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The elusive last Norman

Although Richard was found in Leicester five years ago, exactly where he was buried, and Henry I is close to being identified in Reading, Kingfinding is not always successful. As this blog shows, the 1965 excavation of the Faversham Abbey site to find King Stephen was unsuccessful.

It seems that his bones really were moved during the Reformation. Sometimes, there is truth in such a legend.

What do Matilda and Margaret, Eleanor and Elizabeth, plus two Henrys, add up to…?

To my mind, it adds up to two very similar situations that are two centuries apart.

Henry I deathbed - stand-in pic

Let us begin in the 12th century. On his deathbed, Henry I of England named as his successor his only surviving child, his daughter, the Empress Matilda. He obliged the nobility to agree. They reneged, of course. A woman as queen in her own right? Cue mass hysteria among the male upper classes and uncontrollable fits of the vapours in the Church. And cue a sharp move by her cousin, Stephen, who promptly had himself crowned before she could even return to England.

To cut a long story short, Matilda fought first for herself, supported by her powerful half-brother, Robert of Gloucester. When it became clear she would never be accepted because she was a woman, Matilda fought on behalf of her eldest son. He, thanks to her tireless efforts, eventually became Henry II—and yes, he is one of the two Henrys.

There was nothing Matilda would not have done to see her son on the throne, and her aim came to fruition. And when he was crowned, she became the highest woman in the realm. She wasn’t monarch in the own right, but came darned close!

Then came the time when Henry II chose a queen. Not just any queen, but beautiful, spirited Eleanor of Aquitaine, who was not only a powerful, troublesome lady with a mind very much of her own, but was also prepared to scheme and manipulate on behalf of her sons by Henry. Against Henry.

Eleanor’s reputation was not squeaky clean. She had been married to the King of France, only for the marriage to be annulled and custody of their two daughters given to Louis. She had been on a Crusade with her husband, and halted at Antioch, where she encountered her uncle, Raymond of Poitiers, who was described by William of Tyre as “a lord of noble descent, of tall and elegant figure, the handsomest of the princes of the earth, a man of charming affability and conversation, open-handed and magnificent beyond measure“. There were whispers because Raymond and Eleanor spent such a great deal of time together and seemed so very intimate. She quite clearly found her uncle preferable to her husband. The whispers increased when she declined to leave Antioch with said husband, who eventually took her away by force. She was a lady to whom scandal seemed drawn, but it is only her ‘acquaintance’ with Raymond that is of interest for this article.

Raymond of Poitiers

Raymond of Poitiers

The difficulties between Henry and Eleanor commenced when the latter came up against Matilda, who was not about to surrender the position of First Lady. As far as Matilda was concerned, Eleanor was simply Henry’s wife, with no claim to any power. A baby-making machine, no more or less. Open warfare threatened.

fighting women

Was Henry caught in the middle? Well, in a way, but he loved his mother because of all she had done to put him on the throne. Then (so the story goes) he fell for one of his many mistresses, a lady known as Fair Rosamund Clifford. It was too much for Eleanor. Already furious about playing second fiddle to Matilda, she now had to endure his immense infatuation for younger  woman. Eleanor stormed off to her lands in Europe, there to plot with her sons against their father.

the lion in winter

If you have seen the film The Lion in Winter, you will know that Eleanor and Henry were played by Katherine Hepburn and Peter O’Toole. Oh, how the sparks and flames flew when they were on screen together. Eleanor was indeed very beautiful, but I don’t think Henry resembled O’Toole. According to Gerald of Wales [he had} “a reddish complexion, rather dark, and a large, round head. His eyes were grey, bloodshot, and flashed in anger. He had a fiery countenance, his voice was tremulous, and his neck a little bent forward; but his chest was broad, and his arms were muscular. His body was fleshy, and he had an enormous paunch, rather by the fault of nature than from gross feeding.” Definitely not the gorgeous Peter.

* * *

Now we must fast forward to the fifteenth century, and Lady Margaret Beaufort, yet another mother who would stop at nothing to see her son on the throne. Meet that son, Henry VII, the second Henry concerned in this article. Unlike Henry II, who was a direct blood heir, Henry VII’s forebears descended through a rather convoluted and weak line that included the bastard strain of the Beauforts (illegitimate offspring of John of Gaunt and his mistress, Katherine de Roët.

When Henry, taking for himself the role of legitimate heir of the House of Lancaster, was helped to Richard III’s throne by traitors, his formidable mother became First Lady—she was known as the King’s Lady Mother. Like Matilda, Margaret also had a helpful half-brother, John Welles, Viscount Welles, but he was hardly in the same class as the mighty Robert of Gloucester.

I could not find an illustration of John Welles, but this is his father, Lionel, Lord Welles, who died at Towton.

Henry always supported whatever Margaret did. She was, perhaps, the only person he ever trusted completely. His was a suspicious, secretive, paranoid character. He was not a mother’s boy, but came pretty close.

Then he too took a wife. He had to, he’d promised it in order to win the support of discontented supporters of the House of York (to which his defeated predecessor, Richard III, had belonged). If Henry had tried to wriggle out of it, there would have been uproar, because the promise entailed marrying the eldest Yorkist princess, Richard III’s niece, Elizabeth. Henry VII did not like having to do as he was told, but wasn’t given much of a choice.

Elizabeth of York - for WordPress

It is hard to imagine anyone less like Eleanor of Aquitaine. Elizabeth of York was reportedly lovely, but was mostly so quiet and apparently inactive that she barely offered a defiant squeak when Henry and his mother belittled her. She must have loathed Margaret, who swanned around almost as if she were the king, not Henry.

However, like Eleanor before her, Elizabeth had also been caught up in a scandal. It too involved an uncle, Richard III. There were strong rumours that something went on between uncle and niece—so strong that Richard was forced to deny it all in public. Whether there was any truth in it all will never be known, although I doubt very much that Richard returned any incestuous affection. That falls into the realm of fiction. He was intent upon arranging a foreign match for her. But the story clings to Elizabeth’s memory. Maybe she did love Richard, who, unlike his Shakespearean namesake, was actually a handsome young widower at the time in question.

Richard III for WordPress

Henry VII may have come to feel affection for his queen (perhaps because she was so unlike his domineering mother!) but she always took second place to Margaret. There is no known equivalent of Fair Rosamund in Henry’s life, so Elizabeth was never challenged on that score. Even if she had been, I doubt if she would have flounced off in a fury as Eleanor did. Perhaps Henry’s problem with his marriage was that he could not forget the rumours about Richard.

Maybe Elizabeth was one of those people who work quietly in the background, getting her own way when she wanted, but never openly defying either Henry or Margaret. Well, she did once, and Henry was so startled at the unexpected stamping of her Yorkist foot, that he backed down. I’d love to have been there, just for the joy of seeing his face.

So, there we have it. Two grimly determined mothers-in-law, two daughters-in law touched by rumours of incest and consigned to second place. And two Henrys who were loath to take on their mothers. Two M’s, two E’s and two H’s!

Matilda and Margaret could not have the throne in their own right, but were prepared to fight tooth and nail to put their sons there. Eleanor was another in the same mould, but Elizabeth of York was not. Neither daughter-in-law was afforded proper prominence in the eyes of her husband.

As for the Henrys, well, while their mothers could not rule alone as the true monarch (heaven forfend!) these sons were quite happy to lay claim the throne through the female line. So, a woman’s blood was good enough pass on to a son who would be crowned, but was next to worthless if she tried to assert herself by becoming “king”.

 

Empress Matilda-Should She Be Listed as an English Monarch?

One of the most fascinating (and bloody) periods of English history is The Anarchy, when Empress Matilda, daughter of Henry I (he who might well be found sometime soon in the ruins of Reading Abbey) fought her cousin Stephen of Blois (thought to be in Faversham Abbey) for the English throne. Battles raged across the land and barons, without permission, threw up adulterine castles everywhere and lived lawlessly. The times were so turbulent that it was said ‘Christ and His Saints slept.’

Matilda’s forces captured Stephen in 1141 and she came very close to being crowned, but violent crowds of Stephen’s supporters on the way to London stopped the Coronation from taking place. Then her biggest supporter, her half-brother Robert of Gloucester was captured at Winchester, and the only way to free him was to trade Stephen’s freedom for Robert’s.

In 1148, Matilda retreated from England for good and left the fighting to her son, Henry FitzEmpress, the son of Geoffrey Plantagenet–the future Henry II. In 1153 Henry and Stephen came to an agreement after the Siege of Wallingford, in which Henry was declared Stephen’s heir as the latter’s eldest son Eustace had died. The next year, Stephen died and Henry took the throne.

Matilda is generally not listed as one of the rulers of England but some believe that she should be. Although never crowned, she was Henry I’s heir and before the High Altar of All Saints, Northampton, Henry rallied his barons to swear loyalty to her and to support her claim to the throne. They swore at the time, but as often happened in the Middle Ages, the oaths were quickly broken once Henry died. The idea of a female ruler was not a popular one, although there was no legal impediment to it, as England, unlike France, did not have a Salic Law.

Many sources list Edward V, Jane and Edward VIII as monarchs of England, despite the fact that they were never crowned and their legitimacy to the position was disputed–so, if that is considered correct, why then is the Empress Matilda excluded from the list, as designated heir to Henry I?

Matilda is, of course ancestor to the line of Plantagenet kings that followed on from her son, and through her maternal side, they also have a line of descent from both King Malcolm of Scotland and the royal House of Wessex via St Margaret. Both claimants were, therefore, among Richard III’s ancestors.parents_of_henry_ii

 

An interesting post on the subject of Matilda from the FB page ‘House of Plantagenet History & Geneology’ :https://www.facebook.com/groups/41546823396/permalink/10154937093853397/

More of Richard’s ancestors

Although they are regarded as loose ends, the last Anglo-Saxon and last Norman kings of England are both Richard’s ancestors, via Edward III’s marriage.

This document demonstrates Phillippa of Hainault’s descent from Harold II, via Kiev and Hungary, and Stephen, via the Low Countries. There seems to be little news from Faversham Abbey, where Stephen was originally buried.

{Additional research by Ky White}

The Problem with ‘Usurpation’ (re-blogged from http://www.annettecarson.co.uk/357052370)

With my long-standing interest in treason and usurpation, I was fascinated to see the video of the mock trial of the Magna Carta barons staged in the wonderful surroundings of Westminster Hall on 31 July 2015.* I use the term ‘Magna Carta barons’ loosely, and indeed the trial itself could address only one arbitrary, early point in the long journey of the development of that charter which eventually gained its famous title. This was the moment in time at which King John had, after much ducking and diving, sealed the charter in June 1215 and immediately reneged by getting Pope Innocent III to repudiate it.

Though doubtless there will be historians who disagree, I take it – as did the script of the trial – that King John had hitherto behaved in a manner so thoroughly unacceptable as to be termed tyrannical. In giving his judgement, The Hon. Stephen Breyer from the USA cited John Locke’s (albeit anachronistic) assessment that for his subjects to have the right to rebel, a king should be seen to have systematically refused to adhere to the law of the land. Of course no method of testing a king’s behaviour in a court of law existed in 1215, but for his rule to be considered truly tyrannical I think this criterion would be taken as read.

Legal frameworks of the time would have been governed by the weight of precedent, and certainly the judges at our mock trial took the view that John himself had been ‘made king’ by a legal process. This process included religious ceremonial with sacred oath-taking, not only oaths of allegiance but also the coronation oath sworn by the king himself. In consequence of King John’s breaching of the latter, the rebellious barons invoked a long-standing custom and – therefore – legal right known as diffidatio, i.e. they exercised the right of a free man to repudiate his oath of loyalty to his overlord for a justifiable reason. Underpinning this right of diffidatio was the recognition that fealty was a two-way street: that for a subject to keep his oath, the king must do the same.

In our modern age, when promises made are routinely broken, and ‘God-fearing’ is no longer a term to be taken literally, the significance of an oath sworn while invoking the presence of God is scarcely understood and seldom respected: consider the context of judicial process, which is one of the few surviving circumstances when such oaths are still routinely encountered (and routinely flouted). Yet in the Middle Ages, as I have tried to indicate in writings such as my Small Guide to the Great Debate, the process of oath-swearing was one of the pillars of mediaeval society. It was a crucial matter if either party abandoned their solemn oath.

The bonds of this mutual compact defined the relationship between king and subject, already long-established by the 13th century, and gradually developing throughout the ages. It is this promise on the part of the king that is most often forgotten in the cries of ‘usurper!’ that are so widely bandied about in relation to certain monarchs; and it is key to my repeatedly asserted argument that most often the term ‘usurpation’ is a misnomer that merely reflects the prejudices of the person using it.

In pre-Conquest England there was in place a history of election of kings by the Saxon equivalent of Parliament (the Witangemot), based on the fundamental requirement of the office to perform a mutually understood function: the defence of the realm and its people. This was gradually extended to include wider responsibilities, notably for the proper administration of justice. In return, the king was entitled to call upon his people to perform whatever was understood to be due to enable him to fulfil such responsibilities. The principle that the king had a duty to perform a job of work continued to be understood for many centuries, and it was only by analogy with succession from father to son in other areas of life that a similar expectation developed in relation to the throne. Although kings often tried to influence who succeeded them, there was never any ‘law of succession’.

Requirements such as embodying the fount of justice as well as the office of leader and commander throw a clear light on crises of succession like the deposition of Edward II, Richard II and Henry VI who fell short of expectations. An even more relevant case is that of the conflict between Stephen and Matilda. Matilda might be the only surviving legitimate issue of Henry I, but his decision to make her his heir was self-serving and ultimately catastrophic: she was not born into an age when a woman could don harness and lead an army in the field. Returning to the mock trial of the barons, a question raised by the presiding judge exemplifies an abiding misapprehension on this point. Why, asked the judge, did the barons in 1215 not choose to replace John with his son, Henry (later Henry III), then aged seven? The question answers itself when you are not blinded by the assumption that the crown was governed by some imagined law of father-to-son succession: in a time of turmoil and civil strife, when the very rule of the land needed to be taken into strong hands, what fool was going to opt for rule by a seven-year-old? That he was later able to succeed upon his father’s death (now aged nine) was principally a function of the abilities and virtues of William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, his champion and Regent of England.

In 1399 a new dimension entered into the matter of the succession when Henry IV challenged Richard II for the crown and the latter abdicated, rather than defending his right to the death as would have been appropriate to the tradition of the warrior-king. Parliament was drawn into the front line in the disposition of the crown, going through the formal procedure of acknowledging the abdication of Richard and the succession of Henry. The new king is said to have publicly exhibited proof of his genealogy, but the record of the Rolls of Parliament is remarkably non-committal in regard to his descent, and much more specific as to the rewards of his victory over the ruinous former king:

‘In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I, Henry of Lancaster, claim this realm of England, and the crown with all its members and its appurtenances, inasmuch as I am descended by right line of the blood from the good lord King Henry the third, and through that right that God in his grace has sent me, with the help of my kin and of my friends in recovering it, which realm was at the point of ruin for lack of governance and destruction of the good laws.’ [Parliamentary Rolls of Mediaeval England, 1399 Part 1, vol. iii, pp.422-3.]

Here we have an echo of that same accusation as used by the barons against King John; and despite the fascinating arguments concerning precisely which line of royal descent Henry IV might have claimed, the salient point of this remarkable statement, as accepted and recorded by Parliament, was that God had favoured him in stepping in to avert the ruin of the realm. Had there existed a law of succession which stipulated primogeniture, there was in fact a royal descendant whose claim would have been superior to Henry’s: this was the young Mortimer heir Edmund, Earl of March, then the same age as the son of King John whom we encountered above. Clearly, when the option of the valorous and successful adult Henry was available, there was no support for the claims of a seven-year-old, however senior his line of descent. A child of that age, and one who lacked the support of a strong figure as Regent, ipso facto failed the basic qualification as warlord-cum-lawgiver.

It is also noteworthy that the childless Richard II, knowing that the succession to the crown was being eyed by his several uncles, had kept them guessing by naming alternative heirs at different times: another indication that primogeniture was not regarded as the primary criterion. Henry IV, once on the throne, tried to secure the succession to his line by statutory enactment in Parliament, but the view of Stanley Chrimes (in English Constitutional Ideas in the Fifteenth Century, p.24) is that this was merely declaratory and did not determine the line of succession: it recognized but ‘did not create’ Henry’s title. By the same token, it made no general provision for a public law of succession.

Only in 1460, when Richard, Duke of York came to press his claim to the throne in opposition to Henry VI, was the emphasis on primogeniture brought to the fore. York’s claim depended on it wholly – it rested on his sharing the same senior line of descent as the Mortimer heir disenfranchised by Henry of Lancaster sixty years earlier. And although Parliament made several attempts to avoid passing judgement on the matter, when forced to reach a conclusion they decided in York’s favour. There were, of course, excellent reasons for striking the bargain that reduced Henry VI to a cipher, since his inept and compliant rule had bankrupted the crown and allowed England to degenerate into a smouldering civil war.

In the case of Henry IV, could the word ‘usurpation’ be applied? The historically literate answer is no. In 1399 Richard II had abdicated rather than defend his crown to the death, effectively abandoning the throne to the judgement of Parliament which accepted Henry of Lancaster’s argument that God had helped him rescue the realm from misgovernment and lawlessness. This echoed the complaints of the Magna Carta barons, namely that the king had resiled from his sacred oath to fulfil his responsibilities to his subjects. So by these standards, and as accepted by Parliament, Henry IV cannot be named a usurper in terms of the legal structure of the day.

It was only in 1460 that Richard, Duke of York secured a decision by Parliament which established primogeniture as an acknowledged criterion for the succession. How this criterion was applied in hindsight to the Lancastrian succession raises a thicket of legal questions, the untangling of which would take someone more expert in jurisprudence than me. Clearly York’s argument was that the first Lancastrian king was a usurper, and his statement to Parliament went into extensive genealogical detail to disprove Henry’s fanciful tale that his mother’s line of descent from Henry III was senior to the line of Edward III and Richard II. However, to this inexpert observer it seems that the Parliament of 1460 stopped short of disallowing the legitimacy of the Lancastrian dynasty, which fits with their desire to reach a compromise with Henry VI. It would have been simpler, and in hindsight would have prevented much unrest and loss of life, if they had declared him a scion of a usurping line, but that would have meant deposing him. Perhaps their legal advisers balked at the idea of retrospective legislation. And York himself had always vowed himself Henry’s true subject. Whatever their reasoning, an accommodation was cobbled together which permitted Henry to keep his crown on condition that York was acknowledged as his heir apparent. I am tempted to suppose that the Lords in Parliament recognized that Henry’s mental capacity was dubious, and that it would be unrealistic to hold him to oaths he had sworn as a child which he probably no longer remembered or comprehended. Whichever way you look at it, although York’s claim of primogeniture was accepted, the deal of 1460 was unique to the prevailing circumstances; it could scarcely be regarded as a precedent, and indeed it permitted the line of Lancaster to cling to the view that theirs remained the rightful royal house of England.

Thus Parliament had signally failed to grasp the opportunity to codify any law that stipulated primogeniture (or anything else) as a qualification for the succession. As Stanley Chrimes commented, ‘It does indeed seem that no such public law existed. In the absence of a direct and competent heir, politics, not law determined the succession. Hence both judges and commons avoided the topic.’ [Op. cit. p.22.]

The effect was that however the royal family’s internal issues were decided, whether by themselves or by any outside agency, the situation remained as it was in 1215: that he who took on the sworn obligations of kingship would be held to account for how he performed them. And if he should be adjudged deficient, it was not usurpation but a necessary service to the kingdom to remove and replace him.

* https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MU7tK6HM3Q. For those of us who have crossed swords in the past with James Eadie, QC, there was a particular piquancy to his defeat on this occasion.

More mtDNA investigations

This time, the subject is Edward II and the investigator is Kathryn Warner, his most recent biographer:
http://edwardthesecond.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/elizabeth-de-clare-isabella-de-verdon.html

Like Richard III, Edward II was reportedly buried in a prominent position – the high altar of Gloucester Cathedral. Although Kathryn Warner doesn’t believe that he died in Berkeley Castle in September 1327, she is seeking his female line relatives to prove it either way because mitochondrial DNA is so reliable and has found a few of his nieces who may be of use, one line already stretching to the eighteenth century so far. Also like Richard, Edward has been plagued by demonstrably absurd denialist myths.

The Auramala Project, as this is now known, has involved some in the interesting city of Pavia – in this case a tomb at the .http://www.eremosantalbertodibutrio.it/index.php?lang=en that is the alternative location for Edward’s remains. I wonder how close it is to the Basilica of San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro where Richard’s nephew, Lord Richard de la Pole, was buried in 1524-5 and is still supposed to be?

There is, of course, a second possible method. Richard’s own Y-chromosome is now recorded, as have several descendants of an early Duke of Beaufort. Although his Y-chromosome differs from theirs (and one of theirs from the others), all are thought to descend from Edward II and thus should be identical to him in this respect.

Just to return to the rules:
1) Find some records of the burial.
2) Find a bearer of identical mtDNA – and a Y-chromosome sharer if convenient.
3) Describe the deceased in terms of age, height, build, era, diet and other factors.
4) If an individual turns up in the right place who is a DNA match and a physical match, you have probably found your target.
5) Eliminate all other DNA matches if possible, as in Appendix 1 of Ashdown-Hill’s “The Mythology of Richard III”, although someone like Hicks will still claim that the remains could belong to “anyone”.

If the DNA process can be carried out for Richard III (b.1452) then Edward II (b.1284) should be possible and easier than Stephen (b.c.1096 and apparently in Faversham), Henry I (b.c.1068, being sought in Reading) or Alfred (b.c.849, a fragment found in Winchester). We will follow this Project with interest.

YORK OR LANCASTER: WHO WAS THE TRUE KING OF ENGLAND IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY?

Part 1-– Necessitas non habet leger – The Lancastrian title 1399

Introduction

I am not arguing that Henry IV usurped the crown in 1399. That judgment has already been made and hardly challenged since the fifteenth century[1]. Neither will I rehearse the reasons for king Richard II’s downfall in 1399; they are already well enough known. My sole purpose in this essay is to make a few observations about an emerging historical debate concerning the true basis of Henry of Lancaster’s title to the throne.

The issue turns primarily on the meaning of Henry’s declaration to the quasi parliament that assembled on the 30 September 1399. According to contemporary sources, once bishop Asaph had declared the throne vacant, Henry rose from his seat, blessed himself and stepped towards the empty throne, which he claimed by right of inheritance (de jure), by conquest (de facto) and by the will of God. His claim is recorded in the Parliamentary Roll for the October 1399 parliament. This is what is written (modern spellings): “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I, Henry of Lancaster challenge this realm of England and the crown with all the members and the appurtenances, as I that am descended by right line of the blood coming of the good lord Henry the third, and through that right that God of his grace has sent me with help of my kin and of my friends to recover it, the which realm was in point to be undone for default of governance and undoing of the good laws. ” These words form part of the ‘Record and Process’, which is a Lancastrian memorandum describing their version of Richard II’s dethronement. It was incorporated into the Parliamentary Roll (PR) as a matter of official record[2]. Any examination of this aspect of PR has to deal with two important preliminary questions. First, how far is the official account to be trusted? Second, was it Henry’s intention to seek parliamentary approval of his title?

Can the official account be trusted?

Professor E F Jacob describes the Lancastrian  account as “…tendentious and in certain material respects erroneous”.[3] And it is certainly contradicted by independent chronicle accounts. One eyewitness to the September gathering quotes Henry as actually claiming the throne, as the “nearest male heir and worthiest blood descendant of the good king Henry the third…”[4] Such a significant difference between the PR and the Chronicles requires explanation. The Record and Process part of the PR was almost certainly drafted by lawyers in the Lancastrian interest. Their intention was to justify Henry’s claim and disguise the profanity of deposing an anointed king and usurping the rights of Richard’s heir. The draftsman undoubtedly took great care over the wording of Henry’s claim and title to the crown, since the issue was a complex one and his title was doubtful. However, the fact that this is probably not what Henry actually said in September is immaterial; the PR represents the official, mature and considered Lancastrian position and even historians cannot go behind it in order it to absolve Henry from having usurped the crown.

We can be reasonably sure that If Henry of Lancaster had possessed an unequivocal title as heir male to Henry III it would have been recorded explicitly in the Roll. The fact that it isn’t suggests that in the interval between the September assembly and Henry’s first parliament wise counsel had prevailed on him to tone the claim down. The legitimacy of Henry’s title was still doubted by some lords, who were perhaps uncomfortable with such a bold and controversial proclamation of his hereditary right. These doubters needed to be pacified. Even Henry’s principal northern supporters, the earls of Northumberland and Westmorland, had misgivings about dethroning Richard and were certainly (at first) thinking of Mortimer as his legitimate heir should the circumstances arises. It was in Henry’s best interest to keep the precise nature of his hereditary title ambiguous. It affected not only his right to the English throne but also the English claim to the French throne.[5] In the lawyers’ opinion there was virtue in obfuscating this claim. And that, according to Chris Given-Wilson,[6] is exactly what the draftsman of the Record and Process achieved.

S B Chrimes thinks that actually it is a very clever combination of claims since it conceals the weakness of his de jure title by paying lip service to it, “…without committing himself to any definition of what constituted a legally complete title.[7] Although the words ‘right line of blood’ imply a distinction between the ‘right’ line and the wrong line, Henry shrewdly, did not define the ‘right line’. The point being that these words could mean almost anything Henry wanted them to mean. The weakness of Henry’s hereditary title can also be gauged by the necessity to claim the crown on the additional grounds of conquest (cleverly disguised as being in defence of hereditary rights) and God’s will. K B McFarlane’s judgement is that Henry lacked a convincing de jure title; however, whilst his accession could never be regular, with some clever jiggery-pokery, “it could be made to look less illegal.”[8]

What was Henry’s intention?

The problem with this question is that the answer relies less on the facts than on the interpretation of his motives and intentions from the circumstances. The notion of a parliamentary solution would suggest a separation of character between the king and parliament, which is contrary to our understanding of their constitutional relationship in the fourteenth century. Besides, the assembly that gathered on the 30 September 1399 was not a parliament. It was a meeting of those who normally constituted a parliament, gathered in Westminster Hall to witness Richard’s abdication.[9]

Stubbs’ Victorian notion that Henry was a constitutional monarch[10] no longer holds sway with many historians. K B McFarlane is particularly critical of Stubbs’ assessment: “ Yet even in the ‘Record and Process’ there is no basis for supposing that Henry desired a parliamentary title in Stubbs’ sense. Henry neither owed his position to Parliament nor wished it to be thought that he did. He claimed the throne by right; acceptance of that claim was the most he expected of parliament.[11] Neither is there much evidence of ‘election’. Notwithstanding their obvious misgivings, the Lords accepted Henry’s accession, without comment. Henry’s personal challenge (‘I challenge this realm of England’) could not be taken up for obvious reasons. There can be no disguising the fact that it was the use of armed force and deception that had got Henry to Westminster in September, ready, willing and able to seize the crown. Notwithstanding that, he was regarded as the best man to restore good governance to the realm and England’s greatness. The English did not want another child king, or a weak old man to reign over them.

Heir male or heir general?

Seen in that light, the theories concerning the literal meaning of Henry’s declaration take on a different aspect. There are basically two theories; the first is that Henry’s words ‘by right line of blood’ were a reference to his matrilineal line from Edmund earl of Lancaster, called ‘Crouchback’.[12] This is, a Historians argument in the sense that it is based on a particular interpretation of his words and the circumstances. Henry’s words are ambiguous and he did try to exploit the Crouchback legend as a lever to gain the throne[13]. I think this theory is implausible for two reasons. First because it does not necessarily follow logically that the absence of a specific claim as ‘heir male’ automatically means the opposite. Second and more importantly, such a claim would be absurd. Nobody has been able to satisfactorily explain why Henry, despite robust legal advice to the contrary, would make a claim that he and everyone else knew was untrue and anyhow was inferior to Mortimer’s.

Second, we have what I would call a ‘lawyer’s case’. It is the antithesis of the Crouchback theory and is also based on a particular interpretation of Henry’s words. As Ian Mortimer’s points out, Henry of Lancaster was descended from Henry III through both his father and his mother, and: “a statement that [he] was heir to Henry III implies nothing more than that he claimed the throne from one (or both) of these two descents.”[14] Although Dr Mortimer’s understanding as there stated is unarguable, it is, nonetheless, testament to the equivocality of Henry’s title as set out in the PR. Furthermore, in my opinion, Dr Mortimer moves too quickly to the conclusion that Henry was referring to his descent as heir male to Henry III. That is equally improbable because it also is untrue. It could only be made true if Henry successfully overturned the history of the English succession, and conceded that the exercise of royal authority was subject to parliamentary approval.[15]

No king of England if not king of France

Dr Mortimer is, in fact making a hypothetical legal case that Henry never actually made at the time, and for good reason. It turns on two points of law. First, that a woman could not inherit the crown or transmit any title to her children. Second, that all the entails made by previous kings were unlawful because parliament was not consulted.[16] However, the facts are against him.  On the first point: two English kings (including, by the way, the progenitor of the Plantagenet dynasty) inherited the crown through the female line.[17] Furthermore, Edward I’s entail of 1290 made it impossible for Henry to either assert or to demand male domination of the crown.[18]  All these decisions demonstrate the fallacy to treating the succession as a matter of law. It is a political process and the settlements and entails of kings have all been made for political reasons.

On the second point, it is inconceivable that Henry would have been prepared to compromise his royal authority by submitting his will on the succession to parliament for approval. Henry was a legitimist not a constitutionalist and putting such power in the hands of parliament was against everything he believed in. Henry’s legal rights (such as they were) cannot be applied in a vacuum that ignores the realpolitik of the times. The notion that Henry wanted a ‘legal’ title is too simplistic. He wasn’t after a legal title per se. If he merely wanted a title that was legal then parliament could easily have given him one by constitutional election. The problem with that solution is that it would change the fundamental relationship between the king and his subjects. It was tantamount to recognising parliament’s power to hire and fire kings, which in the fourteenth century was something only God could do. No medieval king would voluntarily put himself at the mercy of parliament in such a way. It cannot be emphasized too much that Henry claimed the throne by divine hereditary right; all he required parliament to do was to accept that fact. As it happens, that is exactly what they did.[19] The strength of Henry’s declaration was in its precise ambiguity. It said neither too much nor too little; it neither inferred too much nor too little. It brilliantly preserved the fiction of parliamentary approval without in any way fettering royal authority or changing the constitutional relationship between the king and his parliament.

In addition, Henry had to maintain his claim to the French throne. If he  overturned previous English precedents enabling  women to pass on a regal title  to their children, it would undermine the credibility  of the English matrilineal claim to the French throne.  It was an issue that didn’t just affect the king. Most , if not all English nobility owned estates in France.The dual kingdom of England and France was not only the best way for them to protect their  estates, it offered the opportunity to increase them. The thought  that owing to their gender  the king’s heir might  inherit the French throne but not the English one,  did not bear thinking about. Basic common sense suggested an equitable settlement was necessary.

Necessitas non habet leger [20]

If Henry IV’s subjects thought he was the man to restore good government and  to restore England’s greatness, they were to be sadly disappointed. His was indeed a ‘reign of two halves’. In the first half there was rebellion; in the second half came debilitating illness. However in 1406,  necessity proved to be the mother of invention. The continuous rebellions, and the underlying threat from Edmund Mortimer drove him to seek a permanent parliamentary solution. The ‘Act for the Inheritance of the Crown’ [21] was meant secure the Lancastrian succession forever. It recognised, but did not create, Henry’s hereditary title and settled the throne exclusively down the male Lancastrian line. Professor Chrimes is uncertain whether this was making new law or simply confirming old law; but it really doesn’t matter, since the existence of a statutory title took the succession out of God’s hands without necessarily putting into parliaments. Ultimately, it all came to nought for Henry since the ‘Act for the Inheritance of the Crown’ was repealed before the end of the parliament in which it had been passed. It was replaced with a similar act, confirming that the throne could be inherited down male and female lines. Even by modern standards of flexible policy making, this was some U-turn[22]. However, as we shall see the tide of legitimism was running strong. Sixty-one years after Henry’s usurpation a statutory Lancastrian title could not stand in the face of a claim by one with an indefeasible right of inheritance. But that, as they say, is another story…

[1] There were three candidates for the crown in 1399. Edmund Mortimer, earl of March was descended through his mother from Lionel of Antwerp the third son of Edward III; whereas Henry of Lancaster’s father was John of Gaunt duke of Lancaster and fourth son to Edward III. The other candidate was Edmund of Langley duke of York and Edward’s fifth son. Mortimer had the best lineal title. Henry of Lancaster was the mob’s choice and Edmund was too old. Henry’s act of usurpation was not in deposing Richard II, but in  seizing the throne ahead of Mortimer.

[2] Chris Given-Wilson – The Parliamentary Rolls of Medieval England: Chris Given-Wilson (ed) (The Boydell Press 2005) Vol 8, pp. 11-62. The ‘Record and Process’ occupies about one-third of the Roll record for this parliament. [PROME]

[3] E F Jacob –The Fifteenth Century (Oxford 1987 edition) at page 13. See also PROME Vol 8, pp. 11-62. For example, the Lancastrian account that Richard abdicated voluntarily is not supported by all independent contemporary accounts. The alternative version is that the king was taken prisoner and forced to abdicate. See Chris Given-Wilson – Chronicles of the Revolution (Manchester 1993).

[4] Chris Given-Wilson considers it doubtful that the Roll version contained Henry’s actual words. See Chronicles of the Revolution at page 45 citing the ‘ The Manner of King Richard’s Renunciation’ [Corpus Christi College, Cambridge MS 59 ff 230v-231]. The relevant portion of MS 59 can be found in ‘Chronicles’ at document 16 pp.162-167. See also Ian Mortimer – Medieval Intrigues: decoding royal conspiracies (Continuum 2010) p 298. Mortimer cites two other sources (the continuation of the Eulogium [p383] and an English Chronicle [Davies ed, English Chronicle p18]). In general terms these sources also suggest that Henry claimed the throne as ‘heir male’ to Henry III.

[5] The English kings’ title to the French throne was matrilineal. There was an awkward inconsistency in arguing a male hegemony for the English throne whilst claiming title to the French throne through the female line.

[6] PROME Vol 8 at page p3. Given-Wilson describes Henry’s claim as ambiguous and obsfucatory; “an uneasy compound of inexactly defined hereditary right, de facto conquest and alleged inadequacy…”

[7] S B Chrimes – English Constitutional Ideas in the Fifteenth Century (Cambridge 1936), pages 24 and 25.

[8] K B McFarlane – Lancastrian Kings and Lollard Knights (Oxford1998 SE) at p57

[9] Jacob – Fifteenth Century pp.16 and 17; Jacob quotes from ‘B Wilkinson – The deposition of Richard II and the accession of Henry IV (Eng Hist Rev liv p220) and discusses the constitutional relationship between the king and parliament, especially parliaments advisory role in matters of state and law at this time.

[10] W. Stubbs- Constitutional History of England (Oxford 1890). Stubbs placed his faith in the integrity of the Record and Process memorandum when assessing Henry’s title.

[11] See McFarlane – Lancastrian Kings and Lollard Knights pp. 56 and 57.

[12] There was a myth that Edmund earl of Lancaster was the first-born son of Henry III and therefore the heir apparent (He was called Crouchback because he wore the symbolic cross of a crusader on the back of his surcoat. He did not have a crooked back as some suppose). However, due to an (unspecified) infirmity, Edmund was passed over in the order of succession in favour of his brother Edward (later Edward I). The legend was complete nonsense. Edward was born in 1339, his sister Margaret was born in 1340 and Edmund did not arrive until 1345. We know from Adam of Usk’s eyewitness chronicle that Henry tried to exploit the Crouchback myth as a lever to gain the throne [See the Chronicles of the Revolution at pp. 157-161]. The emergence of the Crouchback mythology can be traced at least as far back as 1394 when John of Gaunt petitioned Parliament to have his son Henry Bolingbroke nominated as Richard’s heir, apparently on the grounds of his matrilineal descent from Edmund Crouchback. However, the evidence is inconclusive. We can, however, be sure that in 1399 Henry commissioned an inquiry into the claim that Edmund Crouchback was Henry III’s first-born son (See Chronicles of the revolution at page 196 and Michael Bennett – Richard II and the revolution of 1399 (Sutton 2006) at p61). The Inquiry’s conclusion was unequivocal; the Crouchback story was untrue.

[13] See L J F Ashdown-Hill – The Lancastrian claim to the throne (Ricardian, Vol 13, 2005) at page 27. Dr Ashdown-Hill’s article is intended to show that Henry VII’s claim to be the last Lancastrian heir is untrue (which it is). However, his suggestion that Henry IV claimed the throne from his ancestor Edmund Crouchback is merely an assumption. It is not a fact.

[14] See Ian Mortimer – Fears of Henry IV (Vintage 2008), pp. 183-86; York or Lancaster: who was the rightful heir to the throne in 1460? (Ricardian Bulletin autumn 2008) pp. 20-24, with subsequent correspondence. See also ‘Medieval Intrigues’, chapters 8 and 9, and ‘York or Lancaster’ a rejoinder (Ricardian Bulletin, spring 2009) pp. 44 and 45.

[15] Henry could not agree to this without weakening the whole concept of Royal authority.

[16] See ’Fears’ p 369. Dr Mortimer asserts that that on the 30 September 1399, the assembled Lords Spiritual and Temporal, removed the right of kings to choose their successor by voting for Henry as their king from the three candidates proffered: Mortimer, York and Henry, and because Henry’s title was ratified in 1406, in parliament. His conclusion that “ This then was the basis of the Lancastrian claim in 1399: that only males could inherit the throne and all attempts by previous kings to settle the inheritance without consulting parliament were without any basis in law and thus void.” does no more than beg the question.

[17] The civil war of 1135-1154 arose principally because king Henry I died in 1135, leaving only his daughter Matilda as heir. Henry obviously had no objection in principle to a woman succeeding to the throne and reigning in her own right, since he nominated Matilda as his successor.   In 1127 he forced the Anglo-Norman nobility to swear an oath supporting her succession. However, Matilda was wholly unacceptable to the barons. Their objection seems to have been less  to women in general succeeding to the throne than a specific objection to this woman succeeding. Matilda was unpopular due to her ‘Germanic’ ways and haughty demeanour. The Norman barons also hated her for her anti-Norman activities and her marriage to their archenemy Geoffrey count of Anjou. They feared French influence at the English court. Stephen, whose title came through his mother Adela, was able with the consent of the barons to seize the throne ‘in the twinkling of an eye’. There is a remarkable similarity between the Treaty of Winchester in 1153, and the Act of Accord agreed in 1460 between the Yorkists and the Lancastrians. In 1153, the Norman king Stephen remained de facto king during his lifetime, whilst the Frenchman Henry of Anjou (Henry II) was his de jure heir, having inherited Matilda’s title to the English throne. In 1460, Henry VI remained de facto king during his lifetime, whilst York was recognized as his de jure heir. On both occasions the de facto king’s own heir was bypassed in the succession, and on both occasions the de jure heir’s title was matrilineal. The treaty of 1153 bought peace; the Act of Accord of 1460 bought civil war.

[18] Ian Mortimer – Medieval Intrigues at p286. Edward planned to marry his daughters Joan, Margaret and Eleanor to foreign royalty in 1290. Making them all eligible to inherit and rule in their own right, and to pass on the throne to their children, was a powerful inducement for their foreign royal suitors  to make the match. In the end, it didn’t matter; Edward of Caernarvon succeeded his father as Edward II. Whilst he was demonstrably imperfect, Edward II still managed to sire the perfect king — Edward III.

[19] Henry was able to get away with such a obviously dubious claim because it was not the issue uppermost in the lords’ minds. They were much too concerned about the legality of deposing a crowned and anointed monarch and the consequences of doing that to pay much attention to the legitimacy of Henry’s title.

[20] Necessitas non habet leger. It means ‘necessity has no law’ and Henry wrote those words on a signet letter in 1403. It is a saying that encapsulates his ruthless ambition to legitimize the Lancastrian dynasty. His desire for a hereditary title was all consuming.

[21] See Statutes 7, Henry IV, c 2; and PROME, Vol 8 pp. 341-348 and 354-357, articles 38 and 60.

[22] PROME Vol 8 p324. Given-Wilson suggests that the change was probably made because at the time Henry IV was negotiating with the French for the Prince of Wales to marry one of Charles VI’s daughters. The French clearly did not like the idea that any daughter borne to the union would be barred from the English succession.

Quest for the Norman Kings

Quest for the Norman Kings

Finding a present day mitochondrial DNA match for either Henry I, buried in Reading Abbey in 1135, or Stephen, buried with his family in Kent’s Faversham Abbey in 1154, is going to be very difficult. However, one factor is often overlooked: Stephen is the son of Henry I’s sister so both are descended in the female line from Matilda of Flanders. In other words, if both sites still contain likely remains of noblemen between fifty-five and seventy, they ought to be identical in their mtDNA. At Faversham Abbey, younger male remains should belong to Eustace, Stephen’s son and heir who predeceased him.

As we were saying …

http://royalcentral.co.uk/royalhistory/plans-unveiled-to-excavate-faversham-field-in-hope-of-finding-king-stephen-46921

More missing monarchs

On Saturday, we reported that the “Kingfinder General” (Philippa Langley) is now on the trail of Henry I, originally buried in Reading Abbey, and hoping to test the remains in Westminster Abbey that purport to be Edward V and his brother but are reckoned not to be by modern scientists.

Feversham Abbey in Kent, which is reasonably close at hand, was the burial place of Stephen in 1154, together with his wife and eldest son, on a site he founded seven years earlier. Here again, there are rumours of the bones being removed. In Winchester, right under Michael Hicks’ nose, is a pelvis that may belong either to Alfred the Great or Edward the Elder.

Henry I, Stephen and the Wessex pelvis will be almost impossible to find a mtDNA or Y-chromosome match, as was relatively easy for Richard III. Nevertheless, the rest of the evidence may add up in one or more of these cases.

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