The Joust

The Joust was a specific kind of tournament, and was one of the few types of military contests that had to be on horseback and involved only two combatants at a time. This one-on-one duel involved two men, each mounted, riding at each other with lances, attempting to unseat the other or break their lance. In some cases, a wooden barrier was placed the length of the lists to prevent the horses from colliding.

In the 12th century, jousting was sometimes not allowed because it distracted from the excitement of the other events, especially the mêlée, but Edward II of England in 1309 banned all forms of tournament except the joust. For him, it was more exciting to watch than the Pas d'armes or Tupinaire or Quintain, easier to see than the Mêlée because the men were higher off the ground and there were only two, a bit safer because there was a specific goal.

Some people spoke out against any form of tournament. Pope Innocent II at Clermont forbade Christian burial for anyone killed in a tournament. He was all for warfare against the heathen, but did not want Christians endangering each other's lives. And tournaments could be dangerous; just a few posts back we learned of someone dying because of a tournament. Henry II imposed a ban on tournaments because knights traveling from far and wide to join one were indulging in harassment of the population along the way. His son Richard, however, loved fighting, and established six locations where they were permitted to hold tourneys (and established a fee structure—payable to the Crown—for those who wanted to hold them and participate).

Richard's brother, John, and John's son, Henry III, made jousting more difficult with restrictions that encouraged safety but limited the excitement. Some of the rules that developed over time were necessary, to help figure out who won. After a day of pairs of knights going against each other, the winners could be declared as follows:

1st place: unhorsing the opponent; extra if the horse falls down.
2nd place: breaking lances
3rd place: most striking of the opponent's visor (this was particularly dangerous, but got you points)
4th place: breaking the most spears

There were also rules that could disqualify you:

Striking a horse
Striking a man's back from behind him

You could also be penalized for breaking your spear on the opponent's saddle (a forbidden target).

Some of the last tournaments and jousts took place during the reign of Henry VIII, who used elaborate ones to celebrate momentous events, such as the birth of a son.

Next time, I want to talk about Pope Innocent II and his Second Lateran Council that forbade jousts and tournaments.

Isabella, Countess of Gloucester

Isabella of Gloucester (c.1160/1166 - 1217) was the youngest (surviving) daughter of the 2nd Earl of Gloucester, William FitzRobert, and Hawise of Beaumont, daughter of the Earl of Leicester. We call her Countess of Gloucester now, but she was actually Queen of England. To explain, we have to step back and talk about King Henry II and his youngest son, John.

Henry seemed to consider John his favorite, perhaps because John was the only one of Henry's son who never rebelled against his father and tried to take the throne. I think Henry understood that John was not likely to inherit the throne: he had brothers who were ahead in line of succession, and were also aggressive enough that they would easily usurp the throne from John.

Henry dealt with this situation by increasing John's real estate holdings, and therefore the revenues from said properties. He did this sometimes at the expense of Henry's nobles, appropriating their estates and giving them to John. In September 1176, Henry argued with Isabella's father, William. To resolve the dispute and ensure amity between earl and king, William promised Isabella's hand to John in marriage, and to recognize John as the heir to the estates of Gloucester. (Even if William and Hawise had another son, John would still get half the estates.)

Well, William died in 1183, and even though Isabella had sisters, Henry declared Isabella sole heir to all of her father's lands, and also declared her his ward, giving him control over all the Gloucester property. He retained this control until he died in 1189, at which point Richard became king and Isabella was given to John in marriage. (This was risky in the eyes of the Church and its rules of consanguinity, since Isabella and John were closely related, having the same great-grandfather.) Since they did not get a dispensation from the pope to override the consanguinity issue, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Baldwin of Forde, put John under Interdict. The Interdict was removed by the papal legate, but the marriage was never condoned.

It stayed intact, however, and when Richard I died in 1199, John became king in May. John then requested that his marriage to Isabella be annulled on the grounds of consanguinity; this was granted in August.

But John kept the lands.

Isabella had a nephew, Amaury, Count of Évreux. John gave him the title Earl of Gloucester. He died in 1213, and Isabella became Countess of Gloucester. It is possible that she was never formally crowned, but she was married to the King of England, for however brief a time, making her something of a "forgotten queen." In fact, her likeness is hard to find. The illustration above is a generic royal woman.

Isabella was not left out in the cold. She had two advantageous marriages after John, and I'll tell you about those tomorrow.

Ermengarde de Beaumont

Henry II of England had such a hold over William I of Scotland (after William joined in the rebellion of Henry's sons against their father) that he put his knights in control of several Scottish castles, forced William to pay him £26,000, and even chose William's bride. This was all done by the Treaty of Falaise that William was forced to sign to get out of captivity.

The bride-to-be was not inconsequential. Henry chose Ermengarde de Beaumont, a great-granddaughter of Henry I. More immediately, she was the daughter of a viscount, Richard I of Beaumont-le-Vicomte. One chronicler, Walter Bower, described her as "an extraordinary woman, gifted with a charming and witty eloquence." She was 16 when she married William at Woodstock Palace.

William objected (uselessly), feeling that a king should have a bride of higher status, but Henry was feeling generous: he offered to pay all wedding expenses and to return to William the castles he had taken due to the Treaty of Falaise. The Castle of Edinburgh was considered Ermengarde's dowry.

William accepted the bride under these conditions (again, he had little choice), but he may not have accepted his "marital duties." He had fathered illegitimate children by at least two women, but children by Ermengarde did not come until at least seven years after the wedding. Perhaps it was only his concern to produce legitimate heirs that prompted him to finally treat Ermengarde as his wife.

Ermengarde was not just a footnote to William's reign, however. She supposedly helped a royal chaplain obtain a bishopric after she (and the king) accepted a bribe. In 1209, she mediated on behalf of her aging husband (he was 67) with King John. She is said to have taken over some of his duties in his later years, and went with William to England in 1212 to secure from King John the succession of their son Alexander.

After William's death in 1214, she was described as being distraught. She spent her final years founding the Cistercian Balmerino Abbey in Fife, where she was buried after her death in 1234.

So...what was the mediation in 1209 with King John, you ask? Well, despite previous failures, William never gave up his (and his ancestors') dream of expanding Scotland to include Northumbria. Let me tell you tomorrow how that went.

Prince John in Ireland

Prince John (24 December 1166 - 19 October 1216) had been made Lord of Ireland by his father, Henry II, in the 1177 Council of Oxford. He took a tour of Ireland in the second half of 1185 as a first step to creating a Kingdom of Ireland as part of the Angevin Empire. 

John may have had reason to be bitter from the start. His father had sought the pope's blessing to declare John King of Ireland, but Popes Alexander III followed by Lucius III were not in agreement, so John went as "Lord" instead of his hoped-for title "King." He arrived in Waterford with 300 knights and numerous soldiers and archers in April 1185, which of course caused anxiety among the Irish who saw an army rather than a diplomatic mission.

We have Gerald of Wales to thank for details*: his Topographia Hibernica tells how John was greeted by several Gaelic Irish leaders whose long beards made John and his men first laugh and then abuse the Irish by yanking their beards. On his tour through Ireland, he promised land grants to his retainers, further angering the locals.

His supposed goal of setting up administrative structures to maintain Anglo-Norman rule was a failure. He alienated the Irish, he ran out of money to pay his men (and lost some through desertion as well as in battles against Irish forces), and he had little or no skill as an administrator. His opposition in Ireland was not all Irish, either. Hugh de Lacey was an Anglo-Norman baron who had been made Lord of Meath by Henry years earlier. John complained to Henry that de Lacey prevented John from collecting tributes from the Irish leaders. This may well be true: Lacey had established a firm presence, and John's ham-handed approach to Ireland was disrupting a comfortable, pre-existing arrangement.

The Lord of Meath was not to remain a problem for John, however: he was killed a year later by an Irishman, Giolla Gan Mathiar Ó Maidhaigh. John was immediately sent back on hearing the news to take possession of de Lacey's lands.

It is unlikely that the Anglo-Norman plan to take over Ireland would ever be considered a positive event, but John's feckless attitude on his first tour certainly was not beneficial. Of course, there was already an Anglo-Norman presence (Hugh de Lacey, for example). In fact, there was already an Anglo-Norman "Lord" of Ireland, appointed by Henry years earlier but replaced by John at the Council of Oxford. His name was William FitzAldhelm, who was actually sitting at the Council of Oxford when Henry announced John's appointment to replace William. I'll tell you about him tomorrow.

*The illustration is from a copy of the Topographia: it shows the killing of a white mare that is then made into a stew in which the new king bathes before his courtiers eat the stew. (I wouldn't make this up.)

Gerald and Henry's Sons

Gerald of Wales (c.1146 - 1223) wrote about Henry II and his sons, giving a different facet to the most prominent figures in England at the time. One of his character descriptions is of a man who was Henry II's son, his namesake, and his enemy: Henry the Young King, who rebelled against his father. Although Henry tried to usurp his father's throne, Gerald paints an admirable portrait of him:

In peace, and in private life, he was courteous, affable gentle, and amiable, kindly indulgent to those by whom he chanced to be injured, and far more disposed to forgive than to punish the offenders. His disposition was so good that he could never refuse to give anything that was fitting, thinking that no one ought to leave his presence sorrowful, or disappointed of his hopes. In short, he considered that he had lost a day when he had not secured the attachment of many by various acts of liberality, and bound them to him, body and soul, by multiplied favors conferred.

This amiable and generous nature changed when it was time for war:

When in arms and engaged in war, no sooner was the helmet on his head than he assumed a lofty air, and became impetuous, bold, and fiercer than any wild beast. His triumphs were often gained more by his valor than by fortune; and he was in all respects another Hector, son of Priam, except that the one fought on behalf of his father and his country, and the other, alas! was led by evil counsels to fight against both.

Henry's second son, Richard the Lionheart, did not fare so well in Gerald's eyes:

Different as were the habits and pursuits of the two brothers, sprung from the same stock and the same root, each has merited everlasting glory and endless fame. They were both tall in stature, rather above the middle size, and of commanding aspect. In courage and magnanimity they were nearly equal; but in the character of their virtues there v as a great disparity. One was admirable for gentleness and liberality, the other distinguished himself by his severity and firmness. The one had a commendable suavity, the other gravity. One was commended for his easy temper, the other for his determined spirit. One was remarkable for his clemency, the other for his justice. The vile and undeserving found their refuge in the one, their punishment from the other. One was the shield of bad men, the other the hammer to crush them. The one was bent on martial sports, the other on serious conflicts. The one bestowed his favours on foreigners, the other on his own people; the one on all the world, the other on the worthy only. The one's ambition magnanimously compassed the world; the other coveted, to good purpose, what was rightfully his own.

Geoffrey (prince of Brittany) and John (Prince of Ireland), get less attention; John especially seems to get the "we hope he will rise to the excellence of his brothers" treatment:

The Armorican-British and the Irish dominions proclaim the well-merited praises of the two others. Both of them were of rather short stature, a little below the middle height, and for their size were well-shaped enough. Of these, the one is already distinguished by his virtues, and has attained the highest honours; the other will. The one is well versed in military affairs; the other has to be instructed in them. ... The one is already great in action, the other leads us to expect he will be great; for not degenerating from his high origin, he has equaled his most noble brothers in worth as far as his powers admit.

Later in life, Gerald spent his time writing and making a few trips to Ireland and Rome. Some of his works were devotional instruction, but he did write a text designed to advise princes how to act. (I am tempted to think he wrote this because of his time spent with Prince John.) We'll take a closer look at his advice tomorrow.

Gerald of Wales

Gerald of Wales (Giraldus Cambrensis, c.1146 - 1223) was a priest and a writer of history. That could be the introduction for many of the folk mentioned in this blog. Gerald was a bit different, however, in that he was the offspring of very prominent nobility and was employed by royalty for much of his life.

He was of both Norman and Welsh descent, a child of the conquerors and the conquered. Educated at the Benedictine house at Gloucester, he was employed by Becket's successor, Richard of Dover, and trusted to manage affairs in Wales such as abuses of consanguinity laws and Welsh church finances. After revealing the existence of a mistress of the archdeacon of Brecon, Gerald was appointed to replace him. The position had a small estate at Llanddew, allowing Gerald to collect tithes of wool and cheese.

His lifelong goal was to become Bishop of St. Davids in Pembrokeshire, Wales. When his uncle (then Bishop of St. David's) died in 1176, the chapter nominated Gerald. King Henry II rejected Gerald's appointment; he may have thought Gerald would be too independent—Wales was hoping to split from the authority of the Archbishop of Canterbury—and Henry had just got over the troubles he had as a result of Becket's martyrdom. Henry appointed a loyal Norman retainer, Peter de Leia. Gerald was also cousin to Rhys ap Gruffydd, a Welsh lord who was understandably hostile to Norman rule. Peter de Leia's relationship with Gruffydd was less than amiable, and Henry liked it that way.

Gerald's historical account includes this (possible) statement from Henry:

It is neither necessary nor expedient for king or archbishop that a man of great honesty or vigor should become Bishop of St. Davids, for fear that the Crown and Canterbury should suffer thereby. Such an appointment would only give strength to the Welsh and increase their pride.

Gerald consoled himself by leaving the country. He spent a year at the University of Paris, studying and teaching canon law and philosophy. In 1180, back in England and continuing to study theology, Bishop Peter de Leia offered him a minor position in the Bishop's household, which he at first accepted but shortly gave up.

Where he becomes of greater interest to modern scholars is in 1184 when he was asked by King Henry to mediate between the Crown and Rhys ap Gruffydd. After, he was sent with Prince John to Ireland, which led to his first important writing: Topographia Hibernica ("Topography of Ireland," although it was mostly history). Not long after he wrote Expugnatio Hibernica ("Conquest of Ireland"), the story of Henry's military campaign there. Both works were revised several times during Gerald's lifetime. 

This was the start of both his writing career and his work with several kings. We'll pick up with his map of Ireland—and how his writings were influential right into Tudor times—tomorrow.

To Kidnap a King

On his way back from the Third Crusade, King Richard I "Lionheart" of England was captured.

He had made many enemies in Europe. The Byzantine Emperor Isaac II Angelos was one, because Richard annexed the Island of Corfu (a Byzantine possession). Holy Roman Emperor Henry VI was angered because Richard supported King Tancred of Sicily, who had usurped the position from its proper heiress, Henry's wife Constance. Leopold of Austria blamed Richard for the murder of Leopold's cousin, Conrad of Montferrat.

So when Richard's ship was wrecked near Aquileia and Richard had to travel over land to get back home, he passed through Vienna, enabling Leopold to capture him around Christmas 1192. Interfering with a Crusader was against papal decree, but Richard had also personally offended Leopold by getting rid of Leopold's banner on the walls of Acre, even though Leopold had been with him at the Siege of Acre. When word got out, Pope Celestine III excommunicated Leopold.

Word got back to England of Richard's captivity, but no one knew where he was being held. He was given over to Henry VI's care on 28 March 1193, who imprisoned him at Trifels Castle. Not only was Henry angered at Richard's previous actions, he also had a goal: conquering all of southern Italy. This required military might, and that required money. Holding a king for ransom was one sure way of acquiring funds.

Henry's status as Holy Roman Emperor made Celestine reluctant to excommunicate him. Richard's treatment was initially respectful, but Richard treated Henry with disdain. Henry convened a council to condemn Richard for the capture of Cyprus, the insult to Leopold, the death of Conrad, and making a truce with Saladin. Richard defended his actions, and explained his lack of respect for Henry's imperial title by saying "I am born in a rank which recognizes no superior but God."

Afterward, Richard was kept in chains "so heavy that a horse or ass would have struggled to move under them." Henry demanded a ransom of 150,000 marks (100,000 pounds of silver). Richard's mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, now in her early 70s, took action, riding the country to raise funds and writing the pope about the horrible situation. A tax of 25% of the value of property was decreed against layman and all churches. Meanwhile, Richard's brother John and King Philip of France offered Henry 80,000 marks to keep Richard at least until Michaelmas 1194 (29 September in Europe).

Henry did something honorable and refused their offer. The ransom from England came through, and Richard was freed on 4 February 1194. (The illustration shows Richard kissing the feet of the emperor.) Upon his return to England he forgave John's actions and named John his heir (instead of their nephew Arthur, son of their brother Geoffrey).

And now for something completely different: Michaelmas. What was it about, and why did I have to specify "in Europe" above? I'll explain next time.

Medieval Toilets

Last week, a young co-worker expressed his disbelief that there were ever things like outhouses. I told him that I had used an outhouse many many times in my youth, which my family had built in our camping spot. That outhouse was a luxury: two holes, actual toilet seats, electric light, tissue paper.

Much of human history was not so fortunate.

Lacking indoor plumbing, the "privy" or "garderobe" was no more than a cramped alcove with a hole for straddling that dropped waste either to a deep pit or outside. Many castles built their garderobes to jut out from the exterior walls so that waste dropped into a ditch or moat. King Edward I made garderobes a requirement in his extensive Welsh castle-building program.

This design element for castles had one potential problem: the privy that extended out from the walls so the waste could simply fall outside the castle was a potential access point for invaders. An exposed waste shaft at Chateau Gaillard overlooking the Seine in Normandy (owned by King John of England) was low enough to the ground that it allowed forces of Philip II of France to sneak inside. A stone wall was built around the base to prevent further intrusions.

When Mayor Dick Whittington took office, he constructed a 128-seat public toilet facility called "Whittington's Longhouse" that dumped into the Thames so that high tide would flush the waste away. Many municipalities had public toilets, since health and hygiene were important for everyone's safety. They were often placed on bridges over rivers, as in York over the Ouse.

Whatever innovations were designed to drop waste away or flush it away with rivers or tides, there were still unsavory issues to deal with. The smell was always a problem. Also, in situations where refuse was not dropped into rivers but lay where it fell, paid positions were available for people to remove the waste and clean and fix the latrines. Maintenance was important, because unlike the stone example illustrated above, public latrines were built of wood, and wood needed to be replaced occasionally.

Tomorrow I'll share an incident in which architecture failed regarding a latrine. Prepare yourselves.

Curing Disease

The Royal Touch was not just for scrofula, nor was it just a simple touch.

Epilepsy was another disease that would bring folk to the king for healing; and like scrofula, it was a disease whose symptoms were irregular and could end spontaneously. It was actually King John who started the practice of blessing rings on Easter Sunday and hand them out as a cure for epilepsy.

Speaking of handing things out, Kings Edward I, II, and III of England would give a gift of alms to anyone who traveled a long distance to see them (as well as tokens as part of the Royal Touch ritual). It was not a huge sum, but also not an amount you'd stick in your pocket and forget. Because records were kept of royal expenses and alms, those reigns have accurate data on how many people received alms.

We know, therefore, that the reigns of the Edwards averaged about 500 healing rituals per year. Edward I "healed" as many as 1736 in one high-yield year, whereas Edward III only touched 136 one year. Keep in mind that the Third spent a good amount of his reign attacking France during the Hundred Years War, so he wasn't always available at home. Edward II did not spend much of his time in battles, and there was a lot of variation in his annual healing numbers.

The process was also slowed down during Edward II's reign (1307 - 1327) because it was more formalized:

The sick individual was brought before the king and then kneeled in front of the monarch. The king touched the face and cheeks of the afflicted person while a chaplain announced that "He put his hand upon them, and he healed them." The chaplain’s words referred to a passage in the Gospel of Mark 16:18 in which Jesus, speaking to his disciples after the resurrection, suggests that the disciples will have healing powers. Many people believed that the disease was brought on by sin, so prayers were central to the ceremony. [link]

The afflicted would then be given a "touch piece," a gold coin that could be worn around the neck to continue to keep them healthy. The illustration shows the touch piece given by Henry VI (reigned 1422 - 1471). The generosity of the gold coin and the Royal Touch together would enhance the reputation of the king as well as reinforce the notion of divine authority.

So if Edward II wasn't away at war, he could have endeared himself to his people with lots of healings. What was he doing with his time? That's a complicated question, but we will see what we can do about it tomorrow.

Sibling Strife

Although Geoffrey of York may have seemed like his father's favorite (despite his illegitimacy), Henry II's other sons were generous in their contempt, offering him choice offices but denying him some of the accompanying privileges. Were they pushing him to rebel so they could imprison him for treason? Or just practicing cruelty because of their father's preference for their half-brother?

After Richard's death, John became king, and restored Geoffrey to the position of Archbishop of York, but continued collecting the revenue of the properties associated with that position until Geoffrey returned from Rome. Richard had prevented him from returning to England after Geoffrey's visit to the pope to try to restore his position. Once he returned, Geoffrey and John spent the rest of 1199 in each other's company. As the two of Henry's sons who had not ever rebelled against their father, they had some things in common.

Geoffrey strained the relationship when, in 1200, he refused the carucage, a tax due the king. To be fair to Geoffrey, Richard as well as John had at times prevented him from collecting the revenue due his position in York, and Richard had "fined" him more than once. Geoffrey was probably financially more disadvantaged than any Archbishop of oak before or since. So Geoffrey and John fell out, but were reconciled at the funeral of Hugh of Lincoln in November 1200. Since Geoffrey afterward continued to prevent the collection of the king's tax, excommunicating the sheriff whose duty it was to collect it, their truce failed, upon which John demanded the payment for the office of Sheriff of Yorkshire (which Geoffrey had purchased during Richard's reign on a "promissory note" of 3000 marks. Geoffrey of course could not afford that, so in May 1201 he lifted the excommunication and made a payment to calm John down. Then they started clashing over ecclesiastical appointments in York. Geoffrey also clashed with some of the monasteries in his diocese over appointments. 

This back-and-forth continued. Geoffrey tried to reconcile permanently with John in 1206, and even had his properties (and associated revenue) returned to him. But in the following year the clergy of England objected to royal taxation. Can you guess which prelate led the charge? He also started excommunicating anyone in the diocese who tried to collect the tax. John re-confiscated his properties. Pope Innocent told John to return them, but Geoffrey had fled to France.

Geoffrey could have had a much more comfortable life than anyone could have expected, given his lack of legitimacy. His early life suggested a lazy and self-indulgent approach to life in the church, but he could have kept quiet and just quietly supported whichever member of his royal family was on the throne at the time. Instead, he seemed to "pull a Becket" and tried to throw his weight around as an archbishop. (To be fair, Becket seemed to change his attitude once he became archbishop because he felt obligated to champion the Church over Henry's whims, whereas Geoffrey's behavior seemed to be motivated by gathering as much money as he could.) Geoffrey even fought with the Archbishop of Canterbury over who was more important.

He died in Normandy on 12 December 1212 and was buried at the monastery where he had taken refuge, near Rouen.

It is not fair, however, to assume Geoffrey had no redeeming qualities (outside of loyalty to his father). The picture above is an illustration of Cain and Abel—appropriate for this post, I think. It is from the Psalter of St. Louis, which was used to teach the future Louis IX of France how to read. It is thought to have been created thanks to Geoffrey, and I'll talk more on it tomorrow.

Stannaries

A stannary was an administrative division in the counties of Cornwall and Devon based on tin-mining. The term comes from Middle English stannarie based on Medieval Latin stannaria, "tin mine,"which itself is from the Latin stannum, "tin." (You may know that the chemical symbol for Tin is Sn; now you know why.)

Tin was so important that a body of law was developed to deal specifically with stannaries. King John in 1201 gave the tin miners of Cornwall the Stannary Charter: the right to prospect for tin anywhere, to be exempt from standard taxation, and to have their own stannary courts in the case of law-breaking. King Edward I in 1305 confirmed these rights, as did Edward III when he created the Duchy of Cornwall in 1337. Crockern Tor, pictured above, was the site of the Stannary Parliament, representing the tin industry.

Tin mining pre-dated the Middle Ages in Cornwall. When the Romans arrived, it was already thriving. Diodorus Siculus in 44BCE wrote the earliest reference to Cornwall we know:

The people of that promontory of Britain called Belerion [west Cornwall] are friendly to strangers and, from their contact with foreign merchants, are civilised in their way of life. They carefully work the ground from which they extract the tin.

In the Middle Ages, the tin was smelted and made into blocks (later standardized at 170 kilograms). They were taken to specifically designated locations called stannary towns where a "prover" would test it for quality, then put an official stamp on it and allow it to be sold. A duty would be calculated on the sale, equivalent to four shillings per hundredweight (170 kilograms = 3.34 hundredweight) under Edward I. Duty amounts changed over time, but the amount of tin coming out of Cornwall and Devon was considerable, so anyone given the right to the duties could have a hefty income. After King John died (and after some other events), the king's council allowed his widow, Isabella of Angoulême the duty from the stannaries of Devon.

This whole system of special privilege, etc., existed until the Tin Duties Act of 1838.

The history of mining in Cornwall was far more extensive than dealing with tin, even tied to a Biblical legend. I'll tell you more next time.

Isabella of Angoulême

Isabella of Angoulême was born c.1186-88, the only daughter of Count Aymer Taillefer of Angoulême. At a very early age she was betrothed to Hugh IX, Count of Lusignan (who was at least 20 years older). A long-running rivalry between Angoulême and Lusignan would have been put to rest by this union.

It was not to be, however: King John of England came looking for a wife who could give him heirs, which was not going to happen with his first wife, Isabella of Gloucester. He settled on Isabella of Angoulême, annulled his first marriage, and married for the second time on 24 August 1200.

Isabella was still a child, and John treated her carefully, so it was not until 1 October 1207 when she was about 20 years old that she gave birth to a son and heir, who would become Henry III. She bore John a total of five children.

Henry was nine when John died, and Isabella swiftly arranged to have him crowned king. Unfortunately, John had lost his crown and much of his treasury, so she provided her own queen's circlet as part of the ceremony. By this time, she was already Countess of Angoulême (her father had died in 1202), so a year after the coronation, she left Henry in the care of his regent, William Marshal, and went to her lands in Angoulême.

In an interesting parallel, her daughter Joan (born 1210) was being raised in the Lusignan court and had been betrothed to Hugh X of Lusignan, son of the man to whom Isabella was originally betrothed. Hugh, however, seeing that Isabella's beauty had not diminished (she was only in her 30s), proposed to the woman who had long ago been promised to his father. They were wed in the spring of 1220. A different marriage was arranged for Joan.

As it turns out, the king's council in England reserved to itself the power to determine whether and to whom a queen dowager should marry; after all, she held lands due to her dead husband, and had a pension from the council. They objected to her marriage to Hugh that was done without their consent, so they canceled her pension and confiscated her English possessions. They wrote to the pope, asking for her to be excommunicated, but ultimately decided to negotiate with her for a swifter conclusion, because Isabella was keeping Joan with her, preventing the alternate marriage that was arranged to the King of Scotland. The council decided to allow her some financial support, like the stannaries in Devon.

Isabella had a difficult time adjusting to life as less than a queen. She and her husband tried uniting some of the French nobles against Louis IX. She encouraged Henry III when he invaded Normandy in 1230 (but could not provide him any military support). An attempt to poison King Louis IX by two cooks was foiled in 1244, but the cooks admitted they were paid by Isabella. She fled to Fontevrault Abbey for sanctuary ahead of the king's men, where she died on 4 June 1246. She was buried outside the abbey. Henry III visited the abbey later and objected to her burial outside. He had her moved inside, near Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine.

All of her children—five with John, nine with Hugh—survived to adulthood and had titles and good careers, any of whom would be interesting to look at next. I think, however, the "stannaries in Devon" wants explanation, and will be a nice respite from political marriages. See you next time.

Isabella of Gloucester

When King Henry II of England was looking for a wife for his younger son John, he was not as interested in pleasing John as he was in making an advantageous political and financial connection. If during this time John looked like Henry's favorite, it was only because all his other sons—including his oldest and heir, Henry the Young King because of all the power he had been given—and his wife had rebelled (unsuccessfully) against Henry.

Henry arranged betrothal to Isabella of Gloucester, but only after disinheriting her sisters so that all Gloucester lands would be hers on her father's death. This was in 1176, when John was nine and Isabella was only three or four years old. Both were great-grandchildren of Henry I, meaning the marriage was forbidden due to the laws of consanguinity. The wedding did not take place until 29 August 1189, at which John became Earl of Gloucester.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Baldwin, placed the Gloucester lands under interdict—meaning no one living there could partake in any Catholic services—due to the violation of consanguinity laws. An appeal to (antipope) Pope Clement III for a dispensation. This was granted, on the condition that the two abstained from sex. This explains why 10 years of marriage produced no children.

John pursued the consanguinity prohibition when it suited him—which it did after he became king. Wanting an heir, and not being interested in having them with Isabella, he annulled the marriage on the grounds of too-close blood ties. He put Isabella in "honorable confinement" at Winchester with an allowance for her comfort. John's lack of sensitivity to the feelings of others—and, after all, there is no sign that he cared for Isabella at all except for the political advantage—had a "task" for her. When John re-married, to a twelve-year-old Isabella of Angoulême, he lodged his new bride at Winchester in the care of his first wife, increasing her allowance from £50 to £80 pounds because she was hosting a queen. The second Isabella stayed with the first until a few weeks before she gave birth to the future King Henry III.

Eventually he found a new marriage for Isabella: in 1214, the Earl of Essex, Geoffrey de Mandeville paid to John 20,000 marks for the privilege to marry Isabella. He was a much younger man, but he died two years later. Unfortunately, because at the time of his death he had been rebelling against John, John confiscated all his lands, which included Isabella's Gloucester lands.

Now a poor widow, she married again a year later, to Hubert de Burgh who became the Chief Justiciar under John and John's son, Henry III. Sadly, she died only a month after marrying Hugh. She was interred in Canterbury Cathedral.

Now, about that second wife also called Isabella: let's learn more about her next.

John's Marriages

John, son of Henry II, having seized the throne of England after Richard the Lionheart's death, and subsequently having lost several possessions on the continent through war and treaties, decided to marry into a French noble family in order to regain some influence in France. His choice was Isabella of Angoulême in 1200. There were a couple issues about his decision that certainly raise modern eyebrows, and more than a few contemporary ones.

For one...well, we don't know enough about Isabella to know when she was born, but one estimate is 1188, making her 12 years of age. Still, she would be Countess of Angoulême in her own right when her father died (which he did, in 1202). Also, she was the niece through her mother of the current Latin Emperor of Constantinople, Peter II of Courtenay.

The other—well, one other—issue was that John already had a wife: Isabella, Countess of Gloucester. He managed to have that marriage annulled on the grounds that, as his cousin, he never should have married her in the first place, and in fact had failed to get the proper papal dispensation to do so, considering the current laws of consanguinity (they would change the same year that John would sign the Magna Carta, 1215). Fortunately for John, Isabella complied with there annulment, even though he kept the lands he had received through their marriage.

Back to the second Isabella: she had already been betrothed to Hugh IX le Brun, Count of Lusignan (and remember that Roman numeral; we will be coming back to it in the post after next). Her father decided that his daughter would be better off as a queen than as a Countess of Lusignan, so he agreed to the change in husbands for her. John might have made amends with the Lusignan's, but instead chose to treat them with contempt. This motivated an uprising by the Lusignan and their supporters which John had to suppress. Philip II of France also took the Lusignan snub as an excuse to confiscate the Angoulême lands.

So John's choice did not have all positive results, and rather than make inroads into France through marriage, he alienated a powerful family and lost more lands to Philip.

The second Isabella provided John with something the first one never could, however: heirs, including the next king, Henry III. Here's a good question, though: John was married to his first wife for 10 years. Why did they produce no heirs? The reason is simple: the couple was forbidden to have sexual intercourse. I'll explain that tomorrow.

The Angevin Collapse

The Angevin Empire begun by King Henry II of England started to crumble after Henry's son and successor, Richard the Lionheart, died in 1199. The next heir should be the eldest son of Richard's brother, Geoffrey of Brittany. That would be Duke Arthur. Unfortunately, in the tradition of King Stephen I and King Henry I, someone else ignored the proper succession and raced to seize the throne and the treasury. That would be Richard's younger brother, John.

This should not have been a surprise. John had rebelled unsuccessfully against Richard's administration while Richard was on the Third Crusade. In the present case, the loss of Richard created an opportunity for Philip II of France to take some of England's possessions on the continent, Évreux and the Vexin. The nobles of Anjou, Maine, and Touraine supported Arthur. John did, however, have the support of Aquitaine and Poitou thanks to his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, as well as Normandy. After being declared Duke of Normandy, he sailed to England where he was crowned in Westminster on 27 May.

Although England was largely secure, possessions in France were constantly the target of Philip II. John was forced into treaties with Philip in order to stop the hostilities. The Treaty of Le Goulet in 1200 saw John paying Philip 20,000 marks, giving up lands in Auvergne and Berry, giving up on the areas of Normandy that had been seized by Philip, and giving up his alliance with the Holy Roman Empire, who occasionally was a rival of France. The illustration shows via shades of red the dwindling authority of the Angevins.

John then decided to make a politically advantageous marriage, but there were two problems with that: one is that he was already married, and the second that John's decisions were almost always the wrong ones. Stay tuned.

The Angevin Empire

When King Stephen I of England died in 1154, the terms of the Treaty of Wallingford meant his rival's son would inherit the throne. Henry of Anjou became King Henry II of England and started the Angevin Empire. So what made it an empire? How large was it?

Well, England, of course, in which Henry had his grandest title of king, and also parts of Ireland and Wales. Through Henry's father, Geoffrey of Anjou, he was also Count of Anjou. Also, since Geoffrey took over Normandy not long before, Henry was Duke of Normandy. Moreover, because Henry married Eleanor of Aquitaine in 1152—who divorced the King of France to do so—he had Aquitaine.

The term "Angevin" was coined in 1887 by a British historian, based on "Anjou." Henry and his successors (sons Richard and John and John's son Henry III) would refer in documents to "our kingdom and everything subject to our rule whatever it may be" and never called it an empire or referred to themselves as Angevin. Technically, they were all Plantagenets.

Plantagenet was Geoffrey of Anjou's nickname. The plantagenet was the common broom, a flowering plant with bright yellow blossoms. Geoffrey was also known as Geoffrey the Handsome or the Fair. Perhaps his hair was lighter than typical, and the comparison to the golden flowers of the broom prompted the nickname. Even so, like the term "Angevin," it wasn't until Richard, 3rd Duke of York adopted Plantagenet as his family name during the Wars of the Roses that the term become attached to the whole hereditary line. It seems that Richard was linking himself to his ancestor Geoffrey in order to emphasize his proper place in the line of succession.

Extensive holdings on the continent (and perhaps spite, since Eleanor had abandoned being queen in France to become Queen Eleanor of England), made France a little hostile to the Angevin Empire. The problem created by Duke William of Normandy when he became King William of England in 1066 remained: how does a king of a country (England) react when he is likewise a lesser title (duke, count) in another country (France) and therefore subordinate to a king? That political oddity would define the English-French relationship for centuries.

It also calls into question the term "empire." To truly be an empire requires a centralized government and consistent laws and regulations throughout the territories. The varying laws and customs of the various Angevin territories were at odds with this definition.

Whether it was an empire like the Roman Empire or the medieval Holy Roman Empire, it didn't last more than a generation or two. Its demise will be the subject of the next post.

Medieval Zoos

Collections of animals for private amusement or public display have existed for a long time. There is a current trend toward calling them "conservation parks" to move away from the connotations of 20th century zoos that housed animals with no regard to their natural habitats. "Zoo" itself was a shortened form of "zoological garden" or "zoological park" which were common in the 19th century. An early modern zoo, the London Zoo, opened in 1828 as the "Gardens and Menagerie of the Zoological Society of London." References to collections of animals earlier than the 19th century often use the term "menagerie" from the French ménage, "members of a household."

Pre-medieval evidence of menageries abounds in carved stone walls from Egypt and Mesopotamia, where we learn that rulers sent expeditions to collect giraffes, elephants, bears, dolphins, and birds. A Middle Assyrian Emperor had a collection of animals in the 11th century BCE. King Solomon had a menagerie, as did Nebuchadnezzar. Alexander the Great collected different animals from his expeditions and sent them back to Greece. The Romans kept various animals—bears and bulls for example—for entertainment in the Colosseum. (The illustration here is from Villard de Honnecourt.) Cortes destroyed a collection of animals maintained by Montezuma in 1520.

Caliph Harun al-Rashid sent an elephant as a gift to Charlemagne. Charlemagne created three menageries, and they included monkeys, lions, bears, camels, and falcons along with other exotic birds. Henry I of England had lions, leopards, and camels at his Woodstock palace. As early as 1204, "Bad" King John kept a collection of different animals at the Tower of London. The Tower had three leopards added when Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II sent them as a wedding gift to Henry III. The king of Norway sent a "white bear" (could they have subdued and sent a polar bear?) in 1251, and the king of France sent an elephant in 1254.

Clearly the desire to see exotic animals from distant lands (and the prestige of owning them) was of great interest for as long as human beings had the time and resources to collect and maintain them.

About Charlemagne's elephant, though...we've all heard about Hannibal trying to bring elephants over the alps to attack Rome. Bringing elephants to Europe predated Charlemagne by a millennium. What did it take to give an elephant to Charlemagne, and what happened to it? His name was Abul-Abbas, and I'll tell you about him next time.

Blanche of Castile

Blanche of Castile was born on 4 March, 1188, in Palencia in north-central Castile (Spain). Her father was King Alfonso VIII; her mother was Eleanor of England, a daughter of King Henry II. In her lifetime, an attempt to end the endless fighting between England and France over the Duchy of Normandy took place between John of England and Philip II of France. This was the Treaty of le Goulet, and it was sealed with a marriage between Blanche's sister, Urraca, and Philip's son Louis.

Eleanor of Aquitaine, however, decided that Blanche would be more suitable for the marriage. When Blanche was 12 years old, Eleanor took Blanche to France to make the marriage happen. Louis was only 13, and so the marriage would not be consummated until a few years later. Blanche bore her first child in 1205.

Because Blanche had English ancestry through her mother (more specifically, through her grandfather Henry II), her role in the alliance marriage was accepted, and Louis of France was agreed to as the future king of England. King John died in October 1216, however, whereupon his son, nine-year-old Henry, was supported by the barons, who then rejected the idea of Louis inheriting the throne.

Louis' father Philip Augustus refused to support him in another war with England. Blanche decided to raise money for a fleet to send against England to put Louis on the throne. She organized two fleets; neither succeeded, being soundly defeated by English forces.

She only enjoyed three years as Queen of France before Louis died in 1226, leaving Blanche regent for his  12-year-old son, Louis IX. Several French barons did not support the young king, but Blanche appealed to the townspeople of Paris to protect him, which they did. She was instrumental in creating the Treaty of Paris which recognized Louis as king.

She was a highly important figure during her life, never backing down from fighting for what was right (for her).

One event she created which was not for her direct benefit was deciding to treat Jews fairly. She arranged the Disputation of Paris, a debate between Christianity and Judaism, which I will look at tomorrow.

The Scottish-English Border

The border separating England from Scotland almost became a little thicker last week, and this week is the anniversary of its creation, with the Treaty of York on 25 September 1237. The border had, not surprisingly, fluctuated over the years, but the Treaty of York effectively stopped Scotland's attempts to push south.

The Treaty itself was not a grandly historical moment—and historians often skip over it when discussing relations between the two countries—but the event is interesting because of the account by Matthew Paris and the relationship between the participants, King Alexander II of Scotland and King Henry III of England. The two of them worked well together when they had to; after all, Alexander had married Henry's sister Joan in 1221, and Alexander's sister had married Henry's former regent, the influential Hubert de Burgh.

But Matthew Paris (known for being less than objective or factual) made the Treaty far more interesting by lying about the signing. He had nothing good to say about Alexander, portraying him as uncivil and aggressive toward the attending papal legate, Otho, who had been invited by Henry. Supposedly, Alexander claimed that, since no papal legate had ever been to Scotland, he would not allow any papal legate to visit the country. This was untrue, since papal legates had visited Scotland under Alexander's grandfather, uncle, and father; Alexander himself had seen a papal legate earlier.

The Treaty did not end a vicious war or curtail a rebellion; in some ways, it merely ratified current conditions. Scotland gave up claims to Northumberland, Cumberland, and Westmorland, and gave up a debt of 15,000 silver marks owed to Scotland that had been given to King John. Scotland also forgave the breaking of promises to marry some of Alexander's sisters to prominent Englishmen. England, in turn, gave Scotland specific territories within Northumberland and Cumberland, with complete judicial control over actions within.

Both countries also ratified that previous treaties and agreements that did not contradict the Treaty of York would be honored.

All in all, the Treaty did not seem to do much, and yet unfulfilled aristocratic marriage promises, royal debts, and border disputes had been enough to cause war, or at least great hostility between nations. The document signed at York that day may well have prevented much strife that otherwise would have followed.

Two Men and a Car

Redvers Coat of Arms

William de Redvers, 5th Earl of Devon, died 10 September 1217; he was born sometime before 1146, (the year his mother died). His coat of arms was a lion rampant (facing left). At Richard Lionheart's coronation, four earls supported the canopy under which he walked in the procession. William was one of the canopy bearers. Prior to Richard's accession, William was loyal to King John.

Falkes de Breauté, with no particular aristocratic standing (he is rumored to have been illegitimate), died in 1226. His coat of arms was a griffin. He, too, had been loyal to King John. Falkes rose to prominence during the First Barons War when John faced a revolt from his barons. Falkes was prominent in many military engagements on behalf of John.

With their loyalty to King John (at a time when he needed men faithful to him), these two men probably crossed paths more than once. At least one of those times, however, was not in a good way.

William had a son, Baldwin, who would become the 6th Earl of Devon after William's death. Baldwin married Margaret Fitzgerald, the daughter of King John's chamberlain. Baldwin and Margaret had a son, also named Baldwin. Sadly, the elder Baldwin died on 1 September 1216.

Evolution of Vauxhall griffin

Falkes, with no title or fortune to his name, took it upon himself to improve his standing by kidnapping the widowed Margaret and forcing a marriage. William objected, but John approved, choosing to reward Falkes for exemplary service. Falkes received not only Margaret's dowry from her father, but also, when William died in 1217, the estates connected to the Devon title, since he was now regent for the younger Baldwin, who became the 6th Earl of Devon.

Part of Margaret's dowry was an area in London dominated by a manor which, because of her new husband, became known as Falkes' Hall. The name morphed through the years once the original reason for the name faded into history, first becoming "Foxhall" and later "Vauxhall." In 1857, a Scottish engineer founded a company in Vauxhall which later became the Vauxhall Iron Works and then, in 1907, the Vauxhall Motor Company. This company used, as its logo, the griffin of Falkes de Breauté.

So...if Falkes had not kidnapped William's daughter-in-law, the area in London known as Vauxhall would not have been given that name; moreover, whatever name it did get, the logo of an automobile company coated there might have been a lion rampant, which might have caused problems for the French Peugeot line of automobiles.