Historical Britain Blog

CHIVALRY IN THE AGE OF RICHARD II

Posted on January 14, 2022 | by Mercedes Rochelle | Leave a Comment

The tournament of Saint-Inglevert, in the Harley Froissart, Harley MS 4379, f. 43r, British Library Creative Commons license

Aside from a slight digression to Scotland in order to prove his manhood, Richard II was not interested in warfare. But there’s no getting away from the fact that the Age of Chivalry had reached its apex by the end of the fourteenth century. When we think of knights armored from head to foot in articulated plate with splendid crests atop their helmets and gay caparisons flowing from their stallions, this is the period that comes to mind. Europe may have experienced a brief hiatus in warfare, but the knights gave themselves plenty of opportunity to excel in arms: the tournament.

I would say the most famous tournament of all time were the Jousts of St. Inglevert, held in 1390 and described in detail by Jean Froissart. Three famous French knights, Jean Boucicaut (soon to be marshal of France), Renaud de Roya, and the lord de Sempy challenged one and all to meet them at St. Inglevert, a religious house between Boulogne on the sea and Calais. This was to be a month-long event, and all of Christendom were keen to attend.

The French knights erected three rich vermilion-colored pavilions. Each was hung with two shields, emblazoned with their arms: one shield represented the “joust of peace”, requiring blunt lances, and the other, the “joust of war” requiring sharpened steel lances. Each challenger (or his squire) was to ride up and touch his shield of preference with a special wand, and the resident herald would record his name, country, and family.

King Richard II did not attend; he was still recovering from the trauma of the Merciless Parliament of 1388. Henry Bolingbroke, on the other hand, led a solid contingent of over one hundred knights and squires, including John Holland, earl of Huntingdon (the king’s half-brother), Thomas Mowbray, the Earl Marshal, John Beaufort, Thomas Swynford, Harry (Hotspur) Percy and his uncle Thomas Percy.

According to Froissart: “Sir John Holland was the first who sent his squire to touch the war-target of Sir Boucicaut, who instantly issued from his pavilion completely armed. Having mounted his horse, and grasped his spear, which was stiff and well steeled, they took their distances. When the two knights had for a short time eyed each other, they spurred their horses and met full gallop with such force that Sir Boucicaut pierced the shield of the Earl of Huntingdon, and the point of his lance slipped along his arm, but without wounding him. The two knights, having passed, continued their gallop to the end of the list. This course was much praised. At the second course, they hit each other slightly, but no harm was done; and their horses refused to complete the third. The earl of Huntingdon, who wished to continue the tilt, and was heated, returned to his place, expecting that sir Boucicaut would call for his lance; but he did not, and showed plainly he would not that day tilt more with the earl.

Sir John Holland, seeing this, sent his squire to touch the war-target of the lord de Sempy. This knight, who was waiting for the combat, sallied out from his pavilion, and took his lance and shield. When the earl saw he was ready, he violently spurred his horse, as did the lord de Sempy. They couched their lances, and pointed them at each other. At the onset, their horses crossed; notwithstanding which, they met; but by this crossing, which was blamed, the earl was unhelmed. He returned to his people, who soon re-helmed him; and, having resumed their lances, they met full gallop, and hit each other with such force in the middle of their shields, that they would have been unhorsed had they not kept tight seats by the pressure of their legs against the horses’ sides. They went to the proper places, where they refreshed themselves and took breath.”

After Holland chose the shield of war, no one else chose the shield of peace for fear of being declared coward. There were lots of sparks flying from helmets, shattered lances, and pierced targets. Most knights ran up to 5 courses. All told, 137 courses were run during the month and all three French challengers survived the ordeal, to their everlasting glory (somewhat the worse for wear but intact). At times they needed a few days to heal from wounds, whereupon their surviving companions covered for them. Henry Bolingbroke was said to have made a spectacular showing and Boucicaut later invited him to accompany him to two crusades.

Not to be outdone, King Richard II hosted another famous tournament at Smithfield in October of the same year. This was the same location where he confronted Wat Tyler during the Peasants’ Revolt nine years previously. Sixty fully-armored knights paraded through the streets from the Tower, down Cheapside to Smithfield, led by sixty ladies mounted on palfreys, richly ornamented and dressed. The ladies led their knights by a silver chain, and all were accompanied by minstrels and trumpets. The king and queen attended, accompanied by dukes, counts, and lords, and after a full day’s jousting entertained their guests with a magnificent banquet. The jousting went on for five days, then the court moved on to Windsor castle.

Solemn_Joust_on_London_Bridge tapestry by Richard Beavis, Wikipedia

One of the more interesting jousts was actually held on London Bridge. Many Scots and English participated in the tournament, but the main event was a personal challenge between the English Ambassador to Scotland, Lord Wells, and Sir David de Lindsay, a Scottish knight; they engaged to joust a l’outrance, or to the death. Held before King Richard, the knights ran two courses without incident, and on the third pass Lord Wells was unhorsed. They proceeded to fight on foot and again Sir David held the advantage. But just as the Scot was ready to deliver the killing blow he relented and helped Lord Wells to his feet, gaining the approval of the crowd.

The most famous trial by combat in the fourteenth century was between Henry of Bolingbroke (the future Henry IV) and Sir Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk. Unfortunately, the combat never took place; the King stopped it at the last minute. But the ceremony and protocol were all there; we get a colorful description in the Chronicque de la Traison et Mort de Richart Deux Roy Dengleterre (the author was probably an eye-witness).

According to la Traison, “The lists were to be sixty paces long and forty wide; the barriers seven feet high. The sergeants-at-arms were not to let the people approach within four feet of the lists… the penalty for entering the lists, or making any noise, so that one party might take advantage of the other, was the loss of life or limb, and also of their castles, at the pleasure of the King.” This was serious stuff! Again, according to la Traison, “The weapons allowed by the marshal and constable were the “Glaive”, long sword, short sword, and dagger. The long sword was straight, and called by the French “estoc”, whence estocade, a thrust.”

The King ordered that they take away the pavilions and “let go the chargers, and that each should perform his duty”. Apparently Bolingbroke first advanced a few paces when the King threw his threw his staff (warder) into the list, crying, “Ho! Ho!” For the King to interfere in the duel was not unheard of, though it seems that the crowd was bitterly disappointed to be denied their entertainment; never mind that the fight was to the death. Apparently there were no other amusements on the agenda. The contestants were equally skilled in tournament fighting, and by no means was the result a foregone conclusion. The king withdrew with his council—including Bolingbroke’s father, John of Gaunt—and discussed the matter for two hours while the attendees waited. Finally it was announced that Bolingbroke was to be exiled for ten years and Mowbray for life. From most accounts, the crowd was incensed at Bolingbroke’s treatment; after all, he had done nothing wrong. Few seemed to object to Mowbray’s fate; was he guilty until proven innocent? Nonetheless, everybody went home unhappy, not least of all the main contestants.

Trial by combat seems to have died out by the 15th century, and I haven’t found anything quite as dramatic as this contest. The amount of preparation for such a non-event was staggering. If you happened to be versed in medieval French, you can learn more about tournament ceremonies in this book, reproduced in Google Books: “Ceremonies des gages de batailles selon les constitutions du bon roi Philippe de France”.

Further reading: ROYAL JOUSTS AT THE END OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY by Steven Muhlberger, Freelance Academy Press, Wheaton IL, 2012

Scandal in the House of York! Guest Post by Anne O’Brien

Posted on December 17, 2021 | by Mercedes Rochelle | Leave a Comment

The piety of Cecily Neville was much praised during her life time, particularly in her later years. Her pride was also widely acknowledged. Proud Cis has become a recognisable epithet. Yet during her lifetime scandal raised its ugly head. When her husband was commanding the English forces in France and Cecily was based in Rouen, Cecily is said to have had an affair with a common archer, from her husband’s company, called Blaybourne. The result of this affair was the birth of an illegitimate son Edward, claimed to be the legitimate son of Richard Duke of York, and later to become King Edward IV.

This was, of course. one of the major aspects of Cecily’s life that I needed to address in The Queen’s Rival. No life of Cecily Neville, even in novel form, would be complete without it.

There is much proof offered for such a scandal.

– Given his date of birth, the child Edward must have been conceived between mid July and late August in 1441 when the Duke of York was known to be campaigning and so absent from Rouen. Logistically he could not be the father of Edward.

– Edward was baptised quickly and quietly, most probably in the chapel in Rouen Castle. This was in comparison with their second son Edmund who was given a very public baptism in Rouen cathedral. Was this an attempt not to draw attention to the birth of Edward? There was never any question of Edmund’s legitimacy.

– Edward looked nothing like his father the Duke of York who is said to have been fairly slight of stature and dark haired. Edward was well over six feet in height with fair hair.

– Mancini, writing in 1483 when Richard III took the throne, put forward the argument that Cecily, in a fit of fury at the marriage of her son King Edward with Elizabeth Woodville, had claimed openly that her son Edward was not the son of Richard of York and should not therefore be King since illegitimacy would bar him from the throne. It is claimed that Cecily wished her son George of Clarence to become King instead.

Like all politically motivated scandals, it is very plausible. Was the proud and pious Cecily guilty of adultery?

The following casts doubt on the scandal.

– Richard of York, on campaign, was rarely more than a day’s journey from Cecily in Rouen. Did he ever return to visit her, mid-campaign? It was never recorded, but then did it need to be?

– Was Edward of Rouen a full term pregnancy? There is no evidence whether it was or was not. It the child was born prematurely, or indeed late, it may be that Cecily and Richard had been reunited to aid the conception.

– There were no doubts raised of Edward’s legitimacy immediately after his birth. York never doubted that the boy was legitimate, and was immediately planning a marriage for him to Madeleine, daughter of the King of France. No suggestion of scandal here.

– A fast baptism without the panoply of Edmund’s? If the child was premature, there were possibly fears for his health. Cecily’s previous son Henry had died as a babe in arms. With this in mind it may have been thought politic to name the child quickly. There was no such urgency with Edmund.

– Edward may not have looked like his father, but there was certainly a resemblance to King Edward III, his great grandfather who was tall and fair.

*Marriage of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville: Wikipedia*

– Would Cecily have attacked her own virtue, and the honour of her husband in this public manner? If she wished to hurt her son, would she be so crass in using this weapon which would weaken the whole new edifice of the royal House of York. She certainly objected to the marriage to Elizabeth Woodville on the grounds that she was a widow and it was a wasted opportunity to make a valuable alliance with a European country. There is no evidence that Cecily preferred George of Clarence as King. In fact she did much to heal the rift between Clarence and Edward.

Whatever the truth of it, this scandalous rumour became a highly useful political weapon in the hands of the Earl of Warwick. His plan was ultimately to disinherit Edward and replace him with his brother George of Clarence, now wed to Warwick’s daughter Isabel. The rumour was also used again at a later date to disinherit the two young sons of Edward IV when Richard III took the throne. It really was an extremely valuable piece of scandal for whoever might wish to cause harm to the House of York.

Ultimately, what do I think? Cecily would have been a young woman, abandoned in Rouen while her husband went off campaigning. Was she lonely? Did Blaybourne catch her wayward eye? Who is to say?

But I really don’t see the proud and pious Cecily Neville being guilty of scandal with an archer in her husband’s household.

England, 1459.

One family united by blood. Torn apart by war…

The Wars of the Roses storm through the country, and Cecily Neville, Duchess of York, plots to topple the weak-minded King Henry VI from the throne.

But when the Yorkists are defeated at the battle of Ludford Bridge, Cecily’s family flee and abandon her to face a marauding Lancastrian army on her own.

Stripped of her lands and imprisoned in Tonbridge Castle, the Duchess begins to spin a web of deceit. One that will eventually lead to treason, to the fall of King Henry VI, and to her eldest son being crowned King Edward IV.

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Queens-Rival-Anne-OBrien/dp/0008225532
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Queens-Rival-Anne-OBrien/dp/0008225532

Meet Anne O’Brien

Sunday Times Bestselling author Anne O’Brien was born in West Yorkshire. After gaining a BA Honours degree in History at Manchester University and a Master’s in Education at Hull, she lived in East Yorkshire for many years as a teacher of history.

Today she has sold over 700,000 copies of her books medieval history novels in the UK and internationally. She lives with her husband in an eighteenth-century timber-framed cottage in the depths of the Welsh Marches in Herefordshire. The area provides endless inspiration for her novels which breathe life into the forgotten women of medieval history.

Connect with Anne

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TOSTIG AND HAROLD’S SIBLING RIVALRY

Posted on November 23, 2021 | by Mercedes Rochelle | Leave a Comment

*Battle of Stamford Bridge: Cambridge University Library MS. Ee.iii.59*

To this day, more than 950 years after the Norman Conquest, many of us are still fascinated by the causes of this pivotal event—and I am one of them. If Harold Godwineson hadn’t been 260 miles away fighting his brother when Duke William landed at Pevensey, things might have gone differently. So where does Tostig come into this? From outlawry to Stamford Bridge, Tostig was on the wrong side of the law. In his last battle, he seems to have been second in command after Harald Hardrada and has been branded as a traitor ever since.

It was thought by many that Tostig himself persuaded Hardrada to invade, thus forcing King Harold to rush north and defend his kingdom against the Vikings. However, this conclusion is by no means certain; nobody was tracing Tostig’s movements in the early part of 1066. It’s entirely possible that the Norwegian King planned the invasion on his own, and Tostig merely fell in with his army when the time came. There is no doubt that Hardrada was the leader of the Viking invasion. What exactly Tostig thought to accomplish is uncertain. Perhaps he only wanted his old earldom back. Or, he might have bargained to rule his old earldom as sub-king to Harald. Maybe he hoped Hardrada would get killed and he could rule in his stead, unlikely though that sounds.

But why was Tostig fighting against his brother, anyway? This was the question that inspired me to write THE SONS OF GODWINE and FATAL RIVALRY. Why was he outlawed? How could Harold allow his brother to go off in such a rage that he would come back with an invading army? Surely Tostig had his reasons; such a devastating turn of events could have not come about arbitrarily.

In a situation like this, matters usually deteriorate over the course of time. Harold and Tostig were only a couple of years apart. Was there rivalry from their boyhood? Did Tostig feel left out? When Tostig became Earl of Northumbria, his brother had already been Earl (first of East Anglia and then of Wessex) for 10 years. What did Tostig do all that time? There was no catching up; by 1055 Harold was practically the “right hand” of King Edward, and frequently took on responsibilities that the king didn’t want to be bothered with. When Tostig helped his brother during the Welsh campaign of 1063, what was his reward? Harold was lauded as a great warrior because of this campaign; Tostig barely received mention, and may well have emptied his coffers to help pay for it. Could this have contributed to the stress between them?

The real trouble started in 1065; up until then Tostig had ruled Northumbria for 10 years without any major disturbance. However, after the Welsh campaign he found himself obliged to impose new taxes on this previously undertaxed earldom. Some have said that Tostig needed to pay for the campaign. Other historians suggested he was urged to do so by Harold, acting in concert with the king who wanted to bring the north more in line with his southern provinces. There were some political assassinations that might have contributed to the unrest, but most historians agree that taxation issues pushed the troublesome thegns to revolt.

*King Edward the Confessor, detail from the Wilton Diptych – Wikipedia*

And what a revolt it was! Tostig was in the south hunting with King Edward when thegns from all over Yorkshire and Northumberland gathered in York and attacked the Earl’s housecarls, catching them totally unprepared. Although Tostig’s 200+ troops tried to fight back, they were unable to mount an organized defense and were killed almost to a man. The rampaging rebels broke into the armory, destroyed Tostig’s manors, and raided the treasury, making off with all the carefully gathered taxes.

Next on the agenda was to call a witan and elect a new Earl: Morcar, younger son of Earl Aelfgar of Mercia—who just happened to be standing by. This was a totally illegal move and the rebels knew it, so they proceeded to rampage their way south and force the issue with the king. Enter Harold, who was delegated to mediate for Tostig. King Edward and Tostig had every reason to believe Harold would get what they wanted, so they were more than horrified when their negotiator came back with rebels in tow. Morcar and his supporters didn’t trust Harold and insisted that the king be confronted personally with all their demands. A second round of negotiations ensued, and Harold was still unable to budge the rampaging Northumbrians. They declared that Tostig had to go and that Morcar be officially declared Earl, or else they would continue their depredations into East Anglia.

Tostig went into a rage and accused Harold of fomenting the rebellion himself. In self-defense, Harold offered his sworn oath that he was not responsible but Tostig was having none of it. Edward wanted to raise the fyrd and teach his errant subjects a lesson, but the late season and poor support for Tostig’s cause were enough to foil the king’s empty threats. Edward eventually backed down and gave into the rebel demands, though the loss of royal prestige was a blow the king never recovered from. Just over a month later, King Edward was dead.

Tostig left the country voluntarily enough, loaded with gifts from the king but still swearing revenge against his brother. Apparently Harold washed his hands of the whole situation, for he is not recorded attempting to offer Tostig any compensation until the battle of Stamford Bridge. Even after he became king, Harold supported the wily sons of Aelfgar (his former rivals) and even married their sister to prove that Tostig was not coming back. Tostig may have found this doubly insulting. By the time they faced each other on the battlefield, Harold is said to have offered back the earldom if Tostig would lay down his arms. When Tostig asked what Harold was prepared to offer Hardrada, we hear the famous line “Seven feet of English ground, or as much more as he may be taller than other men.” At this response, Tostig righteously refused his brother’s offer. (I still find this episode a little implausible; it came from Snorri Sturluson, whose account may be somewhat apocryphal.)

So his sense of betrayal was surely a driving force for Tostig’s attempted return. But there is another factor to remember: there were plenty of precedents for an Earl to rampage his way back into favor. Earl Godwine did it in 1052, and Harold himself was part of that reunion; his bloody encounter at Porlock left behind 30 dead thegns and countless others. Even Aelfgar, Morcar’s father, wreaked havoc on two occasions (the first causing the destruction of Hereford in 1055); both times he was restored to his earldom. So Tostig was just following suit; of course, his allies were a bit more powerful than Aelfgar’s!

Life in Eleventh Century Britain: The Fyrd and the Housecarls

Posted on November 13, 2021 | by Mercedes Rochelle | Leave a Comment

Anglo-Saxon Shield Wall

Before the Normans brought over their own version of feudalism, the Anglo-Saxons had a different way of calling up an army in need of defense. At the top of the scale were the Housecarls, the closest thing to a paid, standing army (or household troops) the leader could summon. They were loyal to their employer—the king or a great earl—and were usually composed of Danish or English professional soldiers. Some were landowners; it’s possible that some lived in barracks. When King Harold Godwineson unexpectedly had to go north to stop Harold Hardrada in September 1066, the Housecarls were the only warriors he could initially call upon.

Patterned after the Jomsvikings of Denmark (founded by King Harold, father of Swein Forkbeard), Housecarls are first mentioned in relation to King Canute—probably in 1018—and ceased to exist as an organization after the Battle of Hastings. It is believed they were in essence a military guild, with a body of regulations and the ability to call up a gemot or huskarlesteffne in the king’s presence to settle disputes or punish a transgressor.

Highly trained warriors, the Housecarls mostly fought on foot although it is more than possible that they were perfectly capable of fighting on horseback. Snorri Sturluson tells us in Heimskringla that Harold’s mounted troops attacked the disorganized Norwegians in the early phase of the Stamfordbridge battle. They would not have attacked head-on like we picture in the 14th century battles; rather they would veer past the enemy and launch javelins into their foes’ ranks, much like the Normans did at Hastings. Then they would dismount and finish the battle on foot. During the Battle of Hastings, Harold most likely spread out his Housecarls along the shield wall to support the less experienced fyrd; they were the only warriors that returned with him after Stamfordbridge, and by then their ranks had been sorely thinned. The Housecarls would have been a formidable sight; as seen in the Bayeux Tapestry, they could take down both rider and horse with one sweep of their awesome Danish axe. It was a testament to their—and the Anglo Saxon—valor that it took a whole day for William’s well-armed force to break their ranks.

Beneath the Housecarls, the fyrd was drawn from the general population of England. They responded to territorial obligations and were roughly divided into two categories, sometimes known as the select fyrd and the great fyrd. The select fyrd were usually better trained, and were generally composed of thegns, ceorls or upper peasantry. They were assigned on the basis of the 5-hide system throughout southern England (in the Danelaw, the land was assessed in carucates, but the same system is thought to be utilized). By the late Anglo-Saxon period, the hide was not a geographic unit of measure; in essence it was used to determine the amount of service owed to the king. I would theorize it had more to do with a density of population rather than its original definition (equivalent to the amount of land required to feed a peasant family). One lord’s manor could contain several 5-hide units, or perhaps several small estates would be stitched together to create one 5-hide unit. The bigger towns had the most hides even though they covered a small area. So for instance Cambridge was assessed at 100 hides; so was Colchester and Shrewsbury. Each would be obliged to produce 20 warriors.

The responsibility of the 5-hide unit was three-fold: military service, fortress work, and bridge repair. For their military obligation, each unit was required to produce one soldier and pay him for two months’ service (20 shillings) if called up by the king. This soldier was usually the same person whenever called up, so this is why he would probably be better trained and equipped than the ordinary fyrdman. Nonetheless, there was no annual training period for the select fyrd, and they were only called up in time of war; years could go by without going into service.

The most important distinction between the two categories of fyrd was that the select fyrd was expected to travel and serve for up to two months. The great fyrd, on the other hand, was called up for strictly local defense. The key difference is that the great fyrd must be able to return home at night; if the king required them to travel, he must pay them a wage. Because they were normally unpaid, they were not expected to come armed with much more than whatever came to hand: clubs, stones tied to sticks, farm utensils, etc. In many cases, they could very well supplement the better-armed select fyrd, which is perhaps what we saw at Hastings.

When taken as a whole, this system seems to have been very well organized. But it did not survive the Norman Conquest. Not all historians are in agreement about this distant era, and I used “Anglo-Saxon Military Instititions” by C.Warren Hollister as my primary source.

The Anarchy, Guest Post by Tracey Warr

Posted on October 26, 2021 | by Mercedes Rochelle | Leave a Comment

Henry I and the White Ship — *Henry I and The White Ship. By Unknown Medieval artist, date 1307-1327 – British Library, Royal MS 20 A.ii, fol. 6v.*

Some of the events referred to in my novel, The Anarchy, are based on real historical prompts. My character, Sheriff Haith, investigates the sinking of The White Ship off the coast at Barfleur in the English Channel on 25 November 1120. Three hundred young Norman nobles were drowned in the shipwreck, including King Henry I’s heir, Prince William Adelin. Historians have been circumspect concerning the possibility of foul play in the wreck, as they must be, but I have taken fictional license and my story employs the suspicious circumstances surrounding the sinking.

The main contemporaneous accounts of the wreck of The White Ship were written by Orderic Vitalis and William of Malmesbury. It is recorded that Stephen de Blois, who later became king of England, disembarked from the ship at the harbour just before it sailed, in the company of William de Roumare. Stephen claimed to have disembarked because of a sudden illness or because of the rowdiness of the other passengers. Two Tironian monks also disembarked. A butcher named Bertold of Rouen was the only recorded survivor. William de Pirou was listed on the list of victims of the wreck but, subsequently, appeared twice at court before disappearing under mysterious circumstances. Beyond that, the ‘evidence’ discovered by Haith in my novel is my invention.

Haith is based on Hait who is documented as the real sheriff of Pembroke in the 1130 pipe roll, the court records (Green, 1986). Hait is presumed, from his name, to have been Flemish. It is my invention to make him a close friend of King Henry. According to Gerald of Wales, Hait was the father of one of Nest ferch Rhys’s sons. Nest is the heroine of my novel. I created the physical characteristics of Haith after meeting a lovely Dutchman at lunch one day at my neighbour’s house. Haith’s sister, Ida, a runaway nun from Fontevraud, is my invention.

Haith’s investigations in the novel lead him to track down the butcher Bertold and to interrogate William de Pirou. Haith suspects the Norman noblemen Stephen de Blois, Waleran de Meulan, and Ranulf de Gernon, who each had their reasons for hating King Henry and wanting to see his heir removed. King Henry also lost two of his illegitimate children in the wreck, Countess Mathilde of Perche and Richard, Earl of Chester, and his niece and daughter-in-law, Matilda, Countess of Chester. When the courtiers eventually found the courage to give the king the news, he collapsed with grief

After the devastating losses in the shipwreck, King Henry’s initial solution for the problem of the succession was that he and his new young queen Adelisa would have a son and, probably, that his oldest illegitimate son Earl Robert of Gloucester would act as regent. When the hope of a legitimate male heir faded, Henry focused on the aspiration that his daughter Maud would give him a grandson. When Henry died, Maud was pregnant in Normandy and her cousin, Stephen de Blois, rushed to England and usurped the throne.

Although Stephen de Blois had extensive holdings in England and was married to a descendent of the English kings, there is no evidence that King Henry ever considered his nephew as a potential heir. Instead, iconoclastically, King Henry I attempted to put a woman, his daughter Maud, on the English throne. He did not require his barons in England, Wales, and Normandy to swear to support her as regent, but rather to support her as his heir. If Maud’s protracted bid to contest her cousin Stephen’s usurpation of the throne had been successful, she would have been the first woman to rule England, Wales, and Normandy in her own right.

There was constant warfare in England, Wales, and Normandy during the reign of King Stephen as he struggled against Empress Maud, and her supporters. Some historians have dubbed Stephen’s reign ‘The Anarchy’, whilst others have argued that it was not as anarchic as other commentators claimed. Certainly, Stephen lost significant parts of the kingdom that King Henry I had ruled including Normandy and large parts of Wales. The civil war between Stephen and Maud went on for nine years. Stephen’s brother, Bishop Henry of Blois, played a fascinating double game, frequently switching sides between the two contenders. (See my blogpost https://englishhistoryauthors.blogspot.com/2020/06/the-man-who-walks-behind-satan-on-trail.html.) It was very tempting to write about Empress Maud herself, but, in my novel I am focusing on Nest ferch Rhys and events in Wales. There are a number of good fictional accounts of the extraordinary empress (see, for example, Elizabeth Chadwick’s Lady of the English). In 1148 Maud gave up the struggle for England to her son, Henry FitzEmpress, and returned to Normandy permanently.

Civil war between the forces of King Stephen and Henry FitzEmpress continued in a desultory fashion. In 1152 the archbishop of Canterbury refused Stephen’s request to anoint his son Eustace as junior king. His queen, Matilda of Boulougne, died in that year. 1153 was a bad year for King Stephen. He was fifty-seven years old and was wounded three times; his son Eustace died suddenly and his other son, William, broke his thigh in a riding accident. Many parts of England had been devastated by years of civil war and even the hyper-aggressive Norman barons wearied of the conflict. In November 1153, at Winchester, King Stephen and Henry FitzEmpress agreed that Henry would become king on Stephen’s death, and this was ratified in a charter that Stephen issued at Westminster in December. Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine were crowned king and queen of England on 19 December 1154. Henry’s mother, Empress Maud, continued to give him advice throughout her long life and died in Normandy in 1167.

King Henry I may well hold the record for the highest number of illegitimate children (24) including at least nine sons (one of them with my heroine, Nest ferch Rhys) so it was a horrible irony that the untimely death of his only legitimate son led to civil war in this period known as The Anarchy.

Buy links:
Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Conquest-Anarchy-Trilogy-3/dp/1911293109
Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Conquest-Anarchy-Tracey-Warr-ebook/dp/B087NFP6WD/
Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/Conquest-Anarchy-Tracey-Warr-ebook/dp/B087NFP6WD/

Connect with Tracey Warr

Website: https://traceywarrwriting.com/
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Who was the real Macbeth?

Posted on October 4, 2021 | by Mercedes Rochelle | Leave a Comment

Macbeth fighting Malcolm III — *Macbeth fighting Malcolm 19th cent. drawing by F.Wentworth*

Let me start by saying that Macbeth is my favorite Shakespeare play, hands down. But that doesn’t mean I was disappointed to discover that most of it is not true! I like Macbeth (especially the Jon Finch Macbeth), even though he is pretty wicked in the play. Yes, he really existed and had an apparently successful 17-year reign starting in 1040. No, he was not killed at the battle of Dunsinane, although the battle did take place and he lost.

Did Macbeth kill Duncan? There is a good chance he did, but not in his bed. As it turns out, Duncan in his 30’s was a reportedly rascally king. He fought five wars in five years and lost them all, then really got into trouble trying to claim Caithness which was rightfully ruled by his cousin Thorfinn of Orkney. Duncan met his end at the Battle of Burghead on the Moray Firth, where he faced either Thorfinn or Macbeth (or both). It was also recorded elsewhere that Duncan was killed by his own men immediately after the battle.

Did Macbeth have a claim to the throne? Yes, through possibly his own and definitely his wife’s ancestry. It was thought that Macbeth’s mother may have been the second daughter of Malcolm II, so he may have been cousin to Duncan. The stronger claim was through Grouch (Lady Macbeth). Until the early 11th century, the Scottish kings were essentially elected from a group of nobles in a Celtic tradition known as the Tannist Succession. Grouch was descended from the rightful King Kenneth III, killed by Malcolm II along with her father, who was recognized as the Tanist candidate of his branch.

The Battle of Dunsinane took place in 1054, and it was led by the great Earl Siward of Northumbria in the company of Prince Malcolm. Macbeth escaped and retained his crown. It seems he kind of skulked around for the next couple of years until Malcolm caught up with him in Aberdeenshire at the battle at Lumphanan. After a short and bloody encounter Macbeth met his end; he may have been beheaded, or he may have expired a few days later, 60 miles south at Scone. No one knows for sure. He was succeeded by his stepson Lulach, who needed to be dispatched before Malcolm III could be declared King of Scotland.

Who Were the Last Plantagenets?

Posted on August 20, 2021 | by Mercedes Rochelle | 2 Comments

*Portrait of Henry IV- National Portrait Gallery (Creative Commons license)*

Many people get confused when they read that Richard II was the last Plantagenet king. How can that be? During the Wars of the Roses, both the Lancastrians and the Yorkists were Plantagenets. And that’s true. However, Richard II was the last in the direct line—and that’s the difference.

One could almost say that Edward III had too many sons. If his heir, Edward the Black Prince hadn’t died prematurely, all would probably have gone a different route. Lionel, the second son of Edward III (who survived infancy) also predeceased his father, leaving a daughter Philippa from his first wife. It was through Philippa that we have the Mortimers, arguably the true heirs to the throne if you follow the “laws” of primogeniture (see below). The next son was John of Gaunt, the father of the future Henry IV (the Lancastrians). After him came Edmund Langley, later Duke of York (yes, those Yorkists), and lastly, Thomas of Woodstock, Duke of Gloucester.

What is primogeniture? According to historian K.B. McFarlane, “a son always preferred to a daughter, a daughter to a brother or other collateral.” So the daughter’s heirs should come before the brother’s heirs (hence the Mortimers). Of course, it didn’t always work that way, even among the royals. As far back as King John, we see the youngest brother of a previous king mount the throne rather than the son of an elder brother (Arthur of Brittany—son of Geoffrey—should have ruled if the tradition of primogeniture were followed).

The Black Prince took nothing for granted, and on his deathbed he asked both his father and his brother John of Gaunt to swear an oath to protect nine year-old Richard and uphold his inheritance. Even this precaution didn’t guarantee Richard’s patrimony, and Edward III felt obliged to create an entail that ordered the succession along traditional male lines. This meant that the Mortimers were excluded. It also meant that John of Gaunt was next in line after Richard, and after him, Henry of Bolingbroke. This entail was kept secret at the time because of Gaunt’s unpopularity, and it’s possible that Richard later destroyed at least his own copy. It might have been lost to history until the last century when a badly damaged copy was discovered in the British Library among the Cotton charters (damaged by a fire in 1731). It clearly gave the order of succession as Richard, then Gaunt and his issue, then probably Gaunt’s brothers; parts of the manuscript are lost. According to historian Michael Bennett, “While crucial pieces of the text are missing, it is tolerably certain that the whole settlement is in tail male…”

John of Gaunt by Lucas Cornelisz de Kock — *John of Gaunt with his coat of arms attributed to Lucas Cornelisz de Kock source: Wikipedia*

Why is this important? It’s more than likely that at least members of the royal family knew about the entail. King Richard II and Henry Bolingbroke never got along, and as Richard continued to remain childless, the thought of Henry succeeding him was anathema. He still refused to name an heir, and since he remarried in 1396 the 29 year-old king was still young enough to father a child, even though his new queen was only seven at the time. It’s interesting that he never gave the Mortimer line much credence; he only mentioned them once in his own defense when his barons grew rebellious in 1385: why usurp Richard and replace him with a child? (The Mortimers had a history of dying young and the current heir was just a boy.) Nonetheless, many of his countrymen assumed Roger Mortimer was heir presumptive and didn’t think to question it. By 1397 the grown-up Roger was very popular, but was killed in Ireland shortly thereafter.

Fast forward to Henry IV’s usurpation. Legally, he had a problem. There was another living under-aged Mortimer heir (he quickly took the boy hostage and raised him alongside his own children). Richard abdicated the crown to Henry but only under duress. The new king was advised against claiming the crown by right of arms, because the same thing could be done to him. His reign was riddled with rebellions, and because things didn’t improve like he promised, people started remembering Richard with nostalgia. They wanted the old king back, and rumors of his escape to Scotland only added fuel to the proverbial fire.

Henry IV only ruled for a little over thirteen years, and the last half of his reign he was a very sick man. There were times he couldn’t rule at all and had to depend on his council. His son, the future Henry V, was ready and willing to take over; he even tried to persuade the old man to retire. But that miscarried and Henry dragged himself back into action for a short time, dismissing his son from the council and taking control again. But his days were numbered and everyone knew it. Henry V’s short and glorious reign was cut short by dysentery, and the long and pitiful reign of his infant son Henry VI drove the country into civil war. So much for the Lancastrians.

The Yorkists were descended from both Edmund Langley, the first Duke of York and Philippa, ancestor of the Mortimers. That’s why they felt they had a superior claim to the throne. But by the Wars of the Roses, the Plantagenet line was pretty much diluted. It’s ironic that Henry Tudor, father to the next dynasty, was himself actually descended from a Plantagenet through his mother. Margaret Beaufort was the last surviving member of the bastard line issuing from John of Gaunt (and legitimized by Richard II). It sounds like poetic justice to me.

The Fate of Ulf Godwineson, Guest Post by Ralph Murphy

Posted on August 9, 2021 | by Mercedes Rochelle | Leave a Comment

Edith discovering King Harold's corpse on the battlefield of Hastings — *Edith discovering King Harold’s corpse on the battlefield of Hastings by Horace Vernet*

The fate of Ulf is of great interest to the Norwood family who claim descent from Harold through him. The researches of Marian Callum Norwood, the noted genealogist and family historian who did much to develop the histories of the various branches of the family, is the source of these claims. In the many years since Marion’s death however, others who have followed her work more critically have taken issue with the absence of a credible connection between Jordanus of Sheppey, the 12th century patriarch of the family from whom the Norwood clan indubitably descended and Alnod Cilt or Ulf, the son of Harold.

Ulf was seized after Hastings (where he was too young to fight) and confined in Normandy. But later, like Wulfnoth, the youngest brother of Harold, he was released by William on his deathbed, reportedly at the urging of the church, as an act of mercy. The record shows that William’s estranged son, Robert Curthose, the next Duke of Normandy took a shine to Ulf and knighted him not long after.

It is inconceivable that Ulf would not have remained close to his benefactor and fought with him during the many actions that troubled Normandy from the rivalry between Robert and his siblings, William Rufus and Henry and the activities of other unruly knights. It is equally improbable that Ulf did not accompany him as a mature warrior when he went on the Crusade. This service would have been the most evident route towards reacquiring and retaining his ancestral lands, the defense of which was an inherent element in the knight’s role.

Ulf’s aspirations to land were associated with Kent, so after his formal release in 1087, and after his belting as a knight, he is likely to have sought restoration. By this time, his Anglo-Saxon identity would have been transformed by 20 years of Norman tutelage. It is clear from Domesday that Anod/Cilt/Ulf once had major manorial holdings in Kent which overlap with the later location of the Jordanus/Norwood family properties. This link is said to consolidate the supposed connection. Alnod’s former lands are well laid out from Domesday in Marion’s third book and cover widespread manors in Alnod’s name from Rochester to Dover, embracing Canterbury, Whitstable, Sheppey, Thanet, Norwood, Chart Sutton and many more. These had been held by Alnod /Ulf from King Edward, presumably from childhood, but were subordinated to the feudal over-lordship of Odo of Bayeux, William’s half-brother and the Church after the Conquest. Marian asserts that Alnod recovered some of these and that they continued in the possession of Jordanus of Sheppey and the Norwoods for 300 years.

There is no complete record of the knights who served Robert and who participated in the First Crusade which was known to be hazardous but Pope Urban had said that “by the will of God, he absolved all penitents from their sins from the moment that they took the cross of Christ”, which produced a surge of participants. Around 60,000 soldiers took part in the Crusade of which around 6,000 were knights and a further 30,000 provided support. This is not the place to detail the history of the Crusade but the crowning moment for Robert was in August 1099 when after victory in Jerusalem, the crusaders were confronted by an Egyptian Fatimid army at Ascalon, southwest of Jerusalem. Robert commanded the centre division of the Crusader Army and charging at the heart of the Egyptian camp, personally captured the Vizier’s banner and his tent. The Emir fled and was lucky to escape, leading to a great victory for which Robert’s part was much celebrated. After the battle and before beginning the return home, Robert completed his pilgrimage by immersing himself in the River Jordan. It was this act which encouraged crusaders to give themselves the soubriquet “Jordanus”, the title held by the founder of the Norwood family.

*Tomb of Robert Curthose, Gloucester Cathedral*

The obvious conclusions that one draw might from this story is that Ulf after his release from nominal confinement in Normandy, receiving his knighthood and giving service to Robert, was able to claim back at least some his lands. His 20 or so years in Normandy had “Normanized“ him. Ulf would have been at least around 40 and possibly older when he challenged for the return of his land. His most likely date of birth is around and possibly before 1050. As Harold’s older sons, starting with Godwine were of an age to contest the throne, post Conquest, it must be assumed that the hand fast marriage with Edith took place in the 1040s with children appearing at regular intervals. This would have made Ulf 16 at the Conquest, 37 upon his release by William in 1087 and in his late forties during the First Crusade. What appears to be clear and is suggested by a number of references in Domesday is that Alnod/Ulf successfully reclaimed land that we know is associated with the subsequent Northwode aka Norwood holdings.

Ulf would have been at least around 40 and possibly older when he challenged for the return of his land after the Penenden Heath trial. His most likely date of birth is around and possibly before 1050. As Harold’s older sons, starting with Godwine were of an age to contest the throne, post Conquest, it must be assumed that the hand fast marriage with Edith took place in the 1040s with children appearing at regular intervals. This would have made Ulf 16 at the Conquest, 37 upon his release by William in 1087 and in his late forties during the First Crusade. What appears to be clear and is suggested by a number of references in Domesday is that Alnod/Ulf successfully reclaimed land that we know is associated with the subsequent Northwode holdings. Marion says that Alnod/Ulf had held 20 manors but at the Domesday Survey, none, as almost half had been conveyed to Odo of Bayeux. At Penenden Heath, Alnod’s name is cited as a recent subtenant of Manors which Odo had assumed. The thesis is that on his release and rehabilitation by Robert Curthose, Ulf seized back two parts of Kings Wood on Sheppey which he was allowed to keep not by feudal but by costumal tenure, which effectively recognized the earlier status of his ownership. The source for this is Henry Bracton (c.1210–c.1268) an English cleric and jurist. These properties were also held by gavelkind, which means that they were sellable and not just held in fealty to an Earl. It is not clear which other properties Ulf recovered.

Notwithstanding these credible assertions, it is most unlikely on the face of it that Ulf was the father of Jordanus of Sheppey, as the latter was born in 1135 making Ulf around 85 at the time of his conception. This is not impossible but it is improbable. However, there is a possibility of a link between Ulf and Jordanus if we postulate that the honorific title acquired by Ulf after Ascalon passed to Jordanus of Sheppey though a third person. As some commentators have suggested, Jordanus could be the grandson of Ulf through an illegitimate or unrecognised son.
Some Norwood online trees trace their genealogy directly back to Jordanus de Sheppey, and then to Harold Godwineson as his father, basing this on Marion Norwood Callum’s researches – that cannot be true. The chronology does not hold; court documents for Jordan’s wife and children make it clear that he had to have been born long after Harold Godwinson was dead at Hastings, indeed in 1135.

Finally, there is the intriguing reference to Loup Fitz Heraut (Wulf son of Harold). It is regrettable that more is not known about this knight. An area worthy of research.

The Wily Archbishop Arundel

Posted on June 14, 2021 | by Mercedes Rochelle | Leave a Comment

Portrait of Archbishop Thomas Arundel — Lambeth Palace portrait, Wikipedia

It’s hard to decide whether Thomas Arundel was a villain or an asset. On the one hand, he was a brilliant administrator. On the other hand, he tended toward despotism. If you read Terry Jones’ entertaining but very biased Who Murdered Chaucer? he was practically the devil incarnate: “The war on heresy, which Archbishop Arundel announced in that winter of 1401, added a new dimension to a period already characterized by fear and intimidation. Gone was the experimental and questioning ‘blue skies’ intellectual environment of Richard II’s court, to be replaced by repression and censorship. The country slid into a regime of Orwellian thought-control and MacCarthyite witch-hunting.” Wow. Colorful though this opinion is, I couldn’t find anyone else who agreed with it—at least to the extent of the archbishop’s oppressiveness. And I looked for it. Yes, anti-Wycliffe dogma was prevalent in Henry IV’s reign—with the approval of the king—and Arundel did attempt to control the curriculum at Oxford with varied success. Yes, the first heretic was burned in Henry’s reign (two total, I believe). But wholesale burning of heretics would have to wait until Mary Tudor.

Thomas Arundel was the younger brother of Richard Earl of Arundel, one of the Lords Appellant in Richard II’s reign who traumatized the king during the Merciless Parliament of 1387. Thomas was serving his first of five stints as Lord Chancellor. He sided with the Appellants against the king, an error he was to pay dearly for ten years later during the Revenge Parliament. By then he was Archbishop of Canterbury, which probably saved his life; Richard shrunk from executing an archbishop. He was sentenced to forfeiture and outlawry instead, commanded to leave the country. A new archbishop was raised in his place.

When Richard outlawed Henry Bolingbroke, he demanded that the exiles never contact each other. Of course, who was going to enforce that? Just as soon as Richard left the country for Ireland, Arundel showed up on Henry’s doorstep in Paris and together they plotted Lancaster’s return. Would Henry have had the audacity to take such a risk without Arundel’s prodding? Many historians wonder. Up until that point Henry had been the obedient son, apolitical and relatively carefree (at least, before his exile). Now he was about to launch a major rebellion, with Arundel beside him every step of the way. Not long after they landed in England, Arundel took up his role as archbishop again (without any official appointment) and proceeded to preach against Richard II, allegedly spreading propaganda lies to encourage the people to rebel. You can see the dubious faces of his listeners…

Archbishop Arundel preaches against Richard II — *Arundel preaching: British Library Harley 1319 F12*

Of course, all went according to plan and Arundel is credited for putting together the means to legitimize Henry’s usurpation. Over the course of his reign, Henry came to depend on him more and more, though at first their association was more political than friendly. But as Henry’s health declined after 1405, he began to spend extended periods of time at the archbishop’s residences. While the king faded into the background, Arundel took a major role in governing the council as well as serving as chancellor from 1407-10 and again from 1412-13. The gap in his official duties was due to the opposition of Prince Henry, who was gaining ascendance as his father was increasingly unable to rule. In fact, the very day Henry V became king, he sacked Arundel and replaced him with his uncle, Henry Beaufort, who was the archbishop’s bitter political opponent. Arundel died a year later and was buried in Canterbury Cathedral. Interestingly, his tomb and chapel were destroyed by Archbishop Cranmer in 1540, presumably as revenge for his repression of heresy.

Insurrections Under Henry IV

Posted on June 8, 2021 | by Mercedes Rochelle | Leave a Comment

Henry Bolingbroke delivers Richard II to the Londoners — *Henry Delivers Richard to Londoners-Harley 1319 f53v, British Library*

It goes without saying that any usurper will have to deal with resistance. Considering the wave of popularity that thrust Henry Bolingbroke onto the throne, I imagine he never would have suspected the number of rebellions he would have to confront in the first five years of his reign. Some were major, others were minor. Two nearly condemned him as the shortest reigning monarch in English history. All must have been disheartening to the man who saw himself as an honorable, chivalric knight.

What could possibly have gone wrong?

The first rebellion wasn’t much of a surprise—though the timing was shocking. Only three months after his coronation, King Richard II’s favorites launched the Epiphany Rising of January, 1400. Their aim was to capture and kill the king and his family on the eve of a tournament at Windsor Castle. Unfortunately, they were in too much of a hurry; Henry was still at the height of his popularity. At the very last minute, King Henry was warned and he made a frantic escape to London. Nonetheless, the ringleaders were committed; after they found their prey had flown they continued with their revolt, though they weren’t able to attract as much support as they expected. Rather, most of them suffered the indignity of being killed by the citizenry, who took the law into their own hands.

Needless to say, the Epiphany Revolt put an end to Richard. Or did it? Although he was reported dead by February 14 and a very public funeral was held, rumors spread that he had escaped to Scotland and was going to return at the head of an army. Disgruntled rebels were quick to challenge the usurper in his name, and the spectre of a vengeful Richard haunted Henry for the rest of his life. Or, if Richard was dead, the young Earl of March—considered by many the true heir to the throne—served the same purpose. As far as the rebels were concerned, one figurehead was as good as the other.

During most of Henry’s reign, the country was bankrupt—or nearly so—and the first few years were the worst. It didn’t take long for the populace to cry foul, for as they remembered it, he promised not to raise taxes (untrue). Things were supposed to get better (they didn’t). Mob violence was everywhere. Even tax collectors were killed. Meanwhile, a fresh source of rebellion reared its head: the Welsh.

On his way back to London after his first (and only) campaign into Scotland, the king learned of a Welsh rising led by one Owain Glyndwr, who visited fire and destruction on his recalcitrant neighbor Reginald Grey of Ruthin. Turning immediately to the west, Henry led his army into Wales, chasing the elusive enemy deep into the mountains. Unfortunately, lack of funds and terrible weather forced them to turn back. But this just added fuel to the proverbial fire. Repeated Welsh raids unsettled his border barons, who were quick to complain. During parliament—only one year after Henry’s coronation—the Commons insisted on enforcing the most repressive anti-Welsh legislation since Edward I. None of these laws would have been enacted in Richard’s reign. The Welsh were in no mood to acquiesce, and their rebellion gained steam for the next several years, sapping an already exhausted exchequer.

*Royal MS 14e iv f.14v, British Library*

Then there were the Percies. The Earl of Northumberland and his son, Harry Hotspur were instrumental in putting Henry on the throne. They also ruled the north as though it was their own kingdom. This would not do, and Henry followed his predecessor’s strategy of raising up other great families as a counter to their ambitions. Disappointed that Henry did not appreciate them as much as they expected—especially after they won Homildon Hill, the most significant battle against the Scots since Edward I days—the Percies launched a totally unexpected assault in 1403. It was Harry Hotspur who drove this insurrection, using Richard II’s imminent return as a means to raise the restive Cheshiremen to his cause. Once his soldiers realized that Richard wasn’t coming, they fought to avenge him instead. The resulting Battle of Shrewsbury was a very close call; if Henry hadn’t unexpectedly traveled north from London that week to join Henry Percy, he never would have been close enough to intercept the rebels when he learned about the uprising. The fighting was ferocious; it was only Hotspur’s death on the battlefield that determined which side had won the day. As it was, Percy’s ally, the Earl of Douglas, allegedly killed two knights who wore Henry’s livery, giving their lives to save the king in the confusion of battle.

The Earl of Northumberland was still in the North when the Battle of Shrewsbury took place. Historians can’t decide whether Percy’s failure to assist his son was planned or unplanned. But one thing was for sure; Henry Percy was still a force to be reckoned with. Although the king reluctantly pardoned him (with the urging of the Commons), he was back two years later, leading another rebellion in conjunction with a rising led by Richard Scrope, the Archbishop of York, and Thomas Mowbray, son of Henry Bolingbroke’s old rival. Northumberland’s thrust was repelled before he gained much speed, yet Scrope’s forces waited at York for three days before being tricked into disbanding by the Earl of Westmorland, Percy’s nemesis. Poor Archbishop Scrope became the focus of King Henry’s rage. Despite resistance from all sides, the king ordered him to be executed, creating a huge scandal and a new martyr.

Henry Percy suffered outlawry at that point, but he returned three years later, fighting one last battle, so pathetic one wonders whether he had a death wish. He was killed on the field and subsequently decapitated.

These were the major rebellions. Other disturbances were usually dealt with without Henry’s presence. In 1404, Maud de Ufford, Countess of Oxford—mother of the ill-fated Robert de Vere, Richard’s favorite—organized an uprising centered around the return of King Richard. This was in conjunction with Louis d’Orleans, the French duke who planned to invade the country in December. Alas, he was held up by the weather and Richard failed to materialize. In 1405, Constance of York, sister of Edward (Rutland), Duke of York concocted a plot to kidnap the young Earl of March (remember him, the other heir to the throne?) and his brother from Windsor Castle. She was taking them to Owain Glyndwr but got caught before they entered Wales. She implicated her brother who was imprisoned for several months, but no one knows for sure whether he was complicit or not (he probably was).

Bad weather, failed crops, an empty exchequer, regional disorders, piracy that disrupted the wool trade, all contributed to general unrest that plagued the fragile Lancastrian dynasty. Henry’s willingness to accept criticism from friends and supporters—and sincerely try to act upon it—could well be one of the reasons he survived and King Richard failed.