Showing posts with label isabella of france. Show all posts
Showing posts with label isabella of france. Show all posts

Wednesday, 8 March 2017

International Women's Day 2017

Image result for elizabeth wydeville

Today is International Women's Day. My research to date has primarily focused on late medieval and early modern women, specifically queenship. Earlier this year, MadeGlobal published my book Queenship in England 1308-1485, the culmination of years of research and what I would like to refer to as historical discovery. In honour of International Women's Day, therefore, I would like to think about some of the women that inspired my research.

My first introduction to the indomitable Isabella of France, wife of Edward II, was not an especially positive one, for it was based on a book that was both inaccurate and misleading. By immersing myself in the extant primary sources and by reading a fascinating array of secondary material, I gained a fuller and more nuanced picture of this intriguing queen. In Queenship in England, I focused on the multivalent roles that comprised the office of queenship. Isabella was highly active in her household governance, her lordship, her intercessionary activities and her patronage. Her relationship with Edward, moreover, appears to have been close and loving for the first fifteen years of their marriage. But political tensions and the ascendancy of the Despensers fractured their relationship beyond repair. 

Margaret of Anjou and Elizabeth Wydeville, like Isabella, have been similarly maligned or misrepresented, but the last few decades have witnessed several publications that have aimed to rehabilitate their reputations. My research indicated that Margaret was more politically astute and pragmatic than is usually suggested, and she sought to maintain a cordial relationship with the duke of York from early on in her queenship. In the aftermath of the Wars of the Roses, it was convenient for commentators to assign blame to Margaret for the conflict, but in assuming the role of leader, she was ardently fighting to protect the inheritance of her son and the honour of her beleaguered husband. 

Elizabeth's personality and appearance have both been attacked by modern historians, who have condemned her as a cold, grasping and avaricious woman. Much of this results from a misunderstanding of court protocol. In her lifetime, Elizabeth was praised for her "womanly" conduct and, indeed, she appears to have actively distanced herself from the militant queenship of her predecessor. She was, in most respects, the ideal medieval consort, and demonstrated her suitability to be queen by bearing Edward IV several children, thus testifying to divine approval of their union. The events following Edward's death and the accession of Richard III, coupled with her questionable relationship with Henry VII, have perhaps obscured the fact that Elizabeth was one of the most successful medieval queens of England.

These three women are perhaps three of the most well-known of England's medieval queens, and they are certainly not the only ones who fascinated and inspired me during my research and writing. However, I was especially drawn to their experiences and stories, in demonstrating the rich opportunities for the consort to wield agency and, in some instances, power. Investigating the relationship between gender and power as it operated in the political sphere is an exciting exercise and one that continues to resonate, and be relevant to, today.

Monday, 27 April 2015

Herstory and the Explosion of Interest in England's Ruling Women




In recent years, there has been an explosion of interest in the lives of England's medieval and early modern queens. Popular historians in particular have become fascinated by the extraordinary lives of these women. The majority of attention has focused on the late Middle Ages and the Tudor era. Countless books are published every year detailing the lives of these magnetic, captivating women. 

What is to account for these trends? What makes one woman particularly fascinating to biographers, at any point in time? Where does the desire to recover her history - 'herstory', as it has been termed - come from? Why are we so fascinated by these women, and why are readers lapping up biographies of medieval queens like there's no tomorrow?

The simple answer is because their lives are interesting in and of themselves. The more complex answer is because their lives were forgotten for centuries, swept away as if they had never existed. These women, even queens, were confined to the footnotes of history, dismissed in a sentence and remembered only if they contributed to their husband's achievements. If they were not forgotten, they were misrepresented. They were slandered, their names dragged through the mud. Consider the infamous tale of Eleanor of Aquitaine, in a fit of jealous rage, murdering her beautiful rival Rosamund Clifford by poison. Or the story of Elizabeth Wydeville and her mother greedily extorting their rights to queen's gold. Or the legend of Isabella of Angouleme living in open adultery with her lovers, causing her vicious husband King John to brutally murder them in revolting fashion.

If these women were not condemned, they were sanctified in hagiographical works. They were celebrated as passive beings who caused no trouble, satisfying the whims of their husbands and living quietly and gently. Jane Seymour was idealised as a pious, motherly wife who provided Henry VIII with his heart's desire. Anne of Bohemia is remembered only for her gracious acts of intercession. For centuries, Katherine of Aragon was viewed as nothing short of a saint, the very embodiment of virtuous womanhood. 

In more recent times, we as historians have become aware of how simplistic and misleading these characterisations are. We recognise that these women were complex beings; they were human. They were neither saints nor sinners, neither whores nor angels. We seek to uncover their stories respectfully, admiring  their achievements, celebrating their lives and respecting their decisions. In short, historians are taking advantage of developments in the study of history to present these women more truthfully than ever before. 

As a biographer of Katherine Howard, with a keen interest in the lives of medieval and early modern women, I eagerly await new studies. Having spent a number of years researching Katherine (and I continue to hope to devote more time to her life), I anticipate with pleasure upcoming biographies of her by Gareth Russell and Josephine Wilkinson. Katherine was, for centuries, the most neglected of Henry VIII's queens. Historians were not particularly interested in her. Lacey Baldwin Smith's biography of Katherine, published in 1961, remained the standard work for decades. There have since been only three published biographies of Katherine: Joanna Denny's of 2005; David Loades' of 2012; and my own. 

I am not sure why historians are suddenly interested in Katherine. Perhaps they are more aware than ever of how inadequate most of the studies about her have been. Perhaps, in the light of the rehabilitation of Anne Boleyn's reputation, and the publication of impressive studies detailing the considerable achievements of Katherine of Aragon and Katherine Parr, it has been acknowledged that Katherine Howard deserves to be better known and celebrated for her own achievements. New found interest in her is surely to be welcomed. 

Yet other women deserve the attention of historians, for they remain forgotten. If they are remembered, it is mostly negatively. Isabella of Angouleme, Isabella of France, and Margaret of Anjou are three powerful, well known women who continue to be misrepresented and slandered,  their lives distorted. Jacquetta of Luxembourg, mother of Queen Elizabeth Wydeville, was an acknowledged woman in her own lifetime, and yet there has been no biography of her. Philippa of Hainault, Joan of Navarre and Catherine de Valois are queens of England that have still not acquired biographies in their own right. There has been exceptionally little attention given to Isabel Neville, elder sister of Queen Anne. Nor has there been for other highborn women in England who were not queens of England, but were nonetheless important. Alice Perrers, Katherine Swynford and Elizabeth Shore are women who deserve to be re-examined.

The expansion of 'herstories' is an immensely positive achievement. Let us hope the field continues to expand and develop. We need to learn more about these incredible women. We should endeavour to reinterpret their lives and re-examine the myths about them. Celebrating their achievements and respecting their experiences is essential to uncovering the full story of English history.

Thursday, 16 April 2015

Edward II and Isabella of France



The relationship between King Edward II and his wife Isabella of France is almost always depicted in negative terms. In Derek Jarman's film Edward II (1991), Tilda Swinton offers a sexually frustrated, ambitious Isabella who turns against her ineffectual husband and usurps his throne. In Mel Gibson's Braveheart (1995), Isabella enjoys a romantic affair with the Scottish landowner and hero William Wallace, perhaps because she experiences frustration and dismay with her husband Edward. The film even suggests that Wallace is the father of her son Prince Edward, despite the fact that Wallace died in 1305, three years before Isabella arrived in England and seven years before the birth of the prince. Biographers of Isabella have tended to characterise the queen as a passive victim of her cruel and merciless husband. She apparently was humiliated, hurt and shamed by his homosexual relationships. She was neglected at court and was mistreated by her husband's courtiers. Finally, her husband seized her children from her and took hold of all of her estates, lands and possessions. He probably allowed his lover Hugh Despenser to violate her. The long-suffering Isabella, who by now had had enough, departed for France alongside her lover Roger Mortimer and arrived back in England with foreign aid. The citizens of England, who loathed their king as much as she did, willingly rallied to her side, and together they marched through the country. Edward was removed from the throne and the popular Isabella achieved a resounding victory. Her son Edward was crowned Edward III and Isabella was celebrated forever after as a liberator.

However, the real story is not as simple as this version would like to make out. This version reduces Edward and Isabella to simplistic and unconvincing cardboard caricatures: Edward as a sexually depraved bully and Isabella as a passive, humiliated victim. This does no justice to the real people. King Edward and his queen actually enjoyed a close, supportive relationship for most of their lives together. They had four children with one another, and frequently departed for France on peace missions, where contemporaries, including Geoffrey of Paris in 1313, noted their love and respect for one another. Isabella sought her husband's support and assistance in her household governance, which he readily gave. Edward was so impressed with his young wife's success in the sphere of her household that he awarded her with possession of the great seal on two occasions, in 1319 and 1321, which greatly honoured the queen and confirmed his trust in her abilities.

Isabella was happy enough to approach Edward when she sought to intercede on behalf of individuals. The administrative documents at the National Archives are full of references to her seeking pardons from the king for those whom she felt to be oppressed and in need of assistance. Edward made sure his wife enjoyed a splendid household and she was afforded every dignity as queen. It is actually uncertain, contrary to popular belief, how she felt about Piers Gaveston, her husband's favourite and, possibly, lover, but it does not seem her relations with Gaveston were as hostile as is often believed. She assisted him financially in 1311 before his exile from England, and she sheltered some of his supporters in her household. There is no evidence of how Isabella personally felt about him. 

The relationship between the royal couple did become more strained in the mid-1320s, probably because of Hugh Despenser's malign influence. He seems to have begun a concerted campaign of poisoning the king's mind against his wife, perhaps because he was attempting to replace her in Edward's counsels. In September 1324, the king seized all of Isabella's estates and lands. Yet this does not mean that Isabella gradually came to hate and despise her husband. On the contrary, when she was abroad a year or so later, she continually reiterated her desire to return to Edward, because she loved him and wished to obey his wishes. However, she felt that she could not do so on account of the enmity of Despenser and his father. She believed that her very life would be endangered if she returned to the country. Isabella also sought to protect her son Prince Edward's inheritance, who was with her in France: rumours were circulating at this point that he would be disinherited and not allowed to succeed to the throne on account of his refusal to return to England. 

The evidence credibly suggests that Isabella loved her husband and longed to return to him, but could not do so on account of the malicious Despensers, who enjoyed the king's influence and protection. Edward came to view his wife as disobedient and treacherous, for he was unable to appreciate the danger she faced. Their marriage fell into ruin and they were never able to experience the happiness which they had enjoyed in each other's company for such a long period. Whether Edward was murdered in the autumn of 1327, or whether he died at a later date as an obscure pilgrim in Europe, Isabella certainly continued to honour his memory and, when she died in 1358, she chose to be buried with his heart. The relationship between Edward and Isabella was not one of abuse, hatred and murder. It was, for fifteen years, a loving, stable and supportive union. The royal couple were frequently in one another's company and were parents to four children. Contemporaries commented on their love for one another. Yet the malign influence of the Despensers and Edward's growing tyranny destroyed their once happy marriage. 

Thursday, 13 November 2014

13 November 1312: The Birth of Edward III



On 13 November 1312, future king Edward III was born at Windsor Castle to Edward II of England and his teenage wife, Isabella of France. Contemporaries wrote that 'on the feast of St Brice in the sixth year of the reign of our lord King Edward, second of that name after the Conquest', the firstborn son to the king and queen of England was born after four years of marriage.

Edward displaced his uncle Thomas of Brotherton as heir to the throne of England. He was only one of two sons born to King Edward and Queen Isabella (the second, John of Eltham, was born in 1316 and died in 1336). Edward would become one of England's greatest kings; in the words of historian Ian Mortimer, 'the father of the English nation'. He was, and is, renowned for his military successes and for restoring royal authority after the decisive and conflict-riven reign of his father. 

Edward II's contemporary biographer, the Vita Edwardi Secundi, commented shortly after the birth of Prince Edward that the king's reign had enjoyed only two positives: the prestigious marriage to Isabella and the birth of a prince. These years experienced factional conflict and tensions at court resulting from Edward II's close relationship with Piers Gaveston. Although historians continue to disagree about its exact nature, they generally agree that Edward courted danger through his obvious preference for the company of Piers, to the detriment of the barons at court. Piers was brutally murdered five months before the birth of Prince Edward, in June 1312, and Edward II was keen to exact revenge upon the murderers of his beloved favourite.


Above: Edward II of England and Isabella of France. The image of Edward is not contemporary.

Both the king and queen seem to have reacted with natural delight upon the birth of their son. The birth of a male heir offered the promise of a degree of stability and hope in a fractured, divided realm. On 16 November, the prince was baptised in the chapel of St Edward the Confessor at Windsor Castle by the cardinal-bishop of St Prisca, Arnaud Nouvel. The prince had seven godfathers: Arnaud d'Aux, bishop of Poitiers and papal envoy; John Droxford, bishop of Bath and Wells; Walter Reynolds, bishop of Worcester; Louis, count of Evreux, great-uncle of the prince; John of Brittany, earl of Richmond; Aymer de Valence, earl of Pembroke; and Hugh Despenser the Elder (who, of course, would be executed fourteen years later in the midst of Isabella's attempt to depose her husband). 

The French delegation had sought for the prince to be named Louis, but the English refused, and the prince was named after his father and grandfather. Contemporary chroniclers stated that Edward's birth brought some happiness to the king, who continued to grieve for Piers. The queen sent a letter to the city of London announcing the joyous news of the birth of an heir, and the city celebrated in style with dancing and drinking significant quantities of free wine for a week. Edward was raised to the earldom of Chester by his father and was granted numerous castles and manors alongside his own household. The queen was also rewarded with grants of lands in Kent, Oxfordshire, Derbyshire and Northamptonshire.

In early 1327, at the age of only fourteen, Edward would accede to the throne as Edward III of England following the deposition, or abdication (there is some controversy), of his father Edward II, who may or may not have died at Berkeley Castle in September of the same year. Edward III enjoyed a glorious reign that lasted fifty years. He died in 1377, aged sixty-four, and was succeeded by his grandson, Richard II.



Sunday, 21 September 2014

21 September 1327: The Death of Edward II?


Above: Edward II's tomb effigy at Gloucester Cathedral.

Edward II, king of England from 1307, allegedly died at Berkeley Castle twenty years later, on 21 September 1327. As biographer Harold F. Hutchinson explains in his 1971 study of the king: 'The true story of the manner of Edward's death can never be known for certain'. The former king had been deposed in January 1327 and succeeded by his fourteen-year old son Edward, known as Edward III. His father's reign had, in the words of Natalie Fryde, been 'disastrous'. Edward's wife, Isabella of France, had invaded the country in September 1326 having initially departed to be involved in peace negotiations with the French king. Outraged by the power wielded by her husband's favourites, the Despensers, who had sequestrated her estates and virtually imprisoned herself and her servants, Isabella returned to England alongside her ally - and possibly lover - Roger Mortimer, later earl of March, and a host of supporters. City after city in England supported her, including London, which became her most imposing stronghold. Edward II was taken to Kenilworth Castle, where the bishop of Hereford demanded that he abdicate, charging the king with, amongst other things, being personally incapable of governing; of allowing himself to be led and governed by others; of devoting himself to unsuitable occupations while neglecting the government of his kingdom; of forfeiting the king of France's friendship, and losing the kingdom of Scotland and lands and lordships in Ireland and Gascony; and of exhibiting pride, cruelty, and covetousness.

Edward remained virtually imprisoned at Kenilworth until 2 April 1327, when he was transferred to the custody of Thomas Berkeley and John Maltravers, following a plot led by the Dominican John Stoke to free him. In July, a further conspiracy to release him occurred, and on 14 September, Sir Rhys ap Gruffudd's plot to liberate him was uncovered. A week later, at the parliament at Lincoln, it was announced that the former king had died 'a natural death' at Berkeley Castle in Gloucestershire. His corpse was moved to Gloucester for public display a month later, and on 20 December he was buried in St Peter's Abbey, Gloucester, in the presence of his son and his widow. A splendid tomb was erected by Edward III in his father's memory.


Above: Berkeley Castle, where Edward II allegedly died in 1327.

Historians traditionally accepted that Edward II died at Berkeley Castle on 21 September 1327. Hutchinson, for instance, noted that although a mystery surrounded his end, 'the only fact which seems well established is that Edward of Caernarvon was murdered, if not to the instructions of, at least with the connivance of Mortimer, and probably also of Isabella [Edward's wife]'. But as Natalie Fryde correctly noted in her 1979 study of the last years of his reign, 'if we separate contemporary evidence about his [Edward's] fate from the legend which has accrued around it, we are certainly left with more mystery than certainty'. It is essential to bear in mind this point - legend has replaced concrete historical fact regarding Edward II's end. An obvious example of this is the lingering popularity of the notion that Edward died by having a red hot poker thrust into his anus, allegedly a gruesome parody of his enjoyment of homosexual sex. The chronicle of Geoffrey le Baker (died c. 1360), reported this, as did the Brut chronicle, composed in the 1340s. But both Ian Mortimer and Kathryn Warner have disputed the 'anal rape' narrative of the king's death, arguing instead that it reflected beliefs that he was the passive partner in male-male sexual relations. There is, in short, no compelling evidence for the red hot poker story. As Hutchinson incredulously noted, Baker 'asks his readers to believe that Edward's murderers were so inept, and the castle walls so thin, that townsfolk outside the castle were able to hear the king's dying shrieks'. He dismisses Baker's claims as being 'lurid fiction'.


Above: Gloucester Cathedral, where Edward II may - or may not - be buried.

Other contemporary chronicles were more vague. This perhaps arises from the fact that the actual cause of the former king's death was never stated. Adam Murimuth, writing in the reign of Edward III, vaguely noted that Edward II was 'commonly said' to have been murdered as a precaution on the orders of Maltravers and Gurney. Edward's death has always invited suspicion. As Mark Ormrod notes, it was 'suspiciously timely', leading some historians to argue that the former king was murdered on the orders of the new regime. Kathryn Warner also noted in a blog post that Edward's 'death might have appeared suspiciously convenient for Roger Mortimer and Queen Isabella'. Professor Phillips, who wrote a magisterial account of the king's life, stated that murder was the likeliest fate of Edward II. He noted, however, that the king could have died of natural causes. Phillips dismissed reports of the former king's survival as being 'circumstantial', but noted the mystery about his supposed end.

Most historians have agreed that Edward II died at Berkeley Castle on the night of 21 September, perhaps of natural causes, perhaps through murder. Phillips stated that he may have been suffocated; Roy Haines speculated that the former king had been murdered and stated 'there is little reason to doubt that Edward of Caernarfon's corpse has remained there [at Gloucester Cathedral] undisturbed since December 1327 or thereabouts'; Michael Prestwich opined that Edward II 'almost certainly died at Berkeley'; Mira Rubin concluded that the former king was likely murdered; Joe Burden charged Mortimer with ordering Edward's death; and Chris Given-Wilson explained that Edward II was 'almost certainly' murdered on the night of 21 September, and died in any case.


Above: Edward III, who succeeded in 1327 on the abdication of his father.

Yet, as Warner recognises, it was only after the downfall of Mortimer and Isabella in 1330 that Edward II was reported to have been murdered, at the parliament at Westminster. Edward III accused Mortimer of 14 heinous offences, including ordering the murder of his father. Thomas Lord Berkeley, son-in-law of Mortimer and former custodian of Edward II, reported at this parliament that 'he wishes to acquit himself of the death of the same king, and says that he was never an accomplice, a helper or a procurer in his death, nor did he ever know of his death until this present parliament', a sentence that has confused and puzzled historians ever since.

Other points of mystery exist. Maltravers was never accused or punished for his role in the former king's death. Berkeley himself was acquitted, as was Shalford. The former king's half-brother, the earl of Kent, conspired in 1330 to free Edward from captivity, writing a letter outlining his intent to release his half-brother with 'the assent of almost all the great lords of England'. William Melton, the archbishop of York, wrote a letter to Simon Swanland, a London merchant, in 1329/30 asking him to co-operate with William Clif in aiding the 'old king' upon his release, specifically describing the delivery of clothes and money to Edward.

Moreover, in the nineteenth century the so-called "Fieschi Letter" came to light. Written by Manuele Fieschi, a papal notary, Canon of York and Nottingham, and Bishop of Vercelli from 1342, the letter reports that Edward II escaped from Berkeley Castle in autumn 1327, making his way to Corfe Castle in Dorset, before departing for Ireland and later to Avignon clothed as a pilgrim. He spent two weeks with the pope, before making his way to Brabant, Cologne and later Italy. Recently, historians have generally tended to validate the letter's contents. Fryde stated: 'it is very difficult to think why Fieschi himself... should have manufactured such a letter'. Ian Mortimer believed it was genuine, and devoted considerable time in his studies of Roger Mortimer and Edward III to explaining his theory that Edward II was not, in fact, murdered at Berkeley Castle, and escaped to Europe. Ian Doherty and Alison Weir also accepted that the letter was genuine, and concluded that Edward did escape to Europe, living out his life as a pilgrim.

'William the Welshman' met Edward III at Koblenz in September 1338, claiming to be the king's father. Edward III spent some time with him. As Warner relates: 'other royal pretenders of the era definitely did not spend several weeks socialising with the royal personage they were pretending to be, or claiming kinship with'. She later concluded that 'Edward II or not, the whole episode is an oddity'.


Above: another unlucky king. Edward II's great-grandson, Richard II, was also deposed in 1399, and probably murdered early the following year.

Plainly, there is a wealth of evidence to call into question the traditional notion that Edward II died (probably murdered) on 21 September 1327 at Berkeley Castle. While agreeing with Ian Mortimer that it cannot now be stated with any certainty that the former king's life came to an end in the autumn of that year, less than nine months after his forced abdication, I raised some issues with the survival story. There are nagging questions in my mind that Ian Mortimer, and other revisionist historians, have not sufficiently answered (if they have even considered them in the first place). Firstly: why did Edward III wish to get back in touch with his father, as Mortimer suggests? What did it achieve? Did he want to see if 'William the Welshman' was merely an imposter, or had he enjoyed a close and intimate relationship with the former king pre-1327 that he wished to continue?

Was Edward II content to live as a pilgrim in Europe? Evidence seems to me to compellingly indicate that Edward II firmly believed in the institution of monarchy and was convinced of his right to rule. He was anoited by God, chosen by Him to represent God on earth. Why, then, would he have been content to allow his son to rule? To remove a king unlawfully, which had been the case in 1327 (Edward II only abdicated under duress and coercion), constituted usurpation and a damnable offence in the eyes of God. Ian Mortimer suggested that father and son, reunited in Europe, met and talked with one another. Was there an agreement between them that Edward III would keep his father's identity secret, as long as his father did not make a bid for the English throne? Questions like these are never comprehensively answered.

Berkeley, at the parliament of November 1330, could have been lying in an attempt to save his own skin when he declared that he had never previously heard of Edward II's death. In the medieval context, deposition was usually followed by death. Edward II was the first king to be deposed, but consider later instances: Richard II is believed by historians to have been put to death, or forcibly starved, in 1400 when Henry IV took the throne from him; Henry VI was murdered in 1471, almost certainly on the orders of Edward IV who deposed him; the twelve-year old Edward V was deposed in 1483 and probably murdered, although mystery surrounds his fate and that of his brother; and the deposed Lady Jane Grey, the 'nine-days queen', was executed by her cousin Mary I in 1554. Mortimer and Isabella's regime was notably precarious and unstable, as historians like Fryde recognise. Would they really have been content to allow Edward to live out his days in context of repeated rebellions to release him? Even if they had nothing to do with his death, his jailers may have considered that putting him to death was the only viable way forward. Or, simply, he may very well have died of natural causes.

This article does not seek to refute revisionists' claims that Edward II survived. It is extremely possible that he did, for there is no conclusive evidence that he died, or was murdered, at Berkeley Castle in 1327. But equally, it cannot be stated with certainty that he escaped abroad and lived out the rest of his days in Europe. Whether Edward II, an ill-fated and complex king, met his end at Berkeley in autumn 1327 or not, is a profound and lingering historical mystery that may never be comprehensively solved.

Saturday, 26 July 2014

The Empress Matilda: England's First 'She-Wolf'?


Above: Empress Matilda could, perhaps, have been England's first queen regnant.

Medieval England experienced some spectacular rulers, both male and female. This was an age, in particular, of extraordinary and resourceful women: consider Eleanor of Aquitaine, queen of Henry II, who continued shaping government policy, escorting brides across Europe, and leading armies well into her seventies. Isabella of France, wife of Edward II, launched an invasion against her ineffectual husband alongside her lover, deposed the king, and was possibly involved in his later murder. Then there was Margaret of Anjou, who courageously took hold of the reins of government when her saintly if unassuming husband Henry VI fell into madness, and took a spirited and energetic role of leadership in the conflict known as the Wars of the Roses, so vividly depicted in the works of Shakespeare. Elizabeth Woodville was another courageous and strong-willed queen who fought for the Yorkist inheritance during the Wars of the Roses and was every bit as formidable as her adversary Margaret. All of these women have, to differing degrees, been remembered as 'she-wolves': powerful, determined women who seized the reins of power seen as correctly belonging to their husbands, defying contemporary expectations of females as weak, gentle and submissive beings.

But none of these women, with the exception, perhaps, of Margaret, has endured so negative a reputation as that of the Empress Matilda, daughter and heir of Henry I of England, and 'Lady of England'. Indeed, this spirited and determined woman could have, had circumstances gone her way, been England's first queen regnant, rather than the teenaged Lady Jane Grey enjoying that honour over four hundred years later, in 1553. Contemporary chroniclers and modern historians alike have remembered Matilda as a feisty, 'haughty' and arrogant woman who alienated her followers and provoked loathing in the citizens of London when she attempted to claim the crown she viewed as rightfully hers following her father's death. Yet, as historian Helen Castor compellingly suggests, such negative characterisations of Matilda 'were never used to describe any male member of her fearsomely domineering family; and they do not fit well with what we know of Matilda in the decades before and after that brief moment in 1141'. So who, then, was this fascinating and complex woman, a daughter, mother and wife of kings, who fought tenaciously but ill-fatedly to become the first queen regnant of England in the twelfth century?

 
Above: Twelfth-century portrayal of the wedding feast of Matilda and her first husband, Emperor Heinrich V of Germany.

Matilda was born in February 1102 at Sutton Courtenay in Oxfordshire as the eldest child, to Henry I, king of England and duke of Normandy, and his pious, beautiful wife Matilda of Scotland. Later, a son was born, William Adelin, who died in 1120 aged seventeen in a tragic incident involving the White Ship. Her brother's premature end was to have momentous consequences for Matilda's subsequent career. Her father also had twenty-two illegitimate children by other women. In 1108/9, when Matilda was around six years old, the German emperor sued for her hand in marriage, an attractive prospect to King Henry because it would bolster the prestige of the crown as well as strengthening England's links with the most preeminent European power. In a sense, it was the most successful marriage he could have achieved for his young daughter. Aged only eight years old, Matilda left England for Germany in February 1110.

The couple met at Liege before voyaging to Utrecht in the Netherlands where they were formally betrothed in April 1110. Three months later, Matilda was crowned Queen of the Romans at Mainz, and became known thereafter as the 'Empress Matilda', a lavish and supremely regal title and position that represented a considerable achievement for an eight-year old girl. Although she was some sixteen years younger than her twenty-four year old husband, it was to prove a successful and prosperous marriage. Matilda was educated in the customs, manners and culture of her new domains. In 1114, she was actually married to her husband, for twelve was the minimum age at which a female could marry. 

Matilda was widely praised in these years, with no hint of the later abuse and hostility that would be directed toward her by her future English subjects. An anonymous chronicler at the German court described his Empress thus: 'a girl of noble character', 'distinguished and beautiful, who was held to bring glory and honour to both the Roman Empire and the English realm'. Orderic Vitalis tells us that Emperor Heinrich loved his new wife dearly, and so graceful, gentle and dignified in her queenly duties would Matilda be that her German subjects immortalised her as 'the good Matilda'. In these early years, she was hardly the 'she-wolf' later disparaged by hostile chroniclers. 

It cannot be doubted that Matilda was both a dedicated wife and a successful queen. In 1118-9, for example, she sat in judgement at a court at Castrocaro near Ravenna, over the competing claims between a bishop and an abbey from Forli and Faenza over a local church. The Empress eventually decided in favour of the abbey. Shortly afterwards, Matilda's younger brother and heir to the English throne, William, died in the White Ship tragedy in November 1120. At eighteen years old, Matilda was now her father's heir.

Picture of the White Ship sinking
Above: A fourteenth-century presentation of the White Ship disaster in the winter of 1120.

While Matilda's marriage to the Emperor was in many ways a success, she failed to fulfil the vital requirement of her position by bearing her husband sons. Why no children were born to the royal couple remains something of a mystery. Neither were considered by contemporaries to be infertile, although it has been speculated that those at the time believed that the Emperor's sins against the Church were to account for the couple's childlessness. Heinrich eventually died of cancer in 1125, leaving his wife, still only twenty-three years of age, a widow. Matilda was now transformed into the most glittering of prizes, heiress as she was to the crown of England. Although Matilda was later besieged with offers of marriage from numerous German princes, she refused all of them, before departing for her homeland, England.

In the meantime, Matilda's father Henry I had remarried, following the death of the revered Matilda of Scotland in 1118. His new bride was Adeliza of Louvain, a year younger than her new stepdaughter the Empress. However, the royal couple did not have any children; meaning that, theoretically, Matilda remained her father's heir and successor to the English crown. If she succeeded, she would be England's first queen regnant. Henry formally acknowledged his daughter's unique position. At Christmas 1126, he ordered his barons to publicly recognise his daughter as heir to the throne, which they did the following January. 

Picture of Geoffrey of Anjou
Above: A man Matilda did not wish to marry: her second husband, Geoffrey of Anjou.

Although Henry I was, apparently, determined that his daughter Matilda should become England's next ruler in the wake of his death, this did not prevent him seeking a new husband for his twenty-five year old heir. In order to secure the southern borders of Normandy, he eventually arranged for her to marry the teenaged Geoffrey of Anjou, son and heir of Count Foulques. Nicknamed le Bel ('the Fair'), Matilda's prospective spouse was gorgeous, beautifully costumed and only fifteen years old. His face was said to glow 'like the flower of a lily, with rosy flush'. Despite his elegant charm and striking appearance, Matilda was decidedly unimpressed. This strong-willed, energetic and intelligent woman was not to be swayed by mere good looks and charm, and may have found the idea of a younger husband distinctly unappealing. Certainly, her reaction suggests this. Matilda was proud, and believed that marrying the son of a mere count served to diminish, even disparage, her status. The Archbishop of Tours, Hildebert, admonished her in letters and begged her to forgo her disobedience. Eventually, she reluctantly and unhappily agreed. So began a turbulent marriage.

Further difficulties were caused when Matilda's dowry was disputed. It was not specified when she would be able to inhabit the castles granted her in Normandy. It is perhaps instructive that soon after her marriage, the Empress returned to Normandy. In 1131, after a separation, the couple were finally reconciled, and if it had not been earlier, the marriage was consummated. Matilda proved a fertile bride (after her childless years with Emperor Heinrich); bearing her second husband three sons: Henry (who later became Henry II of England); Geoffrey (later Count of Nantes), and William (later Count of Poitou).

Picture of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitain
Above: A twelfth-century image of Matilda's eldest son, Henry, and his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine, as king and queen of England.

Everything changed in December 1135 when the king of England died. Matilda, now thirty-three, was set to become England's first female ruler, by virtue of her position as Henry's legal heir. Yet there had been difficulties in the previous years. She had experienced strained relations with her father, who perhaps feared her husband's desire to acquire more power in Normandy. Controversy surrounds Henry's plans for the succession on his deathbed. Sources favourable to the Empress confirmed that Henry reaffirmed his intent that she should succeed him, but hostile texts alleged that he had retracted his promise and had apologised to his barons for forcing them unwillingly to swear an oath of allegiance to his daughter.

Matilda's position gravely weakened her cause even before it had begun, for she was residing in Anjou with her husband when news reached her that her father had died. Matilda was by now pregnant for the third time, and it has been credibly suggested that her condition could have prevented her returning to England considerably sooner than she did. Stephen of Blois, Matilda's cousin, reacted in exactly the opposite manner. Dwelling in Boulogne, the count immediately left for England, determined to claim the crown. He had been close to the dead king, and it has been argued that his sex and proximity made him a more appealing monarch than his female cousin, who was not even in the country. On 26 December 1135, Stephen was crowned King of England. He had taken his opportunities, whereas Matilda had not.

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Above: Stephen of Blois, king of England.

In July 1136, Matilda delivered her third son, William, at Argentan. How she reacted with news of Stephen's accession is unknown, but she must have been shocked and appalled, at the very least. She may have beseeched the Bishop of Angers to garner support for her claim to the throne with the Pope but if she did, the Bishop was unsuccessful in doing so. Disputes and conflict continued in Normandy between the English king and Matilda, although a truce was later agreed between Stephen and Geoffrey.

Matilda's cause was immeasurably strengthened when her half-brother, Robert of Gloucester, decided to support her, promising her forces. In 1138, he had rebelled against the English king, thus instigating a civil war that was set to last for years. Geoffrey of Anjou took advantage of unrest and rebellion in England by reinvading Normandy. At the same time, King David of Scotland invaded the north of England, and promised support to the Empress simultaneously. Although Stephen travelled both north and west to quell disorder, and to some extent was successful in doing so, Matilda invaded in the summer of 1139, determined to attain the throne she believed was rightfully hers. So began what historians term 'the Anarchy'.

The former queen and stepmother to Matilda, Adeliza, in some ways instigated the rebellion by inviting her stepdaughter to land at Arundel Castle, on the south coast. In September, Matilda arrived with Robert with a force of 140 knights, and Matilda promptly departed for Arundel Castle while Robert headed northwest to Wallingford and Bristol, where he met Miles of Gloucester, the Constable of England who now supported the Empress. Stephen besieged the castle, trapping Matilda inside. Later, she was released, for unknown reasons.

Helen Castor has suggested that Matilda's sex strengthened her cause in that Stephen refused to face her in battle. The next few years saw protracted truces, armed rebellions, and heavy conflict, most notably the Battle of Lincoln in February 1141 which saw the defeat of King Stephen. He was later taken into custody by Robert of Gloucester. Matilda faced him triumphantly in person and incarcerated him in Bristol Castle. She then took steps to crown herself Queen of England, until now having been known as the 'Lady of England'. Stephen's brother and former enemy of the Empress, Bishop Henry, now renounced his support for his brother and defected to Matilda's side, in exchange for her promise that she would allow him control over Church affairs. 

In Winchester at Easter 1141, Matilda was declared 'Lady of England and Normandy' by the assembled clergy, in what seems to have been a precursor to her coronation as queen regnant. The Empress then headed to London, but her position quickly became notably precarious. Forces loyal to Stephen and his wife remained close, and the citizens were visibly fearful about letting Matilda into the city. On 24 June, the city rose up against her. Matilda fled to Oxford just in the nick of time.

Most historians have suggested that it was Matilda's 'haughty', 'arrogant' temperament that so alienated the Londoners, that accounts for her ultimate failure to seize the crown. Henry of Huntingdon wrote that 'she was lifted up into an insufferable arrogance' and 'she alienated the hearts of almost everyone'. Yet, Helen Castor offers a more credible explanation of Matilda's difficulties given the uniqueness of her position and the difficulties she faced:

The truth of the matter was that Matilda found herself trapped. She urgently needed to show that she was a credible ruler... But when she sought to emulate her formidable father and her first husband, the two great kings whose rule she knew best, she encountered not awestruck obedience, but resentment of a 'haughtiness and insolence' that was deemed unnatural and unfeminine.

In a sense, then, it was Matilda's sex rather than necessarily her personal qualities which defeated her and rendered her unacceptable to her subjects. A female ruler was simply not an attractive prospect for the English. Like later queens Isabella of France and Margaret of Anjou, when Matilda tried to take the initiative and proactively shape policy, she was condemned and vilified for being 'manly', unfeminine, cruel, avaricious, arrogant and disdainful - all qualities viewed as the exact opposite of what a woman should be.


Above: Matilda's eldest son, Henry II of England.

Because of this, Matilda never did become queen of England. Her initiative and determined attempts to take the crown were ultimately unsuccessful, in no small part influenced by the deaths of her most notable supporters, including Robert of Gloucester, in the late 1140s. However, her ambition was realised when Stephen accepted her eldest son, Henry, as his successor. He had taken a leading role in the later years of the civil war, reaching England in 1142 from the continent, before returning to Anjou two years later. The English Church supported Henry's claims to the English throne, as did Stephen's nobles and Louis VII of France, for the nobles were weary and disillusioned after years of bloody civil war, disorder and unrest. They wanted peace, and this was promised in the figure of the charismatic, resourceful and determined Henry. 

Matilda lived to see Henry's succession and supported him energetically and faithfully, often acting as her son's representative in Normandy, where she now resided, and presiding over the Duchy's government. Like her daughter-in-law Eleanor of Aquitaine, Matilda remained fully involved well into old age. She was later involved in attempts at mediation between the king and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket. Matilda became increasingly pious during her later years, although one chronicler of Mont St. Jacques described her in her old age as 'of the stock of tyrants'. On 10 September 1167, aged sixty-five, the former Empress and 'Lady of England' died, and she was buried at the abbey of Bec-Hellouin under the high altar. Her tomb's epitaph included the lines: 'Great by birth, greater by marriage, greatest in her offspring: here lies Matilda, the daughter, wife, and mother of Henry'. Clearly, as were all women during this period in a patriarchal world, Matilda's life was remembered according to the role she had played in the lives of her male relatives. She was remembered for being a daughter, mother, and wife, rather than for being herself.

Or so it seemed. Most commentators, beginning in her lifetime and extending well into the present day, have instead focused on her apparently haughty, arrogant, even tyrannical nature, which supposedly doomed her attempts to take the crown of England and become its first ruling queen regnant. Yet scholars such as Helen Castor and Fiona Tolhurst have convincingly drawn attention to the fact that Matilda was criticised and disparaged for qualities that were revered and admired in men but found shocking and unacceptable in women: bravery, resourcefulness, determination, courage, ambition and drive. Had Matilda been a man, she would have been admired and celebrated, but her status as a woman condemned her as an 'unnatural' and 'unfeminine' virago who caused misery, discord and conflict in England, alienating all who met her. It is time for her reputation to be amended. She was ultimately extremely successful, not in becoming the first queen regnant of England in her own right, but by ensuring that, by virtue of who she was, her son Henry would become England's king following the death of her great rival and cousin, Stephen.

Picture of the Empress Matilda's Great Seal
Above: Matilda.

Saturday, 21 June 2014

19 June 1312: the Death of Piers Gaveston

Guy de Beauchamp.jpg
Above: the Earl of Warwick stands triumphant over the dead body of King Edward II's favourite, Piers Gaveston, first earl of Cornwall.

On 19 June 1312, the first earl of Cornwall, Piers Gaveston, was illegally put to death at Blacklow Hill near Warwick. He had been condemned to death by disaffected nobles, including the earl of Warwick, the earl of Lancaster, the earl of Hereford, and the earl of Arundel, for violating the terms of the Ordinances. Two Welshmen subsequently ran him through with a sword and then beheaded him. As Richard Cavendish claims in a 2012 article: Piers 'flew too high and paid the penalty'.

Piers was the son of a Gascon knight and had been born around 1284, who was loyal to the father of Edward II, Edward I. Piers became a member of the royal household at a young age and consequently met the future king there. Chroniclers described him as handsome, athletic, and well-mannered. Edward I had, reputedly, been impressed by Piers' conduct and martial skills and wanted him to serve as a model for his young son, the heir to the throne. Piers however came into conflict with the king, when a dispute occurred between the treasurer Walter Langton and the prince. Enraged, Edward I banished Piers and a host of other men from the prince's household. He was later exiled, but returned when Edward II acceded to the throne in 1307. 

Historians have puzzled endlessly about the exact nature of Piers' relationship with Edward II. Piers was extremely close to the king. Although Cavendish terms it 'an extremely close friendship', he betrays a misunderstanding of medieval knowledge of sexual affairs, by suggesting that, although both Edward and Piers later fathered children with their spouses, they might have engaged in a bisexual affair with one affair. Scholars such as Kim Phillips and Barry Reay have convincingly demonstrated that modern notions of sexuality, including homo- and bisexuality, did not exist as such in the medieval period. 


Above: Edward II controversially made his favourite, Piers Gaveston, earl of Cornwall in 1307.

Chroniclers, however, speculated about Piers engaging in sex with the king. The Annales Paulini confirmed that Edward adored Gaveston 'beyond measure', while the Chronicle of the Civil Wars of Edward II suggested that, when he first saw Gaveston, the king felt such love for him that he 'tied himself to him against all mortals with an indissoluble bond of love'. The contemporary Vita Edwardi Secundi opined that 'I do not remember to have heard that one man so loved another... our king was... incapable of moderate favour'. Robert of Reading bluntly stated that Edward II enjoyed 'illicit and sinful unions'. In short, the wealth of evidence available supports J.S. Hamilton's suggestion that 'The love that the King felt for Piers Gaveston has been described as greater than the love of women. It still seems more likely that it was also stronger than the love of brother'.

Writers such as Lisa Hilton and Ian Mortimer have suggested that it is by no means certain that Edward engaged in sexual relations with Piers Gaveston (or other male favourites, for that matter), and Pierre Chaplais controversially argued that their relationship was probably closer to sworn brotherhood rather than a sexual relationship. As Phillips and Reay state, it is impossible to label either man homo- or bisexual, as popular writers, including Alison Weir, sometimes to do, as understandings of sexuality were extremely different in the medieval period. While it seems convincing that Edward and Piers had a sexual relationship, and perhaps loved one another, it is impossible to term either man 'non-heterosexual'.


Above: a representation of King Edward II.

In August 1307, Edward made Piers the earl of Cornwall, a decision which antagonised the barons, who resented Piers' foreign origins. When the king left England in early 1308 to marry the twelve-year old French princess Isabella, he appointed Gaveston regent in his place. When the king returned, he pointedly ignored his new bride in favour of Gaveston, who sat next to him at the coronation banquet. Eventually, disaffected barons forced the king's hand, and he was forced to exile the unpopular Gaveston in May 1308. 

Despite this, Edward continued to reward his favourite, and he was appointed Lieutenant of Ireland. Inn some respects Gaveston enjoyed success in Ireland, fortifying the town of Newcastle McKynegan, for example. Eventually, when he felt that his nobles had perhaps mellowed towards Gaveston, Edward II recalled his favourite. By February 1310, however, some earls refused to attend parliament as long as Gaveston was present, so affronted were they by his arrogance and intimacy with the king. In November 1311, by which time the king had been forced to accept the Ordinances issued by the earls, Piers had again been exiled from England.

However, Gaveston returned at Christmas and was reunited with Edward in January 1312, probably at Knaresborough. The archbishop excommunicated Gaveston in March, and the barons decided to obtain hold of Gaveston once and for all. Eventually, he was executed on 19 June outside of Warwick. His body was left on the ground for some time, before Dominican friars brought it to the city of Oxford and it was eventually buried at the Dominican prior at Langley, following the securing of a papal absolution for Piers in January 1315 (he had, as noted, been excommunicated). The king reacted with anger and heartbreak at news of his favourite's (and possibly, lover's) death, but circumstances did not allow him to seek vengeance with the earls. 

Thursday, 3 October 2013

Isabella of France, Queen of England


Above: Isabella of France - a 15th century portrait (left) and a later drawing (right).

Although Margaret of Anjou, consort of Henry VI of England, was famously the English queen termed 'she-wolf' by Shakespeare, it is Isabella of France (c1295-1358), wife of Edward II, whom many both then and now continue to view as a she-wolf, an adulteress, a murderess, and a ruthless schemer. Thomas Gray, writing in the 1750s, notoriously wrote of Isabella:

she-Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs
That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate.

Alison Weir, whose 2005 biography was somewhat controversial for its almost hagiographic treatment of Isabella and its disapproval of Edward, believes that Isabella 'has been more vilified than any other English queen' - although the likes of Margaret of Anjou and Anne Boleyn might have something to say about that. The Victorian historian Agnes Strickland opined that 'no Queen of England has left so dark a stain on the annals of female royalty as Isabella', and Kenneth Fowler called her 'a woman of evil character, a notorious schemer'.

While these hostile and cruel views of Isabella are certainly exaggerated and distorted, there are considerable dangers in reverting to the other extreme position and viewing her with warmness, admiration, or support. Weir herself contends that, had it not been for Isabella's adultery with Mortimer following her husband's deposition, she might have been  remembered as a liberator who 'unshackled England from a weak and vicious monarch'.

As with other misunderstood queens of this era, Isabella's life can only be understood fully in context of the age in which she lived and through paying close attention to her gender. Until the collapse of her marriage to Edward II in the 1310s/20s, Isabella was universally popular throughout England, and was praised by French chroniclers as 'Isabella the Fair'. Her beauty, personality and traits were warmly praised. In many ways, her desire to take charge of English politics can be applauded, for as Theresa Earenfight wryly notes, she acted like a king, but this severely threatened her husband because, in being unable to control her, he was made to seem less than a man.

Writing in 1984, Sophia Menache very thought-provokingly suggested, in her reinterpretation of Isabella's career, that 'if the kings of England are not measured according to their morality alone, then Isabella of France should not be denied this privilege either'. She questioned why historians continually are unable to keep their subjects at an emotional arm's length, and let their own moral judgements influence their interpretations of their subjects. She has a compelling point - rather than judging Isabella's life emotionally and dramatically from a moral standpoint, perhaps, in Menache's words, a more 'scientific' approach would be of greater value.

Isabella clearly took her duties as queen seriously following her marriage to the handsome Edward II in 1308, aged twelve. She participated in acts of intercession, maintained an orderly household, and was renowned as a peacemaker (particularly during her husband's conflicts with the nobles of the kingdom). How she personally felt about her husband's relationship with Piers Gaveston is unknown - historians fiercely debate whether the two enjoyed homosexual relations, or whether it was more of an adoptive brotherhood. Contemporary sources depicted Isabella as an important political personage, but this was perceived to be dangerous since it 'did not conform to the conventional expectations of medieval English queens' (Menache). As Menache wittily suggests, Isabella was 'the antithesis' of most queenly conventions.

As with Margaret of Anjou, Isabella clearly believed that she had a right to be closely involved in English politics. As her marriage with Edward deteriorated, she sought aid from abroad, returning to her native France. Although modern historians often assume that her open adultery with Roger Mortimer scandalised the people of England and led to a dramatic loss of support for her cause, Menache insightfully suggests that it was her assumption of the king's duties, the disastrous policy with Scotland, and her financial mismanagement that led to Isabella's downfall rather than her private life.

It is uncertain whether Isabella was involved in the murder of her husband, Edward II. Some historians believe today that he actually escaped and lived out the rest of his life in Europe as a hermit, but that is unlikely. It is probably certain, however, that the brutal red-hot poker story was nothing but a myth created by chroniclers to discredit Isabella's regime. As queen, she certainly exhibited signs of cruelty, particularly when she forced three of her enemy Despenser's daughters to become nuns - although these girls were only children at the time. But whether she deserves the epithet 'she-wolf' is questionable.

Again, as with Margaret, it was Isabella's disastrous marriage that unsettled and undermined her. Had she been married to a strong, popular monarch who enjoyed good relations with the English nobility and maintained peace in his kingdom, she might have continued to remain a popular consort celebrated within the realm. Neither she-wolf nor 'liberator', she was a powerful, charismatic, determined woman who sought to preserve peace in the realm and ensure her son Edward's succession to the throne. Historians should detach  themselves when discussing her career and not stoop to moral judgements. What Isabella was, or how she behaved, is removed from us by 700 years. A fairer, and less emotional, assessment of her life is long overdue.

Like most people, Isabella was a complex personality. It is unfair and ridiculous to reduce her to a monstrous caricature, the bloodthirsty she-wolf, the cruel murderess, the unfaithful adulteress. But at the same time, it is pathetic to view her life with tear-filled eyes, characterising her as a much wronged wife, a victim, an oppressed woman who lost her sense of womanhood because of her continual embarrassment at the hands of her 'homosexual' husband (if he even was...) She took her duties as queen seriously, was extremely popular in England, and was remembered during her own lifetime as 'Isabella the Fair'. Yet it is also clear that she was ruthless, scheming, perhaps manipulative. She wanted the best for her son (later Edward III) and clearly believed that she deserved better. We should view her life with interest, but not indulgence, nor with hostility. Both the woman and her career deserve better than either.

Sunday, 15 September 2013

The 'She-Wolf' Aelfthryth, queen consort of Edgar I

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Above: Edgar (c.943-975), king of England and husband of Aelfthryth.

The infamous epithet 'she-wolf' as a term to denigrate and condemn controversial royal women who participated in domestic politics has most famously been associated with the fifteenth-century queen Margaret of Anjou, consort of Henry VI of England; although it has also been linked with Isabella of France, unpopular wife of the deposed Edward II and less commonly with the likes of Elizabeth Woodville and Anne Boleyn. However, it can more fairly be argued that court chroniclers and historians over the last thousand years viewed Aelfthryth, queen consort of King Edgar, as the original 'she-wolf'.

Living over one thousand years ago in the Anglo-Saxon age, Aelfthryth's story was nothing if not tumultuous and dramatic. She was the first consort of England to be crowned and anointed as a queen consort, and later became the mother of a famous English king, Aethelred the Unready. She was the daughter of Ealdorman Ordgar, and she had royal blood by virtue of her mother's position within the Wessex royal family. Court chronicles created a dramatic legend surrounding Aelfthryth's rise to the queenship, for they claimed that King Edgar, besotted by Aelfthryth's incomparable beauty (in a story somewhat similar to the fabrications regarding the first meeting between Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville five hundred years later), ordered the death of her first husband so that he could marry her himself.

How Aelfthryth felt about the murder of her first husband and her rise to the position as queen remains unknown and mysterious, for chroniclers, in believing that, as a supposedly evil and immoral woman who sought to fulfil her own ambitions at any cost, did not seek out her true motives and feelings in these dramatic events. Rather they, and later historians, appeared to assume that her immoral qualities led her to rejoice in her husband's death and elevation to queenship.

In 964-5, Aelfthryth became queen consort of England, aged perhaps nineteen or twenty. Whether or not she was Edgar's second or third wife is uncertain, although he is known to have fathered illegitimate children by at least two women before his marriage to Aelfthryth. Although Edgar according to later legends may have been entranced by his new queen's enchanting beauty and impulsively married her, it is probable that he was well aware that Aelfthryth's family had traditionally held great power in Wessex. Because the king's power base was centred in Mercia, the marriage alliance between the pair was a sound means of consolidating and extending Edgar's influence and power in England.

The following year, Aelfthryth cemented her position as queen by providing her husband with a son, Edmund, who was to die young. Queen consorts were only fully secure once they had borne their husbands the much required male heir, in order to ensure that the royal family's lineage was assured and a peaceful succession probable. Royal wives who failed to provide sons were discarded or suffered ignoble fates, as the consorts of Henry VIII found to their cost. In 968, Aelfthryth bore her husband a second son, Aethelred. In 973, Edgar chose to crown himself as a means of asserting his unprecedented authority and power in England, with his queen also crowned and anointed. This splendid ceremony was a watershed in England's history, for never before had an English queen consort enjoyed a status so high or position as exalted.

Aelfthryth was a suitable and effective queen consort whose sound political and religious duties have often been obscured or ignored in light of later scandals associated with her. She acted as an advocate in several legal cases, acting as a mediator between prosecutors and the crown, and because of her protection of female litigants she was effective in allowing greater possibilities for women in Anglo-Saxon England. She extended her protection to several abbeys, and was a benefactress at Peterborough and Ely. Her friendship with Bishop Aetholwold of Winchester allowed her to be closely involved in monastic reform; while taking charge of her children's upbringing.

Aelfthryth was an unpopular queen consort among religious chroniclers, who demonised and denigrated her as an enemy of St Dunstan and, in order to blacken the name of her son Aethelred, associated her with the death of a bishop of Ely, with the seizure of Barking Abbey, the death of her first husband, and the murder of her stepson King Edward so that her own son could inherit the throne. Too much should not be read into these venomous and improbable accusations. Other early queens, such as Isabella of France, Margaret of Anjou, and Anne Boleyn were routinely slandered and cruelly attacked by contemporaries on account of their husbands' decisions, faults, and alliances. The gender of these women rendered them suspicious and accountable to prejudiced male observers; in the tenth century, Aelfthryth was linked with the heinous sins of witchcraft, murder and adultery by virtue of her gender and position as queen consort. As historian Pauline Stafford notes, 'most of the stories can be dismissed as later stereotyped accretions'.

Aelfthryth's position and security as queen was threatened in 975 with the death of her husband, Edgar king of England. Although she felt that her son Aethelwold by virtue of his position as son of her husband had a natural right to become the next king, it was decreed that in fact her stepson Edward should inherit the throne. In 978, King Edward was murdered at Corfe Castle by Queen Aelfthryth's servants in order to ensure that Aethelwold acceded to the throne in place of his stepbrother. Because Edward later became a martyr and revered by religious figures, Aelfthryth was slandered as a she-wolf and a murderess. Interestingly, contemporary accounts did not directly blame her for her stepson's murder. It is more probable that it was the ambitious Aethelwold, eager to become king, who authorised his sibling's murder. Stafford again insightfully notes that 'candidates for succession were besmirched through their mothers'. Aelfthryth had died by 1001, aged in her mid-fifties, and she was buried in her foundation at Wherwell.

It is highly unlikely that Aelfthryth was the murderous, cunning and evil woman later portrayed by venomous chroniclers and hostile religious figures at court, who sought to undermine her son's rule in favour of Edward the Martyr. Although she was probably ambitious for her son to become king of England, there is scant to no evidence that she was involved in her stepson's murder. Reading her experiences in light of contemporary gender and sexual prejudices illuminates the unfairness of continuing to view her as a she-wolf, for prejudice, distortion and hatred obscures our true vision of what she was really like. Her own actions during her tenure as Edgar's consort indicate that she was an effective and hardworking queen who operated smoothly in political and social relations. But the later rise of her son to the kingship and the murder of her stepson Edward blackened her earlier good works and destroyed her reputation irrevocably.





Tuesday, 26 March 2013

England's Worst King in the Medieval Period


Above: Henry VI (reigned 1422-1470), Stephen (reigned 1135-1154), Richard II (reigned 1377-1399)

The last few weeks, reading studies on late medieval English monarchs roughly in the period after the Norman Conquest up until the fifteenth century, have left me grappling with the fascinating and highly debated issue: who was England's worst medieval king? This article will look at arguably the prime contenders for this dubious title in the period 1066-1483.
Of course, not all English kings will be considered here, since the likes of Henry II, Edward III and Henry V are widely recognised to have been comparatively successful monarchs in medieval England. The prime contenders will each be discussed in turn, beginning with William Rufus.

William Rufus (c.1060-1100), reigned 1087-1000

William Rufus, also known as William II of England, reigned for thirteen years in the period 1087-1100, following the death of his highly successful father William the Conqueror. The third son of William the Conqueror and Matilda of Flanders, William Rufus can arguably be considered one of, if not England's worst, medieval king, because of his unfavourable temperament, his dubious policies and his notorious reign. Described by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle as 'hateful to almost all his people and odious to God', his struggles with the Church in his reign would make him notorious amongst contemporary chroniclers.

William never married, and as the third son of King William could never realistically have hoped to attain the throne of England. However, circumstances dramatically changed this in 1067 following the death of his father. At the age of about 27, William sailed to England from Tonques and was crowned in September 1087. He was described by William of Malmesbury as being 'well set, his complexion florid, his hair yellow; of open countenance; different coloured eyes; varying with certain glittering specks; of astonishing strength, though not tall, and his belly rather projecting'. Frank Barlow describes him on the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography as being at the time of his accession 'a seasoned soldier and commander but with only a limited knowledge of England, and, although well acquainted with his father's ways, without experience of government'. William's reign was unstable the moment he commenced it, most notably in 1088 with the rebellion of the nobles who supported his elder brother Robert, the ruler of Normandy, in favour of uniting England and Normandy. Hostilities lasted up to six months. Luckily, Rufus' appeals to the English people and his attack of the rebels personally, taking Rochester Castle, allowed his success. Barlow rates Rufus' reaction to the rebellion 'shrewd'.

Notwithstanding this, the historian H.W.C. Davis of Oxford University, in his book England Under the Normans and Angevins 1066-1272, first published in 1905, is dismissive of Rufus, characterising him as 'so illiterate that he could not spell his way through an ordinary letter', he 'fought and squandered, leaving extortion to his clerks and judges'; he 'mounted the throne with little preparation and less fitness for that high position', criticising his policies towards the Church and his foreign policy during his reign. Certainly Rufus' long-standing conflict with Anselm of Canterbury made him notorious in a highly religious age, intensified when the archbishop went into exile in 1097. His failure to marry and sire a son, something expected of all kings in the medieval period, further gives impetus to the notion that he was something of a failure. The fact that Rufus faced continuous rebellions throughout his reign, including one from the Scottish King in 1091, further weakened his authority. Famous for his hot temper, monastic writers condemned his immorality, and there were even suggestions of homosexual behaviour, according to Barlow. This is strengthened, of course, by his failure to marry and sire an heir. His contentious relations with his brother Robert were not particularly helpful to his cause, although understandable in context. Killed in a hunting expedition in 1100, medieval commentators believed that Rufus' death was the act of a vengeful God against this blasphemer. Yet Barlow dismisses the notion that he could be seen as England's worst medieval king, writing: 'he had maintained good order and satisfactory justice in England and restored good peace to Normandy. He had extended Anglo-Norman rule in Wales, brought Scotland firmly under his lordship, recovered Maine, and kept up the pressure on the Vexin', suggesting that Rufus was 'a hero', even if he was lustful and 'a scandalous figure'.

Stephen (1092/6-1154), reigned 1135-1154.

Davis seems to rate King Stephen the worst medieval king in England's history, closing his account of Stephen's reign with the passage: 'Stephen did not die too soon... Too simple to anticipate intrigues, too scrupulous to destroy the root from which they sprang, too vacillating to crush them when they began to take effect, he failed alike in peace and war. Among all our medieval sovereigns none owed his title in so real a sense to the election of the nation; few showed themselves more incapable; none was a greater curse to the nation... his reign furnished a warning...' Are these claims fair, suggesting as they do that Stephen was England's worst medieval king?

Born in c1092/6, Stephen was a grandson of William the Conqueror and thus kinsman to William Rufus, the son of Stephen II Count of Blois and his wife Adela of Normandy. A powerful landholder in French provinces, Stephen married Matilda of Boulogne through the efforts of the English king Henry I in 1125, and thus became even more influential in northern Europe. Edmund King suggests that this marriage 'moved him to the centre of Anglo-Norman political life'. Henry I seems to have regarded Stephen, who was his nephew, as his successor at this time, but following the death of Henry's daughter Matilda's husband in 1125, the situation changed, and in 1127, having returned to England, Matilda was declared heir to the English throne. In 1135 the English king died, setting in place the events which would eventually lead to Stephen's succession. Davis, in a somewhat misogynistic fashion, claims that Stephen became king because 'on the death of Henry I there was hardly a man in his dominion who desired the accession of the Empress [Matilda]. Her sex, the arrogance of her temper, above all her Angevin marriage, were objections which in most minds overrode all scruples as to oaths and pledges'.

Stephen immediately came to England, and was received by the citizens as king, probably because of his comparative popularity in English society at this time. He was seen as being modest, easy-going, and gentle. Henry's death occurred at a difficult time: his daughter Matilda and her husband Geoffrey of Anjou were in Anjou, involved in a rebellion against the royal army, while Stephen's elder brother Theobald - who arguably had a better claim to the throne - was further away, in Blois. Yet like Rufus' reign, Stephen suffered a succession of rebellions during the early years of his reign which severely threatened his authority, notably from the Welsh in the 1130s. Matilda's husband Geoffrey also periodically invaded in this period, and many saw Matilda as the rightful ruler of England. Compounding this, the complex relations with the Church caused discontent, particularly when Stephen seized the lands of the dead Archbishop of Canterbury in 1136. Barons increasingly opposed the king, feeling that they had not been aptly rewarded for their loyalty. Foreign policy further threatened Stephen in this years.

The situation took a turn for the worse in 1139, when civil war in England occurred. Empress Matilda was invited by Henry I's consort Adeliza to stay with her at Arundel, and in September the former Empress and her half-brother Robert invaded England. Robert marched north, hoping to obtain support for their rebellion. But Stephen besieged Arundel, entrapping Matilda, showing a fierce determination to preserve his crown. The complex events of this years are difficult to explain in detail. But civil war severely undermined Stephen's kingship. In 1140, Stephen faced further revolts from former loyalists, such as Nigel bishop of Ely, who had become disaffected with Stephen's rule. The king, later captured by Robert, was imprisoned in Bristol Castle, and Matilda was proclaimed Lady of the English - in effect, England's first ruling female. However, the Londoners refused to crown Matilda, viewing her as haughty, and she was forced to flee to Oxford, thus offering some hope for Stephen. Stephen's queen, confusingly also named Matilda, played a central role in these events, generating sympathy for Stephen's cause. Stephen was eventually released following the Angevin defeat at Winchester. A stalemate occurred in the period 1143-1146, although Stephen faced further rebellions from dissatisfied barons such as from the Earl of Essex. By 1147 England had suffered severely from the 'Anarchy', and it was believed to be in a state of chaos and destruction. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle wrote that 'there was nothing but disturbance and wickedness and robbery'. Yet the death of Robert that year, and Matilda's flight the following year, changed the nature of the conflict. But Stephen's chaotic relations with the Church did not help matters, particularly conflict with the papacy.

The next few years saw Stephen maintaining peace with Matilda's son Henry, later Henry II, and he was later recognised as Stephen's heir following the death of his son Eustace. In 1154 Stephen died, and Henry II succeeded to the English throne. Edmund King depicts Stephen as a weak king, easily manipulated by his brother or wife, and Crouch has also been negative in relation to Stephen. Yet was he England's worst king? Arguably, yes - his reign was characterised by civil war, rebellions, dissatisfaction of the nobles, problems with the Church, and conflict-ridden foreign policy. Yet Stephen survived, and the throne passed in a peaceful manner to Henry following a series of truces. It remains to be seen whether Davis' critical assessment can be confirmed.

John (1166-1216), reigned 1199-1216.

Most famous for the Magna Carta (1215), John has a strong claim to being England's worst king. Historian Ralph Turner criticises his 'distasteful, even dangerous personality traits', which encompassed spitefulness, cruelty and pettiness. Famously, John has been presented as the arch villain in Robin Hood, particularly the Disney film of the same name.

John was born in 1199 as the ninth child, and sixth son, of Henry II of England and his infamous queen consort Eleanor of Aquitaine. Described as being red-haired, around 5'5 tall, and with a 'powerful, barrel-chested body', John's early life was engulfed by the rebellions led by his elder brothers Henry, Geoffrey and Richard (later Richard I) against their ageing father Henry II, John became increasingly influential, for instance being granted the estates of the Duchy of Cornwall in 1175. Following the death of his brother King Richard in 1199, John acceded to the English throne aged 33, having been supported by most of both the English and the Norman nobility against a pretender Arthur of Brittany. In 1200 John married Isabella of Angouleme, abandoning his first wife Isabel countess of Gloucester. This meant that warfare in Normandy recommenced. Complex events in Europe encompass this period, characterised perhaps most profoundly by the loss of Normandy in the period 1202-04. John's mother Eleanor was threatened by Arthur's forces, but John's forces were successful at the battle of Mirebeau. Yet John's power was not secure following this victory. John's local allies were deserted in 1203, and the pope was not successful in aiding John's cause. Arthur was probably murdered by John that year in an attempt to quash the unrest engulfing Europe and threatening John's stability.

In England, John's financial measures were not popular. He levied scutage payments eleven times in his reign, a much greater amount in his comparatively shorter reign compared with preceding English monarchs. Enormous sums were often charged in relation to relief payments when estates and castles were inherited. A new tax on income and movable goods in 1207 may also have caused resentment, although it was successful for the king in raising £60,000. Inflationary pressure and bad harvests, however, may have contributed to an increasingly resentful atmosphere. John, notoriously, was deeply suspicious of the barons at the English court, and numerous barons were subjected to John's malevolentia (royal ill-will), including William Marshal. William de Braose's wife and son were imprisoned by John following conflict between this baron and the king, and they eventually died. John was also criticised by chroniclers for being lustful and irreligious, heinous sins by the standards of the clerical writers. He had many mistresses and illegitimate children. Some even accused John of being an atheist.

All this was worsened by John's continental policy in the years 1204-14. A potential French invasion undermined England's security, worsened by increasing baronial unrest. John also became embroiled in a dispute with Pope Innocent III in 1205, leading notoriously to the king's excommunication, the worst penalty possibly levied by the papacy. This resulted from John's desire for John de Gray, bishop of Norwich, to be appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, but Reginald was favoured by the Canterbury Cathedral chapter. Stephen Langton was later made Archbishop, and John was furious, barring Langton from entering England and seizing the archbishopric's lands and papal possessions. Innocent, not surprisingly, placed an interdict on England in 1208. His anger intensified, John tried to punish Innocent personally and sought to create a conflict between the English clergy who supported him and those who favoured the pope. John was later excommunicated in 1209. A reconciliation finally occurred in 1213, but John's reputation must have suffered appallingly.

This was made worse by the barons' discontent; in 1212 there had even been a plot against the king. Following John's return from France in 1214, rebel barons in north and east England organised resistance to his rule, congregating at Northampton in May 1215 and renouncing their feudal ties to John, appointing Robert FitzWalter as their military leader in an entirely unprecedented action. This 'Army of God' shockingly marched on London, taking the capital as well as Lincoln and Exeter. John later met the rebel leaders at Runnymede in June, and a charter was later created, named Magna Carta. This promised new political reform, curtailing the powers of the king, promising the protection of church rights, protection from illegal imprisonment, access to justice, limitations on scrutage and other feudal payments, and new taxation only with the consent of the barons. Pope Innocent, having been contacted by the king, dismissed this document as 'illegal and unjust', excommunicating the rebels. The First Barons' War occurred shortly afterwards, following the failure of the agreement, and the first move was the seizure of Rochester Castle. In November John retook it, and while John was initially successful, by the end of the summer the rebels had regained southeast England and parts of the north. Attacking eastwards from London to Cambridge in September 1216, John later travelled to Lincoln and King's Lynn, but later contracted dysentery there, which proved fatal.  By this time John was seen to face a 'stalemate' and a possible defeat. His illness worsened, and he died in October.

While John was initially praised by medieval chroniclers, he was later criticised by later commentators. Kate Norgate, a Victorian historian, attacked 'his almost superhuman wickedness', although Whiggish scholars saw Magna Carta as essential in the economic and political progress of England during this period. Historians today suggest that John's vices and failures were wildly exaggerated by contemporaries, but agree that he was a failure. They recognise that he was hard-working and enjoyed notable successes, although Jim Bradbury suggests that modern historians are too lenient towards John. Thus, while it is not certain that John was England's worst medieval king, his reign was certainly characterised by conflict and controversy, and it cannot be seen as a success in any sense of the word.

Edward II (1284-1327), reigned 1307-1327. 

A recent popular history study of Edward II's notorious queen, infamously named the 'she-wolf of France', Isabella, suggests that Edward was 'a weak and vicious monarch'. Many probably see Edward II as England's worst ever king. Although he fathered five children by two children, he was widely rumoured to be bisexual or even homosexual, due to his notorious relationship with Piers Gaveston (later executed), although historians should remember that notions of alternative sexualities in the modern sense of the word only really came into being in the nineteenth century, not the fourteenth.

Edward was the fourth son and eleventh child of Edward I of England and his queen Eleanor of Castile. Following the death of his father in 1307, Edward acceded to the throne as king of England aged twenty-three, comparatively young for an English monarch. Edward recalled to court his friend Piers, who had been dismissed by Edward I due to the belief that he was not suitable company for Prince Edward, and he was made Earl of Cornwall soon after. Piers was also married to the king's niece Margaret of Gloucester, a clear sign of his favour towards the Gascon knight.

In 1308, Edward married Isabella of France, aged merely thirteen, and later demonised as a 'she-wolf' (other English queens, such as Aelgifu and Margaret of Anjou, also suffered this dubious epitaph). Renowned for her beauty, intelligence, and diplomatic and political competence, Isabella arrived in England at a time of increasing discontent between the king and the barons (similarly to John in a sense). Her husband was resented at court for the lavish influence and rewards he bestowed upon Piers, meaning that it is not surprising that hostile commentators interpreted this as signs of a homosexual relationship between the two. Some have suggested that Edward frequently neglected his young queen, perhaps provoking her hostility, and many historians have noted with sympathy her uncomfortable position as the wife of a king who indiscreetly favoured another man at court. These problems were compounded when Edward left Piers to serve as Regent of England in 1308 when he travelled to marry Isabella, and some barons in the Ordinances of 1311 insisted vocally that Piers be banished immediately from the kingdom, due to the troubles associated with his presence. Other concerns present in the Ordinances concerned fiscal reform, setbacks in the Anglo-Scottish war, and the king's personal incompetence. In 1312 the earl of Lancaster ordered Gaveston to be captured, and he was handed over to two Welshmen who promptly murdered him at Blacklow Hill. The king suffered profound grief over his favourite's execution, and he became increasingly fixated on revenge upon those who had instigated his friend's death. The earls of Lancaster, Warwick, Arundel and Hereford were later forced to seek Edward's pardon.

Whether or not Edward and Piers engaged in homosexual sex is unknown; chroniclers criticised the king's passion for 'wicked and forbidden sex' and saw the relationship as being 'excessive' and 'immoderate beyond measure'. The Meaux Chronicle later noted that the king 'took too much delight in sodomy'. Added together, this compellingly suggests that the two did have sexual relations. However, sodomy encompasses much broader sexual relations than merely homosexual sex, and so it's difficult to tell what was meant specifically. Both Edward and Piers had children in their marriages and some historians have suggested that the relationship between the two actually more closely resembled an 'adoptive brotherhood'. Anyway, King Edward's defeat in Scotland in 1314 further blackened his reputation, considered by contemporary historians to be the English's worst defeat since 1066. The increasing influence of the Despenser family at court provoked the hostility of the barons, and in 1321 Edward was forced to banish them due to increasing pressure from hostile earls at court. Yet the king's opponents came to be murdered in a bloodthirsty revenge enacted shortly afterwards, including the beheading of Lancaster in the king's presence.

In 1325, Queen Isabella returned to France following a disagreement between England and France over whether Edward should pay homage to the French king. She was able to escape the influential Despenser family and the king's families, whom she resented deeply - it's possible to regard her with sympathy, her position must have been almost impossible in these embarrassing years. Isabella declared that she would not return to England unless the Despensers were removed. Isabella fell in love with Roger Mortimer, earl of March, during her time in Paris and they decided to plot together to usurp the throne from Edward - hence the beginning of Isabella's notorious reputation as a 'she-wolf' and adulteress. Edward was betrayed by those formerly close to him, perhaps alienated by his policies, and in September 1326 his wife and her lover invaded England. The king and the Despensers were left isolated, and the king was forced to flee. Unable to rally an army, this proved Edward's downfall. The Despensers were captured and executed by a victorious Isabella. Isabella was condemned, however, by some as being bloodthirsty when she ordered Hugh Despenser the Younger to be hanged, drawn and quartered publicly. Edward, imprisoned at Kenilworth Castle, was charged in 1327 with incompetence, losing lands in Scotland, Gascony and Ireland, allowing the murder of nobles, the failure of government, and a host of other failures. Weeping, he agreed to abdicate, and his 14-year old son Edward III was proclaimed king, controlled by the queen and her lover. Later imprisoned in Berkeley Castle, Edward was almost certainly murdered here by Isabella and Roger's agent, some notorious sources claiming a red-hot poker was inserted into his anus (perhaps a parody of his love for sodomy?) Some suggest that he actually lived until at least 1330.

When all is said and done, there is a strong case for the claim that Edward II is England's worst medieval monarch. His reign was characterised by political favouritism, uncertainty at court, conflicting foreign policy, the alienation of his queen and her supporters, and ultimately, he was forced to abdicate and was murdered by orders of his own wife, thus damaging her reputation permanently. Whether Edward really was 'weak and vicious', he can be criticised for his ineffectual policies, which led to the alienation of courtiers and undermined England's security devastatingly.

Richard II (1367-1400), reigned 1377-1399.

I am currently in the midst of reading a book on Richard II, since there seems to be a current vogue for him at present, perhaps influenced by the showing of The Hollow Crown on the BBC. Was Richard II England's worst king? He was certainly arrogant, suspicious, cruel, cold and ruthless towards his enemies, not stopping to murder his own relatives. Yet he was also glorious, intelligent, a lover of regal splendour and patronage, and he has continued to fascinate and perplex historians and the general public.

The son of the chivalrous and renowned 'Black Prince' Edward and his wife Joan of Kent, Richard was born in 1367, the grandson of the celebrated king Edward III. Tall, good-looking and intelligent, Richard succeeded to the English throne aged merely 10 years old, and it's well known that minority rules are often clouded by political unrest and uncertainty at court and within the kingdom. This case was no different. Widespread opposition to the king's influential uncle, John of Gaunt, characterised much of English politics during the early years of Richard's reign. The king's influential councillors Simon Burley and the Earl of Oxford gained increasing control of royal affairs, causing resentment within the court. Heavy poll taxes in the period 1377-81 weakened English security further, leading to the infamous Peasants' Revolt in 1381, in which the fourteen-year old king was forced to meet the rebels personally and promise them sanctions in an attempt to quash the revolt. Many high-placed governmental officials, including the archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord High Treasurer, were publicly beheaded. Following the revolt, Richard married Anne of Bohemia in 1382, and the two appear to have enjoyed close relations until Anne's death in 1394, although there was no issue from the marriage, which proved to be a momentous and unsettling issue for the king.

The war in France caused further problems at court, with councillors favouring one of two approaches: peace, or aggressive military endeavours. The king turned his attention to Scotland, leading an expedition in 1385, but nothing came of it, while a French invasion of England undoubtedly undermined any notion of England's stability in these years. Factional discontent intensified at court, leading the king's uncle Thomas of Woodstock, duke of Gloucester, the earl of Arundel and the earl of Warwick to bring an appeal of treason against the king's favourites in 1387, including Michael de la Pole, the mayor of London Nicholas Brembre and the Archbishop of York; these nobles known as 'The Appellants' in bringing charges of treason against the royal favourites. Joining forces with Henry earl of Derby (the king's cousin) and the earl of Nottingham, the king was forced to comply with the Appellants' demands, and the royal favourites were removed from power, mostly being executed. Yet the Appellants, as Nigel Saul makes clear, were not popular, and their rule eventually crumbled following failures in foreign policy and court politics. Richard gained increasing authority at court, and promised to restore stability which had not been present in England during his reign.

Following Anne's death, Richard married the 7-year old Isabella of France in 1396, thus strengthening Anglo-French relations. In 1397, what came to be known as the 'tyranny' of Richard II began. Gloucester, Warwick and Arundel were arrested and punished, with Arundel being put to death, Warwick imprisoned, and Gloucester, the king's own uncle, apparently smothered by the king's supporters at his castle of Plushey. New favourites rose to power, including John Beaufort (the king's relative), the earl of Rutland, Thomas le Despenser, and others. But the House of Lancaster, in the form of Henry of Derby, posed a new threat to Richard's weak authority. Henry was disinherited and banished from England following a dispute with the earl of Norfolk, who was also banished. Yet when Richard left in May 1399 for Ireland, Henry famously invaded England and later took the throne, deposing Richard. Richard is thought to have been starved to death, having been imprisoned in Pontefract Castle.

Richard had been widely praised in his youth for his beauty, intelligence, and his development of court culture. He was intelligent, well-read and vivacious. Yet in the latter part of his reign he was increasingly criticised for his perceived arrogance, cruelty, and desire to wreak vengeance upon his political enemies. Shakespeare's play has severely influenced our understanding of Richard, depicting him as cruel and irresponsible, deserving of his fate. Many academic historians have wondered if Richard was actually insane. Yet Nigel Saul is reasonably fair in his assessment of Richard, and recognises the king's real strengths despite his, at  times, political incompetence, cruelty and arrogance. It does not seem that Richard, in comparison with Edward II, can be classified England's worst medieval king, but he had certainly lost the majority of his subjects' respect and devotion by the time of his deposition in 1399, meaning his rule, on the whole, cannot be judged a success.

Henry VI (1421-1471), reigned 1422-1461, 1470-1. 

Helen E. Maurer, in her sympathetic study of Henry VI's notorious queen, Margaret of Anjou (see http://www.conorbyrnex.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/margaret-of-anjou-she-wolf.html), dismissively wrote of Henry VI that he was perhaps 'the greatest disaster' England was ever to experience. Indeed, many would agree with her that Henry VI was, quite simply, a disaster; England's worst medieval king.

It's perhaps fair to note that it wasn't all Henry's own fault. The son of  the renowned and glorious king Henry V and his consort Catherine of Valois, Henry became king of England nine months old, and we have seen that minority rule never works well. This, of course, did not allow for political stability at court, and the king's uncles John and Humphrey were resented for their overbearing rule and political influence. Nonetheless, in the late 1430s and early 1440s Henry assumed growing authority and power as he became older, and in 1445 a prosperous alliance with France was achieved with his marriage to the 15-year old princess Margaret of Anjou, although this was not universally popular among his subjects. However, the king's failure to produce an heir with his consort caused considerable concern in a politically unstable kingdom. In 1453, when the queen eventually gave birth to their son Edward, many disputed who the father was in view of this.

Henry is often dismissed by historians as being pious and kind, but an entirely unsuitable king. Perhaps this is an unfair assessment, but when the king fell mad, or at least insane, in 1453, it plunged the kingdom into chaos. At a time of increasing unpopular attitudes towards the monarchy, caused largely by the loss of all the lands won by the English in France by Henry V save Calais, a breakdown in law and order, corruption and favouritism at the English court, and a rebellion in 1450 led by 'Jack Cade', the duke of York, the king's relative, became increasingly prominent at court and challenged royal authority. At Christmas 1454, King Henry eventually recovered his senses, but the Wars of the Roses were to be brought about nonetheless in view of these problems. A violent struggle between the competing houses of Lancaster and York took place, the first battle of St Albans occurring in 1455, although York was later killed at Wakefield in 1460. With the king's own incompetence, Queen Margaret was widely believed to be the figurehead of the Lancastrian cause. He was later captured by Edward earl of March in 1465 and imprisoned in the Tower of London, who was now king. Yet Margaret, now exiled, was determined to reclaim what she saw as her rightful place as queen and wife to the king, and schemed with the French king to win her throne back. Affecting an alliance with her former enemy the earl of Warwick, it was agreed that her son by the king would marry the earl's daughter Anne Neville. Warwick returned to England, forcing King Edward into exile, and restored Henry in 1470. Yet his return lasted less than six months, and he was murdered probably on orders of the returned  king Edward, in the Tower in May 1471, following the death of his heir Edward in battle previously, thus undermining the Lancastrian cause seemingly beyond repair.

While Henry has been seen by some as a martyr, a devout and pious king, his reign was a failure, in every sense of the word, ushering in the Wars of the Roses. He was incompetent, beset by factional conflict, utterly unable to control powerful nobles, and dominated by ruthless courtiers. His queen, who sought to preserve both their royal state and the legitimacy of their son, was condemned by contemporaries as being unwomanly  and a 'she-wolf', despite the fact that she was acting in her husband's interests. Although Henry may not have been unlikeable personally, he has a fair claim to being England's worst medieval monarch for what his reign brought about.

Richard III (1452-1483), reigned 1483-1485.

I don't wish to be attacked by the Richard III Society here, but it would be nonsensical to write an article on England's worst medieval king without at least mentioning Richard III, for he was demonised in his lifetime up until the present day, and many would argue that he was, by far, England's worst medieval king.

The son of Richard duke of York (killed at Wakefield during the Wars in 1460) and his wife Cecily Neville, Richard was younger brother to  the king Edward IV. Following that king's premature death in 1471, it is believed that, fearing hostile and cruel behaviour from his sister-in-law Queen Elizabeth Woodville and her family at court, who were believed to be hoping to exclude Richard utterly from power, Richard seized control of the new king, the 12-year old Edward V, and later his brother Richard of York, in an attempt to control the political situation in England at the time. Edward IV's supporters were quickly routed from power; his most famous supporter Hastings being beheaded in June 1483. Elizabeth, in fear and concern, quickly retreated from power, and sought sanctuary with her daughters.

Whether or not Richard was really as evil as Shakespeare made him out to be is unlikely, yet he certainly took advantage of the uncertain political and dynastic situation in England at the time. Whether or not the princes in the Tower, as they later became known, were murdered on his own orders is impossible to ever know the answer to, but on a balance of probabilities, it seems the likeliest scenario - they were last seen in the autumn of 1483, and no attempt was made by the king to produce them publicly to counter persistent rumours alleged that he had ordered their deaths. Richard faced numerous rebellions during his short-lived reign, most famously from his former supporter Buckingham in November 1483, resulting in Buckingham's execution. Queen Elizabeth quickly sought an alliance with the Lancastrian Margaret Beaufort, agreeing that her daughter Elizabeth of York would marry Margaret's son Henry Tudor if he managed to wrestle the throne from Richard, seen by many as an unlawful usurper. In view of this, Richard's own dynastic situation must have troubled him severely. His son died in 1484, and it was rumoured, following the death of his queen in 1485, that he had poisoned her in order to marry his own niece Elizabeth, designed to jeopardise Henry Tudor's plans and in order to sire a legitimate son.

By summer 1485, the situation had worsened beyond repair, and Henry and Richard eventually met in battle at Bosworth on 22 August. As everyone knows, Henry was victorious, and Richard was killed, meaning the end of the Yorkist dynasty in a sense. Henry married Elizabeth of York, and ushered in the glorious age of the Tudors. Richard's supposed notorious crimes, first and foremost the belief that he had ordered the deaths of the two princes, his ordering the execution of notable supporters of Edward IV, the belief that he had poisoned Queen Anne, the execution of his supporter the earl of Buckingham, and a host of other rumours blackened his reputation beyond repair, although we need to recognise the fundamental role placed by the Tudors in propaganda, shown most famously in Shakespeare's play Richard III in which Richard is deformed, evil, abhorrent in fact. But it cannot be doubted that many would argue that he has a strong claim to being England's worst ever medieval monarch.

In conclusion....
It's difficult to say who England's worst medieval monarch was, for their situations were so different, the context altered dramatically, and the king's own personality played a fundamental role. Other kings not mentioned here might be recognised by other historians to deserve the title worst king of England in the medieval period - perhaps, for some Henry I, for instance. I think it's impossible to say for certain ... but due to the evidence put forward, I think it comes down to Edward II, Henry VI, and Richard III. These three have strong claims to being England's worst medieval monarch.