A great site

Archive for the tag “Catherine of Valois”

Which man fathered the first Beaufort….?


Here is the scene. The mother with her newly born child, her ladies, the air of relief and happiness. But presumably she is a faithful wife, and her delighted husband will soon be summoned to see his new offspring. No doubt he hopes for a son.

But what if she isn’t a faithful wife, and the sire of her baby isn’t her late husband. What’s more, the father is a royal prince?

The following article must be viewed against the 14th-century background of the Hundred Years War, the reigns of Edward III and Richard II, the plague and the convoluted private life of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster . . . forebear of Margaret Beaufort, and therefore of Henry VII and the Tudors.

Just when did Gaunt (b. 6 March 1340 – d. 3 February 1399) become the lover of his children’s married governess, Katherine, Lady Swynford (b. 1349/50, d. 10 May 1403)? And was he first the lover of her sister, Philippa, who was married to Geoffrey Chaucer? In fact, were all the children born to Chaucer and Philippa actually Gaunt’s offspring? (See John Gardner, The Life and Times of Chaucer (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, INC., 1977), 158-162.)

I do not place much faith in this claim about Gaunt and Philippa, but if it were true, it raises an interesting point. Here is an extract from The Duchesses of Lancaster: an examination of English noblewomen’s exercise of power and influence during the fourteenth century, a thesis by Amanda Elizabeth Sanders.

“. . . Gaunt and Katherine confessed to having an affair during his marriage with Constance and that he was godfather to her eldest daughter with Hugh Swynford, which was seen as incest . . .” 

Why was it considered incest? Because in the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 it was recorded that anyone’s wife, or sexual partner, is related to her sisters in the first degree, which is incest. It was considered incest up to the fourth degrees of affinity. (See Harry Rothwell, English Historical Documents, 1189-1327,” in Love, Sex, and Marriage in the Middle Ages: A Sourcebook, ed. Conor McCarthy, (London: Routledge, 2004), 68-69.) Gaunt, being Philippa’s lover first and godfather to Katherine’s daughter Blanche Swynford, would have been considered to commit incest with Katherine, because she was within the degrees of affinity.

Well, I think I follow all that. My education stopped at GCE ‘O’ level in 1960, and I did not take history or religious education. A vital part of Henry VII’s ancestry was that his mother, Margaret Beaufort, could claim descent from John of Gaunt, and therefore Edward III . . . but it just might be that Gaunt had nothing whatsoever to do with John Beaufort’s conception, except to later claim fatherhood. (Note for those who do not know: Beaufort is the name granted to all of the children of Gaunt and Katherine Swynford.)

Disregarding any possible incest, the point of interest for me is that Gaunt and Katherine confessed to being lovers during his marriage to Constance of Castile. Call me Doubting Thomas, but I think it more likely they were lovers before that marriage, a conclusion I have reached while in pursuit of the all-important dates for the start of the affair with Katherine.

These matters are of great consequence to Ricardians (and Tudorites) because the parentage of Gaunt and Katherine’s eldest son, John Beaufort, 1st Earl of Somerset, can be called into question due to his actual date of birth not being known. The event is generally stated to be ‘circa 1373’, and anything ‘circa’ in mediaeval terms can stretch quite a way in either direction. Certainly to the middle of 1372, which is the date I believe.


To explain why, it is necessary to tell something of Katherine Swynford’s marriage to Sir Hugh Swynford (1340-September 1371), a fairly lowly knight of Kettlethorpe in Lincolnshire, whose only claim to distinction, apart from the identity of his wife, was being “small, stocky and known by his fellows as ‘the battling Saxon ram’!” He was a fierce and shrewd warrior, and clever battle tactician, with a beautiful but unfaithful wife from a lowly background in Hainault. But Katherine Swynford had been raised in the household of Queen Philippa, also from Hainault, and had the formal education and knowledge of court that made her ideal to become the governess of the queen’s grandchildren, Gaunt’s brood by his first duchess, Blanche of Lancaster.

In 1369, while Gaunt was away fighting the war on the continent, Katherine was called to Bolingbroke to spend Christmas with Blanche. But she arrived to find the duchess dying of the plague. Katherine took care of her, and managed to find a priest to administer the Last Rites. Katherine’s loving attentions were appreciated, and on his return to England, Gaunt invited her to come south to London to attend Blanche’s funeral. When she eventually went home to Kettlethorpe, he had rewarded her ‘for the care shown to the late Duchess and for the Lancastrian children after their mother’s death’. She had been granted her own blazon, consisting of three Catherine wheels, which Gaunt had designed, bestowed and registered himself. She also received, as a pension, ‘all issues from, and profits from his towns of Waddington and Wellingere to be paid yearly’.

Lavish rewards indeed! If I were Hugh, I’d be highly suspicious about the nature of the attentions Katherine had paid. And to whom! But there is no proof that anything had yet gone on between Katherine and the duke. Just a very strong hint, in my opinion.

There aren’t any known contemporary portraits of Gaunt and Katherine, so (to give a flavour) here is a rather romanticised view, taken from the cover of an edition of Anya Seton’s excellent novel, Katherine. Fiction maybe, but Katherine was very lovely, and Gaunt was indeed a royal prince.


Next, Hugh went to France to fight in a company led by Sir Robert Kindles, from whom Gaunt would take over command. In 1371 Hugh was seriously wounded and taken to Bordeaux in Gaunt’s train. The duke found him suitable lodgings and instructed his own personal physician, Brother William Appleton, to care for him. A certain Nirac de Bayanne, the duke’s servant (and Hugh’s enemy of old) is mentioned at this juncture, although he had actually entered the story a little earlier because he (and therefore Gaunt?) figured quite considerably in Swynford affairs.


“ . . . May 1367 . . . when the registers note that John of Gaunt appointed his servitor, Nirac de Bayanne, as Steward over Kettlethorpe until Hugh could be sent home. They also record that he stood sponsor to Blanchette, Hugh and Katherine’s daughter born in May 1367 and ordered for her the silver and gilt cup as a baptismal gift . . .”

Hugh and Nirac did not get on at all, and I imagine Hugh resented the man’s presence on his land and in his house. Especially when Katherine was there and gave birth to their daughter.

Now we come forward to Bordeaux again, September 1371, and Hugh recovering from his wounds (or from dysentery, or both, according to opinion). Katherine arrived to be among the English ladies of Gaunt’s forthcoming second duchess, the Infanta Costanza (Constance) of Castile. Gaunt had sent that same Nirac de Bayanne to be Katherine’s escort, and was apparently highly annoyed when she went straight to tend her ailing husband.

The following has been gathered (not word for word) from

. . . Less than a week after Katherine’s arrival, Hugh was dead. His death surprised everyone as he had been making a good recovery. [It was thought he had been poisoned by the hate-filled Nirac de Bayanne, either from personal dislike or on the duke’s instruction.] Katherine seemed to have been genuinely shocked and upset by her husband’s passing. Aided by Brother William, she arranged for Hugh’s body to be returned to England and Kettlethorpe for burial. Unusually, she returned to court in Bordeaux, rather than accompany the body home. Hugh was buried, and faded into obscurity, leaving Katherine free to enter into a liaison with John [Gaunt] . . .

. . . Nirac was posthumously implicated in Hugh’s death. He is reputed to have confessed to poisoning Hugh, and on his deathbed repeatedly stated that neither John nor Katherine was aware of what he had done. (Hmmm. Maybe she didn’t, but I’d hazard Gaunt knew full well. Hugh was an inconvenience with a husband’s rights, and Katherine had just miffed the duke by putting her husband first. Were those conjugal rights being enjoyed? Might ducal jealousy have raised its head?) . . .

. . . It is known that John and Katherine disappeared for several weeks prior to his second marriage (which took place on 21st September 1371 near Bordeaux). She returned to England and was obviously pregnant because (in the summer of 1372?) she gave birth to John, later John Beaufort. It was assumed that John was Hugh’s posthumous child, but when Henry (My note: second Beaufort son) was born to [Gaunt] and Katherine, they acknowledged John as theirs . . .

Back to my narrative. So, September 1371 was a vital month in this story. Hugh probably died in about the first week, and Gaunt married Constance of Castile on 21st. Between the death and marriage, Gaunt and Katherine disappeared together . . . and they were not intent upon needlepoint, I’ll warrant. Katherine was not pretending to be a grieving widow, nor was Gaunt being much of a bridegroom. Given this conduct, I strongly suspect them of hanky-panky while poor old Hugh lingered.

When Gaunt returned to England not long after his wedding, he did not bring his new duchess with him. Going straight to the Savoy, he spent Christmas with his children by Blanche of Lancaster . . . and their widowed, pregnant  governess was there too. If tongues did not wag into a thunderous racket, I would be absolutely amazed!

How intriguing is the whole scenario, because if it was thought Katherine’s child could be Hugh’s posthumous offspring, then presumably everyone in Bordeaux believed he had recovered enough to be capable of siring it! Maybe he would have survived had fate, or Nirac de Bayanne, not intervened.

So . . . was Hugh the real father of John Beaufort, 1st Earl of Somerset? He was still alive for the likely period of the earl’s conception. Might Katherine have warmed her husband’s bed and Gaunt’s during the same week? Should John Beaufort have actually been named John Swynford?  His date of birth is unknown, and is given as ‘circa 1373’, which certainly could have encompassed the middle of 1372, which is nine months or so from September 1371.

And on top of all this, we have the interesting point mentioned at the very beginning. If Gaunt had been the lover of Philippa Chaucer before he tumbled into bed with Katherine, the latter relationship would have been regarded as incestuous, as well as adulterous. Their Beaufort children were subsequently legitimised, and specifically excluded from any claim to the throne, but I can’t imagine that, according to the then rules, they could be freed from the stigma of incest. Could the Pope have done that? I don’t know. (An aside: Presumably this means that Henry VIII’s activities with the Boleyn sisters was incestuous too?)

Oh, to get to the truth of it all, for the possibility exists that Margaret Beaufort, the scheming mother of the first Tudor king, might have only been the granddaughter of the obscure Kettlethorpe knight, Sir Hugh Swynford, not any offspring of Gaunt.

But there was more scandal, because when it came to blood descent, the man she took as her first husband, Edmund Tudor, Earl of Richmond, father of Henry VII, was most likely not a Tudor at all, but a Beaufort/Swynford by a son of the  same John who had been conceived in Bordeaux in September 1371!

How could this be? Well, according to entirely different and equally salacious whispers, Edmund Tudor’s father wasn’t Owen Tudor (the supposed second husband of Queen Catherine of Valois, widow of Henry V) but was sired by one Edmund Beaufort, third son of the Bordeaux John Beaufort/Swynford. Catherine of Valois was widely rumoured to have had an affair with this Edmund Beaufort, who would not/could not marry her, but got her with child anyway. Catherine swiftly married Owen Tudor, maybe for love, maybe for protection. (Note: It cannot be proved that they actually did marry, but tradition has it they did.) The baby was born a Tudor, but naming him Edmund certainly fanned the rumours.

So, Margaret was Beauchamp on her mother’s side, but either Beaufort or Swynford on her father’s. Edmund Tudor was half Valois, and either Beaufort or half Swynford, but most likely not Tudor. Poor old Henry, all that playing upon his Welshness, and even naming his son and heir Arthur, when all the time there was most likely no proud descent from great Welsh heroes, both mythical and real, and certainly no link to Camelot. Or to Gaunt and Edward III. I would love to have seen the faces of Margaret and Henry had they discovered all this to be true.




Guess who’s coming to dinner….?

An article about a dinner party in today’s Gloucester Citizen newspaper concerned an imaginary dinner party held at Sudeley Castle, by its present owner, Lady Ashcombe. She described her menu and six guests, all of whom had once owned the castle. It prompted me to ask others what party they would hold. 

Here’s mine. Please note, more than a little fun is intended. And I know there’d be countless more reasons for my particular guests to start a ruck, but I’ve only picked out a few. 

For me the small dinner party would comprise mostly Wars of the Roses guests, with two exceptions, and it would be held on a fine high-summer evening in a sumptuous little pavilion on top of Chosen Hill  here in Gloucester. Because the view is so wonderful, Yorkist look-outs came to the hill before the Battle of Tewkesbury, to report on the progress of the Lancastrian army. My dinner guests would be able to see the Vale of the River Severn all the way from Bristol in the south, past the Forest of Dean due west, to the heights of the Malvern Hill further north. And beyond the Forest of Dean to the Black Mountains in Wales. To the east, behind the pavilion, is the escarpment of the Cotswold Hills. A perfect venue, IMHO. 

I’d serve them a Severn salmon starter, followed by a Gloucester Old Spot pork roast, with local asparagus and other fresh summer vegetables. The dessert would be a deliciously light perry syllabub with wild strawberries, and finally a cheese board that includes Double Gloucester. All with white wine and liqueurs from local vineyards. 

And which six guests would I invite? Well, first and foremost Richard III, of course, for he’s essential. He was known to be a good host, with, I’m sure, charm and a quick sense of humour. Just the sort of guest who can make a dinner party go well. And he’d have so much to reveal about what really went on in 1483, what truly happened to his nephews, whether he really did love his wife, what he actually thought of Elizabeth of York, and so on. His final opinion of his brother, Edward IV, might be worth hearing too, as would his view of Bosworth, the Stanleys, the French, the Scots and how any one man could reasonably be expected to keep everyone happy. He might also reveal whether, with hindsight, he wished he’d been more ruthless with Henry Tudor’s tricky mother. But he always found it hard to be really harsh with women, so maybe, even knowing what happened, he’d still have been lenient. A bit of a softie that way, I am afraid, as he’d be mocked in no uncertain terms by my next guest, said Henry Tudor. 

Henry could also be amusing when he wanted to be. Which, admittedly, was not often. It would be a case of bringing him out of his carefully built shell bunker, and getting him to lighten up a little. His conversation with Richard would be both sharp, highly informative and entertaining. They might have more in common than they want to admit. Oh, and Henry might be persuaded to admit he was hag-ridden by his mother. Perhaps she frightened the heck out of him. She would me. And it would be intriguing to know if he really did love his wife, or whether he deserved the adjective ‘unuxorious’. But he’d be attacked on all sides at that dinner table because of his savage laws and horrific means of raising taxes. I wonder how he’d defend himself? Or if he’d even bother? Interesting to find out. 

Thirdly, the first of my two non-WotR guests, Richard II, who also knew how to live and entertain well, and shared with our Richard the harrowing experience of being usurped and killed. He’d generally side with Richard, because the House of York would be more to his taste than anything even remotely to do with the House of Lancaster, which he despised. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? So he’d have no time for Henry or my two Lancastrian lady guests, and would say so. But he’d have to be persuaded to loosen up a little, because he’s too convinced of his own supremacy and would try to be king of the dinner party as well. Our Richard and Henry wouldn’t have any of that, and our Richard would be the one to coax him into some semblance of agreeability. 

My first lady would be Margaret of Anjou, who wouldn’t like being anywhere near Richard III, and would be outspoken about it. She’d refer to the entire House of York as usurpers, but especially him, because he was on the winning side at Tewkesbury, where she lost her only son. She was a feisty, non-nonsense lady, who could talk battle with him and with Henry, on equal terms. A glass or two of wine might mellow her somewhat, at least, it’s to be hoped it wouldn’t make her more belligerent. Henry, smarting a little on account of my next lady guest’s revelations, might do his utmost to make Margaret confess who was her son’s sire, because it was most unlikely to have been her husband, Henry VI. She’d find it hard to maintain her hostility to our Richard, because he wouldn’t allow it. It’s difficult to argue with someone who is always reasonable, measured and charming in return. Richard III would never argue with a woman. So I think she’d have to come around a little . . . or stomp out of the pavilion. 

After her? The other non-WofR guest, Henry’s grandmother, Catherine of Valois, because she might be able to make him squirm with the truth about who fathered his father. Oh yes, there’d be quite a few salacious brushed-under-the-royal-carpet rumours about parentage being served with the wine. She’d be generally on Henry’s side though, and a bit offish with our Richard for being her grandson’s foe. She was a flirtatious lady, from all accounts, and would play the coquette with all three men, making herself appear to be the only desirable woman present. Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to resist playing footsie with Richard II, just to see if he had any red-blooded male urges. Which I am sure he did. Somewhere. Or maybe he’d be giving Henry surreptitious winks, much to that king’s indignation. Who knows? 

Finally, our Richard’s sister, Margaret of Burgundy, who’d have plenty to berate Henry about. She’d also have all the dirt on the princes, Lambert Simnel, Perkin Warwick and any other Yorkist threat to Henry’s peace of mind. She would, of course, side with her brother on absolutely everything, which would soon have her exchanging acid ‘pleasantries’ with the other Margaret. She’d also be cross with Richard II for mishandling his own reign to the extent that the House of Lancaster got a large flat foot in the throne-room door. So she’d be the first to slap down his airs and graces at the table. It might shock him so much he’d be rendered speechless until the main course. After that, there’d be no shutting him up. That Gloucester wine is good stuff. 

As to which order I’d seat them . . . I have no idea. Maybe, to introduce a little informality to the proceedings (after all, it is in a pavilion), I’d let them choose for themselves. No sitting alone outside, though. No backs turned, noses raised or other unpleasantness. And definitely no sulking. 

I hope that by the end of the meal they’d all be as close to amiability as such a gathering could be. With luck, anyway, because if there’s any fisticuffs and damage, I’d be very cross. The pavilion would have been hired at great expense and I’d draw the line at forking out any more because my royal guests became too rowdy.





Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: