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Plantagenet Ireland and Poynings’ Law

It is fair to say that most medieval English kings had little interest in Ireland except as a source of revenue. (The same was probably true about England and Wales but it seems too cynical to say it, and at least they did live there.)

Prior to the Bruce invasion, Ireland yielded between £5000 and £20,000 a year to the Exchequer. Even the lower figure was a useful sum in medieval terms, bearing in mind that the “qualification” for an earldom at this point was about £666. So in a bad year, Ireland gave the king the equivalent of more than seven earldoms, after expenses.

By the 1350s the net revenue was down to between £1,000 and £2,000, while by the start of Richard II’s reign Ireland was running a deficit. Given the general state of the Exchequer this was a Very Bad Thing and Something Had To Be Done. (1)

Of course, simply pulling out of Ireland and making a saving was unthinkable. Instead various half-hearted measures were tried, and various people lined up to take the place in hand, ranging from Robert de Vere (created Duke of Ireland!) to Thomas, Duke of Gloucester, the King’s uncle. The matter was evidently seen as (relatively) a low priority, and in view of the state of England at this time, this is quite understandable.

Eventually, in 1394, Richard II himself, personally, set out for the Emerald Isle with a well-equipped army 7000-8000 men. By the standards of English military expeditions in Ireland it was extraordinarily successful and well-executed. Not that Richard II gets much credit for it. By January 1395 the various Irish chiefs had begun to submit to Richard and by early Spring the capitulation was complete.

Richard, writing to his Council in England, stated that rebellion arose from past failures of government and that unless mercy was shown his opponent would ally with the “wild Irish”. He therefore proposed to take them under his protection until their offences had been purged or excused. (2)

This conciliatory policy towards the Irish speaks strongly in Richard’s favour. He intended that from now on there should be “liege Irish” as well as “liege English” and he tried to settle some of the many grievances (mainly about land) between the two groups. Of course this was a major task, and probably could never have been completed to everyone’s satisfaction even if Richard had remained in Ireland for ten years. However, it was a settlement of sort.

Unfortunately Richard was forced to cut his visit short due to issues in England, leaving the young Earl of March behind as Lieutenant. March was of course also Earl of Ulster, and in that capacity had land issues of his own., particularly with the O’Neill family. By 1396 March was leading major raids into O’Neill territory, and the short period of peace was under extreme strain. By 1397 Leinster was also in a state very close to war.

In 1398, not long after extending March’s term of office, Richard II decided to replace him with the Duke of Surrey, Thomas Holland. Surrey, Richard’s nephew of the half-blood, was another young and inexperienced man, with the added disadvantage that he had no hereditary lands in Ireland at all. He required, therefore, heavy subsidy from the Exchequer. Before the change could be completed, March had been killed in the fighting, as was his son in 1425.

King Richard now decided on a second personal visit to Ireland. This was a strange decision, given that he had just annexed the lands of Bolingbroke and Mowbray, and that Bolingbroke was in France, poised to invade England. However, we have the benefit of hindsight. Richard had no reason to suspect that the French, his supposed allies, would allow any such thing – and but for a temporary shift in power at the French court, they would not have done.

Richard’s second visit to Ireland was less successful. In a parley between Thomas Despenser, Earl of Gloucester and Art Macmurrough – who styled himself King of Leinster – the latter made it clear he was unwilling to submit. Before much more could be done Richard was forced to leave Ireland to confront Bolingbroke, and Ireland was once again left more or less to its own devices.

It is remarkable that any remnant of English lordship survived Henry IV’s reign, given the state of Henry’s Exchequer and the low priority given to Ireland by a king who was fighting on several fronts, including internal battles against his opponents. But the fact is that somehow, it did. Indeed Irish-based ships co-operated with Henry in the re-conquest of Anglesey.

Henry V and Henry VI were also unable (or unwilling) to give great priority to Ireland. Ralph A. Griffiths states “The isolated administration entrenched in Dublin and its ‘pale’ was more often than not subject to the rough dictates of Anglo-Irish magnates like Desmond and Ormond, and for some time past it had been assailed by a Celtic resurgence among the native Irish themselves that was cultural and social as well as military in character.” (3)

The attitude of the Anglo-Irish peers was to remain key, because unless and until the English government was willing and able to finance significant military intervention in Ireland, their power made them the most effective players on the island. Of course, the rivalries between them meant that the Crown was often able to play one family off against another.

In 1437 the author of The Libelle of Englysche Polycye expressed concern about the state of royal government in Ireland, suggesting the country could become a base for French, Scottish and even Spanish enemies, with whom hostile elements in Ireland could form an alliance. This fear of encirclement explains much of English/British policy towards Ireland over the next several hundred years, although in the short term very little was done about it, not least because England simply did not have the resources. (Such resources as were available were being thoroughly over-stretched in France.)

By this time the Irish revenues were failing to maintain the cost of government there, and even its most senior officers struggled to obtain their salaries. In 1441 it was reported that the charges of the Justiciar of Ireland and his underlings exceeded revenue by £1,456. (4)

In December 1447, Richard, Duke of York took on the role of Lieutenant of Ireland, with a salary of 4000 marks for the first year and £2000 in each of the following years of a supposed ten year appointment. York, who was very much at odds with Suffolk and Somerset at home, was effectively ‘promoted’ to a backwater. Those responsible doubtless thought that it would keep him quiet (and busy) for a long time. He was, of course, Earl of Ulster, and therefore had very significant landed interest in the country.

Not until summer 1449 did York actually set out – from Beaumaris. Even then he did so only because the King pressed him to go. He was received ‘ with great honour, and the earls of Ireland went into his house, as did also the Irish adjacent to Meath, and gave him as many beeves for the use of his kitchen as it pleased him to demand.’ (5)

That Richard, Duke of York, was a successful Lieutenant of Ireland is in some ways surprising. He was an aristocrat to his finger tips, and not generally noted for his people skills. If he had strengths they lay in his relative honesty and relative efficiency as an administrator and soldier. York failed miserably to unite the English nobility behind him, and yet he seems to have been well-regarded in Ireland. (In contrast to John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, who was positively hated in the same role.)

York quickly summoned a great council at Dublin which ensured the protection of certain hard-pressed castles and towns and also sought to address some of the more extravagant abuses of the Irish government.

His problem was that the money he had been promised largely failed to appear. He received less than half of what he should have in the first two years, and that was in tallies. After December 1449 he received nothing at all. (6)

This helps explain why York eventually threw in his hand and returned to England.

However, after the debacle at Ludford Bridge, York was sufficiently confident of his welcome to return to Ireland (with his second son, Rutland) and was able to use it as a secure base to plot the overthrow of Henry VI’s government.

York encouraged or allowed the Irish Parliament to pass legislation which left the country almost, but not quite independent, Henry VI’s sovereignty being reduced to little more than a cipher. It was even declared that the introduction of English Privy Seal Letters into Ireland was a breach of the country’s liberties. In return the Parliament voted York men and money, and rejected Henry VI’s attempts to remove York from office. The duke was not quite King of Ireland, but he was something very close.

Thereafter Ireland became strongly Yorkist – even into early “Tudor” times. It may be that York’s almost accidental policy of granting autonomy was the answer to the Question. In May 1487, a young boy was crowned at Dublin’s Christ Church Cathedral (right) as “Edward VI”. He may actually have been the ill-fated Earl of Warwick by that name but is traditionally named as “Lambert Simnel”, who was taken to work in Henry VII’s kitchen after the battle of Stoke Bridge ended his insurrection the following month. In his identification of the boy (7), Ashdown-Hill uses historical, numismatic and physical evidence cogently, as ever, eliminating the other possibilities.

As a result of “Lambert”‘s coronation, Henry VII’s regime decided to control Ireland more closely. The “Statute of Drogheda” (left) (“An Act that no Parliament be holden in this Land until the Acts be certified into England”) was passed in early or mid-1494 and is described as 10 Hen.7 c4 or 10 Hen.7 c9. It is also known by the name of the newly appointed Lord Deputy at the time: Sir Edward Poynings (1459-1521) and specified that no Irish Parliament could meet until its proposed legislation had been approved by the Lord Deputy, his Privy Council, the English monarch and his Parliament. Ireland was thus legislatively subjugated and its status changed again under the “Crown in Ireland Act” in 1542, becoming a kingdom (“An Act that the King of England, his Heirs and Successors, be Kings of Ireland”) under the same monarch as England, in place of a lordship. Curiously, this was in the same year that Wales was subsumed by the Kingdom of England (Laws in Wales Acts). As the sands of the “Tudor” era ran out, the Earl of Essex was sent to suppress another Ulster rebellion but ignored his orders and returned home to aim for the crown. James VI/I’s subsequent plantations filled the power vacuum left by the O’Neills.

Consequently, the “English Civil War” is also known as the “War of the Three Kingdoms”, each of which had a different religious settlement as Charles I’s reign began. Similarly, legend has it that George I expressed to plant St. James’ Park with turnips and asked an aide the price: “Only three crowns, Sire”. Poynings’ Law is still in force in Northern Ireland, whilst it was fully repealed in the Republic as late as 2007.

Notes

(1) All figures are from Richard II, Nigel Saul, page 273

(2) For more detail see Saul, p 281.

(3) The Reign of King Henry VI, Ralph A. Griffiths page 411.

(4) The Reign of King Henry VI, Ralph A. Griffiths page 412.

(5) Irish chronicle quoted in The Reign of King Henry VI, Ralph A. Griffiths page 421.

(6) The Reign of King Henry VI, Ralph A. Griffiths page 421.

(7) The Dublin King, John Ashdown-Hill particularly chapters 1-5.

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Maria de Padilla

I am surprised to find the internet has several images of Maria de Padilla.

Her daughters married John of Gaunt and Edmund of Langley and she was the grandmother of Catherine of Lancaster, aka Catalina, Queen of Castile,  Edward, Duke of York, Constance of York and Richard of Conisbrough. (Richard of Conisbrough is known thus to historians but as Lord Richard of York in his lifetime, later Earl of Cambridge. But that’s a detail.)

What is really cool about Maria is that her coat of arms included frying pans. This may be unique in heraldry, it is certainly unusual. It is apparently a pun on her surname, which I presume works in Castilian. Not three lions on a shirt – four frying pans on a shield. (Or in her case, a lozenge.)

Apparently Donizetti wrote an opera about her.

The unusual coat of arms may be seen attached to her Wiki article.

 

 

Does this later case explain Henry Pole the Younger’s fate?

In the years from 1518, before he left England again in 1536, Reginald Pole occupied a number of ecclesiastical ranks, including that of Dean of Exeter. During the early 1530s, just as Henry VIII sought his first annulment, Eustace Chapuys was pressing Reginald to marry Princess Mary, the cousin he eventually served from Lambeth Palace. By the end of 1536, Reginald was created a Cardinal and was under holy orders, whether he had been earlier or not. The plot that he, together with his brothers Henry Lord Montagu and Sir Geoffrey, is supposed to have launched against Henry VIII needed a credible marital candidate or two for Mary. This, as we have pointed out before, meant Henry Pole the Younger, Montagu’s son, and Edward Courtenay, son of the Marquis of Exeter. Either or both of these teenage boys could have been viewed, by Henry VIII, as threats so both were consigned to the Tower. Pole was never seen after 1542, whilst Courtenay was only released in 1553.

Reginald Pole, as a Cardinal, was bound by clerical celibacy but could this be reversed? Not if this later case is anything to go by, although Phillip II, Mary’s eventual husband and Catherine of Aragon’s great-nephew, had a hand in it: Sebastian, the young King of Portugal died without issue at the 1578 battle of Alcacer Quibir and only his great-uncle Henry, Manuel of Beja’s son, remained from the legitimate House of Aviz, that almost provided spouses for Richard III and Elizabeth of York in the previous century. Henry, however was a Cardinal and Gregory XIII, at Phillip’s behest, would not release him from his vows. Henry ruled alone for nearly a year and a half before dying on his 68th birthday. The strongest claimant to succeed him was … Phillip II, who ruled Portugal, followed by his son and grandson, for a total of sixty years, although Antonio, a Prior and Sebastian’s illegitimate cousin, tried to reign.

This explains the various claimants, including the House of Braganza, which supplied Charles II‘s wife.

The other talents of Sir Clements Markham

To historians, Ricardians in particular, Clements Markham is best known as the writer who built on the earlier research of Horace Walpole and others to rehabilitate the last Plantagenet during the Edwardian era. In this capacity, his rivalry with James Gairdner is legendary and he wrote a biography of Edward VI, however Markham was a man of many more talents.

His main career was as a geographer and explorer. He served in the Royal Navy and helped to search for Sir John Franklin, who had disappeared on an Arctic expedition, albeit to no avail. He then worked for the Inland Revenue and India Office before becoming geographer to Sir Robert Napier in Abyssinia. By now he was Honorary Secretary of the Royal Geographic Society, a post he occupied for a quarter of a century and became its President after a five-year sabbatical. In these roles, he became a patron of Robert Scott and supported him far more than he did Ernest Shackleton, becoming godfather to Sir Peter Scott, who became a naturalist after his father’s early death.

It is, presumably, through his experience as an explorer that Markham became a historian. As can be seen above right, he translated the life of Lazarillo de Tormes (above left) and wrote about many other explorers whilst reporting on his own voyages to the Arctic, the Antarctic, South America and Africa. Markham (below left) eventually wrote biographies of Edward VI and Richard III and died in 1916, in a house fire whilst trying to read by candlelight.

“If I can see further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants” – Sir Isaac Newton.

MORE WORK ON ANCIENT DNA

Last year,  ancient DNA was in the headlines  when it was determined  the ‘Beaker People’ who arrived in Britain c 4500 years ago, genetically replaced 90% of the previous population. At that time, studies were saying that the ‘Steppe Ancestry’ found in these people was not found in the Beaker population of Spain, long thought to be the earliest area of  the ‘Beaker package’ and probably the dispersal area into the British Isles. So this changed what seemed to be an emerging picture of a more western origin, as well as the possible source of the highly dominant Y-DNA R1b in these areas.

However, a newer more region specific study has shown that the same Steppe ancestry is indeed found in the Spanish Beaker population, and also that they became genetically dominant in that region in a relatively short time, exactly as happened in Britain. (In other areas, such as central Europe, they became more blended into the earlier populations.)

In fact, the new story is eerily familiar and leads back to what was suspected–that the west Atlantic coast was a corridor for much trade and migration, and perhaps the dispersal of early Proto-Celtic languages. The main difference is that the Beaker culture is now looking to have arisen in central Europe with the blending of Steppe migrants and other local groups, and then spread out in several directions, including Spain, with arrival in Britain coming from BOTH from the Low Countries and Germany and from the western Atlantic seaboard.

The study of DNA in both ancient and medieval examples is certain throwing up many surprises; new work on the remains from the Tudor ‘Mary Rose’  shipwreck also showed that amongst the sailors were several North Africans and a Spaniard.

The stories coded within our genes from time immemorial will eventually be told.

 

ANCIENT SPANISH DNA

 

Beaker Europe

beaker

A lost “Tudor” treasure found in Spain….

Henry VIII - lost tapestry found in Spain

A lost tapestry commissioned by Henry VIII has been found in Spain. It is a magnificent treasure, restored from anonymity. How I wish something similar could be found concerning Richard III, preferably something that would clear his name! Maybe there is a dark, dark cellar, at the bottom of dark, dark stairs, and a dark, dark passage leading to a dark, dark room. And there, in the corner of the dark, dark room, is a dark, dark chest. And inside, Richard’s lost papers, including his will. Oh, wouldn’t it be amazing? But in the meantime, we have Henry VIII’s lost tapestry…

To read about this priceless treasure, click here.

A new interpretation of 1580s events

We all know that Mary Stuart was beheaded at Fotheringhay on 8 February 1587 and that the Spanish Armada sailed to facilitate a Catholic invasion of England in the following year, leaving Lisbon on 28 May and fighting naval battles in late July, at Plymouth and Portland. The traditional view is that Mary Stuart’s execution and Elizabeth I’s support for the revolt in the Spanish Netherlands provoked Phillip II’s wrath.

It is quite possible that this was not the case and that Phillip had

sought to overthrow his quondam sister-in-law much earlier. Mary, as the daughter of Marie de Guise and widow of Francis II was the French-backed Catholic candidate for the English throne and Franco-Spanish rivalry ensured that Phillip, great nephew of Catherine of Aragon and a Lancastrian descendant proper+, would not act in concert with any of her plots; however her death cleared the way for him, especially as the French Wars of Religion were still to resolve themselves.

We can compare this with the England of 1685-8, as William of Orange allowed the Duke of Monmouth to attempt an invasion first and only asserted his stronger semi-marital claim against James VII/II afterwards. In 1483-5, by contrast, the Duke of Buckingham was legitimately descended from Edward III when he rebelled against Richard III, only for Henry “Tudor”, of dubious lineage, to benefit.

h/t Jeanne Griffin

+ See The Wars of The Roses, Ashdown-Hill, part 4.

Where did the Tudors come from….?

HENRY AND MODEL OF OLD LONDON BRIDGE

For those of us who may wish to know where the name Tudor comes from, here’s a thorough explanation.

 

Some notes on Henry Pole the Younger

These are taken from Pierce’s biography of his paternal grandmother Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, we have some sinister clues to his fate. Our witness is Charles de Marillac, French ambassador from 1538-43, whose correspondence with Francois I is copiously quoted in the Letters and Papers of Henry VIII.

de Marillac wrote on 1 July 1540 that “Edward Courtney is more at large than he was and has a preceptor to teach him lessons, a thing that is not done towards the little nephew of Cardinal Pole, who is poorly and strictly kept and not desired to know anything” (L&P XVI, no.1011)

In June 1541, shortly after the Countess’s execution, her cousin Lord Leonard Gray, son of Eleanor St. John and Thomas Marquess of Dorset, was beheaded “for aiding and abetting the escape of his nephew Gerald, 11th Earl of Kildare. It was with Reginald, in exile, that Kildare found refuge and the Cardinal arranged his education and settled an annuity of 300 crowns upon him.” (B. Fitzgerald The Geraldines, an experiment in Irish Government).
Among the accusations against Grey was that he employed the services of a page who had been in Lord Montague’s service for 4 or 5 years and used him as a messenger in his treasonous intrigues. Moreover in 1538, as deputy of Ireland, he reputedly left all the king’s artillery in Galway ready to put at the disposal of the Pope of the Spaniards should they invade “as a report that Cardinal Pole, with an army would land about that time” (L&P XV no.830, pp.398-9; L&P XVI no.304 (iii)).

The last payment was made for Pole’s diet some time in 1542 (L&P XVIII no.880 f.436).

Richard III and Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar aka ‘El Cid’

To continue my series of posts about Richard’s notable genealogical connections, my latest discovery is that he was directly descended from Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar – El Cid!

Statue of El Cid

Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar – El Cid

This time the connection is through his mother’s line and you can see the tree below (in two parts) with red dots showing the direct line of ancestors leading to El Cid.

Picture of Richard III family tree 1

Picture of Richard III family tree 2

But who was El Cid?

In an animated version of his story, he is described as: ‘A man who becomes a knight, a knight who becomes a hero, a hero who becomes a legend!’ But what is fact and what fiction? He is seen as the National Hero of Spain, a heroic warrior who fought to drive the Moors (Muslims) out of Spain. However, he actually fought both against and for the Moors.

There are many published versions of his life and some fictional incidents have passed into history as fact – something he shares with Richard. So, I have read a book  (El Cid: The Making of a Legend by MJ Trow) which analyses all the written records of his life in chronological order and each incident is assessed using likelihood and common sense. Like Richard, contemporary reports are few and the stories became more and more elaborate as time goes on, like a snowball gathering snow. So, let’s start from the beginning.

Rodrigo was born in Vivar, near Burgos, in Spain in about 1043. His family was wealthy and connected to the King, Ferdinand I, being court officials, although they weren’t major players.

Photo of staue of El Cid riding Babieca, his war horse

Statue of El Cid riding Babieca

One legend associated with Rodrigo is about his horse, Babieca. It is said he was offered the pick of an Andalusian herd of horses by his godfather as a coming of age gift and his choice was considered a weak one, causing his godfather to cry: ‘Babieca!’ which means ‘idiot’. However, there are other theories such as that the horse was a gift from a barbarian and the name came from that. Whatever the truth, Babieca certainly became a formidable warhorse and has his own tomb in the monastery of San Pedro de Cardeña, where Rodrigo himself was first buried.

Picture of swords - colada is number 8

‘Colada’ is no. 8

Like the legendary King Arthur, El Cid also had a special sword – in fact more than one. These swords were named ‘Colada’ and ‘Tizona’ and one (possibly actually ‘Colada’ but labelled ‘Tizona’) still survives and is displayed in the Museum of Burgos. In 1999 it was tested and confirmed to be made in the eleventh century in Moorish Cordoba and contained Damascus steel (which is made by a special process that is no longer known today). It is 36.8 in long and weighs 2.5 lb and the hilt is a later edition as is also the inscription which reads:

‘Yo soy la Tizona [que] fue hecha en la era de mil e quarenta’ (I am the Tizona, who was made in the year 1040). And on the reverse side:

‘Ave Maria gratia plena; dominus mecum [sic]’ (Hail Mary, full of grace; the Lord be with me).

Sword 'Tizona' on display in Madrid before 2007

‘Tizona’ on display in Madird before 2007

Rodrigo was the sworn man of Sancho, one of Ferdinand’s three sons, the others being Alfonso and Garcia. As a young man, in 1057, he fought for Sancho against the Moorish stronghold of Zaragoza, making its emir, Al-Muqtadir, one of Sancho’s vassals. However, in 1063, he also fought on Al-Muqtadir’s side against Ferdinand’s half-brother, Ramiro I of Aragon, and his army, who were besieging Zaragoza. Ramiro was killed and the Aragonese army routed and it was rumoured that Rodrigo fought and beat an Aragonese knight in single combat, thereby winning the title Campeador – which translates roughly as ‘Champion’. He is referred to as such in this sixteenth century chronicle of his life.

Page of Chronicle of El Cid

Translation: Chronicle of the very brave knight, El Cid, Rodrigo Diaz, Champion.

Sancho was assassinated in 1072, probably by his brother Alfonso, who wanted to take over Sancho’s lands, and Rodrigo transferred his allegiance to him. The legend has it that he forced Alonso to swear on the Bible in public that he had had nothing to do with Sancho’s murder but, although this is possible, there is no proof of the incident. It is certainly true that the relationship between Rodrigo and Alfonso was difficult and twice Alfonso exiled Rodrigo. The reasons are disputed, but one possibility is because of rumours spread about him by rivals.

In the first of these exiles, in 1080, he offered his services to other rulers in Spain (which then consisted of many small kingdoms), and in 1081, El Cid was accepted by the Moorish king of Zaragoza, Yusuf al-Mu’taman ibn Hud, and served both him and his successor, Al-Mustain II. It was during this period that he was given the title El Cid (The Lord or Master – probably from the Arabic ‘Al-Sayyid’) and served as a successful general of the predominantly Moorish armies, at times against Alfonso.

He became such a formidable foe that, around 1087, Alfonso recalled him for a short time but, when he was exiled for a second time, Rodrigo seems to have decided not to rely on Alfonso’s goodwill but make his own fortune.

Signature of El Cid

El Cid’s signature: ‘ego ruderico’ (I, Rodrigo)

Rodrigo had married Jimena in 1075 and another legend has arisen about their relationship, namely that he had killed her father in one of his first battles and that their relationship was therefore understandably strained. However, again there is no evidence that this is true.

Rodrigo eventually invaded and occupied Valencia, which he conquered by gradually getting control of surrounding towns and lands and finally gained by siege with a combined Christian and Moorish army. He became Valencia’s ruler in 1094, to all intents and purposes a king there. The city was both Christian and Muslim, and both Moors and Christians served in the army and as administrators.

However, after living there peacefully with his wife, Jimena, for about five years, the Almoravids, (Berbers originally from North Africa), besieged Valencia to try to take it back and El Cid died on June 10th 1099, probably from the effects of deprivation and starvation because of the siege.

This belies the well-known film version of his story starring Charlton Heston and Sophia Loren which has a very dramatic scene: after Rodrigo’s death from a battle wound, El Cid’s wife, Jimena dresses him in his armour and mounts him on his famous horse, Babieca, (tied on to prevent him falling off). She sends him off into battle again to inspire his men, who are unaware he has died. A vivid image, but a false one. However, there is a plausible source for this myth, the probably true story that he was buried sitting upright on his throne. His tomb was desecrated during a later attack on the town and some of his bones were lost, but the remains which were saved were reburied in Burgos Cathedral, where they still rest to this day.

Tomb of El Cid and his wife Jimena

Tomb of El Cid and Jimena

It is clear that he was a courageous warrior and intelligent tactician. Before battle, Rodrigo often ordered that classical Roman works on military themes should be read aloud to him and his soldiers, both for entertainment and inspiration. He also utilised brainstorming sessions to discuss tactics and accepted or considered suggestions and ideas from his men. However, he was also ruthless at times and merciful at others. He often used unexpected strategies, utilising what modern tacticians would describe as ‘psychological warfare’ — terror tactics, surprise attacks and distractions for example. He is known to have executed a man by having him buried up to his armpits and then burned alive. In contrast, having captured one of his greatest enemies, Count García Ordóñez, he held him for three days and then let him go.

He probably gained his reputation as a great warrior because he was undefeated in battle (and he fought many, many battles over the years). Regarding one of them, the Historia Roderici tells us ‘… it happened that Rodrigo Diaz fought alone with fifteen enemy soldiers; seven of them were in mail; one of these he killed, two he wounded and unhorsed and the remainder he put to flight by his spirited courage.

To sum up, like Richard, Rodrigo is seen as the ultimate chivalric hero, almost a saint, by some (he was in fact proposed for canonisation by one of his descendants, Don Diego Hurtado de Mendoza) and an unscrupulous, violent chancer, only out for his own ends, by others. Fortunately for Rodrigo, it is the heroic persona that has become the accepted legend, whereas for Richard it is the evil one. Doubtless, for both, the truth is somewhere in between these two extremes.

 

 

 

Image credits:

El Cid by Stan Sheb via Creative Commons licence.

Babieca statue by CarlosVdeHabsburgo (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons.

Colada by Meyers Großes Konversations-Lexikon 6. Auflage 1905 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Tizona image by Infinauta (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Chronicle in public domain.

Signature by Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar (c. 1050-1099) Created in vector format by P4K1T0 (File:Firma del Cid.jpg) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Tomb by Zarateman (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

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