I hope most of you are having a better weekend—weather-wise—than we are in the Northeast corner of the US.  This is the second Nor’easter to hit in as many days.  At least it gives me a chance to catch up on e-mails, etc, and to get a new blog up before I leave for a quick research trip to France.  (I know, as the old joke goes, a dirty job but someone has to do it.)   I am so grateful to Richard’s sister Joanna for marrying the Count of Toulouse, for until now, I’d never gotten any farther south than Bordeaux.  She was also very helpful in wedding the King of Sicily, another place I’ve always longed to see.  Sadly I am not going to be able to make it to Palermo and Messina—not if I have a prayer in hell of meeting the Lionheart deadline—but I can console myself with the knowledge that I’ll get a second grab at the Sicilian brass ring with my novel about Constance de Hauteville.  And the research about Sicily’s “Golden Age” was truly fascinating.    I’ve also enjoyed delving into the history of medieval Cyprus, one reason why Richard’s quick conquest expanded to four full chapters, much to his disgust.   But the culture clash between the Greeks and the “Latins” was interesting; Latins was the term used at the time for those who adhered to the Pope in Rome rather than the Patriarch in Constantinople  And no writer could have resisted the first-person accounts of the chroniclers who’d accompanied Richard on what he called his “pilgrimage.”  (The word “crusade” was not used in the MA)

        Here’s one explaining, simply and succinctly, why they were able to defeat the Cypriot emperor’s forces so easily even though they were outnumbered: “We knew more of war than they did.”   Or here is Richard being told that Acre was about to be captured, “’God forbid that Acre should be won in my absence,’ he said, ‘for it has been besieged for so long, and the triumph—God willing—will be so glorious.’”    Here is another eye-witness chronicler describing Richard’s wedding, “She (Berengaria) was beautiful, with a bright countenance, the wisest woman, indeed, that one could hope to find anywhere.  There was the king in great glory, rejoicing in his victory and his marriage to the woman to whom he’d pledged his troth.”   {Richard of Devizes, the chronicler who famously if unkindly described Berengaria as “more prudent than pretty” never laid eyes upon her.}  Here a chronicler tells us of a fiery confrontation at Famagusta between Richard and envoys sent by the French king, who was already at Acre:  “They insulted him so much that the king became angry, raising his eyebrows.  Such things were said as should not be written down.”    

      Of course these were hardly unbiased observers, men convinced that Richard was destined to be the savior of Christendom, so the French king does not come off too well.   I actually felt some sympathy for Philippe at this point.  He had never wanted to take the cross, had been shamed into it by the Archbishop of Tyre and public opinion.   For Philippe—like Henry—was a realist, without any of Richard’s illusions of the glory of battle and no love of adventure or travel; the poor guy did not even like horses.   Then, not only did he get pressured into going on crusade, he had to do it with Thor, the God of War.  There is no doubt that Philippe was a very intelligent man and he would prove to be a capable, ruthless king, as unlike his father Louis as chalk and cheese.  Yet when it came to the forum of public opinion, he could not begin to compete with a “media-savvy” war hero, one as skilled at promoting his own legend as he was at wreaking havoc on the battlefield.  Philippe would eventually win their war because of Richard’s untimely but unsurprising death (the only surprise is that Richard lived as long as he did given the way he liked to dice with death), but he would discover that the legend lived on, for myths are harder to kill than mortal men.  

     I think I’ve responded to all of your queries in the last blog; if not, feel free to remind me what I missed.    I’d like to thank Ken again for all the research work he has done and for being generous enough to share it with us.   My very negative reaction to the suggestion that Constance of Brittany could possibly have been the mother of John’s daughter Joanna was in no way directed at Ken; I definitely do not believe in shooting the messenger!   Basically, it seems that someone with too much free time on his hands began to wonder if the chroniclers could have mistaken “Clemence” for “Constance” and with that, he was off to the races.  He does not appear to have even considered how extraordinary it would have been for Constance to bed the man who was her son’s main rival for the English Crown.  From the moment that Arthur was born, it was obvious to all that if Richard died without an “heir of his body” (a distinct possibility in light of his reckless battlefield exploits; apparently few expected him to return alive from the crusade.) the only heirs would be his nephew Arthur or his brother John.  The laws of primogeniture were still in a state of flux in the twelfth century, and men were not sure if the son of an older brother (Geoffrey) had a better claim than the youngest brother, John.  Yet we are supposed to believe that this prideful, ambitious woman, who utterly loathed all of the Angevins except Geoffrey, would indulge in some high-risk sinning with John, of all men?   I’d have to see actual photographic evidence of them in bed together to believe that one!   I will give the final word on this subject to Kathryn Gibson, whom I am sure is familiar to many of you as the woman who almost single-handedly won official recognition for Aber as the site of the palace of the Welsh princes.  Kathryn agreed to let me post her response, so here it is.  

*     *     *     *

  ‘Here Be Dragons’
>”Joan, daughter of King John who married Llywelyn ab Iorwerth in 1205, was most probably born 1191. The statement by the Pope that John ‘when unmarried fathered…’ is clear, but what it meant at the time when it was written is that in the eyes of the church his first marriage, annulled on the grounds of consanguinity, was deemed not to be a ‘marriage’. In other words because John had needed a divorce and didn’t have proper grounds, this gave him a reason that was valid.
> The statement that her mother was ‘an unmarried woman’ at the time allows us to exclude some of the likely named contenders.”

*     *     *     *

        I have a few items to pass on now.  One of my readers was kind enough to send a link to my Facebook page about the discovery of a twelfth century crusader mural in Syria.  I tried to copy and paste the link, but for some reason it wouldn’t go through despite several attempts.  So if you’re interested, just google twelfth century crusader murals in Syria and the stories will come up.    There is a Yahoo discussion group for people interested in talking about my books. Jayne Smith, its founder, asked me to post the link here.  Sharonpenmanhistory~subscribe@yahoogroups.com    And another reader sent me a link to the BBC History Magazine website; it is not strictly medieval, of course, but definitely interesting:  http://www.bbchistorymagazine.com/     

 

        This will be my last blog until mid-November, but I hope to return with some interesting stories about my pursuit of Angevin ghosts.    I’ll leave you now with this to ponder.   Remember we talked earlier about the best-selling {!) book, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and whether it signaled the decline of civilization as we know it?    Well, we have something else to look forward to—an upcoming film, Templars vs Zombies.   

October 18, 2009

     I will start with the good news.  Ken has done more research, this time about the possible identity of Joanna’s mother, and I am posting it again in a separate blog entry.  When I wrote Dragons twenty-five years ago, all that was known was that her mother may have been named Clemence, and so I had to create a past and personality for her.   What I love most about history is that it is so fluid.  New discoveries are constantly being made, turned up like seashells when the tide goes out—or like buried Anglo-Saxon gold found by an out-of-work Englishman with time on his hands and a metal detector.  A perfect example of this sort of discovery involves the mother of Henry II’s illegitimate son, Will Longsword.  For centuries her identity was a mystery, but it was recently proven that she was Ida de Tosney, who later became the wife of Roger Bigod, Earl of Norfolk, which sheds some interesting light upon the fate of discarded royal mistresses; curious readers can find out more about this intriguing woman by reading Elizabeth Chadwick’s novel, The Time of Singing.   So people like Ken are pioneers, venturing in search of hidden treasures, just like that lucky soul who found that gold hoard in a freshly ploughed field.

            I was absolutely riveted by the responses to my last blog.  It was fascinating to learn which scenes resonated with you and why.  Most writers can only dream of getting reader feedback like this!  Several of you commented on an earlier admission of mine that I have never cried over one of my own scenes.  Since I cry very easily over other writers’ books or over sad films (I’ve never dared to watch Old Yeller or Zorba the Greek again), it does seem out of character for me.  So this question is for the writers out there.  Do any of you get teary-eyed over one of your own scenes?  

       I may remain dry-eyed, but that doesn’t mean I like killing my characters off.  This is why I included so few death scenes on my list.   As Sunne was my first novel, it was a learning experience for me, and I had to distance myself a bit at Bosworth Field, relating Richard’s death through Francis Lovell’s eyes.  I was more graphic, of course, with the death scenes of Simon de Montfort and Llewelyn ap Gruffydd.   I had an unusual ex-perience with respect to the latter scene.  I was driving along a lonely Welsh road at twilight, thinking about Llewelyn’s death scene (not written yet) and suddenly these words just popped into my head, almost as if I’d heard them spoken aloud:  “A man should die with the sound of his own language in his ears.”    I would later make use of that in the scene, and that memory remains vivid even to this day.  

      I’ve always felt very blessed when it came to battles, for so many of them occurred under dramatic circumstances above and beyond the natural drama involved when you have men trying to kill one another.   The battle of Barnet involved an eerie fog enveloping the field, causing a fatal mistake by one of the Lancastrian commanders.  During the battle of Tewkesbury, there was a surprise flank attack which could have swung the momentum in Lancaster’s favor, and then something that no writer would dare to invent out of whole cloth—a battle commander killing one of his own allies.  And of course at Bosworth, there was Richard’s daring throw of the dice, his charge to find Henry Tudor, an act of reckless courage worthy of the first Richard.    Simon de Montfort died during a storm so savage that chroniclers actually compared it to the storm that raged on Golgotha.   Since there are only so many ways to describe a battle scene, writers love it when we get “help” like this!

      I am going to have to expand my Medieval Mishaps section; another mistake rears its ugly head.   Gabriel Gonzalez, a reader from Barcelona, has alerted me that there is an error in an early chapter of Devil’s Brood in which a young Richard is taught to swear in Spanish by his new friend, King Alfonso of Aragon.   While my research had shown Aragon was bi-lingual in the 12^th century, the people speaking Catalan and Aragonese-Navaresse (the language of Berengaria, BTW), I had not been able to determine the native tongue of the royal house.   Gabriel kindly provided me with information showing that Alfonso would have been teaching Richard to swear in Catalan.   This is particularly useful information as Alfonso will be making an appearance in Lionheart, coming to the aid of Richard’s wife and sister during his German captivity.   So thanks to Gabriel, I can avoid making the same mistake again.   It can be tricky sometimes when writing of bi-lingual societies; for one thing, I have to make sure that if a character is eavesdropping on an important conversation, he or she would have been able to understand what was being said.  This issue has really come to the forefront in Lionheart, first in Sicily where Latin, Arabic, Greek, and French were all spoken, and now in Cyprus where Richard’s soldiers don’t speak Greek and the Cypriots don’t speak French.   I am currently working on a confrontational scene that will definitely require an interpreter!     

      I would like to apologize now for taking so long to post recommended books about medieval cooking and medieval sexuality, etc.   I have not forgotten, but I do not have any assistants to help out.  I have to deal with my website, Facebook, on-line chats, etc, by myself, and sometimes I have to give priority to the writing and research.  Hey, would you guys want to argue with Coeur de Lion?   Trust me, he can be just as impatient with lowly scribes as his prima donna parents.  I would also like to alert you that Elizabeth Chadwick’s website has an excellent selection of photos taken at a recent Reenactment event at Kenilworth Castle.  I think visuals like this are very helpful both for readers and writers.  When I was writing about a savage Good Friday gale that scattered Richard’s fleet, I even went on YouTube and watched some scary videos of ships being tossed around like toothpicks in storms at sea.   Lastly, can anyone recommend any novels about Henry V or Henry VI for Brenna?

        Okay, on to your comments.  Jane, I hope to be able to continue the mysteries with Justin de Quincy, especially because I’d planned another appearance by the young Llewelyn ab Iorwerth in his next adventure.   But for now my publisher wants me to concentrate upon the historicals.   Koby, I am so glad you reminded me of one of my favorite Shadow scenes, the one where Llewelyn’s son Davydd tells the bishop, “I lied.”  That was such fun to write.  Obviously that is not true for all scenes.  Sometimes they can be unbearably sad; other times they are merely necessary, acting as a bridge between one chapter and another.  Naturally I love scenes of high drama, a major reason why I still regret not being able to write of Henry’s affair with Alys…sigh.  And sometimes a scene becomes “fun” simply because of the characters involved.  I loved writing about Maud, the Countess of Chester, miss her very much in Lionheart.  I also enjoyed doing scenes with the Welsh poet-prince, Hywel ab Owain.   And I would cheer up anytime that Llewelyn’s reprobate brother Davydd sauntered on stage. 

      Jody, I haven’t yet read Helen Nicholson’s book about the Knights Templar, but I would recommend any of her books with enthusiasm.  Kristen, I gave a happy ending to the two “orphans of the Fens.”  There is so much grief and heartbreak in my books that I try to dole out a few dollops of hope whenever I can.  Cate, I really felt terrible about having Edmund die; this was the first time I’d had to kill a character.   Much later in Sunne, Edward summons the tutor who was with Edmund on the bridge.  Edward has just given the command to execute his brother George and he is looking backward, grieving for Edmund again since he cannot bring himself to grieve for George.  What is unusual about this scene is that it came to me in a dream.  I’d been trying to decide how I could convey Edward’s conflicted emotions, and it actually occurred to me in my sleep.  Not only that, I had total recall in the morning.   I thought, “Wow, let’s hope my subconscious keeps helping out like this.”   Sadly, that was the one and only time that I had any nocturnal inspiration.  

          Paula and Leigh, yes, I did love writing about Davydd ap Gruffydd.  Some of my readers agree with us.  A dear friend thinks he is the sexiest male character in all of my books; needless to say, she has a weakness for bad boys.   Other readers loathed him, blaming him for his brother’s death and the loss of Welsh independence.   But I am totally immoral when it comes to characters.  If they are born scene-stealers like Davydd, I’ll forgive them almost any sins.  One of my favorite characters in Sunne was Elizabeth Woodville, for she was so literal and humorless and utterly self-involved.  That may not have made her likable, but it did make her fun to write about.    And like you, Paula, I was moved by Henry’s comment to Will Marshal, “My son cost me greatly, but I would that he’d lived to cost me more.”   That is, of course, an actual quote from Henry, which is what gives it such poignancy.   History is filled with sad stories of estranged and hostile fathers and sons, but surely Henry’s is one of the saddest, for he truly loved his sons even while he did so much to turn them against him.     

      Carrie, I’m glad to hear that you’re writing a mystery set in thirteenth century Wales.  Stay with it and keep us posted about your progress—I know I speak for many when I say there can never be enough books about medieval Wales. 

      Joyce, I am glad you mentioned the scene between Hugh and the Bristol money-lender.  Anti-Semitism was the ugly underside of medieval life, and it can be very challenging—and uncomfortable—to deal with this subject in an honest way.  Nan put it very well when she said that she had occasion to learn to forgive what she couldn’t excuse in a character.   So many of the medieval attitudes are alien to ours—their views on religious tolerance, their utter acceptance of\ a society based upon a rigid caste system (no upward mobility in the MA), their views of women as the lesser sex, the vast influence wielded by the Church and the fear of heresy, their belief that man had utter dominion over the earth and all animals upon it.  Obviously there have always been individuals who blazed their own paths, and often these brave souls brought about genuine change; just think of the Abolitionists and Suffragettes.  But most of us are not rebels or pioneers; most people accept their world as it is.   So when I am writing of medieval men and women, I try very hard to avoid giving them our modern sensibilities.  This is particularly difficult when dealing with medieval attitudes toward non-Christians.  Most of my characters accepted their Church’s teachings, as people did in real life.  I occasionally was able to show that there were brief meetings of the mind, as in the scene with Hugh and Isaac, the young moneylender, or in Ranulf’s encounter with the two Jewish peddlers, when his instinctive suspicion and mistrust slowly waned as he was able to see them as men, men who saved his life.   When I did need a character who did not automatically accept the prevailing view that Jews were the Servants of Satan, I chose Elen, Joanna and Llewelyn’s daughter, because she was a woman who was torn between two worlds, not fully at home in either, a woman who had been born with a rebellious streak.   I have no doubts whatsoever that Elen would have been a Suffragette!  

       April, your comment reminded me of something a friend once told me.  She and her husband were peacefully reading books in bed at night, and suddenly her husband startled her by crying out, “No, Joanna, no!  Don’t do it!”   Yes, he’d come upon the scene that you didn’t want to read.   Another friend described how she was reading in bed one night when her son burst into her bedroom, exclaiming “George is dead!”  Since she had a beloved nephew named George, she understandably reacted with horror.  She was not happy with said son when he then commented, “I didn’t really think Edward would do it, not kill his own brother.”  

      Marbella, I agree with you—Nell was Eleanor of Aquitaine’s granddaughter in more than blood.   And Malcolm, I loved your comment that in his discussion with Geoffrey, Philippe suddenly realized that he was now “only one of the two smartest kids in class.”   I agree with you, Emily-Jane, that Mary, Queen of Scots, is a tragic figure, but I’m with Cindy about Eleanor; I don’t see her as tragic, either.  I read somewhere that how people respond to Mary or Elizabeth Tudor says more about the people themselves than it does about either queen.   Apparently it is rare to sympathize with both women; like Team Angelina or Team Anniston, people take sides.  For what it’s worth, I’ve always been in Elizabeth’s camp.    Any one want to comment on this or make any arguments on Mary’s behalf?  

       Jerelyn, I have to ask this.  You said you have never been able to read the Evesham battle scene in Shadow.  Were you able to read the Bosworth battle scene in Sunne?  Ken, thank you for including that quote from a genealogist about my research; that meant so much to me!  

     And now, without further ado, here is Ken’s blog entry about Joanna’s mother.  I have to say that I have a problem with genealogical research in that so much of it too often seems founded upon speculation.  I personally think the idea that Constance of Brittany could have been the mother of Joanna is ludicrous.  I am not taking issue with Ken, for these are not his own conjectures; he has done an admirable job of sifting through the various theories and then presenting them–quite fairly–for us to judge for ourselves.  I do disagree with the question Ken raises about Joanna’s age.  It is true we do not know her exact birth date, but I determined her likely age based upon a number of factors, including the birth of her son Davydd, whom we know was born in 1207 and her affair with William de Braose, for we know his age.  There is no way to know for sure, but I remain quite comfortable with my conclusion that she was probably born circa 1191.    One minor quibble, Ken.  John was born in December of 1166, not 1167, the date so often given.    This is a very widespread mistake, and what is interesting about it is that biographers of Henry and John seem most likely to make it, whereas biographers of Eleanor get the date right.     Readers who would like to know more about this dispute can find a thorough discussion in the article by Andrew Lewis, “The Birth and Childhood of King John: Some Revisions,” published in my favorite book about Eleanor, Eleanor of Aquitaine, Lord and Lady, edited by Bonnie Wheeler and John Carmi Parsons.   Andrew Lewis is the scholar who discovered that Eleanor was actually born in 1124, not 1122, the “traditional” date given for centuries.   But back to the important issue–Ken’s research paper.   Diolch yn fawr, Ken!

September 29, 2009

The Mother of Joanna of Wales, wife of Llywelyn ab Iorwerth

 

 

The Children of Llywelyn and Joanna.

 

Following my post on the children of Llywelyn Fawr and Joanna and the responses it received, I checked again through the genealogical pages on the subject of Gwladus Ddu. While it is true, as several genealogists point out, that in the absence of definite proof one way or another, the identity of the mother of Gwladus Ddu must remain ‘unknown’, I found no reason to change my personal conclusion that her mother was Joanna and not Tangwystyl.

 

One further source on the subject of their children is the following abstract from the ‘Kings and Queens of Britain’ an authoritative guide, published by Oxford University Press, page 106:

 

‘Llywelyn ab Iorwerth, b.1173, son of Iorwerth Drwyndwn (‘Flatnose’) and Marared, daughter of Madog ap Maredudd; acc. east Gwynedd 1195; married Joan, illegitimate daughter of King John, 1205; issue: Gruffudd (illegitimate), Dafydd, Gwenllian, Helen, Gwladus, Margaret, Susanna; died 11 April 1240; buried: Aberconwy.’

 

The singling out of Gruffudd alone as ‘illegitimate’ is significant.

 

 

The Mother of Joanna

 

First, let me pay tribute to Sharon. Her research for ‘HBD’, ‘Falls the Shadow’ and ‘The Reckoning’, carried out before the advent of the Internet, was truly outstanding. Practically everything she has written in that trilogy stands close examination today.

 

To prove that it is not only me that thinks so, let me quote one genealogist who is a great fan of Sharon: “I am very fond of Sharon Kay Penman’s books. Even though they are not purely biographical, I feel more comfortable relying on her work to ‘fill in the blanks’ (given the amount of research she obviously put into her books), than in actually citing some genealogical sources that I have come across in my own research (I’m sure we all run into sources like that). To anyone who has not yet read her work, I recommend it very highly, especially if you would like to get a feel for what life was like 800 years ago.”

 

That sums it up nicely! Now, on to the present:

 

 

Following the questions posed by Beth, Suzanne and Sandy in particular, I set about researching the identity of Joanna’s mother (referred to hereafter, for ease of reference as ‘Clemence’ not ‘Clementia’) through an affair with the to-be-king John. This task proved to be much more complex than I would have thought possible! After running up many blind alleys, mostly through trying to reconcile the chronology of one with the other, I have settled on what follows. I do not claim that what I have written is definitive in any shape or form, and the truth is that we will probably never be sure of her identity.

 

To start, the evidence is incontrovertible that John had TWO daughters named Joan (Joanna), as follows:

(a) The illegitimate Joanna, daughter of “Clemence,” was unquestionably born out of wedlock –– as is proved by Honorius III’s decree declaring her legitimate in April 1226, though without prejudice to the king or realm of England (i.e., giving her no claim to that throne). The decree, which has been transcribed from the original, unpublished Register of Honorius III (Reg. Vat. 13, fol. 122 ), states inter alia that “Johannes Rex anglie solutus te genuerit de soluta,” which, I’m told, translates as “King John of England, when unmarried, fathered you by an unmarried woman.”

This means Joanna can have been born no later than 1189 when John married Isabella of Gloucester. Her mother, “Clemence” was probably French or Norman, since evidence from the patent rolls of John’s reign shows that Joan was brought from Normandy to England in December 1203, to prepare for marriage to Llywelyn ab Iorwerth (see below). Joanna died in Feb 1237.

 

(b) John’s legitimate daughter Joan, by Isabella of Angouleme (married to John in 1200 at age 12!), was born at Gloucester on 22 July 1210 (see the Tewkesbury Annals in the Rolls Series, vol. 36.i, p. 59; the Worcester Annals, ibid., vol. 36.iv, p. 399; and the Rotuli Litterarum Patencium for John’s Reign, pp. 124, 143). This is the Joan who subsequently married Alexander II of Scotland and she died in 1238, some months after Joanna (this may account for some of the confusion evident between the two women). She left no issue by Alexander II.

 

Now, if we consider the whereabouts of John during the period when Joanna would have been conceived, we find the following:

 

John was born in December 1167. He was at most 21 and maybe younger than that when his daughter Joanna was born. She may well have been the eldest of all the children he fathered by his various mistresses.

 

1187 June - John in France when Chateauroux was being besieged
1187 June 23 - truce
1188 Jan. 30 - Henry returns to England, possibly with John in tow
1188 Summer - Henry sends John back to Normandy, crosses from
Shoreham to Dieppe; Henry then goes to France, John remaining in Normandy1189 June 12 - John at Le Mans when disarmed by Henry's order, and then
John fled or was led away for safety
1189 July 6 - Henry I dies in France
1189 Aug. 12 - Richard brings John back to England with him
1189 Aug. 29 - John married to Isabelle of Gloucester at Marlebridge
1189 Sep. 3 - Richard crowned at Westminster Abbey
1189 Oct. - Richard sends John into Wales to subdue the rebellious Welsh
1190 Feb. - John summoned to Normandy and forced on oath
not to set foot into England for three years
1190 June - Richard goes on crusade [John breaks his oath]
For our purposes, it is thought that the most important period, and the most
likely time for Joanna to have been conceived, is the 1187-9 period.
1187 - John spends virtually the entire year in France
1188 - John might have returned to England in January, but by
summer is sent back to France, where he appears to have
remained
1189 - John is apparently in France January - August, returning to England in August in preparation for his marriage on 29 Aug.
If John made no more unrecorded returns to England, it would appear that he spent about 80% of his time from January 1187 until his marriage, in France. He was at some point given the County of Mortain, in Normandy (before Richard's coronation).

 

 

The above information, given the period and also the fact that Joanna was brought to England from France in 1203 for her marriage to Llywelyn, lends credence to the idea that Joanna and her mother were of French/Norman origin.

 

Given also John’s well-known philandering during this period, there appears to be many candidates for the role of mother of Joanna!

 

The genealogists have identified at least six possible candidates:

 

1. Clemence de Dauntsey
2. Clemence le Boteler
3. Clemence Pinel
4. Clemence de Fougers
5. Constance Duchess of Brittany
6. Agatha de Ferrers

 

Taking the story of each of these ladies in turn, I found the following:

 

 

1          Clemence de Dauntsey

 

My previous post gave the information that Paget showed that it was Clemence de Dauntsey, who married Nicholas de Verdun. I believed that this was the Nicholas and Clementia to whom Henry 111 granted the custody of Susanna (as a hostage) in 1228. After another long search however, I could find no trace of a Clemence de Dauntsey in the records. I did find however, the opinion of one genealogist who clearly stated it as…’ I think that we (the genealogists) have established that there was no such person as Clemence de Dauntsey. That identification of the wife of Nicholas de Verdun was a blunder by Paget!’

 

 

I am happy to accept that conclusion, as further investigation of the records of the next Clemence proved more fruitful.

 

 

2          Clemence le Boteler

Clemence le Boteler was born about 1175 in Steeple Lavington, Wiltshire. Her father was Philip le Boteler (born circa 1150).

 

Clemence le Boteler married Nicholas de Verdun in 1202 (his second wife after his marriage to Joan Fitz Piers. Note, this marriage is not proven) at Alton, Staffordshire and they had one child, Rohese de Verdun who was born in 1203 or 1205 (died. Feb 1247).

 

If, indeed, Joanna was the result of a liaison between John and Clemence le Boteler (who would have been aged around 14-15 at the time), it would have been very difficult for the Le Boteler family to find a suitable husband for Clemence. Indeed some ten years pass before a marriage is arranged (by John and his family?) with a trustworthy English nobleman and property holder, Nicholas de Verdun.  Leaving aside for the moment the possibility that Nicholas had fallen in love with the 27 year old Clemence and wanted to marry her, it would have been necessary for John to provide Clemence with some property of her own so that she became a more attractive prize for her husband to be.

 

The records now show a minor player, Philip Boteler, with seemingly little property, who comes into considerable property that is passed on through his daughter, Clemence.  The CLR, 1245-51, p111 shows that although the properties of Wilsford and Stoke Farthing in Wiltshire first appear in de Verdun hands during their daughter Rohese's tenure of the family estates, they first came to the family as a result of Nicholas de Verdun's marriage to Clemence le Boteler. This is revealed in a plea of 1243 in which Rohese claimed to hold Stoke Farthing as the heir of Philip Boteler, the father of the said Clemence. [CRR, vol. 17, no 1462].

In 1228, it appears that this same Clemence and her husband Nicholas were chosen to receive custody of Joanna and Llywelyn's daughter Susanna (aged about 14?). The purpose for the placement (apart from housing a hostage), seems to be for the child to be brought up in a safe and secure environment with the opportunity for a better education. Of course, would this Clemence be the mother of Joanna, she would also be the grandmother of Susanna, though there is no reason to believe that the young Joanna knew, at this time, that there was a family relationship, if the truth were being kept from her. The custodial grant was by King Henry III, half-brother to Joanna and half-uncle to Susanna, yet the decree called Susanna, Henry's ‘niece’ and Joanna, Henry's ‘sister’.’

 

A question now poses itself. If Joanna was the daughter of Clemence le Boteler, from, apparently an English household, how do we explain what Joanna was doing in France when King John sent for her in 1203? One possible answer is that Clemence’s father, Philip le Boteler was French, rather than English. It was quite common at the time for people to hold properties on both sides of the Channel. This may also explain why he named his daughter ‘Clemence’, a name more common in French families than in English families during this period.

 

 

3          Clemence Pinel

 

The only publication where I have encountered a reference to  Clemence Pinel – wife of Henry Pinel (apart from Charles Cawley in Wikipedia) is in Alison Weir’s ‘England’s Royal Families: The complete Genealogy (London, 1989).’ This publication is noted by one genealogist as ‘not very fully annotated.’ My own trawl through the genealogy forums found scant reference to the Pinel family, including Clemence’s husband Henry Pinel. Several entries suggest that Joanna was the daughter of Henry Pinel and his wife Clemence, but no sources, capable of being checked, are offered. I am therefore inclined to discount this lady from further investigation. I could be very wrong!!!!

 

 

4          Clemence de Fougers

Clemence de Fougers was the sister of Richard de Hommet, Constable of Normandy, and Geoffrey de Fougeres. Her father was William du Fougers. We have no date of birth (or death) of Clemence, but she was first married before 1200 (no date available) to Alan de Dinan, and was prominent enough to marry in October 1200, as her next husband, Ranulph de Blundeville, Earl of Chester and Vicomte d'Avranches, recently divorced (marriage annulled?) from Constance of Brittany.

 

In 1189, aged seventeen, Ranulph had been married to Constance of Brittany the widow of Henry 11’s son Geoffrey, and the mother of Arthur of Brittany with whom King John contested the succession. Henry did not trust the Countess and wanted her married to a magnate he could trust. The marriage gave Ranulph control of the earldom of Richmond and the duchy of Brittany, but it was not a success (see subject 6. below). The couple had no issue and they separated. It was rumoured that Earl Ranulph divorced Constance for having had an affair with King John!

 

Given that Clemence de Fougers was daughter and sister of Constables of Normandy, It is thought likely that John, Count of Mortain, in Normandy, knew of her [and perhaps *knew* her, prior to her marriage to Ranulph]. A close connection to John might explain what would seem a very advantageous second marriage for Clemence to Ranulph.

 

Ranulph, 6^th Earl of Chester however, was a powerful baron and it beggars belief, at least for me, that he would have accepted a marriage to a woman who had had a known affair and a subsequent child by John, Count of Mortain some ten years previously. Particularly given the rumours surrounding a possible affair between John and his first wife Constance!

 

Whether John did have an affair (and a child) with this ‘Clemence’, for whom he arranged an advantageous marriage, who can know?? It all seems a bit tenuous to me!

 

 

5          Constance, Duchess of Brittany

Constance was born on the 12^th June 1161 in Brittany and was married to (1) Geoffrey Plantagenet in 1181. Geoffrey was killed in a riding accident in 1186 and Constance married (2) Ranulph de Blundeville, 4^th Earl of Chester, on 3^rd February 1188, in a marriage arranged by King Henry 11. This marriage deteriorated and Ranulph imprisoned Constance in 1196. Rebellions were sparked across Brittany on her behalf and Ranulph released her in 1198. Back in Brittany, Constance had her marriage annulled and later in 1198, she took Guy de Tours as her ‘second’ husband.

 

Constance died aged 40, (possibly of leprosy, possibly after giving birth to twin girls) on 5^th September 1201 at Nantes

 

The theory that Constance had an affair with John after the death of Geoffrey and before John’s marriage to Isabella of Gloucester in 1189, and that she was mother to Joanna is very contentious and has provoked much discussion within genealogical circles.

 

One comment from a genealogist states that ‘the journal ‘The Plantagenet Connection’ has published an ahnentafel of Elizabeth Plantagenet, wife of Henry V11, which gives Joanna’s mother’s name as Constance (perhaps misnamed Clemence?), Duchess of Brittany. This is the Constance who was John’s sister-in-law! Considering the well-known animosity between John and Constance and her own attempts to press her son Arthur’s interests as far as the throne of England was concerned (and we all know how disastrously that turned out!), I really find the proposed relationship a little hard to swallow. The Constance that history portrays does not strike me as on whom John could easily coerce into bed.’

 

Again on the subject of Constance, John Parsons, an eminent historian/genealogist writes:

 

‘A theory that would identify Joanna’s mother as Constance fails to take into account a very critical point in canon law. By merely having sex with John, let alone bearing him a child, Constance would have established a first-degree relationship of affinity with all of John’s siblings –– including John’s brother Geoffrey. Even though this was not a consanguineous relationship but one of affinity, any first-degree relationship would have rendered matrimony between Constance and any of John’s brothers impossible without a dispensation –– which given the party’s rank would have had to come from the pope himself. That would mean that some trace of the matter must surely have come down to us, whether it involved the request for it, the deliberations, or the actual dispensation itself. As far as I am aware, nothing of the kind exists.’

My own opinion for what it’s worth, is that had Constance been the mother of Joanna she would surely have brought her up in her household and her name would be as well known as Constance’s other children by Geoffrey (Eleanor, Fair Maid of Brittany, Matilda/Maud of Brittany and Arthur).

 

 

 

 

6          Agatha de Ferrers

 

Agatha was born about 1168 in Chartley Castle, Staffordshire. It is well known that she was a mistress of John and several family trees give her, though unmarried, as the mother of Joanna. Most genealogists however are of the opinion that it is only supposition that she is Joanna’s mother as no proof or records exist to demonstrate this.

 

One source frequently given is Sir William Dugdale, in the Baronage of England (1675-6). He states his source to be Dr David Howell’s ‘History of Wales’ (1584). Powell’s work is an enlarged edition of H Lloyd’s translation of ‘The Historie of Cambria’ by the 12^th century Saint Caradoc of Llancarfan. Another source, ‘Magna Carta Barons’ by Charles Browning, copyright 1969 also names Agatha de Ferrers, daughter of Robert de Ferrers, fourth Earl of derby, as Joanna’s mother.

 

Although she cannot be entirely dismissed as a candidate for mother of Joanna, surely there would be some trace of her in a chronicle or other historic reference, if she had indeed been the mother of the wife of the Prince of North Wales.  

 

I can find no record of Agatha having ever married and it is possible that she and John had a long standing relationship. The date of her death is unknown.

 

 

Conclusion

 

So! Who is it to be? As previously stated, the only reference we have in the records to the name of Joanna’s mother is an entry in the Tewkesbury annals which pertains to Joanna’s mother as “Queen Clemencie!” It reads in part:

 

Obiit domina Johanna domina Wallia, uxor Lewelini filia Regis Johannis et regina Clemencie, iii. Kal. Aprilis.”

 

“(Died lady Joanna, lady of Wales, wife of Llywelyn, daughter of King John and Queen Clementia, 3 Kal. April.”

 

Reference: Henry Richard Luard, Annales Monastici, 1 (1864): 101.

 

In this case the monk was evidently indulging in medieval legalism. Before her death, Joanna had been legitimised by the Pope. On the basis of that legitimisation, the Tewksbury monk evidently took it upon himself to elevate Joanna’s mother to the status of Queen, as if her mother had been King John’s wife! It is a fact however, that King John and Clemence were never married. By referring to Joanna’s mother as “Queen” Clementia, the monk who recorded Joanna’s death appeared to be showing his extreme respect for Joanna, but not attempting to alter the true facts.

 

Some Latinists have queried the meaning of this entry in the records. One has noted that ‘the use of the word ‘regina’ here could be an early example of the use of the word ‘queen’ (nowadays spelt ‘quean’) to indicate a woman of low degree, a loose woman, however you choose to render it most politely. This might have been an appropriate title for a mistress.’ Hmmmmm!

 

We will almost certainly never know for sure who was Joanna’s mother. My own feelings, following my research of the records and the genealogical tables, lean towards accepting that Joanna’s mother was named Clemence as written by the Tewksbury monk and, from the evidence available that Joanna’s daughter Susanna was handed over to the care of Nicholas de Verdun and his wife Clemence by Henry 111, that Clemence de Verdun (nee. Boteler) was Joanna’s mother.

 

I hope that Susanna was happy in the house of her maternal grandmother Clemence!

 

Well. What do you think??

 

 

 

 

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INTERVIEW WITH MICHELLE MORAN

I am delighted to have a special guest for this blog–Michelle Moran, the best-selling author of Nefertiti, The Heretic Queen, and her latest, Cleopatra’s Daughter.   Michelle’s background as almost as interesting as her novels.  She has a BA in English, followed by an MA, and has spent six years in the trenches as a high school English teacher.  She is almost as well traveled as Marco Polo, often venturing off the beaten path.   She is definitely a child of the Computer Age, with one of the most impressive websites I’ve seen, and she is very generous in encouraging and promoting the works of other writers.   Oh, yes, and she also writes wonderful novels.

Welcome, Michelle. I appreciate your taking the time to visit with us, for I am sure your publisher is keeping you very busy now that the Pub. Date for Cleopatra’s Daughter is approaching—September 15^th.    It is off to a very good start, too; I saw that you got a starred review in Library Journal and it is already selling briskly on Amazon.    Let’s begin with Selene, a girl with bedazzling bloodlines, daughter of Cleopatra and Marc Antony.  I found her to be very sympathetic, a child forced to grow up almost overnight.

1)    What drew you to her? She is certainly not as well known as her famous mother; what made you want to tell her story?

Actually, it all began with a dive. Not the kind of dive that people take into swimming pools, but the kind where you squeeze yourself into a wetsuit and wonder just how tasty your rump must appear to passing sharks now that it looks exactly like an elephant seal. My husband and I had taken a trip to Egypt, and at the suggestion of a friend, we decided to go to Alexandria and do a dive to see the remains of Cleopatra’s underwater city. Let it be known that I had never done an underwater dive before, so after four days with an instructor (and countless questions like, Will there be sharks? How about jellyfish? If there is an earthquake, what happens underwater?) we were ready for the real thing.

We drove to the Eastern Harbor in Alexandria. Dozens of other divers were already there, waiting to see what sort of magic lay beneath the waves. I wondered if the real thing could possibly live up to all of the guides and brochures selling this underwater city, lost for thousands of years until now. Then we did the dive, and it was every bit as magical as everyone had promised. You can see the rocks which once formed Marc Antony’s summer palace, come face to face with Cleopatra’s towering sphinx, and take your time floating above ten thousand ancient artifacts, including obelisks, statues, and countless amphorae. By the time we had surfaced, I was Cleopatra-obsessed. I wanted to know what had happened to her city once she and Marc Antony had committed suicide. Where did all of its people go? Were they allowed to remain or were they killed by the Romans? What about her four children?

It was this last question which surprised me the most. I had always believed that all of Cleopatra’s children had been murdered. But the Roman conqueror Octavian had actually spared the three she bore to Marc Antony: her six-year-old son, Ptolemy, and her ten-year-old twins, Alexander and Selene. As soon as I learned that Octavian had taken the three of them for his Triumph in Rome, I knew at once I had my next book. This is how all of my novels seem to begin – with a journey, then an adventure, and finally, enormous amounts of research for what I hope is an exciting story.

2)     Selene is surrounded by a colorful cast, including Julius Caesar’s bloodless, brilliant nephew, Octavian, Marc Antony’s long-suffering Roman wife, Octavia, who agrees to raise her husband’s children by his Egyptian “concubine,” Octavian’s wife, Livia, whose name will send chills up the spine of anyone who saw I, Claudius, and her disgruntled, dangerous son, Tiberius.  And then there is Juba, son of the King of Numidia, which encompassed present-day Algeria, I believe?  After his father’s defeat, he was brought to Rome as a prize of war, but was then educated as a Roman, even being granted Roman citizenship.  How unusual was that?   I knew nothing about Juba before reading Cleopatra’s Daughter, but he sounds like a remarkable man.  Did Selene lead you to his story or vice versa?

I discovered Juba’s story only after beginning my research into Selene. It wasn’t unheard of for Romans to take the children of conquered kings, bring them to Rome, and raise them as Roman citizens. It had happened before, and it happened again when Octavian brought Selene and her twin brother to Rome. However, this only occurred in the case of respected enemies. If Selene and her brother had been the children of a “barbaric” Gaul, they would have been either killed or enslaved.

3)  Your first two novels were set in Egypt.  Was it easier to research Cleopatra’s Daughter in light of the wealth of information that has survived about the Roman Empire?   Or was it more challenging to strike out into new and uncharted territory after spending so many years in the shadows of the pyramids?

Actually, it was far less intimidating to write about ancient Rome than it was to write about Egypt. There is such a wealth of information about Rome, not to mention the fact that the language remains intact. Also, I feel as though a part of me has always been in Rome. My father’s degree was in ancient Roman history. That’s what he taught, what he read about, and what we grew up learning about as children.

4)  I am often asked about the role of women in the MA.   I think we are equally fascinated by the lives of women in Rome and Egypt.  Can you tell us what you found most surprising about the differences between those two cultures in their treatment of women?

To me, the greatest difference between women’s lives in ancient Egypt and ancient Rome had to do with marriage. In Egypt, a marriage wasn’t easily dissolved (although both men and women could demand a divorce). Amongst the Roman ruling classes, however, it was both easy and common for a patriarch to have his daughter’s or sister’s marriage annulled, even (or especially) if she had children by her husband. Male relatives might do this for several reasons, the most common being when they wished to marry off their sister or daughter to someone else for a more advantageous alliance. And this could happen two, even three times in a woman’s life.

5)   It is obvious that you do extensive research.  Do you have difficulty finding translations of the works you need?

Actually, no! And luckily for me, the preeminent scholar on Kleopatra Selene wrote his work in English and was kind enough to answer any questions I had.

6)    One of the things I really enjoy about your novels are the comprehensive Author’s Notes, in which you conscientiously inform the readers about those occasions when you are forced to “fill in the blanks,” explaining when you took dramatic license and why.  For example, you tell us that you made some minor name changes to avoid too many Claudias and Antonias; as someone who has to deal with the frustrating medieval habit of recycling the same family names over and over, I could definitely empathize with this.   As much as I liked the ANs for your two earlier novels, I think you outdid yourself with this one, for you include a fascinating discussion of ancient Rome and why we are still so enthralled so many centuries later.  And it was an inspired idea to provide quotes from prominent Romans to show how little human nature has changed; Marc Antony’s snarky, r-rated letter to Octavian is both hilarious and amazingly contemporary.  Is it difficult to decide what to include in an AN?   Do you feel that authors of historical fiction need to include ANs?   Do you feel cheated as a reader when you finish a book and find there is no AN?   Or is that too leading a question, one that would have a defense attorney crying “Objection”?

Thank you so much! I have to admit, the Author’s Note is one of my favorite sections of a book to write. Whenever I finish reading an historical fiction novel, I do expect there to be an author’s note explaining what was fact and what was fiction. I think it’s only fair to the reader. Also, it saves the author many, many emails down the road from readers who want to know if such-and-such really happened and whether so-and-so actually existed. But isn’t that R-Rated letter just great?!

7)    You are doing something very clever with Cleopatra’s Daughter, holding a Treasure Hunt that is launched on the September 15^th publication date.   Can you tell us how it works and what gave you the idea?

Absolutely! On September 15th, literary clues (quotations from famous books) will be posted on MichelleMoran.com/treasurehunt.htm, leading to one of 60 independent bookstores scattered across 27 states. All readers need to do is figure out where the quotation comes from (each quotation is paired up with a different bookstore). This quotation will lead them to a particular book, and in this book they will find a red and gold “Literary Archaeologist” ribbon hidden inside. The ribbon will instruct them to go to the counter to claim their prize, which includes a signed copy of “Cleopatra’s Daughter,” Cleopatra earrings and an authentic Roman artifact!

8)   I was not surprised by the Treasure Hunt, for anyone browsing your website can see at once that you are computer-savvy and very knowledgeable about book promotion.  Did you learn these skills by trial and error or did you just have an instinctive feel for the brave new world of cyberspace publicity? Can you tell our readers a little about what book promotion nowadays entails? For example, you provide questions for book clubs on your website, another great idea. Do you feel, though, that writers can be swallowed up in these on-line activities to the detriment of the writing itself? How do you manage to strike a balance?

I grew up on computers, so using the internet as a promotional tool is really second nature to me. I think that for most authors who wish to participate in their own marketing and publicity, it’s vital to understand and make use of the internet. One of the most important things an author can do, in my opinion, is provide a place on their website where Bloggers and Book Clubs can go. There is always the possibility, however, of adding so many features to your website or blog that the website starts running you. I’m not sure how I strike a balance, or even whether I do. I can tell you that at least thirty percent of my day is spent doing marketing or publicity.

9)    I was very excited to find out that your next novel will be set during the French Revolution.   Why did you select this time period?   Can you tell us about the story line?  Are you at all apprehensive about making such a vast leap through time, no fears of suffering from cultural shock?    Do you speak French?   Since you didn’t speak the language of Nefertiti, obviously that is not a prerequisite for writing a highly successful and accurate novel; I am just curious!   Aside from the pleasure of making extended trips to France that are also tax-deductible, what made you decide to write of the French Revolution?    Do you have a working title?

Ha-ha! Yes, the tax-deductible trips are a big incentive ;] But truthfully, I chose to write on Tussaud because I found her life utterly compelling. She joined the gilded but troubled court of Marie Antoinette, then survived the French Revolution only by creating death masks of the beheaded aristocracy. And Marie (the first name of Madame Tussaud) met absolutely everyone, from Franklin and Jefferson to Empress Josephine and Voltaire.

When looking for a subject to write on, I search for someone whose story is simply unbelievable. Someone who has lived through events that will have the reader saying, “Now there’s no way that could have happened!” Right now, the book is entitled Madame Tussaud: A Novel (straight, and to the point!).

As for language skills, while my French isn’t good enough to hold a conversation about Impressionist Art, I can certainly get by, and my husband (and his family) can speak fluently. But I don’t feel that knowing a country’s language is a prerequisite for writing historical fiction set in that country. As you pointed out, one knows what Nefertiti’s language sounded like, especially as the ancient Egyptians recorded no vowels! What I do think is a prerequisite is good, solid research. As we discussed concerning the AN, there are times when names or situations will have to be changed for the sake of storytelling, but the mise-en-scène should always be correct (or as close as an author 2000 years later can come).

10)  Lastly and most importantly, when can we buy Cleopatra’s Daughter?

Cleopatra’s Daughter will be in bookstores all across the U.S. from September 15^th! And thank you, Sharon, for taking the time out of your incredibly busy schedule to have me appear on your blog.

September 14, 2009

I’d like to start with some book news. Lovers of good historical fiction can rejoice for there is another P.F. Chisholm mystery glimmering on the horizon; A Murder of Crows won’t be out until June of next year, but it has been a long wait since the last adventure of Elizabeth Tudor’s dashing cousin, Robert Carey. Regarding books already ready to be snatched off bookstore shelves, I want to remind you all that Michelle Moran’s new novel, Cleopatra’s Daughter, has a September birth, as does the first American edition of Elizabeth Chadwick’s novel about William Marshal, The Greatest Knight. And there is a new Priscilla Royal mystery, Chambers of Death, out now, too. And in December, Margaret Frazer’s sardonic and sexy Joliffe, player and sometime spy, makes a welcome return in A Play of Treachery.

 

While I’m making book recommendations, I’d like to mention Sharan Newman’s The Real History Behind the Templars.  Dan Brown is not likely to buy it, but anyone interested in separating fact from fiction and reality from myth should head out for the nearest bookstore—preferably an independent one, assuming there is still one in your neighborhood.   Speaking of first-rate bookshops, I just got the latest catalogue from Oxbow Books, and I noticed some books that might be of interest to my blogging buddies. Mind you, I haven’t read any of these books, so I am not recommending them, merely calling them to your attention.   There is a new biography of Edward I by Marc Morris, A Great and Terrible King: Edward I and the Forging of Britain.  And there are no less than three new books likely to be of interest to Ricardians. Richard III: The Maligned King by Annette Carson, Eleanor, the Secret Queen: The Woman Who Put Richard III on the Throne, by John Ashdown-Hill, and The Lost Prince: The Survival of Richard of York, by David Baldwin.  Ian Mortimer also has a new book out that sounds rather interesting: The Time Traveler’s Guide to Medieval England.

 Back to my own books, I finally have some news about Saints and Kindle. Readers have been asking me when all of the trilogy would be Kindlized, and I hope I mentioned that Time and Chance will be available on Kindle in September.  It is more complicated with Saints because it was published before the advent of e-books and for reasons too complicated to go into, the decision to make it available rests with Amazon and Google, not the publisher.  I have been told that it will become a Kindle book, but I do not know when that will happen, and sadly, it will be available only in the Kindle format, not Sony Reader, etc.

 Since I really don’t have any questions to answer in this blog, having been dropping by to keep current, I thought I’d do something different this time.  When Elizabeth Chadwick interviewed me on her blog, she asked about a key scene in Devil’s Brood, the one in which Henry does penance at Becket’s tomb. And Marbella has been posting comments on my Facebook page as she reads Shadow, mentioning scenes that she found powerful or touching, even lines of dialogue that made her laugh; I wouldn’t say she has won my heart by this sort of detailed feedback, but she is now in my will. Even our near and dear ones are rarely specific—too often we get the generic praise, “Really liked the book.”  And of course editors are more likely to tell writers when we do something wrong than when we do something right. 

Anyway, I got to thinking about this, and I am going to list some of my favorite scenes in my books. I am not choosing scenes that are necessarily the most significant or even the most dramatic; you’ll notice there are only two death scenes. These are scenes that I chose because they brought a character into focus or threw light upon a relationship or simply left me with a sense of exhausted satisfaction when they were done. 

Sunne in Splendour

The scene in the tavern in Bruges between Richard and Edward; I think this marked a turning point in their relationship.

August, 1469—confrontation at Middleham between Edward and the Earl of Warwick.

Scene between Edward and Charles of Burgundy and his lord chamberlain Philippe de Commynes, showing that there were devious depths beneath Edward’s playboy-prince exterior.

Battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury

Here Be Dragons

The scene where Joanna learns that John is her father

The siege of Mirebeau

Joanna and Llewelyn’s wedding

The burning of his bed which leads to the consummation of their marriage

The childbirth scene for Joanna and Llewelyn’s son Davydd and Gruffydd’s reaction to it

Llewelyn’s surrender to John in August 1212 and Joanna’s response to her husband’s public humiliation

The scene where Llewelyn finally tells Joanna what John did to Maude de Braose

September, 1212—the scene between Llewelyn and Joanna at White Ladies Priory

October 1228—scenes with Joanna and Will de Braose and her guilt-ridden reconciliation with Llewelyn afterward

May 1230—scene at Dolwyddelan where Llewelyn tries to come to terms with his wife’s betrayal

Their scene at Llanfaes

The very last scene because it was wonderful to have characters left alive at the end of the book after Sunne

Falls the Shadow

June 1258—battle at Bwlch Mawr between Llewelyn ap Gruffydd and his brothers Davydd and Owain

May 1264—scene at Tower of London between Simon de Montfort and the Jewish physician Jacob ben Judah, one of my all-time favorite chapters.

3)      April 1264—Bran’s capture at the siege of Northampton.

 

The Reckoning

1)      Opening scene where Bran makes a clandestine visit to his father’s grave at Evesham.

2)        Ellen de Montfort’s capture at sea by a pirate in the pay of Edward I

3)      September 1276—Scene where Davydd ap Gruffydd seduces Elizabeth de Ferrers, the young and vulnerable girl who has just learned, to her horror, that she must wed this “malcontent Welsh prince.”

4)      Llewelyn ap Gruffydd’s first meeting with Ellen de Montfort and then their wedding chapter, because I pulled out all the stops on that one, did my best to recreate a medieval wedding in all its boisterous and bawdy glory.

 

When Christ and His Saints Slept

1)      Sinking of the White Ship

2)      July 1140—scene where 7 year old Henry sneaks into his father’s bedchamber to return a “borrowed” dagger and loses some of his childhood innocence.

3)      Scene after the Battle of Lincoln where Stephen’s devastated queen receives a surprise visit from the Flemish mercenary captain William de Ypres.

4)      December 1143 scene in which Ranulf rescues two orphans of the Fens with some help from his Norwegian dyrehund Loth.

5)      Scene where Ranulf asks Rhiannon to marry him.

6)      Scene in Paris where Geoffrey of Anjou defies the French king and Bernard of Clairvaux and Henry sees Eleanor for the first time

7)      And of course Henry and Eleanor’s scene in the rain-drenched Paris garden.

 

Time and Chance

1)      September 1159—scene between Eleanor and Maud, Countess of Chester, in which they discuss men and marriage. 

2)      Eleanor’s meeting with Rosamund Clifford at Woodstock

3)      Henry’s 1167 Christmas Court where he is reunited with Eleanor after a year apart.

4)      Thomas Becket’s murder in Canterbury Cathedral

5)      Scene with Henry and Ranulf in August, 1171, in which Henry bares his soul about Thomas Becket

 

Devil’s Brood

1)      Eleanor’s capture by Henry’s men in November 1173

2)      Confrontation between Henry and Eleanor at Falaise in December 1173

3)      Henry’s penance before Becket’s tomb

4)      August 1177—scene with Henry and Eleanor in which they play a medieval version of the game Truth or Dare.

5)      Geoffrey and Constance’s wedding night

6)      Hal’s death scene

 

     I am sure there are other scenes I could have picked, but these are the first ones to come to mind; I am not deliberately snubbing Justin de Quincy, will get to the mysteries in a later blog.  I’d be very interested—even fascinated—to find out which scenes you would select.  But if you want to mention favorite scenes from other writers’ books, feel free to do that, too. 

      Lastly, I am going to post a second blog with this one, in which Ken sets out his research about the family tree of Llewelyn Fawr and Joanna, concluding that Gwladys and the mysterious Susanna are indeed Joanna’s daughters.   Diolch yn fawr, Ken!

September 6, 2009

       

 

 

            

Hi, everyone.  As promised, here is Ken’s masterful research project about the bloodlines of Llewelyn Fawr and Joanna.   It is truly fascinating; what I wouldn’t have given to have access to this information twenty-five years ago while I was researching and writing Here Be Dragons!    Ken, we’re totally in your debt.

Children of Llywelyn ab Iorwerth

 

 

The primary purpose of this exercise is to try, by a review of genealogist’s opinions on the subject and by consulting some known original sources, to determine who was the mother of Gwladus Ddu ferch Llywelyn. Was she Joanna, wife of Llywelyn ab Iorwerth (Joan Plantagenet: Born circa.1188, died. February 1237) or was she Tangwystl ferch Llyarch of Rhos, mistress of Llywelyn, born circa. 1168, died??

 

I’ll follow this with a secondary investigation into the possible existence of a daughter of Llywelyn and Joanna named Susanna, given over to King Henry 111 as a hostage in 1228 with her custody being granted to Sir Nicholas Verdun and his wife Clementia.

 

The opinions of the Genealogists that I have studied are just that, opinions, and they differ greatly. No definite proof exists either way, but I have to say that the majority hold for Gwladus to be the daughter of Joanna. This is particularly true of the genealogists of the descendants of the De Braose family, but they may well have particular motives for wanting their family to be tied to both the Welsh and English royal houses!

 

The following list of Llywelyn’s numerous legitimate and illegitimate children appears to be generally accepted by all the genealogists that I have studied with the exception of differences over whether number 9 really existed. The dates of birth given below are also disputed by some:

 

1. Gruffudd ap Llywelyn, born circa.1199, died 1244
2. Gwladys Ddu ferch Llywelyn, born circa.1206, died 1251
3. Ellen (Helen, Elen) ferch Llywelyn, born circa 1206? died circa 1253,
4. Margred (Margaret) ferch Llywelyn, born circa 1208? died circa 1263,
5. Dafydd ap Llywelyn, Prince of Wales, born circa 1208 (1211?) (doubts about this date, see later), died 25 February 1246,
6. Gwenllian ferch Llywelyn, born circa 1209 died 1281.
7. Angharad ferch Llywelyn, born circa 1210, died 1257
8. Tegwared ap Llywelyn – born circa 1210, possible twin to Angharad?
9. ‘Helen’, or ‘Susanna’, born circa 1214? Died 1259?

There is much argument over the identity of the mothers of these children. There is general agreement that the only certain children of Llywelyn’s marriage to Joanna are Dafydd, who became Prince of Wales and Ellen (Helen) who married (1) John the Scot, son of the earl of Chester and (2) Robert de Quincy. Although opinion is divided over the mothers of Gwladus, Gwenllian, Margred and Susanna, the majority of the genealogists I have studied lean towards their mother being Joanna.

 

This is partly due to their supposed dates of birth as well as their marriages to various marcher lords who, one supposes, would have sought to align their houses to that of their neighbour, the Prince of North Wales and his wife, the king of England’s daughter. It is felt that these lords of the March would not have had so much interest or political motivation in marrying off their sons to the illegitimate daughters of a Welsh prince with a Welsh woman.

 

As to the names of these children, whether by Joanna, Tangwystl or others, they were all named after members of Llywelyn’s family:

 

Llywelyn’s mother was named ‘Margred’ and his maternal grandmother was named ‘Susanna’ of Gwynedd. His paternal grandmother was named ‘Gwladus’. The parents of his grandmother Susanna, were ‘Gruffudd’ ap Cynan and ‘Angharad’ of Flint and both their names were given to Llywelyn’s children. This Susanna also had a sister named ‘Gwenllian’, the same name as Llywelyn’s great grandmother. Only ‘Ellen’s’ name remains a mystery, there seems to be no-one named Ellen or Helen, except perhaps an ‘Eleanor’ on Joanna’s side (Eleanor of Aquitaine, mother of Joanna’s father King John).

 

I will concentrate on the known historical ‘facts’ on Gruffudd (as he is pertinent to the story of whether Gwladus was his blood sister or only a half-sister) and Gwladus only, before moving on to consider whether Susanna existed:

 

1.         Gruffudd ap Llywelyn

 

Gruffudd was without doubt, Llywelyn’s illegitimate son by Tangwystl, born between 1196 and 1200. Llywelyn and Tangwystl were not married and their relationship was not recognised by the church as a valid marriage. Before his marriage to Joanna and with no legitimate male heir, Llywelyn had been actively seeking an advantageous match. In 1203 he received a papal dispensation to marry a daughter of the King of the Isle of Man. A betrothal was probably entered into, but the marriage did not take place. However, following Llywelyn’s homage to King John on John’s return from France in 1204, the offer of marriage to Joanna, given as a royal favour by John, was a dynastic opportunity not to be missed. The marriage took place in 1205.

 

According to J. Beverley Smith, referring to a charter between King John and Llywelyn in 1211 – “There were finally two crucially important provisions concerning Llywelyn’s son Gruffudd. He was given to the king’s custody and placed entirely at his will. Llywelyn agreed that if he were to have no heir by Joan his wife he would cede all his lands to the king, both those which he released by the terms of his charter and those which he retained, except for whatever the king might decide to give to Gruffudd. The son, a bastard by a Welsh woman named Tangwystl, would have nothing as of right ….”  (Note: Some argue that as this charter was made in 1211, it is clear that Joanna’s son Dafydd had not yet been born. Others counter this with the idea that Dafydd may have been born (1208?), but the charter took into account that Dafydd, or any other male child by Joanna, may not have survived to inherit!).

 

It appears that John and Llywelyn agreed that the marriage pact with Joanna was subject to Llywelyn agreeing to disinherit his ‘illegitimate’ son Gruffudd and for him to ensure that only his first born ‘legitimate’ male heir (by Joanna) would succeed him. This was possibly to ensure that only Joanna and Llywelyn’s (Anglo/Welsh) children would become part of the European and aristocratic ruling houses and would elevate the house of Gwynedd to a higher status than the other Welsh ruling houses. John also hoped, no doubt, that the union would lessen the possibility of future problems between England and Wales. As Joanna’s dowry John provided Llywelyn with the manors of Knighton and Norton and Ellesmere (of which we will hear more later).

 

Gruffudd never accepted being passed over for the succession and many in Wales supported his case. He spent many years imprisoned in Wales and London and died on St. David’s day 1244, while trying to escape from the Tower of London.

 

 

2.         Gwladus Ddu ferch Llywelyn

 

There is much argument in genealogical circles as to who was the mother of Gwladus. It is true that there is no document or charter that states, ‘Gwladus, daughter of Llywelyn, Prince of Gwynedd and his wife Joanna of England’, or some such! Life would be made much easier if that were the case! The arguments that follow then cannot be ‘proven’, but they do provide a logical process for arriving at a conclusion:

 

One faction of genealogists insist that chronologically, Gwladus must have been the daughter of Tangwystl, and possibly born circa 1200 to 1201, because in 1215, she was ‘married’ to Reginald de Braose, 5^th Baron of Brecknock (probably in his 40’s). She would, they argue, have therefore had to have been of marriageable age in 1215. Llywelyn and Joanna married in 1205, and if she was Joanna’s daughter, allowing a year or so after their marriage for her birth, she would have been only 8 or possibly 9 yrs old at the time of this ‘marriage’!

 

Another of their arguments is based on Peter C Bartrum’s ‘Welsh Genealogies,’ which gives the following table, which has been the subject of much discussion and sometimes violent argument:

 

“Iorwerth Drwyndwn ab Owain Gwynedd

m. Margred ferch Madog (B1 ap C3)

|

Llywelyn d. 1240

(1)   Joan d. King John m. 1205

(a)    Tangwystl ferch Llywarch Goch (LL. Ho. 1)

|

Gwladus Ddu d. 1251

(1)   Reginald de Braose d. 1228

(2)   Ralph 11 Mortimer d. 1246 “

 

Bartrum does not give his sources and this table does not clearly show that Gwladus is either the daughter of Tangwystl or of Joanna. It is therefore not of much help.

 

Interestingly, from what I have been able to read, these seem to be the main arguments that Tangwystl’s proposers have in favour of Gwladus being the daughter of Tangwystl.

 

 

The pro-Joanna faction has more strings to its bow!  

 

 

The pro-Joanna faction’s response to the ‘chronological’ problem of the age of Gwladus at her marriage in 1215 includes the following:

 

a).        The ‘marriage’ was in fact a politically motivated ‘betrothal’ of a young girl to a forty–something English Baron. The text of the Annales Prioratus de Wigornia, 1215, describing this arrangement uses the Latin word ‘Desponsavit’, which is taken to describe a ‘betrothal’ rather than a ‘marriage’. (I ‘googled’ this word in a Latin/English dictionary and it came up with the same answer – ‘betrothal!’).

 

In 1215, Reginald de Braose was a widower, his first wife Grace de Briwire having died. He had a son and heir, William (the William hung by Llywelyn in 1230) as well as other issue. In 1215, he was not therefore under any inheritance-driven desire to wed for the purpose of producing an heir. Reginald de Braose would certainly have wanted to strike a political alliance with Llywelyn and a betrothal and eventual marriage to a child so highly placed as Gwladus, particularly if she was the legitimate daughter of Llywelyn by King John’s daughter Joanna, would have made perfect sense for the advancement of the family Braose.

 

This betrothal and subsequent ‘marriage’ produced, in over 15 years, no offspring of whom anyone is aware and, it is quite possible that the ‘marriage’ was never consummated. Immediately upon marrying Ralph de Mortimer in 1230 however, Gwladus started to produce offspring! If, as the pro-Tangwystl faction would have it, Gwladus had been born circa 1201/02 (before Llywelyn’s marriage to Joanna), she would have been in her 30^th year at least before she started to produce children! This is considered unlikely, given that she produced the children of Ralph over a nine year span, which would have put her into her near 40’s for the last born.

 

If however, Gwladus had been born (to Joanna) in 1206 or 1207, she would have only been 22 or so at Reginald’s death (1228) and between 23 and 24 at her marriage to Ralph de Mortimer.

 

b).        Reginald died in 1228. In 1229, Gwladus, now an eligible widow aged about 24, accompanied Joanna’s legitimate son Dafydd to King Henry’s court, where he was to pay homage to Henry and to use his blood relation to the English king to obtain his support and recognition of him as Llywelyn’s sole heir.

 

There is much argument over why Gwladus made this trip with Dafydd. The pro-Tangwystl faction argue that Gwladus, recently widowed, ‘needed’ to seek a new husband and Dafydd’s audience provided an ideal moment for both Llywelyn and the Mortimers to obtain Henry’s blessing to a marriage between Gwladus and Ralph de Mortimer. Her visit therefore was purely personal and had nothing to do with any ‘support’ she was giving to Dafydd to effectively disinherit her blood-brother Gruffudd.

 

Alternatively, as she was now a widow and lonely, she just wanted to go to London and would be safer on the journey if she went with Dafydd!

 

The pro-Joanna faction counters the above with the following:

 

The clear purpose of Dafydd’s visit to London, apart from his duty of homage, was to seek the English crown’s recognition of him as heir to Llywelyn. If Gwladus was truly Gruffudd’s blood sister by Tangwystl, would she really have participated in his disinheritance? Gruffudd was languishing in prison in Degannwy at this time and what would Senena, wife of Gruffudd made of such a (in her eyes surely) betrayal by his blood sister?

 

The ‘closeness’ of Gwladus to the English crown is perhaps also demonstrated by the fact that she died at Windsor in 1251 while visiting Henry 111, possibly to attend the wedding of Henry’s daughter Margaret to Alexander 111, King of the Scots. Her relationship with him was apparently good as Henry appointed her son sheriff of Hereford.

 

 

c).        Further evidence presented to support Gwladus being the daughter of Llywelyn and Joanna:

 

Chronicles:

 

There is a clear and unambiguous statement in the chronicle of Adam of Usk that Gwladus was the daughter of Llywelyn and Joanna. Adam knew the Mortimer family well and presumably had access to their archives. While Adam is a late-date witness and not altogether reliable, he is quite emphatic that Gwladus was Joanna’s daughter.

 

 

 

Property.

 

The manors of Knighton and Norton (and Ellesmere in Shropshire) were gifted by John to Llywelyn as Joanna’s portion upon their marriage in 1205. In fact, by circa 1218, the properties had still not been handed over to him and they were being held by the Mortimer family. Llywelyn petitioned Henry 111 to force the Mortimers to hand the properties over and Henry’s council vindicated Llywelyn’s claim and held him blameless if he had to resort to action to regain his rights to the lands gifted under his marriage. The lands came into Llywelyn’s possession in 1218 and the Mortimers were forced to drop their illegal claim to them.

 

Upon the marriage of Gwladus to Ralph de Mortimer in 1230, Llywelyn and Joan bequeathed Knighton and Norton to Ralph because they were part of their daughter’s inheritance. This followed a similar passing of Joanna’s magaritum lands (Ellesmere?) to Gwladus’ sister Ellen, Joanna’s proven daughter, when she married John the Scot in 1220 and goes to show that this transfer of lands to Gwladus was consistent with those to other blood family members.

 

Children of Gwladus and Ralph de Mortimer.

 

1.         Roger de Mortimer, born ca. 1231 

 

Heir and successor to Ralph de Mortimer and probably named in honour of Ralph’s father, Roger de Mortimer.

 

2.         Hugh de Mortimer, born ca. 1233

Probably named in honour of Ralph’s grandfather, Hugh de Mortimer (d. ca. 1180)

 

3.         John de Mortimer, born ca. 1235

There is no prior use of the name John in the family of Ralph de Mortimer and we can assume that if Gwladus’ mother was a Welshwoman, it would not have been used in that family either. Further, if Gwladus was Gruffudd’s blood-sister, how likely would it be for her to name her son after the father of the man (King Henry) and the woman Joanna who had brought political ruin to her own immediate family?

 

Everything points therefore to the choice of the name John for her son being in memory of her paternal grandfather through Joanna.

 

4.         Joan de Mortimer, born ca. 1236 Wife of Peter Corbet, 1^st Lord Corbet (d. before 1300).

Surely evidence that Gwladus wanted to honour her mother of the same name. If she had been Tangwystl’s daughter, this would certainly have been an insult. (Note: Gwladus’ sister Ellen, in similar fashion, named a daughter Joan for their mother.)

 

5.         Peter de Mortimer, born ca. 1237 of which virtually nothing is known.

 

6.         Isolda de Mortimer, born ca. 1239

 

Assumptions made that her name is a Welsh equivalent of Isabel. If correct, probably named after Ralph’s mother, Isabel de Ferrieres.

 

             

 

 

 

Conclusion

 

‘Medieval Genealogy’ as described by one eminent genealogist, ‘is not properly conducted by piling assumption on top of speculation on top of plausibility on top of likelihood and then coming to a “conclusion”!’

 

However, while that statement is undoubtedly true, a review of the opinions of several professional genealogists provides a general consensus that Gwladus Ddu can be reasonably identified as the daughter of Llywelyn ab Iorwerth by Joanna, daughter (subsequently legitimised) of John, King of England.

 

 

Susanna ferch Llywelyn

 

The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, under Llywelyn ab Iorwerth and on the subject of his daughter, Susanna states: ‘The fourth daughter, Susanna, does not appear in the pedigrees; in November 1228 she was put in the care of Nicholas de Verdon (un) and his wife and that is the only reference to her.’

 

My first step therefore was to look up the genealogy of this Nicholas de Verdun. I found a reference in the CPR for 1225-1232, p.230. In 1228, a certain Nicholas de Verdun, appeared to be in of Henry 111’s favor, and this favor manifested itself when the king’s … ‘dear and faithful Nicholas de Verdun and his wife Clementia were granted custody of ‘Susanna’ our niece, the daughter of Llywelyn, prince of North Wales and Joanna his wife, to be brought up safe and secure without all injury.’

 

Susanna was almost certainly being held in England as a hostage for the good behaviour of her father, Llywelyn, who had been pursuing an expansive phase, fighting with the Marshall William 11 and also Hubert de Burgh. Henry needed to bring him to heel somewhat.

 

The genealogists all consider it significant that Nicholas’ wife Clementia is included here as, under normal circumstances, she would not be mentioned. The fact that she is so named suggests that she had some interest in Susanna. When Susanna at some later date was given over to another guardian, the wife of that guardian was not mentioned.

 

What follows here is a theory advanced by some eminent genealogists, but it is fair to say that the conclusions are hotly contested!

 

This theory leads to a delightful and curious ‘twist’ in the story of Joanna, which may interest fans of HBD!

 

On the surface, there would be nothing to suggest any connection between the hostage, Susanna of Wales and Clementia, wife of Nicholas de Verdun. However, the experience of some genealogists with foreign hostages, particularly young ones, has been that they were often placed with relatives, if any were available.

 

Now, it is known that the mother of Joanna was called Clementia (Clemence?), one of several mistresses of King John (see also HBD!).

 

Jumping forward to 1236, there is an entry in the Tewkesbury annals which pertains to Joanna’s mother as “Queen Clemencie!” It reads in part:

 

Year 1236:

 

Obiit domina Johanna domina Wallia, uxor Lewelini filia Regis Johannis et regina Clemencie, iii. Kal. Aprilis.”

 

“(Died lady Joanna, lady of Wales, wife of Llywelyn, daughter of King John and Queen Clementia, 3 Kal. April.”

 

Reference: Henry Richard Luard, Annales Monastici, 1 (1864): 101.

 

In this case the monk was evidently indulging in medieval legalism. Before her death, Joanna had been legitimised by the Pope. On the basis of that legitimisation, the Tewksbury monk evidently took it upon himself to elevate Joanna’s mother to the status of Queen, as if her mother had been King John’s wife! It is a fact however, that King John and Clementia were never married. By referring to Joanna’s mother as “Queen” Clementia, the monk who recorded Joanna’s death was showing his extreme respect for Joanna, but not attempting to alter the true facts.

 

As for the identity of Clementia de Verdun, Paget shows that she was the daughter of Roger de Dauntsey, of Wiltshire. One genealogist considers it significant that Clementia hailed from Wiltshire as he has noticed that King John had a strong attachment to that county, it being the home of his most trusted allies, the Longespee, Marshall and Basset families and Geoffrey Fitz Peter. This would indicate that King John spent some time there and the possibility of an amorous liaison with Clementia exists.

 

Genealogists have discovered that the name ‘Clementia’ was extremely rare among English noblewomen of this period. In one table of women’s names that was compiled, there were only two occurrences of the name “Clementia” out of a total of 1407 women in the sample! The fact that anyone named Clementia would be associated with Susanna is considered significant.

 

So! The evidence is suggestive, but not conclusive, that in 1228, Susanna, as a hostage, was given over to the care of her maternal grandmother, now wife of Nicholas de Verdun!!

 

The Scottish genealogists of the MacDuffs’ hold that Susanna ferch Llywelyn was born 1214 in Gwynnedd, Wales and died c. 1259 in Dunfermline, Fife, Scotland. She married Malcolm MacDuff, Earl of Fife in 1230 and had two children: Sir Colbran MacDuff, Earl of Fife, born 1245, died 1270 and MacDuff MacDuff born 1247.

 

Of course, there are counter arguments to all this supposition! King John had many mistresses and possibly as many as seven illegitimate children. The mother of Joanna would have been born circa 1172 and marriageable circa 1184. Joanna herself was born circa 1191 (14 yrs old at the time of her marriage to Llywelyn). Rohese, the known legitimate daughter of Nicholas de Verdun and his wife Clementia was born circa 1210-1213. If Clementia was the mother of Joanna, she would have been in her late 30’s, early 40’s when giving birth to Rohese! Not impossible, some say, but improbable.

 

 

Conclusion:

 

We will most probably never know the truth. Possibly however, because I want to believe it, I think that Susanna ferch Llywelyn was the last daughter of Llywelyn and Joanna. That she was given over as hostage to King Henry 111 in 1228 and was passed to the safe care of her maternal grandmother Clementia, wife of Sir Nicholas de Verdun.

 

 

 

 

Two hundred nineteen ships.   Seventeen thousand sailors and soldiers, a huge army by medieval standards.  This was the royal fleet of Richard Coeur de Lion, which sailed from Messina, Sicily on Wednesday, April 10^th 1191.   Almost immediately the fleet was becalmed, forced to anchor off the coast of Calabria.  Two days later, the storm struck.  We even know the hour of the storm, the “ninth hour of the day,” or 3 PM.   One reason I am deriving so much pleasure from writing Lionheart is that I have this surprisingly intimate glimpse of Richard and his world.  Two chroniclers traveled to the Holy Land with Richard and sometimes their accounts read like battlefield dispatches.   Here is a comment upon that savage Good Friday storm: “Then they entrusted their steering to God alone, for they believed they were beyond human aid.”   We are told that Richard kept a lantern lit on the mast of his galley, a beacon for the other ships, that he was always on the lookout for stragglers, that he “looked after the fleet like a hen caring for her chicks.”   And when I read their descriptions of the storms at sea, I was awed at the courage of medieval men and women, for had I been living in the twelfth century, I think it would have taken a drawn sword to get me on board a vessel that lacked adequate shelter, any navigational instruments, or comfort or privacy or safety.

     This was a round-about way of announcing that Richard is finally on his way to the Holy Land.  So far I am pleased with the book’s progress, mainly because the characters have come into clear focus for me.  Obviously, I feel as if I know Eleanor to the marrow of her bones by now; this is my fifth book in which she appears, not counting the four mysteries.   And by the end of Devil’s Brood, I thought I had a good grasp of Richard the man, not Richard the legend.   But I had to acquaint myself with new characters for Lionheart, primarily Berengaria and Richard’s grown-up sister, Joanna, and they seem to be finding their own voices.  

     I’ve always wondered how much free will fictional characters have. I remember reading an amusing, snarky comment by Vladimir Nabokov on this subject.   E.M. Forster had written that his characters sometimes took over and dictated the course of his novels.   In response to this, Mr. Nabokov said that, while he didn’t blame Forster’s characters for trying to “wriggle out of that trip to India or wherever he takes them,” his own characters were “galley slaves.”  Well, my characters cannot take over and deny history, as much as they’d like to.  But they are not galley slaves, either.   And they are capable of surprising me, which is half the fun of writing.

       Speaking of galley slaves—how is that for a segue way—I found another mistake in The Reckoning.  It is not as horrific or inexplicable as the bizarre crossbow-longbow episode, but as Ellen de Montfort is sailing to Wales to wed Llewelyn, there is a scene in which Hugh talks about the use of galley slaves by the Italian city-states of Genoa and Venice, claiming they manned their fleets with “infidel slaves and convicted felons.”    Not so.   Galley slaves were certainly used during the Roman Empire and during the Renaissance, but not in the Middle Ages, when the oarsmen were paid wages for their labor.    Clearly I consulted an erroneous source back then; since it was more than twenty years ago, I can’t be more specific than that.  Or else Hugh was just repeating what he’d heard in the wharf-side taverns of Harfleur.  Yes, the more I think about it, I’m going to blame Hugh for this one.

       I wanted to let you all know that Elizabeth Chadwick kindly interviewed me on her current blog; we’ll put up a link here, but it is always worth a trip to Elizabeth’s website.   One of the questions she posed gave me a chance to elaborate upon the changes in my opinion of Richard between Here Be Dragons and Devil’s Brood.   She is in the midst of doing numerous on-line interviews for the American publication of The Greatest Knight.  It comes out on September 1^st; mark your calendars.   But I think she will probably post links to these interviews on her website, another reason to drop by.

       Okay, now to the book giveaway.   Janna, you’re the winner.  If you e-mail me with your address, I’ll put a copy in the mail to you.   And I’ll pass  your questions on to St Martin’s.  It will be up to them to decide which ones they want to use, but I thought they all were insightful and worthy of being included. 

         Several of you asked for the contact information for that wonderful hotel at Fontevrault Abbey.   Here it is.   Hotellerie de l’Abbaye Royale de Fontevraud, Prieure Saint Lazare, tel: 02.41.51.73.16    And here is their website URL    http://www.hotelfp-fontevraud.com/   Reservations can also be made on-line via Expedia, etc.    BTW, I used the older spelling for the abbey; Fontevraud is the more modern version.  

       I would still like to put Ken’s research directly onto a separate blog entry for that purpose.  I know there is a lot of interest in his findings.  He’s been away, but when he gets home, I’ll try to get his consent for that.  I was corresponding recently with a member of the Princess Gwenllian Society; next month they are holding an official ceremony to name a Welsh mountain in her honor.   My Welsh readers who’d like to attend can find more information on the Princess Gwenllian website, which is listed in My Favorites.   My friend was very interested in our blog discussions about Joanna and Llewelyn’s children.  The Society is researching the daughters of Llewelyn ap Gruffydd’s  brother Davydd, who were banished to lifelong exile in English nunneries like their cousin Gwenllian. 

       I think I answered most of your questions already.   But I do have a few comments about your comments.  It is a shame there is not an award for blogs; I think we’d win in a walk, for I am sure I have the best informed readers when it comes to the MA.   It is fascinating to read your responses and observations.  I loved your “What if” speculations, Malcolm; those are questions I’ve often asked myself, too.   I agree with you, Nicolette; as little as I like the man personally, Philippe Auguste was a highly effective king, maybe even a great one.   Thank you all for giving Brenna so many helpful suggestions for her trip to Wales.   As I said in an earlier comment to Malcolm, I love the way my readers look out for one another.   (And the Oscar goes to….)   I really liked your astute observations about Arthur, Koby.   Mention was made of the story that John killed Arthur himself in a drunken rage.   I never believed that myself.   It didn’t sound like John’s MO to me.  I think he made sure to be hundreds of miles away from Rouen when Arthur died.  Granted, we do not know for a certainty that he had Arthur put to death.  But I’d feel comfortable making a large wager on that.     Dave, thank you for telling us about Cosmestn Medieval village in Glamorgan; I hadn’t heard about that, would love to see it one day.  And as many times as I’ve been to Cricieth, I never tasted Cadwalader’s ice cream, clearly my loss.    Now back to you, Koby.   Since I am accusing John of murder, I might as well charge Marguerite d’Anjou with adultery; I always thought the most likely candidate for paternity was the young Duke of Somerset.    Though I can’t say that I’d blame Marguerite if she did stray from Henry VI’s bed.   

         I just realized that I didn’t ask any questions myself in this blog.   What can I end with?    Well, that novel Pride and Prejudice and Zombies has been on the USA Today bestseller list for twenty weeks now.    So maybe I am missing an opportunity with Richard I.   Forget about his sexuality.   Suppose I have him come out of the closet as…drum roll here…a vampire.    You think that would get Lionheart on the bestseller list for twenty weeks?     Just kidding, honest.    But I really do think Jane Austin is not only rolling over in her grave; she is probably spinning like a top.    So here’s a real question to end this blog.   I’m not sure if the Zombies book can be classified as fantasy, more like a spoof?    But what do you think of including elements of the supernatural in a novel?    Does it put you off?   Or does it depend upon whether the book is well written or not?     Lastly, as soon as I get Ken’s okay, I’ll put his research findings up on a special blog.

August 27, 2009     

       

        Hi, everybody.   The second part of the book tour went well, too.  We had a smaller turnout at Books and Company in Dayton, but the bad weather earlier may have been a factor; we were hit by the same storm that flooded Louisville.  The weather was much better the next day in Ann Arbor, and we had eighty-seven people there, which is very good for me since I’m neither famous nor infamous!    The best part of the tour, though, was getting to meet some of my new friends from the blog and Facebook, and to see some old friends in Dayton and Ann Arbor.   And of course there was Dave’s Welsh cakes! 

        I’d hoped to post a new blog earlier in the week, but I’ve been doing on-line chats at Goodreads.com and Librarythings.com, while having to make some emergency visits to my chiropractor; if not for that dear man, I’d be making regular pilgrimages to Lourdes. 

       Ken, we are all so grateful for the research you’ve been doing about Joanna and Llewelyn’s children.  I haven’t had a chance to go over it yet, but I’d like to share it with our blog members.   I am not computer-savvy—classic understatement—so I will need help in doing that.   Should I copy and paste it into a blog entry of its own?   Or is there an easier way?

        I have a few items of interest for my fellow book-lovers.   The BBC has compiled a list of one hundred books; they estimate that the average person has only read six of them.  One of my Facebook friends has kindly posted this on my Facebook wall if any of you want to check it out and see how many of the books you’ve read.    And Amazon has posted a list of the ten best books of 2009—so far. 

      Okay, on to your questions.  After this blog, I’ll go back to responding to some of your questions and comments as they come in.  Gayle, if you’d like to write about Ranulf’s Welsh mother, go ahead and give it a shot.  She was only a memory in Saints, so I don’t feel territorial about her.   Cindy, thanks for mentioning bookdepository.com, which doesn’t charge an international postal fee.   James, I’d love to go to Portland on a book tour; they’ve sent me there in the past, but not for a while.  And I loved the thought of you happily snipping away at the red roses.   Cece, I laughed out loud at the image of you tossing a book into the path of your husband’s lawn mower; Elizabeth Chadwick calls books like that “wall-bangers.”  

        Suzanne, I deliberately chose not to take the reader into Thomas Becket’s head in Time and Chance.  He was an enigma during his own lifetime and his abrupt “conversion” was as baffling to many of his contemporaries as it is to us.  (Loved your WTF comment, Kristen!)  Not everyone agreed with my decision to let the readers make up their own minds about Becket’s motivations, but it was one I felt comfortable with, and I still do.   I personally was in agreement with my poet-prince Hywel, who saw Becket as a chameleon, changing his colors to match his environment.  I don’t mean that he was a hypocrite, just that he was a complex man—like his former friend the English king.   I think the best biography of Becket is the one written by Frank Barlow.  And I would definitely recommend Dr Warren’s biography of Henry, Kristen; it remains the most comprehensive study of Henry’s reign.  

          Joyce, I’m so pleased that you found Geoffrey so interesting.  I’ve always found him to be the most intriguing of the brothers, the one most maligned by historians.   It is fascinating to speculate how history might have been changed if he’d not died in that tournament.   Assuming that Richard still died without a legitimate heir, Geoffrey would likely have become King of England, for in a war of wills between Geoffrey and John, my money would have been on Geoffrey and Constance.  

     Hilary, I’ve not read any of Susan Cooper’s books; truthfully, I am not drawn to fantasy.  Ah, Koby, how I wish I could do a book tour in Israel!    Same for Australia.  But publishers almost never send writers out of the country.  Only once did my British publisher pay my airfare—for the Sunne tour—although they would always set up a tour if I came over on my own.   I’d seriously consider a trip to Israel on my own if I didn’t have such a tight deadline for Lionheart.

          Now…how about another book giveaway?  This one is for Falls the Shadow.  We recently learned that the St Martin’s edition of Shadow does not have a book club questionnaire, unlike Sunne, Dragons, and The Reckoning.   St Martins is interested in remedying that, so we’re looking for reader questions.   Anyone have any to suggest for Shadow?   All questions will be entered in the drawing, as we’ve done in the past.

         I am going to have to wrap this up now as I am having some serious problems with Word.  Actually, I think the culprit is my new wireless keyboard, which has been giving me nothing but grief.   I’ll close with a brief comment on Davydd ap Llewelyn’s illegitimate son.  No, I was not aware of his existence when I wrote Shadow.   Let me correct that—I’d heard of him, but wasn’t convinced that he was truly Davydd’s son.  So I found your comments, Ken and Koby, to be absolutely fascinating.    If only I’d had access to the Internet when I was writing Dragons!

August 14, 2009