Let’s be honest: lockdown sucks! But it does mean there’s more time for reading. Over the next couple of weeks, I will review 10 books which all Royal History Geeks should add to their reading list.
The heart of Katherine of Aragon emanates from her surviving letters. Everybody has an opinion about Anne Boleyn. But Jane Seymour, the third wife of Henry VIII, is a more elusive figure.
One of her brothers would become a major political player. Another would gain a reputation as a scoundrel. Her son would oversee sweeping religious reforms. But what do we truly know of the woman herself?
Combining her gifts of imagination and empathy with innovative new research, Alison Weir gives us a glimpse of the answer. In the third of Weir’s historical novels on the wives of Henry VIII, Jane steps forward as a kind, nurturing woman who was not afraid to go for what she wanted when she believed it was right.
As the book begins, we meet a young Jane growing up at Wolf Hall. As a girl, she ponders a career as a nun. But then her tranquil life is disrupted by the revelation of a scandal.
Jane ultimately decides to pursue the path of court service and the hope of an honourable marriage. During her time in the Queen’s household, Jane grows in devotion to Katherine of Aragon. She forms a loyalty to her and her daughter Mary that will last a lifetime.
This loyalty to Katherine is intuitively used to explain Jane’s motivation as the book progresses. It makes it credible that the usually demure and chaste Jane eventually seizes her opportunity with the King. It makes it believable that such a kind-hearted woman could act as an accomplice to the downfall of Anne Boleyn. It also helps explain her determination to see the Lady Mary restored to favour.
But Weir’s Jane is not a two-dimensional character. She feels guilt around her role in Anne’s demise. The late Queen may have departed the mortal coil, but as the book’s title suggests, she never quite leaves Jane’s thoughts.
As the book ends, Weir experiments with some new theories on the nature of the illness that caused Jane’s tragic and premature death. While I can’t relate to this personally, it’s clear from the reaction to the book that this has deeply touched a number of women who have themselves been through a difficult childbirth. The book may be based on characters who lived 500 years ago. But it touches the hearts of people today.
The book is written in a flowing, legato style. Happily, it is heavy on dialogue. As with all Alison Weir fiction books, it features an author’s note that sets out what is historical fact, what is imagined and what is invented. As a true Royal History Geek, my only complaint is that I wish the note were 10 times longer. But fear note fanatics: the author has teased that an updated version of her 1991 ‘Six Wives’ factual epic may hit shelves in the future.
Historical fiction will always divide opinion. When an author pens a fictional account, it is free from footnotes, source criticism and histography. They must choose a path to the exclusion of all others. Not everyone will agree with Weir’s interpretation.
But even those that don’t are likely to recognise ‘The Haunted Queen’ as an example of historical fiction at its best. It opens a door to the past and offers us a moment of escape. But it also helps us to realise that while the setting, culture and expectations are different, the trials of humanity are common to all of us. Factual history helps us to understand our forebears. Historical fiction gives us a chance to share their humanity.
Six Tudor Queens: Jane Seymour – The Haunted Queen is available from Amazon.
However, please consider supporting your local book seller. If you are based in the UK, search for your local book seller at the Book Seller Associations website.
Let’s be honest: lockdown sucks! But it does mean there’s more time for reading. Over the next couple of weeks, I will review 10 books which all Royal History Geeks should add to their reading list.
Perhaps it’s the work of fiction writers. Maybe it’s the discovery of Richard III’s remains. But whatever the reason, the latter half of the 15th century has never attracted so much popular attention. If only we had a wealth of source material to satisfy the curiosity.
And what we do have – records of Parliament, patent rolls and a chronicle or two – focus on the exploits of men. That’s typical of medieval history. But it’s only half the story.
The long-running Wars of the Roses were a series of conflicts which saw women step outside their usual sphere of influence. It was Queen Margaret of Anjou – and not her husband Henry VI – that led the Lancastrian fight back against York in 1460. It was the plotting of Margaret Beaufort and Elizabeth Woodville that bought Richard III’s regime crashing down. It was Margaret of York, not either of her brothers, who came close to destroying Henry Tudor.
It would be tragic if those stories were lost to us. Thanks to the brilliant ‘Blood Sisters’ by the talented Sarah Gristwood, such a travesty is avoided.
The brilliant book is a collective biography of seven women who were at the centre of events in the latter 1400s. It records the high-profile exploits of the heroines already mentioned. But it also shows how women constituted a hidden but powerful network of influence which played a part in shaping politics. Cecily Neville, Anne Neville and Elizabeth of York would each played a crucial role in shaping our history. Even if they had to do it through sons, fathers, brothers and husbands.
The book is underpinned by an ocean of research. Yet every chapter is lively and accessible. Gristwood began her career as a journalist. It’s clear that writing remains one of her major gifts. Despite its length and density, it’s easy to read the book in a few sittings. Helpfully, given the number of heroines called ‘Margaret’, Gristwood uses culturally appropriate names to help the reader distinguish between them.
Popular historical fiction has partially distorted public understanding of this era. The book is not written as a response to the beautifully produced but controversial ‘White Queen’ series of 2013. It was published before the series aired. But because it covers a similar range of characters it is an essential tool for anyone wanting to separate the fact from fiction.
There is almost nothing I would change about this work. It is stunning and studious. But if I were being picky, I would eliminate Anne Neville from its pages. I have yet to be convinced that her contribution to history was particularly meaningful. In my view she should not benefit from the same attention as the remaining six heroines. But on balance, this is not a significant complaint. Afterall, to the true Royal History Geek, there’s no such thing as too much history.
In recent years, more attention has been given to the role women played in medieval history. Fiction in particular has tended to suggest that they were the prime instigators of social shifts and political upsets. As a feminist this appeals to me. As a historian I’m more cautious.
But in this researched and readable account, Gristwood demonstrates beyond doubt that this was a time when women broke the mould. They stepped outside expectations and rightly deserve to be called the authors of our history.
For any fan of the Wars of the Roses era, this book won’t just make an enjoyable addition to the reading list. It will shed light on a crucial dynamic to the conflicts that we are unlikely to come across in other accounts of the period.
Blood Sisters: The Women Behind the Wars of the Roses, is available from Amazon.
However, please consider supporting your local book seller. If you are based in the UK, search for your local book seller at the Book Seller Associations website.
Let’s be honest: lockdown sucks! But it does mean there’s more time for reading. Over the next couple of weeks, I will review 10 books which all Royal History Geeks should add to their reading list.
It’s the book I’d always wanted to write. But I’m glad I didn’t. Charting the choppy course of the Beaufort dynasty over three generations is an ambitious undertaking.
In 1370 they didn’t exist. By the 1400s they were dominant political players. In 1471, they were eliminated. I could never have done their unparalleled story justice. Thankfully, Nathen Amin does.
The book begins by exploring the Beaufort’s shaky origins as the illegitimate children of John of Gaunt, third son of Edward III, and his scandalous mistress, Katherine Swynford. It examines their rise to prominence under Richard II following their parents’ marriage and their own legitimisation.
We then travel through the 1400s. We see how they helped establish and protect the reign of their half-brother Henry IV and the Lancastrian dynasty. We learn about their role at the heart of Henry V’s government.
As the book draws to a close, we see how the family dominated the conflict we now call the ‘Wars of the Roses’. Their devotion to the house of Lancaster never falters – a devotion they pay for with their total elimination of their house in the male line.
The accessible and fluid writing style makes it easy to bounce through the 285-page epic. As we do, we’re again struck by how closely the history of the Beauforts mirrors the history of 15th century England. At least one of them was at the centre of every major event. They were the authors of victories. They were culpable for failures.
But this book is more than just a run-through of familiar events. Through focused research, intelligent guesswork and a hint of empathy the author explore the human dynamics and dilemmas that our subjects were doubtlessly faced with. John Beaufort’s conflict between his loyalty to Richard II and his devotion to his half-brother Henry IV, is an early example.
The author is bold in his attempt to rescue some of the Beauforts from a distorted reputation. He successfully sets Cardinal Beaufort’s decision to put Joan of Arc to death in its proper political context. He questions the oft-quoted notion that the younger John Beaufort died at his own hand.
Some of the Beauforts are well known to history. You simply can’t discuss Lancastrian kingship without discussing the Cardinal. Both Johns are remembered as the immediate ancestors of the Tudors. But this book sheds new light on the other two children to spring from Gaunt and Swynford’s union. Thomas is established as a war hero who became perfectly apt at playing the political game. Joan takes her place as a matriarch of the north.
There’s only one thing I would change about this book. It should be a trilogy. Each generation of the Beauforts deserve a book of their own. But I’m a fanatic. Publishers ultimately make the decision about what will sell. There probably isn’t a market for three books on the dynasty.
The hard-back edition comes with a clean and striking cover. Bearing the Beaufort arms, it looks grand on the bookshelf. There’s also some lovely photography at the book’s centre. The quality of the paper is a little on the low side. But the reader will be instantly absorbed by the page’s content. They’re unlikely to care what it’s printed on.
For too long the Beauforts have been reduced to a footnote in the Tudor’s origin story. In truth, they were the power breakers of Lancastrian kingship and the shapers of a century. It’s time they stepped forward and took their rightful place in the annuls of history. ‘The House of Beaufort’ plays a ground-breaking role in ensuring that they do.
The, House of Beaufort: The Bastard Line that Captured the Crown, is available from Amazon.
However, please consider supporting your local book seller. If you are based in the UK, search for your local book seller at the Book Seller Associations website.
During a series of bloody battles, the Royal houses of Lancaster and York fought for the throne of England. The conflicts are known to us as the Wars of the Roses.
Both houses descended from Edward III. But who had the best claim to the throne?
The period drama is the best TV to hit our screens this year. But how do we get our heads around the different aristocratic titles used in the series?
Note: this post contains spoilers. If you haven’t watched all six episodes yet, do two things. 1) Do not read this post. 2) Book an appointment with a life coach to sort your life out. You are clearly making bad decisions.
There are probably people who aren’t raving about ITV’s Belgravia. But I can’t imagine I’d ever speak to those people.
The spectacular production did what period fiction does best. It granted us escape from the trials of our own world. It helped us see how much society has changed. It reminded us that human nature hasn’t.
A few people have asked me about the different styles and titles used in the six-episode epic. Why is Charles Pope’s grandmother called ‘Lady Brockenhurst’ when his finance is ‘Lady Maria’? Why is his grandfather a Lord while his grandfather’s brother is not?
This interest won’t last forever. I’ll strike while the iron is hot. Here is a quick guide to the titles and styles wielded by the hit show’s characters.
Like the best period dramas, the show allows us to escape from the trials of our own world
Explaining the styles of Belgravia’s titled characters
(Note: I have not included the Dukes of Wellington or Richmond, both real historical figures, who appear only in the first episode. I have included Edmund Bellasis due to his significance to the series).
Peregrine Bellasis, Earl of Brockenhurst
An earl is the third highest of the five ranks of hereditary peerage. It ranks below duke and marquess but above viscount and baron.
The character would be addressed as ‘Lord Brockenhurst’ by people within his social sphere. Servants would call him ‘my lord.’ Informally, peers may refer to him as ‘Peregrine Brockenhurst.’ His title is thus used as a surname, even though his actual surname is ‘Bellasis.’
We can deduce from the series that Peregrine’s full title is Earl of Brockenhust and Viscount Bellasis. More on this below.
Caroline Bellasis, Countess of Brockenhurst
The wife of an earl is a countess. People in her social sphere would refer to her as ‘Lady Brockenhurst’. Servants would address her as ‘my lady.’
In the series, Lady Brockenhurst is the daughter of a duke. As such her precedence was reduced upon marriage. A duke’s daughter outranks a countess.
But this is a technicality. There weren’t many dukes or marquesses around. The most important thing was marrying into a great landed family. Even a title wasn’t essential. The Earl of Brockenhurst would have been seen as a good match.
Edmund Bellasis, Viscount Bellasis
The eldest sons of an earl uses one of his father’s lesser titles (or subsidiary titles) by courtesy during the lifetime of his father. As such, Edmund is styled as a ‘Viscount’ even though, strictly speaking, he isn’t one. He can’t attend the House of Lords. Technically he’s commoner. But socially he is treated as if he held the rank. He would generally be addressed as ‘Lord Bellasis.’
Once acknowledged as heir, Charles Pope would become known as Viscount Bellasis
Charles Pope, Viscount Bellasis
Once recognised as the heir to Lord Brockenhurst, Charles becomes Viscount Bellasis. This is his father’s second title and the style his father had used.
Generally, only eldest sons use their father’s subsidiary title (see above). But because his father is dead, Charles is the heir apparent to the earldom. He can use the title because the only thing that will prevent him inheriting is if he predeceased his grandfather.
It’s worth noting that even though Charles’s surname is Pope, he could not style himself ‘Viscount Pope.’ Specific titles are created and inherited. You don’t just inherit a rank which can be moulded around your name.
The Hon. Rev. Stephen Bellasis
As a younger son of an Earl, the character is ‘the Honourable Stephen Bellasis.’ Because he is a vicar, he can add ‘Rev’ or ‘Rev’d’ to his style.
The style of honourable (which is also wielded by the children of viscounts and barons) is only used when referring to an individual. For example, if one were inviting the character to a social occasion (and if you are, I’d watch your valuables) the envelope would be addressed to ‘The Hon. Rev. Stephen Bellasis.’ However, you would begin the letter ‘Dear Mr Bellasis’ or ‘Dear Rev Bellasis.’
For most of the series, Stephen is the heir to the Earldom of Brockenhurst. However, he can’t use the title ‘Viscount Bellasis.’ He is not the heir apparent but the heir presumptive. At any stage he could be displaced if his brother had a son. While this may have seemed unlikely, it remained a theoretical possibility.
Wayward Stephen Bellasis was heir presumptive to the earldom of Brockenhurst for most of the series
The Hon. Mrs Bellasis
The long-suffering wife of Stephen enjoys the style of ‘honourable’ by dint of marriage. She is ‘the Hon. Mrs Bellasis’ and never ‘the Hon. Grace Bellasis.’ If you met her, you would simply address her as ‘Mrs Bellasis.’ When referring to her or introducing her, you would correctly use the full style.
The (Dowager) Duchess of Richmond
A Duchess is the wife of a Duke, the highest rank of peerage. On a handful of occasions, some women have been created duchesses in their own right or inherited a dukedom.
By the time we get to the second episode, the Duchess is a widow. She is therefore styled ‘The Dowager Duchess of Richmond’. By the mid-20th century, the term ‘dowager’ had become unpopular. Widowed peeresses use their Christian name to distinguish themselves from the wife of the current title holder. Had she been born a 100 years later, the character would most likely have been known as Charlotte, Duchess of Richmond.
A duchess would be addressed as ‘your grace’ by servants and those of a lower social order. People within her social sphere would call her ‘duchess.’
Lady Maria Grey
The daughters of Earls use the style ‘lady’ before her Christian name. Note, if not using the full name, it is always ‘Lady Maria’ and never ‘Lady Grey’. The latter would suggest she was a peeress or the wife of a knight.
Fun fact: eldest sons of earls use a lordly style, but younger sons are reduced to ‘the honourable.’ All daughters of an earl are styled as ‘lady.’
The Dowager Countess of Templemore
As a widow of an earl, the character is strictly the ‘Dowager Countess of Templemore’. However, in day to day life she would be referred to as ‘Lady Templemore.’
If she were in the same household as her son’s wife (or visiting), servants may refer to her as ‘the dowager’ in order to distinguish between the two. But they would address her directly as ‘my lady.’
*
The series main characters, the Trenchards, are of lower status. They are trying to break into society. But this is not because they lack titles.
In the 1840s, most of England’s upper-class were untitled. What mattered was that your family had pedigree and land. In ‘Pride and Prejudice’ the untitled Mr Darcy is from the upper reaches of society.
The Trenchards are as rich as many of the titled characters. Even before his pedigree was discovered, Charles Pope would have been able to keep Lady Maria Grey in something resembling the style to which she had become accustomed. But that’s not the point.
The Trenchards could afford the trappings of the upper class but were not truly accepted among them
The Trenchards had the money – and even the land – to imitate the trappings of the upper class. But everyone knew how they’d got it.
Working for a living was dirty. Gentleman didn’t have to. Younger sons of landowner may have needed an income. They would find prestigious employment in the church or the army. At a push, the legal profession might be acceptable. But trade was unbecoming. Despite its lucrative rewards.
But all was not lost for the Trenchards. The upper classes had a short memory. By the early Victorian era, very few of them truly had pedigree from the high nobility. Their forefathers had, once upon a time, treaded the path of social progress. If the Trenchards were able to lose the ‘taint of trade’ they would be accepted as part of the gentry in a generation or two.
Setting Oliver free from the business and dispatching him to the country, as happened in the last episode, is no insult. By the time his ‘child’ reaches adulthood, there would be clear blue water between him and his grandfather’s business. He might finally be embraced as a gentleman.
This process was probably more subtle and fluid than I have sketched out above. You can see hints of it in the literature of the era. Austen’s Mr Darcy was keen to keep his friend Bingley from marriage to a Bennett girl. Jane’s family were on the fringes of the gentry. Their behaviour reinforced their modest status. Darcy could get away with marrying down. He was from the top-tier of the landed class. But Bingley had come up only recently. He was trying to lose the ‘taint of trade’ and needed to cover his blemishes with the best marriage possible.
None of this knowledge is important. The character inter-play, gripping narrative and beautiful production all speak for themselves.
But when you do know your stuff, the more you can appreciate just how well written and researched a series Belgravia is.
A crisis of conscience led Henry VIII to question the validity. of his first marriage. His wife had once been married to his brother. But Katherine swore her marriage to Arthur, Prince of Wales had never been consummated.
At a distance of 500 years, is it possible to determine the truth of this deeply personal matter?
Favouritism could be the downfall of a medieval king. But a measured and sustained favouring of the Beauforts by their Lancastrian kin drew the family into the centre of England’s nobility.
When Edward IV usurped the throne in 1461, he made both his
brothers dukes. Huge landed estates were
bestowed on each of them. As they grew up,
he drew them deeper into the governance of the realm.
At first, glance, this contrasts sharply with the actions of
that other famous usurper, Henry IV. When
he seized the throne in 1399 his brother, John Beaufort was reduced in rank
from Marquess of Dorset to Earl of Somerset.
At no single point was a major land endowment offered. The king even went out of his way to proclaim
that descendants of his Beaufort kin could never be contenders for the crown.
Was it something they said?
But these isolated instances distort the truth. Under the house of Lancaster, the Beauforts reached
the summit of society.
The advancement of the Beauforts began under Richard II. But it accelerated under the house of Lancaster
As Royal History Geeks will know, the Beaufort family finds its origins in the birth of John in 1374. The illegitimate son of John of Gaunt and his mistress, Katherine Swynford was soon joined by three siblings.
As children of the richest man in England and grandchildren
of Edward III, the lives of the first Beauforts were never going to be
ordinary. But as bastards, their
prospects were unlikely to be great. Their
parents eventually married and the Beauforts’ were legitimisation in the 1390s. But few could have predicted how the dynasty
would become interwoven with the politics of the following century.
The advancement of the Beauforts has its roots in the reign
of Richard II. But it reached a new level
when their half-brother usurped the throne as Henry IV.
The best example of how advanced the Beauforts were by their
Lancastrian kin is their rapid acquisition of land. By the end of the 1440s they were the
dominant landowners in Somerset and a major landed player in the
Westcountry. Just 50 years before, they
didn’t own a single square meter in the county.
Bishop Beaufort served as his half-brother’s Lord Chancellor
It isn’t just the speed and volume of land acquisition that’s
significant. It’s the location. In the late medieval period, landowners were
desperate to consolidate their landholdings in an individual country. It cemented their Lordship. But kings were determined to frustrate such
ambitions. The idea of nobles building
unwieldy regional power bases did not appeal.
When large estates were granted, they were typically regionally disparate.
In consolidating their power in Somerset, the medieval historian Chris Given-Wilson notes that the Beauforts enjoyed their share of luck. But such a speedy consolidation would not have been possible without royal support. The Lancastrian Kings had significantly bent the rules for the advancement of the Beaufort relatives. As a mark of high favour, this cannot be underestimated.
From the earliest days of Henry IV’s reign, it was clear that the Beauforts were a family in favour. John was constantly in his brother’s company. He held high and lucrative offices such as the Captaincy of Calais. Henry Beaufort served as Lord Chancellor. Joan remained a countess though many had expected her husband to be reduced in rank. The young Thomas was set on a path of advancement that would one day see him become Duke of Exeter.
But why, if the family were in favour, did it take three
generations for their advancement to truly be cemented. The answer lies in the very real constraints that
bound medieval kingship – or at least should if a king were to be successful.
As a usurper, Henry IV had to be particularly careful about favouritism
It’s tempting to think of medieval kings as absolute despots
with the power to dispense patronage as they see fit. History, however, had taught all kings to be
cautious. All, that is, but the most
foolish.
Extreme favouritism made a king vulnerable. When a lesser man was plucked out of nowhere
and rapidly raised above the nobility of the day, the political order was in
danger of collapse.
This was not simply because such actions ruffled the
feathers of proud aristocrats. It was
because extreme favouritism undermined the whole system of lordship on which
the government in medieval England was predicated.
A lord built his power base on the land he held and the
‘affinity’ he was able to build in the shires and counties in which he was a
major landholder. If land was given to
an unworthy favourite, there was less for the established nobility.
But the problem went deeper than that.
A lord’s affinity in counties and shires where they were
dominant (their ‘countries’ as they called them) depended on an unwritten, but
very real code. If the gentry and players
of that community would honour the lordship of the major landowner, that Lord
would, in turn, act in their favour. It
was never as crude as a quid-pro-quo.
But through his access to the King, a lord could obtain justice,
maintain order and open up possibilities for advancement.
For all of this, a lord needed the ear of the king. And to be perceived as having the ear of the
king.
This was a reasonable expectation. The nobility was the ordained body with whom
the King should socialise, fraternise and consult. But in a time when favourites had come to
prominence, the natural order of things was distorted. If a King was beholden to the advice of his
favourites – government by clique – what confidence could people have that the nobility
were listened to? A Lord was at risk of
losing his affinity. Collectively, this
is something the nobility were unlikely to suffer for long.
All Kings were mindful of this. And none more so than Henry IV. He had had just overthrown a King renowned
for favouritism. He was likely to be extra
sensitive to it.
None of this means King’s didn’t have favourites. Edward IV had William Hastings. Henry VII advanced his stepfather. But for favouritism to be tolerated, it had
to be measured, moderate and gradual.
This was the policy that Henry IV would pursue with his Beaufort kin.
John Beaufort was a constant companion of his half-brother, the King
I began this post by contrasting the Beauforts with the
siblings of Edward IV. But really that’s
like comparing apples and oranges. The
house of York claimed to be the senior descendants of Edward III. The late duke of York had been recognised as
rightful king of England. Edward IV’s
brothers were treated as sons of a king.
A dukedom was their birth right.
In 1399, however, Henry IV had (rather spuriously) claimed
the throne through his mother. The
status of his paternal half-siblings remained unaffected.
Besides, the Beauforts never really lost the taint of
bastardy. Once they were legitimised the
nobility welcomed them to their ranks.
But they were never really accepted as royalty.
Good kings acted within the constraints of certain
expectations. For a usurper like Henry
IV to survive, patronage had to be used sparingly and strategically. That measured and sustained favouritism was
focused on the Beauforts. In the dark
days of the Wars of the Roses, that constant favour would be repaid in full.
John, duke of Somerset was a ‘Lancastrian prince’ who married beneath him. Was this an act of passion or were more pragmatic considerations in mind?
I’m going to let you into a little secret. At heart I’m a romantic. I think most Royal History Geeks are.
When I’m delving into the tales of England’s history, the
personal lives and misadventures of those who shaped it always spark my curiosity. I’m as interested in them as I am the
political, military or dynastic significance of their actions.
So as you can imagine, my sense of intrigue goes into
overdrive when I think I’ve discovered that rare thing: a genuine medieval love
match.
For a time I thought I had found just that in the union of John Beaufort, Duke of Somerset and Margaret Beauchamp. Could it be that the parents of Margaret Beaufort and grandparents of Henry VII had married for love?
Let’s review the facts.
John Beaufort moved in the upper reaches of nobility. He considered himself a Lancastrian
prince. His status was high and he was
in search of a fortune to match. The
Earl of Somerset (as he then was) wanted to enter the league of the great
landowners of the realm like York and Buckingham. And he also had a staggering ransom to pay
off.
Like all the Beauforts, John was proud of his Lancastrian heritage and looking to join the ranks of England’s major landowners
Margaret Beauchamp was no slouch. She was from the top tier of the gentry and a
landowner in her own right. But she was
no aristocrat or major heiress. Besides,
she already had children from a previous marriage. While her lands were not insignificant, they
were unlikely to be inherited by a Beaufort descendant.
If money could not be the reason for their match, could
the motivation have been more tender?
As I further explored the story of the pair, the tale of
love seemed to continue. Ahead of
setting off to war, John negotiated that should he die, his wife would retain
the wardship of their then-unborn child.
He was ensuring that mother and child would not be separated. Surely that can only be interpreted as an act
of affection?
It was a wonderful thought. Sadly, it was one not informed by the
realities of the time.
To a true Royal History Geek, there’s no such thing as too much research. Every facet of context we can absorb illuminates another piece of the picture we are trying to build. But I would have to concede that when you delve deeper and deeper into the economic and political structures of the day, you must prepare for romantic notions to be shattered.
With children from a previous marriage, Margaret’s modest fortune was unlikely to be inherited by any Beaufort descendent
John and Margaret are a case in point.
Elizabeth Norton was the first writer to set me straight on John and Margaret’s union. Margaret may not have been the sort of wife that a man of Somerset’s stature had dreamt of. But she was probably the best catch available. Having been imprisoned in France for 20 years, most of the prized brides of his generation had already been snapped up. Margaret, with her modest inheritance, could at least contribute something financially while he tightened his belt to pay off his ransom.
But what about Somerset’s negotiation with the King that
his wife should keep their child’s wardship?
Surely that could still be significant.
Significant it certainly was. But it’s probably not wise to interpreted it as an act of love.
Instead it should be understood as an attempt by the (by
then) Duke of Somerset to protect the inheritance of his heir.
Had Somerset died while his child was a minor it would
have created a ‘feudal incident’. And these
were what 14th century landowners feared above all else.
As Somerset held land directly from the King, Henry VI
would have assumed responsibility for the young child. He would have granted his or her ‘wardship’ to
someone currently in his favour. For the duration of the child’s
minority, their ‘guardian’ would have taken responsibility for the Beaufort
lands – and received all associated revenues.
Crucially, whoever held the child’s wardship would control their
marriage. He could literally sell it to
the highest bidder.
Somerset, like all wealthy landowners, feared his estate falling victim to a ‘feudal incidents’
The child’s guardian could not deprive the heir
permanently of their lands. But they
could manage the estate in a way that would maximise short term revenue at the
expense of responsible stewardship.
They could also try and ‘asset strip’ the estate by granting
facets of land out to trust. This might
prevent the heir from coming into the fullness of their revenue when they came
of age. Such measures could be
challenged legally. But it represented a
clear risk to the child’s long-term best interests.
In the possible event of his early death, who could
Somerset really trust to act in the best interest of his heir? Even his younger brother would have looked
jealously upon the Beaufort lands that the offspring had inherited. Quite
simply, only his duchess would possess a real interest in careful stewardship
of the Somerset estate. Only Margaret could have been trusted to
negotiate the best possible marriage for their child. And it is for these
more economic and dynastic reasons, that the Duke would have been so keen to
ensure that wardship fell to her.
By negotiating for Margaret Beaufort’s mother to hold her wardship, Somerset was protecting the Beaufort lands. When the time came, this arrangement would not be honoured.
Of course, none of this is evidence that the pair weren’t
a love match. It could be argued
that attempting to secure the wardship for his wife was still an act of
consideration, if not affection. It
could also be read as a mark of respect.
Unlike most women of the day, Margaret had experience as a
landowner. She had demonstrated the
competence to look after her child’s affairs.
A romantic streak is an asset to anyone exploring the
stories of our forebears. It sparks our
interest and encourages us to dig a little deeper. However, if our first commitment is to the
facts of history, we must always be prepared to revise our romance when our
understanding of the era deepens.
Could York’s proudest son have really been the child of a French archer?
Edward IV faced rumours in his own time that he was not a legitimate Plantagenet. More recently, historians have raised questions around the circumstances of his conception and birth.
In this video, I outline why I do not believe claims of Edward’s illegitimacy bear scrutiny.
I am indebted to a blog post by Trish Williams on the History Files. This post did not fundamentally change my view and I was already aware of the most of the information in contains. However, I had not previously appreciated that the Earls of Oxford and Ormonde/Wiltshire had been in France with the Yorks in 1441. This information is significant and a game changer in discrediting the rumours that surfaced in 1469.
The young Margaret of Somerset became the greatest heiresses of her era; but her phenomenal wealth made her a pawn to politics.
I’m hardly the first Royal History Geek to be fascinated by
Margaret Beaufort. The matriarch’s
struggles, hardships and triumphs are the things that epics are made of.
A widowed mother at 13.
A fifth column in the final days of the Yorkist regime. Against all the odds, her valiant efforts put
her descendants on the throne. They’ve
remained there ever since.
But even before the Wars of the Roses broke out, Margaret
was a figure of note to contemporaries. Thanks
to the early tragedy of her father’s death, the young Margaret inherited the
bulk of the Beaufort fortune.
But just how wealthy was the young Margaret of Somerset? Did her wealth place her among the upper
reaches of England’s nobility? Had she
been a man, would her fortune have made her a major military player in the
dynastic wars that dominated her life?
As so often with Margaret Beaufort questions, we must turn to the academic study by Michael K Jones and Malcolm G Underwood. In these pages, the young heiresses’ lands are explored in detail. Thanks largely to the fortune of her late grandmother, who was co-heiress to the earldom of Kent, by 1450 it was clear that Margaret wielded a fortune of approximately £1000 a year.
On its own, this doesn’t tell us much. Such a figure would be no great income
today. How far did a grand go in the
1450s?
WATCH: my video discussing the wealth of Margaret Beaufort
To get some sense of an answer we must wind the clock back
to seven years before Margaret’s birth.
Ahead of a new tax to fund the war with France, all landowners were
assessed and their annual income calculated.
The findings have come down to us.
If Margaret were alive in 1436 and in possession of her fortune, she would have ranked among the top 20 landowners. Given that there were about 60 titled families at any one time, this placed Margaret in the upper-third of noble society. Those with lands to the value of £25 a year were deemed wealthy enough to tax. Margaret’s income was 40 times that sum.
However, we need to be very, very careful about this. Seven years is a long time. Income from land was subject to the
stewardship of the landlord and, at least to some extent, market forces.
Furthermore, it’s clear from other evidence that the rich
then – like the rich today – had gone to some length to disguise the extent of
their wealth.
As an indication however, it remains illuminating. Chris Given-Wilson, the great late-medieval
historian, estimates that an earl would typically enjoy £1000-1500 a year. This is clearly the category that Margaret
was in. Nonetheless, money was not always
so logically linked to title. Some earls
– such as Devon, Westmoreland and Suffolk – seemed to have less. Some could claim considerably more. There were also a handful of wealthy barons
who enjoyed fortunes greater than some earls.
Margaret, however, did not have an income worthy of a major
power broker. If we take numbers from
the 1436 list, add together the various titles and estates that were
consolidated in the late 1430s and 1440s, we get a sense as to who the major
players were at the beginning of the Wars of the Roses.
The Duke of Buckingham enjoyed almost £3000 a year, the Duke
of York £3500 and the mighty Earl of Warwick £4,400. As stated earlier, these figures should be
taken as conservative. Studies on the
Duke of Buckingham for example, suggest his income was double this sum – at
least in some years.
At the beginning of the Wars of the Roses, the Earl of Warwick was probably the richest noble in the land
Margaret’s wealth was both extraordinary and
unremarkable. What made it so
significant was her sex. It was unusual
– thought not unique, even in her own time – for a woman to be in sole
possession of such a staggering sum. And
that staggering sum, of course, was up for grabs by a future husband.
Under the common law of primogeniture, women would only
inherit a parent’s fortune if they were devoid of a brother. The eldest son would typically inherit the
lot. But when there was more than one
daughter (and no son) the girls had to share it out equally.
Great landowners hated the idea of daughters
inheriting. This was not out of pure
misogyny. They loathed the thought of
their estates being divvied up among daughters and used to bolster the
ambitions of the lesser Lords their girls would marry. As a result, many deployed legal devises – such
as entails – to block female inheritance.
For whatever reason, the Beauforts never deployed such a
devise. As her father’s sole surviving
legitimate child, Margaret’s status as a major heiress was established within
the first two years of her life.
Money was important to Margaret. When her son seized the throne, she would be
granted plenty more of it. But this
early fortune would lead to trauma. Before
she was seven years old, she was abandoned to the machinations of the medieval
marriage market. Her money, along with
her trickle of royal blood, made her a pawn of politics from her earliest
years.
Thank goodness that the matriarch of the Tudors was a born
survivor.
