Yay! My footnotes are finally done!
Since I had some free time yesterday, I finally finished Josephine Wilkinson's new biography, Richard, The Young King To Be. It covers Richard's life until 1475, ending with Edward IV's anticlimatic excursion to France.
On the whole, I thought this was well done. Though highly sympathetic to Richard, it avoided the romanticism of Paul Murray Kendall (no escaping with Anne to breathe the free air of the moors, for instance). Richard's marriage to Anne is viewed as a pragmatic move by both parties, rather than as a match of childhood sweethearts, and Wilkinson even dares to suggest that one of Richard's illegitimate children could have been born during his marriage, as opposed to the traditional Ricardian view, which insists that they were born either in his unmarried days or through immaculate conception. In addition to noting the identification of Katherine Haute as a possible mistress of Richard's, she comes up with another candidate as well. Richard's land transactions involving the Countess of Oxford, the Countess of Warwick, and the young Duke of Bedford are examined in detail, and though Wilkinson puts most of the blame on Edward IV and Clarence, she doesn't absolve Richard entirely.
I did have a couple of reservations. Moving dangerously close to Kendall territory, Wilkinson presents the young Richard as idolizing his brother Edward. (One such passage reads, "For him, Edward was the realisation of the the angelic prophecy that foretold the return of the righteous, sacred king" (p. 98). This is psychologically quite plausible, but it's not something we know as fact, and Wilkinson doesn't produce any sources to verify her assertion. Later, during a brief excursion into the future, Wilkinson states categorically that Edward V was illegitimate and that the Woodvilles were planning to "depose" Richard from his protectorate by rushing Edward to London so that he could be crowned immediately (p. 134). Wilkinson, like other writers who accept Richard's accusations against the Woodvilles as fact, doesn't explain why, if the Woodvilles were trying to rush to London, Anthony Woodville dawdled so long at Ludlow with his charge and met Richard III at his lodgings instead of pressing onto London. Maybe Wilkinson will attempt an explanation in her next book.
All in all, though, this was an interesting look at a part of Richard's life that has been given relatively scant attention by historians. As it appears that this will be a two-part biography, I'll be interested in seeing that Wilkinson makes of the older Richard.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Snippet Time!
I'm inserting footnotes into an article I'm doing about the Woodville siblings, which is such a time-consuming and tedious process that it hasn't left me much time for blogging this week. (Next time, I'm just going to say, "Because I read it somewhere," for my references, and leave it at that.) Anyway, I thought some of you might like to see an excerpt from the novel I'm working on, which is called My Heart Split With Sorrow (from Buckingham's speech in Shakespeare's Richard III) until I find a title I like better. Six-year-old Katherine Woodville has just stumbled into a family wedding:
As I stood there, at a loss for words and sensing that I had somehow done a Bad Thing, the groom turned and stood, making me gasp. He was tall--well over six feet—and dazzlingly handsome, with hair of a rich, almost coppery auburn. Small, sallow, and of middling appearance, I was none of those things, and I averted my eyes as if caught gazing into the sun. “Well, now. Who is this young lady?”
“Katherine, sir,” I managed.
“Kate,” the groom said as I thrilled from my head to my toes. How did this man know that I loved to be called “Kate,” only Mother insisted on the more dignified “Katherine”? He turned to my sister. “I’ve changed my mind, I’m afraid. This will be my new bride.”
“She’s a trifle young for you,” said my sister a little tensely.
“Oh, maybe a bit,” the man conceded. He smiled. “Some other lucky man will have little Kate, then. Lady Kate? Can you keep a great secret?”
“You had better,” my mother warned.
“I know Kate will,” the man said reassuringly. He looked down—a long way down--straight into my eyes. “Kate, I am getting ready to marry your sister. But it is a great secret. No one can know until I announce it personally.”
“Your family would not approve?” I ventured, as he was being so confiding.
“Indeed no.”
“That is a pity.”
“But they will come to understand in time.” He cleared his throat and looked thoughtful for a moment, then appeared to make up his mind. “But there are other reasons why there are difficulties just now. I suppose you have not seen our King Edward yet, Kate?”
“No.”
“Have you heard much of him?”
I was delighted by his question, for it gave me the opportunity to demonstrate what a good Yorkist I was, a great necessity in our family, since it was not so terribly long ago that Papa and my brothers Anthony and Richard had fought for the house of Lancaster. Having gone over to what now all agreed heartily to be the right side, Papa had sternly informed us children that we should always speak well of the House of York. As with all of my father’s advice, I had heeded it dutifully, but I seldom had the chance to put it into practice, for all of my brothers and sisters, being older and much wiser, were naturally much better Yorkists as well, and never made a mistake I could correct. “No,” I admitted. “But I hear he is very brave. And very handsome.”
The second man laughed, a sound that made the chapel echo. He was well over a decade older than the groom and less handsome, though his ruddy face was a good-humored one. “Ned, there’s a fine courtier for you! Shall I?”
The younger man nodded, and the older man reached in a purse and drew out a fine gold chain, then handed it to me. (Later, I was to learn that he always kept one or two on his person, in case of emergencies.) “There’s a reward for your loyalty, Lady Kate.”
“Thank you,” I said vacantly, staring at the chain. It was lovely, and even to my inexpert eyes looked frightfully expensive. Was my sister marrying a highwayman?
The younger man laughed at my expression. “You see, Kate, I am the king. And I have come here to marry your sister.”
There were any number of dignified and proper responses I could have made to this announcement. I, of course, made none of them. My mouth gaped open, most unattractively I fear. “You?” I asked. “Her?”
“Me. Her.” The king nodded. “She will make a lovely queen, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I admitted feebly. Elizabeth was indeed lovely; indeed, I sometimes thought that she and my brother Anthony had taken so much beauty for themselves that was not enough left for the other ten of us children, especially me.
“But you must keep this a secret, Kate, as I have said. You will promise?”
“On my life!”
“Good girl,” the king said. He grinned. “Or I would be obliged to put you in my Tower as a lesson, you know.”
My previous promise was empty compared to the one I made now. “I swear and hope to die if I break my promise,” I vowed, kneeling and making the sign of the cross for good measure. I might have gone further and prostrated myself had Elizabeth not interrupted.
“Time passes. Ned, I know the child will not tell. Can we please resume the ceremony?"
As I stood there, at a loss for words and sensing that I had somehow done a Bad Thing, the groom turned and stood, making me gasp. He was tall--well over six feet—and dazzlingly handsome, with hair of a rich, almost coppery auburn. Small, sallow, and of middling appearance, I was none of those things, and I averted my eyes as if caught gazing into the sun. “Well, now. Who is this young lady?”
“Katherine, sir,” I managed.
“Kate,” the groom said as I thrilled from my head to my toes. How did this man know that I loved to be called “Kate,” only Mother insisted on the more dignified “Katherine”? He turned to my sister. “I’ve changed my mind, I’m afraid. This will be my new bride.”
“She’s a trifle young for you,” said my sister a little tensely.
“Oh, maybe a bit,” the man conceded. He smiled. “Some other lucky man will have little Kate, then. Lady Kate? Can you keep a great secret?”
“You had better,” my mother warned.
“I know Kate will,” the man said reassuringly. He looked down—a long way down--straight into my eyes. “Kate, I am getting ready to marry your sister. But it is a great secret. No one can know until I announce it personally.”
“Your family would not approve?” I ventured, as he was being so confiding.
“Indeed no.”
“That is a pity.”
“But they will come to understand in time.” He cleared his throat and looked thoughtful for a moment, then appeared to make up his mind. “But there are other reasons why there are difficulties just now. I suppose you have not seen our King Edward yet, Kate?”
“No.”
“Have you heard much of him?”
I was delighted by his question, for it gave me the opportunity to demonstrate what a good Yorkist I was, a great necessity in our family, since it was not so terribly long ago that Papa and my brothers Anthony and Richard had fought for the house of Lancaster. Having gone over to what now all agreed heartily to be the right side, Papa had sternly informed us children that we should always speak well of the House of York. As with all of my father’s advice, I had heeded it dutifully, but I seldom had the chance to put it into practice, for all of my brothers and sisters, being older and much wiser, were naturally much better Yorkists as well, and never made a mistake I could correct. “No,” I admitted. “But I hear he is very brave. And very handsome.”
The second man laughed, a sound that made the chapel echo. He was well over a decade older than the groom and less handsome, though his ruddy face was a good-humored one. “Ned, there’s a fine courtier for you! Shall I?”
The younger man nodded, and the older man reached in a purse and drew out a fine gold chain, then handed it to me. (Later, I was to learn that he always kept one or two on his person, in case of emergencies.) “There’s a reward for your loyalty, Lady Kate.”
“Thank you,” I said vacantly, staring at the chain. It was lovely, and even to my inexpert eyes looked frightfully expensive. Was my sister marrying a highwayman?
The younger man laughed at my expression. “You see, Kate, I am the king. And I have come here to marry your sister.”
There were any number of dignified and proper responses I could have made to this announcement. I, of course, made none of them. My mouth gaped open, most unattractively I fear. “You?” I asked. “Her?”
“Me. Her.” The king nodded. “She will make a lovely queen, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I admitted feebly. Elizabeth was indeed lovely; indeed, I sometimes thought that she and my brother Anthony had taken so much beauty for themselves that was not enough left for the other ten of us children, especially me.
“But you must keep this a secret, Kate, as I have said. You will promise?”
“On my life!”
“Good girl,” the king said. He grinned. “Or I would be obliged to put you in my Tower as a lesson, you know.”
My previous promise was empty compared to the one I made now. “I swear and hope to die if I break my promise,” I vowed, kneeling and making the sign of the cross for good measure. I might have gone further and prostrated myself had Elizabeth not interrupted.
“Time passes. Ned, I know the child will not tell. Can we please resume the ceremony?"
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Mysterious Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Stafford
In researching my novel featuring Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, I naturally had to do some digging regarding his mother, Margaret Beaufort--not to be confused with the other Margaret Beaufort, mother to Henry VII. This was a frustrating dig!
This Margaret Beaufort was one of five daughters of Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, and Eleanor Beauchamp. Her father was killed at the first battle of St. Albans on May 22, 1455. All three of her brothers met violent ends during the Wars of the Roses: the eldest, Henry Beaufort, was executed by Yorkist troops in 1464; the second, Edmund Beaufort, was executed after the battle of Tewkesbury; and the third, John, died in battle at Tewkesbury.
Margaret married Humphrey Stafford, Earl of Stafford, the eldest son of Humphrey Stafford, the first Duke of Buckingham. According to a manuscript cited by Carole Rawcliffe, the marriage took place in 1444. Probably Margaret was a child when she married, as her eldest son was not born until 1455.
Margaret was pregnant with her first son, Henry Stafford, when her father was killed at St. Albans. Many sources, even the Complete Peerage, mistakenly claim that the Earl of Stafford, Margaret's husband, was killed at St. Albans as well, but he, like his father the Duke of Buckingham, survived the battle with wounds. Margaret and Humphrey's eldest son, Henry, was born on September 4, 1455.
In 1458, the the Earl of Stafford died of the plague. He had been appointed in 1457 to the council of Prince Edward, son of Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou. Margaret Beaufort was left a widow with two sons, Henry and Humphrey.
The first Duke of Buckingham was killed at Northampton in 1460, making Margaret's son Henry the second duke. His wardship and marriage were in the hands of the first duke's widow, Katherine, and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Bourchier. Later, Edward IV purchased the wardship, and Henry and his younger brother were eventually brought into the household of Elizabeth Woodville. Humphrey, along with Henry, was made a Knight of the Bath and shared Henry's tutor, but he apparently died young, for there is no trace of him after the 1460's.
Margaret Beaufort, meanwhile, remarried. Her second husband was Richard Darell, variously spelled as Darelle, Darrell, and Dayrell, who was a younger son in a family of five brothers. The two had a daughter, Margaret.
It is here where things get murky with Margaret. The Collections for a History of Staffordshire contains this entry:
The editor concludes that this entry indicates that Margaret was an "imbecile." So was she actually incapacitated, mentally or physically? It's difficult to say for sure from this single entry, but it does sound as if Margaret was being made the responsibility of Elizabeth (apparently her mother-in-law, Elizabeth Calston, who died in 1464) rather than as staying with her as an ordinary guest. It has been suggested that Margaret was staying with Elizabeth during her pregnancy, but "such rate to continue during the whole time of the presence of the said Countess" suggests a more indefinite term.
Whatever the reason the countess was staying with Elizabeth, almost nothing else is heard of her. She is noted as presenting a rector, John Southwell, to Wells in Norfolk in 1463; in 1465, Richard Darell presented William Dudley to Wells in Margaret's right. (Dudley was later Bishop of Durham.) British History Online (Romsey) indicates that she had manors at Stanbridge Earls, Wexcombe, and Bedwyn. (See text by note 206.) Even her death date is unclear. Some sources give the date as being in the 1470's, and others give it in 1480, but the latter appear to be confusing her with her Stafford mother-in-law, Katherine Neville, who died that year. She was certainly dead by May 22, 1481, when Richard Darell and his second wife, Jane Baron, deeded over some land. Thus, she was spared the knowledge of the beheading of her only surviving son on November 2, 1483.
Some of the countess's obscurity might be explained by her Beaufort connections: as her father and all of her brothers died in the service of the House of Lancaster, she was unlikely to be welcome at Edward IV's court or to relish going there. Nonetheless, the countess's second husband, Richard Darell, was not out of favor with Edward IV, but was appointed to a number of commissions. He also served as one of his stepson's councilors and in 1483 was present at the coronation of Richard III. Having steered clear of his stepson's rebellion later in 1483, Richard Darell died in 1489. In 1480, he and John Tuchet, Lord Audley, arranged for Audley's heir, James Tuchet, to marry Darell's daughter by Margaret Beaufort, named Margaret after her mother. It was a short-lived marriage, for by 1488, James Tuchet had remarried. Like her mother, Margaret Darell was spared grief by her early death, for James Tuchet was beheaded in 1497 after rising against Henry VII.
This Margaret Beaufort was one of five daughters of Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, and Eleanor Beauchamp. Her father was killed at the first battle of St. Albans on May 22, 1455. All three of her brothers met violent ends during the Wars of the Roses: the eldest, Henry Beaufort, was executed by Yorkist troops in 1464; the second, Edmund Beaufort, was executed after the battle of Tewkesbury; and the third, John, died in battle at Tewkesbury.
Margaret married Humphrey Stafford, Earl of Stafford, the eldest son of Humphrey Stafford, the first Duke of Buckingham. According to a manuscript cited by Carole Rawcliffe, the marriage took place in 1444. Probably Margaret was a child when she married, as her eldest son was not born until 1455.
Margaret was pregnant with her first son, Henry Stafford, when her father was killed at St. Albans. Many sources, even the Complete Peerage, mistakenly claim that the Earl of Stafford, Margaret's husband, was killed at St. Albans as well, but he, like his father the Duke of Buckingham, survived the battle with wounds. Margaret and Humphrey's eldest son, Henry, was born on September 4, 1455.
In 1458, the the Earl of Stafford died of the plague. He had been appointed in 1457 to the council of Prince Edward, son of Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou. Margaret Beaufort was left a widow with two sons, Henry and Humphrey.
The first Duke of Buckingham was killed at Northampton in 1460, making Margaret's son Henry the second duke. His wardship and marriage were in the hands of the first duke's widow, Katherine, and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Bourchier. Later, Edward IV purchased the wardship, and Henry and his younger brother were eventually brought into the household of Elizabeth Woodville. Humphrey, along with Henry, was made a Knight of the Bath and shared Henry's tutor, but he apparently died young, for there is no trace of him after the 1460's.
Margaret Beaufort, meanwhile, remarried. Her second husband was Richard Darell, variously spelled as Darelle, Darrell, and Dayrell, who was a younger son in a family of five brothers. The two had a daughter, Margaret.
It is here where things get murky with Margaret. The Collections for a History of Staffordshire contains this entry:
Wilts. Richard Darelle, late of Litelcote, armiger, was summoned at the suit of Alexander Darelle, executor of the will of Elizabeth Darelle, in a plea that he should pay to him a sum of 45 marks, which he unjustly withheld, and Alexander stated that on the 1st August, 3 E. IV, [1463] the said Richard had placed Margaret, the Countess of Stafford, to board ("ad mensam") with the said Elizabeth during her lifetime, paying to her for each week for which the Countess was at board with her the sum of 13s. 4d. for her diets ("pro dietis suis"), such rate to continue during the whole time of the presence of the said Countess ("essencie ipsius Comitesse") at board with Elizabeth, and notwithstanding the said Countess had remained at board with her from the said 1st August for the 45 weeks following, the said Richard had not paid Elizabeth during her life for the said arrears, and had refused to pay her executor, notwithstanding frequent requisitions made upon him, and he produced the testamentary letters of the said Elizabeth, which satisfied the Court that he was her executor. Richard Darelle appeared by attorney, and denied that he had detained the money, as stated by Alexander, and appealed to a jury which was to be summoned for the Quindene of Easter Day. A postscript shews that the Sheriff had made no return to the writ up to Michaelmas term, 6 E. IV. m. 341, dorso.
The editor concludes that this entry indicates that Margaret was an "imbecile." So was she actually incapacitated, mentally or physically? It's difficult to say for sure from this single entry, but it does sound as if Margaret was being made the responsibility of Elizabeth (apparently her mother-in-law, Elizabeth Calston, who died in 1464) rather than as staying with her as an ordinary guest. It has been suggested that Margaret was staying with Elizabeth during her pregnancy, but "such rate to continue during the whole time of the presence of the said Countess" suggests a more indefinite term.
Whatever the reason the countess was staying with Elizabeth, almost nothing else is heard of her. She is noted as presenting a rector, John Southwell, to Wells in Norfolk in 1463; in 1465, Richard Darell presented William Dudley to Wells in Margaret's right. (Dudley was later Bishop of Durham.) British History Online (Romsey) indicates that she had manors at Stanbridge Earls, Wexcombe, and Bedwyn. (See text by note 206.) Even her death date is unclear. Some sources give the date as being in the 1470's, and others give it in 1480, but the latter appear to be confusing her with her Stafford mother-in-law, Katherine Neville, who died that year. She was certainly dead by May 22, 1481, when Richard Darell and his second wife, Jane Baron, deeded over some land. Thus, she was spared the knowledge of the beheading of her only surviving son on November 2, 1483.
Some of the countess's obscurity might be explained by her Beaufort connections: as her father and all of her brothers died in the service of the House of Lancaster, she was unlikely to be welcome at Edward IV's court or to relish going there. Nonetheless, the countess's second husband, Richard Darell, was not out of favor with Edward IV, but was appointed to a number of commissions. He also served as one of his stepson's councilors and in 1483 was present at the coronation of Richard III. Having steered clear of his stepson's rebellion later in 1483, Richard Darell died in 1489. In 1480, he and John Tuchet, Lord Audley, arranged for Audley's heir, James Tuchet, to marry Darell's daughter by Margaret Beaufort, named Margaret after her mother. It was a short-lived marriage, for by 1488, James Tuchet had remarried. Like her mother, Margaret Darell was spared grief by her early death, for James Tuchet was beheaded in 1497 after rising against Henry VII.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
What? A Despenser in Trouble?
One of the little tidbits that I never got to use in either The Traitor's Wife or in Hugh and Bess (coming out in a new edition later this year) is the fact that in 1344, yet another member of the Despenser family got into trouble. This time, it was Gilbert le Despenser, the third son of Hugh le Despenser the younger and Eleanor de Clare.
Gilbert was born before July 9, 1322, when Edward II granted him a remainder interest in the manor of Melton Mowbray, which had come into the king's hands thanks to his triumph in the so-called "Despenser war," which had erupted when Hugh the younger's land-grabbing and the king's complaisance outraged their enemies. My educated guess is that Gilbert was born during the unrest, which began with the devastation of the Despensers' lands in May 1321 and ended with the battle of Boroughbridge and the execution of the Earl of Lancaster in March 1322. Had Gilbert been born before the civil war broke out, it seems likely that the king would have given him a present of land at that time or that his father would have made some arrangements to endow him with land, as he seems to have done for the second Despenser son, Edward.
Edward and Gilbert (along with their younger brother, John) were fortunate enough to escape the grimmer consequences of their father's downfall in 1326. At age eighteen, their eldest brother, Hugh, had been entrusted with Caerphilly Castle, which he held against the queen until 1327, when he surrendered it in return for the promise of his life. He was kept a prisoner until 1331, even after the fall of Isabella and Mortimer. Hugh the younger's widow, Eleanor, herself was confined to the Tower, and three of the Despenser girls were forced to take the veil. The boys apparently shared their mother's imprisonment (the order releasing Eleanor in February 1328 refers to her children as well), but once she was free, they were too. One wonders why Isabella and Mortimer, having forced three Despenser girls into convents, were so lax with their brothers. Perhaps having vented their spite on the girls and imprisoned the oldest son, they were content to let the younger boys alone.
Gilbert is next heard from in 1342, when he and his brother Edward fought under the banner of their brother Hugh at Morlaix in Brittany. Sadly, only two of the three brothers came home alive: Edward was killed in the battle.
It is on December 20, 1344, that this mysterious order appears in the Close Rolls:
So what was our friend Gilbert up to? Sadly, I haven't a clue. The maddeningly vague term "certain excesses" appears quite frequently in the Close Rolls, usually in tandem with the equally unenlightening "trespasses." Nothing more is heard of the charges against Gilbert. He had distinguished mainprisers: Hugh, his oldest brother, had worked his way back into royal favor through years of loyal military service, and the Earl of Northampton, a cousin of Edward III and of the Despensers as well, was one of the most distinguished commanders of his day.
Gilbert's offenses, whatever they were (if any), did not hamper his future career. He served at Crecy and Calais, either as one of the king's household knights or under his brother Hugh's banner. In 1349, one John de la Ryvere acknowledged owing 900 pounds to Gilbert. He served Edward III again in 1359-60--his brother Hugh had died in 1349--and with John of Gaunt in 1369. On March 6, 1370, Henry de Wakefield, keeper of the king's wardrobe, gave Gilbert 15/. Os. 7\d. for the wages of himself, his men at arms, and archers. That same year, Edward III granted Gilbert "40 marks yearly, to be received at the Exchequer during his life, for the good service rendered by him to the same Lord the King."
Gilbert died on April 23, 1382. He had been married to Ela de Calverley. The couple had a son, John, who died at age 14 in 1375. Whatever the youthful folly that had put him in the Tower in 1344, Gilbert, aged at least sixty at his death, could congratulate himself on having reached a ripe old age for a Despenser male.
Gilbert was born before July 9, 1322, when Edward II granted him a remainder interest in the manor of Melton Mowbray, which had come into the king's hands thanks to his triumph in the so-called "Despenser war," which had erupted when Hugh the younger's land-grabbing and the king's complaisance outraged their enemies. My educated guess is that Gilbert was born during the unrest, which began with the devastation of the Despensers' lands in May 1321 and ended with the battle of Boroughbridge and the execution of the Earl of Lancaster in March 1322. Had Gilbert been born before the civil war broke out, it seems likely that the king would have given him a present of land at that time or that his father would have made some arrangements to endow him with land, as he seems to have done for the second Despenser son, Edward.
Edward and Gilbert (along with their younger brother, John) were fortunate enough to escape the grimmer consequences of their father's downfall in 1326. At age eighteen, their eldest brother, Hugh, had been entrusted with Caerphilly Castle, which he held against the queen until 1327, when he surrendered it in return for the promise of his life. He was kept a prisoner until 1331, even after the fall of Isabella and Mortimer. Hugh the younger's widow, Eleanor, herself was confined to the Tower, and three of the Despenser girls were forced to take the veil. The boys apparently shared their mother's imprisonment (the order releasing Eleanor in February 1328 refers to her children as well), but once she was free, they were too. One wonders why Isabella and Mortimer, having forced three Despenser girls into convents, were so lax with their brothers. Perhaps having vented their spite on the girls and imprisoned the oldest son, they were content to let the younger boys alone.
Gilbert is next heard from in 1342, when he and his brother Edward fought under the banner of their brother Hugh at Morlaix in Brittany. Sadly, only two of the three brothers came home alive: Edward was killed in the battle.
It is on December 20, 1344, that this mysterious order appears in the Close Rolls:
To Robert de Dalton, constable of the Tower of London, or to him who supplies his place. Order to release Gilbert le Despenser, knight, from prison by the mainprise of William de Bohun, earl of Northampton, and Hugh le Despenser, as he is staying under arrest in the Tower by reason of certain excesses charged against him. By p.s. [16509.]
So what was our friend Gilbert up to? Sadly, I haven't a clue. The maddeningly vague term "certain excesses" appears quite frequently in the Close Rolls, usually in tandem with the equally unenlightening "trespasses." Nothing more is heard of the charges against Gilbert. He had distinguished mainprisers: Hugh, his oldest brother, had worked his way back into royal favor through years of loyal military service, and the Earl of Northampton, a cousin of Edward III and of the Despensers as well, was one of the most distinguished commanders of his day.
Gilbert's offenses, whatever they were (if any), did not hamper his future career. He served at Crecy and Calais, either as one of the king's household knights or under his brother Hugh's banner. In 1349, one John de la Ryvere acknowledged owing 900 pounds to Gilbert. He served Edward III again in 1359-60--his brother Hugh had died in 1349--and with John of Gaunt in 1369. On March 6, 1370, Henry de Wakefield, keeper of the king's wardrobe, gave Gilbert 15/. Os. 7\d. for the wages of himself, his men at arms, and archers. That same year, Edward III granted Gilbert "40 marks yearly, to be received at the Exchequer during his life, for the good service rendered by him to the same Lord the King."
Gilbert died on April 23, 1382. He had been married to Ela de Calverley. The couple had a son, John, who died at age 14 in 1375. Whatever the youthful folly that had put him in the Tower in 1344, Gilbert, aged at least sixty at his death, could congratulate himself on having reached a ripe old age for a Despenser male.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
The Richard and Harry Show
Well, I'm chugging along in my work in progress, and the Duke of Gloucester, aided by his friend the Duke of Buckingham, is on the verge of usurping the throne, with grim consequences for everyone concerned. Since my characters are so busy, I am too, but I thought I'd stop by and pass along this interesting online book I came across a few months back, Devon--Records of Early English Drama by John M. Wasson. These records show (among other things) payments made to various nobles' minstrels when they appeared in various towns. Interestingly, Buckingham and Gloucester's minstrels appeared together on several occasions in Barnstaple:
1470-1
Receivers'Accounts NDA: Roll 2010
Et de xvj d datis minstrall' ducis Glawcestrie et de xij d datis minstrall" ducis Bokynham [others are named here too]
1475-6
Receivers'Accounts NDA: Roll 2014
mb 1 (External expenses)
Et de viij d. minstrall' ducis de Bokynham. Et de iiij d. minstrall' ducis Gloucestrie [This must have been quite a show; the Dukes of Norfolk and Clarence, among others, also had minstrels there.]
1476-7
Receivers'Accounts NDA: Roll 2015
mb 1 (External expenses)
Et de iiij d. minstrall'ducis de Bokyngham et de iiij d. Minstrall Henrici Botrugan Et de viij d. Custodi vrsorum domni Clarencij. Et de v s. solutis vj Ministrallis domni Regis. Et de xij d. duobus ministrallis ducis Gloucestrie
[Note the presence of the Duke of Clarence's "bear ward" and the king's minstrels here.]
With regard to the record for 1470-71, this must refer to a period after May 1471, since these accounts run from September to September and Gloucester was in exile with his brother Edward IV from September 1470 to April 1471, and fighting against forces of Lancaster in April and May 1471. It's interesting to note that Buckingham (born in 1455) was still a minor in 1471, a ward of the king who had been put in the custody of Elizabeth Woodville in 1464. The fact that the teenage Buckingham had a minstrel who traveled about suggests that even if he was still under the queen's care, he must have had something of a household at the time, contrary to Elizabeth's detractors, who portray her as ruthlessly exploiting her ward and keeping him from living the normal life of a noble adolescent male.
Well, back to Harry and Richard!
1470-1
Receivers'Accounts NDA: Roll 2010
Et de xvj d datis minstrall' ducis Glawcestrie et de xij d datis minstrall" ducis Bokynham [others are named here too]
1475-6
Receivers'Accounts NDA: Roll 2014
mb 1 (External expenses)
Et de viij d. minstrall' ducis de Bokynham. Et de iiij d. minstrall' ducis Gloucestrie [This must have been quite a show; the Dukes of Norfolk and Clarence, among others, also had minstrels there.]
1476-7
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Et de iiij d. minstrall'ducis de Bokyngham et de iiij d. Minstrall Henrici Botrugan Et de viij d. Custodi vrsorum domni Clarencij. Et de v s. solutis vj Ministrallis domni Regis. Et de xij d. duobus ministrallis ducis Gloucestrie
[Note the presence of the Duke of Clarence's "bear ward" and the king's minstrels here.]
With regard to the record for 1470-71, this must refer to a period after May 1471, since these accounts run from September to September and Gloucester was in exile with his brother Edward IV from September 1470 to April 1471, and fighting against forces of Lancaster in April and May 1471. It's interesting to note that Buckingham (born in 1455) was still a minor in 1471, a ward of the king who had been put in the custody of Elizabeth Woodville in 1464. The fact that the teenage Buckingham had a minstrel who traveled about suggests that even if he was still under the queen's care, he must have had something of a household at the time, contrary to Elizabeth's detractors, who portray her as ruthlessly exploiting her ward and keeping him from living the normal life of a noble adolescent male.
Well, back to Harry and Richard!
Monday, January 05, 2009
Review: A Secret Alchemy by Emma Darwin
A Secret Alchemy is narrated by two historical characters, Elizabeth Woodville and her brother Anthony, and by one fictitious one, Una Pryor, a historian who's returned to England from her home in Australia to sell her English property. During her stay in England, the recently widowed Una, who's working on a book about Anthony Woodville and his reading, visits the cousins with whom she was raised and encounters the man whom she loved as an adolescent.
Anthony's story begins with the last journey of his life: he is bound for Pontefract Castle, where he knows that the future Richard III has scheduled his execution. Elizabeth tells her story from the quiet confines of Bermondsey Abbey, to which she has retired from the court of Henry VII. Neither tells his or her life story from beginning to end; instead, they each focus on a few selected episodes, such as Elizabeth's courtship by Edward IV and Anthony's exile abroad. As a result, the cast of characters is relatively small: we meet Edward IV, Edward V, a few Woodvilles, Anthony's lover, and Elizabeth's long-time attendant and confidante. There's a cameo appearance by Thomas Malory and a couple of very brief ones by the future Richard III.
I thoroughly enjoyed reading Anthony's and Elizabeth's stories, and had tears in my eyes after reading both (which doesn't happen very often, especially when I know the ending). Anthony's tale, especially the love story Darwin gives him (which I found very plausible) and his terrible grief when he realizes that his charge Edward V is at the mercy of Richard III, is very moving. Elizabeth, who's so often reduced to a caricature by historical novelists, is beautifully drawn here. She's strong-minded and courageous, yet vulnerable. There's even a touch of humor here and there, as when Elizabeth's earthy sister Margaret comments on the queen's morning sickness.
The contemporary story, Una's, was well done also. I didn't find it as compelling as the medieval ones, but Darwin did a nice job of working the historical strands and the contemporary strand into an integrated whole.
Darwin has researched her novel with care, and she provides an afterword putting the tales of Anthony and Elizabeth in their historical context.
I heartily recommend this novel.
Anthony's story begins with the last journey of his life: he is bound for Pontefract Castle, where he knows that the future Richard III has scheduled his execution. Elizabeth tells her story from the quiet confines of Bermondsey Abbey, to which she has retired from the court of Henry VII. Neither tells his or her life story from beginning to end; instead, they each focus on a few selected episodes, such as Elizabeth's courtship by Edward IV and Anthony's exile abroad. As a result, the cast of characters is relatively small: we meet Edward IV, Edward V, a few Woodvilles, Anthony's lover, and Elizabeth's long-time attendant and confidante. There's a cameo appearance by Thomas Malory and a couple of very brief ones by the future Richard III.
I thoroughly enjoyed reading Anthony's and Elizabeth's stories, and had tears in my eyes after reading both (which doesn't happen very often, especially when I know the ending). Anthony's tale, especially the love story Darwin gives him (which I found very plausible) and his terrible grief when he realizes that his charge Edward V is at the mercy of Richard III, is very moving. Elizabeth, who's so often reduced to a caricature by historical novelists, is beautifully drawn here. She's strong-minded and courageous, yet vulnerable. There's even a touch of humor here and there, as when Elizabeth's earthy sister Margaret comments on the queen's morning sickness.
The contemporary story, Una's, was well done also. I didn't find it as compelling as the medieval ones, but Darwin did a nice job of working the historical strands and the contemporary strand into an integrated whole.
Darwin has researched her novel with care, and she provides an afterword putting the tales of Anthony and Elizabeth in their historical context.
I heartily recommend this novel.
Saturday, January 03, 2009
Seals!
No, not the type with flappers. I was Googling last night and was excited to find this book: Seals by Walter de Gray Birch.
Here's the seal of Eleanor de Clare, heroine of The Traitor's Wife, and her second husband, William la Zouche. Eleanor's, of course, is the second one. (Look at the end of the post if for some reason Google's not letting you see the images below.)
Seals By Walter de Gray Birch: "
"
And here's the seal of Eleanor's eldest son, Hugh le Despenser the even younger (died 1349), the hero of Hugh and Bess:
Seals By Walter de Gray Birch: "
"
Neat, eh? Zouche and Hugh, of course, are shown with their coats of arms, while Eleanor has a shield with the lions of England (reminding us that she was a granddaughter of Edward I) and another with the arms of Clare (her father, of course, was Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester).
Zouche and Eleanor:
Hugh:
Here's the seal of Eleanor de Clare, heroine of The Traitor's Wife, and her second husband, William la Zouche. Eleanor's, of course, is the second one. (Look at the end of the post if for some reason Google's not letting you see the images below.)
Seals By Walter de Gray Birch: "
And here's the seal of Eleanor's eldest son, Hugh le Despenser the even younger (died 1349), the hero of Hugh and Bess:
Seals By Walter de Gray Birch: "
Neat, eh? Zouche and Hugh, of course, are shown with their coats of arms, while Eleanor has a shield with the lions of England (reminding us that she was a granddaughter of Edward I) and another with the arms of Clare (her father, of course, was Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester).
Zouche and Eleanor:
Hugh:
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
New Year's Resolutions
No, not mine: they're way too boring. Thanks to Nan Hawthorne's suggestion, these are New Year's Resolutions of some people we all know and love. And Gabriele is joining in over at The Lost Fort! If everyone keeps to their promises, it should be a productive year.
Nan's:
Henry II: To spend more time with my sons.
Brian Boru: No more wives!
Harold Godwinson: To let the fyrd go home early for harvest this year -- 1066.
Richard Sharpe: To see Boney.
William of Normandy: To get in touch with my Inner Bastard.
William Rufus: To get more time off from being king, like spending more time hunting in the New Forest.
Robert the Bruce: To spend more time on the web.
Robin Hood: To tell my girlfriend I'm not the Marian kind.
Brother Cadfael: To look into $4 prescriptions at Walmart.
Nan Hawthorne: To keep up with updating medieval-novels.com better.
Susan's:
Lady Godiva: To work out more often.
Henry II: To spend some real quality time with Eleanor.
Richard I: To pay a visit to that place over the Channel, whatever it’s called. Oh, that’s right—England!
John: To schedule an appointment with that public relations guy.
Hugh le Despenser the elder: To be more strict with little Hugh.
Richard II: To get rid of that Henry Bolingbroke fellow before he really becomes a pest.
Owen Tudor: To get up my nerve to ask Queen Catherine for a date.
Margaret of Anjou: To assert myself more.
George, Duke of Clarence: To get along better with my brother Ned.
Warwick the Kingmaker: Not to sweat the small stuff.
Perkin Warbeck: To find myself.
Thomas More: To complete my unfinished book so that posterity will know what a truly great guy Richard III was.
Nan's:
Henry II: To spend more time with my sons.
Brian Boru: No more wives!
Harold Godwinson: To let the fyrd go home early for harvest this year -- 1066.
Richard Sharpe: To see Boney.
William of Normandy: To get in touch with my Inner Bastard.
William Rufus: To get more time off from being king, like spending more time hunting in the New Forest.
Robert the Bruce: To spend more time on the web.
Robin Hood: To tell my girlfriend I'm not the Marian kind.
Brother Cadfael: To look into $4 prescriptions at Walmart.
Nan Hawthorne: To keep up with updating medieval-novels.com better.
Susan's:
Lady Godiva: To work out more often.
Henry II: To spend some real quality time with Eleanor.
Richard I: To pay a visit to that place over the Channel, whatever it’s called. Oh, that’s right—England!
John: To schedule an appointment with that public relations guy.
Hugh le Despenser the elder: To be more strict with little Hugh.
Richard II: To get rid of that Henry Bolingbroke fellow before he really becomes a pest.
Owen Tudor: To get up my nerve to ask Queen Catherine for a date.
Margaret of Anjou: To assert myself more.
George, Duke of Clarence: To get along better with my brother Ned.
Warwick the Kingmaker: Not to sweat the small stuff.
Perkin Warbeck: To find myself.
Thomas More: To complete my unfinished book so that posterity will know what a truly great guy Richard III was.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Reading Round-Up, and What's In Store for 2009
First, as it's the end of the year, I feel morally obliged to list some reading highlights.
For fiction, I especially enjoyed Sharon Penman's long-awaited Devil's Brood, Jean Plaidy's French Revolution trilogy, Michelle Moran's The Heretic Queen, and Louis Bayard's The Black Tower.
In nonfiction, my favorites were James Swanson's Manhunt, about the search for John Wilkes Booth; Julia Fox's Jane Boleyn (a book that has absolutely spoiled most historical fiction dealing with Jane-as-warped-wacko for me), Linda Porter's The First Queen of England: The Myth of “Bloody Mary," and Ian Mortimer's The Time Traveler's Guide to Medieval England.
Both lists could probably be quite a bit longer, but I didn't keep any sort of record of what I read this year, so I'm relying mainly on what jumps out at me from my shelves. I'll probably think of other things once I sign off for the evening.
What am I reading these days? I just finished Alice Harcourt's The Clandestine Queen, a 1979 historical novel that covers Elizabeth Woodville's life from her time as a lady in waiting to Margaret of Anjou through the birth of her first royal son, Edward V. There are some anachronisms (use of "your majesty" and certain nicknames that sound more modern than medieval, for instance), but Harwood has clearly done her research as far as the historical events of the period are concerned. I found it a pleasant, if workmanlike, read, and I look forward to reading the other Harwood novel I have on hand, which deals with Perkin Warbeck and his bride.
Courtesy of Sourcebooks, I also have a copy of Georgette Heyer's The Conqueror, which I take with me to the gym and read while on the treadmill. I confess to being confused from time to time as to who is William's enemy and who is not, but as the characters themselves seem a bit confused on this point too, I can live with it.
On the nonfiction front, I recently finished David Starkey's Henry VIII: Virtuous Prince. Issued in anticipation of the 500th anniversary of Henry's accession to the throne, this book covers Henry's youth and the early days of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon. It's arranged chronologically and thematically, with chapters on Henry's education and on his early relationship with Wolsey, for instance. I found it very readable, although it could have used a better editing, especially since it's intended for a general audience and not for specialists. (For instance, Starkey discusses the rebellion of 1483 without ever naming Henry Buckingham as a participant, then, some pages later, mentions Henry Buckingham with the expectation that the reader will somehow know who he is.) Next on the nonfiction list, I believe, will be Alison Weir's biography of Katherine Swynford.
And now, what does this blog have in store for 2009? I've got a few posts in mind already, including Eleanor de Clare's father, Gilbert de Clare, Joan of Kent's messy marital litigation, and Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham's mysterious, possibly insane mother. This should be the year too when I do a post on Anthony Woodville, having done his brothers and sisters already. As usual, we'll have some fun here, starting on New Year's Eve when sundry familiar figures make their New Year's resolutions. Stay tuned!
For fiction, I especially enjoyed Sharon Penman's long-awaited Devil's Brood, Jean Plaidy's French Revolution trilogy, Michelle Moran's The Heretic Queen, and Louis Bayard's The Black Tower.
In nonfiction, my favorites were James Swanson's Manhunt, about the search for John Wilkes Booth; Julia Fox's Jane Boleyn (a book that has absolutely spoiled most historical fiction dealing with Jane-as-warped-wacko for me), Linda Porter's The First Queen of England: The Myth of “Bloody Mary," and Ian Mortimer's The Time Traveler's Guide to Medieval England.
Both lists could probably be quite a bit longer, but I didn't keep any sort of record of what I read this year, so I'm relying mainly on what jumps out at me from my shelves. I'll probably think of other things once I sign off for the evening.
What am I reading these days? I just finished Alice Harcourt's The Clandestine Queen, a 1979 historical novel that covers Elizabeth Woodville's life from her time as a lady in waiting to Margaret of Anjou through the birth of her first royal son, Edward V. There are some anachronisms (use of "your majesty" and certain nicknames that sound more modern than medieval, for instance), but Harwood has clearly done her research as far as the historical events of the period are concerned. I found it a pleasant, if workmanlike, read, and I look forward to reading the other Harwood novel I have on hand, which deals with Perkin Warbeck and his bride.
Courtesy of Sourcebooks, I also have a copy of Georgette Heyer's The Conqueror, which I take with me to the gym and read while on the treadmill. I confess to being confused from time to time as to who is William's enemy and who is not, but as the characters themselves seem a bit confused on this point too, I can live with it.
On the nonfiction front, I recently finished David Starkey's Henry VIII: Virtuous Prince. Issued in anticipation of the 500th anniversary of Henry's accession to the throne, this book covers Henry's youth and the early days of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon. It's arranged chronologically and thematically, with chapters on Henry's education and on his early relationship with Wolsey, for instance. I found it very readable, although it could have used a better editing, especially since it's intended for a general audience and not for specialists. (For instance, Starkey discusses the rebellion of 1483 without ever naming Henry Buckingham as a participant, then, some pages later, mentions Henry Buckingham with the expectation that the reader will somehow know who he is.) Next on the nonfiction list, I believe, will be Alison Weir's biography of Katherine Swynford.
And now, what does this blog have in store for 2009? I've got a few posts in mind already, including Eleanor de Clare's father, Gilbert de Clare, Joan of Kent's messy marital litigation, and Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham's mysterious, possibly insane mother. This should be the year too when I do a post on Anthony Woodville, having done his brothers and sisters already. As usual, we'll have some fun here, starting on New Year's Eve when sundry familiar figures make their New Year's resolutions. Stay tuned!
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Historical Stocking Stuffers
So what are some famous folk (and some lesser known beings) asking for as Christmas presents? Fellow blogger Nan Hawthorne and I have devoted some thought to this burning question:
Ethelred the Unready -- a day planner
Alfred the Great - an oven timer
Aethelflaed, Lady of the Mercians - for Bernard Cornwell to get me right in his novels
Harold Godwinson - Edward the Confessor's will in writing.. or not
Godiva of Coventry - super hold hair spray
Offa of Mercia - a really butch dyke
Ivar the Boneless - need you ask?
Aethelwald, son of Ethelred - primo genitor.
Lawrence of Críslicland - for a certain Breton mercenary to take a long walk off a short pier
William Rufus -- A new archery set.
Edward I: Scotland.
Piers Gaveston: Just something handmade. No, really! Well . . . if you insist, jewels are always appropriate.
Isabella of France: My jewels back.
Hugh le Despenser the younger: Whatever someone else is getting.
Roger Mortimer: Hugh on a platter.
Edward II: Fodor's Guide to Italy. Or some Sears Craftsman tools . . . or a craftsman.
Edward III: France.
Edward IV: Getting to Yes.
Elizabeth Woodville: An agreeable second husband who will be nice to my large family.
Richard, Duke of Gloucester: Something round and gold and shiny that fits nicely on my head.
Henry Tudor: Something round and gold and shiny that fits nicely on my head.
Margaret Beaufort: Only the best for my darling, sweet Henry.
Elizabeth of York: My mother-in-law to go on a long pilgrimage. Preferably to the Holy Land.
Henry VIII: 6 free sessions of marriage counseling.
Anne Boleyn: Morning sickness.
Katherine Howard: Someone around my own age to pal around with.
Katherine Parr: Widow's weeds.
Boswell the cairn terrier: Mom to get off her duff and take me for a walk.
Ginny, Onslow, and Stripes: A wing chair apiece so we don't have to share them with those presumptuous two-legged beasts and that irritating dog.
Happy holidays, all, and thanks for suggesting this, Nan!
Ethelred the Unready -- a day planner
Alfred the Great - an oven timer
Aethelflaed, Lady of the Mercians - for Bernard Cornwell to get me right in his novels
Harold Godwinson - Edward the Confessor's will in writing.. or not
Godiva of Coventry - super hold hair spray
Offa of Mercia - a really butch dyke
Ivar the Boneless - need you ask?
Aethelwald, son of Ethelred - primo genitor.
Lawrence of Críslicland - for a certain Breton mercenary to take a long walk off a short pier
William Rufus -- A new archery set.
Edward I: Scotland.
Piers Gaveston: Just something handmade. No, really! Well . . . if you insist, jewels are always appropriate.
Isabella of France: My jewels back.
Hugh le Despenser the younger: Whatever someone else is getting.
Roger Mortimer: Hugh on a platter.
Edward II: Fodor's Guide to Italy. Or some Sears Craftsman tools . . . or a craftsman.
Edward III: France.
Edward IV: Getting to Yes.
Elizabeth Woodville: An agreeable second husband who will be nice to my large family.
Richard, Duke of Gloucester: Something round and gold and shiny that fits nicely on my head.
Henry Tudor: Something round and gold and shiny that fits nicely on my head.
Margaret Beaufort: Only the best for my darling, sweet Henry.
Elizabeth of York: My mother-in-law to go on a long pilgrimage. Preferably to the Holy Land.
Henry VIII: 6 free sessions of marriage counseling.
Anne Boleyn: Morning sickness.
Katherine Howard: Someone around my own age to pal around with.
Katherine Parr: Widow's weeds.
Boswell the cairn terrier: Mom to get off her duff and take me for a walk.
Ginny, Onslow, and Stripes: A wing chair apiece so we don't have to share them with those presumptuous two-legged beasts and that irritating dog.
Happy holidays, all, and thanks for suggesting this, Nan!
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Merry Christmas!
If Onslow hasn't brought down the Christmas tree by tomorrow morning, I'll be doing a joint post with Nan Hawthorne about what certain historical figures want in their Christmas stockings. (In some cases, that will mean some mighty big stockings.) Merry Christmas, if it's not yet arrived in your part of the world, and if it has, I hope you had a delightful one!
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
In Which This Blog Goes Into Relaxation Mode
Where Sheep May Safely Graze, or, The Farm Near the Dell
(Their names are William, Winston, and Walter, by the way. Walter came first, and I acquired William and Winston over the weekend. My daughter has Walter's twin, Anthony. She thinks it's a hoody name. I didn't tell her it reminded me of Anthony Woodville.)
Letting the Cat in the Bag
Why We Need a Bigger Bed
(Their names are William, Winston, and Walter, by the way. Walter came first, and I acquired William and Winston over the weekend. My daughter has Walter's twin, Anthony. She thinks it's a hoody name. I didn't tell her it reminded me of Anthony Woodville.)
Letting the Cat in the Bag
Why We Need a Bigger Bed
Monday, December 22, 2008
Yet Another Medieval Christmas Newsletter
As promised, I was able to unearth the Christmas newsletter of Isabella, queen of Edward II and mother of Edward III, over the weekend. From the intimate tone of it, I suspect it was intended primarily for her female relatives in France rather than for general consumption.
_______________________
Wallingford, 1326
My, time has flown since my last Christmas letter! This has been a very special year in terms of personal and professional growth for me.
First, knowing what a burden my marriage has been to me over the last couple of years, I think you’ll be glad to hear that I’ve finally made some progress on the Edward front. We had been living apart for quite a long time now, and I might have been content just to leave it at that, but some friends, and one very dear friend in particular, helped me to realize that for my good, and for the good of all around me, I just had to stop sitting around and wondering what was going to happen next. I also had to take steps to make sure I had an adequate income, because frankly, the pittance Edward was allowing me simply wasn’t enough. And his friends--well, let me say that they were just insufferable. Absolutely insufferable.
So I finally took the initiative, and do you know what???? Everything worked out just perfectly, and Edward gave into all of my requests! It's so empowering to realize that all along I had the ability to make these changes, but just needed to muster the will and the courage to make them. It saddens me now to think that I wasted all of those years being a passive, obedient wife when there was so much potential in me just waiting to be unleashed.
You might wonder what Edward is doing now. Well, as you might know, part of the reason our marriage had been so stressed is because of his work situation, which has gone from bad to worse. The upshot of this is that although nothing has been set in stone yet, I think he’s really going to have to understand that he just can’t stay on in his present position and that some new blood will have to be brought in to really turn things around. In the meantime, he’s living with a relative in the country and thinking things over (sans the dreadful friends, I might add, whose lives are in pieces, so to speak). I just hope he sees reason and gives in gracefully. But you just really don’t know with Edward. You really don’t. He’s impossible.
But enough about Edward, and to some very special news about me. For the very first time in my life, I have found a man who meets all of my needs. (And I mean all of them.) He’s the dear friend I referred to earlier, just in case you haven’t guessed! We had known each other for some time, actually, but it was only around the beginning of this year that we finally admitted that we really belonged together and that nothing and no one—no, not even the Church—was going to keep us apart. Roger (that’s his name) has a wife and children—the good ones always do, you know—but it’s purely a marriage of convenience. He will spend some time with them now and then for appearances’ sake, but I am the real love of his life, and everyone who hasn’t realized that will soon know it. You can’t stand in the way of true love, and Roger’s wife will just have to understand that. Anyway, Roger is now in a position to be more than generous to her financially, which is probably all she cares about. She’s never appreciated Roger the way she ought to. Wives just never do.
I’m also pleased to say that this year has brought me improved professional opportunities as well. Roger and I have some exciting ventures in mind. It’s not quite clear what exact form my own role will take, since so many changes have taken place so suddenly, but I’m absolutely certain that it will be a fulfilling one that allows me to make use of all of my diverse abilities. Really, my destiny is mine to shape. Thank God Roger has been there to help me see that.
But enough about moi for now. Little Ned is doing well. He’s at that awkward age where children want more independence but aren’t quite ready to deal with it, even though they think they can handle it just fine. We have a bit of a dust-up about this now and then, especially since I’m now for all intents and purposes a single mother, and what son thinks his mother knows anything? Ned really needs a man around, a real strong man who can serve as a role model for him and to tell him what to do when the situation demands it. Roger, of course, has been invaluable here. Ned has a bit of that tedious “you broke up my parents’ marriage” thing going on with Roger, but I keep telling him that it was broken before Roger ever came into the picture. In any case, I have my own needs, and Ned is just going to have to deal with that. He really is, because there’s more to me than just being Ned’s mother, and it’s high time he realized that. As Roger says, there’s facets of me that no one ever dreamed existed until this year, and I just need to keep working on uncovering them. It’s something I positively owe to myself.
Here’s wishing that your 1326 has been as exciting a personal journey as mine and that 1327 will be even better,
Isabella
_______________________
Wallingford, 1326
My, time has flown since my last Christmas letter! This has been a very special year in terms of personal and professional growth for me.
First, knowing what a burden my marriage has been to me over the last couple of years, I think you’ll be glad to hear that I’ve finally made some progress on the Edward front. We had been living apart for quite a long time now, and I might have been content just to leave it at that, but some friends, and one very dear friend in particular, helped me to realize that for my good, and for the good of all around me, I just had to stop sitting around and wondering what was going to happen next. I also had to take steps to make sure I had an adequate income, because frankly, the pittance Edward was allowing me simply wasn’t enough. And his friends--well, let me say that they were just insufferable. Absolutely insufferable.
So I finally took the initiative, and do you know what???? Everything worked out just perfectly, and Edward gave into all of my requests! It's so empowering to realize that all along I had the ability to make these changes, but just needed to muster the will and the courage to make them. It saddens me now to think that I wasted all of those years being a passive, obedient wife when there was so much potential in me just waiting to be unleashed.
You might wonder what Edward is doing now. Well, as you might know, part of the reason our marriage had been so stressed is because of his work situation, which has gone from bad to worse. The upshot of this is that although nothing has been set in stone yet, I think he’s really going to have to understand that he just can’t stay on in his present position and that some new blood will have to be brought in to really turn things around. In the meantime, he’s living with a relative in the country and thinking things over (sans the dreadful friends, I might add, whose lives are in pieces, so to speak). I just hope he sees reason and gives in gracefully. But you just really don’t know with Edward. You really don’t. He’s impossible.
But enough about Edward, and to some very special news about me. For the very first time in my life, I have found a man who meets all of my needs. (And I mean all of them.) He’s the dear friend I referred to earlier, just in case you haven’t guessed! We had known each other for some time, actually, but it was only around the beginning of this year that we finally admitted that we really belonged together and that nothing and no one—no, not even the Church—was going to keep us apart. Roger (that’s his name) has a wife and children—the good ones always do, you know—but it’s purely a marriage of convenience. He will spend some time with them now and then for appearances’ sake, but I am the real love of his life, and everyone who hasn’t realized that will soon know it. You can’t stand in the way of true love, and Roger’s wife will just have to understand that. Anyway, Roger is now in a position to be more than generous to her financially, which is probably all she cares about. She’s never appreciated Roger the way she ought to. Wives just never do.
I’m also pleased to say that this year has brought me improved professional opportunities as well. Roger and I have some exciting ventures in mind. It’s not quite clear what exact form my own role will take, since so many changes have taken place so suddenly, but I’m absolutely certain that it will be a fulfilling one that allows me to make use of all of my diverse abilities. Really, my destiny is mine to shape. Thank God Roger has been there to help me see that.
But enough about moi for now. Little Ned is doing well. He’s at that awkward age where children want more independence but aren’t quite ready to deal with it, even though they think they can handle it just fine. We have a bit of a dust-up about this now and then, especially since I’m now for all intents and purposes a single mother, and what son thinks his mother knows anything? Ned really needs a man around, a real strong man who can serve as a role model for him and to tell him what to do when the situation demands it. Roger, of course, has been invaluable here. Ned has a bit of that tedious “you broke up my parents’ marriage” thing going on with Roger, but I keep telling him that it was broken before Roger ever came into the picture. In any case, I have my own needs, and Ned is just going to have to deal with that. He really is, because there’s more to me than just being Ned’s mother, and it’s high time he realized that. As Roger says, there’s facets of me that no one ever dreamed existed until this year, and I just need to keep working on uncovering them. It’s something I positively owe to myself.
Here’s wishing that your 1326 has been as exciting a personal journey as mine and that 1327 will be even better,
Isabella
Friday, December 19, 2008
Christmas Newsletters, Medieval Style
Ah, the annual Christmas newsletters people send out this time of year. You probably thought they were a recent development, but naturally, you're dead wrong, because I've discovered one from 1483, which bears every mark of having been written by Richard III's wife, Anne Neville. And who knows? There might even be one from the fourteenth century, from Queen Isabella herself, appearing on this blog in the near future.
_____________________
Another year almost over! Who could have guessed that 1483 could have passed so quickly? Well, time flies when you’re having fun, they say!
First, the big news. Richard got a new job! It involves a lot more prestige and rewards, but also a lot more responsibility, so he wasn’t really sure whether he wanted to take it or not. But after talking it over with family and friends, he decided to go for it, and so he did! There were a couple of minor obstacles in the way, but they weren’t as hard to get around as he thought they would be at first. Anyway, he’s been in his new position since July, and though he’s not one to brag, we think he’s doing a pretty good job in it. Some of the old staff didn’t care for him taking over, it’s true, but some people just don’t like change, even when it’s good for them. We know they’ll adjust.
The only bad thing about the new job is that it requires Anne to do a lot of entertaining, so she had to move to London with Richard and leave little Ned up north with Anne’s mum. We really miss them both, but Ned is doing well. Now that it looks as if he’ll be going into the new “family business,” he’s got a lot of learning to do anyway.
Anne’s mum is such a card, by the way! When she heard about Richard’s new job, she said, “Well, maybe now you can spare me an acre or two, the pair of you!” She’s so funny, she makes the north seem a little warmer just by being there.
Richard’s mum is doing well too. There was a bit of a dust-up when she heard of some foolish gossip about her just before Richard got his new job, which some very silly people blamed on Richard himself! But everything’s been smoothed over now, and she’s back to praying at Berkhamsted just as if nothing ever happened at all. She tells Richard that she prays for him more than ever now, and we certainly do appreciate that.
Anyway, we’re adjusting pretty well to Richard’s new job and to our new digs in London. Anne wants a little company there, so we’re trying to get Richard’s niece Elizabeth—you remember that pretty girl whose father was always trying to pinch someone’s arse—to come join us there. It’s a delicate situation because her mother is VERY overprotective and has her nose out of joint for some reason too. But Richard says that he thinks he can sweeten her up for the right price. We certainly hope so, because if he doesn’t, Elizabeth just might get fed up and marry this dreadful man named Henry who’s been after her hand. His mother (the Henry creature’s, that is) used to be positively underfoot here in London, trying to get her precious Henry a position, and to hear her talk her darling boy could do Richard’s job just as well as he could. The very nerve! We don’t envy her husband one bit—how many times can you say, “Yes, dear,” in an evening? But she’s back at home where she belongs now, and it doesn’t look as if we’ll be hearing anything from her and her precious son any time soon—which is just another Christmas blessing!
The best to you and yours this Christmastide.
Richard and Anne
_____________________
Another year almost over! Who could have guessed that 1483 could have passed so quickly? Well, time flies when you’re having fun, they say!
First, the big news. Richard got a new job! It involves a lot more prestige and rewards, but also a lot more responsibility, so he wasn’t really sure whether he wanted to take it or not. But after talking it over with family and friends, he decided to go for it, and so he did! There were a couple of minor obstacles in the way, but they weren’t as hard to get around as he thought they would be at first. Anyway, he’s been in his new position since July, and though he’s not one to brag, we think he’s doing a pretty good job in it. Some of the old staff didn’t care for him taking over, it’s true, but some people just don’t like change, even when it’s good for them. We know they’ll adjust.
The only bad thing about the new job is that it requires Anne to do a lot of entertaining, so she had to move to London with Richard and leave little Ned up north with Anne’s mum. We really miss them both, but Ned is doing well. Now that it looks as if he’ll be going into the new “family business,” he’s got a lot of learning to do anyway.
Anne’s mum is such a card, by the way! When she heard about Richard’s new job, she said, “Well, maybe now you can spare me an acre or two, the pair of you!” She’s so funny, she makes the north seem a little warmer just by being there.
Richard’s mum is doing well too. There was a bit of a dust-up when she heard of some foolish gossip about her just before Richard got his new job, which some very silly people blamed on Richard himself! But everything’s been smoothed over now, and she’s back to praying at Berkhamsted just as if nothing ever happened at all. She tells Richard that she prays for him more than ever now, and we certainly do appreciate that.
Anyway, we’re adjusting pretty well to Richard’s new job and to our new digs in London. Anne wants a little company there, so we’re trying to get Richard’s niece Elizabeth—you remember that pretty girl whose father was always trying to pinch someone’s arse—to come join us there. It’s a delicate situation because her mother is VERY overprotective and has her nose out of joint for some reason too. But Richard says that he thinks he can sweeten her up for the right price. We certainly hope so, because if he doesn’t, Elizabeth just might get fed up and marry this dreadful man named Henry who’s been after her hand. His mother (the Henry creature’s, that is) used to be positively underfoot here in London, trying to get her precious Henry a position, and to hear her talk her darling boy could do Richard’s job just as well as he could. The very nerve! We don’t envy her husband one bit—how many times can you say, “Yes, dear,” in an evening? But she’s back at home where she belongs now, and it doesn’t look as if we’ll be hearing anything from her and her precious son any time soon—which is just another Christmas blessing!
The best to you and yours this Christmastide.
Richard and Anne
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Richard III and Bail
Aside from Titulus Regius and the attainder of around 100 people for their participation in the rebellion of 1483, Richard III’s only Parliament is notable for some of the progressive legislation it enacted, including the popular abolition of benevolences and the enactment of certain trade and legal reforms. Among the enactments is one pertaining to bail:
While Richard III should be given due credit for this provision, which may have been the product of his own initiative and certainly would have required his approval, some of the more enthusiastic of his supporters have gone so far as to credit Richard with actually originating the right to bail. This extravagant claim crops up fairly frequently on the Internet, and has even made it to print. One example can be found in Richard III: The Maligned King, where author Annette Carson writes: “To Richard’s Parliament . . . we owe our right to be judged fairly by our peers, to enjoy bail, and not to have our possessions seized when arrested on suspicion of felony” (p. 232).
We’ll talk about the right to jury trial, which Carson appears to be crediting to Richard III as well, at some other time. (What Richard actually did was require jurors to meet certain property-owning qualifications, as an attempt to reduce jury tampering.) For now, though, let’s move on to bail.
Contrary to what Carson and like-minded Ricardians would have us believe, bail and its kissing cousin, mainprise, were around hundreds of years before Richard III’s Parliament. Indeed, a form of bail existed in Anglo-Saxon times as “bohr.” (If Ricardians really want, I suppose it won't hurt anything if they regard this as a prophetic reference to Richard III’s white boar insignia.)
Bail developed further after the Norman invasion. For a time, any offense was bailable, but this changed in 1166 when certain offenses, including homicide and forest offenses, were designated in writing as nonbailable. As to the bailable offenses, sheriffs had a great deal of discretion, which not surprisingly was abused by men eager to line their coffers. The result was the First Statute of Westminster in 1275, a product of Edward I’s reign. This was meant to reduce the discretionary power of the sheriffs, but proved less than effective, even as both Edward II and Edward III enacted laws to try to curb abuses. Eventually, in the 1400’s, the sheriffs were given less power, and in 1461, justices of the peace were allowed to grant bail. They could do so, however, only for those who were indicted before them. Thus, as noted by William F. Duker (whose 1977 article, “The Right to Bail: A Historical Inquiry,” in the Albany Law Review forms the basis of this blog post), the measure was a “half-way” one.
In 1467, the commons made the following request:
Edward IV merely responded, “The king will consider this further.”
The 1484 statute enacted by Richard III’s Parliament strongly resembles this 1467 petition. It has been a matter of much debate whether Richard III’s legislation was motivated by his own concern for justice or by a need to curry favor with a populace that had yet to fully accept him as king, and whether the legislation was the product of Richard III’s own initiative or that of others. Even if one gives Richard the benefit of the doubt, the commons of 1467 should surely be given some credit in inspiring the 1484 legislation. It should also be seen in context, as part of a series of bail reforms that had been ongoing since the thirteenth century.
In any event, Richard’s legislation, though a valiant attempt, did not eradicate the problems associated with bail. In 1487, Henry VII’s Parliament complained:
Henry VII’s Parliament, therefore, ordered that “the said justices of the peace, or one of them, so taking any such bail or mainprise shall certify it at the next general sessions of the peace, or at the next general gaol delivery of any such gaol in every such county, city or town, following the taking of any such bail or mainprise; upon pain of forfeiting £10 to the king for every recorded failure.” This also proved unsatisfactory, though, for the justices of the peace were proving no less eager to profit from their offices than the sheriffs.
This blog isn’t entitled “Bail Through the Ages,” so suffice it to say that reforms continued and that future generations, particularly in the seventeenth century, would wrestle over the questions surrounding bail. In sum, though, if you find yourself in difficulty and have to utilize the services of a bail bondsman, you can indeed give Richard III some thanks—but you also have to thank the Anglo-Saxons, Edward I, the commons of 1467, and many others as well. Let freedom ring!
Because various people are arrested and imprisoned daily on suspicion of felony, sometimes out of malice and sometimes on vague suspicion, and thus kept in prison without bail or mainprise to their great vexation and trouble; be it therefore ordained and decreed, by authority of this present parliament, that every justice of the peace in every county, city or town shall have authority and power to grant bail or mainprise at his or their discretion to such prisoners and people thus arrested, in the same form as if the same prisoners or people were indicted for the same on record before the same justices in their session; and that justices of the peace shall have authority to inquire in their sessions into all manner of escapes of every person arrested and imprisoned for felony; and that no sheriff or escheator, bailiff of a franchise or any other person shall take or seize the goods of any person arrested on suspicion of felony before the person thus arrested and imprisoned has been convicted or attainted of the felony according to the law, or else the same goods have been otherwise lawfully forfeited, upon pain of forfeiting double the value of the goods thus taken to the person harmed in that respect, by action of debt to be sued in that matter by the same process, judgment and execution as is usually used in other actions of debt sued at the common law; and no essoin or protection shall be allowed in any such action, and the defendant in any such action shall not be admitted to wage or do his law. [The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England, C. Given-Wilson et al., eds.]
While Richard III should be given due credit for this provision, which may have been the product of his own initiative and certainly would have required his approval, some of the more enthusiastic of his supporters have gone so far as to credit Richard with actually originating the right to bail. This extravagant claim crops up fairly frequently on the Internet, and has even made it to print. One example can be found in Richard III: The Maligned King, where author Annette Carson writes: “To Richard’s Parliament . . . we owe our right to be judged fairly by our peers, to enjoy bail, and not to have our possessions seized when arrested on suspicion of felony” (p. 232).
We’ll talk about the right to jury trial, which Carson appears to be crediting to Richard III as well, at some other time. (What Richard actually did was require jurors to meet certain property-owning qualifications, as an attempt to reduce jury tampering.) For now, though, let’s move on to bail.
Contrary to what Carson and like-minded Ricardians would have us believe, bail and its kissing cousin, mainprise, were around hundreds of years before Richard III’s Parliament. Indeed, a form of bail existed in Anglo-Saxon times as “bohr.” (If Ricardians really want, I suppose it won't hurt anything if they regard this as a prophetic reference to Richard III’s white boar insignia.)
Bail developed further after the Norman invasion. For a time, any offense was bailable, but this changed in 1166 when certain offenses, including homicide and forest offenses, were designated in writing as nonbailable. As to the bailable offenses, sheriffs had a great deal of discretion, which not surprisingly was abused by men eager to line their coffers. The result was the First Statute of Westminster in 1275, a product of Edward I’s reign. This was meant to reduce the discretionary power of the sheriffs, but proved less than effective, even as both Edward II and Edward III enacted laws to try to curb abuses. Eventually, in the 1400’s, the sheriffs were given less power, and in 1461, justices of the peace were allowed to grant bail. They could do so, however, only for those who were indicted before them. Thus, as noted by William F. Duker (whose 1977 article, “The Right to Bail: A Historical Inquiry,” in the Albany Law Review forms the basis of this blog post), the measure was a “half-way” one.
In 1467, the commons made the following request:
The commons assembled in this present parliament pray, that where several of your faithful, true liegemen throughout this your realm, through malice and ill will, have been arrested daily on suspicion of felony, of which they are not guilty, and thereupon have been taken to various of your gaols, where by law they must remain in prison until the coming of your commissioners for gaol delivery, whereby your said faithful, true liegemen have been greatly impoverished and harmed daily.
Wherefore may it please your highness, of your most abundant grace, having sympathetically considered the foregoing, to ordain and decree, by the assent of the lords spiritual and temporal assembled in this your present parliament, and by authority of the same, that each of your justices of the peace in every county of this your realm, and elsewhere where they are commissioners, shall have full power and authority to grant bail to all your liegemen who are committed to any of your gaols on suspicion of felony, as described above, until the next coming of your said commissioners for gaol delivery; and that the said justices of the peace who take such bail as described above shall put their bills of the same bail before the said commissioners for gaol delivery at their next coming into the area where such bails shall happen to be taken, and the same commissioners shall act upon the same bills of bail in the same manner and form as if the bail had been taken by themselves. [Parliament Rolls]
Edward IV merely responded, “The king will consider this further.”
The 1484 statute enacted by Richard III’s Parliament strongly resembles this 1467 petition. It has been a matter of much debate whether Richard III’s legislation was motivated by his own concern for justice or by a need to curry favor with a populace that had yet to fully accept him as king, and whether the legislation was the product of Richard III’s own initiative or that of others. Even if one gives Richard the benefit of the doubt, the commons of 1467 should surely be given some credit in inspiring the 1484 legislation. It should also be seen in context, as part of a series of bail reforms that had been ongoing since the thirteenth century.
In any event, Richard’s legislation, though a valiant attempt, did not eradicate the problems associated with bail. In 1487, Henry VII’s Parliament complained:
Where in the parliament lately held at Westminster in the first year of Richard III, late in deed and not by right king of England [1484], it was ordained and enacted, among various other acts, that every justice of the peace in every county, city or town should have authority and power at his or their discretion to grant bail or mainprise to prisoners and persons arrested on slight suspicion of felony; on the strength of which various people who were not mainpernable were subsequently often granted bail and mainprise by justices of the peace, against the proper form of the law, whereby many murderers and felons escaped, to the great displeasure of the king and the annoyance of his liege people. [Parliament Rolls]
Henry VII’s Parliament, therefore, ordered that “the said justices of the peace, or one of them, so taking any such bail or mainprise shall certify it at the next general sessions of the peace, or at the next general gaol delivery of any such gaol in every such county, city or town, following the taking of any such bail or mainprise; upon pain of forfeiting £10 to the king for every recorded failure.” This also proved unsatisfactory, though, for the justices of the peace were proving no less eager to profit from their offices than the sheriffs.
This blog isn’t entitled “Bail Through the Ages,” so suffice it to say that reforms continued and that future generations, particularly in the seventeenth century, would wrestle over the questions surrounding bail. In sum, though, if you find yourself in difficulty and have to utilize the services of a bail bondsman, you can indeed give Richard III some thanks—but you also have to thank the Anglo-Saxons, Edward I, the commons of 1467, and many others as well. Let freedom ring!
Guest Post
The lovely ladies at Historical Tapestry have allowed me to do a guest post on "Why I Love Writing About Women Whose Husbands Die Horrible Deaths." Check it out!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Happy Birthday, Boswell!
An anonymous commenter on one of my blog posts pointed out a grave omission of mine today: I have not wished a very special guy a Happy Birthday! So:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOSWELL!
Eight years old today (in dog years). What a big boy!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOSWELL!
Eight years old today (in dog years). What a big boy!
In Which I Suffer An Identity Crisis
During an interesting discussion over at the Historical Novel Society's Yahoo group over whether female readers would read historical novels narrated by men (I certainly would, and do), someone brought up the Gender Genie, which purports to guess a writer's gender based on a sampling of their work. I submitted the first chapter of The Traitor's Wife, the prologue of Hugh and Bess, the first chapter of my work in progress (narrated by a woman), and several blog entries to the test. The result? Raging testosterone, baby. Except for The Traitor's Wife and one blog post, Gender Genie is convinced that I am a man.
This may explain why I have never understood why anyone would pay $500 for a pair of shoes, my indifference to knickknacks, and why strangers over the telephone often address me as "sir." On the other hand, it doesn't do much to explain my total lack of interest in sports, my willingness to ask directions, and my two pregnancies.
As it's time to get back to work, I'll curb my distressingly feminine tendency to chit-chat and cut this blog post short. Besides, I need the extra time to search out some Bernard Cornwell novels tonight.
This may explain why I have never understood why anyone would pay $500 for a pair of shoes, my indifference to knickknacks, and why strangers over the telephone often address me as "sir." On the other hand, it doesn't do much to explain my total lack of interest in sports, my willingness to ask directions, and my two pregnancies.
As it's time to get back to work, I'll curb my distressingly feminine tendency to chit-chat and cut this blog post short. Besides, I need the extra time to search out some Bernard Cornwell novels tonight.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The Real William Hastings
As anyone who’s read a lot of historical fiction set during the Wars of the Roses, there are certain inviolable rules as to how certain characters must be portrayed. George, Duke of Clarence, must be a heavy drinker. George’s son, Edward, must be a simpleton (usually, in Ricardian novels, due to his neglect by his greedy Woodville guardians). Anne Neville, Richard III’s queen, must be meek and frail. William, Lord Hastings, must be a dissipated, badly aging playboy.
Cherished as they are by historical novelists, the evidence for these portrayals is rather lacking. The only thing that points toward George’s drinking habits is the supposed manner of his death, being drowned in a barrel of sweet wine. Little Edward’s simple-mindedness is derived from a single remark made about him in later life that he could not “tell a goose from a capon,” which could mean that he was mentally slow, but could just as easily mean that he was naïve, unworldly, or lacking in common sense. (Having at that time spent most of his life as a prisoner in the Tower, it’s not surprising if he was deficient in some respects, like the long-imprisoned Edward Courtenay would prove to be decades later.) The only evidence for Anne’s frail health is her early death, but up until a few months before her final illness, she seems to have been active enough, accompanying her husband in his kingly travels. As for her meekness, almost nothing is known of her personality.
And Lord Hastings, the main subject of this post? While the little the sources have to say on the subject of his sex life suggest that he was a bit of a womanizer, this is hardly the sum total of his personality. There’s certainly nothing to support his portrayal by one historical novelist as a sexual predator with a fondness for raping virgin peasant girls. The one contemporary account of his sexual predilections comes from Mancini:
Elsewhere, Mancini writes of Edward IV himself, “He pursued with no discrimination the married and unmarried the noble and lowly: however he took none by force.”
Assuming Mancini’s informants were correct, the description of Hastings and the Marquis of Dorset’s abducting each other’s mistresses, while not showing either in a particularly favorable light, certainly does not support a characterization of Hastings as a rapist, especially since his partner in pleasure, Edward IV, is emphatically described as not being one. Interestingly, the Crowland Chronicler, who unlike Mancini appears to have been well connected at court and probably knew Hastings personally, mentions nothing of Hastings’ sexual behavior at all, but states without explanation that much ill-will existed between Hastings and the queen’s relations.
That’s it, as far as I can tell, of contemporary or near-contemporary accounts of Hastings’ sexual appetites. Thomas More writes that Elizabeth Woodville “thought [Hastings] secretly familiar with the king in wanton company,” but gives jealousy of Hastings’ offices and gifts from the king, not sexual rivalry, as the reason he was disliked by the queen’s relations. As for his character, More described him as “a good knight and a gentle, of great authority with his prince, of living somewhat desolate [dissolute].” This rather vague last descriptor could mean a lot of things, but certainly doesn’t support a portrayal of Hastings as a sexual predator. Neither does More’s statement that Hastings kept Jane Shore as his mistress after the king’s death and that although Hastings was enamored of her during the king’s life, he “forbare her of reverence to the king, or else of a certain kind of fidelity to his friend.” (Other than Thomas More, only The Great Chronicle of London links Hastings and Jane Shore.)
Philip de Commines, who had dealings with Hastings over the pension paid to him by the King of France, described him as “a man of honour and prudence, and of great authority with his master, and deservedly, upon account of the faithful service he had done him.”
Hastings seems to have been devoted to his family as well. Having been hustled off to execution without trial by the future Richard III on June 13, 1483, Hastings had no time to settle his affairs on that day, but he did leave behind a will, made in 1481. An abstract of this lengthy document can be found here (p. 368), and it shows a man who, whatever his appetites, was conventionally pious and concerned about the welfare of his loved ones. Hastings makes careful provision for his wife and for his children, and Katherine heads the list of his executors, where she is described as “my entirely beloved wife.” Hastings concludes with a request to Edward IV:
As this passage and his years of unwavering allegiance to Edward IV suggest, Hastings’ defining quality was not debauchery, but loyalty.
Cherished as they are by historical novelists, the evidence for these portrayals is rather lacking. The only thing that points toward George’s drinking habits is the supposed manner of his death, being drowned in a barrel of sweet wine. Little Edward’s simple-mindedness is derived from a single remark made about him in later life that he could not “tell a goose from a capon,” which could mean that he was mentally slow, but could just as easily mean that he was naïve, unworldly, or lacking in common sense. (Having at that time spent most of his life as a prisoner in the Tower, it’s not surprising if he was deficient in some respects, like the long-imprisoned Edward Courtenay would prove to be decades later.) The only evidence for Anne’s frail health is her early death, but up until a few months before her final illness, she seems to have been active enough, accompanying her husband in his kingly travels. As for her meekness, almost nothing is known of her personality.
And Lord Hastings, the main subject of this post? While the little the sources have to say on the subject of his sex life suggest that he was a bit of a womanizer, this is hardly the sum total of his personality. There’s certainly nothing to support his portrayal by one historical novelist as a sexual predator with a fondness for raping virgin peasant girls. The one contemporary account of his sexual predilections comes from Mancini:
Hastings was not only the author of the sovereign’s public policy, as being one that had shared every peril with the king, but was also the accomplice and partner of his privy pleasures. He maintained a deadly feud with the queen’s son, whom we said was called the marquess, and that because of the mistresses whom they had abducted, or attempted to entice from one another. [The Latin here reads “idque propter amores alteri ab altero ablatos, aut sollicitatos.”]
Elsewhere, Mancini writes of Edward IV himself, “He pursued with no discrimination the married and unmarried the noble and lowly: however he took none by force.”
Assuming Mancini’s informants were correct, the description of Hastings and the Marquis of Dorset’s abducting each other’s mistresses, while not showing either in a particularly favorable light, certainly does not support a characterization of Hastings as a rapist, especially since his partner in pleasure, Edward IV, is emphatically described as not being one. Interestingly, the Crowland Chronicler, who unlike Mancini appears to have been well connected at court and probably knew Hastings personally, mentions nothing of Hastings’ sexual behavior at all, but states without explanation that much ill-will existed between Hastings and the queen’s relations.
That’s it, as far as I can tell, of contemporary or near-contemporary accounts of Hastings’ sexual appetites. Thomas More writes that Elizabeth Woodville “thought [Hastings] secretly familiar with the king in wanton company,” but gives jealousy of Hastings’ offices and gifts from the king, not sexual rivalry, as the reason he was disliked by the queen’s relations. As for his character, More described him as “a good knight and a gentle, of great authority with his prince, of living somewhat desolate [dissolute].” This rather vague last descriptor could mean a lot of things, but certainly doesn’t support a portrayal of Hastings as a sexual predator. Neither does More’s statement that Hastings kept Jane Shore as his mistress after the king’s death and that although Hastings was enamored of her during the king’s life, he “forbare her of reverence to the king, or else of a certain kind of fidelity to his friend.” (Other than Thomas More, only The Great Chronicle of London links Hastings and Jane Shore.)
Philip de Commines, who had dealings with Hastings over the pension paid to him by the King of France, described him as “a man of honour and prudence, and of great authority with his master, and deservedly, upon account of the faithful service he had done him.”
Hastings seems to have been devoted to his family as well. Having been hustled off to execution without trial by the future Richard III on June 13, 1483, Hastings had no time to settle his affairs on that day, but he did leave behind a will, made in 1481. An abstract of this lengthy document can be found here (p. 368), and it shows a man who, whatever his appetites, was conventionally pious and concerned about the welfare of his loved ones. Hastings makes careful provision for his wife and for his children, and Katherine heads the list of his executors, where she is described as “my entirely beloved wife.” Hastings concludes with a request to Edward IV:
whose good grace, in the most humble wise, I beseche to be good and tender and gracyous Lord to my sowle, to be good and gracyous Soverayne Lord to my wyfe, my son, and myn eyre, and to all my children, whom I charge upon my blessyng to be true sogetts and servants to you my Soverayne Lord under God, and to your eyre, and to all your issue
As this passage and his years of unwavering allegiance to Edward IV suggest, Hastings’ defining quality was not debauchery, but loyalty.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
You Guessed It--More Dummies Books!
Since Alianore, Lady Despenser, and Gabriele have all joined the ranks of "Dummies" publishers, I couldn't resist the urge to expand my own "Writing Made Easy" series.
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