I am sorry it has taken me so long to post another blog, but Richard has been keeping me very busy with a chapter that ended up being much longer than I’d initially intended. It isn’t unusual for a chapter to become two, for I try to keep them about fifteen pages or so in length unless the chapter cannot possibly be divided, like Henry’s penance scene at Becket’s tomb. But this is the first time a chapter split like an amoeba into three parts.
Thank you all for the interesting book recommendations. I’m glad you reminded us of Pauline Gedge’s fine Egyptian books, Angela. I’m also looking forward to Michelle Moran’s next book, Cleopatra’s Daughter, for while I know she was raised by Antony’s long-suffering wife, I know nothing about her subsequent history. And I hope you tell us more about your Janna mysteries, Felicity. I’d be interested, too, in what boundaries you set in writing books for teenagers. When my first mystery, The Queen’s Man, was chosen as one of the best books of the year for Young Adults, I was delighted, of course. Then I thought, “But Justin has sex! And there are some bloody murders.” Apparently, though, sex and violence are okay as long as the writer is not too explicit?
Judith, I was fascinated to learn that after reading Devil’s Brood, you wrote two songs, one for Hal and one for Joanna. Would you consider sharing them with us? Linda, I loved your wish that if only Henry VIII had an appreciation of architecture, he may have spared all those beautiful abbeys and cathedrals. Of course if Richard had won at Bosworth, Henry would never have been King of England in the first place. For those who claim that one man cannot change history, I’d say “Meet Henry Tudor.” If Henry had not been born, would England have broken with the Catholic Church? Or for that matter, what if Anne Boleyn had never appeared at the royal court to catch Henry’s lustful eye? This is about as close as I can come to Alternate History, Johnny. It just goes against my natural instincts. Moreover, if I lost readers when I started to do mysteries because they preferred that I write of real people and actual events, imagine how they’d bail on me if I ventured into Alternate History!
Gayle, I found your comments about Eleanor quite interesting, but I do think you were rather hard on her. Sadly, Eleanor and Henry both failed miserably as parents, Eleanor by not preventing her teenage sons from taking part in that first rebellion, Henry for mistakes beyond counting—not giving Hal lands and money of his own, refusing to give Geoffrey and Constance her full inheritance, trying to take Aquitaine from Richard, using Geoffrey and John to bring Richard to heel. It is amazing that this brilliant man kept making the same mistakes over and over again where his sons were concerned.
I have to conclude that Henry’s parental flaws were greater than Eleanor’s simply because their children seem to have loved her. IF Joanna and Matilda (my Tilda) had not loved their mother, they would not have sought her out in her disgrace. When Joanna spent the summer of 1176 with Eleanor before her departure for Sicily, Henry’s wounds were still raw, and he’d surely have preferred to keep his daughter away from the wife who’d betrayed him. But it is very much to Henry’s credit that he put Joanna’s needs first. And when Matilda and her husband were exiled from Germany, it would have been easy enough to avoid Eleanor and it would have been prudent, too for she and Heinrich were utterly dependent upon Henry’s good will; instead she was often with her mother, even had Eleanor with her at her lying-in.
As for Eleanor’s sons, Richard’s affection for his mother shines clearly down through the centuries; on his deathbed, Hal pleaded with his father to forgive her; Geoffrey named his daughter after Eleanor; and even John showed Eleanor great respect. Like Richard’s Berengaria, John’s queen was utterly overshadowed as long as Eleanor lived, and John’s one great military triumph was the remarkable rescue he launched upon learning that Eleanor was under siege at Mirebeau by her own grandson, Arthur…..I do love the Angevins, but they were surely the most dysfunctional family since the Oedipus clan.
Sadly, there is no such evidence to put forward on Henry’s behalf. And I admit this is heartbreaking to me, for there can be no doubt that he did love his sons. Well, I am not convinced that he loved Richard, not the way he loved Hal and John and to a lesser extent, Geoffrey. It may be that he and Richard were too much alike not to clash, and his bitterness in the last year of his life is certainly understandable, especially since he seemed unable to realize how much he’d contributed to their final estrangement.
Gayle, you are quite right in singling out John’s son, Henry III, as a good father. He was not a good king, but he loved his children dearly and so did his unpopular queen. They had a daughter who was unable to speak or hear, and a chronicler described their great grief when she died at age three. He then revealed the medieval bias toward physical disabilities by dismissing the little girl as “pretty but useless.” Another well-known story deals with Henry’s son Edward’s reaction to losing a young son at the same time that Henry died. When a tactless soul remarked that he seemed to grieve more for Henry than for his son, Edward supposedly replied that a man had only one father but could have other sons. Unfortunately, Edward didn’t take his father as a parental role model, and proved to be a less than loving father himself. In fact, there is an interesting pattern for 12th and 13th century English monarchs. You have Henry II, a great king, a flawed father; John, an unsuccessful king but apparently an affectionate father; Henry III, a weak king but a very loving father; Edward I, a great king but a distant, demanding father; Edward II, a disastrous king, a caring father; Edward III, a highly successful king, but another disengaged father. How significant this is, I don’t know, but it is interesting, no?
Sarah—Pride and Predator? I really do hope Jane Austin haunts Elton John to his dying day! And yes, Trisha, I liked the Firefly series, too, just as I liked Angel. But I think Buffy was Josh Whedon’s dark classic. And Suzanne, an interesting question. No, I don’t reread my books. I have to go over a book again and again and again when I am responding to editors and copy editors and proof readers until I am so thoroughly sick of the book that I want only to get it out of my life. Sunne was the worst, for it was over a thousand pages, and by the time I’d finally turned it in for the last time, I was almost ready to start rooting for Tudor to win Bosworth—almost.
Lastly, I’d like to recommend some books for those of you who, like Michele, want to do some advance research on Richard’s reign or the Third Crusade. To date, the definitive biography of Richard is John Gillingham’s Richard I; he has written several books about Richard but the primary biography is the one published in 1999 at almost four hundred pages. Another good biography of Richard is Ralph Turner’s The Reign of Richard Lionheart, probably the most dispassionate of the many books written about this very controversial king. Turner’s final chapter is an excellent summary called Richard in Retrospect, in which he proves that Richard’s reputation is tied directly to the values of the historians writing about him. In other words, Richard serves as the prism through which the biographer reveals more about himself than about this medieval king. Turner’s one weakness is that he does not deal with Richard’s exploits on the Third Crusade, the central experience of Richard’s life. I can also recommend Richard Coeur de Lion in History and Myth, edited by Janet Nelson, and The Legends of King Richard I Coeur de Lion, by Bradford Broughton. And for readers interested specifically in Richard’s crusade and his military career, I can recommend two books very highly. A military historian, Geoffrey Regan has written Lionhearts, Richard I, Saladin, and the Era of the Third Crusade. Whereas the Regan book has Richard sharing star billing with Saladin, David Miller’s Richard the Lionheart focuses more upon Richard’s exploits in the Holy Land. There may be times when you’ll start to wonder where Richard found a phone booth out in the desert to change into his Superman costume, but he honestly did perform these amazing acts of derring-do. After reading these books, you’ll find it easier to understand why Richard became a legend in his own lifetime and why that legend has endured over the centuries. You might also wonder if he had a latent death wish.
As I’ve already indicated, I think David Crouch’s William Marshal, Court, Career and Chivalry in the Angevin Empire is the best of the biographies about that celebrated knight. There are only two English biographies of Berengaria and a 19th century French one that has never been translated. I cannot recommend either of these whole-heartedly, for Mairin Mitchell’s Berengaria, Enigmatic Queen of England contains numerous statements that are either factually false or dubious, as her conclusion that Berengaria spoke Basque. A more scholarly work is Ann Trindale’s Berengaria, in Search of Richard the Lionheart’s Queen, but she is very hostile not only to Richard but to Eleanor as well, and that colors her interpretations of events.
There are numerous biographies of Eleanor, more than histories of Henry, which I suspect would annoy him no end. I have already recommended Eleanor of Aquitaine, Lord and Lady, edited by Bonnie Wheeler. I have some serious issues with one of the most recent biographies of Eleanor, will save that discussion for a later blog. Lastly, if you would like to read “ahead” about Joanna, I highly recommend Julius Norwich’s eloquent history of Norman Sicily, Kingdom in the Sun—I love that title, wish I could appropriate it for my novel about Constance!
Dydd Gywl Dewi Hapus, wishing you all a belated Happy St David’s Day.
March 2, 2009