Booking Through Thursday: Doomsday

A scary scenario from today's Booking Through Thursday:

What would you do if, all of a sudden, your favorite source of books was unavailable?

Whether it’s a local book shop, your town library, or an internet shop … what would you do if, suddenly, they were out of business? Devastatingly, and with no warning? Where would you go for books instead? What would you do? If it was a local business you would try to help out the owners? Would you just calmly start buying from some other store? Visit the library in the next town instead? Would it be devastating? Or just a blip in your reading habit?

I know we're all supposed to be mad at Amazon these days, but it's still my main source of books. My local bookstore's good for popular and/or new books, but it's Amazon that I use to slake my thirst for research books and out-of-print books. So it would be quite a jolt for me if Amazon disappeared. I can't remember how I got along before it, actually.

In the absence of Amazon, I'd probably manage OK on Abebooks and eBay, where I also buy a lot of books. But it just wouldn't be the same.

I don't think I'm going to sleep well tonight!

Why Did Elizabeth Woodville Leave Sanctuary?

On March 1, 1484, Richard III swore an extraordinary oath. In front of “lords spiritual and temporal” and the mayor and aldermen of London, he promised that if Elizabeth Woodville and her daughters came out of sanctuary at Westminster, he would see that they were in surety of their lives, that they would not be imprisoned in the Tower of London or elsewhere, that the girls would be married to “gentlemen born” and given marriage portions, and that Elizabeth would be given an annuity of seven hundred marks a year. Elizabeth would be attended by John Nesfield, one of Richard’s squires.

Elizabeth accepted the offer, much to the shock of some historians. Paul Murray Kendall, for instance, writing from the comfort of his study in mid-twentieth-century America, thunders, “That she came to terms with the man who had bastardized and deposed the Princes, driven her son the Marquess into exile, and executed her other son Grey and her brother Rivers is difficult enough to understand; but that she came to terms knowing also that he had murdered the Princes well-nigh passes belief, or is at least incomprehensible.”

But is it?

There were several options open for Elizabeth in March 1484. The first, and safest, would have been for her and her daughters to each take the veil. But that would foreclose any other alternatives if the political situation in England later changed, and it would have likely been anathema to Elizabeth’s older daughters, who had grown up expecting to make grand matches, not to immure themselves in convents. Probably, too, it would have been an admission of total defeat for Elizabeth.

The second option was to remain in sanctuary. This was an option, however, that was growing more unpalatable each day. Westminster was heavily guarded, a situation that must have been extremely irritating to the monks there, who may have also been tiring of providing sustenance for Elizabeth and her brood. Undoubtedly the abbot and his flock were eager to get back to normal and to get their relations with the crown back on a good footing. Add to that the fact that six females, two of them adolescents, were cooped up together in a small space, with little to keep them occupied, and the situation must have been a bleak one indeed. With the king a healthy man in his early thirties, and the rebellion of 1483 having failed, the women could be facing a stay of decades in sanctuary.

Nor was sanctuary a guarantee of security. Elizabeth knew well that sanctuary could be broken: her husband had done just that with the Duke of Exeter and with the Lancastrians who sought shelter after the battle of Tewkesbury in the abbey there. Had Richard chosen to violate sanctuary, Elizabeth and her daughters could have found themselves prisoners of the crown.

The third option was to accept Richard’s offer of a pension and good marriages for the girls, with guarantees, sworn under oath in front of numerous witnesses, that Richard would not harm the women or imprison them. This option, the one that Elizabeth ultimately chose, was not without risk. Whatever the fate of the Princes in the Tower, it was beyond question that Richard had executed Elizabeth’s son Richard Grey and her brother Anthony Woodville, and oaths could be broken. But the chances of the girls coming to harm were slim. Elizabeth knew that Margaret Beaufort, who was deeply involved in the 1483 rebellion, had been treated leniently, and she must have also realized that Richard was simply not in a position where he could risk the consequences of harming or being suspected of harming five innocent girls of royal blood, an act far beyond the pale of what was tolerated in his society. Even a popular king would have had the utmost difficulty in getting away with such an act, and Richard was not a popular king, save in the North. Moreover, the girls, unlike their brothers, did not pose much of a threat to Richard. Though nothing in England barred a woman from taking the throne, the idea of a female ruler had little appeal at the time. Only if they were married to the wrong men would the girls be a genuine threat—and through his compact with Elizabeth Woodville, Richard ensured that they would be married to men of his own choosing.

Richard, in fact, had every incentive to keep his part of the bargain. Having achieved the crown, he seems to have genuinely wished to rule well, and at a time when he was trying to reconcile his subjects to his reign, his conduct toward his nieces and the former queen was a display of generosity that could only improve his reputation. In the persons of Edward IV’s daughters, he also gained an opportunity to bind followers to him through marriage—a boon for a man who had only one legitimate child and two bastards of his own to offer. A king’s daughter, even a supposedly bastard daughter, was no mean catch, and Richard suddenly had five such royal offspring at his disposal. He arranged for the marriage of one daughter, Cecily, to Ralph Scrope and entered into negotiations with Portugal for the marriage of Elizabeth of York to Manuel, Duke of Beja. Had Richard survived Bosworth Field, it is likely that he would have married the younger daughters to his advantage as well.

Elizabeth’s arrangement with Richard has been cited as proof that she did not believe that he had killed her sons by Edward IV and/or as evidence that she was callously indifferent to her children’s fate. No normal mother, the argument goes, could have made such a bargain with her sons’ killer. This argument, however, fails to take account of the starkness of the choice facing Elizabeth. Barring a successful rebellion against Richard III, the chances of which must have seemed slender in March 1484 after the debacle of the previous year, she and her young daughters could spend the rest of their lives in some sort of confinement, or they could take their chances with the freedom offered to them. One wonders how many of Elizabeth’s critics would, put in her place, choose the former instead of the latter.

Others in medieval England, fighting for their political lives, had made choices not dissimilar to Elizabeth’s. Edward II had reconciled with the killers of his beloved favorite, Piers Gaveston. In the more recent past, Edward IV reconciled with Richard, Earl of Warwick, after Warwick had imprisoned him and killed two of his in-laws. Warwick in turn reconciled with his bitter enemy, Margaret of Anjou, and entrusted his adolescent daughter into her care by marrying her to Margaret’s son. Margaret, for her part, forgave a man who had cast slurs on her son’s legitimacy. Like her predecessors, Elizabeth did not have the luxury of nursing her grief and outrage. She had to look to the future, not to the past.

More Randomness

I've been pretty busy on the research front in the last few days, so this will be another random blog post. ('Fess up. You really like them.)

First, I was much amused to see, in the section of our local paper that's devoted to anniversaries and weddings, that a couple celebrating their 50th anniversary had a ceremony in which they "renewed their vowels."

Second, I've been going absolutely bonkers trying to figure out when Harry, Duke of Buckingham's mother (Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Stafford, cousin to Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond) died. Various Internet genealogical sites give a date of 1474, but none give a source, and many of the same sites get his father's death date wrong, so they're a bit suspect. The Patent Rolls and the Close Rolls, usually quite helpful, don't give a clue, nor do the searchable National Archives. You'd think that a duke's mother would be less obscure, but not in Harry's case.

Third, I'm enjoying my Harleian MSS. Richard III has a reputation as being straitlaced, but some of his clerks were evidently less so. Here's a ribald little ditty (translated by the editors from the Latin) that one of them scribbled on some parchment:

One cock satisfies three or five hens
But no woman is sated with three or five men.

In Which the Richard III Society Helps Alleviate Global Warming

Yesterday, while working on my novel, I had the need to know which lands of the Duke of Buckingham's were granted to who after his execution. Of course, I knew where this information could be found--British Harleian Manuscript 433. Sadly, I said to myself, "Well, since my copy of Harley 433 hasn't arrived yet, I guess I'll have to drive to the library this weekend, even if it means wasting gas and helping ruin the planet through global warming."

But the day is saved, because twenty minutes ago, I opened my front door, and what did I find, but all four volumes of Harley 433 stacked prettily on my doorstep! Having checked them to make sure that all four volumes are there (just as a proud parent counts an infant's fingers and toes), I can now say at last, "Thank you, Richard III Society, for sending me my Harley 433."

My daughter's comments: "It smells like a library in here."

Some people just have no appreciation of the finer things in life.

Mary, Queen of Scots and Lord Darnley

I've been in a nonfiction mood lately, so I've been reading Alison Weir's Mary, Queen of Scots and the Murder of Lord Darnley, a title that pretty much says it all. Weir is quite sympathetic toward Mary, not at all toward Lord Darnley, which seems to be the general attitude of most of Mary's biographers. I've been supplementing Weir with Caroline Bingham's biography Darnley, a sympathetic yet judicious study of the victim of one of history's most famous murders. (Edward II fans may recognize Bingham as the author of a well-written and fair-minded popular biography of that ill-fated king.)

Being the type of bleeding-heart Democrat that I am (which may explain why no one ever offered me a job at the Justice Department), I confess to a certain amount of sympathy for Darnley. Admittedly, he was involved in the murder of Mary's secretary David Rizzio, though he was hardly alone in the enterprise and by the standards of the day might have thought it was morally justified based on his belief that Rizzio was having an affair with Mary. He appears to have been spoiled, self-indulgent, and petulant. During the first part of his marriage, at least, he was a heavy drinker, though he also engaged in wholesome activities such as hunting, hawking, riding, and (unusually) swimming. He may have had syphilis at the time of his death, though this doesn't necessarily imply that he was more promiscuous than other men of his class; one unfortunate encounter in a brothel would have been enough. On the other hand, he was only twenty or twenty-one when he was murdered. While his character might have degenerated with age, it's also possible that it might have improved, especially if he had fallen under the influence of a wise and disinterested advisor. Unfortunately, such were few and far between, even if he had been inclined to listen, and the deadly politics of his time left no room for error. Caroline Bingham sums his life up nicely when she says, "Darnley is a tragic figure as the victim of a brutal and ruthless crime; but he is even more tragic as a figure of unfulfilled promise."

I haven't read widely enough on the subject to have an opinion on whether Mary was implicated in her husband's murder, though Weir exonerates her. Amazon has benefited greatly from my curiosity to learn more about this matter.

Speaking of books, we've now arrived at Day 8 of Waiting for Harley, though two people have assured me that the books were finally sent on June 18 (which, coincidentally, was also the first day of Waiting for Harley). I have plans for a blog celebration when and if the books finally arrive, so keep checking! I just hope the damn things were sent by air mail.

Review: The Lord of Greenwich by Juliet Dymoke, Plus a Harley Update

First, since we're on day 5 of Waiting for Harley, I've decided that my karma is so hopelessly bad that there's no point in posting nice things about Richard III. (Bear in mind that the books were paid for on May 14.) Instead, I'm giving in to my Inner Tudor and am plastering the walls with images of Henry VII. (Cackles evilly.) Anyway, while waiting for my poster putty to dry, I thought I'd do a quick review of The Lord of Greenwich, a historical novel by Juliet Dymoke.

The Lord of Greenwich is about Humfrey, Duke of Gloucester, a younger brother of Henry V. It follows his career from his youth during the declining days of his father, Henry IV, to the the period after his wife Eleanor Cobham's trial and public penance on witchcraft charges.

I don't think this was one of the best Juliet Dymoke novels I've read, but I did enjoy it for the most part. I thought that it captured Humfrey's complex personality well. The last chapters, where Humfrey has lost his wife and his political power, and has only his learning and a few faithful friends for solace, were quite moving.

Where the novel had problems for me was in the middle section, which felt extremely rushed and which could have used some editing. At one point, for instance, we're told that Humfrey's first wife, Jacqueline, is being held captive. Several pages later, she's apparently been set free, since Humfrey makes a reference to trying to persuade her to leave, but what precisely happened is never explained. Then, we're suddenly told that Humfrey's marriage has been annulled, but we're never told who was seeking the annulment. Neither of Humfrey's wives, in fact, is drawn all that well, which is a shame, because it would have been interesting to know more about them.

On the plus side, this is a fairly neglected period in historical fiction, and the novel did make me want to read more about Duke Humfrey. Jean Plaidy has written Epitaph for Three Women, which deals with Eleanor Cobham, Joan of Arc, and Katherine of Valois, and Hilda Lewis has written I, Jacqueline, about Jacqueline of Hainault, but those are the only novels I know of that deal with Duke Humfrey or his wives. Anyone know of any others?

P.S.


He's the man!!

Waiting for Harley: Day 2

So no Harleian MS in the mail today. Was I surprised? Nope. I just knew that I'd have to keep coming up with Good Things, Only Good Things to Say About Richard III to get that bad karma gone.

Tonight's special? Well, Richard had a really nifty emblem, the white boar. You can see it here. (The Society That Does Not Send Books on Time also has pictures, but they're not getting any link love from me until I have my Harley in my hands.)

While we're on the topic of pigs, those of you from overseas and outside of the midwestern and southern United States may be completely unfamiliar with Piggly Wiggly supermarkets. Feast your eyes on their logo merchandise, and ask yourself, whose pig do you prefer, Richard's or Piggly Wiggly's? (I, of course, am not responsible if you answer "Piggly Wiggly.")

The Death of Piers Gaveston

Having seen Alianore's post on the subject, it seemed improper to let the day go by without a brief tribute to Edward II's favorite, Piers Gaveston, who was executed on June 19, 1312. (In medieval history, at least, June seems to have been quite the month for unjust executions.) It was a tragic end to what appears to have been at the very least a deep friendship on both sides. As I haven't the chance to write a proper post, here's an excerpt from The Traitor's Wife instead:

The justices examined the evidence presented to them—an easy task as Gaveston himself had no chance to speak or call anyone to speak in his behalf—and sentenced the Gascon to death. Here Gilbert de Clare, though unwittingly, came to Gaveston’s aid, for the earls deemed it unseemly that the brother-in-law of the Earl of Gloucester should die a traitor’s death. Instead, he was granted the nobleman’s death of beheading.

“They finally took him out of the dungeon, on June 19 it was,” said the Countess of Pembroke’s laundress. She cleared her throat; it was not usual for her to speak in front of so many people, and certainly not in front of a group of people like this—the king, the queen, her lord Pembroke, the king’s nieces, the Earl of Surrey, Lord Despenser and his son. Gaveston’s young widow was in full mourning; most of the others were in black or at least in their drabbest robes. “Poor man, he was filthy and looked in need of a good meal—he’d been in there nine days—but still he bore himself proudly, like the fine knight that I had heard he was. The Earls of Lancaster, Arundel, and Hereford came to Kenilworth to watch it be done.”

“Only the three?” asked Hugh the elder. “Where was Warwick?”

“He was not there, sir, I’ll swear it. They say he stayed in his castle at Warwick
the whole day.”

“Then he is not only a scoundrel, but a coward,” said the king’s niece Eleanor. It was odd, the laundress thought, that it was she, not the queen, who had reached over and clasped the king’s hand while the tale was being told, but the ways of the royal were inscrutable and the girl after all was the king’s near relation.

“Aye, my lady, they say he wanted no part of the business once he started it. So they brought him to Kenilworth, as I said, to the Earl of Lancaster’s land, I think. Then they took him to a place called Blacklow Hill—many a day I rolled down it as a girl, and no longer will anyone want to play there—”

“Was he shriven?” asked the king. “Do you know?”

“There was no priest there, but he prayed before he died, and many of the bystanders did too—although others laughed.”

The king was weeping, and so were his nieces. Strange, the laundress thought,
the queen—the closest thing to an angel in looks she had ever seen—was dry-eyed. But if the rumors about the king and Gaveston had been true…

The second Edward wiped his eyes. “Go on.”

“There’s little left to tell, your grace. They bade him to kneel down, and he did, as graceful as though he was here in court. He had just time to commend his spirit to God. Then one man—a Welshman he was—ran him through the heart, then another Welshman cut off his head. Oh, but he did ask before, joking-like, that they leave him his head so as not to spoil his beauty so much.”

The younger Despenser’s mouth twitched upward.

“The Earl of Lancaster did not go up the hill for some reason, so they had to bring the head down to him, to show him that the deed had been done. Some friars came and got the body later, as you now know, your grace, and took him to Oxford.” She paused awkwardly, then remembered that she had been asked to tell everything she knew. “I heard—but do not know for sure—that his head was sewn back on.”

“God bless the friars,” said Edward. “They shall be well rewarded. And so shall you.” He nodded at his steward, standing nearby, who approached the laundress with a purse.

“It was the countess’s doing, your grace. She sent me to visit my family near Warwick Castle, knowing that I would keep my ears and eyes open and report on what had happened.”

“And it was you, Pembroke, who asked the countess to provide those eyes and ears. Thank you.”

“It was the least I could do, your grace.”

Waiting for Harley: Day 1

There's a forlorn, four-book-wide empty spot on my bookshelf, begging and pleading to be filled by the elusive 4-volume Harleian 433 manuscript, which I'm still waiting to receive from the Richard III Society.

I've decided that this delay in receiving my books is due to bad karma, no doubt caused by my failure to be sufficiently appreciative of England's last Plantagenet king. Therefore, in an effort to right this wrong (and, more important, to get my damn books), I'm going to write one nice thing about Richard III every single day. Or at least for as long as I can stand it.

So here's Nice Thing #1: Richard III had very nice handwriting. See it here? I bet that's more than one can say about Henry Tudor's handwriting, or the Duke of Buckingham's handwriting, or (shudder) Elizabeth Woodville's handwriting.

Now, that wasn't so hard, was it? I can hardly wait for tomorrow to post Nice Thing #2. In the meantime, while I pass the hours in wistfully contemplating the picture of volume 1 posted above, there's a new poll in the sidebar to keep you busy.

William Hastings: Richard III's First Victim

On Friday, June 13, 1483, William Hastings walked into what he thought was a routine council meeting called by Richard, Duke of Gloucester. When Hastings left the chamber a few hours later, it was as a prisoner being hustled out to execution.

No trial was given to Hastings, whose death on Tower Green was such a hasty affair that no scaffold had been erected. He was the first of the four men who would die violently before Gloucester, who had been serving as protector of England during the minority of Edward V, took the throne as Richard III.

As with so much involving Richard III, there are conflicting theories as to why William Hastings, probably the most loyal friend Edward IV ever had, met his death at the hands of Richard, Edward IV’s supposedly devoted brother. Richard himself claimed that Hastings had been plotting against him, though he never produced any proof to substantiate his claims. Those defenders of Richard who have taken him at his word suggest that Hastings was driven into conspiracy by concerns that under the protectorate, he would lose the power and prestige he had enjoyed during Edward IV’s reign or by his suspicion that Richard meant to take the throne for himself.

The alternative explanation is that there was no plot at all and that Richard, having planned to seize the crown, ruthlessly eliminated Lord Hastings as the man most likely to stand in his way. This theory was propounded by those writing under the Tudors, but it was also that of Dominic Mancini, writing shortly after the events in question at a time when Henry Tudor was still an obscure exile:

After this execution had been done in the citadel, the townsmen, who had heard the uproar but were uncertain of the cause, became panic-stricken, and each one seized his weapons. But, to calm the multitude, the duke instantly sent a herald to proclaim that a plot had been detected in the citadel, and Hastings, the originator of the plot, had paid the penalty. . . . At first the ignorant crowed believed, although the real truth was on the lips of many, namely that the plot had been feigned by the duke so as to escape the odium of such a crime. [Richard III: A Source Book, by Keith Dockray]

It’s probably not a big surprise to readers of this blog that I lean toward the second theory: that of there being no plot by Hastings at all. Richard had recently had three of the men closest to Edward V—his uncle Anthony Woodville, his half-brother Richard Grey, and his chamberlain, Thomas Vaughan—arrested on equally vague charges of conspiracy, which would never be proven. They too would be executed without trial. In just a few days, Richard and his followers would spread the story that Edward IV had been precontracted to Eleanor Butler before his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville, making the latter marriage invalid and the resulting children bastards. These allegations would never see the inside of an ecclesiastical court, where they belonged. In each case—Hastings, Woodville, Grey, Vaughan, and the precontract—Richard would accuse, but never prove. None of those involved were allowed to defend themselves against Richard’s allegations.

No one, however, was inclined to press the point: The sudden, shocking execution of Hastings, the arrests of others on June 13 and on June 14 (including the Archbishop of York, the Bishop of Ely, Oliver King, secretary to Edward V, and John Forster, an official of the queen), the previous arrests of Edward V’s associates and their executions on June 25, the large number of armed men sent to Westminster Abbey to aid in persuading Elizabeth Woodville to giving up the Duke of York to Richard on June 16, and the rumors of massive numbers of troops headed from the north to London were powerful incentives for those who valued their heads to be docile, for the time being at least. What must have made Hastings’ execution all the more terrifying was that he was no unpopular royal favorite, but a well liked, competent, and respected man who had been associated with the Yorkist cause for decades.

In his treatment of Hastings’ widow and children, Richard did act commendably, allowing Lady Hastings to retain her husband’s land and goods, though Rosemary Horrox notes that Hastings’ royal grants were seized. This can and has been treated as an instance of Richard’s chivalrous behavior toward widows, though one might counter that it would have been rather more chivalrous of Richard not to have made Lady Hastings a widow in the first place.

Richard did do Hastings one service: he allowed his family to bury him in the Chapel of St. George at Windsor beside his friend Edward IV, as Hastings had requested in his will (made in 1481). His tomb can be seen there today. Other relicts of Hastings survive in the Hastings Hours, an illuminated manuscript owned by Hastings that today is in the British Library; in the ruins of Ashby de la Zouche Castle, which Edward IV granted to Hastings, and in Kirby Muxloe Castle, which Hastings was improving until the last days of his life.

Really Random Stuff

1) Over the weekend at the bookstore, in which I was lingering partly to avoid the 100-degree heat here, I finally remembered to look at the ending of Ian McEwan's Atonement to see what all of the fuss was about. Now I know, and what's more, I've got my dose of literary fiction for the year without having to have actually read the whole book. A nice day's work, if you ask me.

2. Since receiving some research materials earlier this spring bound in pressboard binders, I have become increasingly addicted to pressboard binders. On Monday night Hubby came home from the office supply store with a package of shiny new ones for me, and last night I started punching holes in some of my research material so I could put them in the binders. They're beautiful. Now all I need is one of those hole punchers that can do fifty pages at a time.

This may partially explain why my daughter never tells her friends, "My mother is cool."

3. I have fifty dollars in my wallet. There are fifty dollars worth of new books I want from the bookstore, including Sandra Gulland's new novel. Coincidence? I think not.

4. Since the end of May, I have walked out to the mailbox with a spring in my step, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the four-volume Harleian 433 manuscript, which is published by the Richard III Society and which has all sorts of useful information in it for someone doing research in the period. (That hammering you hear is another nail in my coffin of uncoolness.) Each day, I have trudged back with sagging shoulders, hands full of bills but not with the Harleian 433. One would think that the Richard III Society, devoted as it is to a man who could condemn and execute a man within a space of a couple of hours (the subject of my next post), would be a tad more efficient. I have arrived at several explanations for this delay:

a. The people in the UK responsible for posting the manuscript have all gone on one of those long vacations to wonderful locales that no one in the United States can afford except for the parents of my daughter's friends.

b. The Richard III Society has been secretly infiltrated by devotees of Henry Tudor, and this is all part of a sinister master plot to take it over by breeding discontent.

c. The fault lies not at all in the UK, but with agents of the Bush administration who have intercepted the package on the premise that anyone receiving four books from overseas with a weird title when they could be buying ghostwritten books by members of the Bush family at Wal-Mart is up to something sinister.

I'll keep you posted.

Mini-Review: The Red Queen by Ruth S. Perot

Recently, in a book-buying spree at Amazon, I picked up copies of two historical novels about Margaret of Anjou. The first is best left unnamed. Though the writing in itself wasn't bad, its plot consisted mainly of Margaret of Anjou having sex with men, boys, and women from all classes in all sorts of settings. (This may be the only historical novel written where Elizabeth Woodville and Margaret of Anjou have a lesbian relationship. Hopefully, it will be the last.) On the plus side, the author appears to have done a fair amount of research, so at least Margaret was having sex with people with whom she was known to be in the same geographical area as at the relevant time.

The second Margaret of Anjou novel is The Red Queen by Ruth S. Perot, which apparently was self-published in 2000. Unlike the first book mentioned here, which reads like a schoolboy fantasy run amok, The Red Queen is a rather sedate telling of Margaret's story, reminiscent of Jean Plaidy's The Red Rose of Anjou. It's a sympathetic look at Margaret, though it doesn't gloss over her faults either. The writing is solid, as is the research.

This novel could stand to be longer. In less than 300 pages, The Red Queen covers 40 years, and the period from 1460-71 seems to have been given rather short shrift. I would have especially liked to have seen more interaction between Margaret and her maturing son, between her and the Earl of Warwick, and between her and Anne Neville. It was nice, however, to see some familiar faces from the Wars of the Roses without the stereotypes that mar so many novels set during this period. For telling the story of a woman who's too often been reduced to a mere caricature, Perot deserves high marks.

Anne, Duchess of Exeter, and Her Two Husbands

A few days ago, I was thumbing through a Ricardian novel and noticed a scene where Richard III’s oldest sister, Anne, begs him to spare her husband, Thomas St. Leger, from execution for his participation in the rebellion of 1483. I call this sort of episode in historical fiction a “Dead Man Walking” scene, because Anne couldn’t have begged for her husband’s life or anyone else’s in 1483: she died in 1476. (One suspects that if Anne’s ghost had been the one begging for St. Leger’s life, Richard might have been more inclined to give way.)

So who was this little-known royal sister?

Anne, Duchess of Exeter, was the oldest of the children of Richard, Duke of York, and Cecily Neville. She was born on August 10, 1439, at Fotheringhay—the same castle in which her youngest surviving sibling, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, would be born in 1452. In 1446, when she was six, she was married to fifteen-year-old Henry Holland, who would shortly become the second Duke of Exeter. The Duke of York offered a large marriage portion—4,500 marks--probably because Henry VI was childless at the time, putting the young Henry Holland in line for the throne. Only 1,000 marks of the portion were paid. It was a poor investment in any case, for Exeter proved to be solidly Lancastrian. He also seems to have been exceptionally quarrelsome, falling out with his father-in-law and with all manner of people during the 1450’s and serving time in the Tower. Among those with whom he seems not to have gotten on well with was his own wife. The couple had one child, Anne Holland, but evidently lived most of their lives apart.

Exeter was attainted in 1461 and eventually joined Margaret of Anjou in exile abroad. Meanwhile, the Duchess of Exeter was granted the duke’s Holland inheritance for life. For a brief time beginning in 1464, she had the custody of the nine-year-old Harry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, a ward of the crown. Edward IV married Elizabeth Woodville later that year. Probably around Easter 1465, he transferred Harry to the care of his queen, whose youngest sister Harry married.

The Duchess of Exeter’s young daughter, Anne, had been promised in marriage to George Neville, a nephew of Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick. George at the time had the potential to be a quite wealthy young man, as the Earl of Warwick had no sons and the Neville lands were entailed in the male line. Elizabeth Woodville, however, wanted the heiress Anne for her own eldest son, Thomas Grey. She paid the Duchess of Exeter 4,000 marks to break the contract with the Neville family. This was certainly sharp business practice on the queen’s part, but it was hardly unusual for the times: rich young heirs and heiresses were hot commodities. Certainly Elizabeth could not have made the arrangement without the approval of Edward IV, the Duchess of Exeter’s brother. The Duchess of Exeter was no less keen to look after her own interests than the queen: as part of the marriage arrangements, the Holland inheritance was settled on little Anne, with a remainder interest in the duchess herself and in the heirs of her own body.

During the Readeption of Henry VI in 1471, the Duke of Exeter moved back into his London house of Coldharbour, which had been granted to the Duchess of Exeter during his exile. Probably the Duchess of Exeter prudently took herself off to one of her other residences during this period.

The Duke of Exeter fought with the Earl of Warwick at Barnet in 1471. There he was badly injured and was left for dead on the battlefield until a servant discovered signs of life in him and took him to a surgeon. He was later smuggled into sanctuary at Westminster Abbey, but Edward IV removed him and imprisoned him in the Tower of London. While her husband was still a prisoner, in 1472, the Duchess of Exeter took the opportunity to have their marriage annulled. Presumably the Church did not recognize allegiance to the house of Lancaster as a basis for an annulment, but the actual grounds are not known.

The duchess soon remarried. Like her brother the king, she married a social inferior—in her case, Thomas St. Leger, a knight who had probably been her lover for some time. As Anne Crawford notes, Edward IV had been showing St. Leger a great deal of favor for many years, including a substantial grant of eight manors in the early 1460’s. He was no gigolo, however; he served Edward IV militarily and administratively for years.

In 1474, the duchess’s child by the Duke of Exeter died, triggering the duchess’s remainder interest in her lands. The following year, Edward IV set off on an expedition to France, which ended in a peace treaty instead of the anticipated military engagement. Anticlimactic for most people, the expedition was fatal to one—the Duke of Exeter. He had been released from the Tower and allowed to join the expedition, presumably so he could prove his loyalty to the king in battle, but on the return journey, he was drowned. Whether his death was accidental or murder is unknown, though rumors of the latter abounded.

The Duchess of Exeter, meanwhile, had a daughter by Thomas St. Leger in late 1475 or in January 1476. The little girl, named Anne like her mother and her deceased half-sister, soon became motherless, for the duchess died in January 1476, possibly in or soon after childbirth. She was buried in the Chapel of St. George at Windsor.

Following his wife’s death, St. Leger remained on good terms with his brother-in-law the king. He served as Edward IV’s controller of the mint and as master of the king’s harthounds. In 1481, he was granted a license to found a perpetual chantry of two chaplains at the Chapel of St. George, in memory of his wife. He never remarried.

Thomas Grey, the Marquess of Dorset, who had married the Duchess of Exeter’s eldest daughter, Anne Holland, had remarried after the young girl’s death and now had a son of his own, who was contracted to young Anne St. Leger. The arrangement under which Anne was be deemed the heir to the Exeter estates was formalized in an Act of Parliament in January 1483. Richard Grey, Dorset’s younger brother, also benefited from the Act, in which part of the Exeter inheritance, worth about 500 marks, was set aside for him. The loser in this transaction was Ralph, Lord Neville, who was the heir of the Holland family, although since the Duke of Exeter had been attainted, the crown had some justification in treating his inheritance as it liked.

This arrangement fell apart when Richard III took the throne in July 1483. Thomas St. Leger attended the new king’s coronation and was given cloth of silver and velvet for the occasion, but he was soon afterward deprived of his positions of master of harthounds and controller of the mint. His daughter, meanwhile, was ordered to be handed over to the Duke of Buckingham. Perhaps, as Michael Hicks has suggested, Buckingham had the girl in mind as a bride for his own eldest son. This never came to pass either, of course, for both St. Leger and Buckingham ended up in rebellion against the new king.

St. Leger has been criticized for his lack of loyalty to Richard III, but Richard, having removed him from his offices, had given him no reason to remain loyal. Moreover, St. Leger had been unshakably faithful to Edward IV and, like many of the other rebels, was undoubtedly distressed at Edward V having disappeared from sight after having been deprived of his crown.

Unlike many of the rebels, who gave up the fight after Buckingham’s execution on November 2, St. Leger continued the fight in Exeter, but was ultimately captured. He was executed on November 13, 1483, at Exeter Castle, despite the offer of large sums of money on his behalf. St. Leger, described by the Crowland chronicler as a “most noble knight,” was buried with his wife Anne at Windsor. They are depicted here:



One last bit of business remained: the disinheritance of Anne St. Leger. In 1484, Richard III’s only Parliament overturned the acts under which Anne had been declared the heir to the Exeter estates. The beneficiary, however, was not the Exeter heir, Ralph Neville, but the crown itself.

Poorer but still well connected, Anne St. Leger ultimately married Sir George Manners, Lord Ros. Their eldest son, Thomas Manners, became the first Earl of Rutland. It is this earl’s countess who is credited with telling the supposedly sexually naive Anne of Cleves, “Madam, there must be more than this, or it will be long or we have a duke of York, which al this realm most desireth.”

Whole Lotta of Reviewing Going On

Here are some historical fiction reviews I did for the February 2008 issue of the Historical Novels Review. There's quite a variety here!

Lady Macbeth
Susan Fraser King, Crown Publishers, 2008

As the descendant of Scottish kings, young Gruadh is a valuable prize, as a man who marries her can claim the throne of Scotland. Married, pregnant, and widowed within a matter of months, Gruadh after her husband’s death is immediately claimed in marriage by another man—the warrior Macbeth, killer of her first husband.

King paints a vivid picture of the often brutal world of eleventh-century Scotland, where allegiances constantly shift and where peace is always elusive. Gruadh, who bears little resemblance to her Shakespearian counterpart, is a compelling heroine, fiercely protective of her lineage, proud of her Celtic heritage, and determined to fight for what she holds dear. Macbeth is not only a man of intense ambition, but a man of honor, a quality that Gruadh shares with him and that she gradually comes to recognize in her husband. Their evolving relationship, one between two strong-willed, intelligent people, is rendered skillfully. Gruadh tells her own story in a narrative voice that evokes the atmosphere of her time and place without feeling contrived or stilted.

As King points out in a detailed author’s note, little is known of the historical Lady Macbeth. Working with the information available, King has created a memorable portrait of a courageous woman.

***

More Letters From Pemberley
Jane Dawkins, Sourcebooks, 2007

When we left Elizabeth Darcy in Letters From Pemberley, she and her husband had been married for a year or so and were expecting their first child. More Letters From Pemberley picks up shortly thereafter and follows the Darcys and their family through 1819, shortly before the end of the Regency period.

Though Letters From Pemberly was an agreeable read, More Letters From Pemberley is a much better novel. The allusions to Austen’s other works, while still present here, are far less abundant than they were in Letters From Pemberley; the result is a novel that feels less like fan fiction and more like a novel that can stand entirely on its own. There’s considerably more focus and dramatic tension here as well, due in large part to the author’s determination to show a maturing Elizabeth and to “include the sometimes unpleasant realities of everyday life,” as Dawkins states in her preface. The result is not grim realism but a touching portrait of how one of fiction’s most beloved couples might have dealt with life’s inevitable reversals of fortune. Even more to her credit, Dawkins accomplishes this task without sacrificing charm and humor and while remaining true to the characters as they were conceived by Austen.

***

Fancy Pants
Cathy Marie Hake, Bethany House, 2007

Newly arrived in the United States in 1890, Lady Sydney Hathwell cannot bring herself to enter into a loveless marriage with the man her deceased father had chosen for her. Instead, she determines to stay with her uncle at Forsaken Ranch in Texas until she comes of age and receives her inheritance. Unfortunately, Uncle Fuller, deceived by Sydney’s masculine-sounding name, is expecting a nephew, not a niece. Sydney, therefore, dons men’s clothes and heads for Texas, where her uncle’s partner, Tim Creighton, determines to make a man out of Fuller’s foppish English relation.

Though there’s very little doubt about the resolution of this novel, Hake makes getting there an enjoyable journey, complete with Sydney’s first visit to a bordello (where Sydney’s new acquaintances allow her to take bubble baths undetected). With lively dialogue and engaging characters, Fancy Pants is tailor-made for fun.

***

Whispers Along the Rails
Judith Miller, Bethany House, 2007

In this, Miller’s second novel set in the 1890’s “company town” of Pullman, Illinois, Olivia Mott is not only working as an assistant chef at the Hotel Florence but riding the rails incognito, checking to see how Pullman’s services can be improved—or does her enigmatic boss, Mr. Howard, have another goal in mind? Meanwhile, Olivia’s former suitor, Fred, finds himself becoming involved in the labor movement, while lack of money causes Charlotte, daughter of an earl and mother to an out-of-wedlock child, to move into a settlement house in Chicago and take a job at the Marshall Field department store.

Whispers Along the Rails is well researched, well plotted, and peopled with sympathetic, three-dimensional characters who must make increasingly complicated—and risky—decisions as their situations become firmly intertwined. As was the case with its predecessor, In the Company of Secrets, Miller leaves the reader hanging and eagerly awaiting the next installment. (Fortunately, the recipes that Miller includes in the back matter can be enjoyed straightaway—allowing, of course, time for cooking.)

***

On Wings of the Morning
Marie Bostwick, Kensington Books, 2007, $14.00/C$17.50, pb, 384 pp, 9780758222565

Georgia Carter and Morgan Glennon have something in common: both grew up as out-of-wedlock children. They have another thing in common as well: both have a passion for flying airplanes. World War II gives both the opportunity to serve their country by doing so, Georgia as a member of the now-little-known Women’s Air Service Pilots.

Morgan (whose mother is the heroine of Bostwick’s first novel, Fields of Gold) and Georgia recount their own experiences, which eventually intersect to form a love story. Just as important as the romance between Morgan and Georgia, however, is the manner in which both characters come to terms with their backgrounds and with the harsh realities of war and sexism.

The characters here, major and minor alike, are rendered vividly and sympathetically, and Bostwick makes 1940’s America come alive. The dialogue is natural, with a nice period flavor to it, as are Georgia and Morgan’s narrative voices. Spending time in these people’s company was a pleasure.

For those wishing to learn more about the history behind the novel, Bostwick has included an informative author’s note in which she discusses the Women’s Air Service Pilots and Charles Lindbergh (an important character in this novel).

***

Cassandra’s Sister
Veronica Bennett, Candlewick Press, 2007

Cassandra’s Sister opens in revolutionary Paris as a young man is guillotined. In due time, his English widow, Eliza, makes her way to an English rectory, where her glamorous, tragic marriage and pragmatic outlook on life make a deep impression on one of her country cousins—the young Jane Austen, called Jenny by her family.

This quiet, often gently humorous, and elegantly written biographical novel tells the story of Jane Austen’s coming of age, both as a woman and as a writer. As Jane and her sister Cassandra go about their daily lives of social calls and occasional visits, suitors come and go for the sisters. Jane’s novels are started, completed, rejected, put away, and revised. Like a Jane Austen novel, a great deal happens without much seeming to happen at all. Jane Austen’s life influences her art—and, at a crucial moment, Jane Austen’s art will influence her life.

Intended for young adults, this novel doesn’t require a familiarity with Jane Austen’s own novels, but those who know at least some of them will probably find Cassandra’s Sister more enjoyable than those who are strangers to Austen. Older readers, Janeites and non-Janeites alike, are likely to find this novel to be a pleasant tea or cocoa companion as well.

***

Rhiannon
Vicki Grove, Putnam, 2007

In 12th-century England, fourteen-year-old Rhiannon is fascinated by the fate of King Henry's White Ship, wrecked just months before. After all, many of the passengers who perished were not much older than Rhia herself. Soon, however, Rhia's thoughts turn in another direction when a man is found murdered in nearby Woethersly. When Jim, one of the kindly locals, is accused of the crime, Rhia determines to clear his name by searching for the real murderer. Her quest will not only put her and her friends in danger, but lead to another question: Did the king's son survive the wreck of the White Ship?

Rhia is resourceful and endearing, as are the friends, old and new, she enlists in her mission. There's a large, varied cast of characters, from Rhia's healer mother to a handsome young oblate to some loutish young aristocrats to Rhia's aged, noisy, and protective groshawke, Gramp.

Grove's prose style is highly readable, with turns of phrase that give her narrative a medieval feel. With its blend of mystery, adventure, and romance, and even a dash of the supernatural, this is a novel that young readers should thoroughly enjoy.

Well, Dog My Cats, as We Say Down South

Announcing 2008 Independent Publisher Book Awards Results
12th Annual IPPY Awards to be presented in Los Angeles on May 30th

******

11. Historical/Military Fiction
Gold: The Traitor’s Wife: A Novel of the Reign of Edward II, by Susan Higginbotham (iUniverse)
Silver (tie): Trail of the Red Butterfly, by Karl H. Schlesier (Texas Tech University Press) and Hundred in the Hand, by Joseph M. Marshall III (Fulcrum Publishing)
Bronze: Rosebloom, by Christine Keleny (CK Books); The Telemachia: A History by Antimenes of Argos, by Michael Barnes Selvin (Lulu.com)

When Felicity and Populating in Peacefulness Are Just Not Enough

Every now and then, as with this example from a couple of months ago, a review of The Traitor's Wife will get sucked in by an online translator and spat out. Here's the latest very strange example:

of Both Universes
“The Traitor’s Married woman: A Novel of the Sovereignty of Duke of Windsor II” author Susan Higginbotham: BOOK REVIEW
May 20th, 2008

The Treasonists wife is the story of Eleanor de Clare, the Granddaughter of Male monarch Edward VIII I. The story starts with Eleanor as a young teen got hitched with to Hugh le Despenser. The friction match makes both Eleanor and Hugh very felicitous but felicity is not enough for Hugh. He pushes and fights to derive more until he carries off his own devastation. Eleanor lives through the sovereignties of Edward II, her beloved uncle, and Duke of Windsor III, her first cousin. She is flipped about by the intrigues and eyed monsters of others in a mode that can only be through by Queens, Rexs and consorts. Through all of this her only desire is to populate in peacefulness with her kids and Hugh.

I acknowledge that it was puzzling for a spell stating all the Jonathan Edwards, Hughs, Joans and Isabelles apart but the story, disdain the superfluity of Eleanors, was gripping. It had got fascinated, schemes and romance. I matted up every hurt and iniquity that was imposed upon Eleanor and her house. Queen Isabella, Queen regnant of Edward VIII II was a dead on target scoundrel. She was self wrapped, grabby and mean. I cherished Eleanor to be felicitous. I cherished Female monarch Isabella I to decease an ugly decease. Alas, Isabella the Catholic populated to be an older adult female.

The castanets of this story came up from historic fact and corroboration devising the fictional characters all the more existent to me. As with most historic fable it exalts me to larn more of the time period. I would advocate this book to anyone with an interest in the mediaeval time period.

The Treasonists Married woman

(The unmangled review can be found here.)

The Lucky Winner of The Crimson Portrait Is . . .

Aarti!

Sorry for the delay in the announcement. Boswell wasn't cooperating. Anyway, Aarti, e-mail me at boswellbaxter@bellsouth.net with your snail mail address, and we'll have your book ready to go!

More Tacky Covers

We've had a little tacky-cover-fest here in blogland, between Suburbanbeatnik's Toga Porn post (courtesy of Sarah's link) and Sarah's own post on The Epitome of Tackiness. So here's a couple of more tacky covers to start your weekend off right. (Long-time readers of this blog will have seen the last two already--which depict Jane Shore and Katherine Howard--but I thought I'd post them again for the newcomers here, especially since I didn't have the scanner when I posted them before.)

Ride East! Ride West!, incidentally, is set in the 1340's. The heroine's scanty clothing is doubtless an arcane reference to Edward III's sumptuary laws, which regulated what materials could be worn by persons of various social ranks.

Hugh's Catalog Card

Visited Alianore's blog today and was shocked (yes, shocked) that Hugh le Despenser the younger had no Catalogue Card. (Of course, we efficient Americans call it a "Catalog Card.") So here goes:




We feel much better on this blog now, thank you.

Is Jean Plaidy Blushing in Her Grave?

As promised a few posts ago, here's a picture of my latest acquisition: a 1950's paperback of Madame Serpent by Jean Plaidy. The heroine is Catherine d'Medici, and judging from her state of undress, the weather must have been quite balmy in France at the time. I haven't read the book yet (and won't be reading this copy; it's too fragile), but it's probably safe to say that Plaidy didn't write anything that quite lives up to the promise of the cover.

Here, by way of contrast, is the cover from the recent UK reissue of Madame Serpent.

It's just not the same, is it?

Some Mother's Day Sympathy for Margaret of Anjou

Of all the mothers in the Wars of the Roses, Margaret of Anjou, queen to the unfortunate Henry VI, has surely been the most maligned. She's regularly portrayed as an adulteress and a vengeful harpy. One historical novel even has her repeatedly trying to murder her daughter-in-law, Anne Neville, though I never quite figured out why. (I'm not sure the author knew either.)

Derived from Shakespeare, a set piece in many a Wars of the Roses novel, even some recent ones where the authors should have known better, involves cruel Margaret ordering immediately after the Battle of Wakefield that the severed heads of the Duke of York and his teenage son, the Earl of Rutland, be displayed and the Duke's head bedecked with a paper crown. In fact, Margaret was not at the Battle of Wakefield; she was in Scotland at the time. There's even been considerable doubt cast as to the extent of the atrocities supposedly committed by her troops.

Margaret's position is surely deserving of more sympathy than she has received. Criticized at first for her failure to conceive a child, when she finally did become pregnant, her enemies accused her of adultery. (There's simply no proof that she had sexual relations with any man but her husband.) During her pregnancy, her husband lost his reason; eventually, the loss of his crown followed. Believing that the throne of England was her son's birthright, she fought for it until his death at the Battle of Tewkesbury. She was brought to London as a prisoner, only to have her husband murdered the night of her arrival. No longer regarded as a threat by the Yorkists, only as a financial burden, she was finally sent back to France, where she died in obscurity.

Margaret is frequently compared to an earlier French-born Queen of England, Isabella of France, and the traditionally negative portrayal of each of them has often been ascribed to misogyny and xenophobia. Both women, indeed, have recently benefited from recent interest in medieval women and medieval queens and have attracted some sympathy from historians, female and male alike. Yet popular culture has lagged behind, for while Isabella has been portrayed sympathetically by a number of novelists, especially female ones, Margaret of Anjou has met a quite different fate at their hands. She's frequently little more than a cardboard villain, and even when she's given some semblance of depth, the myths such as her presence at the Battle of Wakefield are trotted out. (Ironically, this portrayal of Margaret, which owes so much to Shakespeare, is often perpetuated by the very same novelists who decry the Bard's portrayal of Richard III.)

Strangely, Isabella, an adulteress who was disloyal to her husband and even to her own son, has attracted defenders because of those very facts. They attribute her adultery as being the natural reaction of a wronged wife and her deposition of her husband as being a commendable reaction against royal tyranny. Yet the loyalty of Margaret to her husband and to her son is depicted as the power-mad reaction of a vengeful woman. Evidently even her modern-day detractors feel that she should have settled back and worked on tapestries while her son was being deprived of his crown.

So this Mother's Day, why not spare Margaret of Anjou a little kindness for a change? She might well have hoped to have been a traditional queen, smiling at her husband's side, doing good works, and procuring favors for her subjects. Instead, with an incapacitated husband and competing claims to the throne, she found herself thrust into a situation that had no easy solutions, either for the men involved or for Margaret. Novelists have recognized the complexity of the situation these men faced; it's time they did the same for Margaret.

Saturday Night's All Right for Back Patting

I was pleased to hear this morning that The Traitor's Wife has been named as a semifinalist in the 2008 Independent Publisher Book Awards' historical/military fiction category. Results will be announced on May 23, 2008.

OK, back pat over.

Anyway, while we're on the subject of--er--me, C.W. Gortner, whose historical novel The Last Queen is being re-released by Ballantine Books, has an interview with me over at his blog, Historical Boys. Take a look, and enjoy the rest of his blog!

In Which I Give Away Books That Have Nothing to Do With Medieval England

Up for a book giveaway? Of course you are!

The folks at Back Bay Books, an imprint of the Hachette Book Group, have sent me two novels to give away here: The Crimson Portrait by Jody Shields and The Blood of Flowers by Anita Amirrezvani. The Crimson Portrait is set in 1915 England, The Blood of Flowers in seventeenth-century Persia. Both have received excellent reviews.

Now, read carefully, because I'm doing something different with each book. As some of you might know, I spend a fair amount of time hanging out over at Historical Fiction, a great bulletin board full of friendly people who love historical fiction. The Blood of Flowers is being given away there as well, so instead of having a separate giveaway here, I'm adding my copy to the kitty over there. So there will be two copies of The Blood of Flowers being given away over at Historical Fiction. Just leave your comment here (you have to join the board, but that's a cinch) before May 17, and you'll be in the running! Only catch is that you have to be in the United States or Canada (overseas postage can get pricey).

Now for The Crimson Portrait. All you have to do to win that book is to leave a comment on this blog before May 17 (again, US/Canada residents only). On May 17, Boswell will choose the winner by placing his paw on the entry of his choice. He's such a clever dog.

Booking Through Thursday: Manual Labor

From Booking Through Thursday:

Writing guides, grammar books, punctuation how-tos . . . do you read them? Not read them? How many writing books, grammar books, dictionaries–if any–do you have in your library?

I generally don't read them. I used to read a fair amount of writing magazines in my younger days, but these days I just write.

For my day job, I have a copy of Diana Hacker's Pocket Style Manual, as it's the style we follow. I also have a Chicago Manual of Style, which I was introduced to during my days as a freelance copy editor and proofreader and which I still find useful in my own writing. I own a Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, probably an edition or two out of date, and a Webster's International Dictionary, which sits ignobly in the garage because it's too damn big to keep anyplace else. I don't think I've cracked it open in years, thanks to the Internet.

The Thistle and the Rose by Jean Plaidy

This hasn't been a very productive year, reading-wise--more than anything, I've been reading bits and pieces of nonfiction, mostly for research. So I'm pleased to say that I actually read a novel from front to back: Jean Plaidy's The Thistle and the Rose, about Margaret Tudor, who married James IV of Scotland.

This novel, told in the third person, picks up with Margaret in her early girlhood at Henry VII's court and ends with her death in Scotland after having given birth to two surviving children and married three husbands.

As I knew little about Margaret before reading this novel, I found it quite interesting. Margaret's first marriage ended when she was still quite young, leaving the widowed Margaret to choose first one unsuitable husband of lower rank, than another. I can't say that I found Margaret a particularly likable character, but Plaidy did do a good job of portraying the difficulties she faced from warring factions in Scotland, pressures from England and France, and her own stubborn nature. In some ways, Margaret reminded me of Mary, Queen of Scots, with the difference being that Margaret ultimately died in her bed.

One thing I did wish had been included in here was a genealogical table, not so much for the English characters but the Scottish ones. That aside, I found this to be an interesting introduction to Margaret, one that will have me on the outlook for nonfiction about her as well.

Speaking of Jean Plaidy, I won an old paperback of one of her novels that has a splendidly tacky cover. I'm counting the days till it arrives so I can post it here!

Happy Anniversary to Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville

On May 1, 1464, twenty-two-year-old Edward IV, on his way north to deal with a Lancastrian threat, combined pleasure with business. He left his camp at Stony Stratford for the nearby town of Grafton, where he married Elizabeth Woodville, a widow several years his senior with two small sons and a very large family. The marriage remained secret until September, when Edward IV announced it to his dumbfounded council.

No one knows when Edward IV and Elizabeth met or when they began courting, although Elizabeth’s father, Richard Woodville, had been a member of the king’s council for some time. Chroniclers added various embellishments over the years—that Elizabeth, in difficulty about her dower lands, waited under a tree with her young sons, then threw herself at the king’s feet when he passed by; that Edward IV, at first planning to seduce Elizabeth rather than to marry her, placed a dagger at her throat; that Elizabeth herself put a dagger to her throat—but the couple themselves kept a demure silence on the matter. Even the May 1 date has been questioned by some; Elizabeth’s biographer David Baldwin suggests that it was assigned pursuant to romantic tradition and that the couple actually married later in the summer. What is clear, though, is that as late as April 13, 1464, Elizabeth herself seems to have no idea about the impending nuptials, for on that date she entered into a financial arrangement with her neighbor William Hastings, Edward IV’s boon companion. The arrangement, under which William promised to assist Elizabeth in recovering some of her lands in return for a share of profits, would have hardly been necessary had Elizabeth known she was shortly to be queen of England.

Only one source, Fabian’s Chronicle, details the wedding itself. According to Fabian, no one was present at the early-morning wedding but the spouses, Elizabeth’s mother, the priest, two gentlewomen, and a young man who helped the priest sing. “After which spousals ended, [Edward] went to bed, and so tarried there three or four hours, and after departed and rode again to Stony Stratford, and came as though he had been hunting, and there went to bed again.”

Elizabeth’s mother was later accused by a follower of the Earl of Warwick of having brought the match about by witchcraft. Although she was acquitted of the charge in 1470, it made a reappearance in 1484 in Titulus Regius, the document spelling out Richard III’s claim to the throne, where both mother and daughter are accused of using witchcraft to lure Edward into matrimony. The accusation has provided much fodder for historical novelists and for Ricardians, who have noted with delight that April 30 was St. Walpurga’s Eve and thus a fitting day for Jacquetta to work her black arts in preparation for the marriage the next morning. One Ricardian, W. E. Hampton, in “Witchcraft and the Sons of York” (The Ricardian, March 1980), even suggests that Edward IV’s fatigue at Stony Stratford can be attributed to “the orgiastic nature of the rites to which he may have been introduced.” (More generous minds might attribute his fatigue to three or four hours in the bridal bed, perhaps not sleeping the entire time, plus a journey on horseback to and from Grafton, or one could suppose he was feigning fatigue from his nonexistent hunting trip.) Generally not noted by the Woodvilles-as-witches contingent is the conventional Christian piety Elizabeth exhibited during her time as queen.

Once Edward IV himself made the marriage public, he treated his new bride in duly royal fashion, presenting her formally before his council at Michaelmas in 1464 and giving her a grand coronation the following May. Though little is known about the private relations of the couple, Elizabeth bore the king’s children regularly, a mark of his continuing interest in her even after she had produced the needed “heir and a spare,” and played an influential role in the bringing-up of their eldest son, Edward, a mark of the king’s trust in her.

Strangely, and sadly, it was nearly nineteen years later to the day that Elizabeth’s brother Anthony, also having stopped at Stony Stratford, would leave his lodgings there to meet Richard, Duke of Gloucester, who proceeded to make Anthony and Elizabeth’s son Richard Grey his prisoners on April 30. Fearful for her own safety after these arrests, Elizabeth Woodville, recently widowed, would spend her nineteenth anniversary of May 1, 1483, in sanctuary at Westminster Abbey.

Edward Woodville

Of the five brothers of Elizabeth Woodville who survived to adulthood, Edward Woodville, after Anthony Woodville, had the most colorful career.

Edward was the youngest of the Woodville brothers and was likely born in the mid 1450’s (his youngest sister, Katherine, probably the baby of the family, was born around 1458). When his brothers Richard and John were made Knights of the Bath in 1465, he was not included; presumably it was thought that he was young enough to wait a bit.

I have found nothing that indicates that Edward Woodville fought at Barnet or Tewkesbury, though it may simply be that he was not sufficiently prominent to be recorded. It is quite possible that he served under his brother Anthony, who P.W. Hammond suggests in The Battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury might have commanded the reserve at Barnet and who was wounded there. In April 1472, Edward accompanied Anthony to Brittany with 1,000 archers.

In 1475, Edward IV created a number of new Knights of the Bath, including his son the Prince of Wales. Edward Woodville was one of the newly made knights. In 1478, he appeared at a tournament held to celebrate the marriage of young Richard, Duke of York, to little Anne Mowbray; his horses were resplendent in cloth of gold. Later that year, Edward and the Bishop of Rochester negotiated a marriage contract between the widowed Anthony and Margaret of Scotland, although the marriage never took place. In 1480, Edward Woodville was sent to Burgundy to escort Edward IV’s sister Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy, to England for a visit.

D. E. Lowe, in an article entitled, “Patronage and Politics: Edward IV, the Wydevilles, and the Council of the Prince of Wales, 1471-83,” indicates that Edward Woodville played a role on the council of his nephew, Edward, Prince of Wales, during the last years of Edward IV’s reign. Edward Woodville was also granted custody of the town and castle of Porchester.

Richard, Duke of Gloucester, led an army against Scotland in 1482. Contrary to reports that Richard’s relations with the Woodvilles were hostile prior to 1483, Edward Woodville served as one of Richard’s lieutenants on that occasion. Richard made him a knight banneret on July 24, 1482.

In April 1483, Edward IV died. Edward Woodville took part in his funeral procession. In the succeeding days, of course, all hell broke loose. Philippe de Crevecoeur, known as Lord Cortes, had taken advantage of Edward IV’s death to raid English ships, and Edward Woodville had been appointed by Edward V’s council to deal with this French threat. On April 30, he took to sea with a fleet of ships. That same day, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, and Henry, Duke of Buckingham, took Anthony Woodville and others prisoner at Northampton, claiming on very dubious grounds that the Woodvilles had been plotting against Richard.

Edward Woodville has acquired a somewhat tarnished reputation from Mancini, who stated that “although [Edward IV] had many promoters and companions of his vices, the more important and espcial were three of the . . . relatives of the queen, her two sons and one of her brothers.” This brother has been assumed to refer to Edward Woodville (the hairshirt-wearing Anthony, the bishop Lionel, and the obscure Richard being each unlikely candidates), but Mancini’s description may have been heavily influenced by the propaganda being put forth in the summer of 1483 by Richard, Duke of Gloucester, who later described Edward and associates of Henry Tudor in generic terms as "adulterers." Nothing else supports this picture of Edward Woodville as court playboy; as his career shows, he was a man of action. His life also undercuts the notion that his sister the queen heaped her relations with royal largesse: aside from Porchester, he seems to have received no grants other than a wardship. Like his brother Richard, Edward does not seem to have ever married, and there is no trace of a marriage having been sought for him.

At his departure in April, Edward Woodville is said by Mancini to have taken part of Edward IV’s treasure with him, in collusion with Elizabeth Woodville and her son the Marquis of Dorset. Rosemary Horrox in Richard III: A Study in Service, however, writes that Mancini’s story probably originates in the fact that Edward IV’s cash reserves were exhausted to pay for this military expenditure. (She also points out that there is no evidence that Elizabeth Woodville had any share of the treasure; if she did have any, Richard III would certainly have required her to disgorge it before she left sanctuary in 1484.) Edward Woodville, in fact, had probably put to sea before he learned of the events at Northampton.

Edward and his fleet gathered at Southampton, where Edward seized ₤ 10,250 in English gold coins from a vessel there, claiming that it was forfeit to the crown. Meanwhile, having gained control of the young king, Richard turned his attention to the fleet commanded by Edward Woodville. He sent letters to officials in Calais about the restitution of ships and goods between England and France and appointed men to seize Edward Woodville. According to Mancini, the Genoese captains of two of the ships, fearing reprisals against their countrymen in England if they disobeyed Gloucester’s orders, encouraged the English soldiers on board to drink heavily, then bound the befuddled men in with ropes and chains. With the Englishmen immobilized, the Genoese announced their intent to submit to Richard's authority, and all but two of the ships, those under the command of Edward Woodville himself, followed suit. Horrox, however, suggests more prosaically that the majority of Edward’s captains recognized Gloucester’s authority as protector and obeyed his orders accordingly.

Edward Woodville—perhaps with his gold coin seized at Southampton, unless he had had the misfortune to place it on one of the deserting ships—sailed on to Brittany, where he joined Henry Tudor. There, he received a pension from Duke Francis of Brittany.

Though the October 1483 uprising against Gloucester, now Richard III, failed, the new king could not rest comfortably. In May 1484, Richard was expecting an attack led by Edward Woodville at Dover or Sandwich. It never materialized, but less than a year and a half later, in 1485, Edward Woodville was among Henry Tudor’s forces when Richard III was defeated at Bosworth.

Edward Woodville’s career under Henry VII was brief but busy. He was made captain of the Isle of Wight in 1485. In 1486, he was one of those who bore a canopy at the christening of Prince Arthur. In 1488, he was made a Knight of the Garter. These ceremonies, however, were not where his interests lay. In 1486, calling himself “Lord Scales,” he went to fight the Moors in Granada, serving in the armies of Ferdinand and Isabella. At Loja, he and his forces were successful in putting the Moors to flight, but the encounter cost Edward his front teeth. He is said to have said to a sympathetic Queen Isabella, “Christ, who reared this whole fabric, has merely opened a window, in order more easily to discern what goes on within.” Edward was sent home to England with a rich array of gifts, including twelve horses, two couches, and fine linen.

The next year saw Edward in battle again, this time in England against forces led by John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, in support of Lambert Simnel, a young pretender to the throne. After three days of skirmishing near Doncaster, Edward’s troops were forced to retreat through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham. At the Battle of Stoke, however, where Edward Woodville commanded the right wing, victory went to Henry VII.

In May 1488, Edward “either abhorring ease and idleness or inflamed with ardent love and affection toward the Duke of Brittany,” as Hall’s chronicle has it, asked Henry VII to allow him to assist the duke in fighting the French. Henry VII, who hoped for peace with France, refused the request, but Edward ignored this and returned to the Isle of Wight, where he raised a “crew of tall and hardy personages” and sailed to Brittany. Henry then reconsidered and decided to send Woodville reinforcements, but the French arrived in Brittany before this could be done. At St. Aubin-du-Cormeier on July 27, 1488, Edward Woodville fought his last battle. He and almost all of his troops perished.

Nonfiction Roundup

I've been reading (when I can) Marie-Therese, Child of Terror: The Fate of Marie Antoinette's Daughter by Susan Nagel. It's a fascinating, well written look at a child who at a young age went through horrors that would have overwhelmed many adults, much less a young girl. I've still a ways to go in it, but I heartily recommend it.

Also on the groaning to-be-read pile is the anniversary present I received yesterday: A Great and Terrible King: Edward I and the Forging of Britain by Marc Morris. It looks well done too (though I wish there were something about the Despensers in it--at least Hugh the elder).

Someone on the Richard III Society American Branch's Yahoo group noted that a new book about Richard III is coming out in June. It's called Richard the Third: The Maligned King by Annette Carson. According to the Amazon UK description, this book promises to "investigate areas where historians fear to tread," including whether Edward IV was poisoned and whether Elizabeth Woodville practiced witchcraft. I've my doubts about this book, because Carson co-wrote an article for The Ricardian on the execution of the Earl of Desmond, which she lays squarely at the feet of Elizabeth Woodville. I thought that in their determination to find Elizabeth responsible for the earl's execution at the hands of Edward IV's lieutenant John Tiptoft, the authors skimmed over contemporary events in Ireland that might have furnished an explanation (if not necessarily a justification) for the earl's execution. Nor did they explain satisfactorily why no source until the sixteenth century links Elizabeth to the execution or how the Earl of Desmond's survivors in Ireland knew of a conversation between Elizabeth and Edward IV and of Elizabeth's supposedly filching her husband's privy seal when no one in England seems to have overheard this conversation or witnessed Elizabeth's actions. So I'm expecting the usual Good Richard, Bad Woodvilles with this book, though I'll probably get a copy anyway.

Rather more to my enthusiasm, I see that there's a new book entitled Lancaster Against York: The Wars of the Roses and the Foundation of Modern Britain by Trevor Royle due out this July. Another one for the pile!

Medieval Tax Questions

In honor of income tax filing day here in the United States, here's some tax questions that some men and women in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries might have asked:

Can I deduct the cost of clothing I need to impress the nobles? Piers G.
In some cases, you may be able to deduct the cost of clothing you acquire to impress others, if this is essential to generating patronage. See Form 1040, Schedule P (PDF), Itemized Deductions for New Earls.

Are my expenses in acquiring added residences (attorney fees, costs of travel, time spent in persuasion) deductible? Hugh D.
Such expenses are generally deductible if they satisfy the same requirements for deductibility as interest on a primary residence and if the king says they are. For more information, refer to Publication F, Tax Information for Royal Favorites.

In my spare time, I enjoy diverse hobbies such as thatching, roofing, and digging ditches. If in the future I should make money off these activities, would they be considered a business or a hobby? Ed 2
If you are not sure whether you are running a business or simply enjoying a hobby, here are some of the factors you should consider:
• Do you have another occupation?
• Do others think you spend too much time on your hobby and too little time on your business?
• Do most other people in your position enjoy such hobbies?

My son is only seventeen but insists that he is capable of running his own business. Can I at least continue to claim him as a dependent? Isabella
As long as the following dependency exemption tests are met, you may claim him or her:
1. He has not fathered a child of his own;
2. He has not openly declared his intent to rule;
3. He has not executed any friends of yours.

I married a woman with very few assets of her own and a very large family. In the past tax year, I have provided jobs and marriages for these relations. Can I claim them as dependents? Ed 4.
There are four tests that must be met for a person to be your qualifying relative for an exemption. The four tests are:
1. Member of household or relationship test,
2. Gross income test,
3. Support test, and
4. Annoying the Kingmaker test.

I am an English citizen. If I move to France with the intention of returning to England at a convenient moment, do I pay both French and English income taxes? Henry T.
You must comply with both countries’ filing requirements. However, if you return to England and make yourself king, this advice may change. Consult your tax expert.

Search Terms

It's been a busy last few days, between the day job and it being tax time here, but I thought I'd post several recent search terms used to reach my website. (Most have been distressingly sensible and straightforward lately.)

susan higginbotham resigns
Wishful thinking from an unhappy blog reader?

elizabeth de burgo’ and cambridge black widow
I really don't like the sound of this one. Neither, I'm sure, did Mr. de Burgoâ€

duchess of york legs photo
Now there's a person with a obsession.

lady marries hand her own
Surely a dating service could have saved this poor woman from this fate. And on which hand did she wear her wedding ring? Did the hand have its own wedding ring?

New Message Board About the Wars of the Roses

This weekend, I woke up in a mood to start a message board about the Wars of the Roses. (Yes, I do have a very patient family--someone else might have woken up in a mood to cook the whole family breakfast.) So here it is! It's not the prettiest board in town (I need to figure out how to add some graphics), but it's ready for posting, so please mosey on over, and join a thread or better yet, start one!

Don't be put off by the stuffy-sounding rules at the top. I added those because in one group I used to belong to, a debate about Richard III degenerated into a name-calling fest, the chief offender being a person well into middle age. Debate that adheres to common rules of courtesy will never be discouraged on the board, however,

US, UK Publishers Declare Tudor Moratorium

Responding to increasing reader complaints about an oversaturated market, top publishers in the United States and the United Kingdom have entered into a ground-breaking agreement: not to publish any fiction about the Tudors until at least 2018.

A senior editor at Penguin, who preferred not to be identified, explained, “Readers—and editors—have simply had too much of Henry VIII and his wives. Why, the other night, I dreamed of Henry VIII, and my husband doesn’t even look the least bit like him. It’s unhealthy.”

Though some civil libertarians have expressed concern that the Tudor moratorium amounts to censorship, an editor at St. Martin’s, speaking on condition that his name not be mentioned, saw no cause for concern. “This is purely a voluntary program. If an author really insists on writing about the Tudors, there’s always small presses or self-publishing, though it’d be great they chose to go with the program as well. It’s really a healthy thing to do, sort of like giving up smoking. Once you do it, you realize how much better you feel, even though it’s hard at first.”

Only fiction is included in the moratorium, though some editors are hopeful that it will later expand to include nonfiction as well. “We wanted to sort of ease people into this,” explained the Penguin editor. “Besides, once the novels are gone, people won’t be looking for nonfiction to see if the novels got it right, so I think you might see the nonfiction dying a natural death—sort of like Anne of Cleves.”

Though many readers describe themselves as pleased by the publishers’ plan, not all are willing to kick the Tudor habit. “They need to let us down gradually—maybe one wife at a time,” said Gwen, a homemaker from Virginia. “Start with not publishing anything about Jane Seymour, maybe—I always thought she was kind of a wimp, anyway.”

Other readers, such as Jean, an attorney from Washington State, have vowed to boycott the publishers involved. Such a reaction, says the editor from St. Martin’s, is extreme. “Readers who are hopelessly addicted to the Tudors—and that’s just what it is, an addiction, if people will just admit it—just need to look for alternatives. For example, Henry VIII had a bad temper. So find some fiction about other kings with bad tempers, like King John. Or you might want to read about Catherine of Valois instead of Katherine Parr, since they both remarried after their king died. Why, they’ve even made it easy for you by having the same first name.”

The Penguin editor added, “We are concerned about the mental health of some readers who may have problems adjusting to not having any new Tudor novels. We’ll be setting up an 800 number they can call day or night, and there will be several operators concentrating on Anne Boleyn alone. And Barnes and Noble has agreed to host twelve-step groups for the Tudor addicts who need a bit more help to see this through. Ultimately, we know people are going to be all the stronger for this, though.”

The moratorium takes effect immediately as of April 1, 2008, meaning that novels currently in production with Tudor themes will not be released. Asked if this might cause a hardship for some authors, the Penguin editor replied, “Not really, if they’re creative. They can take the story they did and rework it. For instance, if an author did a novel about Henry VIII and his six wives, he or she can update it to modern Hollywood and have it be about a big-name producer and his many divorces. There’s still a lot of glitzy clothes and parties, after all. All the writer would really have to do is take out the beheadings. And maybe not even that. Some people in Hollywood are pretty whacked out, you know.”