Henry IV had the image of a warrior. It was just as well as no sooner was he established on the throne than he was fighting in Wales, Scotland, Ireland and France, as well as beating off his internal enemies. So it will not surprise you that the country was soon bankrupt, and that Henry was busy with his Parliaments, inevitably discontented by the necessary taxation to fund all this fun.
Of course, these wars were dull, low-level affairs. There were certainly no repeats of Crecy. The nearest to that was probably the defeat of the Scots at Homildon, 1402, a victory that was largely down to the tactics suggested by the renegade Scottish Earl of March, although naturally the Percy family were prominently involved.
As many of you know, I am not Henry Bolingbroke's greatest fan. In many ways he was a sordid little creep, and the kindest thing I can say about him is that he liked books. However, you have to, however reluctantly, admire the sheer tenacity with which he held on against all the odds. Towards the end of his reign, as Henry himself fell more and more ill with his mysterious disease, the financial pressures eased and so did the military situation. It became possible to intervene in France again.
The King of France, Charles VI, had been more or less insane since Richard's time, and was not improving. Factions within France, on the one hand the Burgundians, and on the other the Orleanists/Armagnacs, were tearing the country apart, indeed fighting a civil war over who should govern. After some consideration (and doubtless bidding) England decided to go in on the side of the Orleans faction.
This was quite a shrewd move, financially. The English effectively took part as mercenaries. They had barely landed before the contending parties decided to make peace. So the English returned home again, somewhat enriched and bearing with them certain hostages who were not to see France again for many a long year.
As soon as Henry V acceded in 1413, he decided to build on this. Some historians think he chose war because he was on shaky ground at home. However, Henry, for some bizarre reason, seems genuinely to have believed he was the rightful King of France in God's eyes. (How he came to believe this when he was not even the rightful King of England is a great mystery, but that's religious bigots for you.)
The French offered quite enormous concessions as an alternative, and a remotely sane King of England would have bitten their hand off. Not Henry. Parliament, temporarily gung-ho, proved willing to finance his expedition, and off Henry went.
This led to another one of the Great Victories - Agincourt. Henry attributed his success to God, and he may have been right to do so. He was extremely lucky, in that the French seemed to have forgot all the wisdom they had learned in the late 14th Century, and charged in as they had done in their earlier losing battles. Had they simply harassed Henry on a daily basis, and not engaged in battle at all, it is extremely likely that his small and sickly army would have been destroyed piecemeal.
Nevertheless, Agincourt massively boosted English morale, and massively dented that of the French. For the English, and certainly for Henry, it looked like God had shown the green light, and that the English claim to France (or at least major chunks of it) could now be realised. This was largely a delusion, because nothing of France had yet been conquered (unless you count Harfleur) and England's resources (and willingness to spend them) were no greater. For France, the main problem, looked at objectively, was that it remained divided in itself. Much depended on whether one faction or the other could be persuaded to throw its lot in with the English. If it could, Henry (and English pretensions) had a real chance of success. Against a united France, there was virtually none, at least in the long term.
Showing posts with label Henry Bolingbroke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Henry Bolingbroke. Show all posts
Wednesday, 25 July 2018
Saturday, 7 March 2009
Henry IV - a valediction
It's almost time to say goodbye to Henry IV, and I do so with mixed feelings. One author passed lightly over his time as 'a sick king and a dull reign' whereas I think it was one of the most interesting periods in our history. How can a reign with Glyndwr and Hotspur in it be called dull?
Henry's tragedy was that he did not come to the crown by right - if he had, I think he might have been a great king. Instead his popularity - admittedly artificially boosted by the effect of the huge Lancastrian retinue who depended on his prosperity - dropped like a stone almost from the moment he was crowned.
Up until around 1408/9 he was forever grappling with one conspiracy or another, to say nothing of successive armed insurrections, notably the extremely persistent one in Wales. He also had to struggle with royal finances that were in total disarray, a problem that led to further discontent among his nobles.
It's a miracle he survived. He was almost killed at Shrewsbury in 1403, and if he rather than Hotspur had got an arrow through the head it would have been the end of his dynasty. In 1405 his enemies simply failed to get their act together. Had they been better organised he could not have defeated them in detail as he did.
All this broke his health, although historians are not sure what was wrong with him. Anything from ergotism to depression has been suggested. There were periods in his latter years when a virtual regency was in operation, with Henry little more than a figurehead, and there were rumours he was planned to abdicate. He was however able to take over the government once more, and towards the end of his reign the financial position improved and he began to take (and doubtless enjoy taking) an aggressive line with the French.
His achievement was, in fact, that he survived and died in his bed. But he was not much mourned, and a minority of his subjects still thought that their rightful King Richard II was alive and well and living quietly in Scotland.
Henry's tragedy was that he did not come to the crown by right - if he had, I think he might have been a great king. Instead his popularity - admittedly artificially boosted by the effect of the huge Lancastrian retinue who depended on his prosperity - dropped like a stone almost from the moment he was crowned.
Up until around 1408/9 he was forever grappling with one conspiracy or another, to say nothing of successive armed insurrections, notably the extremely persistent one in Wales. He also had to struggle with royal finances that were in total disarray, a problem that led to further discontent among his nobles.
It's a miracle he survived. He was almost killed at Shrewsbury in 1403, and if he rather than Hotspur had got an arrow through the head it would have been the end of his dynasty. In 1405 his enemies simply failed to get their act together. Had they been better organised he could not have defeated them in detail as he did.
All this broke his health, although historians are not sure what was wrong with him. Anything from ergotism to depression has been suggested. There were periods in his latter years when a virtual regency was in operation, with Henry little more than a figurehead, and there were rumours he was planned to abdicate. He was however able to take over the government once more, and towards the end of his reign the financial position improved and he began to take (and doubtless enjoy taking) an aggressive line with the French.
His achievement was, in fact, that he survived and died in his bed. But he was not much mourned, and a minority of his subjects still thought that their rightful King Richard II was alive and well and living quietly in Scotland.
Wednesday, 18 February 2009
Hopeless Edmund, the 5th Earl of March
Though he was not a member of the House of York, Edmund Mortimer, 5th and last Earl of March had a huge impact on it, not least by getting all three of Edmund of Langley's children into trouble on his behalf, and then by conveniently dying and leaving all he had to his sister's son, Richard, Duke of York.
Note to Shakespeare lovers - do not confuse this Edmund with his Uncle Edmund, who died in 1409. The Bard of Avon tends to do this, but you see, he was not a historian.
Born on 6 November 1391, Edmund was the son of Roger Mortimer, Earl of March and Alianore Holland, eldest daughter of the Earl of Kent (and half-niece to Richard II). He was only six years old when his father was killed in Ireland in July 1398 and the custody of his estates shared out between Edward of York, Duke of Aumale, John Holland, Duke of Exeter, and Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey - his mother's brother.
After the accession of Henry IV Edmund and his brother Roger became what Pugh, with his characteristic bluntness, calls 'in effect, state prisoners'. They were lodged at Berkhampstead and Windsor Castles until Constance of York's 1405 plot, after which they were moved to Pevensey for the next three years.
In 1409 they were transferred to the household of Henry, Prince of Wales (future Henry V), and in November 1412 Edmund was given livery of his estates, his brother Roger dying soon afterwards. However Edmund wanted to choose his own wife - Anne Stafford - and because of this marriage Henry V fined him the unprecedented sum of 10,000 marks. (About £6,666.)
To be clear, Henry was entitled to levy a fine, but the amount was wholly unreasonable. Not even Henry VII matched this sort of greed. Because of this, and the cost of equipping himself to join Henry's French expedition, Edmund had to raise a huge loan, mortgaging a large proportion of his English and Welsh estates to a syndicate of rich individuals. He still owed much of the money at the time of his death.
It seems as certain as anything can be that this was the motive for his agreement to join in the Southampton Plot organised by his former brother-in-law, Richard of Conisbrough, Earl of Cambridge. However his nerve quickly cracked and it appears he was the one who betrayed the plotters, receiving a pardon on 7 August 1415.
The result of course was that no one trusted him with any further plots, and his 'threat' to Henry V was effectively neutralised. Though absent from Agincourt due to sickness he took a significant part in Henry's French wars, not least because Henry didn't care to leave him in England. His efforts received no reward.
After Henry V's death, Edmund was accused of having too large a household, and of keeping open house to win support. His kinsman Sir John Mortimer was accused of treason and, after escaping from the Tower (twice!) was executed. The final solution to the Mortimer question was to send Edmund off to Ireland as Lieutenant in 1424. Like his father before him, he died there. In January 1425. He had no children, though his widow went on to have children with another man.
Edmund's brother and sisters had died before him (the Mortimers rarely seem to have made old bones) and only Anne, Richard of Conisbrough's wife, had had any children. So the Mortimer inheritance came to the House of York, and, particularly after the debts had been paid and Earl Edmund's widow had died, completely transformed the family fortunes. Richard, Duke of York, was to be the richest subject since Henry Bolingbroke - and with similar results.
Main source for this again the invaluable Henry V and the Southampton Plot by T.B. Pugh.
Note to Shakespeare lovers - do not confuse this Edmund with his Uncle Edmund, who died in 1409. The Bard of Avon tends to do this, but you see, he was not a historian.
Born on 6 November 1391, Edmund was the son of Roger Mortimer, Earl of March and Alianore Holland, eldest daughter of the Earl of Kent (and half-niece to Richard II). He was only six years old when his father was killed in Ireland in July 1398 and the custody of his estates shared out between Edward of York, Duke of Aumale, John Holland, Duke of Exeter, and Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey - his mother's brother.
After the accession of Henry IV Edmund and his brother Roger became what Pugh, with his characteristic bluntness, calls 'in effect, state prisoners'. They were lodged at Berkhampstead and Windsor Castles until Constance of York's 1405 plot, after which they were moved to Pevensey for the next three years.
In 1409 they were transferred to the household of Henry, Prince of Wales (future Henry V), and in November 1412 Edmund was given livery of his estates, his brother Roger dying soon afterwards. However Edmund wanted to choose his own wife - Anne Stafford - and because of this marriage Henry V fined him the unprecedented sum of 10,000 marks. (About £6,666.)
To be clear, Henry was entitled to levy a fine, but the amount was wholly unreasonable. Not even Henry VII matched this sort of greed. Because of this, and the cost of equipping himself to join Henry's French expedition, Edmund had to raise a huge loan, mortgaging a large proportion of his English and Welsh estates to a syndicate of rich individuals. He still owed much of the money at the time of his death.
It seems as certain as anything can be that this was the motive for his agreement to join in the Southampton Plot organised by his former brother-in-law, Richard of Conisbrough, Earl of Cambridge. However his nerve quickly cracked and it appears he was the one who betrayed the plotters, receiving a pardon on 7 August 1415.
The result of course was that no one trusted him with any further plots, and his 'threat' to Henry V was effectively neutralised. Though absent from Agincourt due to sickness he took a significant part in Henry's French wars, not least because Henry didn't care to leave him in England. His efforts received no reward.
After Henry V's death, Edmund was accused of having too large a household, and of keeping open house to win support. His kinsman Sir John Mortimer was accused of treason and, after escaping from the Tower (twice!) was executed. The final solution to the Mortimer question was to send Edmund off to Ireland as Lieutenant in 1424. Like his father before him, he died there. In January 1425. He had no children, though his widow went on to have children with another man.
Edmund's brother and sisters had died before him (the Mortimers rarely seem to have made old bones) and only Anne, Richard of Conisbrough's wife, had had any children. So the Mortimer inheritance came to the House of York, and, particularly after the debts had been paid and Earl Edmund's widow had died, completely transformed the family fortunes. Richard, Duke of York, was to be the richest subject since Henry Bolingbroke - and with similar results.
Main source for this again the invaluable Henry V and the Southampton Plot by T.B. Pugh.
Saturday, 23 August 2008
Some background I forgot.
I forgot to mention that Bolingbroke (at Flint and Chester) extended his protection to the men who had stayed loyal to Richard - in this sense at least, that he did not have them summarily executed a la mode Wiltshire, Bushey and Green. It does seem that some people even wanted to chop John Beaufort (who had been picked up with York at Berkeley) but Henry was particularly keen to extend a hand to his half-brother.
The one man excluded from Henry's bounty was John Montagu (or Montacute) Earl of Salisbury. Apparently when Henry first arrived at the French court he was well received, but when Salisbury appeared there as Richard's ambassador to give the French the full SP, the atmosphere chilled somewhat. Among other things it seems to have stopped Henry making a useful marriage. As a result he was more than a little cheesed off with Lord Salisbury and treated him with icy contempt. (Another factor may have been that Salisbury was a Lollard*. Henry, under the influence of Archbishop Arundel, was to prove himself very much more hostile to the Lollards than Richard had been.)
* See my post of 8 March if you're not sure what a Lollard was.
Another little thing was that at this time Henry was making use of the Duchy of Lancaster seal to appoint men to offices - for example Northumberland was made Constable in lieu of Edward of York. Technically such appointments had no validity whatsoever, as (legally) Henry held no office himself. The reality of course is that during a revolution naked force is the only law. Now he had Richard in his power, Bolingbroke was able to summon a Parliament in the King's name, and indeed issue various orders under Richard's seal.
The one man excluded from Henry's bounty was John Montagu (or Montacute) Earl of Salisbury. Apparently when Henry first arrived at the French court he was well received, but when Salisbury appeared there as Richard's ambassador to give the French the full SP, the atmosphere chilled somewhat. Among other things it seems to have stopped Henry making a useful marriage. As a result he was more than a little cheesed off with Lord Salisbury and treated him with icy contempt. (Another factor may have been that Salisbury was a Lollard*. Henry, under the influence of Archbishop Arundel, was to prove himself very much more hostile to the Lollards than Richard had been.)
* See my post of 8 March if you're not sure what a Lollard was.
Another little thing was that at this time Henry was making use of the Duchy of Lancaster seal to appoint men to offices - for example Northumberland was made Constable in lieu of Edward of York. Technically such appointments had no validity whatsoever, as (legally) Henry held no office himself. The reality of course is that during a revolution naked force is the only law. Now he had Richard in his power, Bolingbroke was able to summon a Parliament in the King's name, and indeed issue various orders under Richard's seal.
Wednesday, 13 August 2008
When did Henry Bolingbroke decide to take the throne?
This is an interesting question, and like most similar queries in history there's no incontrovertible answer. Only Henry could tell us for sure, but I'm not inclined to try to contact him by planchette, and he'd probably lie anyway.
Nigel Saul argues that he made the decision quite late in the process, indeed towards the end of August 1399. Ian Mortimer in his near-hagiography of Henry, Fears of Henry IV is confident that Henry had decided to take the throne before leaving France. (That reminds me, that book is still missing! Can the mice have eaten it? Is Henry's spirit playing tricks on me? Nah, he wouldn't have that much imagination or sense of humour.)
I incline more towards Saul's opinion, and that's the line I more or less followed in Within the Fetterlock. It doesn't mean I'm right of course, but here's my reasoning.
1. Henry subsequently quarrelled with his former ally, the Duke of Orleans over the matter. Clearly Orleans, who supported Henry's invasion, had been given the idea that Henry's ambitions stopped short of taking the throne. Orleans was outraged by Henry's accession.
2. Henry made a very public vow at Doncaster that he was not going to take the throne.
Now, you may say, Henry may just have been lying through his teeth all along. And you may be right. After all, if England had been selecting an Olympic Lying Team in 1399, Bolingbroke would have at least made the heats. But I have a feeling he was being honest as he saw it at the time. He didn't have a plan, but responded pragmatically to circumstances as they unfolded before him. (Rather as Richard III did in 1483, but that's a tale for another day.)
I think what changed his mind were the following factors:-
1. He was utterly amazed by the ease with which England dropped into his hands. This gave him an exaggerated impression of his own popularity. (He was soon to be cruelly disillusioned.)
2. The likes of Archbishop Arundel, who hated Richard II with a passion, were persuading him to take the throne.
3. He gradually realised (partly by being persuaded by the likes of the good Archbishop) that the only way to secure his own safety was to take the throne. Richard had a track record of making come-backs, and another of taking revenge. If Richard had somehow managed to regain power Henry would have been a dead man walking, and he wouldn't have been walking for very long.
Nigel Saul argues that he made the decision quite late in the process, indeed towards the end of August 1399. Ian Mortimer in his near-hagiography of Henry, Fears of Henry IV is confident that Henry had decided to take the throne before leaving France. (That reminds me, that book is still missing! Can the mice have eaten it? Is Henry's spirit playing tricks on me? Nah, he wouldn't have that much imagination or sense of humour.)
I incline more towards Saul's opinion, and that's the line I more or less followed in Within the Fetterlock. It doesn't mean I'm right of course, but here's my reasoning.
1. Henry subsequently quarrelled with his former ally, the Duke of Orleans over the matter. Clearly Orleans, who supported Henry's invasion, had been given the idea that Henry's ambitions stopped short of taking the throne. Orleans was outraged by Henry's accession.
2. Henry made a very public vow at Doncaster that he was not going to take the throne.
Now, you may say, Henry may just have been lying through his teeth all along. And you may be right. After all, if England had been selecting an Olympic Lying Team in 1399, Bolingbroke would have at least made the heats. But I have a feeling he was being honest as he saw it at the time. He didn't have a plan, but responded pragmatically to circumstances as they unfolded before him. (Rather as Richard III did in 1483, but that's a tale for another day.)
I think what changed his mind were the following factors:-
1. He was utterly amazed by the ease with which England dropped into his hands. This gave him an exaggerated impression of his own popularity. (He was soon to be cruelly disillusioned.)
2. The likes of Archbishop Arundel, who hated Richard II with a passion, were persuading him to take the throne.
3. He gradually realised (partly by being persuaded by the likes of the good Archbishop) that the only way to secure his own safety was to take the throne. Richard had a track record of making come-backs, and another of taking revenge. If Richard had somehow managed to regain power Henry would have been a dead man walking, and he wouldn't have been walking for very long.
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
Fun at Flint
Richard II was taken to Flint Castle , another location that it's still possible to visit, even though the ruins are rather more knocked-about than those at Conwy. He apparently arrived here on the same day he left Conwy, and spent the night, word being sent on to Bolingbroke at Chester.
Next morning Richard rose early and lingered over his breakfast. (He's said to have had little appetite, but maybe by sitting long at the table he allowed his companions to eat at their leisure?) After hearing mass he climbed to the battlements and watched with some alarm as Bolingbroke's army (or whatever part of it was deployed) approached along the shore. Three men spurred ahead of the others - Archbishop Arundel, Edward of York and the Earl of Worcester (Thomas Percy). Richard met this deputation in the keep, but unfortunately we're not told what they said to each other. The transcript would be fascinating, but I think we can take it they didn't talk about the weather or the price of fish. Meanwhile, the Lancastrian forces disposed themselves around the castle, but did not enter.
At this point Richard climbed the battlements again and protested against the show of force. A bit late for that you may think, but it does sort of suggest he was expecting a peaceful settlement. Northumberland went out of the castle and persuaded Bolingbroke not to enter until Richard had eaten - so we can probably assume it was now dinner time. (That's to say round about noon or an hour or two earlier.)
Bolingbroke was literally standing outside the gate. Creton and his companion were introduced to him by Lancaster Herald. Henry told them to have no fear. 'Keep close to me, and I will answer for your lives,' he said. Interesting form of words. By implication, if they wandered about, they could get hurt.
A little later Henry got fed up hanging about and entered the castle. At Northumberland's request Richard, who had been eating in the keep, came down to meet him. Henry immediately bowed low to the ground, then bowed a second time, cap-in-hand, as the King came closer. Richard took off his hood, and welcomed him.
After this show of manners, Henry bowed yet again. 'My lord, I have come sooner than you sent for me and I shall tell you why. It is said that you have governed your people too harshly, and that they are discontented. If it is pleasing to the Lord, I shall help you govern them better.'
'If it pleases you, fair cousin, then it pleases us well,' said Richard.
This is a good example of how one should never take public speeches too literally!
This account is based on Creton, who was an eye witness, as reported by Nigel Saul in his excellent Richard II. The last few posts have also made use of The Royal Household and the King's Affinity by Chris Given-Wilson. For anyone interested in the 1397-1399 period I highly recommend Chronicles of the Revolution 1397-1399, also by Chris Given-Wilson.
Next morning Richard rose early and lingered over his breakfast. (He's said to have had little appetite, but maybe by sitting long at the table he allowed his companions to eat at their leisure?) After hearing mass he climbed to the battlements and watched with some alarm as Bolingbroke's army (or whatever part of it was deployed) approached along the shore. Three men spurred ahead of the others - Archbishop Arundel, Edward of York and the Earl of Worcester (Thomas Percy). Richard met this deputation in the keep, but unfortunately we're not told what they said to each other. The transcript would be fascinating, but I think we can take it they didn't talk about the weather or the price of fish. Meanwhile, the Lancastrian forces disposed themselves around the castle, but did not enter.
At this point Richard climbed the battlements again and protested against the show of force. A bit late for that you may think, but it does sort of suggest he was expecting a peaceful settlement. Northumberland went out of the castle and persuaded Bolingbroke not to enter until Richard had eaten - so we can probably assume it was now dinner time. (That's to say round about noon or an hour or two earlier.)
Bolingbroke was literally standing outside the gate. Creton and his companion were introduced to him by Lancaster Herald. Henry told them to have no fear. 'Keep close to me, and I will answer for your lives,' he said. Interesting form of words. By implication, if they wandered about, they could get hurt.
A little later Henry got fed up hanging about and entered the castle. At Northumberland's request Richard, who had been eating in the keep, came down to meet him. Henry immediately bowed low to the ground, then bowed a second time, cap-in-hand, as the King came closer. Richard took off his hood, and welcomed him.
After this show of manners, Henry bowed yet again. 'My lord, I have come sooner than you sent for me and I shall tell you why. It is said that you have governed your people too harshly, and that they are discontented. If it is pleasing to the Lord, I shall help you govern them better.'
'If it pleases you, fair cousin, then it pleases us well,' said Richard.
This is a good example of how one should never take public speeches too literally!
This account is based on Creton, who was an eye witness, as reported by Nigel Saul in his excellent Richard II. The last few posts have also made use of The Royal Household and the King's Affinity by Chris Given-Wilson. For anyone interested in the 1397-1399 period I highly recommend Chronicles of the Revolution 1397-1399, also by Chris Given-Wilson.
Sunday, 3 August 2008
More Terrorism.
While Richard was enjoying the scenery of Wales, Henry with his vast army was marching north from Bristol, reaching Hereford by 2 August, Ludlow on the 4th and Shrewsbury on the 5th. (This was not a man who messed around!) Here he received a delegation from Chester headed up by the Sheriff of Cheshire, Sir Robert Legh, who offered the submission of the city. On 9th August he entered Chester, with processions of the clergy and so on...
However according to the Dieulacres and Short Kirkstall Chronicles, the non-tyrant Bolingbroke had no sooner crossed the Cheshire boundary than he declared 'havoc'.
'Havoc' for those of you who don't know, was a licence for soldiers to burn, steal, rape, kill, and generally do as they liked; it was normally practised when English armies were let off the leash in France. Even there it was used sparingly, because by its very nature it damaged discipline.
So, in an English county, they were 'trampling down...the corn and the meadows throughout most of the county...and having killed many of the local inhabitants and confiscated numerous goods from them, the Duke accomplished what he set out to do.' (Short Kirkstall Chronicle.)
Oh, and non-tyrant Henry also had Sir Piers Legh of Lyme beheaded for 'oppressing the people.' Well, you should know Henry boy, because you sure as hell were good at it yourself.
Can you imagine what historians would have said of Richard III if he had done something like this to (say) Wiltshire in the aftermath of Buckingham's revolt? There would be whole books written about it!
But Lancastrian kings can do no wrong. It was a bloodless revolution, apparently.
However according to the Dieulacres and Short Kirkstall Chronicles, the non-tyrant Bolingbroke had no sooner crossed the Cheshire boundary than he declared 'havoc'.
'Havoc' for those of you who don't know, was a licence for soldiers to burn, steal, rape, kill, and generally do as they liked; it was normally practised when English armies were let off the leash in France. Even there it was used sparingly, because by its very nature it damaged discipline.
So, in an English county, they were 'trampling down...the corn and the meadows throughout most of the county...and having killed many of the local inhabitants and confiscated numerous goods from them, the Duke accomplished what he set out to do.' (Short Kirkstall Chronicle.)
Oh, and non-tyrant Henry also had Sir Piers Legh of Lyme beheaded for 'oppressing the people.' Well, you should know Henry boy, because you sure as hell were good at it yourself.
Can you imagine what historians would have said of Richard III if he had done something like this to (say) Wiltshire in the aftermath of Buckingham's revolt? There would be whole books written about it!
But Lancastrian kings can do no wrong. It was a bloodless revolution, apparently.
Wednesday, 30 July 2008
An Act of Terrorism
York's 'agreement' with Henry, however reluctantly it may have been made (or not), had one important effect. York was the legitimate Keeper of England and his adherence to Henry lent some shred of legality to the cause.
Together they moved on to Bristol, where the freedom-loving Henry announced that anyone who came out of the city in peace would be spared, but anyone who stayed within the walls and resisted would be killed. This led to a pretty prompt surrender of the city, with some citizens even climbing over the walls in their haste to survive. The castle followed suit. Within, among others, were the Earl of Wiltshire (William Scrope), Sir John Bushey and Sir Henry Green, all prominent councillors of King Richard. Bushey had acted as Speaker of the Commons.
The next day, these three were summarily executed; at best they might have had a drum-head trial before Northumberland and Westmorland, acting as constable and marshal. Either way it was unquestionably an illegal act, and one that was intended to strike terror into Henry's opponents.
Reams of print have been used up condemning Richard III for executing Rivers, Grey and Vaughan. However, Richard was at least established as Protector when he gave the order and had the pretext that they'd been plotting against him in that role. Strangely, it is rare to find a single word of criticism for Henry's outright murder of these three men. Lancastrian kings, it appears, can do no wrong.
Sir John Russell, the King's Master of Horse, would also have been executed, except that he lost his mind. Temporarily, it seems, but effectively, because he was spared. Russell had been briefly married to Thomas Despenser's very young niece, Margaret Hastings, but she must have died within a year or so, probably through the hazards of childbirth, as by 1399 he was remarried to a wealthy widow. He was also a personal enemy of the Earl of Warwick, whose retainer he had been before defecting to Richard. By the way, if you want to visit Sir John he's got a nice brass in Strensham Church, which is now in care of the Churches Conservation Trust.
Together they moved on to Bristol, where the freedom-loving Henry announced that anyone who came out of the city in peace would be spared, but anyone who stayed within the walls and resisted would be killed. This led to a pretty prompt surrender of the city, with some citizens even climbing over the walls in their haste to survive. The castle followed suit. Within, among others, were the Earl of Wiltshire (William Scrope), Sir John Bushey and Sir Henry Green, all prominent councillors of King Richard. Bushey had acted as Speaker of the Commons.
The next day, these three were summarily executed; at best they might have had a drum-head trial before Northumberland and Westmorland, acting as constable and marshal. Either way it was unquestionably an illegal act, and one that was intended to strike terror into Henry's opponents.
Reams of print have been used up condemning Richard III for executing Rivers, Grey and Vaughan. However, Richard was at least established as Protector when he gave the order and had the pretext that they'd been plotting against him in that role. Strangely, it is rare to find a single word of criticism for Henry's outright murder of these three men. Lancastrian kings, it appears, can do no wrong.
Sir John Russell, the King's Master of Horse, would also have been executed, except that he lost his mind. Temporarily, it seems, but effectively, because he was spared. Russell had been briefly married to Thomas Despenser's very young niece, Margaret Hastings, but she must have died within a year or so, probably through the hazards of childbirth, as by 1399 he was remarried to a wealthy widow. He was also a personal enemy of the Earl of Warwick, whose retainer he had been before defecting to Richard. By the way, if you want to visit Sir John he's got a nice brass in Strensham Church, which is now in care of the Churches Conservation Trust.
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Edmund of Langley's Tactical Masterclass
About 20 July, York was in Bedford and Bolingbroke in Leicester. You may need a map at this point, but those two places are a fair few miles apart. Henry had visited most of his northern estates and recruited large numbers of followers, mainly his tenants and retainers. At Doncaster he had been joined by the earls of Northumberland and Westmorland, an unusual case of the Nevilles and the Percies being on the same side. It appears that there he swore a solemn oath that he was not interested in taking Richard's crown. This must have been comforting to Westmorland and Northumberland as there was plenty of time for things to go pear-shaped, and at least they would be able to swear blind that they had no intention of deposing the King. Northumberland was eventually to swear exactly that, as justification for taking up arms against Henry IV on three separate occasions!
In addition, according to the Chronicler Creton, Archbishop Arundel was preaching a crusade against Richard II and claiming he had a Papal Bull to that effect! He was lying through his teeth - indeed technically he was not even an archbishop, having been deprived by the Pope. Not that you will pick this last detail up from your average Richard II textbook...
The likelihood is that the Duke of York picked up news of Henry's strength, and decided he couldn't meet him in battle. Anyway, he moved to Oxford, where it appears certain people deserted him. These were the earl of Wiltshire, and Bushey and Green of the King's council. It's possible they left with his agreement as he seems to have decided to move Queen Isabelle from Windsor to Wallingford, the latter being considered safer, and someone would have had to organise this. To cut a long story short, these three ended up in Bristol Castle. Bristol being a port and all that they may have hoped, or even have expected, that Richard would land there.
York meanwhile moved on into Gloucestershire. Henry had picked up on his change of direction and tracked him, moving from Leicester to Coventry, Warwick and Evesham. (I told you you might need that map.) On 24 July Richard landed in Wales.
York sent some of his people into Wales to meet the King, but for whatever reason he didn't follow himself with what was left of his army. He had suffered desertions, morale was probably low, and Bolingbroke was now uncomfortably close. None of these reasons seem to be a particularly good argument for a further change of direction, this time towards Bristol. If there was a plan at this point it can only have been to hole up in Bristol with those who had already made their way there ahead of him.
Instead, Bolingbroke caught up with his uncle outside Berkeley Castle on 27 July. There was actually some fighting because Bishop Despenser and Sir William Elmham were captured and disarmed. However, in view of Henry's superior numbers there was no realistic alternative to capitulation, this taking place in Berkeley parish church. The Chronicler Walsingham says that York was reluctant to stand in the way of a nephew who had come for his rightful inheritance. This may be a rare case of Walsingham telling the truth. In any event, York had painted himself into a corner, and there was not really anything else he could have done at this point. (Suicidal charges were not in the family tradition at this time.)
In addition, according to the Chronicler Creton, Archbishop Arundel was preaching a crusade against Richard II and claiming he had a Papal Bull to that effect! He was lying through his teeth - indeed technically he was not even an archbishop, having been deprived by the Pope. Not that you will pick this last detail up from your average Richard II textbook...
The likelihood is that the Duke of York picked up news of Henry's strength, and decided he couldn't meet him in battle. Anyway, he moved to Oxford, where it appears certain people deserted him. These were the earl of Wiltshire, and Bushey and Green of the King's council. It's possible they left with his agreement as he seems to have decided to move Queen Isabelle from Windsor to Wallingford, the latter being considered safer, and someone would have had to organise this. To cut a long story short, these three ended up in Bristol Castle. Bristol being a port and all that they may have hoped, or even have expected, that Richard would land there.
York meanwhile moved on into Gloucestershire. Henry had picked up on his change of direction and tracked him, moving from Leicester to Coventry, Warwick and Evesham. (I told you you might need that map.) On 24 July Richard landed in Wales.
York sent some of his people into Wales to meet the King, but for whatever reason he didn't follow himself with what was left of his army. He had suffered desertions, morale was probably low, and Bolingbroke was now uncomfortably close. None of these reasons seem to be a particularly good argument for a further change of direction, this time towards Bristol. If there was a plan at this point it can only have been to hole up in Bristol with those who had already made their way there ahead of him.
Instead, Bolingbroke caught up with his uncle outside Berkeley Castle on 27 July. There was actually some fighting because Bishop Despenser and Sir William Elmham were captured and disarmed. However, in view of Henry's superior numbers there was no realistic alternative to capitulation, this taking place in Berkeley parish church. The Chronicler Walsingham says that York was reluctant to stand in the way of a nephew who had come for his rightful inheritance. This may be a rare case of Walsingham telling the truth. In any event, York had painted himself into a corner, and there was not really anything else he could have done at this point. (Suicidal charges were not in the family tradition at this time.)
Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
Edmund of Langley, Duke of York was acting as Keeper of England. His main qualification for this role was undoubtedly his rank, but he had performed the task on two other occasions without any apparent problem. Richard II has been faulted for choosing Edmund but that's surely hindsight speaking as he was the obvious choice, being the King's senior male relative.
As late as 20 June York's government paid a sum of £1586 to two of Bolingbroke's squires, towards the £2000 a year allowed to Henry in his exile. (That's an annual salary of more than £800,000 modern money. Some tyrant that Richard II, eh? Right up there with Marshal Stalin!)
Anyway, the point is that the English government's intelligence service, if it had one, failed miserably on this occasion. Henry's preparations to invade were well advanced by this time, and by 28 June news had clearly reached York as he wrote to various sheriffs asking them to bring armed men to a rendezvous at Ware. On 4 July, or thereabouts, Henry landed at Ravenspur, having also arranged an attack on Pevensey Castle as a diversion.
By this time York was writing to bishops, nobles, knights and esquires ordering a general mobilisation, and by 12 July some seventy knights and squires had responded with their retinues. Among them were king's retained knights such as Hugh Despenser (Thomas Despenser's cousin) and William Burcester (who was lined to the Despensers by marriage.) At least five sheriffs brought in their posses. Magnates to show up included the earls of Wiltshire and Suffolk and the Marquis of Dorset - John Beaufort, Henry's own half-brother. Several bishops turned out, including Henry Despenser, Bishop of Norwich, a man more noted for fighting than praying. The estimate for York's army is between 2000 and 3000. Small but potentially useful. There was plenty of money available to pay recruits. Richard's Exchequer at this time was full of cash, and indeed the King had gold stacked in barrels up at Holt Castle.
Edmund of Langley had a respectable war record in France, and his standing up to bullying by Gloucester in 1388 showed that he didn't lack courage in a cause. However, when it came to generalship he was no Robert E. Lee or Oliver Cromwell. More like Gypsy Rose Lee or Oliver Hardy. He marched his men north with the obvious intention of interdicting Henry's advance. Then he stopped, dithered, and marched west. Away from Henry, leaving London and Westminster wide open. The best interpretation is that he hoped to join Richard when the latter landed in Wales.
(Main source for this post is The Royal Household and The King's Affinity by Chris Given-Wilson. A specialist work, but very useful, and highly recommended to anyone interested in this era.)
As late as 20 June York's government paid a sum of £1586 to two of Bolingbroke's squires, towards the £2000 a year allowed to Henry in his exile. (That's an annual salary of more than £800,000 modern money. Some tyrant that Richard II, eh? Right up there with Marshal Stalin!)
Anyway, the point is that the English government's intelligence service, if it had one, failed miserably on this occasion. Henry's preparations to invade were well advanced by this time, and by 28 June news had clearly reached York as he wrote to various sheriffs asking them to bring armed men to a rendezvous at Ware. On 4 July, or thereabouts, Henry landed at Ravenspur, having also arranged an attack on Pevensey Castle as a diversion.
By this time York was writing to bishops, nobles, knights and esquires ordering a general mobilisation, and by 12 July some seventy knights and squires had responded with their retinues. Among them were king's retained knights such as Hugh Despenser (Thomas Despenser's cousin) and William Burcester (who was lined to the Despensers by marriage.) At least five sheriffs brought in their posses. Magnates to show up included the earls of Wiltshire and Suffolk and the Marquis of Dorset - John Beaufort, Henry's own half-brother. Several bishops turned out, including Henry Despenser, Bishop of Norwich, a man more noted for fighting than praying. The estimate for York's army is between 2000 and 3000. Small but potentially useful. There was plenty of money available to pay recruits. Richard's Exchequer at this time was full of cash, and indeed the King had gold stacked in barrels up at Holt Castle.
Edmund of Langley had a respectable war record in France, and his standing up to bullying by Gloucester in 1388 showed that he didn't lack courage in a cause. However, when it came to generalship he was no Robert E. Lee or Oliver Cromwell. More like Gypsy Rose Lee or Oliver Hardy. He marched his men north with the obvious intention of interdicting Henry's advance. Then he stopped, dithered, and marched west. Away from Henry, leaving London and Westminster wide open. The best interpretation is that he hoped to join Richard when the latter landed in Wales.
(Main source for this post is The Royal Household and The King's Affinity by Chris Given-Wilson. A specialist work, but very useful, and highly recommended to anyone interested in this era.)
Sunday, 27 July 2008
Edward of York, betrayer of Richard II?
The French Chronicles, in particular, make out Edward of York to be the guilty betrayer of Richard II. This was certainly believed in France, because the Count of St.Pol hanged an effigy of Edward from a gallows outside the gates of Calais! English sources are a bit more circumspect. but the general impression is that Edward was not exactly Mr.Popularity of 1399/1400. So let's consider the first phase - Edward's conduct in relation to the Irish expedition.
It was probably not a good idea for Richard to hare off to Ireland at this time. There was nothing going on there that was an immediate threat, and it seems he was merely fired up by the breakdown of order in the country. He may have thought he'd settled things in his successful campaign of 1394/95. If so he was deluded.
He may also have doubted Henry would be able to mount a successful invasion. This is not as crazy as it sounds, as Henry was in France, and France was supposed to be Richard's ally.
Edward is criticised for being late to arrive for the muster. He had a good excuse. Richard had sent him up to the Scottish Border to settle some details of the truce. The Scottish Border was a long way, there and back, and presumably he then had to put his retinue in order. It's possible, even likely, that while he was up there he gained some idea of how disgruntled the Percy and Neville clans were. We know he advised Richard to create another wardenship as a means of placating them. However there's nothing to indicate that he got into treasonable discussions.
Was he in correspondence with Bolingbroke? Again, we can't be sure, however it's perfectly possible. He was later to develop a strange love/hate relationship with Henry IV, but nothing Henry did in 1399 suggests that he thought of Edward as a supporter. On the contrary, he was swift to strip Edward of his most important offices, even before he became king.
Over in Ireland they were slow to hear of Henry's landing, and then unable to react because of contrary winds. It's at this point that Richard split his forces, allegedly on Edward's advice. They were in Dublin, and there weren't enough ships to embark the whole force. The decision was to put Lord Salisbury and part of the army into what ships were available, with the object of landing in North Wales and mobilising Chester.
The rest of the army marched to Waterford, and embarked there for South Wales.
Splitting the army was possibly not a good plan, but ships couldn't be created by magic out of thin air, and they were propelled by the wind, not steam, so they were to a large extent at the mercy of the elements. Assembling all the ships in one place would surely have delayed Richard's return even further.
In short, the decision may have been mistaken, but even if it was made on the basis of Edward's advice, that advice was not necessarily treasonable.
It was probably not a good idea for Richard to hare off to Ireland at this time. There was nothing going on there that was an immediate threat, and it seems he was merely fired up by the breakdown of order in the country. He may have thought he'd settled things in his successful campaign of 1394/95. If so he was deluded.
He may also have doubted Henry would be able to mount a successful invasion. This is not as crazy as it sounds, as Henry was in France, and France was supposed to be Richard's ally.
Edward is criticised for being late to arrive for the muster. He had a good excuse. Richard had sent him up to the Scottish Border to settle some details of the truce. The Scottish Border was a long way, there and back, and presumably he then had to put his retinue in order. It's possible, even likely, that while he was up there he gained some idea of how disgruntled the Percy and Neville clans were. We know he advised Richard to create another wardenship as a means of placating them. However there's nothing to indicate that he got into treasonable discussions.
Was he in correspondence with Bolingbroke? Again, we can't be sure, however it's perfectly possible. He was later to develop a strange love/hate relationship with Henry IV, but nothing Henry did in 1399 suggests that he thought of Edward as a supporter. On the contrary, he was swift to strip Edward of his most important offices, even before he became king.
Over in Ireland they were slow to hear of Henry's landing, and then unable to react because of contrary winds. It's at this point that Richard split his forces, allegedly on Edward's advice. They were in Dublin, and there weren't enough ships to embark the whole force. The decision was to put Lord Salisbury and part of the army into what ships were available, with the object of landing in North Wales and mobilising Chester.
The rest of the army marched to Waterford, and embarked there for South Wales.
Splitting the army was possibly not a good plan, but ships couldn't be created by magic out of thin air, and they were propelled by the wind, not steam, so they were to a large extent at the mercy of the elements. Assembling all the ships in one place would surely have delayed Richard's return even further.
In short, the decision may have been mistaken, but even if it was made on the basis of Edward's advice, that advice was not necessarily treasonable.
Thursday, 24 July 2008
Changing Times and All That
I've not managed to post much in July - sorry about that, no particular excuse, just been feeling even more idle than usual. I've been doing a lot of thinking about the Richard III novel, and hope to make some actual progress soon. I've decided to strip the thing down to the bare essentials and ship some of my spare characters off to the Norfolk Novel that I've also got on the stocks. (To be honest I've got an awful lot on the stocks, and very little I could launch tomorrow.)
Anyway, back to the York family circa 1398.
It's highly likely that Richard II expected John of Gaunt to live for several years. Gaunt was only in his fifties, not the near-skeleton of Shakesperean myth. OK, I don't suppose he got too many offers of life insurance, but there's no reason to think he was in particular ill-health. Richard allowed Bolingbroke to appoint proctors to receive his inheritance if Gaunt were to die during the time of his son's banishment.
When Gaunt did die, in February 1399, it threw onto Richard II's plate one of those awful quandries that every government has to face at some time or another. He could either let Bolingbroke inherit (in which case he would have a dangerously over-mighty subject coming home in a few years) or he could block the inheritance, grab the Lancastrian estates and resources, and, with a bit of luck, keep Bolingbroke permanently excluded.
Richard jumped for the latter option, and it was to prove fatal. However, it's worth noting that the alternative might have proved equally fatal in the long run.
From the point of view of the York family, it seems that at this time they were suddenly shot up in the pecking order to heirs to the throne. Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, had died in Ireland, out of royal favour and apparently in danger of arrest; his heir was a child. Bolingbroke was crossed off the list. Had Richard II been run over by a horse that weekend, it appears likely Edmund of Langley would have succeeded. Or maybe Edward of York, given that Richard had apparently told Bagot that Edward was the man for the job!
Both Edmund of Langley and his elder son were among those who received grants of Lancastrian lands and offices. It's worth mentioning though that the grants were not absolute but had a saving clause - until Henry, Duke of Lancaster shall sue for the same. Which is a bit odd, if Richard envisaged outright confiscation.
Anyway, back to the York family circa 1398.
It's highly likely that Richard II expected John of Gaunt to live for several years. Gaunt was only in his fifties, not the near-skeleton of Shakesperean myth. OK, I don't suppose he got too many offers of life insurance, but there's no reason to think he was in particular ill-health. Richard allowed Bolingbroke to appoint proctors to receive his inheritance if Gaunt were to die during the time of his son's banishment.
When Gaunt did die, in February 1399, it threw onto Richard II's plate one of those awful quandries that every government has to face at some time or another. He could either let Bolingbroke inherit (in which case he would have a dangerously over-mighty subject coming home in a few years) or he could block the inheritance, grab the Lancastrian estates and resources, and, with a bit of luck, keep Bolingbroke permanently excluded.
Richard jumped for the latter option, and it was to prove fatal. However, it's worth noting that the alternative might have proved equally fatal in the long run.
From the point of view of the York family, it seems that at this time they were suddenly shot up in the pecking order to heirs to the throne. Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, had died in Ireland, out of royal favour and apparently in danger of arrest; his heir was a child. Bolingbroke was crossed off the list. Had Richard II been run over by a horse that weekend, it appears likely Edmund of Langley would have succeeded. Or maybe Edward of York, given that Richard had apparently told Bagot that Edward was the man for the job!
Both Edmund of Langley and his elder son were among those who received grants of Lancastrian lands and offices. It's worth mentioning though that the grants were not absolute but had a saving clause - until Henry, Duke of Lancaster shall sue for the same. Which is a bit odd, if Richard envisaged outright confiscation.
Sunday, 22 June 2008
The Big Fight That Wasn't
OK, I know anyone interested enough to read this stuff will be well aware that the Big Fight never took place - because that awkward King Richard II stopped it before the first round even started. By doing so he cheesed off almost everyone alive then and every historian since.
Richard was in a dilemma. If Thomas Mowbray had won, how would old Gaunt have reacted? Let's just imagine Henry Bolingbroke, defeated but not killed, going up for the chop. Would Gaunt have sat there and let it happen? Assuming he did, it wouldn't exactly do much for his relationship with the King, would it? Moreover, Mowbray had proved himself a bit of a loose cannon. Lord knows what he would have done - vindicated in this quarrel - for an encore.
What if Bolingbroke had won? Well, that would give a massive boost to an individual who in Richard's books was already far too popular. Plus it would open up the question of Thomas of Woodstock's death/murder/private execution, which Bolingbroke obviously saw as a Bad Thing. Whereas Richard undoubtedly saw it as a Good Thing, and wanted it forgotten. Preferably yesterday.
So Richard stopped the fight and banished them both, Mowbray for life, Bolingbroke for 10 years. In effect he decided they were both guilty, but Bolingbroke not quite as guilty as Mowbray. Lots of people, then and subsequently, thought this harsh on poor old Henry. In terms of justice they were probably right, but then again, medieval justice, especially in the area of high politics, was not noted for being fair and reasonable.
Bolingbroke was told that if his father died during his absence he would be allowed to inherit, and he was even given power to appoint attorneys to act for him in that event. It appears Gaunt was in reasonable health at this time, and his early death was not anticipated.
Richard was in a dilemma. If Thomas Mowbray had won, how would old Gaunt have reacted? Let's just imagine Henry Bolingbroke, defeated but not killed, going up for the chop. Would Gaunt have sat there and let it happen? Assuming he did, it wouldn't exactly do much for his relationship with the King, would it? Moreover, Mowbray had proved himself a bit of a loose cannon. Lord knows what he would have done - vindicated in this quarrel - for an encore.
What if Bolingbroke had won? Well, that would give a massive boost to an individual who in Richard's books was already far too popular. Plus it would open up the question of Thomas of Woodstock's death/murder/private execution, which Bolingbroke obviously saw as a Bad Thing. Whereas Richard undoubtedly saw it as a Good Thing, and wanted it forgotten. Preferably yesterday.
So Richard stopped the fight and banished them both, Mowbray for life, Bolingbroke for 10 years. In effect he decided they were both guilty, but Bolingbroke not quite as guilty as Mowbray. Lots of people, then and subsequently, thought this harsh on poor old Henry. In terms of justice they were probably right, but then again, medieval justice, especially in the area of high politics, was not noted for being fair and reasonable.
Bolingbroke was told that if his father died during his absence he would be allowed to inherit, and he was even given power to appoint attorneys to act for him in that event. It appears Gaunt was in reasonable health at this time, and his early death was not anticipated.
Monday, 16 June 2008
Mowbray v Bolingbroke (2)
Henry Bolingbroke, having probably talked the matter over with Daddy, broke his tale to the King on or about 20 January 1398, and repeated it to the Parliament that reassembled at Shrewsbury later that month. Richard's initial response was to strip Mowbray of his offices of marshal and admiral. In addition, although Bolingbroke was granted bail on various sureties (including one from his loving cousin, Edward of York) Mowbray was banged up in the Great Wardrobe in London. This suggests that at this point the King thought Henry was telling the truth.
On 23 February, Mowbray was brought before the Council at Oswestry (right up on the northern border of Wales) and denied everything. This led to both men having to attend a further meeting at Bristol in March, this time appearing before a Committee of Parliament. Given that neither of the parties was going to back down, and there were no witnesses, it was pretty inevitable the quarrel was going to have to be decided by combat, and this was what the Committee decided. The combat to be under the auspices of the Court of Chivalry - Edward of York, Duke of Aumale, Constable, and Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey, Acting Marshal, presiding.
It was widely felt at the time time that the King should have reconciled the pair - this was apparently the advice of the French King to his new son-in-law, while John of Gaunt was allegedly angry about his son having to fight over 'a thing of naught.' All very well, but easier said than done. Far from coming to terms, Bolingbroke chose to add fresh charges. He said that Mowbray was behind all the treasons of the last eighteen years, as well as pinching funds from the Calais garrison and being responsible for the death of the late Duke of Gloucester.
Arrangements were made for a combat outside Coventry on 16 September, and both parties sent off for mail-order armour for the occasion. Edward of York, as Constable, had the job of organising the Big Fight. If only sponsorship had been invented in those days, they could have made a fortune!
On 23 February, Mowbray was brought before the Council at Oswestry (right up on the northern border of Wales) and denied everything. This led to both men having to attend a further meeting at Bristol in March, this time appearing before a Committee of Parliament. Given that neither of the parties was going to back down, and there were no witnesses, it was pretty inevitable the quarrel was going to have to be decided by combat, and this was what the Committee decided. The combat to be under the auspices of the Court of Chivalry - Edward of York, Duke of Aumale, Constable, and Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey, Acting Marshal, presiding.
It was widely felt at the time time that the King should have reconciled the pair - this was apparently the advice of the French King to his new son-in-law, while John of Gaunt was allegedly angry about his son having to fight over 'a thing of naught.' All very well, but easier said than done. Far from coming to terms, Bolingbroke chose to add fresh charges. He said that Mowbray was behind all the treasons of the last eighteen years, as well as pinching funds from the Calais garrison and being responsible for the death of the late Duke of Gloucester.
Arrangements were made for a combat outside Coventry on 16 September, and both parties sent off for mail-order armour for the occasion. Edward of York, as Constable, had the job of organising the Big Fight. If only sponsorship had been invented in those days, they could have made a fortune!
Sunday, 1 June 2008
Mowbray v Bolingbroke
You may recall that Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, and Henry (Bolingbroke) of Lancaster, Duke of Hereford had at least one thing in common. They had sided with the Appellants against Richard II in 1387/88 and with Richard II against the other former Appellants in 1397. They were issued with nice new pardons to go with their fancy new titles, but both must have been aware that they were not exactly flavour of the month with the King.
One day in December 1397, near Brentford on the outskirts of London, Henry Bolingbroke was riding along the road, quietly minding his own business. Along came Mowbray, who took him aside, and told him of a massive conspiracy that was going to ruin them both.
This is according to Bolingbroke, and, annoyingly, we only have his side of the story. As usual with historians, when there is only one side to a story available they tend to accept it as being true. I put it to you, Dear Reader, there is a possibility that it could all be a steaming pile of BS.
Anyway, according to Mowbray (according to Bolingbroke) the King was still out to get them for the events of 1386-88. Moreover, there was a court conspiracy to dig up the judgement on Thomas of Lancaster (Edward II's reign, please refer to the excellent Alianore blog for detail) and use it to forfeit the Lancastrian inheritance. The Duke of Surrey (Thomas Holland the King's youngish nephew) and the earls of Wiltshire (Scrope) and Salisbury (John Montagu) had drawn the Earl of Gloucester (Thomas Despenser, York's son-in-law) into a plot to destroy Gaunt and, while they were at it, take out Aumale (Edward of York) Exeter (John Holland, the King's half-brother) and Worcester (Thomas Percy). These last three, plus Norfolk, had taken an oath to resist this. Oh, and the King was trying to bring March into the plot too.
If there was truth behind all this, it would have made the night of the long knives look like a Sunday picnic! What it perhaps does demonstrate was that there were a lot a frayed nerves out there, and that men were looking for friends and fearing potential enemies.
It is true that there was a degree of hostility to and jealousy of John of Gaunt. This was nothing new, it had being going on for almost the whole reign. Something particular was developing in early 1398 because Sir William Bagot was bound over in the sum of £1000, which he would have to forfeit to the King if he was shown to have brought about the disinheritance of Lancaster or his family. A couple of days later he submitted to be executed without further process if he were to kill or put to death Gaunt or any of his family! (If you're interested you can find these amazing documents in the Calendar of Close Rolls 1396-7 pp 291-2). It's worth mentioning that although Bagot was at this point a favoured servant of the King, it was not that much earlier that he had been a retainer of Lancaster.
It seems likely that someone, maybe even the King, was behind Bagot's apparent plotting. However, it does beg the famous question posed by Charles II to his brother. Who would kill me, to have you? King Richard had achieved a modus vivendi with Gaunt. Why on earth would he want to get rid of Gaunt and have Bolingbroke in his place? I don't have a simple answer. Of course, potentially, if you could take out the whole of the House of Lancaster, there would be a huge amount of land and patronage to redistribute. Some ambitious lords may have dreamed of this possibility, but it was, as they say, a Big Ask.
Ironically it was Henry Bolingbroke who, by broaching this story, set in train a series of events that almost did destroy his House.
One day in December 1397, near Brentford on the outskirts of London, Henry Bolingbroke was riding along the road, quietly minding his own business. Along came Mowbray, who took him aside, and told him of a massive conspiracy that was going to ruin them both.
This is according to Bolingbroke, and, annoyingly, we only have his side of the story. As usual with historians, when there is only one side to a story available they tend to accept it as being true. I put it to you, Dear Reader, there is a possibility that it could all be a steaming pile of BS.
Anyway, according to Mowbray (according to Bolingbroke) the King was still out to get them for the events of 1386-88. Moreover, there was a court conspiracy to dig up the judgement on Thomas of Lancaster (Edward II's reign, please refer to the excellent Alianore blog for detail) and use it to forfeit the Lancastrian inheritance. The Duke of Surrey (Thomas Holland the King's youngish nephew) and the earls of Wiltshire (Scrope) and Salisbury (John Montagu) had drawn the Earl of Gloucester (Thomas Despenser, York's son-in-law) into a plot to destroy Gaunt and, while they were at it, take out Aumale (Edward of York) Exeter (John Holland, the King's half-brother) and Worcester (Thomas Percy). These last three, plus Norfolk, had taken an oath to resist this. Oh, and the King was trying to bring March into the plot too.
If there was truth behind all this, it would have made the night of the long knives look like a Sunday picnic! What it perhaps does demonstrate was that there were a lot a frayed nerves out there, and that men were looking for friends and fearing potential enemies.
It is true that there was a degree of hostility to and jealousy of John of Gaunt. This was nothing new, it had being going on for almost the whole reign. Something particular was developing in early 1398 because Sir William Bagot was bound over in the sum of £1000, which he would have to forfeit to the King if he was shown to have brought about the disinheritance of Lancaster or his family. A couple of days later he submitted to be executed without further process if he were to kill or put to death Gaunt or any of his family! (If you're interested you can find these amazing documents in the Calendar of Close Rolls 1396-7 pp 291-2). It's worth mentioning that although Bagot was at this point a favoured servant of the King, it was not that much earlier that he had been a retainer of Lancaster.
It seems likely that someone, maybe even the King, was behind Bagot's apparent plotting. However, it does beg the famous question posed by Charles II to his brother. Who would kill me, to have you? King Richard had achieved a modus vivendi with Gaunt. Why on earth would he want to get rid of Gaunt and have Bolingbroke in his place? I don't have a simple answer. Of course, potentially, if you could take out the whole of the House of Lancaster, there would be a huge amount of land and patronage to redistribute. Some ambitious lords may have dreamed of this possibility, but it was, as they say, a Big Ask.
Ironically it was Henry Bolingbroke who, by broaching this story, set in train a series of events that almost did destroy his House.
Monday, 12 May 2008
Tyranny - what does it mean?
This post is prompted by a remark in another place by someone who thinks Richard III was a tyrant; it fits the chronology of this blog because historians often refer to Richard II's period of reign between 1397 and 1399 as his 'tyranny.'
What does this actually mean? Medieval monarchs were all dictators. In England they were limited only as far as custom and Parliament could bind them. It isn't sensible to expect them to behave with the scrupulous regard for the law exhibited by modern elected officials. (Pause for hollow laughter.)
I would argue that no medieval English monarch had the technology or staff available to be a 'tyrant' in the sense that Hitler or Stalin were tyrants. Medieval government worked largely through the voluntary effort of local gentry, or it didn't work at all. The king could command what he liked, but he didn't have a standing army, a police force or a large supply of bureaucrats to enforce it. (Well, Richard II did have a sort of standing army but it was really more of a body guard. Similar to the Yeoman of the Guard started up by that nice un-tyrannical Henry VII.) So even the worst oppression had moderating influences if the king did not have enough support down the food chain.
The medieval definition of a tyrant was a ruler who reigned for his own benefit rather than for that of the community - the community in this sense being principally the nobles, gentry and other powerful men. If you want a working example, check out the Viscontis of Milan. Now they were tyrants - you could be executed just for walking through their private garden. No Plantagenet comes close, in fact they were pussy cats by comparison. Hell, most of the Tudors were pussy cats by comparison.
'Tyrant' is a word that gets passed around quite a lot - often it means no more than 'authoritative ruler I don't like.' Some people describe President Lincoln as a tyrant - when you consider his extra-judicial imprisonment of sundry Maryland legislaters and various newspaper editors, you can see where they are coming from. The defence for Lincoln is 'necessity'. It's an old tradition that in exceptional times, rulers may use exceptional measures. This was well-established in England - as late as the 17th Century a court of law held that only the Sovereign could judge what was 'necessary' when the realm was under threat. It certainly was OK to temporarily appropriate the property of subjects and impose special taxation. (It took a civil war to take some of these things out of the Prerogative.)
In the case of the third Richard, England was faced with war with France, Brittany or Scotland for all or most of his reign. He also faced internal rebellion. In the circumstances, he was entitled to use what we would now call 'emergency powers'. His reign was far too short for us to know how he would have behaved under normal circumstances, as opposed to clear and present danger. I suspect, at the lowest, no worse than Edward IV or Henry VII.
As for Richard II - well, most of what he did was under the authority of Parliament. If he was a tyrant, so were the Appellants when they used the Parliament for their ends. What was dodgy was the arbitrary life banishment of Bolingbroke and seizure of the Lancastrian inheritance. The threat to property implicit in this decision scared the hell out of the landed classes and this is certainly one of the issues that tipped the scales against the king.
What does this actually mean? Medieval monarchs were all dictators. In England they were limited only as far as custom and Parliament could bind them. It isn't sensible to expect them to behave with the scrupulous regard for the law exhibited by modern elected officials. (Pause for hollow laughter.)
I would argue that no medieval English monarch had the technology or staff available to be a 'tyrant' in the sense that Hitler or Stalin were tyrants. Medieval government worked largely through the voluntary effort of local gentry, or it didn't work at all. The king could command what he liked, but he didn't have a standing army, a police force or a large supply of bureaucrats to enforce it. (Well, Richard II did have a sort of standing army but it was really more of a body guard. Similar to the Yeoman of the Guard started up by that nice un-tyrannical Henry VII.) So even the worst oppression had moderating influences if the king did not have enough support down the food chain.
The medieval definition of a tyrant was a ruler who reigned for his own benefit rather than for that of the community - the community in this sense being principally the nobles, gentry and other powerful men. If you want a working example, check out the Viscontis of Milan. Now they were tyrants - you could be executed just for walking through their private garden. No Plantagenet comes close, in fact they were pussy cats by comparison. Hell, most of the Tudors were pussy cats by comparison.
'Tyrant' is a word that gets passed around quite a lot - often it means no more than 'authoritative ruler I don't like.' Some people describe President Lincoln as a tyrant - when you consider his extra-judicial imprisonment of sundry Maryland legislaters and various newspaper editors, you can see where they are coming from. The defence for Lincoln is 'necessity'. It's an old tradition that in exceptional times, rulers may use exceptional measures. This was well-established in England - as late as the 17th Century a court of law held that only the Sovereign could judge what was 'necessary' when the realm was under threat. It certainly was OK to temporarily appropriate the property of subjects and impose special taxation. (It took a civil war to take some of these things out of the Prerogative.)
In the case of the third Richard, England was faced with war with France, Brittany or Scotland for all or most of his reign. He also faced internal rebellion. In the circumstances, he was entitled to use what we would now call 'emergency powers'. His reign was far too short for us to know how he would have behaved under normal circumstances, as opposed to clear and present danger. I suspect, at the lowest, no worse than Edward IV or Henry VII.
As for Richard II - well, most of what he did was under the authority of Parliament. If he was a tyrant, so were the Appellants when they used the Parliament for their ends. What was dodgy was the arbitrary life banishment of Bolingbroke and seizure of the Lancastrian inheritance. The threat to property implicit in this decision scared the hell out of the landed classes and this is certainly one of the issues that tipped the scales against the king.
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Richard v Henry Fan Clubs
Dr Given-Wilson provides the following interesting details of the dukes, marquises and earls of England in 1399:
Richard II's supporters
York
Exeter (John Holland, the King's half-brother)
Surrey (Thomas Holland the King's half-nephew.)
Oxford (Aubrey de Vere)
Wiltshire
Worcester (Thomas Percy)
Aumale (Edward of York)
Salisbury
Suffolk
Dorset (Henry's half-brother, John Beaufort)
Gloucester (York's son-in-law.)
Neutral or not influential
Norfolk (In exile, later dead.)
March (Minor)
Richmond (Abroad.)
Devon (Ill health)
Stafford (Thomas Woodstock's son-in-law)
Henry's supporters
Northumberland
Westmorland (Ralph Neville, Henry's brother-in-law)
Henry himself.
Not quite the analysis of voting intentions one might have expected! The obvious conclusions are a) That if you are a medieval king of England you should not piss off the Percies and the Nevilles at the same time. b) That Henry himself was enormously powerful, and had an exceptional level of support among the English gentry and the lower levels of the peerage.
Henry had of course inherited the enormous Lancastrian following of retainers and officials. Many of these had originally been recruited to put Gaunt on the throne of Castile, and so the total number was far greater than would normally have been expected. Although many/most of these men had had their pension rights stamped by Richard, they not unnaturally preferred Henry, who was certain to keep them in the fees they had grown to know and love.
Henry was also able to secure the support of a number of barons who were not usually particularly active in politics. The names of Grey de Ruthin, Willoughby, Fitzwalter and Morley spring to mind. The latter two were attached to Thomas of Woodstock, and gave a great deal of stick to Edward of York in Henry's first parliament, blaming him for the duke's murder. After which they sank back into the political obscurity from which they had briefly emerged.
Despite that, when you look at Dr Given-Wilson's analysis, it does beg the question whether Richard had really cheesed off his nobles to the extent that is usually painted. Or whether Henry was simply the most over-mighty of over-mighty subjects.
Richard II's supporters
York
Exeter (John Holland, the King's half-brother)
Surrey (Thomas Holland the King's half-nephew.)
Oxford (Aubrey de Vere)
Wiltshire
Worcester (Thomas Percy)
Aumale (Edward of York)
Salisbury
Suffolk
Dorset (Henry's half-brother, John Beaufort)
Gloucester (York's son-in-law.)
Neutral or not influential
Norfolk (In exile, later dead.)
March (Minor)
Richmond (Abroad.)
Devon (Ill health)
Stafford (Thomas Woodstock's son-in-law)
Henry's supporters
Northumberland
Westmorland (Ralph Neville, Henry's brother-in-law)
Henry himself.
Not quite the analysis of voting intentions one might have expected! The obvious conclusions are a) That if you are a medieval king of England you should not piss off the Percies and the Nevilles at the same time. b) That Henry himself was enormously powerful, and had an exceptional level of support among the English gentry and the lower levels of the peerage.
Henry had of course inherited the enormous Lancastrian following of retainers and officials. Many of these had originally been recruited to put Gaunt on the throne of Castile, and so the total number was far greater than would normally have been expected. Although many/most of these men had had their pension rights stamped by Richard, they not unnaturally preferred Henry, who was certain to keep them in the fees they had grown to know and love.
Henry was also able to secure the support of a number of barons who were not usually particularly active in politics. The names of Grey de Ruthin, Willoughby, Fitzwalter and Morley spring to mind. The latter two were attached to Thomas of Woodstock, and gave a great deal of stick to Edward of York in Henry's first parliament, blaming him for the duke's murder. After which they sank back into the political obscurity from which they had briefly emerged.
Despite that, when you look at Dr Given-Wilson's analysis, it does beg the question whether Richard had really cheesed off his nobles to the extent that is usually painted. Or whether Henry was simply the most over-mighty of over-mighty subjects.
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