard University. How dare her father refuse to demand that Richard marry her? Instead, he had told her, “Get a good education first; that’s the most important thing. Who knows? You’ll be meeting all sorts of young men. You might find that you prefer one of them to Richard.”

“But Father, I want to marry Richard, whom I’ve been love with ever since the age of seven! Why won’t you speak to his father, and have us get married right now?”

“Richard is going to MIT,” her father had said with exasperation, his eyes cold and hard. “You can see him every day if you want. And if you want to get married down the line, that’s fine too. Just get your undergraduate degree first, that’s all I ask, before you settle down and get married. I’ll even pay for the wedding, for God’s sake.”

Anne’s eyes filled with tears as she thought back on that horrid scene. Yet there was no way out; she knew it. She would have to go through the soul-searing agony of attending an Ivy League college just to please her cruel father. I shall not forget you, Richard, she whispered above the purr of the Mini-Cooper. They cannot keep us apart forever.

***

Little Jane Grey huddled in the corner, her green eyes glistening with tears. Time out, her mother had said—the cruelest words in the English language. And what had she done this time? Called her mother a bitch and said that she wished she were dead. Nothing that merited such a vile punishment as this!

She looked at her Hannah Montana watch. Ten minutes . . . ten minutes in hell. She did not know how much longer she could bear such treatment. Someday, she vowed silently, the whole world would know how badly she had suffered, and would weep with her.

***

Richard stared down at the ice, fighting back nausea. He knew that it was common among men to enjoy spectacles of this nature, but his inner soul recoiled from them. It was a brutal sport, barbaric—almost medieval, you could say.

But he would have to watch this horror; it was part of becoming a man, his father had told him. He would have to hide his emotions, as men in the twenty-first century always did.

The lights went down, as if presaging the destruction to come, and he clenched his fists. It would take every ounce of self-control he possessed to bear the ordeal to come. The cruel crowd, their primitive instincts fueled by overpriced beer, shouted mindlessly as the men skated onto the ice. They couldn’t possibly enjoy what they were about to do, could they? Richard closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of what came next.

A crack sounded in the air, and a silent scream tore through Richard’s very soul as the men aimed their sticks at the puck in an animal-like frenzy. The hockey game had begun.

How To Marry a Duchess: A Valentine's Day Post

2011-02-14T00:00:00.004-05:00

First, a visit from the Bard:

I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of late, she did praise my leg being cross-garter'd; and in this she manifests herself to my love, and with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits of her liking. I thank my stars, I am happy. I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and cross-garter'd, even with the swiftness of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised!

Malvolio, the steward in Twelfth Night who fancies that his noble lady, Olivia, is in love with him, of course, was the victim of a trick. But the idea of a high-born lady marrying one of her servants wasn't an unheard-of one in Tudor England, for here are three Tudor men who managed to land duchesses:

Richard Bertie

Born in 1517, Bertie was the gentleman usher of Katherine Brandon (Willoughby), the dowager Duchess of Suffolk, who was the widow of Henry VIII's great friend Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Katherine, born in 1519, married Bertie around 1552, the year after both of her sons had died of the sweating sickness. Bertie was an Oxford graduate who had previously served Thomas Wriothesley; he was described as "master of the French, Italian, and Latin tongues, bold in discourse and quick at repartee." These were qualities that must have appealed to the duchess, who herself was possessed of a caustic wit.

The fervently Protestant couple and their infant daughter, Susan (an eminently sensible and proper name), found it prudent to leave England during Mary I's reign. While abroad, they had a son, Peregrine, whose name reflected their vagabond status during those years. Susan later married Reginald Grey, who with the duchess's aid eventually became the Earl of Kent when the title was revived. He died as a young man, however, and Susan subsequently married John Wingfield. Peregrine, who became Lord Willoughby, married Mary de Vere, the daughter of the sixteenth Earl of Oxford.

Richard Bertie found his relatively low birth (his wife described him as "meanly born") somewhat of a handicap. Despite his duchess's efforts, he never was able to assume the title of "Lord Willoughby," although his son was allowed to do so. He did, however, serve in Parliament and as a local official in Lincolnshire, and he was granted an M.A. from Cambridge. Bertie composed an answer, which was privately circulated, to John Knox's Monstrous Regiment of Women.

Katherine died on September 19, 1580. Her first husband had been buried at St. George's Chapel, Windsor. She was buried at Spilsby Church in Lincolnshire, where Bertie himself was buried after his death on April 9, 1582. Their monument, containing their busts, can be seen there today.

Adrian Stokes

Stokes (variously described as a master of horse, an equerry, and a steward) was in the service of Frances Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk, who was Charles Brandon's daughter and therefore Katherine Brandon's stepdaughter (Katherine had been Charles's ward). I've posted recently on the myths surrounding the marriage of Frances and Adrian. They were married in 1555, about a year after Frances's first husband, Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk, was beheaded for his role in Wyatt's rebellion against Mary I. The couple had one daughter, who died as an infant.

Horace Walpole recounts the story that Elizabeth I greeted the news of the marriage with the remark, "'What! has she married her horse-keeper?' 'Yes, madam,' replied my lord Burleigh, 'and she says your majesty would like to do so too.'" This story is clearly apocryphal; Elizabeth was not queen when Frances and Adrian married, nor was Robert Dudley, the object of Frances's alleged rejoinder, Elizabeth's "horse-keeper" in 1555. Frances's motives in making the match are unknown, but marriage to a man who was entirely unsuitable for a queen's consort would have sent a strong message to Mary I, who had executed Frances's daughter Jane, that Frances herself had no designs on the crown. William Camden, Elizabeth I's biographer, saw this as the motive for Frances's marriage: he wrote that Frances, "forgetting the Nobility of her Lineage, had married Adrian Stokes, a mean Gentleman, to her Dishonour, but yet for her Security."

Frances died on November 21, 1559. As befitted her status as a niece of Henry VIII, she was buried at Westminster Abbey. In her will, Frances placed all of her property in the hands of Adrian, her sole executor:

In the name of God, Amen. I ladye Frances Dcches Of Suffolke, wife to Adryane Stockes esquyer, considering howe uncerteyn the howre of deathe is, and how certeyne ytt ys that every creature shall dye when ytt shall please God, being sicke in bodie but hole in mynde, thankes be to Almightie God; and considering with my self that the said Adrian Stockes my husbande is indebted to dyvers and sundrye persones in greate somes of money, and also that the chardge of my funeralles, if God call me to his mercye, shalbe greate chardgcs to hym, mynding he shall have, possesse, and enjoye all goodes, catalles, as well reall as personall, as all debtes, legacies, and all other thinges whatsoever I may give, dispose, lymytt, or appoynt by my last will and testament for the dischardge of the saide debtes and funeralles, do ordeyne and make this my present last will and testament, and do by the same constitute and make the saide Adryane Stockes my husbande my sole executor to all respectes, ententes, and purposes. In wytnes whereof I have hereunto putt my hande and seale the ixtb daye of November, in the furst yere of the reigne of our soveraigne ladye Elizabeth, by the grace of God quene of Englande, Fraunce, and Irelande, defendour of the faythe, &c. Fraunces Suffolke.

Adrian made a second marriage to Anne Carew, the widow of Nicholas Throckmorton, and went on to serve in Parliament and on local commissions. He died on November 3, 1585. In his will, he left one of his stepdaughters "a bed in the Dutches Chamber" at Beaumanor, where he and Frances had spent part of their marriage. He was buried in the chapel there.

Francis Newdigate

Born in 1519, Francis was employed in the household of Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset. Somerset, brother to Jane Seymour and uncle to Edward VI, was executed in January 1552. His wife, Anne (nee Stanhope, born around 1510) herself was confined to the Tower until Mary I came to power in 1553, and Francis had his goods confiscated for a time. The widowed duchess had been left with nine children, and it was likely Newdigate's assistance in helping her piece together her life following her release from the Tower that led her to marry him in 1558.

It was a surprising match for the duchess, whose historical reputation (quite possibly exaggerated) is that of a haughty, grasping, and overbearing woman. Anne, however, appears to have been fiercely devoted to those close to her, and she soon used her influence to get her new husband into Parliament. In 1574, the sixtyish duchess wrote to William Cecil about a slighting remark made about her husband, "By redyng my L. Chamberlaynes leter and my answer you may knowe my grefe. The lyke was never offered to any, nor the lyke threats of contempt, withowt offendyng any law, have ben gyven owt as to Mr. Newdegat. Yf your Lordship canne do any good to stay thys defacement to the world, I wolld be glad of yt."

In 1560, Francis's stepson, the Earl of Hertford, secretly married Adrian Stokes' stepdaughter, Katherine Grey. The bride and groom were clapped into prison by Elizabeth I, and both stepfathers were questioned. Neither, however, suffered for their stepchildren's impetuous match.

Francis died on January 26, 1582. In his will, dated May 31, 1580, he wrote, "Since I have received all my preferment by the Duchess's marriage, so I bequeath her all I am able to give her." He made her his sole executor and asked to be buried at Hanworth, which the duchess had been granted shortly before their marriage. Anne died on April 15, 1587. Like Frances, Duchess of Suffolk, she was buried at Westminster Abbey.

So what did it take to land a duchess? Being a Protestant helped a lot; Richard Bertie's religious beliefs forced him to flee abroad with his wife. While both Stokes and Newdigate toed the line during Mary I's reign, both had strongly Protestant beliefs: Stokes directed that he be buried "without any pomp or solemnity as yt hath bene used in the Papistes tyme," while Newdigate commended his soul to be saved "only by faith in Christ's blood-shedding." Two of the three men married a woman whose first husband had died on the scaffold. Perhaps what all three men had in common, however, was loyalty in hard times and an ability to make themselves useful to their widowed duchesses, which led to the ultimate reward.

And who knows, maybe they put on yellow stockings.

Sources:

S. T. Bindoff et al. The House of Commons, 1509-1558. London, Her Majesty's Stationery Office,

Bruce Bannerman, ed., Miscellanea Genalogica and Heraldica. Vol. II. London: Mitchell Hughes and Clarke, 1908.

Cecilie Goff, A Woman of the Tudor Age. London, John Murray, 1930.

P.W. Hasler, ed. The House of Commons, 1558-1603. London, Her Majesty's Stationery Office, 1981.

Historical Manuscripts Commission, Report on the Manuscripts of the Most Honorable the Marquess of Bath, Preserved at Longleat. Vol. IV, Seymour Papers. London, Her Majesty's Stationery Office, 1968.

John G. Nichols, "Anne, Duchess of Somerset." Gentleman's Magazine, vol. 177, 1845.

John Strype, Brief Annals of the Church and State Under the Reign of Queen Elizabeth (vol. 3). London, 1731.

Susan Wabuda, ‘Bertie , Katherine, duchess of Suffolk (1519–1580)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/2273, accessed 13 Feb 2011]

Susan Wabuda, ‘Bertie, Richard (1517–1582)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/2276, accessed 13 Feb 2011]

Retha M. Warnicke, "Inventing the Wicked Women of Tudor England: Alice More, Anne Boleyn, and Anne Stanhope." Quidditas: Journal of the Rocky Mountain Medieval and Renaissance Association, 1999.

Retha M. Warnicke, ‘Seymour, Anne, duchess of Somerset (c.1510–1587)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, online edn, Oxford University Press, Sept 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/68053, accessed 20 Sept 2010]

What the Well-Dressed Couple Brought to the Tower

2011-02-09T08:51:00.002-05:00

In October 1551, Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, and his wife Anne were committed to the Tower. (The duke would be executed on January 22, 1552, the duchess would remain a prisoner until released by Mary I in August 1553.) Here, from Henry Ellis's Original Letters Illustrative of English History, are the items that the couple asked to be brought to them. (Plainly, the duchess was not the sort of lady to drink her beer while lounging in T-shirt and cutoffs.)

" Things necessarie for the Duke of Somerset, which he praythe to have: Firste one gowne; item, one velvet cappe; item one night cappe; item, two dubletts; item, ij. payre of hose; item, iij. shirtes; item ij night kerchers; item vj. hande kerchers; item iij. dussen pointes; item ij. payre of velvet shoes; item, iij. table clothes; item iiij hande towells; item iij. cupbourde clothes; item one dusson table napkings; item x11 in money to paye for his wasshinge, clensinge, and other necessaries.

" Thinges necessarie for the Duches of Somerset, which she prayeth to have. Firste one waste cote of velvyt wrought; item, ij. payre of knitte hose; item ij. payre of knitte sieves; item, one payre of wollen hose, which was in a plate cheste that mistres Susan kepte; item, vij. plane smockes which was last made; item, vj. highe collerd patletts and ruffes to the same; item vj. wayste smockes, whereof iij. wrought; item, vj. froc kerchers, whereof iij. fyne; item, ij. duble railes; item, vj. hand kerchers; item, the laces that mistres Pursbey had in keapinge; item, the crimisyn satten boxe with the stuffe that is in it; item a gowne of blacke velvyt egged with genetts, or else the gowne of blacke satten egged with black jenetts; item, a kirtle of blacke velvet playne; item a verdingale; item, a peace of skarlet for a stomycher; item, a piece of pointinge ryben; item, some blacke silke and white threde; item iij. little books covered with blacke velvyt which be in the cheste where this linning lyethe; item ij. payre of gloves; item, one payre of lether slippers; item xxli. in money to paye for wassinge, clensinge, and other necessaries; item ij. standing pottes for wyne and bere; item, ij. cuppes for bere, and a nest of boilles for wyne; item, vj. silver disshes, and ij. silver sawcers, and one dusson of pewder dishes; item, iiij. sylver plates; item, iiij. sylver spoones; item, iiij. table clothes; item iiij. hand towells; item, ij. dusson table napkins; item, iiij.cupboarde clothes."

Three Myths About Frances Grey, Duchess of Suffolk

2011-02-02T12:19:00.015-05:00

First, let me make it clear that I take no credit for busting the three myths that I am about to discuss: all three have been previously addressed by other authors. Nonetheless, whenever I do a search on Frances Grey, Duchess of Suffolk (nee Brandon, mother of Jane Grey), I run across all three of them, so I will discuss them here in an effort to counter all of the nonsense that a search brings up.

Myth #1: Frances Grey married her second husband, Adrian Stokes, within three weeks of the executions of her daughter and her first husband in February 1554. (One source I ran across last night has Frances rushing to the altar within 10 days of the executions.) In fact, as Carl T. Berkhout, Leanda de Lisle, and Eric Ives have each pointed out recently, the marriage did not take place until March 1555 or possibly even later. Indeed, as late as April 21, 1555, Simon Renard was reporting to Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor, "It has been proposed that [Edward] Courtenay might be married to the widow of the last Duke of Suffolk, who comes next to the daughter of Scotland in line of succession to the crown."

But what of the story that Frances had a child by Stokes born in 1554? Notes and Queries from December 8, 1855, citing Cole's Escheats, notes that Frances and Adrian did indeed have a daughter, Elizabeth, who died in infancy on February 7, 1556--a death date entirely compatible with a 1555 marriage. I have yet to find a source that supports the statement that Frances bore a child in 1554.

Myth #2: Adrian Stokes was half Frances's age. Not only is Frances said incorrectly to have rushed to the altar after the executions of February 1554, she's accused of doing so with a boy-toy. In fact, Carl T. Berkhout has found that Laurence Nowell, a contemporary of Stokes, recorded the exact day and hour of Stokes' birth in a horoscope: 8 p.m. on March 4, 1519. This makes Stokes less than two years younger than Frances, born on July 16, 1517. Both parties, therefore, were in their mid-to-late thirties when they married.

Myth #3: A double portrait of a double-chinned woman and a much younger man is that of Frances and Adrian. As readers of Josephine Tey's The Daughter of Time know, a bedridden Inspector Grant spots a portrait of Richard III and decides that he must have been a decent chap after all, and proceeds to assemble evidence to that effect. The portrait below has caused many an author to do some reverse Inspector-Granting with Frances. Richard Davy, for instance, notes the "very sinister expression" in Frances's eyes.

All of these physiognomic efforts, however, have been wasted, for the portrait was re-identified in 1986 by Susan Foister as being that of Mary Neville and her son, Gregory Fiennes--not of Frances and Adrian at all. An actual portrayal of Frances Brandon--the figure on her tomb in Westminster Abbey--could not be more different from the portrait that is still misidentified as her on various sites.

Sources:

Carl T Berkhout. Notes and Queries. London: Mar 2000. Vol. 47, Issue 1.

Karen Hearn, ed., Dynasties: Painting in Tudor and Jacobean England 1530-1630.

Eric Ives, Lady Jane Grey: A Tudor Mystery

Leanda de Lisle, The Sisters Who Would Be Queen: Mary, Katherine, and Lady Jane Grey.

Andrew Dudley's Goods and Will

2011-01-30T21:40:00.000-05:00

Andrew Dudley was the younger brother of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. Born around 1507, he shared in his older brother's improving fortunes and in his downfall.

In 1553, Andrew, in his mid-forties, was betrothed to Margaret Clifford, the daughter of Henry Clifford, Earl of Cumberland. As Margaret was only thirteen or so, it was apparently arranged that she and Andrew would reside for a while at her father's castle of Skipton. In preparation for the marriage, Andrew Dudley sent a number of costly goods to Skipton Castle, including rich apparel for both spouses, "a Venetian cup with a cover pounced," and "a salt with certain stones set therein."

Andrew borrowed some items from the royal household to set up housekeeping with his bride-to-be, as listed by the editor of the Historical Manuscript Commission's Calendar of Manuscripts of the Marquis of Salisbury. The notations in brackets are the editor's.

One fair tablet of gold, to open in the back, made like a castle, garnished with xxvij diamonds, eight rubies, and four sapphires, cut lozenge-wise, with a picture of a woman and an agate [small figure cut in agate] holding a small diamond in her hand, like a glass.

A flower of gold, with a rose of diamonds in the midst, and eight small table diamonds on the borders, and three pearls pendant.

Two erypen parteletts [partlets, or ruffs] of cipress wrought with gold.

A fair ring of gold, with a blue sapphire, enamelled black and white.

A brush of hair, with a handle of purple velvet, garnished with passamen lace of silver and gold.

Sleeves of cambric and calico cloth for plucking out of French sleeves as following, viz., two pair wrought with black silk, three pair wrought with blue silk, and two pair wrought with red silk.

Three linings for partlets of nettlecloth, wrought with red silk.

A pair of shears of iron for a woman, parcel gilt.

A table of Diana and nymphs bathing themselves, and how Action was turned into a hart.

Two targets of steel lined with velvet.

One cassock of black velvet all over embroidered with Venice gold.

An ewer of antique work of silver and gilt, garnished with pearls, jacinths, amethysts, and other stones of small value — 22 oz.

Three bowls with a cover of silver and gilt poz. [i.e. weighing] 971 oz.

Three spoons of gold taken out of the green coffer in the silk house.

One Allmayn cup with a cover thin beaten of silver and gilt, in a case.

Six launsedegayes with brassell staves, trimmed with green velvet, and fringe of green silk, save one is with blue silk and velvet.

One case of knives, of black leather printed with gold, furnished with knives tipped with metal gilt.

Three combs, a glass, an ear-pick, and a bodkin, all of white bone, garnished with damascene work.

Fifty-one ostrich feathers.

A Flanders chest.

Six learns [collars for hounds] and collars of red velvet.

Left behind at Andrew's house at Petty Callyn were garments which included Andrew's Garter robes, a night gown of crimson satin, and a black damask gown lined with fine budge that was apparently a gift from Henry VIII or Edward VI, for it was called "the king's gown."

The marriage, however, was forestalled by Northumberland's attempt to put Lady Jane Grey on the throne. Andrew Dudley, always loyal to his older brother, was arrested in July 1553 and sent to the Tower, where he remained until January 19, 1555. He had not lost his life, but he did lose his bride. On February 7, 1555, Margaret Clifford married Henry Stanley, Lord Strange, the future Earl of Derby. Queen Mary sanctioned the wedding and gave the bride a diamond brooch. Lost along with Margaret Clifford were the goods that Andrew had sent to Skipton Castle.

Andrew was pardoned on April 5, 1555. On April 23, 1555, he was given a pension of 100 pounds per year, and on May 30, 1555, he was granted those goods which he had "craftily concealed" from the queen. Staying well away from politics, he settled at Tothill Street in Westminster, where a bout of sickness caused him to make his will on July 21, 1556. Despite his fears about his health, he lived until some time in 1559, his will being proven on November 22, 1559.

Andrew was survived by his younger brother Jerome, who appears to have been disabled, and by his half-sisters Bridget, the widow of Sir William Cawarden, and Elizabeth, the wife of Francis Jobson. (Elizabeth and Bridget were the products of his mother's marriage to Arthur Plantagenet, Edward IV's illegitimate son.) The nephews referred to in the will are Henry Sidney, who was married to Northumberland's daughter Mary, and Northumberland's sons Ambrose and Robert. The Henry Dudley named in the will had died at the siege of St Quentin in 1557.

I, Sir Andrewe Dudley, Knight, beinge sicke of Bodye, but of good and perfitt Remembraunce, and consideringe that every Man is mortall, and not knowing the certeyn Tyme and Hower when it shall please Godd to call, and willinge to be in a Redyness, do constitute and make my last Will and Testament in Manner and Forme followinge. First, I bequeath my Soule to Almightie God, my Body to be buried at Westminster, where it shall please the Deane to bestowe, and whereas dyvers and sondrye Parsones have Goodes, Juells, and Plate of myn, and be indebted unto me in Manner and Forme followinge: That is to say, where my Lord of Cumberland hath Juells, Plate, Mony, Apparell, Horsses, Wapons, and other Things, to the full Vallue of 4000 Marks and more; and whereas Oswald Wilkinson my Servaunt did receave of my Debts at Callice, at the Hands of my Lord Wentworlb, Sir Richard Cotton and others, the Quenes Hignes Commissioners there, at Guysnes, and other on that Side the Sea, certeyrt Somes of Money, amountinge to the Vallue of 180l. And whereas James Shelley, Gent, doth owe unto me the Some of 200l. which I lent him in redy. Mony, and whereas there was due to me the Some of 30l. by Maister Duke, at Michaelmas now one Yere past, for the Rente of one Yere and a Haulfe of Westtennmoulb, and owing unto me by Hetserolde, the Quenes Goldsmith, foe certeyn Golde he hadd of myn, a Parcell whereof is received, and tenne Pounds which my Lorde of Vrmond doth owe me, which I lent him at Guysnes; and 5l owing unto me by my Lord of Westminster, which I lent him at Bulleyn. And the yerelie Rent of seven Nobles, due unto me by the Space of thre Yeres and a Haulfe, by Thomas Malerth, Yoman, at Michaelmas nowe one Yere past, and going out of certyn Lands and Tenements in Surry, called Fredinghursty and other Lands, as appereth by Indentures made betwene me the said Sir Andrewe, and the said Thomas. I geve and bequeth all and singular, the foresaide Plate, Juells, Apparell, Debts, Somes of Mony, and all other Things whatsoever due unto me by any the Parsones aforesaide, unto my Nephewes Ambrose Dudley, Robert Dudley, Henry Dudley, my Sister Jobson, and my Sister Carden, equally to be devided amonges them; and that the Parsones aforesaide shall pay, out of the foresaid Somes, Juells, Plate, Mony, and other the Premisses, the Somes hereafter ensewinge: That is to say, to my Brother Jerom Dudley the Some of 200l. to my Nephewe Sidney 200l. to Robert Nowell, of Grayesinne, the Some of 100 Marks, &c. further paying my Debts, which as I remember are little above 100l, and geving to the poor Folkes 10l. Also I geve to my Ladie, my Nephewe Ambrose Dudley's Wife, 100l. which I lent him in Gold, and one Gowne which I delyvered in the Tower, furred with Sables, by Estimation worth 80l. Also I geve to my Nephewe Ambrose Dudley, my Nephewe Sidney and his Wife, my Brother Jobson and his Wife, my House in Tuthillstreet; and the best of my Garments and Apparell, whatsoever they be, I bequeath to my Brother Jobson, my olde Apparell to be bestowed amongs my Servaunts. The Residue of my Goods and Debts I will they shall stande and be at the Order, Discretion, and Disposition of my Executors, my Nephewe Sir Henry Sidney, my Brother in Lawe Sir Frauncis Jobson, and Robert Nowell of Grayes Inne, and my Overseers my Nephewes Ambrose Dudley, Robert Dudley, and Henry Dudley.

Following Andrew's death, Robert Dudley brought suit against the Earl of Cumberland to obtain the goods that Andrew had sent to Skipton Castle. Cumberland, who disputed Robert's right to claim the goods, acknowledged having in his possession Andrew Dudley's money and "divers apparels, as shrites, petycotes, trusses, doublets of taffaty and satin, hoses of velvet and saten, jerkyns, clokes, and gowns of velvet and satin with aglets of gold, jackets of cloth of gold, cote of silver, velvet, and satin, hankerchers, certain plate double gilt, parcel gilt, white plate, one cup of gold, and certain pewter and glass." After the examination of various witnesses, which included Margaret Clifford herself, Robert was granted all of his late uncle's forfeited estate.

Sources:

Simon Adams, "The Dudley Clientele." In G. W. Bernard, ed., The Tudor Nobility. Manchester University Press,

Simon Adams, ed., Household Accounts and Disbursement Books of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, 1558-1561, 1584-1586. Camden Fifth Series, Volume 6, 1995.

Calendar of Patent Rolls.

Arthur Collins, ed., Letters and Memorials of State, 1746.

John Roche Dasent, ed., Acts of the Privy Council, 1554-1556.

Maria Hayward, Rich Apparel. Surrey: Ashgate, 2009.

Historical Manuscripts Commission, Calendar of the Manuscripts of The Marquess of Salisbury Preserved at Hatfield House, Hertfordshire

Louis A. Knafla, ‘Stanley, Henry, fourth earl of Derby (1531–1593)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/26272, accessed 30 Jan 2011]

J. Andreas Löwe, ‘Sutton , Henry (d. 1564?)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8151, accessed 30 Jan 2011]

C. C. Stopes, Shakespeare's Environment. London: G. Bell & Sons, 1914.

Guildford Dudley

2011-01-23T21:10:00.009-05:00

What is known about Guildford Dudley, the young husband of Lady Jane Grey? Here are some facts about him.

Guildford was the son of John Dudley, who eventually became the Duke of Northumberland, and his wife, Jane—whose maiden name, Guildford, served as her son’s Christian name. In 1544, the Dudleys’ oldest surviving son died during the siege of Boulogne, leaving his parents with five remaining sons. Historians are divided as to whether Guildford was the fourth or fifth of these, but the Spanish ambassadors described him in July 1553 as the fourth son. He or perhaps his brother Henry was the last of the brothers to marry: John had married Anne Seymour in 1550; Ambrose had married his second wife, Elizabeth Tailboys, some time in 1552 or 1553; Robert had married Amy Robsart in 1550, and Henry had married Margaret Audley before Edward VI’s death.

Both Simon Adams and G. J. Richardson give Guildford’s year of birth as being around 1535. In a letter written July 15, 1553, Don Diego Mendoza is quoted as referring to himself as Guildford’s godfather.

Nothing is known about Guildford’s interests or education, but his siblings were certainly well educated: His brother John owned an impressive collection of books and was interested in mathematics; his brother Robert was fluent in Italian and could read Latin and French; and his sister Mary is said to have known French, Latin, and Italian . There is no reason to suppose that Northumberland would have stinted on Guildford’s education.

The first we hear of Guildford Dudley is in 1552, when his father was trying to arrange his marriage—not to Lady Jane Grey but to her cousin, Margaret Clifford, whose father was the Earl of Cumberland. The privy council sent Cumberland a letter on July 4, 1552, urging him to finalize the marriage. This proposal prompted one Elizabeth Huggones to impute suspicious motives to the duke: she is recorded as saying “Have at the crown with your leave,” a point she emphasized “with a stout gesture.” The marriage never did go through; instead, arrangements were made the following year for Margaret to marry Northumberland’s younger brother, Andrew, though in the event this marriage never took place either.

The marriage that would ultimately cost both Guildford and his bride their lives came in 1553. According to Roger Alford in a letter written to William Cecil, the idea came from Elizabeth Brooke, Marchioness of Northampton, whose secret marriage to William Parr, Marquess of Northampton, had recently been legalized. By April 24, 1553, preparations for the wedding were underway: parcels of tissues and cloths of gold and silver were to be delivered to Jane, Guildford, their mothers, and the match-making Marchioness of Northampton herself. Just over a month later, on May 25, 1553, the couple were married. (Some sources give the date as May 21, but both Eric Ives and Leanda de Lisle cite evidence putting it at May 25.)

Various chronicles report Jane to have been a reluctant bride, but Guildford’s own feelings about the match are a mystery. We can only guess at how compatible the couple was or whether they might have achieved a happy marriage given time. Guildford is often depicted in historical fiction as being spoiled and even brutal, but there is no evidence of that; nor is there evidence to support his depiction in the movie Lady Jane as a frustrated social reformer who hides his idealism underneath a dissolute exterior until his marriage to Jane brings it to the forefront.

Edward VI, meanwhile, was dying, while rumors circulated that Guildford’s father was himself aspiring to the crown. Guildford had his own problems at this time: he and several others fell ill while eating some salad at his father’s house and was “still suffering from the results” as of June 12, 1553.

As Guildford was recuperating, Edward VI had decided to alter the royal succession: instead of the crown passing to his sister Mary, then his sister Elizabeth, it would go to Lady Jane Grey. Northumberland may or may not have urged this upon the dying king (the question is much debated), but the fiercely Protestant Edward VI took up the idea with enthusiasm. When Guildford learned about it is unknown, but Jane, writing to the victorious Mary after the fact, claimed that she first learned about the altered succession at the time when Edward VI’s condition became publicly known, or around June 19.

Edward VI died on July 6, 1553. On July 10, Jane and Guildford, along with their mothers and others, arrived at the Tower via barge. There is a description of both Jane and Guildford as they arrived at the Tower; unfortunately, Leanda de Lisle has pronounced it to be fictional, the 1909 invention of Richard Davey. If the description of Guildford as “a very tall, strong boy with light hair” is not authentic, then we are left with no idea of what he looked like. Portraits of his father and his brother Robert show them to have been dark-haired and dark-eyed; Guildford’s sister Mary, on the other hand, had reddish hair.

As recounted by Jane in a letter to Mary written after Jane’s brief reign had collapsed, the one recorded quarrel between Guildford and Jane—an episode on which most assumptions about Guildford’s character seem to be based—ensued soon thereafter. The hapless Marquis of Winchester brought Jane the crown and asked whether one should be made for Guildford. Not surprisingly for a sixteenth-century male, Guildford wanted to be king, whereas Jane insisted that he could only be a duke. (Bearing in mind the controversy that would arise as to Phillip’s role following his marriage to Mary, it doesn’t seem terribly unreasonable for Guildford to have expected to be made king.) Word got back to Guildford’s mother, whether through Guildford himself or through someone else Jane does not say. The Duchess of Northumberland reacted furiously to this snub to her son and persuaded him not to sleep with Jane anymore. Guildford would have also returned to his family’s house at Sion, according to Jane, had not Jane intervened and forced him, through the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke, to remain at court. The story does make Guildford sound rather like a petulant mother’s boy, but we have only Jane’s side of it, written at a time when Jane needed to present herself in the best possible light to Mary and at a time when the imprisoned Jane had little cause to speak kindly of anyone in the Dudley family.

If the Spanish ambassadors can be believed, Guildford did console himself by aping royal style: “He already had himself addressed as ‘Your Grace’” and ‘Your Excellency,’ sat at the head of the Council board, and was served alone.”

Guildford had very little time to concern himself with his royal status or lack thereof, however. Mary asserted her right to the throne, and by July 20, Jane, Guildford, and the Duchess of Northumberland were prisoners in the Tower. There, the ambassadors noted with considerable satisfaction, “At present the Tower jailor serves [Guildford] at table, and stands in the stead of his captain of the guard.”

From the Beauchamp Tower, where he was imprisoned, Guildford had a front-row seat as his family's fortunes collapsed. His father and his brothers John, Ambrose, and Henry were brought as prisoners to the Tower on July 25, and his brother Robert arrived on July 26. By July 26, the Duchess of Northumberland had been released. She promptly rode out toward Beaulieu, where Mary was staying, “to move her to compassion towards her children,” but was refused an audience.

At the Beauchamp Tower, Guildford had two servants waiting upon him; his expenses (including meals and “wood, coal, and candle”) for the period from July 20 to July 29 amounted to 109s, 6d. He had the company of one of his brothers, either Robert or Henry, in the Beauchamp Tower. From there he would have witnessed the dreary spectacle of his father being led out to execution at Tower Hill on August 22, 1553, followed by the sight of his headless body being returned for burial at the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula.

With their father dead, Guildford and his brothers were allowed the “liberty of the leads” of their respective places of imprisonment in September. Guildford’s brothers John, Ambrose, and Robert were allowed to receive visits from their wives, but there is no indication that Guildford and Jane were allowed contact with each other.

On November 13, Guildford, along with Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Lady Jane Grey, and Ambrose and Henry Dudley, were led on foot to the Guildhall, where they were to be arraigned for treason. With an ax borne before them, the Archbishop led the gloomy procession, followed by Guildford, Jane, and Ambrose and Henry. All were found guilty of treason. Jane was sentenced to burning or beheading; Guildford and the other men were sentenced to be drawn, hanged and quartered.

Guildford and Jane might well have been eventually pardoned were it not for the outrage provoked by Mary’s upcoming Spanish marriage. Determined to stop the marriage, and presumably to replace Mary with her sister Elizabeth, Thomas Wyatt entered into a conspiracy against the queen. Among the co-conspirators was Jane’s father, Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk. The rebellion was a failure, and with its end died all of the hopes that Jane and Guildford, neither of whom had participated, would be allowed to live.

Jane’s last days have been described in detail; Guildford’s have not. The word “Jane” carved into the wall of the Beauchamp Tower might have been his effort; it is unlikely to refer to his mother by the same name, as she was in no danger of death and there was no need to memorialize her. At some point Guildford wrote a message to his father-in-law in a prayer book, the one which Jane was to take to the scaffold: “Your loving and obedient son wishes unto your grace long life in this world with as much joy and comfort, as did I wished to myself, and in the world to come joy everlasting your most humble son to his death G Duddley.” A few pages later in the same prayer book, Jane added her own note to her father “The Lord comfort your grace and that in his word wherein all creatures only are to be comforted and though it has pleased God to take away 2 of your children, yet think not, I most humbly beseech your grace, that you have lost them but trust that we, by losing this mortal life have won an immortal life and I for my part, as I have honored your grace in this life, will pray for you in this life. your Grace’s humble daughter Jane Duddley.” Jane had expressed nothing but contempt for Guildford’s own father after his downfall; it says something about Guildford, surely, that he was able to write without rancor to Jane’s father, the man whose ill-advised participation in Wyatt’s rebellion had sealed his fate.

With death approaching, Guildford is alleged by Commendone to have asked to say farewell to Jane in person, to be allowed “to embrace and kiss her for the last time.” Jane, however, refused on the ground that as such a meeting “would only tend to increase their misery and pain, it was better to put it off for the time being, as they would meet shortly elsewhere, and live bound by indissoluble ties.” This has been taken by some to suggest that Jane was indifferent to her husband, but as Eric Ives suggests, it’s more likely that Jane simply did not want to be distracted from the serious business of preparing for death. Assuming that Guildford still was sharing quarters with one or more of his brothers, at least he had their moral support.

The executions (commuted to beheading) took place on February 12, 1554. Guildford was to go first at Tower Hill, Jane second at Tower Green. Because of a misreading of “prayers” as “tears” by Stowe and Holinshed, Guildford has been depicted as sniveling his way to the scaffold. In fact, walking to the scaffold without a priest but surrounded by well-wishers, he conducted himself with quiet dignity:

The monday, being the xijth of Februarie, about ten of the clocke, ther went out of the Tower to the scaffolde on Tower hill, the lorde Guilforde Dudley, sone to the late duke of Northumberland, husbande to the lady Jane Grey, daughter to the duke of Suffolke, who at his going out tooke by the hande sir Anthony Browne, maister John Throgmorton, and many other gentyllmen, praying them to praie for him; and without the bullwarke Offeley the sheryve receyved him and brought him to the scaffolde, where, after a small declaration, having no gostlye father with him, he kneeled downe and said his praiers; then holding upp his eyes and handes to God many tymes; and at last, after he had desyred the people to pray for him, he laide himselfe along, and his hedd upon the block, which was at one stroke of the axe taken from him.

Note, the lorde marques [of Northampton] stode upon the Devyl’s towre,and sawe the executyon. His carcas throwne into a carre, and his hed in a cloth, he was brought into the chappell within the Tower, wher the ladye Jane, whose lodging was in Partrige's house, dyd see his ded carcase taken out of the cart, aswell as she dyd see him before on lyve going to his deathe,—a sight to hir no lesse then death.

Guildford Dudley’s fate has been largely overshadowed by that of his wife, but his death should be viewed as a tragedy no less than hers. At least one observer, the chronicler Grafton, saw it that way: “And in like manner that comely, vertuous, and goodly gentleman the lorde Gylford Duddeley most innocently was executed, whom God had endowed with suche vertues, that even those that never before the tyme of his execution saw hym, dyd with lamentable teares bewayle his death."

Sources
Simon Adams, ‘Dudley, Robert, earl of Leicester (1532/3–1588)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, May 2008
[http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8160, accessed 23 Jan 2011]

Simon Adams, ‘Sidney , Mary, Lady Sidney (1530x35–1586)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/69749, accessed 23 Jan 2011]

Calendar of Patent Rolls

Giovanni Francesco Commendone, The Accession, Coronation, and Marriage of Mary Tudor, as related in four manuscripts of the Escorial. Translated by Cesare V. Malfatti.

John Roche Dasent, ed., Acts of the Privy Council of England

J. Stephan Edwards, Transcription of Lady Jane Grey’s prayerbook.

Eric Ives, Lady Jane Grey: A Tudor Mystery.

Leanda de Lisle, The Sisters Who Would Be Queen.

David Loades, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, 1504–1553.

John Gough Nichols, ed., The Chronicle of Queen Jane and Two Years of Queen Mary.

Nicholas Harris Nicolas, ed., The Literary Remains of Jane Grey.

G. J. Richardson, ‘Dudley, Lord Guildford (c.1535–1554)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Oct 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8149, accessed 23 Jan 2011]

Joseph Stevenson, ed., Calendar of State Papers, Foreign Series, Elizabeth I, 1558-1559, Vol. I (Appendix to Preface, "Expenses of the Prisoners in the Tower").

Royall Tyler, ed., Calendar of State Papers, Spain.

Some Goods of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford

2011-01-16T15:52:00.003-05:00

John de Vere, thirteenth Earl of Oxford, born on September 8, 1442, was one of those unusual figures of the Wars of the Roses: a Lancastrian leader who died in his bed. After being defeated at the Battle of Barnet in 1471, he continued to harass Edward IV and was finally imprisoned at Hammes Castle in 1475. He might well have spent the rest of his life in prison had it not been for Richard III's seizure of the crown, which appears to have alienated Oxford's jailer, James Blount, who walked off his post and took his prisoner with him to join the exiled Henry Tudor. Oxford helped to win the day for Henry Tudor at Bosworth in 1485 and subsequently recovered his earldom and his lands. When he died at age seventy at Castle Hedingham on March 10, 1513, having survived into Henry VIII's reign, he was a wealthy and respected man.

Having spent much of his young manhood as an exile or as a prisoner, Oxford had a lot of ground to make up in terms of acquiring goods when he returned to England in 1485. He managed the task quite nicely, however, as shown by Sir William H. St. John Hope in his 1915 article, "The Last Testament and Inventory of John de Veer, Thirteenth Earl of Oxford" (Archaeologia vol. 66). The list that follows represents only a small fraction of the inventory transcribed by Hope (for those interested in reading the whole thing, the 1915 issue of Archaeologia can be found on the Internet Archive).

In his will, which Hope includes in his article, Oxford rather sweetly leaves to his widow, Elizabeth Scrope (his second wife), "a standing cup gilt and enamelled with blue 'Trulovys' in the bottom." The earl left many other goods to his wife, including "w'out dymynucion or restraint all maner appareill to her persone, as well clothe as sylkes, and almanner of cheynes, rynges, girdelles, devices, bedes, brooches, owchis, precious stones, and all other thinges beyng parcell of hir appareill whatsoever they be."

Before her death in 1474, Oxford's mother, Elizabeth de Vere, had been bullied by the young Richard, Duke of Gloucester, into giving up her lands to him in return for an inadequate consideration. Some of her goods were waiting for her son when he returned to England, however, for Oxford bequeathed two altar clothes "wrought by my lady my moder," which are described in the inventory as "two altar cloths, one of white sarcenet, and another of white damask, embroidered and wrought by needle work with my Lord's arms, and a frontlet of the same."

The inventory contains many goods bearing Oxford's various badges: a mullet or a molet ( a five-pointed star), often accompanied by clouds; the ubiquitous blue boar; and a mythical creature called a calygreyhound, which bears no resemblance to a greyhound whatsoever but which the earl seems to have been very fond, for it pops up in all manner of places in the inventory.

Itm a nother quylt w' floure de lic and birdes

Itm a Counterpoynt of tapistry w' the picture of Salamon lined sore worne

Itm a Counterpoynt of counterfeit arrais w' a man and a woman hawkyng and hunting

Itm A tapet of tapestry, w' a gentilwoman bering a Cupp of gold

Itm an olde tapett of tapestry and a woman beryng a baskett w' grapes

Itm an olde tappitt of counterfet areis /a man w' a crossebowe shoting at a wilde best and in a nother corner a castell

Itm A Seler and a tester of Red say and therein a wilde man Ryding on a
horse

Itm an hanging staynid w' Calygreyhaunds and Scalys

Itm iiij tapettt of grysell olde and sore worn [Hope suggests that this depicted the tale of Patient Griselda, which might well have appealed to Oxford]

Itm A splayde Egle of gold w' an angell face w' vj dyamoundes and xj perles w' iiij Rubies gyven to our Lady of Walsinghm

Itm an home of vnykhorn [unicorn] harnesed and garnisshid w' gold [Hopes states that this would have been the tusk of a narwhal]

Itm A pair of Ivory beedes [rosaries]

Itm iiij tapettt of counterfet Areis of thistorie of Tulius and Mesius

Itm A newe Celer and a tester w' a counterpoint of crymsyn damaske enbroderid w' ij gentilwomen standing on a mountain feding a popyniay in a cage full of crankette molette blue boores & water flores

Item a pair of Organs

Itm a peir of Portatyvys [the editor identifies these as small portable organs]

Itm an Image of saint John Baptist standing upon a base siluer and the camell skynne all gilt and his mantell white

Itm A Colar of gold made in garters w1 redde Roses in the garters and a george w' a dyamount and iij greate ples hanging in the dragons foote [note those red roses, please]

Itm A Colar of fyne gold of xxvij S and ij Porteculeisse w' a greate diamount in a red Rose and a Lyon hanging vppon the same Rose w' ij Rubies and a diamount vppon the said Lion and ij greate Rubies /and iiij diamount & ix greate perles vppon the S [this is an example of the famous "SS" collar associated with the House of Lancaster]

Itm A greate cheyne of gold w' a maryners whistell & of viij and oon Lynke [Oxford was the Lord Admiral]

Itm A Matteyns Boke w' a clapse of silu wich my lorde was wont to vse hymself

Itm A Canapy of crymsyn tynsyll satteyn w' the Dome [the Day of Judgment]

Itm A Whistell of Ivory garnisshid w' gold

It A Celor & a testor of red satteyn w' a lyon driving a Whilebarowe & a counterpoint of y e same

It A Celor and a testour of counterfeit areis after thistory of Daniell

Itm A long Cusslicon w' nedill werke w' ij Calygreyhoundes in hit

Mark Satchwill's Portrait of Margaret of Anjou

2011-01-10T09:10:00.004-05:00

I have long admired artist Mark Satchwill's portraits of historical figures, and I was delighted to be able to commission one of Margaret of Anjou, just in time for the publication of The Queen of Last Hopes! Here it is!

If you visit Mark at his website, you can see (and order) portraits of Edward IV, Elizabeth Woodville, Elizabeth of York, Richard III, and Henry VII, as well as the Tudor gang. Mark has also produced portraits of Piers Gaveston and of everyone's favorite she-wolf, Queen Isabella.

Queen of Last Hopes Blog Tour

2011-01-09T12:02:00.003-05:00

Well, The Queen of Last Hopes is available in bookstores now, and I'm getting ready to embark upon a blog tour! I'll post the schedule in the right sidebar soon, but in the meantime look for me tomorrow at Christy English's blog and Mrs. Q: Book Addict. Many of the sites I'm visiting this time are new to me, so I'm especially happy about meeting a brand-new group of readers.

Since I'm preparing for the blog tour, I might be a little more quiet on this blog than usual this month, but I'll still stop by from time to time. And once I get my author copies, I'll host a giveaway, so stay tuned!

The Queen of Last Hopes in LOL Cats: A Preview While You're Waiting

2011-01-03T13:27:00.023-05:00

If you happened to visit your local bookstore on January 1, you might have asked yourself this question, "Where, pray tell, is The Queen of Last Hopes, which Susan has been saying for the last nine months or so would be published on January 1?"

I was experiencing rather similar emotions this weekend:

So where IS The Queen of Last Hopes? Evidently there was a delay at the printer's, but if all goes well, the book should be on its way to bookstores within the next few days. (If you own a Kindle, though, you can download it immediately.) In the meantime, rather than doing nonconstructive things such as kicking small children out of my path, I decided to put together this visual preview of my novel for you.

My Favorite Reads of 2010

2010-12-31T15:56:00.003-05:00

OK, everyone else is doing this today, so why shouldn't I? 2010 wasn't a great reading year for me in terms of quantity, but in quality there were some high points. (Most, but not all, of these books were published in 2010.)

My Favorite Novels of 2010:

Noah's Compass by Anne Tyler (contemporary fiction). Like all of Tyler's novels, this is a deceptively simple story with characters who linger with the reader.

Secrets of the Tudor Court by D. L. Bogdan. A first novel about Mary Fitzroy, Duchess of Richmond, and her relationship with her father, Thomas Howard, the third Duke of Norfolk. I found this novel to be a haunting one, and I especially liked the character of Norfolk, a figure who could have easily been treated as a cardboard villain but came across as complex and even somewhat sympathetic. I'm looking forward to Bogdan's upcoming novel about Mary's parents.

Mary the Queen and Bloody Mary by Hilda Lewis. The second and the third novels in a trilogy about Mary I, these books are an excellent and insightful psychological portrait of England's first queen regnant.

My Favorite Nonfiction of 2010

Becoming Queen Victoria by Kate Williams.

We Two by Gillian Gill.

Mary Tudor by Anna Whitelock.

Elizabeth's Women by Tracy Borman.

Catherine of Aragon by Giles Tremlett.

Louisa May Alcott: The Woman Behind Little Women by Harriet Reisen.

All of these were exceptionally well written and engrossing--proof that nonfiction can be as page-turning as fiction in the right hands.

Books I Didn't Read Straight Through but Enjoyed Dipping Into:

She-Wolves by Helen Castor

The Wars of the Roses by Michael Hicks

Richard III by David Hipshon

Edward II by Seymour Phillips

Favorite New Toy of 2010:

Hands down, Mr. Kindle!

As for my plans for 2011, I'm going to be chugging away on my Tudor novel (it's slow going at the moment, but I take comfort in the fact that The Queen of Last Hopes was slow going at this time last year too, and it's due to be published tomorrow!). I've got some blog posts planned on a variety of subjects, including Guildford Dudley, Elizabeth Woodville's son the Marquis of Dorset, the will of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, and more, so keep stopping by!

I hope all of you have a great 2011, and that the New Year is especially good for those of you who have had a rough time during 2010. I've never been the best at offering comfort and advice, but my thoughts have been with you.

Happy New Year!

A Word About Wakefield

2010-12-30T12:42:00.015-05:00

I'm feeling very guilty because this is the 550th anniversary of the Battle of Wakefield, fought on December 30, 1460, and I haven't prepared a proper post. All I can really do today, then, is ramble a bit.

My own belief is that Henry VI--isolated from his supporters and probably fragile mentally--was bullied into accepting the Act of Accord under which it was agreed that Richard, Duke of York, would reign after Henry's death, thereby disinheriting his own son. The chronicler Gregory writes that after York arrived at Westminster, "he kepte Kynge Harry there by fors and strengythe, tylle at the laste the kynge for fere of dethe grauntyd hym [t]e crowne, for a man that hathe by lytylle wytte wylle sone be a feryd of dethe, and yet I truste and bee-leve there was no man that wolde doo hym bodely harme." The Crowland Chronicler tells of York compelling Henry "to remove to the queen's apartments," while Whethamstede writes that York "went to the principal chamber of the palace (the king being in the queen's apartments), smashed the locks and threw open the doors, in a regal rather than a ducal manner." If such (literally) strong-arm tactics were being employed publicly, what type of pressure might have been applied to the king in private?

Once Henry VI entered into the Act of Accord, his supporters could hardly have believed that the future boded well for him. York and his ally Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick, had shown no hesitation in ridding themselves of their political enemies at the first battle of St. Albans and at Northampton. The Duke of York was older than Henry VI and faced the prospect that if nature were allowed to take its course, the king might outlive him, thereby cheating him of the crown. Under these circumstances, I think it highly likely that Henry VI's days were numbered once he agreed to make York his heir. (If this was the period during which Henry VI went to Westminster to search out his final resting place, he may have thought so too.) Some convenient accident could have been arranged to befall the king. Even if he were persuaded to abdicate instead of waiting for death to claim him, his prospects as an ex-king would have seemed bleak, given the examples of Edward II and Richard II.

Henry VI's queen and his son--who under the Act of Accord had been left with nothing of his patrimony as Prince of Wales, though it may be that it was intended that the Duchy of Lancaster would be allowed to pass to him upon his father's death --had equal cause to worry about the future. Gregory tells of the "counterfeit tokens" purporting to be from the king that were sent to Margaret (then in Wales) in an attempt to lure her to London; it seems unlikely that the Duke of York was planning a banquet in her honor. Already the Yorkists had circulated rumors about the legitimacy of her son: could York had been planning to start formal proceedings declaring Edward of Lancaster to be a bastard? Or might York have intended to attack the validity of Margaret's marriage to Henry VI? Perhaps York was planning a simpler, more brutal solution. The older he grew, the more of a threat Edward of Lancaster would pose to York and his progeny, even if he were to be officially declared a bastard. Had Margaret of Anjou been foolish enough to let him fall into Yorkist hands, the boy might well have become the first Prince in the Tower, disappearing like the sons of Edward IV did during Richard III's reign. Or perhaps he might have been imprisoned and eventually executed, as young Edward, Earl of Warwick, would be during Henry VII's reign.

All of this is speculation, of course. But such thoughts likely occurred to Margaret of Anjou and her followers as they raised troops to oppose the Duke of York. Under those circumstances, the duke and those who fought alongside him could hardly expect mercy from the Lancastrians, and it's no surprise that they didn't receive it at Wakefield.

Get It While It's Free!

2010-12-23T19:08:00.003-05:00

I wanted to let you know that my publisher, Sourcebooks, is offering several e-books free, including my first novel, The Traitor's Wife! I'm not sure how long the promotion lasts, so now's the time to get over and download your copy! You can go to the publisher's website or to various other e-book vendor sites.

While I'm here, I must say that I'm looking forward to Christmas, but even more so to New Year's Day, because that's when The Queen of Last Hopes will be published! After seeing so many novels where Margaret of Anjou is reduced to a cackling caricature (and one recent one where it's even hinted that she and her son have an incestuous relationship), I'm hoping that my novel will make some readers see Margaret in a sympathetic light and to appreciate the complexity of the situation with which she was faced.

I may not stop by again until after Christmas, so Merry Christmas! Hope it's a great one for you.

A Christmas Scene at Barnes and Noble

2010-12-19T16:17:00.003-05:00

While buying a gift card at Barnes and Noble today, I overheard the following exchange:

Clueless customer: "Do you sell Kindle gift cards?"

Clerk: "No, we have Nooks here."

Clueless customer: "I need a gift card for my friend."

Clerk: "Well, the Nook gift cards are right here."

Clueless customer: "But where are the Kindle gift cards?"

Clerk: (steadfastly refusing to mention the "A" word): "All we sell here are Nook gift cards."

This (with inspiration from my husband and apologies to Dr. Seuss) led to the following poem:

You say you wish to buy a Kindle in our store,
But that is a thing we most abhor!
If you shop here you must buy a Nook,
Or go without reading an electronic book.
No Kindle can be found in our aisles,
To mention the name is so very vile!
Our shelves are lined with pretty Nooks,
We think the Kindle is for kooks.
If you must buy the Amazon devil device,
(And we really wish you would think twice),
You must not think to buy it here,
For its name dampens our Christmas cheer.
So buy your Kindle, if you really must,
But don’t ask for any help from us.

2010 Virtual Advent Tour: In the Pink, and Some Tudor Presents

2010-12-18T00:30:00.003-05:00

Welcome to my blog! I'm delighted to be participating in the 2010 Virtual Advent Tour, as I have over the past couple years.

First, my family and I got a little goofy this year. Not only did we decide to buy an artificial Christmas tree (a very popular decision with my husband, who didn't have to wrestle it into a stand or water it), we decided to get a PINK artificial Christmas tree. And boy, is it pink! Next year, we hope to have more color-coordinated trimmings on it, the better to revel in its sheer pinkness.

Second, as you might not know if you're stopping by here for the first time, I write historical fiction, and the novel I'm working on presently is set in Tudor England. So for this year's Advent tour, I thought it would be fun to imagine what self-help books some of the Tudor gang might be hoping to get this year for Christmas. (All the books are real and can be found on Amazon.)

Margaret Beaufort: The Single Mother's Guide to Raising Remarkable Boys.

Henry Tudor: What's Next? Follow Your Passion and Find Your Dream Job.

Elizabeth of York: When He's Married to Mom: How to Help Mother-Enmeshed Men Open Their Hearts to True Love and Commitment.

Henry VIII: Winning Your Divorce: A Man's Survival Guide.

Catherine of Aragon: What to Do When He Says I Don't Love You Anymore.

Anne Boleyn: Mr. Right, Right Now! How a Smart Woman Can Land Her Dream Man in 6 Weeks.

Jane Seymour: Dating The Divorced Man: Sort Through the Baggage to Decide If He's Right for You.

Anne of Cleves: Still Friends: Living Happily Ever After...Even If Your Marriage Falls Apart.

Catherine Howard: Are You Keeping a Secret?: Finding Freedom from Hidden Issues That Can Ravage Your Life.

Katherine Parr: Liberating Losses: When Death Brings Relief.

Anne Stanhope: You Say I'm a Bitch Like It's a Bad Thing.

Edward VI: The Teenager's Guide to the Awesome God.

Jane Grey: A Smart Girl's Guide to Sticky Situations: How to Tackle Tricky, Icky Problems and Tough Times.

Guildford Dudley: Teenage Survival Manual: How to Reach 20 in One Piece.

Mary I: He's Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys.

Elizabeth I: A Passion for Purity: Protecting God's Precious Gift of Virginity.

Mary, Queen of Scots: Smart Women/Foolish Choices: Finding the Right Men Avoiding the Wrong Ones.

I'll probably get in a couple of more posts before the year ends, but just in case you don't get another chance to stop in before 2011, I'd like to wish you a very Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it) and a Happy New Year!

Happy Anniversary to Edward of Lancaster and Anne Neville!

2010-12-13T01:35:00.002-05:00

On December 13, 1470, Edward of Lancaster and Anne Neville were married. Their marriage was due to one of the more unlikely alliances of the Wars of the Roses, that between Margaret of Anjou, Edward's mother, and Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, Anne's father. Anne, born on June 11, 1456, was fourteen; her groom, born on October 13, 1453, was seventeen.

The marriage had been in the works for some time. Edward and Anne had been betrothed at Angers on July 25, 1470. A proxy may have stood in for Anne, for she might not have even been present: Sforza de Bettini, the Milanese ambassador in France, wrote from Angers on July 24, 1470, that Warwick, Margaret of Anjou, and Edward were at Angers, but he did not mention Anne's presence. On July 28, 1470, he wrote that Anne had been "sent for" to Amboise, where the marriage would be consummated. In fact, between the need for a papal dispensation and the need of Warwick to take England for his new Lancastrian allies, the marriage itself would not take place for months.

A papal dispensation was issued on August 17, 1470, but Michael Hicks suggests that this was found wanting in some respect, as another dispensation was issued on November 28, 1470. In the meantime, Warwick had restored Edward's father, Henry VI, to the throne. With the dispensation granted and Warwick's mission accomplished, the last obstacles to the couple's marriage had been removed.

Thanks to historical fiction, with considerable help from nonfiction like Paul Murray Kendall's biography of Richard III, two myths surrounding the marriage of Anne and Edward have become firmly entrenched: the first, that Anne was aghast at the thought of marrying Edward because she had long been in love with her childhood sweetheart, Richard, Duke of Gloucester; the second, that Edward of Lancaster was a cruel youth who mistreated his young bride. Neither myth has any basis in fact. Anne and Richard did know each other in their youth, but what each thought about the other is unrecorded. As for Edward's personality, I've posted about this before, but it's worth mentioning again that the famous comment that he talked of "nothing but of cutting off heads or making war, as if he had everything in his hands or was the god of battle or the peaceful occupant of that throne," should not be taken as the sum total of his character, as it too often is. The comment was made when Edward was only thirteen, and the source was an ambassador who was hostile to the House of Anjou and who may have never met Edward in person. In any case, there is no historical evidence that Edward mistreated Anne. Indeed, we have no idea of what either spouse felt about the other or about their marriage. No one recorded the private interactions of the two teenagers or was inclined to speculate upon their thoughts; all eyes were on their parents.

While the dispensation was being sought and while Warwick was re-establishing Lancastrian rule in England, Edward, Anne, and their mothers were at the Chateau of Amboise (pictured above), where King Louis XI himself was in residence. There they were married on December 13, 1470, by the Grand Vicar of Bayeux. Kendall with his usual bias describes the marriage as "something of a hole-and-corner affair," though it is hard to understand how a marriage performed by the Grand Vicar of Bayeux at a royal palace where the French king himself was present can merit such a description. (In fact, we know far more about this "hole-and-corner" marriage than we do about Anne's second marriage to the Duke of Gloucester, for which we don't know the date, the location, the identity of the person who officiated, or the identity of any of the guests.)

Whether the marriage was consummated is unknown. I've blogged about this elsewhere and won't repeat myself at length, but I'm inclined to think that it was, as it would have been foolish of Margaret to alienate Warwick by preventing its consummation. Louis XI, who had worked hard to promote the marriage and who had been supporting the pair and their mothers at his court, would have also been furious had Margaret refused to allow the young couple to bed together.

The day after their marriage, the newlyweds and their mothers went to Paris, where Louis had arranged for them to be greeted by city and university officials. They entered the city through the Porte Saint-Jacques, passing through streets that in their honor were lavishly decorated with tapestries and other hangings, before arriving at their lodgings at the Palais (on the site of the present Palais de Justice complex, if I'm not mistaken, and I hope someone will correct me if I am). From Paris, the couple went to Normandy. They at last returned to England in April, where they were confronted with the disastrous news of Warwick's defeat and death at Barnet.

Happy or unhappy, the couple's marriage ended on May 4, 1471, when Edward of Lancaster was killed at Tewkesbury. The pair had been married for less than six months.

Sources:

Calendar of State Papers and Manuscripts in the Archives and Collections of Milan: 1385-1618

J. Calmette and G. Perinelle, Louis XI et L'Angleterre. Paris: Editions Auguste Picard, 1930.

Peter Clarke, "English Royal Marriages and the Papal Penetentiary in the Fifteenth Century." English Historical Review, 2005.

Michael Hicks, Anne Neville, Queen to Richard III. Stroud, Gloucestershire: Tempus, 2006.

Michael Hicks, Warwick the Kingmaker. Oxford: Blackwell, 2002 (paperback edition).

Margaret Kekewich, The Good King: René of Anjou and Fifteenth Century Europe. Palgrave Macmillan: 2008.

Jean de Roye, Chronique Scandaleuse, 1460-1483, ed. B. de Mandrot, volume I. Paris: 1894.

Dressed to Be Killed: Some Tudor Execution Wear

2010-12-09T10:19:00.002-05:00

Those of high estate who ran afoul of the government in Tudor England had a final decision to make: what to wear for their last day on the public stage--that is, at the scaffold. While the final speeches of the condemned were often recorded, observers were generally less inclined to note the deceased's final fashion choice. Nonetheless, here are a few of the descriptions that have come down to us (when and if I find more, I'll post a sequel):

Anne Boleyn: The various accounts mention either a gray or black gown, over which Anne wore a mantle of ermine, and a gable hood. The Spanish Chronicle adds the detail that Anne wore a red damask skirt and a netted coif over her hair, though another account states that one of Anne's ladies handed her a linen cap into which she bundled her hair after she removed her hood. See Eric Ives, The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn and Alison Weir, The Lady in the Tower, both of which list the various sources for Anne's execution. Weir's book quotes from a number of these sources. (For more on the red skirt, see here.)

John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland: The Chronicle of Queen Jane reports that he wore a gown of "crane-colored" damask, which he removed after mounting the scaffold and before making his speech to the crowd. (One report states that Northumberland's executioner wore a white apron.)

Lady Jane Grey: According to The Chronicle of Queen Jane, she wore the same gown that she had worn to her arraignment: a black gown of cloth, turned down, with a velvet-lined cape. If she also wore the same headdress to her execution that she had worn to her arraignment, it was an all-black French hood. No red skirts here!

Mary, Queen of Scots: John Guy in his biography Queen of Scots describes her attire in great detail: a white linen veil; a gown of thick black satin. "Trimmed with gold embroidery and sable, it was peppered with acorn buttons and of jet, set with pearl." Mary also wore slashed sleeves, over inner sleeves of purple velvet, suede shoes, and "sky-blue stockings embroidered with silver thread and held up by green silk garters." She carried an ivory crucifix and a Latin prayer book. On her girdle was a string of rosary beads with a golden cross. She wore a medallion "bearing the image of Christ as the Lamb of God." Underneath she wore a petticoat of tawny velvet and an inner bodice of tawny satin, which Guy describes as the color of "dried blood; the liturgical color of martyrdom in the Roman Catholic Church." Famously, she was also wearing an auburn wig.

Was Elizabeth Woodville one of Margaret of Anjou's Ladies?

2010-12-03T09:21:00.005-05:00

It’s stated as fact in the Wikipedia article on Margaret of Anjou, and elsewhere, that Elizabeth Woodville served as a lady-in-waiting to Margaret of Anjou. Fact or fiction? Unfortunately, the answer is uncertain.

The assertion that Elizabeth was one of Margaret’s ladies comes from Tudor sources. Sir Thomas More in his History of King Richard III writes in passing that Elizabeth was “in service with Queen Margaret,” and Hall’s Chronicle makes the same claim. At first glance, this is confirmed by Margaret of Anjou’s records. As A. R. Myers and George Smith each note, an Isabel, Lady Grey, was among the English ladies sent in 1445 to escort Margaret to England. Myers notes as well that an Elizabeth Grey, a lady in waiting to Margaret, received jewels from the queen in 1445-46, 1446-47, 1448-49, 1451-52, and 1452-53. “Isabel” and “Elizabeth” were often used interchangeably during this period, and Elizabeth’s first husband was John Grey.

As Myers, Smith, and other historians have noted, however, there are problems with assuming that the lady in the records is Elizabeth Woodville. Her birth date is generally estimated as being around 1437, which means that for Elizabeth to be the Isabel or Elizabeth Grey of the records, she would have been married and serving as Margaret’s attendant beginning at age eight. Girls did marry as children, but would an eight-year-old girl be assigned to travel to France to escort Margaret to England and to serve in her household? If she was there at all, it seems more likely that she would have been merely tagging along with her mother, Jacquetta, the Duchess of Bedford, and would not have been important enough to the queen to be the recipient of gifts in her own right.

Moreover, as Myers and Smith point out, there were other Elizabeth Greys around, including Elizabeth Woodville’s own mother-in-law. The most likely candidate for the Elizabeth Grey of Margaret’s records, however, is “Elizabeth, late the wife of Ralph Gray, knight, daily attendant on the queen’s person” who received a protection on June 27, 1445 (Calendar of Patent Rolls). This Elizabeth, daughter of Henry, Lord Fitzhugh, was a widow, whose husband Ralph died in 1443. (The couple have a splendid tomb at Chillingham, you can see some lovely photographs of it here.) Incidentally, Elizabeth and Ralph had a son, another Ralph, who after a brief accommodation with the Yorkists returned to his former allegiance and was besieged at Bamburgh in 1464. Badly injured when gunfire brought down part of a wall upon him, he survived long enough to be taken to Doncaster and beheaded.

So where does that leave Elizabeth Woodville? Even if the Elizabeth referred to in the records is another woman, it’s certainly not impossible that Elizabeth Woodville served Margaret of Anjou in the 1450’s, especially as her mother, the Duchess of Bedford, would have given her a natural entrée at court. Elizabeth’s parents were in Margaret’s company at Coventry in 1457, and her brother Anthony jousted before the king and queen in 1458. Still, the lack of any unambiguous contemporary reference to Elizabeth as a lady of Margaret’s leads me to think that while Elizabeth Woodville might have visited court from time to time in the company of her family, she was never one of her predecessor’s ladies.

Sources:

David Baldwin, Elizabeth Woodville: Mother of the Princes in the Tower. Gloucestershire: Sutton, 2004 (paperback edition).

A. R. Myers, Crown, Household and Parliament in Fifteenth-Century England. London and Ronceverte: Hambledon Press, 1985.

Arlene Okerlund, Elizabeth: England’s Slandered Queen. Gloucestershire: Tempus, 2006 (paperback edition).

Proceedings, Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne, 1888.

George Smith, The Coronation of Elizabeth Wydeville. Gloucester: Gloucester Reprints, 1975 (originally published 1935).

Edward II in Love, and a Special Appearance by Robert the Bruce: Search Terms!

2010-11-30T09:11:00.012-05:00

susan higginbotham download ebook

You heard the man. Do it.

edward second in love

Awwwww.

6 articles of faults drawn up against edward ii

That's no way to treat a man in love.

edward ii ending

All good things must . . .

king william 147? married to elizabeth woodville

If only someone had thought to tell Richard III. It might have saved a lot of trouble for everyone.

elusive woodville

Until King William came along.

did edmund beaufort lose france

Yes, but the Duke of York kept trying to tell him where to find it.

fun photography susan higginbotham

My prom picture, in which I am depicted with my eyes shut, is considered quite amusing by some.

leeds castle child out of wedlock

Someone really needs to address the growing immorality of medieval castles before it gets out of hand.

anglo saxon law cats divorce

Until William the Conqueror came along and ruined everything, of course, by restricting the right of divorce to dogs.

robert the bruce rapes queen isabella

He leered at Isabella, his haggis-laden breath heavy on her neck. "It's time, lass," he whispered, "that ye larned what a real man was like."

Isabella made a pretense of struggling under the mighty Scotman's embrace. At least, she thought to herself, I shall finally see what they keep under those sexy little kilts of theirs.

My Henry VIII Washington Weekend

2010-11-28T19:09:00.001-05:00

I took advantage of the four-day Thanksgiving holiday weekend to travel to Washington, D.C., where I was lucky enough to catch "Vivat Rex! An Exhibition Commemorating the 500th Anniversary of the Accession of Henry VIII." The exhibition was mounted at the Grolier Club in New York in 2009 and traveled to the Folger Shakespeare Library this fall. (You can still see it in Washington through December 31.) The exhibit contains a number of objects associated with Henry VIII, his family, and his contemporaries. I particularly enjoyed seeing Elizabeth of York's inscribed prayer book, a New Year's gift roll from 1539, and a book of instructions given by the widowed Henry VII to his ambassadors, who had been sent to scout out the Queen of Naples as a possible bride. ("To marke hir brestes and pappes whether they be bigge or smale.")

I'm the sort of exhibition-goer who always leaves wishing I'd looked at certain exhibits more closely, so naturally I couldn't resist purchasing the exhibition guide, which is worth purchasing on its own if you can't get to the exhibit. It contains pictures of the items on display and short commentaries on them, along with essays by John Guy, Dale Hoak, and Susan Wabuda.

To coincide with the exhibit, the Folger has been staging William Shakespeare's Henry VIII, which has the distinction of having caused the Globe Theatre to burn down when it was produced in 1613. It's a rather odd play, which focuses on the downfall of Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, the schemes and fall of Cardinal Wolsey, and Henry's infatuation with and marriage to Anne Boleyn, to the cost of Catherine of Aragon. It ends with the christening of the future Elizabeth I, whose glorious reign is predicted by Thomas Cranmer. In this production, a number of the roles are taken by Henry's Fool, Will Sommers. I found the acting and staging excellent and was delighted that I had a chance to see this little-performed play!

My Henry VIII weekend continued in my reading matter for the trip: Giles Tremlett's new biography of Catherine of Aragon. I found it well written and insightful, especially as to Catherine's years in Spain. My one quibble is that the edition of the book published in the United Kingdom has no end notes; a set taken from the American edition, however, can be viewed at the website of the British publisher, Faber and Faber. This is one instance where I wish I had been a little more patient and waited for the American edition, but at least I can print out the notes.

So there you have it, my Henry VIII weekend! I only wish I could have stayed until Monday, when author Margaret George will be doing a reading, but at least I have her upcoming novel on Elizabeth I to anticipate.

Mary Dudley Sidney Writes in a Book

2010-11-22T10:20:00.005-05:00

One of the things I enjoy most is finding things that the people in my novels wrote themselves--letters, wills, and, in some cases, poetry.

Mary Dudley, the oldest surviving daughter of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, married Henry Sidney in March 1551 at Esher in Surrey, in a private ceremony; in May, a public wedding was held at Ely Place, Northumberland's London mansion. (At that time, Northumberland was the Earl of Warwick, having not yet become a duke.) Sidney, eight years older than Edward VI, was a companion to the young prince and became a gentleman of his privy chamber after the young Edward VI became king. Why the young couple had two wedding ceremonies is unexplained: had the pair made a runaway match? Henry Sidney was a few months shy of his twenty-second birthday; Simon Adams has estimated Mary Dudley's birthdate as being anywhere from 1530 to 1535. After Northumberland's ill-fated attempt to put Lady Jane Grey on the throne in 1553, Henry Sidney was soon reconciled to the new queen, Mary I, but he remained loyal to his wife's family and was among those who helped the surviving Dudley brothers regain their freedom following their lengthy imprisonment in the Tower. Mary Sidney became a favored lady of Elizabeth I, a decidedly mixed blessing, for she nursed Elizabeth through an attack of smallpox, caught the infection, and was badly scarred. Mary is shown here in a portrait by Hans Eworth, dated between 1550 and 1555.

Henry Sidney and Mary Dudley are most notable, perhaps, for being the parents of Philip Sidney, the celebrated poet-courtier. Their daughter Mary, Countess of Pembroke, was herself a writer and a literary patroness.

Mary Dudley also tried her hand at writing, as did her husband. On two blank pages of Hall's Union of the Two Noble and Illustrate Famelies of Lancastre and Yorke, now in the hands of the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C., the spouses traded verses, Henry in Latin, Mary mostly in English, with a bit of French and Latin mixed in. I've obtained photographs of the pages and would love to post them here, but I haven't yet obtained permission to do so. I hope to get permission, because the couple's handwriting is lovely and quite legible. The first two verses have been transcribed by Alfred Bill in Astrophel, or the Life and Death of the Renowned Sir Philip Sidney; the last two are my own maiden attempts at transcription (if anyone more accustomed to reading sixteenth-century English than I am wants to have a stab at a transcription, I'd be happy to pass the photograph on to you!)

To whyshe the best and fere the worst
are to points of the wyese.
To suffer then whatt happen shall
that man is happy thryese.

1551
Mary Sidney
fere God

Of all thinges the newest is the best,
save love and frinship, which
the elder it waxeth is ever the better

Escript par la maine d'un
femme heuruse assavoir

If not for to spede thou think again
Will not the thing that thou moveth not attain
for thou and none other art cause of thy [lett? loss?]
if that which thou mowest not thou [?]
to express scriptini manire felix

Upon thy good daye
have thou in mind the [unware?]
woe that may come behind

The Dukes That Were Left Behind

2010-11-18T23:06:00.007-05:00

Karen over at A Nevill Feast has been posting some scenes she left out of her work-in-progress, and if the outtakes are any indication, I'm looking forward to the completed product! Anyway, that inspired me to post two of the snippets that didn't make it into the The Queen of Last Hopes, one involving Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester (Henry VI's uncle) and the other involving Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter. (This novel went through several false starts, some in first person and some in third person, before I finally got swinging--it ended up being told in first person through the eyes of Margaret and several male characters.) I was rather sad at leaving the Humphrey snippets behind, mainly for the loss of Humphrey's daughter, Antigone, who did indeed exist and who did indeed bear that name in a world of Margarets, Elizabeths, and Annes.

Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester:
“My fool nephew is in quite the coil,” said Humphrey that December at Powis Castle in Welshpool, the home of his bastard daughter, Antigone, and her husband, Henry Grey. “He fully intends to surrender Maine, but he’s in the minor difficulty that no one who’s actually in Maine wants to surrender it, including Edmund Beaufort.” Edmund Beaufort was the Earl of Somerset and the governor of Maine. “It’s causing Henry and Wooly Will no end of headaches.”

“Papa, how do you manage to learn all of these things?”

“I may not be welcome at court, my dear, but I have my ways of finding out things. I have some very obliging men at court who provide me with information. For a fee, of course, but it’s well worth it to keep apprised of happenings. The entertainment value in itself justifies the expense.”

“So what do they plan to do about it?” asked Henry.

“Oh, this is splendid. They’ve made Beaufort lieutenant general of France and Normandy, in order to keep him sweet. Of course, the Duke of York has been expecting to be reappointed to that position, so they’ve cultivated themselves other enemy in the process. Wooly Will must have nothing but that substance between his ears.” He leaned back in his chair—the family was dining privately—contentedly. “I predict absolute disaster. Do they really think that Somerset’s going to be bought that cheaply? And what are they going to give York in return? Ireland would be my best guess, but face it, given the choice, what man would prefer life among the savages in Ireland to the civilization of France? But my nephew and his merchant better hope that Somerset and York aren’t pleased, because if they do give in and cooperate in ceding Maine, the people will never forgive Henry and Suffolk. And it’ll be even worse for the French Wench. What did she bring to England? Nothing. What will she cost England? Maine, at the very least. How has she proven her worth? Not at all. The girl’s of prime child-bearing age, almost seventeen. And not a hint of a child to come. The people won’t stand for that state of affairs forever. God knows, I’m having a hard enough time doing so. My poor brother, the noble king Henry. That his England should have come to this!”

“Father, you are upsetting yourself too much over these things.”

“No, my girl. You would be upset too if you were old enough to remember a different time. England was not always ruled thus.”

“But it seems so futile, for you to waste your life brooding over what you cannot change.”

Humphrey’s hand tightened on his wine cup. “Who says I cannot change things?”

***

“Antigone, I must make you promise me something.”

The Greys were alone, Humphrey having taken his leave several hours before. “Goodness, you sound grim.”

“I am. I know you love your father. I am fond of him too. But you must promise not to involve yourself in any schemes of his.”

“Schemes? What on earth are you speaking of?”

“I believe he is plotting treason.”

Antigone said confidently, “That is nonsense, Henry, and you know it.”

“Do I? Listen to the man, Antigone. During his stay, he did nothing but rail against the king and the queen and Suffolk and how good it was in his late brother’s time. From one of our shepherds, that might be nostalgia. From the heir to the throne—and it looks as if that’s not going to change any time soon, if this French girl is indeed barren—that’s alarming talk. What do you think would happen if King Henry got wind of it?”

“He is just blustering, my dear.”

“Is he? Your father's popular here in Wales, and you know how the people here can be. Wild. If there is a place he could raise support for an insane scheme to steal the throne from his nephew, it’s here. Mind you, I’m not saying that he’s tried. Yet.”

Antigone sighed. “Very well. I assure you, if he were to do anything so stupid and foolhardy, I would not become involved or give him aid. But I am quite sure that all of your fears are for naught. Men! How suspicious they always are.”

“Someone has to be.”

Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter (after the Battle of Barnet):

As the afternoon wore on, a man limped slowly about the dead, kneeling from time to time to turn a face in his direction or to stare into a pair of glazed-over eyes, only to rise and continue his search. As he was clearly not competing for the spoils of the battle, the Yorkist soldiers left him to his grim task in peace.

Presently, the man stooped and lifted yet another face. What he saw when he brushed off the mud and blood that all but obscured the features before him made him cry out: this was the man he had grown up beside and served for nearly three decades, the man he’d followed in and out of prison, in and out of exile. He lifted his fallen master to a sitting position and hugged him against his chest, weeping.

Then his face changed. He put his hand to the man's chest, then to his wrist. He had not been wrong; the Duke of Exeter was drawing breaths, faint but regular. “My lord?” he whispered. “My lord! Do you know me?”

Henry Holland opened his eyes a slit, then groaned and shut them without any sign of recognizing his servant. But it was enough. Lifting his master in his arms, and paying no mind to the pain that shot through his own injured leg with every step, the duke's man began his slow trek to the town in search of a surgeon. With the gold he’d secreted on his person for just such an exigency, there would be no difficulty in finding one.

Guest Post by Lila Rhodes: Going, in Armor, for the Gold

2010-11-12T22:15:00.004-05:00

I'm pleased to be hosting a guest post by Lila Rhodes, with whom I've been chatting back and forth for some time about one of my favorite families, the Woodvilles (or Wydevilles, if you please). Without further ado, here's Lila!

__________________

Hi, I'm Lila Rhodes.

Back in '83 I met (through fiction) my knight in shining armor: Anthony Wydeville (1440-1483). Yup, I fell for this guy 500 years to the month after he was beheaded by order of (soon to be) Richard III. In Shakespeare's Richard III, he appears as Earl rivers. Before long, I was mainlining history, drafting scripts about Anthony, and playing with the Society for Creative Anachronism. There, my persona is Agatha Whitney—who subsequently appears in my fiction. [Did you ever write yourself into a novel?]

Going, in Armor, for the Gold

by Lila Rhodes

A Ceremony

After mass on the Wednesday before Easter 1465, Anthony Wydeville strode through Shene Palace to visit his sister. At twenty-five, he was Lord Scales, a baron. It had been only seven months since he had the surprise of his life: King Edward had married his sister. Without warning, he was the king’s brother-in-law.

Anthony found Queen Elizabeth, a young beauty with the delicate features of a china doll, seated on a carved chair and flanked by her ladies in waiting. One of her ladies-in-waiting was Anthony’s wife. Another was their sister Anne, another of the thirteen Wydevilles.

“Lord Scales,” the queen acknowledged him.

Anthony Wydeville, an athlete, stepped forward and sank to his knee. He doffed his velvet hat and let it fall upside down beside him on the richly colored carpet. “Your grace?”

“Are you practicing handling a pitcher and goblets on horseback?”

“Yes, your grace. I will be ready to serve spiced grape juice at your coronation feast.”

The queen nodded. The ladies moved forward and surrounded Anthony. Something glittered in Lady Scales’s hand. She and Anne Wydeville settled on either side of him. Lady Scales reached under her husband’s extended leg and handed one end of a band to Anne and they fastened it above his knee. It was a series of golden links shapes like 8’s, set with precious gems, and adorned with a flower of enameling on gold—for remembrance.

Another lady dropped something in Lord Scales’s hat before they all returned to their places.

Recognizing the honor, Anthony responded, “This comes nearer my heart than my knee.” In his hat, he found a scroll of parchment tied with a gold thread.

The Challenge

Anthony, Lord Scales, recognized at once that the flower was an emprise to be won by meeting the challenge described in this scroll. Eager as he must have been to read it, Anthony was a wise courtier. He took the scroll to King Edward and explained. “Her grace’s ladies have honored me with this emprise.”

Edward IV—who was twenty-three, huge, and handsome—broke the seal and read the message. “You are instructed to joust with a champion of your choice. The first day’s encounter will be on horseback and the second on foot.” He grinned at his brother-in-law. “Who might you challenge?”

That was a question. It had only been four years since Edward seized the throne, and civil war sputtered on. People from either side could easily be offended.

Lord Scales wrote at once to Comte de la Roche, an illegitimate son of the Duke of Burgundy and a famous jouster.

King Edward sent his Chester Herald with the jeweled emprise, to deliver the challenge. This called for a ceremony in the elegant court of the Duke of Burgundy in Brussels. The Chester Herald displayed the sparkling band of gems on gold and spoke to Count de la Roche. “You have the opportunity to meet Lord Scales in London to win this emprise for yourself.”

Count de la Roche, whose name was Antoine, asked about Anthony.

The herald answered, “He showed himself an able jouster at King Edward’s tournament last spring. Like yourself, he has also seen battle.”

A great deal of negotiation followed on the rules of this tournament. At one point the articles considered, with horror, the possibility that one of them could be hurt.

Magnificence

It was two years before Comte de la Roche, and four hundreds of followers, made it to London. On May 30, 1467, seven barges of key lords and Londoners escorted him to his landing place.

The count was the houseguest of a bishop. Lord Scales and the royal court paraded through the city. Something, maybe the elegance of his entourage, tipped Anthony off when he came to the count along the parade route. He turned his horse, and, for the first time, the opponents saw each other.

Comte de la Roche visited the opening of parliament and attended many feasts and dances. Meanwhile, the stockyard at Smithfield turned into their venue. The lists and three-story stands were built for the event.

The tournament began on June 11. The queen wore a very high-waisted houpland that obscured the fact that she would be having a child in July. The king’s purple robe spread out behind him over the sand, but the garter of the order on his leg was plain to see. He climbed two flights past knights and squires to join his counselors on the podium. Hundreds of important and wealthy Londoners entered, knelt before the king, and took their places in the opposite stands.

There was a knock on the wooden door at the end of the lists. The marshal of the tournament called out, “Who would enter?”

Lord Scales answered, “My name is Escallis. I am come to accomplish a deed of arms with the Bastard of Burgundy...” Lord Scales and his horse entered wearing cloth of gold. The horse trappings had gold fringe half a foot long. Behind him, came eight more horses ridden by his pages. The boys all wore green velvet, but the horses were all dressed differently in trappings clear to the ground. Three wore damask of different colors and patterns. Two wore velvet, and two fur. The last horse glittered in cloth-of-gold.

Next Count de la Roche received permission to enter. Some in his parade of horses wore fur, cloth of silver, and gold and silver bells.

The Marshal delivered a warning. “Viewers must not approach the lists, wave, or make any noise. Anyone doing so will be imprisoned until he pays whatever ransom the king demands.”

Horses

At the king’s signal, the jousters lowered their lances, rushed together, and missed each other completely. Tossing the lances away, they began fighting with their swords. Steel rung on steel and the horses churned up the sand.

Suddenly the count’s horse reared. The count clung to him as he rose higher and higher. The weight of the armed knight toppled the stallion over on top of him.

Lord Scales rode slowly around his opponent as the marshal crossed to the fallen count and thrashing horse.

There are many conflicting accounts of what happened. Some Burgundians even said that Lord Scales rammed his sword down the horse’s throat. Another version has Scales’s horse wearing an illegal spike on its faceplate. Some said there was blood around the horse’s mouth, other its nose. One version says it was pierced through the eye and killed instantly.

The day’s combat was over. Lord Scales was stripped in front of everyone as officials searched him for hidden weapons.

Miraculously, Count de la Roche walked away. When he was asked if he could fight, the count said, “Today I fought a beast. Tomorrow I will fight a man.”

And he did. They fought on foot with pole axes (a knight’s version of a Swiss army knife equipped with spear point, blade, hammer, and hook.)

The two champions pried pieces off each other’s armor. Each fought to put his opponent in a position where he could make no further moves. The baron brought his spear point up and wedged the tip in the count’s visor. Thrusting with this advantage, Lord Scales forced his opponent onto his knees. “Whoa” cried a lone voice in the stands. His command was picked up and repeated by the king’s marshals and heralds.

Anthony and Antoine removed their helmets. The count told the king and the marshal that he wished to continue.

The Marshal replied, “If you resume, it will be from the same position. You were on your knees with a spear point in your visor.” The count conceded.

King Edward called on them to shake hands and never fight each other again. There is no evidence of hard feelings between them.

It was probably clear to all the spectators who won the day. However, King Edward wanted an alliance with Burgundy and declared it a draw. Let us hope that Lord Scales, as well as the count, was given a jeweled band with a flower of gold for remembrance. In any case, this tournament is one way Anthony Wydeville is still remembered.

The Sack of Ludlow: The Margaret/Cecily Face-Off

2010-11-06T01:55:00.004-04:00

As I mentioned on Margaret of Anjou's Facebook page, a number of novels set during the Wars of the Roses have a scene where Margaret of Anjou's troops sack the town of Ludlow, usually resulting in carnage that makes the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre look like a minor street brawl. To top things off, few novelists can resist having the courageous Cecily, Duchess of York, bravely taking her stand at the town's market cross, come face-to-face with the vengeance-crazed, merciless Margaret of Anjou. After all, it's a perfect opportunity for an encounter between Good (Cecily, need you ask?) and Evil (Margaret, natch). Throw in a callow young George, Duke of Clarence and a saintly, frail little Richard, Duke of Gloucester, trembling at Cecily's side, and the chapter practically writes itself.

There's no doubt that Henry VI's troops did loot and pillage, and probably rape as well, after the Yorkist leaders fled from Ludford Bridge in 1459. Gregory's Chronicle reports:

The mysrewle of the kyngys galentys at Ludlowe, whenn they hadde drokyn i-nowe of wyne that was in tavernys and in othyr placys, they fulle ungoodely smote owte the heddys of the pypys and hoggys hedys of wyne, that men wente wete-schode in wyne, and thenn they robbyd the towne, and bare a-waye beddynge, clothe, and othyr stuffe, and defoulyd many wymmen.

[It's interesting that the poor women are mentioned here almost as an afterthought to the bedding and clothes. But I digress.]

Hearne's Fragment tells us:

And in the year of our Lord 1459, and then being the 38th year of King Harry the 6th, the Duke of York fled from Ludlow into Ireland. And this Edward, with the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick, departed into Devonshire, and from thence into Guernsey, and so to Calais, &c. After the which departing King Harry rode into Ludlow, and spoiled the Town and Castle, where-at he found the Duchess of York with her two young sons (then) children, the one of thirteen years old, and the other of ten years old: the which Duchess King Harry sent to her sister Anne Duchess of Buckingham.

Benet's Chronicle, as translated in Elizabeth Hallam's The Wars of the Roses, simply reports that after the Duke of York and his companions fled, "The king ransacked all of their property between Worcester and Ludlow."

The English Chronicle mentions Ludlow only after discussing the Parliament that followed the battle:

Thanne was a parlement holden at Couentre, and they that were chosenne knyghtes of the shyres, and other that had interessc in the parlement, were nat dyfferent but chosen a denominacione of thaym that were enemyes to the forseyde lordes so beyng oute of the reame. In the whiche parlement, the sayde duk of York and the iij. erles and other, whos names shalle be rehersed afterward, withoute any answere, as traytours and rebelles to the kyng were atteynt of treson, and theyre goodes, lordshyppys and possessyons escheted in to the kynges hande, and they and theyre heyres dysheryted vn to the ixthe degre. And by the kynges commissione in euery cyte, burghe, and toune cryed opynly and proclamed as for rebelles and traytoures; and theyre tenauntes and there men spoyled of theyre goodes, maymed, bete, and slayne withoute cny pyte; the toune of Ludlow, longyng thanne to the duk of York, was robbed to the bare walles, and the noble duches of York vnmanly and cruelly was entreted and spoyled.

Abbot Whethamstede, with uncharacteristic brevity, simply reports that the town and the surrounding area was sacked. (If anyone's up for some Latin translation, I'll be happy to send you the relevant paragraph.)

It's plain from all of these accounts, as I said, that Ludlow did suffer at the hands of the Lancastrians after the rout at Ludford Bridge. (It wasn't the first town to suffer in this manner during the Wars of the Roses, however. According to Whehamstede and other sources, St. Albans was looted by the victorious Duke of York's men after the first battle there in 1455, but the same novelists and historians who wax horrific about the sack of Ludlow breezily pass by the Yorkist misdeeds at St. Albans.) What's also plain, however, is that not a single source states that Margaret of Anjou was present at Ludlow, much less has her cackling with glee at the Duchess of York and her terrified youngsters. As none of these sources were friendly to Margaret, it's hard to believe that they would have failed to mention her malevolent presence at Ludlow. Most likely she had stayed behind at a safe place with her son while her husband and his army made their way to Ludford Bridge.

As for Cecily, Duchess of York, it does seem from Hearne's Fragment, quoted above, that she and her two younger sons (whose ages the chronicler gets wrong) were at Ludlow. The English Chronicle also speaks of her being "entreated and spoiled," though whether this refers to the duchess's person or her property is unclear. It seems more likely that it refers to her property, as a physical attack on the duchess and her young children would have surely provoked the fury of the pro-Yorkist chroniclers.

But was she taking a stance at the market cross? This is where Paul Murray Kendall departs into one of his historical flights of fancy. In the text of Richard the Third, he writes, "When the troops of the King stormed triumphantly into the undefended town the next morning, they found Cicely, Duchess of York, and her sons Richard and George courageously awaiting them on the steps of the market cross." Only when one reads to the end of the paragraph in which this sentence appears does one find an end note, in which Kendall cites the passage from Hearne's Fragment quoted above and explains, "It is reported that Cecily and her two boys were found in the village. Since she was a woman of spirit and was apparently trying to protect her villagers, I have conjectured that she took her stance at the market cross" [italics mine]. Kendall may not have intended to mislead his readers, but it is nonetheless the fact that many, not bothering to flip to the end note, have come away with the conviction that it is established historical fact that Cecily outfaced the Lancastrians at the market cross. In fact, pace Kendall, one can't be sure from the wording of the fragment ("spoiled the Town and Castle, where-at he found the Duchess of York") that she was even in the village; it appears more likely that Cecily was within the castle walls.

So to sum up, while there was certainly looting and pillage at Ludlow, there's no evidence that Margaret was there, and none except for a twentieth-century historian's admitted conjecture that Cecily was defiantly standing at the market cross. As Stacey Schiff so aptly says in her new biography of Cleopatra, however, "For well over two thousand years, a myth has been able to outrun and outlive a fact." Thanks to the power of fiction and fictionalized history, there may be a lot of life left in the story of Cecily and Margaret facing off at the market cross.

Guest Post by Jeri Westerson: Richard II

2010-11-02T09:07:00.008-04:00

I'm pleased today to feature a guest post by Jeri Westerson, author of The Demon's Parchment. Without further ado, here's Jeri!

Richard II, like his great grandfather Edward II, came to his throne with great promise, and like his famous predecessor, experienced a great fall at the end of his unfortunate reign.

Born on the feast of Epiphany in Bordeaux, France, and in the presence of three kings (Jaime IV, King of Majorca; Richard, King of Armenia; and Pedro, the deposed King of Castile [deposed by Richard’s uncle John of Gaunt]), Richard’s birth seemed particularly charmed. It was not expected that he would be king so soon. But his father, Edward of Woodstock, whom we know today as the Black Prince, died untimely, leaving the ten-year-old Richard bound for a throne he, nor his country, was ready for him to take. Perhaps this childhood on the throne is responsible for the man doing what always seems to be the downfall of any monarch, and that was to bestow unwarranted favoritism on undeserving men, insulting the powerful men of court who felt their opinions and authority were being usurped.

But in the beginning, all was well. At Richard’s coronation banquet on 16 July 1377, the tradition of the Champion of England was re-introduced. This is an office thought created by William the Conqueror and held for a long time by the Marmion family. This title came to their descendant, Sir John Dymoke for Richard’s coronation and has continued as a hereditary right for the family ever since. At William the Conqueror’s coronation, the Champion would ride into Westminster Abbey, fully armed and challenge all comers for the duke’s right to take the throne. But in Richard’s case, Sir John was persuaded to wait until the banquet and rode into Westminster Hall and publicly challenged to combat anyone who dared dispute the king’s title to the throne. (This ceremony has not been conducted since George IV’s day. A pity.)

As exciting as this surely was and though no one challenged the young king, it was nevertheless a portent of things to come.

His reign was much overwhelmed by many events: it followed on the great plague where his countrymen were still recovering from great economic losses. Parliament passed laws limiting wages but failed to regulate runaway prices, and so in 1381, Wat Tyler led the famous Peasant’s Revolt, protesting the restriction of wages. The rabble cornered the Archbishop of Canterbury (in charge of the king’s treasury) in the Tower of London, yanked him out, and brutally murdered him. The king agreed to meet with Tyler and when he did, Tyler was killed, thus ending the revolt. This was considered a shrewd move on Richard’s part at the time, but this did not help later when Richard’s relationship with his favorites—Michael de la Pole, Robert de Vere and others—angered Parliament. It was Richard’s contention that he, the crown, could make all the decisions of his reign himself without the recommendations or mandates of Parliament. After all, it was he who was anointed at his coronation. Special powers were bestowed upon him by virtue of this singular ritual. In fact, he began to insist on being called “Majesty” and be treated with all the proper deference. He could dissolve Parliament at his will as a royal prerogative. So anyone who opposed Richard and his choice of minister would be considered a traitor to the crown. As one can imagine, Parliament wasn’t pleased by this, and they formed the Lords Appellant in 1386. The Appellants represented the noble families that Richard in his naiveté had scorned and they declared his favorites to be traitors. Battles broke out and the Lords Appellant took over, even removing Richard from the throne for a few days, and then executed four of his knights. The Appellants now controlled the government, and Richard—who had moved to reinstate the divine right of kings with ultimate and overarching power—saw himself little more than a figurehead.

If only he saw the writing on the wall.

But ego has a lot to do with how kings reigned and their subsequent decisions. And remember how young Richard was at this time. By 1389, Richard was twenty-two and declared his own majority, that is, he didn’t need any more handlers. He was fully king now and the Appellants were abolished just as his uncle John of Gaunt returned to England after his campaigns abroad.

Yes, think of it. All this happened before he was twenty-two. Remember when you were twenty-two? Think of all your wonderful decisions. What if an entire country had to live with the consequences?

So in this fertile environment, I have placed my fiction. My protagonist Crispin Guest, a disgraced knight turned detective, has crossed Richard since day one and finds himself constantly at war with the one who wears the crown, skirting the edges of acceptability. The history is my quilt and my fictional detective becomes some of the fancier stitching. It’s outrageously fun to be able to do this. If I am allowed to continue to publish these novels, they will continue on until the year 1400, intimately following the historical timeline while my characters get to play on that set stage.

For now, we are still in 1384 with my newest novel in the series, THE DEMON’S PARCHMENT, exploring medieval Jews and medieval attitudes about them. And murder. Don’t forget the murder.

-------
You are invited to explore it with Jeri by reading the first chapter of THE DEMON’S PARCHMENT on Jeri’s website www.JeriWesterson.com.

The Death of Edward of Lancaster

2010-10-30T14:10:00.001-04:00

As I'm feeling not so rushed today, by popular demand (or at least, by one person's polite request), here are some of the various accounts of Edward of Lancaster's death. As I said earlier, a detailed discussion of the various accounts can be found in P. W. Hammond's very thorough The Battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury.

Anonymous, History of the Arrival of Edward IV in England and the Final Recovery of His Kingdoms from Henry VI (online at the Richard III Society's American Branch site):

In the wynnynge of the fielde such as abode hand-stroks were slayne incontinent; Edward, called Prince, was taken, fleinge to the towne wards, and slayne in the fielde.

The Croyland Chronicler (online at the Richard III Society's American Branch site):

Upon this occasion, there were slain on the queen's side, either in the field or after the battle, by the avenging hands of certain persons, prince Edward, the only son of king Henry, the duke of Somerset, the earl of Devon, and all and every the other lords above-mentioned.

Sforza di Bettini Of Florence, Milanese Ambassador in France to Galeazzo Maria Sforza, Duke of Milan. June 2, 1471 (In Calendar of State Papers and Manuscripts in the Archives and Collections of Milan - 1385-1618--online here):

Yesterday his Majesty here heard with extreme sorrow, by clear and manifest news from England, so it appears, that king Edward has recently fought a battle with the Prince of Wales, towards Wales, whither he had gone to meet him. He has not only routed the prince but taken and slain him, together with all the leading men with him.

George, Duke of Clarence, to Henry Vernon, May 6, 1471 (in The Manuscripts of the Duke of Rutland Preserved at Rutland Castle, Vol. 1: Historical Manuscripts Commission, Twelfth Report, Appendix, Part IV).

Right trusti and welbeloved we grate you wele, lating you wite that my lord hath had goode spede nowe in his late journey to the subduyng of his enemyes, traitours and rebelles, of the which Edward late called Prince, the late Erl of Devon with other estates, knightes, squiers, and gentilmen, were slayn in playn bataill, Edmund late Duc of Somerset taken and put to execucion, and other diversee estates, knightss, squiers, and genlihnen taken.

Yorkist Notes: 1471 (From Charles Kingsford, English Historical Literature in the Fifteenth Century):

Eodem anno mensis Maii die iiijo Bellum iuxta Tewkysbury, vbi occisi fuerunt Edwardus, dictus princeps, filius Henrici sexti

Warkworth's Chronicle (online at the Richard III Society's American Branch site):

And ther was slayne in the felde, Prynce Edward, whiche cryede for socoure to his brother-in-lawe, the Duke of Clarence.

Chronicle of Tewkesbury Abbey (From Charles Kingsford, English Historical Literature in the Fifteenth Century)

Lord Edwarde, prince of Kynge Henry, in the felde of Gastum besyde Tewkesbery, slayne and buryed in ye mydste of y covent quiere in y e monastery ther : for whom god worketh.

Letter from the Mayor and Aldermen of the City of London to the Bastard of Fauconberg, May 9, 1471 (R. R. Sharpe, London and the Kingdom, Vol. 3):

Also Sir the saide Edward late called Prince Therle of Devynshire lord John of Somerset lord Wenlok Sir Edmund Hampden Sir Robert Whityngham, Sir John Lewkenore, John Delves w1 other moo were sleyne upon Saturday last passed at Tewkesbury.

A handwritten addition by Robert Cole in manuscript entitled Rental of all the houses in Gloucester (Robert Cole, Rental of all the Houses in Gloucester). Hammond suggests that the addition was made in 1472, hence the incorrect year of the battle:

This Kyng tooke to his wyfe Margarete, the Kyngus doujtur of Cicile,whit wham he had his sone Edward, Pryns of Wales, bat aftur bat he come from Fraunce with his modur with a gret ost was sley at be Batel by syde Tewkesbur[y], be yere of Oure Lord M1 CCCC. LXXII. [sic]

An entry in the Norwich register for 1470/71, cited by James E. Thorold Rogers in A History of Agriculture and Prices in England. As Rogers pointed out there and on a couple of occasions in Notes and Queries in the 1880's, the wording suggests that the prince did not fall in battle, but was tried before a military tribunal:

Ad guerram Tewkesbury, ubi adjudicatus fuit Edvardus filius Henrici nuper regis Anglix, et mater ejus capta.

Except for the Norwich account, which suggests that Edward of Lancaster was executed after a trial, all of these contemporary and near-contemporary sources (as well as Benet's Chronicle, which is in Latin and which I don't have access to at the moment) simply report that Prince Edward was slain; none implicates a particular person. (Even Warkworth simply says that Edward cried out for succor to the Duke of Clarence; it doesn't say that Clarence did the deed, and Clarence himself did not take credit for it in his letter.)

As Hammond points out, though, not long after the battle, another tradition began to develop: one where the prince, taken alive, is haled into the presence of Edward IV and killed. In 1473 in the "Histoire de Charles, dernier du de Bourgogne," for instance, the victorious Edward IV orders that the prince be disarmed, demands his sword, and strikes him across the face with it, after which everyone present joins in murdering the unfortunate prince. According to Hammond, other continental sources, long predating the Tudors, have Edward IV questioning the prince, who replies defiantly and is promptly killed by those present.

In the sixteenth century, the story of Edward of Lancaster being killed in the presence of Edward IV infiltrated the English accounts. As rendered in modernized English by Keith Dockray in Henry VI, Margaret of Anjou, and the Wars of the Roses: A Source Book, The Great Chronicle of London reports that both the prince and his mother, Margaret of Anjou, were taken to the king: "after the king had questioned a few words of the cause of his so landing within his realm, and he gave unto the king an answer contrary to his pleasure, the king struck him on the face with the back of his gauntlet, after which stroke so received by him, the king's servants rid him of his life forthwith."

With Polydore Vergil (whose account is available here), the Dukes of Gloucester and Clarence, as well as William Hastings, do the deed:

Two days later all these, save for Margaret and her son, paid with their heads in that same village. A little later Prince Edward, a very excellent young man, was taken to meet Edward, and was asked why he had dared invade his kingdom and trouble it with arms. He had the presence of mind to reply he had come to claim his ancestral realm. Edward made no response this, he only waved the lad away, and immediately those who stood around him (these were Dukes George of Clarence, Richard of Gloucester, and William Hastings) cruelly butchered him.

Edward Hall in Union of the Two Noble and Illustrious Families of Lancaster nd York adds Dorset, who was Elizabeth Woodville's eldest son, to the murderers:

After the felde ended, kyng Edward made a Proclamutio, that who so euer could bring prince Edward to him alyue or dead, shoulde haue an annuitie of an. C. 1. duryng his lyfe, and the Princes life to be saued. Syr Richard Croftes, a wyse and a valyaut knyght, nothing mistrusting the kynges former promyse, brought furth his prisoner prince Edward, beynge a goodly femenine & a well feautered yonge gentelman, whome when kynge Edward had well aduised, he demaunded of him, how he durst so presumptuously enter in to his Realme with banner displayed. The prince, beyng bold of stomacke & of a good courage, answered sayinge, to recouer my fathers kyngdome & enheritage. from his father & grandfather to him, and from him, after him, to me lyneally diuoluted. At which wordes kyng Edward sayd nothyng, but with his [hand] thrust hyin from hym (or as some say, stroke him with his gauntlet) whom incontinent, they that stode about, whiche were George duke of Clarence, Rychard duke of Gloucester, Thomas Marques Dorset, and Willia lord Hastynges, sodaynly murthered, & pitiously manquelled. The bitternesse of which murder, some of the actors after in their latter dayes tasted and assayed by the very rod of Justice
and punishment of God.

Ralphael Holinshed's version is similar to Hall's. It's interesting to note that none of the Tudor histories has Gloucester alone murdering Edward of Lancaster, but implicate Hastings (executed by Richard in 1483) and Dorset (a Woodville) as well, so while these accounts may be fanciful, they cannot be dismissed simply as Tudor attempts to blacken Richard III's name.

According to a Mr. Marshall who commented in Notes and Queries in 1882, Samuel Rudder in his 1779 New History of Gloucestershire writes, "The Prince of Wales is supposed to have been murdered in the house belonging to, an in the possession of, Mr. Webb, an ironmonger." I will have to take a look for that next time I am in the library.

The most peculiar version of the death of Edward of Lancaster, however, appears in a Flemish chronicle cited by Sir George Buck in his History of King Richard the Third. After recounting the scene where the prince mouths off to Edward IV, and Clarence, Dorset, and Hastings move in for the kill, Buck (per the edition edited by Arthur Noel Kincaid) adds,

And whereas it is said by the adversaries of the Duke of Gloucester that only he slew this prince with his sword, the contrary hereof is true. For I have read in a faithful manuscript chronicle written of those times that the Duke of Gloucester only, of all of those great persons, stood still and drew not his sword. And for this his forbearance there my divers good reasons be given. And first that it grew out of the mere conscience of honour and out of this heroical and truly noble detestation of base murders. And secondly because there was no need of any more swords, there being too many already drawn. For where there was need of his sword to defend the king his brother, there was no man's sword more ready. And chiefly, he abstained to be a fellow homicide in this act in regard of this prince's wife, who (as Johannes Meyerus saith) was in the room with him and was near akin to the Duchess of York, his mother, and whom he loved very affectionately, though secretly.

This account seems highly unlikely, as the contemporary sources that mention the matter are agreed that Edward of Lancaster's wife, Anne Neville, and his mother, Margaret of Anjou, were not found until several days after the battle and were brought to Edward IV at Coventry. It also seems rather implausible that Edward IV would allow Edward of Lancaster to be murdered in the presence of the 14-year-old Anne.

So how did Edward of Lancaster die? I'm inclined to believe the overwhelming majority of contemporary or near-contemporary accounts, which state that he met his death in battle, though it's rather a pity to sacrifice the story of the prince defiantly responding to the king before meeting what was certainly an inevitable death (had he not been killed in battle or while standing before Edward IV, he certainly would have been among the Lancastrian leaders beheaded on May 6, 1471). The stories of the prince being murdered in the king's presence, even if apocryphal, do, however, supply a useful moral to take through our lives: Don't Sass the King, or, alternatively, If You're Going to Die, at Least Speak Your Mind First.

Search Terms!

2010-10-26T13:15:00.003-04:00

I was going to do a post about the different accounts of the death of Edward of Lancaster, but then I realized that there was a very comprehensive account of them in Appendix 2 of P. W. Hammond's The Battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury. So I'll refer you to that and, instead, turn to the more frivolous subject of search terms. Here's how people have been reaching my website and Historical Fiction Online lately:

edawrd ii long term causes

It's strongly believed that Edward II was caused by his parents, Edward I and Eleanor of Castile.

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You read it here first (and possibly last): Shakespeare was actually one of Richard III's nephews in disguise.

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Well, I can only hope so.

www.susanhiggin

Keep on typing . . . You can do it . . .

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Practice, my dear boy. Practice.

historians admit to inventing ancient greeks

We knew it all along, didn't we?

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Hummph!

did elizabeth woodville have hair

No. Her shame about being bald, not anything to do with Richard III, is why she fled to sanctuary in 1483.

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Well, at least Elizabeth Woodville was spared that.

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He's a big boy. He can take care of himself.

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Anything to take one's mind off Wiliam de Forz.

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Get away from your computer and mingle.

The Duke of Northumberland's Seized Goods

2010-10-20T22:20:00.050-04:00

First, sorry for the long absence! I went on a short trip with the family to San Francisco and enjoyed myself thoroughly. Didn't get much work done at all, which was probably a good thing! I'll try to put some pictures up on Facebook soon.

To get back into the blogging swing of things, here's some selected items from an inventory of goods seized from the residences of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, after his downfall and arrest in 1553. Some of the goods were turned over to Queen Mary; some were given to the young Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon, and the old Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, who had been released from prison by Mary; others were sold or given to persons of various degrees; and some were given to the Duchess of Northumberland. The complete list, which can be found in the UK National Archives at E 154/2/39, gives a fascinating glimpse of the type of goods that could be found in the wealthiest Tudor households. Note the intrusion of a lone fork into the duke's stock of knives, the duchess's many sleeves (plus a special chest just to carry them in), the elaborate clocks, the lavish tapestries, and the intrusion of the humble moth into even the grandest of households.

Item an other stocke of knyves w[i]th Iron haftes wherin is a dosen and a forke

Item a stocke salte of golde w[i]th iiij pillers having a faire rocke Rubie upon the cover and garnisshed w[i]th viij diamondes vj and Rubies ij poiz. xxxj oz

Item oon dosen napkins of crosse diamondes

Item a quilte of yelowe seye mottheaten

Item [the duke's] Cloke of felte w[i]th a cape of blacke vellut w[i]th buttons and lace of silke and golde

Item a purse of grene bruges saten wherin is an hawkes glove garnisshed w[i]t[h] crimsen saten and a lure of purple vellut garnisshed w[i]th golde and perle

Item a Caparison of white vellut for an horse

Item a Cace of a perfumepan of Alablaster finelie wrought

Item an upright deske covered w[i]th grene vellut w[i]th a doble standisshe covered with the same standeng upon a frame

Item a writeng deske of Walnottre wherin ar diverse Instrumentes of silver an Inkehorne, a Staundisshe w[i]t[h] a dustboxe with divers oother Instrumentes of silver in the same

Item the dukes Robes for the Parliament of Scarlet [this went to the Duke of Norfolk]

Item his Robes of purple and crimsen vellut for the garter w[i]th the hood for the same [this also went to the Duke of Norfolk]

Item a Clocke of Cristall garnisshed w[i]th silver and gilte belonging to a great salte of cristall poiz. xij oz

Item a faire Clocke of copper and gilte w[i]th vj belles in a chyme the clocke being iij quarters high

Item an other Clocke standeng in a frame of wood gilte

Item a faire Astrolabie

Item iij olde hattes of crimsen silke fringe motheaten

Item a Table of the picture of King Henrie theight and another of Quene Jane Seymo[ur] solde to S[i]r Thom[a]s Pope

Item a lowe Chaier w[i]th the seate and backe of nedilworke w[i]th ij l[ett]res T. and D.

Item [the duchess's] loose gown of lozenges of the one side and ruffed vellut on thother side [most of the duchess's wearing apparel was delivered to her]

Item iiij paire of sleves of purple vellut wherof oon paire edged with luserdes

Item v paire of blacke vellut sleves of sondrie sortes edged w[i]t[h] luserdes

Item ij paire of sleves of blacke vellut edged w[i]th Sables

Item v paire of sleves of blacke vellut of sondrie sortes edged w[i]t[h] blacke Jennettes

Item a paire of blacke sleves of vellut edged w[i]th conye

Item a Partelet and a paire of sleves of blacke damaske edged w[i]th Swanne

Item xiij paire of blacke vellut sleves of sondrie sortes

Item a litell square Chest for cariage of the duches sleves

A Testo[ur] of a standeng bed of clothe of Tincell and purple Taphata w[i]th fringes of golde verie riche

Item a Cussheon of purple vellut embrodred richelie w[i]th golde w[i]th iiij Tassels w[i]th the kinge and the quenes Armes

Item a doblet of crane colored Taphata pinked solde to Mr White [the duke wore a "crane-colored" gown to his execution]

Item v nightcappes of velvet

Item ij shaving clothes garnisshed w[i]th golde solde to therle of Devonshire

Item ij large bookes faire written w[i]th armes covered with velvet garnisshed with silver conteyneng the Armes of Germanie

Item a Cace of combes gilte wherin ar v blacke combes a Glasse and certaine oother Instrumentes and a blacke cace of combes of Ibonie wherin ben two combes with certaine other Implementes solde to S[i]r Thomas Pope

The dukes Coronet of golde w[i]th a border of mynifer and the cap of crimsen vellut the Coronet wayeng xxiij oz [delivered to the Duke of Norfolk]

Item a close stoole with a bucket of pewter covered w[i]th black lether worne solde to Sir Robert Sothwell

Item a paire of playeng Tables paynted in a Cace

Furst a large Coller of the order of the garter with a George with the Armes of the George made of diamondes [delivered to the Duke of Norfolk]

w[i]th the duke at the Tower: Item a Gowne of blacke saten with a cape and face of sables with ij dosen paire of aglettes

Item a Gown of crimsen Capha and a kirtell of white damaske for a childe [Was this a garment that had belonged to one of duke's children who predeceased him?]

Furst a Tonne of beir spent

Item a booke w[i]th viij leaves of slate covered w[i]th vellut garnisshed w[i]th silver with claspes locke and keye of silver

Item ix pecis of countrefaict arras of the storie of Hester conteyning cclx elles at ijs thell solde to Mr George Tirrell

Item a counterpoincte of Tapestrie w[i]th burdes and flowers

Item a Turkie carpet for a Windowe solde to Michaell Plowman

Item a framed chaier of Walnottree the seate and backe of crimsen vellut paned with clothe of golde solde to Mr Peckeham

v peces of Imagerie of the storie of Diana single [delivered to the duchess]

Item v peces of Tapestrie of the storie of David and Salomon [delivered to the duchess]

Item vj peces of Tapestrie unlyned of the storie de filio prodigo [delivered to the duchess]

Item vj single peces of hanginges of Imagerie of the storie of David [delivered to Ambrose Dudley, who was imprisoned along with the rest of the Dudley sons in the Tower]

Item ij quiltes for the sides of the bed covered with purple vellut

Item oon Counterpoincte belonging to the same bed of purple and crimsen saten embrodred rounde aboute with golde and in the middes and oother places with the Rose and l[ett]res of H and R and lyned with white fustian

Item a barehide

Item a Celer and Testo[ur] of crimsen saten embrodred with white silver with the dukes armes in the middes of a Garlande richelie enbrodred with the Valaunce in vj peces belongeng to the same being embrodred with silver the Lion, the ragged staf and the fierbronde fringed with red silke and golde with iij peces for the bases of the same bed likewise embrodred with the ragged staffe and the fierbronde

Item ix hoggesheddes of Gascoign wine

Item ij hoggesheddes and a puncheon of Frenche wine

Item parte of a butte of Reynisshe wine

Item parte of a Butte of Muskadell

Item oon Cowe [delivered to the duchess]

Item certaine Remnauntes of spices, as Suger Peper Cloves and maces

The Birth of Edward of Lancaster

2010-10-13T14:30:00.002-04:00

On October 13, 1453, Margaret of Anjou gave birth at Westminster Palace to the boy who would prove to be her only child: Edward. At age twenty-three, Margaret had been married to Henry VI for eight years and must have despaired of ever producing an heir to the throne.

The eight-year wait has been taken as proof by some that Margaret must have resorted to another man to father her child, but then and now, women have gone for years without conceiving only to finally find themselves pregnant. (To take a contemporary example, Cecily, Duchess of York, was born in 1415 and had married before October 1429, but did not give birth to her first child until ten years later.) It is also possible that Margaret had conceived at earlier periods during her marriage, but had miscarriages that occurred so early that she never knew she was pregnant in the first place.

Edward would have been conceived during the Christmas/New Year's season of 1452-53, when Henry VI is known to have resided at Margaret's palace of Greenwich. This holiday season appears to have been a particularly festive one for the royal couple. Margaret paid Richard Bulstrode more than 25 pounds for his expenses incurred in connection with a disguising made before the king and queen at Greenwich. The festivities continued on January 5, 1453, when Henry VI knighted his younger half-brothers, Edmund Tudor and Jasper Tudor, who had recently been made Earl of Richmond and Earl of Pembroke. Perhaps this relaxed atmosphere at the court, following on the heels of what had been a period of political recovery for the king, had a beneficial effect on the king and queen in the bedchamber.

Unfortunately, Henry VI lapsed into madness in August 1453, leaving Margaret to face her pregnancy by herself. In the midst of this crisis, Margaret observed the usual rituals associated with a royal pregnancy. On September 10, 1453, the Dukes of Somerset and Buckingham, along with the mayor and aldermen of London, conducted her by barge to Westminster for her lying-in. J. L. Laynesmith, citing an exchequer record, writes that the canopy for Margaret's bed was of crimson satin embroidered with gold crowns and that the room contained two cradles, the smaller of which bore an image of St. Edward.

Margaret gave birth on October 13, after which her butler, Giles St. Lo, brought the news to London. He received 10 marks from the common council for doing so. Bale's Chronicle reports the reaction to the birth: "Wherefor the belles rang in every chirch and Te Deum solempny song." The next day, the boy was christened by William Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester. His godparents were John Kemp, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Edmund Beaufort, the Duke of Somerset, and Anne Stafford (nee Neville), the Duchess of Buckingham. Margaret was later reimbursed for an embroidered cloth called "crisome" for the baptism, for 20 yards of russet cloth of gold, and for 540 brown sable backs. She, of course, would not have been at the christening, but kept her chamber until her churching, the ceremony marking a new mother's purification and return to society.

The cloth of gold and the sable backs probably were purchased for Margaret's use at her churching, which took place on November 18, 1453, at Westminster. The great ladies of the land were duly summoned to attend: the Duchesses of Bedford, York, Norfolk the elder, Norfolk the younger, Buckingham, Somerset the elder, Somerset the younger, Exeter the elder, Exeter the younger, and Suffolk; the Countesses of Warwick, Arundel, Northumberland, Salisbury, Wiltshire, Shrewsbury the elder, Shrewsbury the young, and Oxford; the Viscountess Bourchier; and the ladies Grey, Ruthin, Roos, Lovel, Cromwell, Berners, Ferrers of Groby, Hastings, Bergavenny, Fitz Waren, Willoughby the younger, Latimer, Fitz Walter, Roos the elder, Botrcaux, and Souch. Many of these ladies would lose husbands and sons to war in the years to come; some, like Margaret herself, would lose both.

Some time before January 19, 1454, Margaret, accompanied by the Duke of Buckingham, brought Edward to his father in hopes of receiving the king's blessing. They met with only the slightest response: "but alle their labour was in veyne, for they departed thene without any answere or countenance savyng only that ones he loked on the Prince and caste doune his eyene ayne, without any more." A year later, however, Henry VI, restored to sanity, had a very different reaction to his son, as reported by Edmund Clere to John Paston on January 9, 1455:

Blessed be God, the King is wel amended, and hath ben syn Cristemesday, and on Seint Jones day comaunded his awmener to ride to Caunterbury with his offryng, and comaunded the secretarie to offre at Seint Edwards.

And on the Moneday after noon the Queen came to him, and brought my Lord Prynce with her. And then he askid what the Princes name was, and the Queen told him Edward; and then he hild up his hands and thankid God therof.

Sources:

Bale's Chronicle (in Ralph Flenley, ed., Six Town Chronicles of England).

Frederick Devon, ed., Issues of the Exchequer (on Google Books).

James Gairdner, ed., The Paston Letters.

R. A. Griffiths, The Reign of King Henry VI.

Joseph Hunter, Three catalogues; describing the contents of the Red book of the Exchequer (on Google Books).

P. A. Johnson, Duke Richard of York: 1411 - 1460.

Ian Lancashire, Dramatic Texts and Records of Britain: A Chronological Topography to 1558.

J. L. Laynesmith, The Last Medieval Queens.

Helen Maurer, Margaret of Anjou: Queenship and Power in Late Medieval England.

Bertram Wolffe, Henry VI.

Letters from Koeur to Portugal: 1464

2010-10-11T15:00:00.001-04:00

Here are two letters written from Margaret of Anjou's court in exile in December 1464: one by John Fortescue, the other by Edward of Lancaster. Fortescue, Henry VI's chancellor in exile, was about sixty-seven when he wrote his letter and was living in Margaret's household at Koeur Castle, near St Mihiel in the duchy of Bar. Edward of Lancaster, born on October 13, 1453, had recently turned eleven at the time he wrote his letter, and likely had some help in composing it. (Note the rather endearing boast at the end: "Writen at seynt mychacl, in bare, w' myn awn hand, that ye may se how gode a wrytare I ame.") The letters were addressed to John Butler, the sixth Earl of Ormond, the younger brother of James Butler, first Earl of Wiltshire and fifth Earl of Ormond. (James Butler had been captured and executed after the Battle of Towton.) John Butler was then in exile in Portugal, and Margaret was hoping to gain aid from its king, Alfonso V.

As Fortescue's letter notes, Margaret of Anjou and Edward of Lancaster each wrote letters to the King of Portugal, though no one in Margaret's court could remember the king's name! Edward's letter to the king, written in Latin, survives and can be found in Thomas, Lord Clermont's The Works of Sir John Fortescue (available on the Internet Archive).

Fortescue's letter to John Butler gives a poignant picture of the poverty of Margaret of Anjou's court in exile. 1464 had been a particularly bad year for Margaret's cause: in May, the Lancastrians had been defeated at the Battle of Hexham, after which Henry Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, and thirty others had been executed. (The Duke of Somerset and his brother referred to in the letter below are Edmund Beaufort and John Beaufort, Henry Beaufort's younger brothers, who were to meet their own deaths at Tewkesbury in 1471). Henry VI himself was a fugitive, who would be captured the following year and imprisoned in the Tower.

Ironically, unlike young Edward of Lancaster and many of the other men named by Fortescue in his letter, both John Fortescue and John Butler were to survive the Lancastrian defeat in 1471. John Butler was pardoned by Edward IV and restored to his earldom; he is said to have died before June 15, 1477, on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Fortescue was put to work by Edward IV writing the Declaration upon certayn wrytinges sent oute of Scotteland ayenst the kynges title to the roialme of Englond, a refutation of his prior pro-Lancastrian works, and died in 1479, having reached his early eighties.

Probably none of the letters made it to Ormond in Portugal, but were intercepted on the way, as they ended up in the French archives, thereby justifying John Fortescue's worries about whether Butler could make it safety to Koeur. The letters can be found in Clermont's Works of John Fortescue, volume I, pp. 22-28, and in Mrs. Everett Green's "Original Documents Preserved in the National Library at Paris" in the Archaeological Journal, Volume 7 (1850), available on Google Books. I have taken the letters from the Archaeological Journal

___________

Letter Of Sir John Fortescue, Addressed — To The Right Worshipfull And Singulerly Belovid Lord, The Erle Of Ormond. (Biblioth. Nationale, Paris, Baluze MS., 9047, 7, art. 175, Holograph.)

Right worshipfull and myne especially belovyd lord, I recommande me to you, and it is so that in feste of the conception of oure lady, I resceyved at Seyntc Mighel in Barroys frome you a lettre writyne at porto in portingale, on monday nexte before the feste of seynte Mighel, to my right singuler comfort, god knowith, of whiche lettere the quene, my lord prince and all theire servants were full gladde, and namely of your welfare and (?) escapynge the pouer of youre ennymies. And it is so that the quene nowe desireth you to do certayne message frome here to the Kynge of portingale, of whiche ye mowe clerely understande here entente by an instruction, and also by here letteres, whiche here highnesse nowe sendeth to you by the borer thereof. Wherefore I writhe nowe nothynge to you of tho (sic) maters. And as touchyngo the sauf-conducto whiche ye desire to have of the kynge of Fraunce, it were god that ye hadde it, and yet yf his highnesse do to us nothynge but right, the quenes certificat, whiche we sende to you herewith, shull be to you siwerte sufficiant. Northelesse I counseille you not to truste fermely thereuppone, and therby to aventure you to passe thorgh' his lande. For he has made many appoyntcmentes with oure rebelles, by whiche it semyth he hath not alway intended to kepe the peace and triwes, whiche he made with us, but yet I knawe no cause that he hathe to breke it, nor hetherto he hath not taken or inprisoned any man of oure partie by any soche occasion. And Thomas Scales hathe sente me worde that he hopithe to mowe gete by the meanes of my lord senycshall a sauf conducte for you, and elles my lord of Kendale canne fynde the meanes howe ye mowe passe soche parties of Gyawne, Langdok and other where, as most (in parte ?) is as ye shull be in no perille : my lord of Somerset that nowe is and his brother come frome Britayne by Parys through Fraunce unto the quene with xvj horses, and no man rescuyded (?) ham in there way. And so didde I frome Paris into Barroys, but yet this is no verrey surete to you. Wherefore youre aune wysdome most gyde you in this case, not trustinge myne advise that knawe not the manner of this countrey as ye do. But yet I wote welle that a bille, signed withe my lord senyschall is hand, shalle be sufficiant unto you to passe thorough oute alle Fraunce. My lord, here buthe withe the quene the dukes of Excestre and Somerset, and his brother, whiche and also sir Johne Courtenay buthe discended of the house of Lancastre. Also here buthe my lord prive seale, M(aster) John Morton, the bischop of Seynte asse [St. Asaph] Sire Edmond Mountford, Sir Henry Roos, Sir Edmond Hampdene, Sir William Vane [William Vaux], Sir Robert Whityngham and I, Knyghtes; my maistre, youre brother, William Grinmesby, William Josep', Squiers for the body, and many other worshipfull squiers, and also clercqs. We buth all in grete poverte, but yet the quene susteyneth us in mete and drinke, so as we buth not in extreme necessite. Wherfore I counsaill you to spende sparely soche money as ye have, for whanne ye come hether, ye shall have nede of hit. And also here buth maney that nede and woll desire to parte with you of youre awne money and in all this contrey is no man that woll or may lene you any money haue ye neuer so grete nede. We have here none other tithyngs but soche as buth in youre instruccion. Item, yf ye fynde the kyng of Portingale entretable in oure materes, sparith not to tarie longe with hym, and yf ye fynde hym all estraunge, dispendith not youre money in that contrey in idill, for after that ye come hither, hit is like that ye shull be putte to grete costes sone upon, and peradventure not longe tarie there. Item, my lord prince sendith to you nowe a letter writyn with his awne hande, and another letter directed to the king of Portingale, of whiche I sende nowe to you the double enclosed hereyn. I write at seynte Mighel in Barroys, the xiij. daye of Decembre. —Your servant, J. Fortescu. [Postscript.)

My lord, bycause we knewe not verrely the kynge of Portingale is name, the Quene is letter hath no superscripteon, nor the letter fro my lord prince, but ye mowe knawe ham also well by the seales as by this, that in the syde where the seale is sette of the Quene's lettre is writyn these words—pro regina, and in like weyse in my lord's lettre is writyn—pro principe. And I sende to you hereyn soche words of superscripsion as ye shall sette upon both lettres ; which wordes buth writyn w' the hande of the clerke that hath writyn both lettres.

Item, the berer hereof hadde of vs but iij. Scuts [French crowns] for all his costs towards you, by cause wee hadde no more money.

___________
Letter From Edward, Prince Of Wales, Son Of Henry VI., To The Earl Of Ormond. (Baluze MS., 9037, 7, art. 173, Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris, Holograph.)

Cousin Ormond, I grete you hertly well, acerteynyng yow that I have horde the gode and honorable report of your sad, wise, and manly gyding ageynst my lordis rebellis and your aduersaries, in the witche ye have purcheascd unto yow perpetuall lawd and wosship. And I thank God, and so do ye allso, that ye at all tymes vndcr his proteccione haue escaped the cruell malise of your sayd aduersaries ; and for as motch as I vnderstand that ye ar nowe in portingale, I pray yow to put yow in the vttermost of your deuoir to labore vnto the kyng of the sayd royalme, for the forderance and setyng forthe of my lord, in the recuvering of his ryght, and subduing of his rebellis. Wherin, yf ye so do, as I haue for vndowted that ye wyll, I trust sume frute thall folue, w' godis mercy, witche spede yow well in all your workes. Writen at seynt mychacl, in bare, w' myn awn hand, that ye may se how gode a wrytare I ame.

Additiional Sources:

Steven G. Ellis, ‘Butler, John, sixth earl of Ormond (d. 1476/7)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/4195, accessed 11 Oct 2010]

E. W. Ives, ‘Fortescue, Sir John (c.1397–1479)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Oct 2005 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/9944, accessed 11 Oct 2010]

Giveaway Winners

2010-10-08T08:52:00.002-04:00

I'm finally announcing the giveaway winners: Blodeuedd (international winner) and Pricilla (US winner). I've e-mailed both of you. Thanks to everyone who entered!

I'll have a post of substance coming up soon, I hope, but I don't think I've mentioned here that The Stolen Crown is now available on Kindle. So if you're a Kindle Karrier, check it out!

Elizabeth Woodville's Purported "Journal."

2010-10-01T12:15:00.010-04:00

A very silly nonfiction book featuring Lady Jane Grey (among other things, it has her waltzing, playing the pianoforte, and being made to wear "hunting outfits . . . similar to those of jockeys") put me in mind of this equally silly "journal" of Elizabeth Woodville. This is not my invention, but was presented in Thomas Russell Potter's 1842 book, History and Antiquities of Charnwood Forest, as being an extract from an authentic document. According to David Baldwin in his biography of Elizabeth Woodville, a newspaper clipping pasted inside a 1914 book also reproduces this extract, with a few additions, and claims that the original "journal" could be found at Drummond Castle. Not surprisingly, Baldwin was unable to find such an original document. This "journal," with its portrayal of Elizabeth Woodville as a proper Victorian miss, therefore, is likely entirely bogus, but it makes for fun reading, and for far more pleasant reading than some of the modern slurs against Elizabeth Woodville.

Thursday Morninq (May 10, 1451).—Rose at four o'clock, and helped Katherine to milk the cows: Rachael, the other dairy-maid, having scalded one of her hands in a very sad manner last night. Made a poultice for Rachael, and gave Robin a penny to get her something comfortable from the apothecary's.

Six o'clock.—Breakfasted. The buttock of beef rather too much boiled, and the ale a little the stalest. Memorandum to tell the cook about the first fault, and to mend the second myself, by tapping a fresh barrel directly.

Seven o'clock.—Went out with the Lady Duchess, my mother, into the court-yard; fed five and thirty men and women; chid Roger very severely for expressing some dissatisfaction in attending us with the broken meat.

Eight o'clock.—Went into the paddock behind the house with my maiden Dorothy: caught Stump, the little black pony, myself, and rode a matter of six miles, without either saddle or bridle.

Ten o'clock.—Went to dinner. John Grey one of our visitants—a most comely youth—but what's that to me? A virtuous maiden should be entirely under the direction of her parents. John ate very little—stole a great many tender looks at me—said a woman never could be handsome, in his opinion, who was not good-tempered. I hope my temper is not intolerable; nobody finds fault with it but Roger, and Roger is the most disorderly serving man in our family. John Grey likes white teeth—my teeth are of a pretty good colour, I think, and my hair is as black as jet, though I say it—and John, if I mistake not, is of the same opinion.

Eleven o'clock.—Rose from table, the company all desirous of walking in the fields. John Grey would lift me over every stile, and twice he squeezed my hand with great vehemence. I cannot say I should have any aversion to John Grey: he plays prison-bars as well as any gentleman in the country, is remarkably dutiful to his parents, and never misses church of a Sunday.

Three o'clock.—Poor farmer Robinson's house burnt down by an accidental fire. John Grey proposed a subscription among the company, and gave a matter of no less than five pound himself to this benevolent intention. Mem. Never saw him look so comely as at that moment.

Four o'clock.—Went to prayers.

Six o'clock.—Fed the poultry and hogs.

Seven o'clock.—Supper at the table; delayed on account of farmer Robinson's fire and misfortune. The goose pie too much baked, and the loin of pork almost roasted to rags.

Nine o'clock.—The company almost all asleep. These late hours are very disagreeable. Said my prayers a second time, John Grey disturbing my thoughts too much the first. Fell asleep about ten, and dreamt that John had come to demand me of my father.

Poetry Corner!

2010-09-29T01:29:00.005-04:00

Ah, the dangers of Facebook. Just when I was about to toddle off to bed, I was encouraged by The History Police page to unleash my Bad Ricardian Inner Poet. It led to this:

The Ballad of the White Rose

Anne, my sweet, frail flower
Sacrificed for the sake of power
Forced to marry a cruel and vengeful youth,
You kept within your heart the shining truth.
To lie with him you did abhor,
For you were bound to the white boar.
Death freed you from Lancaster’s wretched grasp,
Only to place you in Clarence’s cruel clasp.
In a cook shop you languished,
While all thought you had vanished.
Yet as Romeo would not be parted from his love,
Richard could not forget his gentle dove.
All he sought was your fair hand,
He cared nothing for your land.
Through London’s streets he paced by night,
While you continued in your helpless plight.
Good Lady Fortune led him to your side,
And you at last became his bride.
To lie with Richard, oh, such bliss!
Nothing like Lancaster’s cold kiss.
But now the door we must close,
On the wedding night of our fair rose.

There could be more here if you encouraged me . . .

The Captivity of Margaret of Anjou

2010-09-26T00:42:00.005-04:00

A comment on Margaret’s Facebook page (thanks, Marilyn!) reminded me that I’ve never posted in detail about Margaret’s captivity following her defeat at Tewkesbury. So now I’m going to remedy this situation.

Edward IV left Tewkesbury on May 7, 1471, heading toward Worcester. On his way, he was told that Margaret had been found not far from there in a “poor religious place,” the identity of which is unknown, and would be at his commandment. Some authors, including Paul Murray Kendall and Clements Markham, claim that William Stanley captured Margaret, but they give no source for this information, and I have yet to find a primary source that mentions Stanley in connection with Margaret’s seizure.

Taken with Margaret were her daughter-in-law, Anne Neville, the Countess of Devon, and Katherine Vaux. Anne, of course, had been widowed at Tewkesbury, as had Katherine Vaux, whose husband William had fought and died for Margaret. The Countess of Devon was Marie, a bastard daughter of Charles, Count of Maine and thus a kinswoman of Margaret. Her husband, Thomas Courtenay, the Earl of Devon, had been executed after the battle of Towton; his brother John died at Tewkesbury. Ironically, the women were brought to Edward IV at Coventry, where Henry VI’s and Margaret’s court had been centered during the late 1450’s. It is not known whether the captives had first been taken to Tewkesbury to see their Lancastrian dead.

Edward’s army and the captives returned to London, where on May 21, 1471, they made a triumphant procession into the city, Margaret displayed in a chariot as a trophy of war. Probably Anne Neville was not with her at this point; as her sister Isabel was married to Edward IV’s brother the Duke of Clarence, Anne most likely had been sent to join her sister. Margaret was brought as a prisoner to the Tower, where her husband, Henry VI, also was a captive. That very night, Henry VI died. The official account claimed that Henry VI died of “pure displeasure and melancholy,” but few believed it, then or now. Whether Margaret was allowed to view her husband’s body before it was taken away for burial is unknown.

Now bereft of both her husband and of her only son, Margaret began what would prove to be four and a half years of captivity. According to records cited by Cora Scofield, Katherine Vaux remained with her, and two other women, Petronilla and Mary, waited on her. The ladies were not held for long in the Tower, for on January 8, 1472, John Paston reported to Mary Paston that Margaret had been removed from Windsor to Wallingford near Ewelme, the residence of Alice de la Pole, Duchess of Suffolk. Alice was the widow of William de la Pole, who had negotiated Margaret’s marriage to Henry VI and who been appointed by the king to bring his bride to England. Wallingford Castle was under the constableship of Alice’s son, John, who was married to Edward IV’s sister Elizabeth, and Margaret may have been given into the charge of Alice.

Cora Scofield has suggested that after January 1472, Margaret alternated between strongholds, sometimes in captivity at Wallingford, sometimes in captivity at the Tower. J. L. Laynesmith notes that payments to John, Lord Dudley, for Margaret’s “diets” exist for 1473 and 1474; Dudley was constable of the Tower, but held other offices as well. Laynesmith suggests that Margaret might have returned to the Tower in 1473, or perhaps was lodged someplace else in London under Dudley’s supervision. Sometime during this period, at the crown’s expense, a tailor provided Margaret with seven yards of a woolen cloth known as “puke,” while another person was paid for supplying Margaret six yards of black velvet for “frontlets, tippets, and other necessaries.”

Two records for 1475, Margaret’s last year of captivity, are of interest. Sometime in 1475, Margaret joined the London Skinners’ Fraternity of the Assumption of the Virgin: her membership is commemorated by a miniature (shown above) in the fraternity’s records. Katherine Vaux, Margaret’s faithful lady-in-waiting, also joined the fraternity that year and may be depicted alongside Margaret in the miniature. It may well be, then, that Margaret was residing in London at this time, and that her imprisonment was not rigorous. She certainly had the ability to petition for a papal dispensation, for on November 18, 1475, she was granted one. As transcribed by Peter D. Clarke, it reads as follows:

Margaret, formerly queen of England but now held captive in the hands of her enemies, [informs the pope] that since she is of a delicate and weak constitution and she inhabits a cold region where olive oil does not grow and eating other oil is harmful and abhorrent to her, she doubts whether she and even her household and other persons who sometimes happen to eat with her and may do so in the future can properly [nourish] their bodies and not endanger their persons without eating butter, eggs, and other dairy products. She requests that the pope grant to her and her current household and other person who happen to eat at her table that they may eat butter, eggs, and other dairy products on Lenten and other fasting days or that he leaves such food to their consciences. [approved under a special papal mandate by Antonio Parentucelli, bishop of Luni-Sarzana, regent of the penitentiary, and agreed by him that it be left to their consciences]

By the time Margaret’s dispensation was issued, her captivity was drawing near its end. Earlier in 1475, Edward IV and the French king, Louis XI, had entered into the Treaty of Picquigny; in the negotiations that followed, Louis XI agreed to ransom Margaret for 50,000 crowns (10,000 pounds). Louis’s motives were by no means altruistic; he would ultimately require Margaret to renounce all of her rights to her parents’ lands in Lorraine, Anjou, Bar, and Provence. Margaret, who died in 1482, would spend her last years in France as Louis’s pensioner.

On November 13, 1475, Edward IV authorized Thomas Thwaytes, who had been given custody of Margaret (probably pending the negotiations about her ransom), to deliver her to Thomas Montgomery, who in turn was to conduct her to King Louis in France. Scofield reports that Margaret was soon afterward taken to Sandwich and thence to France. She left behind the graves of those whose rights she had struggled for so long to protect: her husband, then buried at Chertsey Abbey (he was later moved to Windsor), and her son, buried at Tewkesbury Abbey.

On January 22, 1476, at Rouen, Margaret renounced all of the rights she might have in England and was formally handed over to French officials, thereby severing her ties with England. Nearly thirty-one years before, she had entered Rouen in grand state as England’s new queen.

Sources:

John Bruce, ed., Historie of the Arrivall of Edward IV in England. Camden Society, 1838.

Peter D. Clarke. “New evidence of noble and gentry piety in fifteenth-century England and Wales.” Journal of Medieval History 34 (2008), pp. 23-35.

Keith Dockray, ed. Henry VI, Margaret of Anjou and the Wars of the Roses: A Source Book. Gloucestershire: Sutton Publishing, 2000.

Diana E. S. Dunn, ‘Margaret (1430–1482)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/18049, accessed 25 Sept 2010].

J. C. Giles, ed., The Chronicles of the White Rose of York (includes Warkworth’s Chronicle).

R. A. Griffiths, The Reign of King Henry VI. Gloucestershire: Sutton, 2004 (paperback edition).

J. L. Laynesmith, The Last Medieval Queens. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005 (paperback edition).

Nicholas Pronay and John Cox, eds., The Crowland Chronicle Continuations: 1459–1486. London: Richard III and Yorkist History Trust, 1986.

Charles Ross, Edward IV. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1997.

Cora Scofield, The Life and Reign of Edward IV. London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1923 (2 volumes).

The Importance of Context

2010-09-23T09:14:00.005-04:00

Thanks to the Internet, more primary sources are available to us historical novelists than ever before. As the availability of such sources grows, however, so does another danger: that the sources will be interpreted out of context. Karen Clark over at A Neville Feast has blogged about an excellent example of this: a letter by the Earl of Warwick in which his use of the phrase "destruction of some of my kinsmen" in official correspondence in reference to the deaths of his father and his brother and other relations has been treated by a novelist as proof of his heartlessness. I myself have ranted a number of times about Henry VI's supposed "Holy Ghost" remark, reported as hearsay by an ambassador who himself doubted the story's veracity, being quoted without the qualifier the ambassador attached to it as proof positive that Edward of Lancaster was illegitimate.

One sees popular historians as well as historical novelists making this mistake with original source material. One recent example I came across in my research for my work in progress was this one by Alison Weir, who in her book The Children of Henry VIII refers to John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, as "arguably the most evil statesman to govern England during the sixteenth century." As partial proof as Northumberland's villainy, Weir cites a letter from the duke and writes:

He regarded the death of his seven-year-old daughter Temperance as more of an inconvenience than a tragedy, explaining to William Cecil with terrifying heartlessness that it would prevent him from attending council meetings for a few days in case he was infectious. In his letter, he cold-bloodedly described the child's body--"between the shoulders it was very black". There was no evidence of any grief.

Read in context, however, the letter doesn't really bear out this assessment. Here is the actual letter, taken from Patrick Fraser Tytler's 1839 book, England Under the Reigns of Edward VI and Mary . . . Illustrated in a Series of Original Letters, Volume 2:

NORTHUMBERLAND TO THE LORD CHAMBERLAIN AND SIR. WM. CECIL.

Orig. St. P. Off. Domestic. June 2, 1552. "After my most hearty commendations. — Whereas I perceive by your letter of this instant, that, except the death of my daughter might seem dangerous and infectious, the King's Majesty's pleasure is that neither I should absent myself nor stay my son; whereupon I have thought good to signify unto you what moveth me to suspect infection in the disease whereof my daughter died. First, the night before she died, she was as merry as any child could be, and sickened about three in the morning, and was in a sweat, and within a while after she had a desire to the stool; and the indiscreet woman that attended upon her let her rise, and after that, she fell to swooning, and then, with such things as they ministered to her, brought her again to remembrance, and so she seemed for a time to be meetly well revived, and so continued till it was noon, and still in a great sweating; and about twelve of the clock she began to alter again, and so in continual pangs and fits till six of the clock, at what time she left this life. And this morning she was looked upon, and between the shoulders it was very black, and also upon the one side of her cheek; which thing, with the suddenty, and also [that] she could brook nothing that was ministered to her from the beginning, moveth me to think that either it must be the sweat or worse, for she had the measles a month or five weeks before, and very well recovered, but a certain hoarseness and a cough remained with her still. This [is] as much as I am able to express, and even thus it was: wherefore I think it not my duty to presume to make my repair to his Majesty's presence till further be seen what may ensue of it; neither my son, nor none that is in my house, except his Majesty, shall command the contrary, or that your Lordships' wisdom shall think it without peril, being no more nor no less than before is declared; requiring your Lordships' farther answer hereupon, and accordingly I will [endeavour] myself.

Thus I commit your good Lordships to the tuition of the Almighty.

From Oteforde in Kent, this 2d of June.

First, as other historians have recognized, based on other correspondence of Northumberland's at this time, the letter refers not to the death of Northumberland's daughter, but to the death of his daughter-in-law, Anne, married to his son Ambrose Dudley. ("Daughter" at the time was commonly used in situations where we would say "daughter-in-law.") Anne, a widow when she married Ambrose, was not a little girl, but was old enough to have borne her previous husband a son, who survived her.

Second, like Warwick in the previous century, Northumberland was not writing to report his personal troubles; as he clearly states, he was writing in response to concerns that his daughter-in-law had died of an infectious disease, which would make Northumberland's presence at court undesirable. Whatever Northumberland's own feelings about his daughter-in-law's death were, this business letter was not the place to express them. (One could, however, read the phrase "This [is] as much as I am able to express" to mean that he did not want to dwell further on the painful details of his daughter-in-law's death, though it could also be read to state that he knew no more details.)

Third, when Northumberland wrote this letter in 1552, he had fathered thirteen children, only seven of whom were still living at that date. Of those children who had predeceased him, the eldest son, Henry, had died in 1544 during the siege of Boulogne; the others had died during childhood. Northumberland, like so many other parents of the age, would have been all too accustomed to the early death of his offspring and their spouses. Facing the death of yet another young person, he might have thought it futile to rage against fate or express grief. The fact that he did not bewail the loss of his daughter-in-law in this letter, at any rate, does not mean he felt no sorrow. As Tytler wrote in 1839, showing more appreciation of human psychology than Weir would over 150 years later, "It is strange, that not a word of sorrow escapes the lips of [Northumberland]; and yet it would be hard to blame him, for the deepest is often the stillest grief."

Weir's using this single letter as evidence of Northumberland's lack of parental feeling is especially troublesome because, as Eric Ives notes in his recent book on Lady Jane Grey, evidence from Northumberland's other correspondence suggests that Northumberland was an affectionate father. Probably in 1552, he wrote to his eldest son, John, "Well enough you must understand that I know you cannot live under great charges. And therefore you should not hide from me your debts whatsoever they be, for I would be loathe but you should keep your credit still with all men. And therefore send word in any wise of the whole sum of your debts, for I and your mother will forthwith see them paid." In a letter to Cecil on January 3, 1553, when he was ill and probably depressed, he wrote, "What should I wish any longer this life, that seeth such frailty in it? Surely, but for a few children which God hath sent me, which also helpeth to pluck me on my knees, I have no great cause to desire to tarry much longer here." Moreover, at the lowest point of his life, when he stood condemned to die, he was anxious to save his children from his impending fate: he particularly requested "that her majestie wilbe gratyous to my chillder, which may hereafter do hir grace gode service, concydering that they went by my commaundement who am their father, and not of their owne free willes."

Letters from historical figures are a godsend to both historians and historical novelists alike. But if one is going to distort their meaning or read them out of context, one is really better off not using them at all.

Sources:

Calendar of State Papers, Domestic, Edward VI: 1547-1553, Revised Edition (1992).

Eric Ives, Lady Jane Grey: A Tudor Mystery.

David Loades, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland: 1504-1553.

John Gough Nichols, ed., The Chronicle of Queen Jane and of Two Years of Queen Mary. Available on Google Books.

Patrick Fraser Tytler, England Under the Reigns of Edward VI and Mary . . . Illustrated in a Series of Original Letters. Available on Google Books.

The Last Will of Anne Stanhope, Duchess of Somerset

2010-09-20T10:26:00.017-04:00

Anne Stanhope, Duchess of Somerset, will be making an appearance in my work in progress. While doing research yesterday, I stumbled upon her will, printed by John G. Nichols in an 1845 issue of the Gentleman's Magazine. I'll probably be posting about her more later, as she is a fascinating woman, who was the subject of a number of literary dedications and whose own daughters were highly educated. The portrayal of her in the recent television series "The Tudors" as an adulteress is entirely fanciful. From 1537 to 1550, she was busy bearing her husband, Edward Seymour, the Duke of Somerset, ten children. Edward Seymour was, of course, Jane Seymour's brother and the uncle of King Edward VI.

For reasons that are beyond the scope of this post, Anne's husband was executed in 1552. The duchess herself was imprisoned in the Tower, where she remained until Mary's accession in 1553. As a prisoner, her diet included mutton, beef, veal, capon, and larks, prepared for her by her own cook; she also enjoyed the company of two gentlewomen.

In 1558, Anne married her second husband, Francis Newdegate, who had been her husband's steward. He died in 1582, leaving her all of his estate. Famously, Anne's son Edward, Earl of Hertford, married Lady Jane Grey's younger sister Katherine, an escapade that landed both Hertford and Katherine Grey in the Tower. The imprisoned couple, who had conceived one son before their imprisonment, managed to conceive a second one during their incarceration. Both sons were eventually placed in Anne's care.

Born in about 1510, Anne lived to be quite an old lady, dying on April 16, 1587. She was survived by four of her children, including the no-longer-incarcerated Earl of Hertford, who had remarried following the death of Katherine Grey. Her will, which follows, indicates that for all the vicissitudes of the duchess's life, she did not die poor. (Do note the rope of a thousand pearls.)

[Burghley Papers, MS. Lansd. 50, art. 90.] In the name of God. Amen. The xiiij day of Julie, in the yeare of our Lord God 1586. I Anne by the goodness of God Duchess of Somerset, considering the many yeres wherwith God hath blessed me, and the sicknes wherwith I am visited, doe in perfect mynde and remembrance make this my last will and testament in manner and forme following. First, I thank God in Christ Jesus that he hath long agoe called me to the knowledge and love of the Gospell, and ever since kept me therein to an assured hope of life everlasting, thorough faith in the righteousnes of Jesus Christ alone. In which faith I recomend my bodie to the dust whence it was taken, and my soule into the most mercifull handes of him that redemed it, to be kept of him till it shalbe reunited to the bodie in that glorious daye of the resurrection of all flesh. Secondly, I geve thanks to God allso for the temporall blessings of my landes, goodes, and chatells, which I dispose to my childeren, servaunts, the poore, and others, as followeth.

First, I geve to my sonne the Earle of Hertford, and his heyres for ever, all my mansion howse situate in Chanon rowe, within Westminster, in the Countie of Middlesex, with the howsholde and furniture therof. Item, I geve him a glasse of cristall dressed with gould, a basen and ewer all gilt plaine, a payr of gilt pottes, a payer of flagons newe bought, iij gilt trenchers, a spone of gould not foulded, iiij other spones gilt antique fashion. Item, I geve him ij of the fayrest gilt bowles with covers, a salt of cristall, and my beast cheane of greate pearle with long beades of goulde betwene, a fayer juel of diamondes, and a greate pearle worth by estimation about xxx1.

Item, I geve to his wife my daughter of Hertford a fayer tablet to weare with antique work of one syde and a row of diamondes on the other syde. Item, I geve her a clock of gould work worth about xxx1.

Item, I geve to my sonne the Lord Henry Seymour xiij hundred powndes of lawfull English monie, over and above the vij hundred I have allreadie geven him towards the payment of his debts. Item, I geve him a fayer jewel of an egret with divers stones. Item, I geve him ij bowles of silver and gilt, with ewers, and a basen and ewer of sylver.

Item, I geve to my daughter the Ladie Marie Rogers all my lease and tearme of yeres in the manner and ferme of Ashford, in the countie of Middlesex, which I have fernied of (blank). Item, I geve her a harkenet of pearle, in number about c.c.c. two ropes of perle, in number about ij thousand, a lace with small pearle, a jewel of jacinth rownd with small pearle, a cople of bowles with covers, a spice box of sylver with the furniture of it, a ladle sylver and gilt, and my saddel embroydered with black velvet.

Item, I geve to my daughter the Ladie Elizabeth Knightley a greate cheane of pearle with true-loves, a jewel of a balist, ij great standing cuppes sylver and gilte, a jugge of stone fayer dressed with sylver and gilt, and a skellet of sylver.

Item, I geve to my sonne Beuchamp [a grandson] ij hundred powndes of lawfull English monie and a cheane of pearle and gould with friers' knottes, the gould by estimation worth about Lxxx1.

Item, I geve to my Sonne Thomas Seymour [another grandson] a hundred powndes of lawful English monie, and a cheane worth about Lxl.

Item, I geve to my sonne Beuchampes wife a booke of gould kept in a grene purse, and a payer of bracelets without stones.

Item, I geve to my daughter Maries husband a clieane of gould black.

Item, I geve to my daughter Elizabethes husband one of my ringes that hath the best diamonds.

Item, I geve to my goddaughter Anne Knightley five hundred powndes of lawful English monie and a rope of small pearle, in number about a thousand.

Item, I geve to my Lord Treasurer a jugge of cristall with a cover dressed with sylver and gilt, and a ring with an emerald.

Item, I geve to my nephew John Stanhope the fortie powndes he oweth me.

Item, I geve to my nephew Michael Stanhope a piller of gould with viii diamondes.

Item, all the reast of my plate not geven before I geve to my fower childeren, equally to be devided betwene them. Item, I geve a cofer of sheetes and pillowberes and a case standard with fine white naperie to my two daughters, equally to be devided. Item, I geve to the same my ij daughters my apparell, equally allso to be devided.

Item, I geve to my servant Win. Dickinson tenne powndes of lawfull English money, to be paide him for an annuitie or pension by myne executor during his life. Item, I geve to Richard Saunders, my servant, five powndes of lyke lawfull English monie, to be paide him by myne executor for a yearly pension during his life. Item, I geve to Richard Lanckeshire, John Trodde, and mother Gardener, to every one of them a yerely pension of 40s. to be payde them by myne executor during there lives. Item, I geve to all the rest of my gentilmen, yeomen, and gromes, and others in ordinarie, a yeres wages.

Item, I geve to Margaret Ashhurst all my wearing linnen, which is in her keeping, and a new black satten gowne. Item, I geve to Anne Jones 40s. Item, I geve to Mrs. Ansley a gowne of wrought velvet furred thorough with cunnie. Item, I geve to Jane Seymour 100l of lawfull English mony.

Item, I geve to godly and poor students in the ij Universites xx1, x1 to the one and x1 to the other.

Item, I geve to the poor prisoners in London xx markes, willing that these ij legacies be distributed by ij godly preachers.

The rest of all my landes, tenements, rentes, plate, Jewells, with other goodes, leases, chattles, horses, mares, geldinges, oxen, shepe, and all other stock and store, together with all mony, debts, now or hereafter dew, by bonde, covenant, or otherwise, my debts and legacies being payd, I geve to my sonne the Earle of Hertford, whom I make and appoint my sole executor, to see my debts payd and my legacies faithfully performed, and my funeralls discharged according to this my last will and testament. In witness whereof, to this my last will and testament, I have subscribed my name with myne own hande, and putte my seale this daye and yere abovesayd.

Signed, Anne Somerset.

Postscriptum. Memorandum, that there is no materiall enterlyning, but the gown geven to Mrs. Ashhurst, these wordes, " lawfull English monie," and abowt the recitall of the goodes,tenements, leases, &c. Witnesses. Tho. Penney. Tho. Muffet. W. Clarke.

Endorsed. This was acknowledged and avowed by her Grace the Duchess of Somerset to be her last will and testament, we witnesses whose names are underwritten.

Tho. Penney. Tho. Muffet. W. Charke.

References:

John G. Nichols, "Anne, Duchess of Somerset." Gentleman's Magazine, 1845. (Available on Google Books)

Retha M. Warnicke, "Inventing the Wicked Women of Tudor England: Alice More, Anne Boleyn, and Anne Stanhope." Quidditas: Journal of the Rocky Mountain Medieval and Renaissance Association, 1999.

Retha M. Warnicke, ‘Seymour, Anne, duchess of Somerset (c.1510–1587)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, online edn, Oxford University Press, Sept 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/68053, accessed 20 Sept 2010]

Photograph of Anne's tomb in Westminster Abbey taken by Bernard Gagnon; obtained through Wikimedia Commons.

New in My Nonfiction Library

2010-09-19T13:15:00.010-04:00

I am in the very pleasant position of having too much to read, for over the past few days, I've added several new nonfiction books to my collection. So, taking a cue from Kathryn's post, I thought I would mention some of them.

First and foremost is Michael Hicks' The Wars of the Roses. I was reading this last night, and from what I've seen so far, it's excellent--a balanced, well-researched account of the wars and the men and women involved in the conflict. Hicks has his share of detractors, mainly those unhappy about his unfavorable portrayal of Richard III, but I would recommend this book even to those readers, as no one, including Henry VII, is whitewashed here from what I've seen from reading selected portions of it.

Next, I got a copy of Elizabeth Norton's new book, Margaret Beaufort: Mother of the Tudor Dynasty. On a skim, I've seen some glitches (such as Norton's having Margaret of Anjou present at the Battle of Wakefield), but on the whole this seems to be a decent, if not ground-breaking, introduction to Margaret Beaufort's life. I like the fact that Norton included an appendix of Margaret's letters.

I also received a copy of Desmond Seward's The Last White Rose, about the rebellions that dogged Henry VII and Henry VIII, but I haven't had a chance to give it even a skim.

Moving away from England to France for the moment, I've received a review copy of Tracy Adams' The Life and Afterlife of Isabeau of Bavaria, which explores the myths that have grown up around Isabeau of Bavaria, wife to Charles VI of France. I'm particularly interested in reading this book because of the parallels between Isabeau and Margaret of Anjou, who married Isabeau's grandson Henry VI: both were married to kings who went mad, thrusting their queens into roles of power, and both have been treated badly by history.

I can't forget my Kindle! I've downloaded Kate Williams' Becoming Queen Victoria, which is about not only the young Victoria but about Princess Charlotte, whose tragic death paved the way for Victoria to become queen. I also have 1536: The Year That Changed Henry VIII by Suzannah Lipscomb on my Kindle.

Finally, I'm anticipating receiving John Goodall's God's House at Ewelme, about the almshouse that was established in 1437 by William de la Pole and his wife Alice Chaucer, then the Earl and Countess of Suffolk, and that still exists today, administered by the Ewelme Trust. The book, which I checked out from the library a while back but, alas, had to return, has a great deal of information about the history of the foundation, so I'm looking forward to re-reading it and discussing it on this blog.

Despite all of these books, I went to Borders yesterday and felt unfulfilled when I walked out without buying any new ones. It's a disease--what else can I say?

Giveaway, New Website Design, and Kindling!

2010-09-10T23:22:00.008-04:00

NOTE: I've rethought my giveaway. Now, the two winners (one outside of the United States) will have his or her choice of any of my published books!

I'm a tad busy at the moment, but I wanted to point you to my newly designed website, courtesy of Avalon Graphics! Stop by and admire the new look!

In honor of my pretty new website, I'm giving away two copies of any of my published novels--with each winner getting to choose the book he or she prefers! One copy will be reserved for a winner outside of the United States. Just leave a comment on the blog or on the corresponding Facebook page and you'll be entered. The giveaway closes on September 17.

Finally, when Amazon brought out the wireless-only Kindle, I capitulated and bought one. I have to say I'm quite enjoying it. It's perfect for reading independently published books that I otherwise might not take a chance on buying, and it's also great for reading new books that I can't quite talk myself into buying in hardback but don't want to wait for the paperback or for a library copy. I'm currently reading Becoming Queen Victoria by Kate Williams on my Kindle. I'm also enjoying downloading some of the many older books that are free for Kindle users. (By the way, I'm hoping The Stolen Crown will soon be made available on Kindle; both The Traitor's Wife and Hugh and Bess are available in Kindle versions.)

Without further ado, here are seven things I love about my new Kindle:

1. Great big type.
2. Holding a Kindle and a dog on one’s lap is easier than holding a book and a dog on one’s lap. I could even fit a cat up there too.
3. No matter how dopey the book I’m reading is, I somehow look more intelligent when I’m reading it on my Kindle.
4. I can walk past the Nook lady at Barnes and Noble and look smug.
5. For every book I buy on the Kindle, I am justified in buying another book to take up residence on my bookshelf.
6. Three words: New Kindle smell.
7. My daughter doesn’t have one.