Eleanor Later

In the later years of their marriage, Eleanor of Aquitaine spent long stretches of time apart from King Henry II. From 1168 until 1173, for instance, she held court in Poitiers. She wasn't idle: she had responsibilities to Poitou and Aquitaine—territories that came to her from her father—and Henry was apparently content to have her stay there and manage them as his regent in the area. Moreover, the weather and lifestyle of the continent might have suited her more than life in England.

Her grandfather, William the Troubadour, had added to the Palace of Poitiers, where she lived, and Eleanor would also add to the original Merovingian structure, with a dining hall so vast that it was called the Salle des Pas Perdus, the "hall of lost footsteps," because the sound of footsteps got lost in the 50 by 17 meter expanse (see illustration).

Henry traveled to meet King Louis VII in January 1169. The purpose was to create alliances by betrothing his son Richard to Louis' daughter Alys. Henry's son Henry was already betrothed to Louis' daughter Marguerite. There is no evidence that Henry visited Eleanor while on the continent. They were together for Christmas 1170 near Bayeaux, and again in 1172 at Chinon.

The couple were together for a week in February 1173 at Montferrand for the betrothal of Prince John to Alice of Maurienne. At this time, the young Henry, who had already been crowned in order to establish the succession, became openly rebellious against his father. Henry II took him to Chinon, but the morning after they arrived found young Henry gone. He had fled to Paris and Louis VII, who supported him as the new king of England.

This started a revolt of his sons (but not John, who was only seven and by his father's side) against Henry II. Later writers found reason to blame Eleanor. William of Newburgh wrote that young Henry went to his mother, where his brothers Richard and Geoffrey were staying, to convince them to join him in overthrowing their father. Newburgh claims Henry had help from Eleanor to convince the two. Roger of Hoveden is more explicit, stating Eleanor deliberately sent the other sons to join their brother.

Whatever the case, it seemed Eleanor did put the resources of Aquitaine behind the rebellion. Going to join her sons in Paris in April, Eleanor was captured by Henry II's men and confined in Rouen. In 1174, Henry II took Eleanor and other nobles back to England to prepare for invasion from France. Eleanor was confined to an unknown location.

Henry senior beat the rebellion, and the sons had freedom afterward, but Eleanor was never allowed to be totally free. Her wealth and reputation were too risky to be allowed to interfere in royal policy. He tried having the marriage annulled on the grounds of consanguinity—which is how she became free to marry him in the first place—but a papal legate advised against it. He then tried to convince Eleanor to become a nun, but she requested the Archbishop of Rouen to persuade Henry to stop. Henry turned again to the pope, but was denied. The only recourse was to keep her under "house arrest" while he lived.

Her life after Henry's death was long and eventful, but would take months to discuss in 300-word snippets, so we will say that she died on the night of 31 March 1204 at the age of 80 and entombed between Henry II and Richard I.

History knows that Prince John was a pretty ineffective king, and of his role in Magna Carta and the trouble with Barons, but what happened to that marriage plan with Alice of Maurienne, and what or where was Maurienne, and was it a good match? I'll go into that tomorrow.

Louis, Eleanor, Annulment

King Louis VII of France had a problem. His clever and wealthy wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was really getting on his nerves. On the Second Crusade, she contributed to a blunder that cost thousands of French lives, and they argued over whether to stay ion Antioch and help her uncle, Raymond of Poitiers, or go to Jerusalem. Louis also (according to Odo of Deuil, eyewitness to the Crusade) suspected her of an improper relationship with her uncle, although that may simply have been because the Aquitainian culture was far more emotional and expressive than the Capetians.

She had also not been able to deliver a son and heir, although after 13 years they had two daughters. With their relationship severely strained after the Crusade, Louis sought a way out of the marriage. For that, Louis turned to Beaugency, an important town at a crossing of the Loire.

Beaugency, coincidentally, had been the site where another royal marriage was a topic: in 1104, Philip was excommunicated by the first Council of Beaugency because he had put away his first wife, claiming se was too fat, so he could abduct and marry another man's wife. The Second Council of Beaugency was called in 1152 to find a way to get Louis out of his marriage to Eleanor. Abbot Suger had been an advocate of the marriage, but after his death in 1151, Bernard of Clairvaux's view that the two were too closely related became an issue.

Also in 1151, Henry, Count of Anjou, became the new Duke of Normandy and went to Paris to pay his respects to his liege lord, Louis. Historians such as Walter Map, Gerald of Wales, and William of Newburgh all suspected that something, some spark happened between the 18-year-old Henry (future king Henry II of England) and the 30-year-old Eleanor that also might have contributed to Eleanor wanting to be released from the marriage.

The archbishops of Reims, Bordeaux, and Rouen attended the Council, presided over by Archbishop Hugues of Orléans. Archbishop Samson of Reims represented Eleanor (who was there, as was Louis).

They settled on annulment on the grounds of consanguinity. Sure, they had a common ancestor, Robert II of France (c.972 - 1031), but that was a long way back and didn't prevent the marriage in the first place. But here they were, looking for a reason, and being third cousins once removed, however distant it seemed, was sufficient. The marriage was declared null and void. Eleanor did not object. Their two daughters were declared legitimate, since the couple had married in good faith. Louis gained custody of the daughters. Aquitaine would remain Eleanor's possession.

One would think that the attractive and wealthy Eleanor would be glad to be free from the stiff and monk-like Louis. She was, however, an attractive and wealthy woman, which in 1151 did not allow her independence and agency. Believe it or not, her life was in peril. I'll explain tomorrow.

David versus Máel Coluim

King David I (pictured here) was one of many sons of Malcolm III of Scotland, several of whom had their chance on the throne after it had been usurped by their uncle, Donald. David was about 40 years old when his turn came, and he took the throne with the support of his brother-in-law, King Henry I of England. There was a problem, however: his nephew, Máel Coluim.

Máel Coluim ("Malcolm") mac Alexander was the illegitimate son of David's older brother, Alexander I. According to historian Orderic Vitalis, Malcolm "affected to snatch the kingdom from [David], and fought against him two sufficiently fierce battles; but David, who was loftier in understanding and in power and wealth, conquered him and his followers."

Malcolm escaped into more obscure parts of Scotland, surviving and gaining allies over a six-year span, after which he attempted to attack David for the throne again. One reason for his motivation might have been that David spent time in England, seeming to prefer visiting Henry's court over being among his own people.

Malcolm, with the support of Óengus of Moray (mentioned here), marched against David's army. The Annals of Ulster report that 4000 of Óengus' army and Óengus himself died, while only 1000 of the men loyal to David died that day. David's force, led by a constable, marched into the now undefended Moray and captured it. Malcolm himself escaped, and spent the next four years battling David's forces.

David was aided with a large force, including ships, from Henry. Malcolm was captured in 1134 at Roxburgh Castle, and history has no more to say about him. Moray was given to David's nephew, only son of David's oldest brother Duncan, who had held the kingship for less than six months in 1094.

David was called by William of Newburgh a "King not barbarous of a barbarous nation." He attempted to make some reforms that he felt Scotland and its church needed. I'll explain some of those tomorrow.

The Green Children of Woolpit

Sometime in the 12th century, an unusual find in Suffolk produced one of the Middle Ages' greatest mysteries. The event was recorded by William of Newburgh (admittedly not the most faithful historian, but this was the Middle Ages), and by Ralph Coggeshall (who published his history in 1220). Although writing later, Coggeshall says he drew on the writing of Sir Richard de Calne, the man who (we are told) cared for the children.

The story goes that villagers of Woolpit one day during harvest time found two small children—a boy and a girl—looking scared and speaking in an unknown language. More notable than the unknown language was the fact that they had green skin. The villagers took them to Sir Richard de Calne, who took them in.

The two would not eat any food put before them. This lasted for days, until they saw some green beans growing in the garden and ate them off the plant. Sir Richard kept them with him for years, teaching them English and slowly getting them to eat available food. (Over time the green of their skin faded; it was presumably because of the different diet.)

Once they had learned sufficient English, the children told this story:

“We are inhabitants of the land of St. Martin, who is regarded with peculiar veneration in the country which gave us birth.”

“We are ignorant [of how we arrived here]; we only remember this, that on a certain day, when we were feeding our father’s flocks in the fields, we heard a great sound, such as we are now accustomed to hear at St. Edmund’s, when the bells are chiming; and whilst listening to the sound in admiration, we became on a sudden, as it were, entranced, and found ourselves among you in the fields where you were reaping.”

“The sun does not rise upon our countrymen; our land is little cheered by its beams; we are contented with that twilight, which, among you, precedes the sun-rise, or follows the sunset. Moreover, a certain luminous country is seen, not far distant from ours, and divided from it by a very considerable river.”

The children eventually were baptized. The boy died soon afterward of an unknown cause. Presumably the girl lived until adulthood.

Theories in the Modern Era about the origin of the children range from natives of a fairy world, to abandoned non-English-speaking Flemish orphans who were "green" from malnourishment, to extraterrestrial beings transported here accidentally. There is, of course, no way to know.

What happened to the girl? One 20th-century author believes, based on the family tree of Sir Richard de Calne, that she was named "Agnes" and married the clergyman and scholar Richard Barre. That's as good a reason as any to look at the life of Richard Barre next.

The Bishop Pirate

William of Newburgh tells the story of a bishop whose actions were contrary to what was expected by a man of God. More recent research offers hypotheses for why a bishop might turn into a pirate and the scourge of Scotland.

"born in the most obscure spot in England," Wimund was educated at Furness Abbey. He was tall and fair, and had a good speaking voice, but had a proud heart and expected to accomplish great things. He claimed to be the son of the Earl of Moray, which seemed unlikely, but more recent theories are that he was possibly the illegitimate son of Óengus of Moray, who became Earl after Wimund was born, or possibly the illegitimate grandson of King Duncan II.

At some point Furness is asked to create a sister abbey at Rushen on the Isle of Man, part of the Kingdom of the Isles. The well-spoken Wimund was made Bishop of the Isles by Thurstan, Archbishop of York. While bishop, according to Newburgh, at some point he started claiming that he wa deprived of his proper inheritance by the King of Scotland. He gathered supporters, promised them to share in his successes and riches, and embarked on a career of descending on

...the provinces of Scotland, wasting all before him with rapine and slaughter; but whenever the royal army was dispatched against him, he eluded the whole warlike preparation, either by retreating to distant forests, or taking to the sea; and when the troops had retired, he again issued from his hiding-places to ravage the provinces.

Unable to stop Wimund's reign of terror, bought him off by giving him Furness and the territory around, giving him some feudal opportunity to collect taxes, etc. Those who suffered under him, however, did not appreciate this. They waited until they could find him separated from his men, captured him, castrated him, and blinded him.

He was forcibly retired to Byland Abbey, where William of Newburgh resided. He had no regret for his actions, however. In Newburgh's words:

Afterwards he came to us at Byland, and quietly continued there many years till his death. But he is reported even there to have said, that had he only the eye of a sparrow his enemies should have little occasion to rejoice at what they had done to him.

If you want to read his story according to Newburgh, you can find it here.

His success in piracy was probably because his attacks were in the Kingdom of the Isles, a series of locations far enough apart that it wasn't easy for the king to send troops to deal with him, as opposed to on the Scottish mainland. We will look at the geography and history of the Kingdom of the Isles tomorrow.

William of Newburgh

William of Newburgh (c.1136 - c.1198) criticized Geoffrey of Monmouth for his inaccurate History of the Kings of Britain, but Newburgh's Historia rerum Anglicarum (“History of English Things/Events”) included a lot of unverified and unverifiable anecdotes. To be fair, he had to rely on other writers for events that took place prior to his lifetime; his chronicle starts in 1066.

He was quite useful at discussing The Anarchy in detail, and his chronicle gives a lot of insight to regular life in the 12th century. He is the only source for an event that happened in his lifetime: a bishop that became a pirate.

The 12th century in England had an interest—by no means unique to that time or place—in "revenants": animated corpses that haunted the living. I previously shared one of Newburgh's anecdotes in A Vampire at Melrose. Newburgh, who was a priest (an Augustinian canon), considered revenants a "warning to posterity" about living a spiritual life. To him, examples of revenants were so common that "were I to write down all the instances of this kind which I have ascertained to have befallen in our times, the undertaking would be beyond measure laborious and troublesome."

He acknowledges that these stories seem unlikely, but cannot bring himself to dismiss them:

It would not be easy to believe that the corpses of the dead should sally (I know not by what agency) from their graves, and should wander about to the terror or destruction of the living, and again return to the tomb, which of its own accord spontaneously opened to receive them, did not frequent examples, occurring in our own times, suffice to establish this fact, to the truth of which there is abundant testimony. [find the entire translated Historia here]

Another example offered by Newburgh is a criminal who flees York and marries a woman whose faithfulness he doubts. Hiding in the rafters of their house, he sees her with another man in their bed, but falls from the rafters, resulting in a fatal wound:

A Christian burial, indeed, he received, though unworthy of it; but it did not much benefit him: for issuing, by the handiwork of Satan, from his grave at night-time, and pursued by a pack of dogs with horrible barkings, he wandered through the courts and around the houses while all men made fast their doors, and did not dare to go abroad on any errand whatever from the beginning of the night until the sunrise, for fear of meeting and being beaten black and blue by this vagrant monster.

In fact, the revenant killed several people, whereupon the village decided to take action:

Thereupon snatching up a spade of but indifferent sharpness of edge, and hastening to the cemetery, they began to dig; and whilst they were thinking that they would have to dig to a greater depth, they suddenly, before much of the earth had been removed, laid bare the corpse, swollen to an enormous corpulence, with its countenance beyond measure turgid and suffused with blood; while the napkin in which it had been wrapped appeared nearly torn to pieces. The young men, however, spurred on by wrath, feared not, and inflicted a wound upon the senseless carcass, out of which incontinently flowed such a stream of blood, that it might have been taken for a leech filled with the blood of many persons. Then, dragging it beyond the village, they speedily constructed a funeral pile; and upon one of them saying that the pestilential body would not burn unless its heart were torn out, the other laid open its side by repeated blows of the blunted spade, and, thrusting in his hand, dragged out the accursed heart. This being torn piecemeal, and the body now consigned to the flames.

Newburgh doesn't seem to have tried to verify any of these stories, with any statement like "... and I heard this myself from one of the villagers who did the digging."

He was not the only person who recorded stories of revenants. Walter Map (mentioned in The Demonization of Cats post) relates more incidents.

I am hoping, though, that Newburgh 's account of a bishop who became a pirate—not referred to in any other known historical account—is true. I will check that out and report to you tomorrow. Until then...

Geoffrey of Monmouth

Geoffrey of Monmouth may have been born in Monmouth, Wales, since he refers to himself that way (in Latin, he writes it "Galfridus Monemutensis"). He is called by some contemporaries "Galfridus Arturus" (Geoffrey Arthur), which may allude to his father's name or be a nickname based on his interests, since he writes about King Arthur. We assume he was born between 1090 and 1100. We don't really know his country of origin, and some assume his parents came over with William the Conqueror, but Galfridus and Arthur were common names among the Bretons.

A half-dozen charters in Oxford between 1129 and 1151 were witnessed by him, so he was definitely in the Oxford area during that time. He was ordained Bishop of St. Asaph by Archbishop Theobald of Bec in 1152, although he doesn't seem to have ever actually spent time at St. Asaph's because of the wars of Owain Gwynedd. He likely died by Christmas 1154, when he was succeeded by Bishop Richard.

His importance to the modern world was the time he spent writing, especially the Historia Regum Britanniae ("The History of the Kings of Britain"). Although he claimed it was a translation of an ancient book—a common boast of medical writers to give authenticity to their work, which was more important than claiming originality—it is a combination of the works of Bede, Gildas, the Historia Britonum, anecdotes from oral tradition, and his own powers of invention. Future writers like Henry of Huntingdon drew on it without question, and from Geoffrey's time until the 16th century it was accepted as accurate history. (To be fair to medieval historians, William of Newburgh (1136 - 1198) did declare that everything Geoffrey said about Vortigern and Arthur was made up.)

He starts his history with Brutus the Trojan, the great-grandson Æneas, founding (and giving his name to) Britain, and Corineus the Trojan founding (and giving his name to) Cornwall. One of his descendants, Leir, divides his kingdom between his three daughters (General, Regan, and Cordelia), giving a later Shakespeare fodder for one of his tragedies. Books Five and Six deal with Vortigern and Merlin, then Book Seven breaks up the history with a series of prophecies by Merlin, setting up not only the later chapters, but also events in Geoffrey's own time. Books Eight, Nine, and Ten tell the Arthurian story, ending with the return of the Saxons after Arthur's death.

Geoffrey's Historia was enormously popular, with about 200 extant manuscripts known as of the 20th century. His section on Arthur—and the Prophetiae Merlini ("Prophecies of Merlin") and the (attributed to him) poem Vita Merlini ("Life of Merlin")—have provided modern retellings of the Arthurian myth in story and cinema with plenty of dramatic details.

As mentioned above, there were historians like William of Newburgh who were more critical when it came to selecting their material and relating it to an audience. William, however, was not immune to relating stories whose interest for the audience was more important than his ability to confirm them. Medieval clickbait? Let's find out tomorrow.

The Anarchy, Part 3 (of 3)

Let's sum up: when the White Ship sank, taking the heir of King Henry I with it, he finally settled on Empress Matilda (Henry's daughter) as his next heir. When Henry died, however, Stephen of Blois (Henry's nephew) rushed to England and seized the throne with the help of many of the nobles. Thus began a civil war called "The Anarchy" during which the citizens suffered much by the actions of their king and the greed and overreaching of his nobles—so much so that "Christ and his saints wept."

After the exchange of prisoners (mentioned in Part 2)—Robert of Gloucester for King Stephen—the war between Stephen and Matilda went back and forth with no one in control of the whole country. Matilda's husband, Geoffrey of Anjou, was busy gaining and holding the King of England's provinces on the continent while Matilda ran her military campaigns in England.

In 1147, Matilda brought her and Geoffrey's eldest son, Henry, on another unsuccessful invasion of England. Although Henry was only 14, he became convinced and determined that his mother should be recognized as queen. Henry was an impressive youth. His great-uncle, King David I of Scotland, knighted him in 1149. His father made him Duke of Normandy a year later, when he was still only 17. Shortly after that, he made one of the most famous marriages in the Middle Ages, when he wed the powerful Eleanor of Aquitaine (who was about 10 years older than Henry) after she left her husband, King Louis VII of France, and brought the province of the Aquitaine with her.

Henry & Eleanor

Meanwhile, Stephen was dealing with a restless populace, nobles who were amassing their own power during his weakness and building castles with which to form centers of power, and difficulties with the Church. English lands once owned by the Church were promised by Stephen to return to them, but nobles had seized many of them, and Stephen had no power to make his nobles relinquish the territories. When Archbishop of Canterbury William de Corbeil died, Stephen seized his personal wealth, an action which was not well received by the clergy.

Then, worse for Stephen, was the death of his son and heir, Eustace. Henry had returned to England with a small invasion force in 1153, and Stephen could not manage to corner him or defeat him. In August of that year, Eustace died suddenly—we do not know the cause. According to the chronicler William of Newburgh, the king was devastated:

grieved beyond measure by the death of the son who he hoped would succeed him; he pursued warlike preparations less vigorously, and listened more patiently than usual to the voices of those urging peace.

Actually, a treaty had already been broached earlier that summer, but Eustace had opposed it. Now, with Eustace no longer providing opposition and the future of Stephen's dynasty insecure, the Treaty of Wallingford was re-visited. It was made formal and ratified in November. The agreement was that Stephen would remain on the throne until his death (which came just a year later, in October 1154), after which Matilda's son would take the crown as Henry II. Henry was crowned on 19 December, 1154. His 35-year reign would have its ups and downs, but he would be recognized as a great king.

As for the Empress who would be Queen: she retired to Rouen. She died in 1167 and was buried at the Abbey of Bec-Hellouin in Normandy. Her body was later re-interred at Rouen Cathedral, where her epitaph reads: Great by Birth, Greater by Marriage, Greatest in her Offspring: Here lies Matilda, the daughter, wife, and mother of Henry.

A Vampire at Melrose

Although the Oxford English Dictionary doesn't record "vampire" in English until 1734, the word is now used to include tales of post-death activity that go back centuries. Archaeologists have found burials from all eras in which the corpse seems to have been "staked" or treated in some way to ensure its staying put in the grave. [National Geographic link]

William of Newburgh (c.1136-c.1198) wrote Historia Rerum Anglicarum (History of English Events), covering the period from the Conquest in 1066 until 1198 (which is why we presume 1198 to be his death). Besides political shifts and biographies of important figures, he includes tales from various locales that he finds interesting and considers true. He has more than one story about the undead; this is one of them:

A few years ago the chaplain of a certain illustrious lady, casting off mortality, was consigned to the tomb in that noble monastery which is called Melrose. This man, having little respect for the sacred order to which he belonged, was excessively secular in his pursuits, and -- what especially blackens his reputation as a minister of the holy sacrament -- so addicted to the vanity of the chase as to be designated by many by the infamous title of "Hundeprest," or the dog-priest; and this occupation, during his lifetime, was either laughed at by men, or considered in a worldly view; but after his death -- as the event showed -- the guiltiness of it was brought to light: for, issuing from the grave at night-time, he was prevented by the meritorious resistance of its holy inmates from injuring or terrifying any one with in the monastery itself; whereupon he wandered beyond the walls, and hovered chiefly, with loud groans and horrible murmurs, round the bedchamber of his former mistress. She, after this had frequently occurred, becoming exceedingly terrified, revealed her fears or danger to one of the friars who visited her about the business of the monastery; demanding with tears that prayers more earnest than usual should be poured out to the Lord in her behalf as for one in agony. With whose anxiety the friar -- for she appeared deserving of the best endeavors, on the part of the holy convent of that place, by her frequent donations to it -- piously and justly sympathized, and promised a speedy remedy through the mercy of the Most High Provider for all.

From article on Medieval Vampires

Thereupon, returning to the monastery, he obtained the companionship of another friar, of equally determined spirit, and two powerful young men, with whom he intended with constant vigilance to keep guard over the cemetery where that miserable priest lay buried. These four, therefore, furnished with arms and animated with courage, passed the night in that place, safe in the assistance which each afforded to the other. Midnight had now passed by, and no monster appeared; upon which it came to pass that three of the party, leaving him only who had sought their company on the spot, departed into the nearest house, for the purpose, as they averred, of warming themselves, for the night was cold. As soon as this man was left alone in this place, the devil, imagining that he had found the right moment for breaking his courage, incontinently roused up his own chosen vessel, who appeared to have reposed longer than usual. Having beheld this from afar, he grew stiff with terror by reason of his being alone; but soon recovering his courage, and no place of refuge being at hand, he valiantly withstood the onset of the fiend, who came rushing upon him with a terrible noise, and he struck the axe which he wielded in his hand deep into his body. On receiving this wound, the monster groaned aloud, and turning his back, fled with a rapidity not at all in[f]erior to that with which he had advanced, while the admirable man urged his flying foe from behind, and compelled him to seek his own tomb again; which opening of its own accord, and receiving its guest from the advance of the pursuer, immediately appeared to close again with the same facility. In the meantime, they who, impatient of the coldness of the night, had retreated to the fire ran up, though somewhat too late, and, having heard what had happened, rendered needful assistance in digging up and removing from the midst of the tomb the accursed corpse at the earliest dawn. When they had divested it of the clay cast forth with it, they found the huge wound it had received, and a great quantity of gore which had flowed from it in the sepulchre; and so having carried it away beyond the walls of the monastery and burnt it, they scattered the ashes to the winds. These things I have explained in a simple narration, as I myself heard them recounted by religious men.

On this, the 165th anniversary of the birth of Bram Stoker, whose Dracula brought the concept to the modern era, I thought a story of a man so sinful that his evil lives on after his death would be appropriate.