The process was not entirely a smooth one: Alfonso suffered a great defeat with his own army in 1195 at Al-Arcos, when he attempted a gallant but hopeless attack against a numerically vastly superior force. Reputedly the foundation of Las Huelgas abbey, where Eleanor and Edward were to marry, can be traced back to the Al-Arcos defeat; according to some accounts, Eleanor of England persuaded Alfonso to found the new monastery to make up for any default in religious duty which might have accounted for the result of the battle. In fact, while it seems likely that she was indeed the driving force behind the foundation of the abbey and its constitution as a female institution, the date of foundation of the abbey, 1187, suggests that the link to Al-Arcos is a mere romantic story. More practically, after the defeat Alfonso ensured that the fight against the Almohads received support from the papacy, who, crucially, designated the work of reconquest a Crusade. With this support, Alfonso was then able to form a coalition of his neighbouring Christian princes: Sancho VII (‘the Strong’) of Navarre, Alfonso II of Portugal and Peter II of Aragon. It was this coalition, assisted by miscellaneous foreign Crusaders, which Alfonso led to victory in the Battle of Las Navas de Tolosa in 1212.7
That battle was a bloody and decisive encounter. After some disagreements among the members of the Christian coalition, Alfonso managed to cross the mountain range that defended the Almohad camp, sneaking through the Despeñaperros Pass – guided by a shepherd boy, according to Spanish folklore. Some accounts suggest that the Christian coalition caught the Moorish army completely by surprise, but more reliable ones indicate that it was a much closer-run thing. Differing accounts predictably give credit to different members of the coalition for the ultimate success of the battle, with at least some offering that accolade to Alfonso for a critical charge at the head of his reserves. But in any event the battle was a complete victory for the coalition, with the Almohads suffering immense casualties: figures between 70,000 and 200,000 were reported at the time. The battle was a victory of such significance that in Spanish history Alfonso VIII, as well as being called ‘the Noble’, is described as ‘El de Las Navas’ (He of Las Navas). It is credited as marking the effective end of the power of the Almohads in the Iberian peninsula. But, as important, it put the central part of the peninsula into Castile’s control, thereby creating a platform for Spanish union.8
Alfonso VIII was also the first of the martial kings of Castile to foster the idea of Castile as a centre of culture and learning. He was the founder in 1208–9 of the first Spanish university, the studium generale of Palencia, where Italian and French teachers taught theology, canon law and the arts. While this institution did not survive him, it is hugely significant to the wider world of learning in that during in its existence it provided the training ground for St Dominic, who studied there for ten years. Palencia can thus claim credit for the origin of the Dominican Order, which flourished in Spain from shortly after its inception and became very influential at the Castilian court as well as overseas – with Eleanor of Castile later being one of its greatest patrons in England.
Culturally in this period the court was also considerably influenced by Eleanor of England, who, like her sisters, encouraged the poets and troubadours familiar to Eleanor of Aquitaine’s Poitevin culture, with the Castilian court becoming a recognised haven for such artists. In all probability she was also involved in fostering some knowledge of Arthurian literature. A copy of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia Regum Britanniae is likely to have accompanied her to Castile on her marriage and there was certainly an Occitan Arthurian romance, Jaufré, written at the contemporary court of Alfonso II of Aragon. The Arthurian tradition seems to have continued into Eleanor of Castile’s own generation; her eldest brother, Alfonso X, refers to Arthur, Merlin and Tristan in his own Galician-Portuguese poems, indicating a considerable familiarity with Arthurian romances. Eleanor of England also introduced to Castile the veneration of her family’s own martyr St Thomas Becket, endowing an altar in his memory at the cathedral of Toledo.9
Alfonso’s reign also saw a move towards cohesion in the states in the peninsula. Politically and militarily the Kingdom of León was very much the odd man out, while Castile drew closer to Aragon, particularly with the military alliance which resulted in the victory at Navas de Tolosa. However, dynastically, closer union with León was brought about by marriage ties, specifically the third of the five weddings in this chapter. As we shall see below, Alfonso’s eldest daughter, Berengaria, reluctantly married Alfonso IX of León and thus became both the means of uniting the Castilian and Leónese thrones and the grandmother of Eleanor of Castile. Two other daughters, Urraca and Leonor, married the heirs to the kings of Portugal and Aragon. Finally, further strengthening the prestige of Castile over that of the other Iberian nations, Alfonso and Eleanor’s most famous daughter, Blanche, married Louis VIII of France. She became the mother of St Louis (Louis IX) of France and an iconic regent of that nation in his troubled minority and later in his absence on Crusade. Some historians consider that she deserves to be counted as a monarch of France in her own right.10
The third wedding – the marriage of Berengaria of Castile and Alfonso of León – is significant in Eleanor’s story for three reasons. First, it shows the circumstances which moulded Eleanor’s remarkable father. Secondly, it shows the woman who was undoubtedly held up to young Eleanor as her role model: Berengaria ‘the Great’. And thirdly, it sheds light on Castilian princesses’ expectations as regards property.
The marriage was not a great success and ended in divorce. Alfonso IX, a Leónese nationalist, was deeply hostile to any link with Castile; indeed, he had even allied with the Almohads, and plundered the border fortresses of Castile after Alfonso VIII’s defeat at Al-Arcos. He was only brought to contemplate the marriage under heavy pressure from the papacy, which in 1196 excommunicated him and placed his entire kingdom under papal interdiction, with indulgences being offered to any Leónese citizens who took up arms against him. This sanction was prompted by two defaults: his raids on the righteous Castile, and his incestuous marriage. The marriage, which Alfonso had refused to abandon even after it was annulled by the Pope, was to his first cousin Teresa of Portugal and had been entered into in furtherance of his anti-Castile stance. It resulted in two daughters and a son.11
Nor was Berengaria keen on the match, but she was persuaded by Eleanor of England that it was her duty as the only realistic means of securing peace – or at least its semblance – in the form of peaceful borders. This was to be achieved via the requirement for Alfonso of León to tender strategic border forts as part of Berengaria’s dower. It is important to note that, at marriage, Castilian and Leónese queens and noblewomen traditionally received a dower or arras from their husband’s property which was assigned to them for life. This approach, derived from the Visigothic legal tradition, is a very different one to that which operated in England at this point. In England the concept of dowry, or gift from bride’s family to that of the groom at the time of the marriage, was certainly well known, if not ubiquitous; and any dower, or provision for the wife by the husband’s family, was suspensory and did not come into effect until after the husband’s death. In Castile, by way of contrast, dowry was rare, and dower operated from the time of marriage. Thus in receiving these properties as dower, Berengaria would actually effectively own them and have power over them at once, providing Castile with the security it sought.12
The marriage, which took place in 1197, resulted in five surviving children: two boys and three girls, the eldest son being Eleanor’s father, Ferdinand, later Ferdinand III of Castile and León. While with the benefit of hindsight the match was therefore successful, it was at the time more or less disastrous. In the first place, this marriage to Berengaria was also within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity and again performed without a dispensation, which was seen as contumelious behaviour by the papacy. So Alfonso of León, instead of being reconciled with the papacy, was placed under a personal interdict for the rest of his lif
e.
Even more seriously, the absence of a dispensation meant that the marriage was annulled by the Pope, leaving no clearly legitimate heir to the throne. This decision was campaigned against by joint Castilian–Leónese delegations for some time, but the Pope was immoveable, despite his predisposition towards Castile for its attempts against the Almohads. Berengaria initially stayed with Alfonso in defiance of the Pope, perhaps because she herself was not initially excommunicated, being somewhat laughably regarded by the papacy as a mere pawn in the hands of her menfolk. However, at some point her personal involvement became clear and she too was excommunicated. Most seriously, the Pope expressly declared that any children she would bear to Alfonso would be illegitimate and would have no right to inherit anything of their father’s. So, in late 1203, Berengaria left Alfonso and returned to Castile – pregnant with her last child by him. As soon as Berengaria had left, Alfonso promptly returned to his first wife and the two countries were up in arms against each other again within months. In 1212, Alfonso of León still refused to join Castile against the Almohads unless Berengaria’s dower lands, still being controlled by her, were first restored. This was not done and the Leónese army therefore missed out on the glory of Las Navas de Tolosa.13
So Eleanor’s father, Ferdinand, should never have been King of Castile or León at all. So far as Castile was concerned there was at least one heir ahead of him throughout his childhood. As for León, not only had he been declared illegitimate and unable to inherit by the Pope, but until 1214 he had an older brother by his father’s first marriage; and his own father was adamant that he should not inherit. However, owing to three quirks of fate, by the time he was eighteen Ferdinand was, despite the questions over his legitimacy, the acknowledged King of Castile and also the obvious heir to León. The first quirk of fate came in 1211 when Fernando, the eldest son of Alfonso VIII and Eleanor of England, died on campaign just before Las Navas de Tolosa – with the result that the crown passed on Alfonso VIII’s death in 1214 to Berengaria’s ten-year-old brother Henry I of Castile. Then, in the summer of 1241, Ferdinand’s older half-brother Fernando of León died. Thirdly, Henry of Castile then died prematurely in 1217, bizarrely enough from a tile falling on his head, shortly before he was due to marry his cousin Sancha of León.14
In Castile the direct heir was, of course, Berengaria, not Ferdinand. She had been a prominent figure in Castile since the death of her parents, leading the mourning for her father when her mother was unable to do so by reason of her own grief, and acting as the guardian of the young king despite strong opposition from the prominent de Lara family. But on Henry’s death Berengaria formally renounced her rights of inheritance in her son’s favour and Ferdinand became king. However, Berengaria, notionally a nun at Las Huelgas since 1204, did not retire from the scene. Far from it; she advised and assisted Ferdinand throughout his reign until her death, standing in for him in his absences on campaign, and acting as an effective quartermaster in assembling men and materiel for his needs, particularly in relation to the campaign for Cordoba. Indeed, she was technically co-ruler with him, issuing decrees in her own name. Although less celebrated than her sister Blanche, she was in effect one of the most powerful women in Europe.15
Thus, in 1219, it was on his mother’s advice that Ferdinand contracted his first marriage with Beatriz (or Elizabeth) of Hohenstaufen, the possessor of one of the most fabulous pedigrees in Europe, being a granddaughter of Emperor Frederick II and also of the Byzantine Emperor. The reasoning behind this match is a little mysterious and has been much debated. One strong possibility is that the masterful Berengaria had in mind the fact that Beatriz would bid fair to be a submissive wife – her mother, Irene Angelina, was famously described as ‘the rose without a thorn, the dove without gall’. The couple went on to have ten children, including Eleanor’s half-brother, the future Alfonso X ‘el Sabio’, a name variously translated as ‘the Wise’ and ‘the Learned’. The latter, as will become apparent, is the more accurate designation.16
Meanwhile, the relationship with León remained fractious. Alfonso IX wanted to avoid the union of the two countries that would follow if Ferdinand inherited. Therefore in 1224 he invited the famous warrior John of Brienne to marry his daughter Sancha and inherit the Leónese throne. Brienne was a French aristocrat from a relatively well-connected but not overly wealthy family. He had gained celebrity status similar to that accorded to the great English knight William Marshal by virtue of his prowess in tournaments and in actual war, assisted to some extent by his personal charms. His impressive stature is well attested – he was said to tower above other men and to have the physique of Hercules – and to this he apparently added considerable good looks. This winning combination had made him an obvious candidate when King Philip of France was asked to nominate a husband for the young Queen Marie of Jerusalem, and later attracted the young Princess Rita of Armenia, who anticipated having to fight her half-sister for her crown. To add still further to his attractions he had, since the death of his second wife, distinguished himself on Crusade. He would therefore have made a truly formidable candidate to oppose Ferdinand. However, Berengaria was not so easily defeated. She intercepted John on his way to León and, with support from her sister Blanche, who could promise great benefits in terms of French goodwill for his whole family, persuaded him that the better course was to marry her daughter Berengaria instead, thereby making him an ally, rather than a threat. This was effectively Alfonso’s final throw; although he willed León to the still unmarried Sancha on his death in 1230, he knew that his dream of an independent León was over.17
After the very early years of his reign, when some domestic disaffection had to be overcome following Henry’s turbulent minority, Ferdinand III remained on campaign almost non-stop throughout his first marriage and acted in partnership with his father Alfonso, despite the continuing issue about the future of León. This partnership led to key victories in the south at Cáceres in 1227 and Mérida and Badajoz in 1230, opening the road for a future reconquest of Seville. However, the victory at Badajoz was Alfonso’s last. He died in September 1230, doubtless aware that, despite his best attempts, Ferdinand would assume the leadership of the reconquest on behalf of both Castile and León.
And indeed, despite some continued resistance to the idea of a united León and Castile, Sancha was easily set aside by Berengaria and Ferdinand following Alfonso’s death. Berengaria negotiated a treaty, known as the ‘Treaty of the Mothers’, with Teresa of Portugal whereby Teresa’s daughters recognised Ferdinand’s rights as King of León in exchange for a very comfortable allowance. Ferdinand then returned to campaigning with huge success, capturing the town of Úbeda in 1233 and keeping up the pressure against the Almohads on a broad front. Finally, in 1236, he took Cordoba itself.18
Meanwhile, however, Queen Beatriz had died in late 1235. Her death brings us to the final marriage in our chain, which was Ferdinand’s second marriage, in August 1237, to Eleanor’s mother, Jeanne of Dammartin, later Countess of Ponthieu.
The match seems highly implausible – Ferdinand was a great and successful king, whose first wife had been of the highest imperial descent, whereas Jeanne of Dammartin was only the heiress to a small county in north-eastern France, which was of no interest to the Kingdom of Castile. However, under the surface there were good dynastic, political and personal reasons to consider the marriage suitable.
Dynastically, for example, Jeanne was actually of royal descent – through her maternal grandmother she carried the bloodlines of the royal houses of both Castile and France. That grandmother was the notorious Alys of France, the daughter of Louis VII and Constance of Castile, who had been the cause of one of the longest-running international incidents of the late twelfth century. In 1169 it had been agreed between her father and King Henry II of England that Alys should be betrothed to Henry’s son Richard (later to find immortality as ‘the Lionheart’). Aged just nine, she was therefore sent to England to be raised at court. Alys grew up, but n
o marriage took place and it was widely reported that her father-in-law elect Henry had taken her as his mistress – and even that she had borne him a child. While the reports, usually doubted by modern historians, may have been fuelled by political considerations, the failure to proceed with the marriage became an international scandal. Nonetheless she remained unmarried and in Henry’s care until his death in July 1189. Her fiancé, Richard, had now succeeded to the throne and finally terminated their engagement in Messina in March 1191, according to some accounts on the grounds that she had borne a child by his father. Alys was probably entirely innocent, but her reputation was ruined – her own immortality is in Churchill’s much-quoted summary that ‘except for her looks, the tales were none too good’.19
The unfortunate Alys was finally sent back to France, aged thirty-five, in 1195 and was speedily disposed of by her brother. On 20 August of that same year he married her to the teenaged William III Talvas, Count of Ponthieu, who was doubtless brought to agree to the match in large part on account of the dowry she brought – the county of Vexin. This county had long been an issue between France and the Plantagenets, since the two counties of Ponthieu and Vexin form a useful strategic block. Philip therefore probably had it in mind that, since Alys was eighteen years older than her husband, the marriage would be childless and Philip would thus gain control of Ponthieu, a small but strategically important county. If he did, the plan misfired. Alys and William had one child, a daughter named Marie, born sometime before 1199.20
Eleanor of Castile: The Shadow Queen Page 3