England and the Aquitaine Part III: Edward

By Helena P. Schrader

As I have hopefully convinced you in my two previous essays, Aquitaine was immensely important to England in the three hundred years from 1152 to 1452.  Having already discussed its association with Eleanor of Aquitaine and Richard the Lionheart, today I want to describe its importance to Edward of Woodstock, commonly called “the Black Prince,” but properly titled “Prince of Wales and Aquitaine.” 

Edward's Effigy in Canterbury Cathedral

Despite his more exalted title, Prince Edward’s ties to the Aquitaine were much weaker than those of either Eleanor or Richard. By the time Edward was born in 1330, Eleanor and Richard’s once vast Duchy of Aquitaine had been reduced to the coastal region from roughly Rochefort (south of La Rochelle) to the border of Navarre, just south of Bayonne. English control extended only as far inland as La Reole. The region had for almost a hundred years been called Guyenne, a word derived from Aquitaine but referring to the much reduced area under English control compared to the glory-days of Eleanor and Richard.

English control over Guyenne was, furthermore, distant and somewhat disinterested. The last English king to set foot in Guyenne had been Edward of Woodstock’s great-great grandfather, Edward I. The lords and commons of Guyenne were loyal to the English crown for two reasons: 1) because England was the primary market for the region’s chief product: wine; in short, there were very strong economic reasons to be “part” of England, and 2) precisely because the English kings were far away and largely disinterested in Guyenne — as long as they paid taxes to the crown.

At the time of Prince Edward’s birth at Woodstock in 1330, Guyenne had been for generations nothing more than a source of revenue and wine for the English crown, while the residents of Guyenne had become accustomed to running their own affairs with very little interference.

Everything changed with the death of the Charles IV, the last Capetian King of France, in 1328. Edward III of England was the eldest son of Charles IV’s sister Isabella of France. He claimed the throne of France through her, while the French chose to crown instead Philip of Valois, the son of Charles IV’s uncle, as Philip VI of France. This dispute over the succession to the crown of France spawned what is known as the Hundred Years War between England and France.

Medieval Depiction of the Hundred Years' War

That war came to Guyenne in 1337, the same year that Edward of Woodstock turned seven years old and was created Duke of Cornwall by his father. (He was already, since 1333, Earl of Chester.) Philip VI (like his ancestor Philip II) chose to strike at his rival on the English throne by confiscating and then attacking his territories on the continent, in this case what was left of the Aquitaine or Guyenne. From 1337 to 1340, the French laid waist to the towns and villages of Guyenne that did not acknowledge the sovereignty of Philip of Valois.

By a combination of force and bribery, Valois greatly reduced the English hold on Guyenne. The revenues the King of England had enjoyed from this rich province dried up and his prestige suffered significantly. By 1345, Edward III had had enough. He launched a counter-offensive against the French in Guyenne. Notably, however, he did not go himself, but rather sent “lieutenants,” who acted in his name, most notably the Duke of Lancaster.

In 1346, Edward III undertook his most ambitious campaign against France yet. (There had been two earlier attempts to win the French crown by force of arms.) The plan called for the Duke of Lancaster to fight north from Guyenne and join up with the main force under King Edward that would land in Brittany or Normandy. Although, the plan was not implemented for various reasons, Edward III won a significant victory over the French at the Battle of Crécy in Normandy on September 26, 1346.

Medieval Portrayal of the Battle of Crecy

His son, Edward of Woodstock, now aged 16 and since 1343 Prince of Wales, took part in the battle as the commander of the “van” — the division that took the brunt of the French attacks. It was a battle that immediately established Prince Edward’s credentials as an outstanding knight and was the start of his legend as a “flower of chivalry.”

Prince Edward went on to take part in the siege of Calais, which, after its fall on August 4, 1347, was settled with English and became a bastion of England inside of France for centuries to come. A year later Prince Edward was one of the founding members of the Order of the Garter and for the next eight years he distinguished himself more on the tourney fields than the battlefield.

Edward, Prince of Wales, as a Knight of the Garter

But in 1352, the French made a new assault on Guyenne under the command of the Comte d’Armagnac, a local lord loyal to the Valois. Armagnac succeeded in regaining much of the territory the Duke of Lancaster had been able to win back seven years earlier. By 1355, the situation had become acute enough for the Gascon lords loyal to England to appeal to King Edward for a new expedition. Edward III was ready to make a new bid for the French crown and he decided on the same strategy he had devised in 1346: a two pronged attack from the north and the south.

Surprisingly, he chose to send his eldest son, Edward of Woodstock, Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall and Prince of Wales, to go to Guyenne. From the sources, it appears that the choice was in direct response to a request from the loyal lords of Guyenne. They wanted the Prince because sending the Heir to the Throne represented a significantly greater commitment on the part of the English crown and so sent a strong signal to the French.

Edward of Woodstock's Coat of Arms

Thus it was not until he reached the age of 25 that Edward of Woodstock first set foot in the Aquitaine. He came as his father’s lieutenant, endowed with far reaching authority and near complete independence. His short-term mandate was to subdue and punish the disloyal lords and towns of Guyenne (those who had in the last decades done homage to the French king). His longer-term objective was to restore English control over the region, make the local population afraid of committing treason against the English crown in the future, and asserting his father’s claim to the throne of France. It was not a peaceful mission.

Prince Edward landed in Bordeaux on September 20, 1355 and in October he launched an offensive directed against the the Comte d’Armagnac, the French king’s proxy in Guyenne. Armagnac chose a defensive strategy, withdrawing behind the strong walls of Toulouse. Prince Edward had no siege equipment and the weather was turning bad; most commanders would have withdrawn to Bordeaux and enjoyed the wine and women for the winter.

Prince Edward instead took his raiding force past Toulouse and struck at the rich region east of Toulouse that had never been part of English Aquitaine and was completely unprepared for war. Tellingly, when Carcassonne offered a huge bribe to stop him from burning the town but refused to acknowledge the Plantagenet claim to the crown of France, Edward rejected the bribe. This raid had nothing to do with asserting English rights to the Aquitaine. Rather it was about his father’s claim to the French throne.

Prince Edward's Motto (curiously in German): I Serve

At Narbonne the raid reached its extreme limit, and thereafter Prince Edward masterfully extricated his dangerously exposed expeditionary force, avoiding being cut off by Armagnac. The raid allegedly destroyed 500 towns and villages and seriously damaged the economy of the region, thereby denying the Valois “usurper” valuable revenue while also intimidating the inhabitants. Militarily, it was audacious, brilliantly executed and successful. As a start to a long-term relationship with the Aquitaine, however, it was not particularly auspicious. As a means of winning the love of the residents of Aquitaine it was downright disastrous.

In the following year, Prince Edward carried out the plan to lead an army north from Guyenne as one part of a two-pronged pincer intended to strike at the heart of France and win his father the French crown. Again the armies failed to connect, and while withdrawing back toward Guyenne, Prince Edward was pinned down and surrounded by the combined forces of the Valois King, now John II, his sons and most of the major barons of France.

At a field near Eleanor of Aquitaine's beloved Poitiers, Prince Edward took up a defensive position exploiting the terrain as much as possible. He deployed his archers masterfully, and when the moment came he led a cavalry charge against the approaching forces of the French King that would not have shamed Richard the Lionheart. (Many accounts still claim that Prince Edward’s counter-attack was on foot, but Richard Barber argues very convincingly that the attack was mounted. See: Richard Barber, Edward, Prince of Wales and Aquitaine: A Biography of the Black Prince, Boydell, 1978.) At the end of the day, King John II of France was Prince Edward’s prisoner. It was a brilliant and decisive victory, far more significant than the Battle of Agincourt.

Medieval Depiction of the Battle of Poitiers

After wintering in Bordeaux with his immensely valuable prize, Prince Edward sailed for England in March 1357. Diplomacy replaced warfare as the French and English negotiated King John’s ransom and the terms of his release. Twice the Dauphin refused to accept the terms his father negotiated from weakness as a prisoner in London. In 1359, the English launched yet another invasion of France through Normandy, but the French refused to come out and fight (and risk another defeat like Crécy or Poitiers), but the English were not strong enough to seize Paris. Finally, on May 1, 1360 the Treaty of Brétigny was signed in which King Edward renounced his claim to the throne of France in exchange for obtaining a much expanded Aquitaine in full sovereignty, i.e. not as a vassal of the King of France (as Eleanor and Richard had been), but as an independent Principality. From at least this time if not before, King Edward intended his eldest son, Prince Edward, to rule over the Aquitaine.

Prince Edward does Homage to his father for the Aquitaine

Due to various disputes about the details and implementation of the treaty, it was not until July 19, 1362 that Prince Edward was officially named Prince of Aquitaine. In October the same year he finally married, and shortly afterwards departed to Bordeaux to take up his new duties. The territories he was sent to rule represented one third of the territory of France! The border extended beyond Poitiers, Eleanor of Aquitaine’s beloved residence, and beyond Limoges and Cahors, including the Rouergue with Rodez and Millau, and stopped only just short of Toulouse.

While Aquitaine in these borders were closer to what Eleanor of Aquitaine had inherited and held, in fact it incorporated many towns and lords whose loyalty was by now wholly French. It was more than 150 years since these regions had been ruled by Richard the Lionheart, and even in his day the barons had been restless and rebellious. Any loyalty they owed Richard had been as Duke of Aquitaine, not King of England. Furthermore, Eleanor and Richard had both spoken the langue d’oc of the region; Prince Edward did not. In retrospect, Prince Edward’s rule seems doomed to failure.

Prince Edward's Signet Ring, now in the Louvre

Yet he got off to a good start. From 1362-1367 he and his wife, Joan of Kent, presided over a brilliant and much admired court at Bordeaux. It was in Bordeaux that both their sons, Edward and Richard, were born. But in 1367, (at his father’s behest), Prince Edward was encouraged to become embroiled in a succession dispute in Castile. He agreed to support the legitimate King (Pedro, often referred to as “the Cruel”) against his bastard half-brother, Enrique of Trastamara, who was supported (surprise, surprise!) by the French.

The Spanish adventure, despite a brilliant battlefield victory at Najera in April 1367, was to prove catastrophic for Prince Edward. Pedro the Cruel reneged on his lavish promises to pay all the expenses of the campaign, forcing Edward to raise the money through taxes. Taxes are never popular, and now his new subjects, never fully reconciled to English rule, had a reason to rise up against him — encouraged, aided and abetted by the French, of course. Even more tragic, Prince Edward returned from Najera deathly ill. Although historians have never diagnosed with certainty just what the illness was, it slowly but surely debilitated and finally killed him.

The Diptych of Wilton from 1390, believed to be portraits of Richard II (kneeling), his father the Black Prince (uncrowned) and his grandfather (Edward III) and great (or great-great) grandfather, Edward II (or Edward I). Some historians suggest this is the most realistic portrait of the Black Prince.

In 1372, ten years after he had come to Aquitaine, Prince Edward left Bordeaux for the last time. He returned to England and surrendered the principality to his father. It is probable that he departed embittered by the disloyalty of his subjects. The revolt of the city of Limoges had so enraged him that he allowed it to be sacked by his troops, commanding, it is said, from a liter. The sack of Limoges has long been seen as a dark blot on his reputation as a chivalrous prince. He had also lost and buried his first born son, Edward in the Aquitaine.

Once in England, despite his deteriorating health, Prince Edward played an important role in politics. He opposed his senile father’s increasingly grasping mistress and supported the so-called “Good Parliament.” But he died before his father in 1376, leaving his second son Richard, to succeed at his father’s death as Richard II.

The Black Prince's lovely tomb in Canterbury Cathedral

Unlike Richard the Lionheart or Eleanor, Edward of Woodstock was first and foremost an Englishman.

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Helena P. Schrader still hopes to write a biographical novel (in several parts!) about Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales and Aquitaine. Meanwhile, however, is is completing a three-part biographical novel about Balian d'Ibelin, who defended Jerusalem against Saladin in 1187, and later served as Richard the Lionheart's envoy, negotiating the end of the Third Crusade. 

Visit her website at: http://defenderofjerusalem.com or her blog: http://defendingcrusaderkingdoms.blogspot.com. She also has an author website: http://helenapschrader.com

 

The Son of Belsebub - an Englishman in Italy

by Anna Belfrage

Should you ever make it to Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, you should of course gawk at the beautiful cupola, but don’t miss the gigantic mural depicting a man in armour astride a magnificent horse. Move close enough to read the inscription, and you may also begin to wonder what on earth an English mercenary named John Hawkwood could possibly have done to deserve being honoured in this way.

John Hawkwood is not a name much bandied about these days, but back in 14th century Italy he was a force to be reckoned with, a man of martial skills everyone wanted on their side. (Not that the medieval Italians ever could get his name right, which is why Machiavelli calls him Giovanni Acuto.) Being gifted with an ample conscience and a constant hunger for gold, John took the opportunity to sell himself to the highest bidder – and this man, as per his inscription “the most skilled and cautious of generals”, did not come cheap.
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To provide some background for our John, we need to start at the beginning. As always, this tends to be a bit murky when going this far back in history, but we know John was born in Essex, somewhere round 1320. His father was a well-to-do minor landowner, which ensured John thrived despite the rampant starvation that characterised England during his early years. Upon his father’s death, John as a younger son was not left much of an inheritance, but it helped that his family had close ties to the de Vere family, and it was as an archer under de Vere’s command that Hawkwood first bursts into the annals of history.
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In 1342, John was a simple archer. At the battle of Crécy, four years later, he was in command of 250 archers, a crucial component in the strategy that led to victory for the English. Obviously, John must have been a gifted leader of men – and an able archer, one would assume. He was also, as would be proven throughout his long and colourful career, a naturally gifted strategist. It was John’s fortune that he was born into the tumultuous times of the Hundred Years’ War, thereby finding ample use for his somewhat bellicose talents.

The Hundred Years' War was not a chivalric little outing in which noble knights jousted, parlayed and did some more jousting. No, this was an extended rape of France, perpetrated by the English aggressors, but, just as often, by the bands of mercenaries hired by the desperate French to defend themselves. Problem with mercenaries is that if you don’t pay them – and pay them well – they will take their payment where they can find it. Or join the other side…

While using mercenaries was nothing new, it was during this extended conflict that the commercial community discovered just what a commodity a group of fighting men could be. The mercenary went from being badly paid cannon fodder to highly salaried experts, and the resulting profit was evenly shared by the mercenaries themselves and the middle-hand, the ever more powerful merchants.

We tend to forget that war – even today – always has an economic aspect to it, making rich men out of those who supply the fighting parties with food, armour and weapons. English and Hanseatic merchants made fortunes thanks to Edward III’s stubborn attempt to claim the French crown. Bankers invested (and lost) huge amounts in this venture, and as most of those bankers were Italian, Edward III’s ambition became a multinational venture, involving Italian money, Hanseatic merchants, Breton mercenaries – well, mercenaries from almost everywhere – and, of course, the stalwart English and Welsh soldiers who bled and died en masse on fields very distant from their homes.

Despite being labelled as a war that extended over a century, in actual fact this war was fought in innings, with long periods of fighting ending in an uneasy truce, thereby giving both sides the opportunity to get their breaths back. Now, these little breaks were excellent if you were a nobleman needing to trot back home to inspect your lands, make your wife pregnant, and generally lie about for some time. If, however, you happened to be a common soldier, chances are these extended pauses were quite the headache, starting with the fact that soldiers weren't paid if there was no fighting going on.

In essence, this is what happened to our John. After the glory of Crécy, he did go back home for some years, but when he and a friend severely mistreated another man, he found it best to flee the country of his birth, uncomfortable with being labelled a “miscreant” and thereby risking the noose. So John kicked his heels in the continent, rode to more glory at Poitiers in 1356 where he finally won his spurs, and then in 1360 it seemed the war was over, leaving Hawkwood an impoverished knight with nothing to return to.

This is when he joined the Free Companies, at first riding with the tard-venues (the latecomers) but relatively quickly transferring to the White Company, a well-organised mercenary venture headed by a German called Albert Stertz who had made it his task in life to enrich himself – and his men – by selling his company to whoever bid the highest. And when there were no takers for his services, our German captain decided to go creative, which is why he – together with several other mercenary captains – attacked the papal seat in Avignon, ultimately wresting a huge ransom from the pope.

Eventually, France had been so thoroughly robbed there were no pickings left. And so the mercenary armies lifted their eyes from the previously so fertile French soil and looked about for new horizons, eagerly urged on by the impoverished Pope who wanted nothing more than to see these Free Companies ride off into the sunset never to return. And what did they find? La Bella Italia!

At the time, La Bella Italia did not exist – at least not as more than a geographical region. Europe’s favourite boot was a collection of fiercely independent and competitive city states constantly at war with each other. And where there are miniature wars brewing, there one needs a mercenary army or two, right?

The pope obviously thought so: Innocentius VI actively participated in brokering the contract that finally rid Avignon of the mercenaries. He convinced the Marquis of Monferrato to hire the White Company and use them to smite the hated Visconti, rulers of Milan, hard. As the pay was good, the White company gladly went, stopping only to set half of Marseilles on fire as one final destructive coda to their long, unwelcome stay in France.

I suspect the White company was lured by more than the pay: at the time, the Italian city states were the Promised Land to many of their fellow Europeans. Lands of plenty, of culture, with a benign climate, the Italian city states beckoned with the promise of a delightful place to retire – supposing you were rich enough. Not that much different from today, come to think of it, given how many of the truly well-off acquire a villa in Tuscany in which to spend the sunset years of their lives…

By the early 1360’s, Hawkwood had assumed control over the White Company despite being illiterate. Not that being incapable of reading was much of an issue for the captain-general as the White Company boasted an excellent administrative system complete with its own lawyers, clerks and purchasers. Other than the fighting men, the company also had its fair share of priests, prostitutes and physicians – plus a minor army of servants.

Contrary to what one may think (or not), the White Company was not named for the innocence of its members, but rather for the uniform worn by the soldiers. In white surcoats, (most impractical one would think) and with selected pieces of armour polished until they glittered like mirrors, these mercenaries exuded a certain style. (Mercenaries depended on speed, so very few of them wore full body armour, choosing instead to wear whatever piece they felt suited their needs best.) Accompanied by a bevy of pages, the mercenaries rode from battlefield to battlefield but often dismounted to fight on foot, assuming a hedgehog formation that bristled with lances. Pitted against the mostly civilian militia of the various city states, the White Company’s hardened soldiers generally came out the victors, leaving a trail of blood and suffering in their wake.

The English mercenaries quickly acquired a reputation for ruthlessness and efficiency. Spawn of the devil, some of their reluctant hosts would mutter, son of Belsebub they whispered behind Hawkwood’s back. Not that he cared: after having spent some years fighting the Milanese Visconti on behalf of the pope, the company then spent the coming decade fighting for whoever dangled the biggest purse before Hawkwood’s nose. From having fought for Monferrato, the company ended up fighting against him at the Visconti’s side, and they were sometimes on the papal side of the constant conflicts, at others on the side of one city state or another. In time, Hawkwood acquired the reputation of being a mercenary one could trust (well…) which put him in the agreeable position of being able to pick and choose.

After spending close to two decades fighting in Italy, Hawkwood decided it was time to settle down. By now, he was well into his fifties, and when he was offered one of the illegitimate Visconti daughters as a bride he gladly accepted – before turning on his former masters and moving to Florence (a mortal enemy of the Milanese) in 1377, assuming command of this city’s defences. One suspects that must have put something of a strain on his marital relations.

There may have been another reason for Hawkwood’s decision to leave the soldier-for-hire business. Hawkwood lived by his sword, and it is difficult for a man to spend his whole life fighting and come out untarnished. In Hawkwood’s case, his huge blemish is the massacre of Cesena in 1377. At the time, Hawkwood was serving the pope, and it was Robert, Cardinal of Genoa, who insisted all the inhabitants of this little town be put to the sword. Approximately 5 000 civilians lost their lives in that bloodbath, and it would seem Hawkwood was quite disgusted by the entire matter. Whatever the case, he never actively fought for the pope again…

Anyway, from 1377 and onwards, Hawkwood was the effective commander-in-chief of the Florentine forces. And in 1390 he defended Florence against the expansive ambition of the Visconti by defeating the Milanese forces, thereby saving the fiercely independent Florence from that fate worse than death of becoming a Milanese vassal state.

That, of course, is why John Hawkwood ended up commemorated in the Básilica, remembered as one of Florence's true heroes. (Someone conveniently forgot that during his first time in Italy, Hawkwood repeatedly fought against Florence, killing a number of its citizens) Not that John had any intention of being buried in Florence. He wanted to return home, and spent his last few years planning his move. Unfortunately for him, he died before he could realise his dream of going home.

In 1395, Richard II requested that his body be returned to England, and the Florentine authorities acquiesced. Whether this happened or not remains an open question, but by now John Hawkwood probably no longer cares where his mortal remains lie buried. As to his spirit, I dare say it hovers over the rolling hills of Tuscany, but now and then his restless soul dives down to inspect that seven metre high mural of himself and howls with laughter. After all, whatever else he was, John Hawkwood was not a man who deserved to be commemorated in a church!

If you want to know more about John Hawkwood, I warmly recommend "Hawkwood: Diabolical Englishman" by Frances Stonor Saunders.

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Anna Belfrage is the successful author of six published books, all of them part of The Graham Saga. Set in 17th century Scotland, Virginia and Maryland, this is the story of Matthew Graham and his wife, Alex Lind - two people who should never have met, not when she was born three centuries after him.

Anna's books are available on Amazon US,  Amazon UK, or wherever else good books are sold.

For more information about Anna and her books, please visit her website! If not on her website, Anna can mostly be found on her blog.

Historical Anecdotes

by the English Historical Fiction Authors

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William IV

William the Fourth

by David W. Wilkin

A few weeks back I wrote about the sons of George III and their mistresses who were as much of a wife as many of the marriages we honor today.

One of those was William, who succeeded his brother (George IV) and ruled from 1830 to 1837. He was succeeded in turn by Victoria. Prior to his reign he spent 20 years with Dorothea Jordan and had 10 children with her.

Dorothea Jordan

From the Oxford Book of Royal Anecdotes we have the exchange between George III to his son:

George III

"Hey, hey:--what's this--what's this. You keep an actress, they say."

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, well, well; how much do you give her, eh?"

"One thousand a year, sir."

"A thousand, a thousand; too much; too much! Five hundred quite enough! Quite enough!"

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Married Life by Samuel Pepys 
(with a bit of help from Deborah Swift)

Long-suffering Elisabeth Pepys

6th January

"Myself somewhat vexed at my wife's neglect in leaving of her scarfe, waistcoat and nightdressings in the coach that brought us from Westminster though I confess she did give them to me to look after - yet it was her fault not to see that I did not take them out of the coach." (italics mine)

Is it just me, or is this scene of married life frighteningly familiar?!
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Massacre Averted: The Siege of Calais 
by Rosanne E. Lortz

After the English defeated the French at the Battle of Crecy (1346), they moved on to besiege the city of Calais. French pirates had been using Calais as a base from which to attack English merchant ships, and this city situated on the Channel had been a thorn in England's side for years. The siege lasted almost a year. As the days inched by, Edward III grew more and more angry at all the time and money Calais was costing him.

The hungry citizens of Calais kept hoping that their king would come and lift the siege, but it was a risk Philip VI was not willing to take. Finally, in August of 1347, Calais' governor sent Edward word that they were ready to surrender and asked what terms they would receive. Enraged, Edward replied that they would receive no terms and that he intended to slaughter them all out of revenge. Edward's nobles pleaded with him not to commit such an atrocity. Grudgingly, he agreed to lessen his revenge, demanding instead that six of the leading citizens exit the city and come to him with a rope around their necks.

When Queen Philippa, who had come to France to be with her lord, heard that he meant to hang these men, she came into his presence and knelt before him. Heavy with child, she entreated him that for love of her he would refrain from pursuing his revenge. The love that Edward bore his wife was strong, and although he was sorely frustrated to see his desires blocked at every turn, he handed the captives over to his gentle wife. And so thanks to the good offices of Queen Philipa, these six men were spared, and all the citizens of Calais were allowed to leave the city unharmed.

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The weather and temperature in 18th Century England - by Mike Rendell

If my ancestor’s diaries are anything to go by, diarists love to record what the weather was like. After wading through pages of tedious reports of “fine-ish” or  “some rain, sunny at times” it is lovely to come across a more descriptive passage such as “a dribbling sort of day”. But my favourite description is when my ancestor Richard Hall says how cold it was in January 1776, making the comment  “Exceeding sharp; Snow, froze very hard. Froze the water in the Chamber pot.”  Now that is cold!

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"Little Ease": Torture and the Tudors
By Nancy Bilyeau

On a March night in 1534, a man and woman hurried past a row of cottages on the outer grounds of the Tower of London. They had almost reached the gateway to Tower Hill and, not far beyond it, the city of London, when a group of yeoman warders on night watch appeared in their path, holding lanterns.

In response, the young couple turned toward each other, in what seemed like a lover's embrace. But something about the man caught the attention of Yeoman Warder Charles Gore. He held his lantern higher and within seconds, recognized the pair. The man was a fellow yeoman warder, John Bawd, and the woman was Alice Tankerville, a condemned thief and prisoner.

So ended the Tower's first known escape attempt by a woman. But Alice's accomplice and admirer, the guard John Bawd, was destined to enter the Tower record books, too, and for the grimmest of reasons--he is the first known occupant of a peculiar torture cell used during the reigns of the Tudors and the early Stuarts. The windowless cell measured 1.2 m (4 square feet) and bore the faintly prim name of Little Ease. The prisoner within could not stand nor sit nor lie down but crouched over, in increasing agony, until freed from the suffocating, dark space.

 For more, go to the full article, Little Ease.

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That's No Ordinary Bunny...by M.M. Bennetts

I'm reminded me of this charming story of military valour and courage just about every time I pass the pet shop...

Hunting being the traditional sport of kings, Napoleon Bonaparte was mad about it.  And this one day, he wanted to go out hunting, so he and his various chums took their guns to a hunting lodge outside Paris for a day's shooting and general jollification.

The obsequious courtier who owned the hunting lodge in question decided to take no chances with the day's outcome--displeasing the Emperor could ruin one's life and livelihood--so he went and bought (figures vary here, but the received wisdom says 1000 or so) rabbits, just to make sure that everyone except the rabbits would have a great day out.

Unfortunately, what the courtier failed to understand was that these were domesticated rabbits.

Hence, when Napoleon and his posh mates started walking out into the field, the rabbits imagined it was their feeding time and, as one, rushed the little Corsican.

Can't you just see it?

And confronted by a thousand hungry, rushing hoppers what's a little corporal to do but run away?

And run faster!

Which is what he did--pursued by the rabbits.  All the way back to his carriage.  Where he hid, refusing to come out.

That's right, Napoleon cowered in his carriage whilst surrounded by ravenous, fanged, er, bunnies...Ha ha ha. (Also of interest perhaps:  he was afraid of cats.)

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The King, The Archbishop and The Bear 

by Judith Arnopp

Bishop Burnet, writing a century after the event, relates a bizarre incident that took place in Henry VIII’s reign during the aftermath of the six articles.  The Six Articles was an act that set out quite clearly and reinforced six points of medieval doctrine which Protestants at that time had begun to undermine. The act also specified the punishments due to those who did not accept them and was known by many protestants as ‘the bloody whip with six strings.’ As a married man, Archbishop Cranmer must have taken particular exception to Article Three which stated that priests should not be allowed to marry.

He set down his objections quite strongly, making detailed notes, all backed up with citations from the bible and learned scholars, and it is believed he planned to present his findings to Henry.  His secretary, Ralph Morice, duly copied the notes into a small book and set of with it to Westminster.

The king, meanwhile, was attending a bear-baiting across the river at Southwark and, just as Ralph Morice and company were passing in a wherry, the bear broke loose from the pit and with the dogs in hot pursuit, leapt into the river and made straight for the boat. Bishop Burnet goes on to relate that;

‘those that were in the boat leaped out and left the poor secretary alone there. But the bear got into the boat, with the dogs about her, and sank it. The secretary, apprehending his life was in danger, did not mind his book, which he lost in the water.’

You can just picture it, can't you? Dripping wet bear, soaked dogs, terrified clerk, wildly rocking boat?

When Morice reached the shore he saw his book floating and asked the bearward (who was not perhaps as ‘in charge’ of the bear as one might hope) to retrieve it for him. But before he could get his hands on it, the book fell into the hands of a priest who, realising what the book contained, declared that whoever claimed it would be hanged.

Burnet says that, ‘This made the bearward more intractable for he was a spiteful papist and hated the archbishop, so no offers or entreaties could prevail on him to give it back.’
In no little panic Morice sought the immediate assistance of Cromwell who, on discovering the bearward about to hand the book over to Cranmer’s enemies, confiscated it, threatening him severely for meddling with the book of the privy councillor. Thus saving the life of the Archbishop.

This all sounds rather like a scene from the film Carry-on Henry, a farce, far too unlikely to be true. I cannot help but wonder what Henry made of the spectacle.

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Women and Childbirth in 17th Century England by Sam Thomas

When we think about the difference between the past and present, our minds often turn to medicine, and with good reason. Who in their right minds would want to return to a world of leeches and blood-letting, of pregnancy without doctors and high death-rates for both mothers and children? But as so many of the writers on this blog have made clear, there is far more behind the history than modern stereotypes, and childbirth is no exception.

If you were to peek in on a woman in labor (or “in travail” as she might have said), the first thing you might notice is the people in the room. There would be a midwife rather than a doctor, of course, and you’d not find her husband – until the eighteenth century at the very earliest, childbirth was the business of women...

To read the rest of this post, click here.

Sam Thomas is the author of The Midwife's Tale: A Mystery from Minotaur/St.Martin's. Want to pre-order a copy? Click here. For more on midwifery and childbirth visit his website. You can also like him on Facebook  and follow him on Twitter.

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Boudicea: Warrior Queen of the Iceni 
by Teresa Thomas Bohannon

Boudicea Warrior Queen

Boudicea was Queen of the Iceni, a tribe of the ancient Britons (in what is now Norfolk) during the era when Nero ruled in Rome and Roman troops occupied Britain. Her husband, Præsutagus, was King of the Ice'ni, and a Roman ally. Under Roman law, the sovereignty of Præsutagus' realm would end at his death and neither Boudicea, nor their daughters would be allowed to rule in his stead, however his personal wealth was his to distribute as he would. Præsutagus, a powerful ruler, had amassed a great deal of wealth during his reign.  In an attempt to placate the occupying Romans and protect his family's legacy, Præsutagus, made the emperor of Rome co-heir to his personal wealth along with his two daughters. Unfortunately, Præsutagus underestimated the greed and brutality of the Romans. Immediately upon his death, they not only took possession of his lands, but also seized all of his personal assets. The widowed Queen was outraged and protested vigorously. For her impertinence, she was seized by the Romans and publicly stripped and flogged. Her daughters, were turned over to the Romans soldiers and subjected to indignity and rape.

Boudicea incited the Britons to war and riot leading them in several battles where Roman troops were decimated. She besought them to fight for their country and their homes. "On this spot we must either conquer or die with glory," she said. "There is no alternative. Though I am a woman, my resolution is fixed. The men, if they prefer, may survive with infamy and live in bondage. For me there is only victory or death."

To read more about Boudicea visit these posts
Boudicea: Warrior Queen & Boudicea: Destroyer of London

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The Great Stink of London, 1858 by Debra Brown

I greatly enjoy Liza Picard's book Victorian London. If you want to read numerous great anecdotes, her book is a wonderful source. Her first chapter discusses the smells of London past.

Day and night in Victorian times, she says, London stunk. The Thames "main ingredient" was human waste. Human excrement was sold as fertilizer to nurseries and farms surrounding London by the night-soil men who emptied the cesspits. A chamber pot might be emptied on your head as you walked through the narrow streets, adding to the stench of dead dogs, horse and cattle manure and rotting vegetables.

By 1841 there were 1,945,000 people and 200,000 cesspits full and overflowing. Years of waste fermented in miles of sewers in Holborn and Finsbury with no access to the Thames. Even in aristocratic Belgravia, Grosvenor Square, Hanover Square and Berkeley Square noxious matter stopped up house drains and reeked. Buckingham Palace smelled from drains that ran below.

Cows were kept in cowsheds all over London in appalling conditions with no space for cleaning. Cattle, sheep and pigs sold in Smithfield Market walked through London streets leaving behind 40,000 tons of dung a year, and thousands of horses each excreted 45 lb. of faeces and 3.5 lb. of urine a day.

A 14 foot deep pit at St. Bride's Church was reopened every Wednesday to take in carcasses of dead paupers until it could hold no more. The whole neighborhood stunk.

Coal gas stunk, and gas mains leaked. In Bermondsey skins and hides were tanned using a process including dog turds. Refuse from hospitals, fishmonger's and fishmarket washings and offal, slaughterhouse offal, glule-makers, candle-makers, bone dealers, dye works, dead rats, dogs and cats and even, the January 1862 journal The Builder said, dead babes stank.

  © Copyright Mick Garratt and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence

Finally there was a breakthrough, right? when water closets became a normal part of a house. By 1857 there were 200,000 of them all duly sidetracking the cesspits and emptying straight into the Thames via the sewers. The result was the Great Stink of 1858.

" Broken Victorian Sewage Pipe Saltburn's sewage used to be discharged into the sea below Huntcliff. The pipe has been filled with concrete but the constant pounding of the sea twice a day at high tide is gradually taking its toil of the pipe." Wikimedia

This at last precipitated actions which helped to turn things around. You really do want to read Liza's book!

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HOW TO WIN AN ANNIVERSARY GIFT BOOK

We have arrived at our Anniversary weekend. In one year nearly 80,000 unique visitors. A historical post everyday. More than 50 bloggers bringing you a little piece of English History every day that they uncover in their research. History that adds color and background to the novels that they write for your enjoyment.

To thank all those who have come this year to sample the endeavors herein, twenty of the books that our writers have labored over are being given away this weekend. Just post your name, email in the comments section for a chance to win. (Many people place spaces on each sign of the @ symbol, or type that out as (AT) but we'll get the idea.) A comment on Saturday the 22nd, or Sunday the 23rd or both days will garner a chance to win one of the twenty books. Some are eBooks, some are physical and have restrictions as to where they will ship. Should you win, we will contact the author and provide them with your information. They then will contact you and if there is a problem because of the restrictions, we shall find away to get another tome into your hands. 

In no particular order for all prizes will be awarded randomly, we have donations for our giveaway from these authors and their works:

David Wilkin--The Shattered Mirror, The End of the World ebooks

Debbie Brown--Companion of Lady Holmeshire

Nancy Bilyeau--The Crown (2 Copies)

Lauren Gilbert--Heyerwood

Deborah Swift--The Gilded Lily

Katherine Pym--London 1660

Lucinda Brant--Deadly Affair

Cathie Dunn--Dark Deceit

Maria Grace--The Future Mrs. Darcy, Darcy's Decision

Nancy Jardine--The Beltane Choice

Maggie Secara--The Dragon Ring

Edward H. Carpenter--A Matter of Honor

Karen Wasylowski--Sons and Daughters

Peter St. John--Gang Territory

Teresa Thomas Bohannon--Choice of: A Very Merry Chase, Shadows in a Timeless Myth or The Widow's Tale

Mark Patton--Undreamed Shores

Sherry Jones -- Four Sisters, All Queens

The Elusive History of the Order of the Garter

By Rosanne E. Lortz

“Honi soit qui mal y pense – Shamed be the one who thinks evil of it.” So reads the motto of the famous Order of the Garter, a society of knights established by Edward III, the English king who began the Hundred Years’ War with France. But what does the motto refer to and why did Edward choose it? That question is just one of the many surrounding the foundation of the Garter Order.

According to historian Elizabeth Hallam, the inspiration for chivalric orders like the Order of the Garter came from “the imagination of a 12th-century Norman churchman, Wace, who added the story of the Round Table to Geoffrey of Monmouth’s fictional history of King Arthur.” The stories of the Knights of the Round Table spread far and wide as other writers took Wace’s idea and elaborated on it. “During the 13th century knights in tournaments adopted the roles and fictional coats of arms of Arthur and his knights. ‘Round Tables’ were set up at many English tournaments,” and this playacting eventually “led to knights forming more regular tourneying brotherhoods: the golf clubs of their age.”

Henry of Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster,
2nd Member of the Order dressed in
Garter robes

Edward III, who was fond of holding these “Round Table” tournaments, eventually moved to create an official society that would mimic King Arthur’s legendary brotherhood of knights. The Order of the Garter was founded in 1344 (if we are to believe Jean Froissart), in 1350 (if we are to believe Geoffrey le Baker), or in 1348 (if we piece together some of the expenditures in the Royal Exchequer). This discrepancy in sources may seem amusing at first, until you realize that the date of establishment is only one of many knots historians must untangle as they weave together a history of the Order.

Froissart, a contemporary of King Edward’s, gives us this glimpse of the establishment:

At that time King Edward of England conceived the idea of altering and rebuilding the great castle of Windsor, originally built by King Arthur, and where had first been established the noble Round Table, from which so many fine men and brave knights had gone forth and performed great deeds throughout the world. King Edward’s intention was to found an order of knights, made up of himself and his sons and the bravest and noblest in England. There would be forty of them in all and they would be called the Knights of the Blue Garter and their feast was to be held every year at Windsor on St George’s Day. To institute the feast, the King called together the earls, barons and knights of the whole country and told them of his intentions and of his great desire to see them carried out. They agreed with him wholeheartedly, because they thought it an honourable undertaking and one which would strengthen the bonds of friendship among them. Forty knights were then chosen from among the most gallant of them all and these swore a solemn oath to the King always to observe the feast and the statutes, as these were agreed and drawn up. 

Henry VIII surrounded by the Garter Knights

Geoffrey le Baker, also a contemporary chronicler, gives his own description of the establishment of the Order and highlights the importance of the garter in their knightly regalia: “All these men, together with the king, were dressed in robes of russet and wore garters of dark blue on their right legs. The robes of the order were completed by a blue mantle, embroidered with the arms of St George.”

Nowadays, the garter is associated almost exclusively with women’s lingerie. How did it come to be the symbol of a chivalric order for an English king and his knights? Here we find yet another confusing tile in the mosaic of the Order’s history.

One legend, written down by Polydore Vergil in 1534, gives this romantic rationale:

[P]opular tradition nowadays declares that Edward at some time picked up from the ground a garter from the stocking of his queen or mistress, which had become unloosed by some chance, and had fallen. As some of the knights began to laugh and jeer on seeing this, he is reputed to have said that in a very little while the same garter would be held by them in the highest honour. And not long after, he is said to have founded this order and given it the title by which he showed those knights who had laughed at him how to judge his actions. Such is popular tradition. 

The romantic elements of the story continued to grow over time. By the end of the sixteenth century, Joan of Kent, the Countess of Salisbury (she who would later marry the Black Prince), had become the celebrated beauty whose garter fell to the floor while dancing with the king. And the chivalrous Edward responded to his jeering courtiers with the same words which he would make the motto of the Order: “Honi soit qui mal y pense – Shamed be the one who thinks evil of it.”

How much stock should be put in this story is difficult to say. Some historians partially accept it, but state that the woman referred to was actually Joan of Kent’s mother-in-law (another Countess of Salisbury for whom King Edward was reputed to have a violent passion). Others discount the story altogether as a tale too fantastical and too anachronistic. Richard Barber, a historian of the latter school, writes:

The word ‘garter’ is extremely rare, and indeed only appears once before the foundation of the Order…here it is applied to an item of apparel worn by fashionable squires to keep up their hose…. I have found only one piece of evidence of ladies wearing garters before the fifteenth century: in 1389, the prostitutes of Toulouse were to wear a badge of a garter by royal decree – once again, there is a suggestion of political mockery and propaganda [i.e. the French making fun of Edward III and his already-established Order]. 

After arguing that the garter was not commonly worn by women during the fourteenth century, Barber goes on to say that the garter of this time period was a much different item of dress than we would think of as a garter today.

The form of the garter, as shown in the earliest known representation, is also unusual: it is a miniature belt, with buckle and perforated tongue, hardly a purely practical item of clothing. Later garters were usually a strip of cloth or silk, tied in a knot. I would tentatively suggest that the design is connected with the knight’s belt, one of the insignia used in the ceremony of knighthood. 

Those who accept Barber’s opinion, that the symbol of the Garter was a masculine one, a piece of equipment typically worn by knights, must still find an explanation for the Order’s motto: “Honi soit qui mal y pense – Shamed be the one who thinks evil of it.” If the episode of a lady dropping her garter never occurred, then what motivated Edward to choose this phrase?

Philip IV

A plausible answer to this question can be found in Edward III’s claim to the French throne. In 1328, the last son of the French king Philip IV died, leaving no male heir. Edward III of England, as the son of Philip IV’s daughter Isabella, considered himself next in line for the French crown. The French, however, had already chosen Philip VI, nephew to Philip IV and grandson to Philip III, to be their ruler.

The laws of inheritance during this time period varied by country and were hotly disputed within France itself, but suffice it to say that there were more quibbles with Edward’s claim than the fact that he was English. In 1337, he invaded France in an attempt to take the French crown by force and began the conflict now known as the Hundred Years’ War. The Order of the Garter, whether it was founded in 1344, 1348, or 1350, came onto the scene during the first phase of this war, and all of its founding members were English nobility who would take part in the fight against France. Its motto, “Shamed be the one who thinks evil of it,” could very well be a gauntlet thrown at those naysayers who denied Edward’s claim to the crown.

Although the real events surrounding the founding of this Order may never be totally proved, it is indisputably acknowledged that the Order of the Garter is the most famous and longest lasting society of chivalry in the world. On April 23, 2008, Prince William was appointed the one thousandth member of the group. The video below shows the procession of the Garter Knights on the day Prince William was inducted into the Order. Some of the vestments have changed to accommodate the more modern clothing of our own time, but one can still see the blue mantle described by Geoffrey le Baker. And if you look closely at the circular badge attached to that mantle, you will see that enigmatic motto still in use: “Honi soit qui mal y pense – Shamed be the one who thinks evil of it.”

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Rosanne E. Lortz is the author of I Serve: A Novel of the Black Prince. Set against the turbulent backdrop of the Hundred Years' War, I Serve chronicles the story of Sir John Potenhale. A young Englishman of lowly birth, Potenhale wins his way to knighthood on the fields of France. He enters the service of Edward, the Black Prince of Wales, and immerses himself in a stormy world of war, politics, and romantic intrigue. The Order of the Garter makes an appearance in the book as the Black Prince is invested by his father as the first member of the society.

You can learn more about Rosanne's books at her Official Author Website where she also blogs about writing, mothering, and things historical.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Barber, Richard. Edward, Prince of Wales and Aquitaine: A Biography of the Black Prince. Great Britain: The Boydell Press, 1978.

Froissart, Jean. Chronicles. Translated and edited by Geoffrey Brereton. London: Penguin Books, 1978.

Hallam, Elizabeth, ed. Chronicles of the Age of Chivalry. London: Salamander Books, Ltd., 2002.

How Joan of Kent Became Princess of Wales

by Rosanne E. Lortz

Edward, the Black Prince, and Joan of Kent: a pair of star cross’d lovers that eventually came together in one of history’s true love matches. It took three marriages and over thirty years before Joan finally became the Princess of Wales, but if the chroniclers are to be believed, it was worth the wait.

Seal of Edward II

Joan, who later became known as “The Fair Maid of Kent,” was the daughter of Edmund of Woodstock, half brother to King Edward II of England. Edmund supported the king in the bitter battle against his wife Queen Isabella, pejoratively known as the “she-wolf of France.” When Isabella and her lover Roger Mortimer triumphed, Edward II was deposed, placed in prison, and later murdered. Edmund Woodstock, for the crime of remaining loyal to his brother, was sentenced to death for treason in 1330. As the story goes, Edmund had to wait nearly half a day for the authorities to find an executioner willing to do the deed since no one wanted to be responsible for his unjust death. Edmund of Woodstock was survived by his wife and four children. Joan, the third of Edmund’s progeny, was a little less than two years old at the time.

Young Edward III had been placed on the throne by Isabella and Mortimer, but he was more filial to his father’s memory than his mother’s commands. When he came of age, he organized a coup to remove the adulterous pair from power. Mortimer he executed, Isabella he imprisoned, and in a kindly gesture, he took Edmund Woodstock’s widow and her brood into his household to be provided for.

Edward III and the Black Prince

As these events were transpiring, Edward III’s wife Philippa gave birth to their oldest son, another Edward, to whom history would give the appellation, the “Black Prince of Wales.” This Prince Edward and his cousin  Joan were raised in close proximity to each other, and later events indicate that they grew to be fast friends. A marriage between the two was never considered, at least not by the one person who mattered. King Edward III was determined to secure for his eldest son a matrimonial alliance that would benefit the country of England. During the Black Prince’s early years, his father attempted at various times to betroth him to the daughter of the French king, the daughter of the Duke of Brabant, and a Portuguese princess. None of these marriage alliances materialized, however, and the prince was destined to remain a bachelor until the age of thirty, winning great glory on the battlefields of Crecy and Poitiers.

Joan, on the other hand, was in the unenviable position of having too many marriages materialize. When she was twelve years of age (fifteen or sixteen, according to other sources), she contracted a secret marriage with Thomas Holland, a man twice her age and seneschal to the house of Salisbury. Her royal family, it is certain, knew nothing of this marriage to Holland, for a few years later they betrothed her to William Montacute, the Earl of Salisbury. What happened next is unclear, whether Joan actually did go through with the marriage to Salisbury or whether the news of her earlier marriage came out first and prevented the ceremony. Holland, it is thought, must have been overseas at the time or he would have spoken up to prevent the polyandrous relationship. One fact at least is certain: there were now two Englishmen claiming Joan of Kent as their wife.

Joan’s opinion on the matter was that her first marriage to Thomas Holland was binding and ought to be recognized. But Joan’s opinion was also of little consequence. One story, perhaps apocryphal, describes the Earl of Salisbury locking the lady up in a tower and refusing to let her go to her first husband. An appeal was sent to the pope asking him to rule on the situation. Even though it had been undertaken without her guardians’ permission, Pope Clement VI decided in favor of the first marriage, and Joan took her place in Holland’s home as his wife.

Joan’s marriage to Thomas Holland produced two sons and two daughters. Her oldest son, Thomas, was privileged to have the Black Prince stand godfather to him at his baptism, a sign of the mutual regard between his mother and her cousin Edward. Holland, although his first appearance on the scene was as a lowly seneschal, rose swiftly in the world. He became Earl of Kent in right of his wife, and shortly before his death in 1360 was named captain-general of all of England’s holdings on the continent.

At Holland’s death, Joan—fabulously wealthy, still young, and still beautiful—was the most eligible widow in all of England. A French chronicler tells how many of the English lords sought her hand in marriage, asking the Black Prince to be the go-between and make the match. Here is historian Henry Dwight Sedgwick’s delightful summary of the story:

The widow, as I say, was a great catch, and, as in those martial days there was little time for the more delicate hesitations and diffidences of life, suitors very soon gathered round. Many gentlemen, knowing that she and the Prince were not only cousins but good friends, went to him and asked him to say a few words to her in their favor. The most importunate of these was Lord Brocas, a very gallant nobleman of high rank, who had served the Prince well both in war and peace. The Prince, accordingly, accepted the commission and went to see the Countess of Kent several times on the suitor’s behalf. The chronicler states that he went very willingly; for which, apart from the commission, there were reasons enough. First, she was his cousin; second, he took notice of her very great beauty and of her gracious manner that pleased him wonderfully well; and third, the time passed agreeably.  

On one occasion, when the Prince was speaking to her of the said gentleman, she answered that she should never marry again. She was moult soubtille et sage and repeated this to the Prince several times. The Prince replied, “Heigh ho! Belle Cousine, in case you do not wise to marry any of my friends, the great beauties, of which you are compact, will be wasted. If you and I were not of common kin, there is no lady under heaven whom I should hold so dear as you.” And the Prince was taken unawares by love for the Countess. And then, like the subtle woman, and skillful in ambush, that she was, the Countess began to cry. Then the Prince tried to comort her; he kissed her very often, and felt great tenderness for her tears, and said to her: “Belle Cousine, I have a message for you from one of the gallant gentlemen of England, and he is besides a very charming man.” The Countess answered, still weeping: “Ah, Sire, for God’s sake forbear to speak of such things to me. I have made up my mind not to marry again; for I have given my heart to the most gallant gentleman under the firmament, and for love of him, I shall have no husband but God, so long as I live. It is impossible that I should marry him. So, for love of him, I wish to shun the company of men. I am resolved never to marry.”  

The Prince was very desirous to know who was the most gallant gentleman in the world, and begged the Countess insistently to tell him who it was. But the Countess the more she saw his eagerness, the more she besought him not to inquire further; and, falling on her knees, said to him: “My very dear Lord, for God’s sake, and for His mother’s, the sweet Virgin, please forbear.” The Prince answered that, if she did not tell him who was the most gallant gentleman in the world, he would be her deadly enemy. Then the Lady said to him: “Very dear and redoubtable Lord, it is you, and for love of you no gentleman shall lie beside me.” The Prince, who was then all on fire with love for her, said: “Lady, I swear to God, that as long as I live, no other woman shall be my wife.” And soon they were betrothed.

A less colorful, and probably less embroidered version of the story is given in the Life of the Black Prince written by Chandos Herald:

The prince, very soon after this [the Treaty of Bretigny in 1360], married a lady of great worth, with whom he had fallen in love, who was beautiful, pleasing and wise. He did not wait long after his marriage before going to Gascony to take possession of his lands. The prince took his wife with him, whom he loved greatly. 

Because the two were closely related, they needed to receive a dispensation from the pope allowing the marriage. They had no trouble obtaining it. The historian Richard Barber writes: “Innocent VI, like all the Avignon popes, favoured the French cause, and the prince’s proposed marriage eliminated an important diplomatic weapon for the English.” The French wanted nothing better than to see Edward III’s son make a politically useless marriage.

But although an alliance with Joan offered no political advantage, the prince never appeared to regret his choice. Seven years later, the romance was still alive, as evidenced by a letter written to Joan after the Battle of Najera. The prince’s salutation reads: “My dearest and truest sweetheart and beloved companion.”

Although sickness and time would harden the prince’s character, making him capable of committing the massacre at Limoges in 1370, we never hear of anything but felicity betwixt him and Joan. Together Edward and Joan had two sons, the youngest of whom would become Richard II of England.

Edward died in 1376 at the age of 45. He had instructed that his body be laid to rest in the crypt of Canterbury Cathedral, in the Chapel of Our Lady with a space nearby for his dear wife. He even had carvings of her face added to the ceiling there. The crypt, however, was not deemed worthy enough, and so his body was moved upstairs to be placed by the shrine of the famous Saint Thomas Becket. Joan lived nine years longer to see the accession of her son to the throne, the rise of the Lollards, and the Peasants’ Revolt. When she died, her body was laid to rest in Lincolnshire beside the tomb of Thomas Holland, her first husband. And so, despite the prince’s dearest wishes, in the end he and his “beloved companion” were separated.

As wife to Edward, the Black Prince, Joan became history’s first English Princess of Wales. But there was more to remember about Joan than just her title. She was, in the words of the chronicler Froissart, “la plus belle de tout le royaume d’Engleterre et la plus amoureuse – the most beautiful woman in all the realm of England, and the most loving.” Or to use Henry Dwight Sedgwick’s translation: “the prettiest girl and greatest coquette in England.”

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Rosanne E. Lortz is the author of I Serve: A Novel of the Black Prince. Set against the turbulent backdrop of the Hundred Years' War, I Serve chronicles the story of Sir John Potenhale. A young Englishman of lowly birth, Potenhale wins his way to knighthood on the fields of France. He enters the service of Edward, the Black Prince of Wales, and immerses himself in a stormy world of war, politics, and romantic intrigue. Joan of Kent appears as a supporting character in the novel as Sir John Potenhale serves as the go-between to carry secret messages between his master the Black Prince and the lady he is forbidden to love.

You can learn more about Rosanne's books at her Official Author Website where she also blogs about writing, mothering, and things historical.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Barber, Richard. Edward, Prince of Wales and Aquitaine: A Biography of the Black Prince. Great Britain: The Boydell Press, 1978.

_______, trans. and ed. The Life and Campaigns of the Black Prince: from contemporary letters, diaries and chronicles, including Chandos Herald’s Life of the Black Prince. Great Britain: The 

Boydell Press, 1979.

Froissart, Jean. Chronicles. Translated and edited by Geoffrey Brereton. London: Penguin Books, 1978.

Sedgwick, Henry Dwight. The Black Prince. New York: Barnes and Noble Books, 1993.