Castles, Customs, and Kings: True Tales by English Historical Fiction Authors

by English Historical Fiction Authors

  Eleanor would wait for years for what she wanted. Tenacious and single minded, she was an amazing politician—much to both her husbands’ annoyance. Louis would have been perfectly happy if Eleanor had settled down to raise her princesses quietly, if she had left the political machinations of the day to him. Her second husband, King Henry II of England, married her for her brains and beauty as well as her land, but even he came to regret her brilliance as the years wore on. For after years of partnership, Eleanor began to want more power of her own.

  In 1173, she reached out for that power, setting her sons against their father so that she might gain indirect control of the duchies of Brittany and Normandy, in addition to the duchy of Aquitaine.

  Henry locked Eleanor away in 1174 to keep his crown and to keep his sons at bay. Henry always knew that if he set Eleanor free she would stop at nothing to take his Continental holdings from him. And she was the one person on earth who had a fighting chance of doing it, so he kept her locked away until his death.

  Once Henry was dead, Eleanor ruled through her favorite son, Richard. Richard the Lionheart rode off to Crusade to seek the Holy Grail of Jerusalem, leaving the Continental holdings inherited from his father in Eleanor’s hands.

  She was technically regent of England, too, while Richard was on Crusade, but she had spent more than enough time locked away in England during the last fifteen years of Henry II’s reign. She left that cold, rainy land to the tender mercies of her youngest son, John, for she finally had what she wanted—control over most of what is now modern France.

  Eleanor was unstoppable. She was brave and beautiful and so full of fire that both her critics and her admirers agreed: she was stronger than any woman they had ever seen. She is the strongest woman I have ever had the pleasure to write about, and the most dynamic. She is a woman who would be renowned in any age. Which is why, over 800 years later, we still remember her.

  Henry II and Thomas Becket

  by Christy English

  Henry II of England and Thomas Becket were two of the greatest rivals for power in English history. We remember them even today, over 850 years later. Their struggle for power ended as do so many battles when one of the protagonists is the ruling king, with death—in this case, with Thomas Becket slain in his own cathedral.

  The king and Thomas Becket began as friends and allies. Becket served Henry well as his Chancellor and was trusted so deeply that he was given the guardianship of the king’s eldest son, young Prince Henry. This alliance was so strong, and so strongly based in personal friendship, that King Henry II was certain that Thomas Becket would be the answer to his troubles with the Church.

  Though we associate the clash between Church and State in England with Henry VIII of the Tudor dynasty, the seeds had been sown much earlier, and this battle for power came to a head during Henry II’s reign. In 1154, Henry II reclaimed the throne of England from the usurper, Stephen of Blois, after decades of civil war which left the lands of England devastated.

  Henry believed all his life that rule of law and the strength of the King’s Peace could extend protection to the common man. Of course, while this goal is lofty, it also served the political purpose of allowing the people to receive justice not just from their barons and local ruler, but from the king himself.

  One aspect of extending the King’s Peace was to deal with the members of the lower clergy who broke the law. As things stood, if a clergyman or priest committed rape or murder, he would not be called on to stand trial as any other man would; rather, he would be given over to the Church for trial and punishment in the Church courts. The Church did little but chastise their brethren even for crimes as hideous as thievery, rape, and murder.

  Since Henry II was working so hard to keep the peace in the land, this loophole was one he could not allow to continue. So he began trying lower clergymen in secular court, much to the Pope’s fury.

  In 1162, Henry made Thomas, his friend and ally, the next Archbishop of Canterbury, certain that the man who had served him so well as Chancellor would continue to help him uphold the law of the land, and would allow the secular courts to punish those clergy who broke the law. This was not the case.

  Once Thomas became archbishop, he did a complete turnaround in his attitude toward the law. As a prince of the Church, he served the Church first and Henry second. He fought Henry at every turn in an effort to protect his own power as well as the power of the Church in England.

  By 1170, this conflict had become such a burden to Henry II that he made a snide remark in company at a Christmas feast—the famous line, “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?”

  Four of Henry’s knights, Hugh de Morville, William de Tracy, Reginald Fitz Urse, and Richard le Bret, were among those who listened to Henry’s furious outburst. They took ship for England at once, and on December 29th, murdered Thomas Becket at the foot of the altar of Canterbury Cathedral.

  Scholars are divided as to whether or not these men were acting on direct orders from the king. The king was stricken with grief when he heard the news of his old friend’s death, and Pope Alexander III later absolved him of involvement in this crime.

  Though Thomas Becket lost his life, the Church retained its power through the sympathy gained by his death. In exchange for forgiveness and absolution of Thomas Becket’s murder, Henry II agreed that law-breaking clerics would continue to be tried by the Church courts.

  Alais of France: Forgotten Princess

  by Christy English

  In my first novel, The Queen’s Pawn, Princess Alais, a little known French princess from the 12th century, is my protagonist and the linchpin of the story. The historical Alais was the daughter of Louis VII of France and Constance of Castile, a pawn of politics and alliance, as most highborn women were during her lifetime. Born in 1160, Princess Alais was betrothed to Prince Richard of England (later Richard the Lionheart) in 1169.

  Though she came to the court of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine as a child, her marriage to Richard never took place, and she returned to France years later at the age of thirty-five.

  We do not know what Alais looked like, nor do we even know for certain the correct spelling of her name. She is mentioned by the chroniclers of the time as Alys, Alix, and Alais.

  In the modern parlance, she is often called Alice, the young princess portrayed in the film The Lion in Winter, starring Peter O’Toole in the role of Henry II, Katherine Hepburn in the role of Eleanor of Aquitaine, and Anthony Hopkins as Prince Richard. This modern brush with fame was fleeting, because for the most part, no one remembers Princess Alais at all.

  We know that she was held by her father’s enemies from the time she was nine years old. While she never married her intended, Prince Richard, Alais was said to have been one of Henry II’s many mistresses. Whether or not she actually became the mistress of the king has been questioned by modern historians, but I believe she did.

  Different chroniclers speak of Alais only in relation to the men in her life, as the daughter of Louis VII, as the mistress of Henry II, and as the spurned betrothed of Richard I. Primary sources differ on the number of children that she and Henry might have had during their supposed liaison, but no one mentions the fate of these children. If they lived, their fate is forgotten, as so much of Princess Alais’ life has been.

  We know for certain that Richard the Lionheart refused to marry Alais, though in every other instance, he always kept any oath he made. This alone is evidence to suggest that King Richard believed that Alais had been his father’s paramour.

  Instead of marrying Alais upon his ascension to the throne, Richard arranged his own marriage to Berengaria of Navarre and went on Crusade with the hope of freeing Jerusalem from the Turks. While Richard was away, Princess Alais remained in the Norman city of Rouen, for though King Richard refused to honor their betrothal, he also did not send her home.

 
Alais languished in Rouen for almost five years until she was returned to her brother, King Philippe Auguste of France in 1195.

  Her brother arranged a second marriage for Princess Alais to William, Count of Ponthieu. Once married to Philippe Auguste’s vassal, Alais disappeared from the historical record. It is unknown how many children she had with her husband or when she died. She was once again forgotten, as she was during most of the years she spent trapped at the courts of Henry II and Richard I, waiting to complete a political alliance which never took place.

  Knights Templar: The Beginning

  by Scott Higginbotham

  The Knights Templar occupy a unique niche in the chronicles of history, and those who write historical fiction have no shortage of fodder for their novels as there is a wealth of information—sometimes conflicting. The Templar order was feared, hated, respected, hailed, and coveted across a wide spectrum of medieval society, both in Europe and the Holy Land. To be certain, this order of knights had few equals; they forged a new path and formed their bond upon a foundation like no other. They were true originals.

  In modern times they are speculated upon in countless ways—the Templars control the banking system, the stock market, are behind every uprising around the globe, wear strange hats and drive jalopies in parades. Their secret symbols are on currency, and if a scapegoat is needed then look no further than the The Order of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon.

  There is much speculation, informed and otherwise, concerning the Knights Templar, but this piece will briefly touch upon their humble genesis and those facts which are undisputed by historians.

  After Jerusalem was captured during the First Crusade in 1099, religious zeal swelled as the news of the Crusaders’ victory spread across Europe. Pious pilgrims trekked to the Holy City. However, they were beset on the perilous roads of Palestine, suffering the loss of their belongings and even their lives. Nine knights later formed an armed brotherhood to protect the pilgrim roads of which Charles Addison puts it nicely:

  To alleviate the dangers and distresses to which these pious enthusiasts were exposed, to guard the honour of the saintly virgins and matrons, and to protect the gray hairs of the venerable palmer, nine noble knights formed a holy brotherhood in arms, and entered into a solemn compact to aid one another in clearing the highways of infidels, and of robbers, and in protecting the pilgrims through the passes and defiles of the mountains to the Holy City.

  Moreover, their brotherhood was unique and original owing to the fact that these knights were warriors, but ones that embraced the same vows as those of monks—poverty, chastity, and obedience. The ideal of a dashing knight astride a pawing destrier, begging a lady’s favor to wear on his arm had taken an odd turn. Troubadours and bards had lost a portion of the deep, chivalrous well upon which to draw their verse. Addison writes further:

  They renounced the world and its pleasures, and in the holy church of the Resurrection, in the presence of the patriarch of Jerusalem, they embraced vows of perpetual chastity, obedience, and poverty, after the manner of monks.

  In 1118, these nine knights, led by Hugues de Payens, the order’s first Grand Master, were granted usage of a portion of the King of Jerusalem’s quarters, which was part of the al-Aqsa Mosque, believed to be built over King Solomon’s temple. The Temple of Mysteries writes that, “It was from this place that the Order took its name—the Order of the Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon (Ordo Pauperum Commilitonum Christi Templique Salominici); Templars for short.”

  It took a little time before the fledgling movement became a force to be reckoned with. The Temple of Mysteries writes that:

  Until they were officially recognized, the Knights Templar remained a small and obscure force for about the first decade of their existence. They operated largely upon their own initiative, but with the blessing and support of the King of Jerusalem and its Patriarch. They initially wore no distinctive devices that proclaimed this new order, but their actions piqued the interest of Bernard of Clairvaux, head of the Cistercian monks, for it was Bernard who organized the Council of Troyes in 1129 thus giving the order official papal recognition. This council transformed this small band that simply protected pilgrims into the army of Christendom and the interests of the Church.

  The Order would soon grow to be one of the most formidable fighting forces in medieval Europe, transcending borders and drawing some of the most skilled knights into their ranks. They were fighting men, but they were also monks, adhering to a strict Benedictine rule. The red cross pattée on their surcoats (with minor variances) and the black and white Beauseant shield and banner were soon adopted as part of their distinction—many knights during the crusading era had crosses etched into the pommel of their swords.

  Much more can be said upon their rise, their nuances, and their ultimate demise, but even this short introduction shows that their legacy lives on as an interesting footnote in history and fuels much conjecture for novelists, theorists, and the curious.

  Sources

  Addison, Charles G. The History of the Knights Templars, the Temple Church, and the Temple. Kindle Edition: 2012. Kindle Locations 211-215, 216-218.

  Temple of Mysteries. The Knights Templar. Kindle Edition: Temple of Mysteries, 2010. Kindle Locations 116-118, 148-149.

  A Bad Rap for Henry and Eléonore

  by Sherry Jones

  Never had I found myself disagreeing so thoroughly with an historian. In fact, Thomas B. Costain’s The Magnificent Century (first published in 1951) rubbed me the wrong way so completely that I had to put it down and walk away more than once.

  My issue? His portrayals of England’s King Henry III and Queen Eléonore of Provence, lead characters in my historical novel Four Sisters, All Queens.

  I didn’t have to read far before the author’s sniping began. After one hundred pages or so of background, Costain launches into the royal wedding—and soon thereafter is exclaiming over the extravagance of the affair as if such a thing were unheard of, as if extravagance were not expected of a king for such occasions.

  “Fatuous,” he writes. “Spendthift.” For the rest of the tale, poor King Henry never gets a break. Costain paints a portrait of a mercurial, petulant, impulsive, and weak ruler, even giving Henry a “high neighing laugh.” Talk about historical fiction!

  Eléonore fares even worse. “England’s Most Unpopular Queen,” she was one of those highfaluting snobs from Provence. “A most superior lot,” Costain sniffs, for whom “the English people conceived a hatred...which grew with every day.”

  “The Queen,” he informs us, “was never happy unless surrounded by her relatives and favorites from Provence.” They were unhappy with her failure to give birth to an heir four years after her marriage, he tells us, failing to point out that she was but thirteen on her wedding day. Eléonore even falls short as a mother in his assessment; she “scandalized” the monks at Beaulieu, he sneers, by insisting on staying to nurse her son—the king’s heir—Edward back to health when he fell ill there.

  We historical novelists deal with this all the time. Historians are humans and have points of view. Whom to believe? The Magnificent Century is more obvious than most in its approach, being a blatant hagiography with no pretensions toward objectivity.

  Costain falls squarely on the side of Simon de Montfort, Henry’s seneschal, who instigated a revolution that is credited with establishing British Parliament as it exists. Costain portrays him as a democratic visionary. My research gave me a view of Montfort that is decidedly more ambivalent—he acted as much out of ambition for himself and his sons as for the good of the common people.

  I found in Henry and Eléonore a royal couple who, although far from perfect, possessed a vision for England no less valid. They might have propelled the kingdom into superpower status had their reign not followed that of Henry III’s father, the tyr
annical King John.

  John lost some of England’s greatest landed possessions on the European continent to France’s King Philip Augustus. Weakened by unrest at home over his cruelty and corruption, he never reclaimed those lands. Losing Normandy, with all its riches, dealt a particularly harsh blow to the kingdom’s treasury. In true Oedipal fashion, Henry strived for years to regain the duchy, but could not muster support from his barons.

  Costain is one of a number of historians who have portrayed King Henry III as a weak and ineffectual king and Eléonore as favoring her own family’s interests over those of the people she ruled. In my opinion, they get a bad rap. Eléonore and Henry were intelligent, ambitious rulers who might have done much for England. Their misfortune lay in Henry’s being the son of John and inheriting his father’s messes—corrupt bailiffs whose corruption bred resentment among the people, protectionist barons loath to spend any more money on ventures overseas, and a general distrust of “big government” at a time when big government was sorely needed.

  Together, Henry and Eléonore refurbished Westminster Abbey, creating a splendid work of art. They created an alliance with the young Scottish king, Alexander, with his marriage to their daughter, Margaret, and kept the aggressive Prince Llewellyn from reclaiming their barons’ lands in the Welsh Marches.

  They held onto Gascony, of which Henry was Duke, in spite of constant uprisings there. They might have gained not only Normandy but Sicily, too, had their barons supported their empire-building vision. They squelched the Montfortian campaign to end the Plantagenet reign—Simon had already planned to award lands and castles to his sons and place himself on the throne—and they produced instead a son who would become Edward I, one of England’s great kings…unless you were Scottish, Welsh, or Jewish.