u/Appropriate-Calm4822

 On page 301 in this book there's an interesting claim:

'Prince Edward’s [Edward II] savage treatment of ordinary and blameless Scots, including women and children, during his campaign to put down the Bruce rebellion in 1306-07, forced Edward I to rebuke his son.’

Is it true? Nope. It unequivocally is not. Edward I did not rebuke his son.

According to the highly acclaimed historian and biographer of Edward II, Seymour Phillips (’Edward II’, 2010, pp. 114-115) it was Aymer de Valence, the earl of Pembroke and others who were much too fierce in the field, forcing Edward I to rebuke them. Prince Edward on the other hand received praise for his fair treatment of the Scots, from the Scots themselves.

It’s also worth noticing that after Edward II became king he relaxed the terrifying conditions of imprisonment of Bruce’s sister and the countess of Buchan, who had been confined to specially built cages by Edward I.

The Scottish poet and churchman John Barbour approved of Prince Edward.

So where does this myth come from?

Readers of ‘Arise, England’ won’t know, as the superficial book lacks footnotes and does not elaborate on where their information is from. But it’s likely to stem from Barbour’s poem ‘Bruce’. The damning verse:

‘And to the king of England sone

Thai wrate haly as thai had done;

And he wes blyth of that tithing,

And for dispyte had draw and hing

All the prisoneris, thouct thai war ma,

Bot Schyr Amery did nocht sua.'

Phillips tells us that the passage has been misread.

‘If the word ‘sone’ is understood as ‘son’, which was Johnstone’s interpretation [in 1946], then the passage is indeed highly critical of Edward’s behaviour and character. If, on the other hand, ‘sone’ is translated as ‘soon’, which it is in the latest edition of Barbour’s 'Bruce', then Edward I and not his son becomes the focus of attention and of criticism. If Barbour’s remarks really had been intended to refer to Prince Edward, they would sit very oddly with his strong approval of Edward in his account of the siege of Kildrummy only three months after the battle of Methven.’

 

(*until you know what)

As much as I like Edward, I'm also a big fan of Isabella. I think people are too often divided into tribalistic camps of liking one while disliking the other. I don't want to play that game. They were both brilliantly colourful and fascinating people.

But this brief post is about Isabella.

I think she played the cards she was dealt with great finesse. In a man's world, she managed to stand her ground admirably and refused to be sidelined.

She was married to a man who didn't have the sense to listen to her, he failed to pay attention to her sound advise when she urged him to rid himself of the society of the Despensers.

She had Edward's best interests at heart (which aligned with her own, of course) while the Despensers, including Eleanore only wanted to enrich and empower themselves at his expense.

What do you find most inspiring or fascinating about her?

On 27 February 1310 Edward II issued a pardon and a grant to Piers Gaveston. Spoiler alert, things weren't going so well for Edward in 1310. He'd recently invited the barons to parliament but they refused to talk to him. Edward was however aware that he needed their support in order to govern efficiently and was trying to find a way to make things work somehow.

But there were so many details to keep track of. Someone appears to have told him that Gaveston had been hunting and fishing on his lands - without permission to do so! Accompanied by some curses, probably, Edward first issued a pardon for these minor infringements so they could not be used against Gaveston by the barons, and then granted him permission for life to hunt and fish as much as he pleased.

The barons would prove unfazed by this, as they formulated their demands which would be outlined in the Ordinances of 1311, through which they sought to restrict royal authority, limiting the king's financial and appointment powers, and demanding a second exile for Piers Gaveston.

Image from the Calendar of the Patent Rolls 1307-13.

This has been a very pleasant book for the summer hammock I must say.

The book traces the convergence of two signature events of the 14th Century: the overthrow of Edward II (including recent revelations surrounding his purported murder) and William Occam’s heresy trial in Avignon.

Occam has never before appeared in a work of fiction, though he served as inspiration (along with Sherlock Holmes) for William of Baskerville, the hero of Umberto Eco’s novel The Name of The Rose. The book should appeal to murder mystery aficionados as well as readers of medieval history and anyone interested in the distant origins of contemporary intellectual life.

If you want fast-paced action however this book is probably not for you. For the most part the tempo is relaxed and fairly peaceful. Professor Harmon has clearly gone to great lenghts in his research to ensure the reader’s immersion is complete. You are in Avignon, and you’re not supposed to leave, regardless of what’s happening in England. While Harmon does occasionally cut corners and depart from actual history for the sake of the story he does admit to as much in his afterword - and this is perfectly fine as it’s his prerogative as a writer of historical fiction.

Harmon is refreshingly sensible and inquisitive in his views. Much like William Occam was in his day.

Strongly recommended!

It probably won’t come as a surprise to anyone reading this that there are tons of low quality AI books out there today, with more spawning by the day.

Typically, it's the non-fiction genre that is targeted by people misusing AI for private gain. Economists see no problem with this, as they are less concerned with literary quality or customer satisfaction than revenue growth and market expansion. Money talks.

And there’s plenty of money in it. One AI creator, going by the name of ‘Diane W. Gray’ published sixty (60!) biographies last summer about a wide cast of celebrities. Another ‘author’, interviewed in this NY Times article, gives some insight into his earnings. Through Amazon, he earns roughly $7 for each book sold. Not much perhaps, but he sells a few hundred books per month. He’s made a whopping 445 books so far through ChatGPT. At 70 years old, his goal is to make (and I mean make, not write) ten books a week, which is the maximum allowed by Amazon. For the holiday gift-giving season he sold 821 books at a profit of almost $6,000. Not bad for the amount of work he actually puts into his books, which is next to nothing.

The opportunistic so called ‘author’ thinks that actually writing a book is a ‘romantic’ notion which doesn’t make economic sense. AI (and Amazon) is enabling the most unsavoury and self-serving characters to capitalize on people’s desires to read good books. The only thing these crooks are interested in is making a quick buck at the consumers expense. The consumer in turn is left with an objectively lousy book that will be thrown in the garbage as soon as a one star review has been given. That doesn’t bother the crooks, who can quickly remove the book from Amazon, only to replace it with several new ones. The ‘author’ interviewed by the Times does not even see anything wrong or unethical with what he’s doing. He calls the income ‘bar money’ to fuel his alcohol addiction. Real nice.

Why doesn’t Amazon do anything about this problem? Consumers are clearly being duped while Amazon makes a profit. Amazon defends themselves by saying that they do require people submitting their books to their platform to declare if AI has been used to make the book, and to what extent. However, they keep these details to themselves instead of informing potential buyers of the AI content.

The Authors Guild has been lobbying Amazon since 2023 to label AI-generated books. Amazon refuses, because they do not want to punish those who are honest about using AI while rewarding people who lie about it. Apparently punishing those who lie about it is not an option for some bizarre reason. 

To make things worse, anyone can fall into the trap of buying an AI generated book. I nearly did so myself only this week, but was fortunately saved by my vigilant co-mod. Mary Rasenberger, the chief executive of The Authors Guild was not so lucky as she inadvertently bought an AI slop book. The book was a waste of paper and ink: ‘There was not a single interesting point that the book made,’ she said. ‘AI is just a word prediction machine. There’s no thinking, no real creativity, no soul behind it.’

The interviewed ‘author’ of AI slop books does not take one-star reviews personally. He just takes the books down if they get roasted. And why would he take poor reviews personally? He’s not taken any pride in creating his books. They mean nothing to him. He hasn’t even, technically speaking, written them. He’s just pocketing the money, delighted that he’s found a nice and legal stream of income, unobstructed by anyone.

Thoughts on this?

Source:

Someone Used A.I. to Write an Unauthorized Biography of Me. I Don’t Recommend Reading It. - The New York Times

This is a post to offer a differing opinion to the post written a few hours ago by AnantaPurima. I named it in this way not to provoke Ananta, who I have a lot of respect for, but to link the two posts together in the minds of the readers. Much of the below is based on Kathryn Warner's blogpost, link below. Everyone can make up their own minds about the interpretations.

Anyway, in November 1330 Lord Berkeley made the following statement in parliament when he was asked how he wishes to acquit himself with respect to the death of Edward II:

‘...qualiter se velit de morte ipsius regis acquietare, dicit quod ipse nunquam fuit consentiens, auxilians, seu procurans, ad mortem suam, nec unquam scivit de morte sua usque in presenti Parliamento isto.’ 

In English: He wishes to acquit himself of the death of the same king, and says that he was never an accomplice, a helper or a procurer in his death, nor did he ever know of his death until this present parliament.

According to Haines, ‘what Berkeley meant to say, and he ought to have expressed himself more clearly, unless the recording clerk is to blame, was that he knew nothing about the circumstances of Edward's death.‘ (p.78, Death of a King, 2002)

Is it reasonable for Haines to assume that he knows what was going on in Thomas Berkeley's mind in late 1330 and to explain to readers 'what Berkeley meant to say' with such utter certainty? This is a classic example of how Berkeley's strange remark is interpreted by someone sure that Edward II had been dead for more than three years at the time, to make it fit into this notion, to make the words say what the modern commentator wants them to say. The words ‘nec unquam scivit de morte sua’ have been variously stated to mean certainly or almost certainly that what Thomas Berkeley really intended to say was that:

• he knew nothing of the circumstances of Edward II's death;
• he hadn't previously heard any suspicion of foul play relating to the death;
• he hadn't known that the king's death was due to anything other than natural causes, or;
• he knew nothing of the circumstances of the death although he knew it had taken place, but had nothing to do with the death.

 

We are also informed that one of these interpretations 'is more consistent with the language employed' than translating nec unquam scivit de morte sua literally as 'he never knew about the death'.  Hmmm, this is a lot of meaning being read into those six simple words, isn't it?

It follows that an even deeper focus on just two letters ‘de’ (about, of, concerning, with respect to) makes us lose track of the general point and context in which the statement is expressed, which also Haines concedes does not correspond with the suggestion in the original post (quotation above, 'ought to have expressed himself more clearly, unless the recording clerk was to blame'). Berkeley’s statement isn’t all that ambiguous in my opinion. The statement:

‘He sayd he was never consenting, aiding or procuring in his death, nor did he ever know de morte sua until the present Parliament’

does not change much no matter how ‘de’ would be defined. The wider context and surrounding words would have made Berkeley’s point resonate the way he intended, without uncertainty. He was not speaking in riddles, not trying to be coy, not in Parliament, not in front of the king.

Kathryn Warner sent the statement ‘dicit quod ipse nunquam fuit consentiens, auxilians, seu procurans, ad mortem suam, nec unquam scivit de morte sua usque in presenti Parliamento isto’ to an independent Latin translator with no knowledge of the background of the statement. This translator is educated in Latin to doctoral level at Cambridge, taught Latin Prose and Verse Composition at the university, and then moved on to head the Classics department at a prestigious boarding school. He translated it as:

"He said he was never in agreement to his death, either by lending help or by direct involvement, and he never knew about his death until this present parliament."

Here we see how a Latin expert without a vested interest in altering the translation so that it fits into his preconceived notions of what the statement 'should' mean, translates nec unquam scivit de morte sua usque in presenti Parliamento isto: he never knew about his death until this present parliament.  Not 'he didn't know about the circumstances of his death' or 'he didn't know until the present parliament that it was murder' or 'he hadn't previously heard any suspicion of foul play', or any other ways in which these words been interpreted in recent years.  Simply, 'he never knew about his [i.e. Edward II's] death'. 

As Professor Haines says, perhaps Lord Berkeley 'should have expressed himself more clearly' to parliament.  Or perhaps the clerk who recorded his statement was in fact to blame as the professor suggests, and Berkeley said something else and it was written down wrongly or less fully than the baron had meant.  

Or perhaps we should work with the evidence that we actually have, rather than trying to read Lord Berkeley's mind and ascertain what we think he 'really' meant or what the clerk 'should' have recorded and thus try our hardest to make his words fit into the scenario that Edward II certainly, definitely, absolutely died in his castle in September 1327.

Finally, it’s very curious to note that Berkeley also said that he had been very ill around the time of Edward’s alleged death. He said he hadn’t even been at Berkeley Castle. We know this to be a lie, as the Berkeley Castle accounts clearly show he was present at the time and that he ordered the letter to be sent. Still, his defence that he was ill at Bradley at the time and so hadn’t written the message to Edward III and didn’t know what had happened was allowed to go unchallenged by the king, who certainly knew he was lying. And in the three years that had passed, he’d never come to think of it to check what had happened at his own castle during his (disproved) absence. Quite odd, isn’t it? Before long, Berkeley was back in favour and would serve Edward III in his war against France. Very odd, if Edward had believed him to have played a part in his father’s alleged death. Increasingly odd, if we consider that Edward III had spread the news of his father’s death based on that one letter alone, without verifying the contents. The Berkeley Castle accounts verify that Lord Berkeley had sent Gurney with the message to the king. And here they were, Edward and Berkeley, indirectly agreeing that the letter which started it all had been fake after all, clearly sent in bad faith one way or the other.

We can conclude that Ian Mortimer is right when he points out that in order to believe that Edward II died in Berkeley Castle one must do so on the basis of an unsubstantiated message sent in bad faith.

Kathryn Warner's blog
R. M. Haines - Death of a King, 2002
Ian Mortimer - The Death of Edward II in Berkeley Castle

You know what to do. Just for laughs, even though the scenario portrayed was anything but light hearted. But those facial expressions do perhaps lend themselves to comedy.

The execution of Hugh the Younger.

EDIT: The guy with the red coat and black chaperon could respond to his pal with 4.

This is R.M. Haines, on page 324 in his 2003 book 'King Edward II Edward of Caernarfon His Life, His Reign and its Aftermath' describing the chronicler Geoffrey le Baker's version of the events leading to Isabella's invasion.

Baker is extremely critical of Isabella in his imaginative chronicle, written in the mid 14th century.

Thankfully, Haines does not seem to share this highly misogynistic view. Although he doesn't criticize it either...

There was some good debate yesterday in our sister sub at Which consorts hated their husbands? : r/UKmonarchs and with a question like that, Isabella was always likely to get a few mentions. Of course, as always, there are those who remain adamant that Isabella was horribly wronged throughout her marriage and that she absolutely hated her husband and wanted him to suffer the most painful death she could imagine, which is something all serious historians will deny. That's not to say they were some sort of dream couple either, but there were definitely nuances and they had some good years as well. Somehow even mentioning this harmless fact is seen as provocative to some people, who will start hurling abuse and accusations.

We occasionally see a few of these angry and confrontational people who believe in this relatively new fan fiction of Isabella's supreme victimhood turned into epic heroine who gets her revenge and then some in this sub as well, but their hateful and unpleasant attitude tend to get them banned. Rule number 1 is non-negotiable.

Historian Kathryn Warner has noticed this troubling modern trend to turn real history into made up entertainment. Here's what she has to say about it (abridged, original sources below).

A lot of the modern inventions about Edward II and Isabella of France's marriage make me deeply uncomfortable. According to some people, Isabella did not only endure the Worst Marriage Ever, she was raped, sexually assaulted, demeaned and humiliated. Piling utter humiliation on a woman, turning her husband into a nasty gay caricature who loathes women and who gets a kick out of demeaning his royal wife and queen in the coarsest, crudest way possible, is simply revolting.

The fiction about Edward giving Isabella's jewels to Gaveston was invented by Agnes Strickland in the nineteenth century. The idea that Isabella was forced to endure an excessively long wait for any income is not borne out by comparison with other grants of dower in the early fourteenth century (it took about three months, and the situation was complicated by the fact that Edward II's stepmother Marguerite, Isabella's aunt, was alive. Compare this to the more than two years Isabella forced her daughter-in-law Philippa of Hainault to wait for her own rightful lands). The tale that Edward abandoned Isabella weeping in May 1312 was based on one chronicler's confusion of events of 1312 and those of 1322, and is disproved by their own household accounts of that year which show that the royal couple left Tynemouth at the same time and that Isabella travelled by land to meet her husband a few days later, being in the first trimester of pregnancy and therefore deciding to avoid the North Sea.

The most egregious invention is the idea that Edward deliberately and cruelly removed Isabella's children from her, and since the late 1970s when this daft notion was first dreamed up by Paul Doherty, we've had novels where Isabella's young children are ripped, screaming, from their mother's arms, after Isabella has spent much of the novel telegraphing this cruelty by stating over and over how dreadful it would be if she lost her children. For pity's sake. The whole absurd melodrama of it all; it's less subtle than a sledgehammer.

There are some truly bizarre, even sickening fan fiction books out there written by people hellbent on portraying Isabella as some sort of long-suffering heroic martyr. We’re told that Isabella's husband permitted his own lover to assault her sexually or even to rape her, her own father and three older brothers do too in a series of popular recent novels, before Isabella marries Edward and when she is still only a child. Seriously, what the hell is this? Why does this happen? Why do people do this? Why do Isabella's fans feel this need to pile ever more abuse and humiliation on her? And why do people complain on the one hand about the 'sexual prejudices' suffered by Isabella but think it's a mighty fine idea to pile homophobic abuse on Edward II? Why is it OK to accuse people of deeply serious, violent crimes without the slightest evidence? Why is it seen as a good idea to rescue Isabella from the opprobrium heaped on her for so long by heaping it on her husband instead?

The whole thing is so childishly simplistic, no nuance, no depth, just idiotically one-dimensional Good People and Bad People. Even stuff like Isabella being forced to endure the company of Eleanor Despenser née de Clare, supposedly foisted on her by Edward and Hugh against her wishes, paints the queen as a helpless, passive victim who couldn't even choose who she wanted to spend time with. I just don't get why people do this. The absolute last thing Isabella of France was, was a helpless, passive victim.

After suffering so so so so so so so much at the hands of her nasty cruel perverted gay husband, the story goes, Isabella finally finds love and fulfilment and great sex in the arms of a strong manly virile heterosexual lover who is, conveniently enough, the exact opposite of Horrid Gay Edward. This is a narrative that's been created in fairly recent times and has had the names of real people added to it. It's not true. There's not one part of it that's even remotely close to being historically accurate.

Kathryn's comments on Alison Weir's homophobic paragraph (the second image in this post):

Isabella of France, one of the most awesome and powerful women in medieval English history, is written as a panting heroine from a bad 1950s bodice-ripper who 'surrenders herself' to Our Manly Hero's healing embraces. This is so, so bad it makes me want to bleach my brain. Make it stop make it stop make it stop.

There are of course far more examples of Isabella's super-tragic victimhood both from fiction and non-fiction, but I don't quite have the heart to get into any more now, because picking up books about Isabella of France involves having to read stuff like Edward II was 'too cowardly to become violent' with a woman and 'could not even beat his wife properly', and that raping a human being to death with a burning metal implement is 'ingenious', and I'm afraid I can't, I simply can't.

All of this 'Victim!Isabella' fan fiction is about as accurate as Braveheart.

Edward II: The Victimisation of Isabella of France
Edward II: A Sneer of Disdain: Isabella of France, the Victim

TL;DR: This is a fake story disingenuously invented in 1977 by Paul Doherty.

This is a rather annoying myth that needs to be addressed I think. Too often it's stated as fact by some people that Isabella's three younger children John of Eltham, Eleanor of Woodstock and Joan of the Tower were taken from her care in September 1324 when Edward confiscated her lands, encouraged by Despenser.

The story goes that at around the same time as Edward confiscated Isabella's lands in exchange for a much smaller income and removed her French servants from her household in September 1324 when he was at war with her brother Charles IV of France, he also nastily and cruelly 'stole' her three younger children John of Eltham (b. August 1316), Eleanor of Woodstock (b. June 1318) and Joan of the Tower (b. July 1321) from Isabella's care and sent them to live with Eleanor Despenser née de Clare in John's case and Isabella Hastings née Despenser in Eleanor and Joan's case, in order to punish and hurt the queen. It's funny how the children are always referred to exclusively as her children. Newsflash: Edward was the father. They were equally his children. They were their children.

Eleanor Despenser née de Clare was looking after Edward and Isabella's second son John of Eltham (b. 15 August 1316) by 3 July 1322 at the latest and perhaps earlier. This alone proves that John at least was not 'removed' from his mother in September 1324. 

Even Alison Weir, who appears to despise Edward II, admits that Edward was a "good and loving father." No historian or non-fiction writer of the last 700 years has ever argued that Edward II was a negligent parent. Neither did anyone in his own time claim that he was cruel to or did not love or was in any way neglectful of his children and his responsibilities towards them.

What's more, there are no primary, medieval sources for this dramatic removal of her children from Isabella's care. Typically, royal and noble boys left their parent's custody at a young age, and girls often when they married. Isabella sent her daughter Joan to marry David Bruce, future king of Scotland, in 1328, when the girl was only seven.

The people to whom Edward II, or possibly even Isabella, gave custody of their children sometime in the 1320s were: Edward's niece Eleanor Despenser; Eleanor's sister-in-law Isabel Hastings; Edward's former brother-in-law Ralph de Monthermer, whose four children Mary, Joan, Thomas and Edward were the king's nieces and nephews and his children's first cousins; his sister-in-law Alice Hales' sister Joan Jermy. All of these people were members of Edward II's extended family. He had known Ralph de Monthermer since the latter married Edward's widowed sister Joan of Acre in early 1297 when the future king was only twelve. Ralph was a close friend of Edward's, and seems to have been a very genuine and affable man, who even Edward I came to like and accept as his son-in-law, even though he married his daughter without his permission. Edward may have known the Despenser siblings Hugh and Isabel, who were some years his junior, since childhood (they were grandchildren of William Beauchamp, earl of Warwick). 

Many modern writers seem to think that Hugh Despenser the Younger was a cross between the Antichrist and a genocidal psychopath, but to his contemporaries his sister Isabel Hastings was not tainted by this association: Edward II's niece Elizabeth de Burgh, Eleanor Despenser's sister, left her two daughters Isabella Verdon (aged ten) and Elizabeth Damory (aged nine) in Isabel's care when she attended Edward's funeral in December 1327, despite the hatred and anger she may have had for the late Hugh Despenser, who had treated her appallingly.

This strongly suggests that Isabel Hastings was known to be a maternal, trustworthy type, and therefore an entirely suitable person to look after the king and queen's daughters. Queen Isabella did not act in any way while she was in power between 1327 and 1330 to suggest that she thought Isabel Hastings had injured her in any way or failed in her duty towards the queen's daughters. It's difficult to see how Edward can be deemed to have acted inappropriately; he gave the care of his and Isabella's children to people he knew well and trusted, and who were of sufficiently noble birth and position. His contemporaries saw it as completely acceptable... and so did Isabella.

How do we know that Isabella approved? If Isabella thought that Edward and his favourite Hugh Despenser had cruelly taken her children away from her in 1324, she would certainly have accused Despenser of it at his trial in November 1326. She did not. She accused him of everything else: persuading the king to reduce her income, sending her to France 'against the dignity of her estate', coming between herself and her husband, leaving her in danger of her life at Tynemouth, and so on and so on. Her children were not mentioned at all.

So where does this myth come from?

If we try to find anything corroborating this whole story from medieval sources, we won't find anything. The first mention of Isabella's children taken from her against her will surfaced in 1977, when it was made up by Paul Doherty in his doctoral thesis about Isabella that year. Since then, numerous other historians and novelists have repeated the tale as though it's certain fact: a prime example of how what we might call 'fake news' can spread and spread and be seen as 'truth' even though there is no evidence whatsoever in support of it.

Doherty repeats his fiction in his 2003 book Isabella and the Strange Death of Edward II: 'And even greater cruelty was to come: the Queen's young children were removed from her and entrusted to Eleanor de Spencer (sic), Hugh the Younger's wife , and another court favourite, Isabella Hastings.'

Doherty cites 'E 403/201, mem[brane]s 14-15 as his source.

Kathryn Warner went through the trouble to go to the National Archives and looked at this document (the E stands for Exchequer, incidentally).

In Kathryn's own words:

'Firstly, notice the date on the document: '16 Edw II, Michaelmas'. Michaelmas is 29 September and the period of the year following it; '16 Edw II' means Edward II's sixteenth regnal year, which ran from 8 July 1322 to 7 July 1323 (his father Edward I died on 7 July 1307, so Edward II's first regnal year ran from 8 July 1307 to 7 July 1308). So already we see that Doherty's claim must be wrong; this document belongs to September 1322, not September 1324. Therefore it cannot possibly relate to Edward II taking his children away from the custody of their mother at the time he confiscated her lands when he was at war with her brother Charles IV of France, which occurred on 18 September 1324. The Issue Rolls dating to the relevant time period, Michaelmas/September 1324, are E 403/210, 211 and 212, not E 403/201.

Secondly, there are no 'membranes 14-15' in this document; there are eight membranes in total, written in Latin.'

The source listed by Paul Doherty does not exist. This is utterly deplorable falsification of history by him and should be condemned in no uncertain terms.

Warner sums it all up admirably:

I am actually kind of appalled that a historian could think or pretend that a document of September 1322 dates to September 1324 in order to make up a fake story.

I am appalled that someone was prepared to make up a tale that Edward II was so lacking in any humanity or decency that he would remove young children - his own children! - from their mother and primary carer solely to hurt and punish her.

I am shocked that other, vastly better historians have repeated this tale and not even bothered to check the document being cited as 'proof' to make sure it really does say what Doherty claims it says, or even to check that the part of the document being cited actually exists in the first place.

Sources, Kathryn Warner's excellent blog:

Edward II: Mythbuster 7: Edward II cruelly removed Isabella's children from her
Edward II: The Tale That Edward II Removed Isabella's Children From Her
Edward II: Edward II And His Children

Helen Carr has a pleasant, free flowing way of writing that flows quite well. This is a book that is easy to read, very light on complicated details in contrast to more academic tomes such as Seymour Phillips comprehensive biography on Edward II, which is chock full of footnotes, facts and tiny details. I prefer Phillips’s style as it is evident that he’s gone through rigorous research to ensure that the quality of the final product is of the highest level. I might not agree with all his conclusions, but I respect him a great deal for his lifetime of hard work and dedication. Phillips’s book is thus a good source if you want to learn about the topic, whereas Carr’s serves as lighter entertainment where the story is all that matters. Details are largely a source of annoyance for the author, to be omitted or twisted to fit in with the story. As Carr is a popular historian targeting a vast audience, her approach is understandably lenient, but it is problematic all the same.

Personally, I am perplexed by this uninquisitive attitude. The book is called ‘A New History of the Fourteenth Century' after all, but she avoids writing anything that could be considered ‘new’ research, and does in no way offer a new perspective on the things she writes about. This is even more striking when she reveals herself to be aware that there could be a new and interesting story to be told.

She refers to Edward’s survival in 1327 as ‘a tantalizing possibility’ but lazily dismisses it as ‘far-fetched’ without any further comments. That’s as far as she is willing to go in discussing the subject and informing her readers. Hidden in the endnotes at the end of the book, however, she reveals her opinion that ‘Dr Ian Mortimer offers a rattlingly good argument for the survival of Edward II in his ‘The Death of Edward II in Berkeley Castle’. It is cause for concern that she does not give these ‘rattlingly good arguments’ any consideration at all in her ‘New History’ book and does not use this source in any way in the entire book. It is not listed in the bibliography. Clearly, Carr cannot be excused by ignorance as a reason for not entertaining Mortimer’s work.

She deliberately omits his admittedly first-rate research from her book, even though she acknowledges that it carries merit in the ‘hidden’ endnotes which a regular reader would never check.

What caused her to take this approach against her better judgement? Probably a fear of isolation, a desire to avoid controversy and a need to secure funding. Openly considering the survival theory would put her at odds with established, academic historians. She doesn’t want to create waves; she wants to sell books and reach the widest audience possible. She is no doubt aware of how ostracized Mortimer has become for daring to go against the flow in a very rigid environment.

This is an approach that benefits herself in the short term, but not her readers. In the long term she will not be remembered for towing the line, and her works will be rightly forgotten as unremarkable. Carr has chosen the path of least resistance. That is regrettable, but it is her own choice.

Helen Carr is one of the few modern historians who mention the Melton Letter. Unfortunately, she figures that Melton, Kent and everyone else who believed Edward was still alive had been fooled by Mortimer and Isabella, based on her only source for the letter, R.M. Haines (a very poor choice of source for this particular topic). This assumption reveals a lack of research, as pretending that Edward II was still alive would have been the last thing Mortimer would have wanted to do. Historian Andy King correctly points out that in those volatile and dangerous times, 'the last thing that he [Mortimer] needed was the emergence of rumors of Edward of Caernarfon's survival'.

The idea that Roger Mortimer and Isabella spread such rumors to trap Kent sharply contradicts Carr’s assertion that they had Edward killed to put a stop to all the plots to free him from Berkeley Castle. The announcement of Edward's death in September 1327 did indeed put an abrupt stop to all the conspiracies to free Edward. For more than two years the new regime had lived without this threat, and it makes no sense that they would wish it all to start up again, especially for no better reason than to have an excuse to execute a man who was allegedly stupid, weak, inefficient and unstable. Like many things, Carr has not thought this through.

Another thing I dislike about the book is the way Carr manages the astonishing feat of including factual errors on nearly every page. It makes for a very annoying read as a result. I made a comparison of her description of an event with that of another author here.

Piers Gaveston is the victim of probably the worst mudslinging campaign of medieval English history. Yet instead of doing her duty as a historian she does nothing to dispel these myths – instead she piles on more disinformation. As an example, on page 23 she writes:

‘The nobility were not the only recipients of Gaveston’s sneering. His valet was named in Gaveston’s accounts as Richard ‘Whiteflesh’ – possibly a remark on his pasty complexion.’

This was news to me, as I’d never come across this accusation before. So I checked her source for it, and what did I see?

‘After Gaveston’s death, Edward II made payments to his household staff. In 1313 he paid four shillings and three pence to Richard Whiteflesh. // Wardrobe accounts Edward II’.

This is a new low. Carr is using a record written down a year after Gaveston’s death as proof that Gaveston had come up with a nickname for someone. Anyone could have called that valet ‘Whiteflesh’. What’s more, her footnote contradicts her original statement – the record is not in Gaveston’s accounts, it’s in Edward II’s accounts. Gaveston was already dead. Carr is deliberately misleading her readers for the sake of a rapidly told story.

An inquisitive historian looking for the truth, trying to peel away layers of fiction would perhaps have chosen to question the truth in the allegations of Gaveston coming up with the other nicknames. What should one call a historian who does the opposite, muddying the waters further with more fiction?

On a cold January morning in 1329 Roger Mortimer, Isabella and Edward III are making preparations to face the forces of Henry, the Earl of Lancaster's forces head on. In late 1328 Lancaster, supported by Edmund, the Earl of Kent and his brother Thomas, the Earl of Norfolk had demanded the removal of Roger Mortimer from court. The hostilities escalated and Mortimer declared war on Lancaster, resulting in what is known as Henry of Lancaster's Revolt of 1328-29.

The forces were not far from each other near Bedford.

Lancaster held a council with his fellow lords. He declared that they had no choice: a fight against the king was now necessary. This was not what had initially been agreed, the fight was supposed to be against Roger Mortimer with his destruction being the only goal. This change in circumstances made Kent and Norfolk recoil, and they denounced Lancaster then and there, refusing to take up arms against their king. They left, abandoning the earl to the mercy of Mortimer.

Roger Mortimer heard about the desertion as he was in Northampton. He ordered his troops for an immediate night attack. Even Isabella took part, dressed in armour and mounted on a war horse. Through the night he led them, for twenty-four miles, arriving within sight of Lancaster's camp near Bedford at daybreak. Henry made no attempt to defend himself. He came out of his pavilion and walked slowly forward through the cold January morning, and knelt down, alone, in the mud. He waited there until Roger, Isabella and Edward rode up. They watched him from their horses as he begged for forgiveness.

Source:

Ian Mortimer - 'The Greatest Traitor'

Thoughts on this one?

Some context.

On 14 January 1330 the Archbishop of York, William Melton, wrote a remarkable letter to the mayor of London, Simon Swanland. This letter was written more than two years after the supposed funeral of Edward II in Gloucester.

Melton was a shrewd and intelligent man, as evidenced by the views held of him by his contemporaries. The Lanercost chronicler says 'although he was one of the king’s courtiers, he led a religious and honourable life,' and the Vita Edwardi Secundi says he was 'a courtier faithful in everything committed to him' who remained honourable despite the venality of the royal court where he lived so long.

The letter comes from the archives of the Newdegate family of Arbury Hall near Nuneaton. Its source is explained by the fact that around the year 1400 Sir John Newdegate established his family at the Swanland property in Harefield, Middlesex, having married Joanna, sister and coheiress of William de Swanland. The Newdegate archive has been known for many years, though its exploitation has been hampered by the loss of the manuscript catalogue apart from the index.

Forgotten for nearly six hundred years, extracts of the letter were first published in the journal Notes and Queries in 1911 by J. Harvey Bloom. Bloom didn’t pay much attention to what he had uncovered. Again the letter was left in peace for nearly a century, until Ian Mortimer rediscovered it and wrote about it in his 2006 book ‘Edward III, The Perfect King’.

There is a strong consensus among historians that the letter is genuine.

This post is a summary of Kathryn Warner's longer post in her blog, found here:

Edward II: Ten Commandments For Writing About History And Discussing It Online

It's easy to agree with every single one of these points in my opinion.

1) You shall remember that people who lived hundreds of years ago were complex human beings every bit as complex and human as we are, who had families, and feelings, and human dignity, and that therefore you should write about them with respect, in the same way that you would wish writers to treat the memory of you and your loved ones with respect decades or centuries hence.  You will not laugh or sneer or gloat at their painful deaths and suffering, or claim that they deserved everything they got, or express a wish that they'd suffered even more, or call them vile names.

2) You shall remember that accusing someone of a horrible crime such as murder, rape, child abuse, violent assault or torture is a serious allegation which should not be made without real, actual evidence.  This is no less true merely because the person you are accusing lived 500 or 700 years ago.

3) You shall remember that complaining about your favourite historical person being unfairly maligned by history, while enthusiastically maligning his/her enemies for all you're worth, looks hypocritical.

4) You shall remember that your favourite historical person's enemies were complex, multi-dimensional human beings too and deserve to be acknowledged as such, rather than as cardboard cut-out evil villains devoid of any humanity.

5) Unless you're twelve, you shall remember that there is no need to divide historical people into 'teams' or 'sides' and hurl abuse at the other 'team' or people who like them.

6) If you're discussing history online and make a surprising or implausible statement, such as claiming that it was treason to refuse to have sex with the king of England in the sixteenth century, you shall remember that it is entirely reasonable to be asked for a primary source to back up your statement.

7) You shall remember that modern historical novels, however well-researched, well-written and enjoyable, do not count as primary sources.  Responding to a request to provide a source for a statement you've made about a historical person with "Historical Novelist X depicted him this way" does not actually answer the question.  You should also bear in mind that merely because something has appeared in print in a historical novel does not automatically mean that it has a basis in fact, and you should check before repeating it as though it certainly does.  This is how historical myths get started, and once established, they're damn hard to shake.

8) You shall remember that familial, societal and marital norms of the Middle Ages were different to ours, and refrain from referring to women as "helpless pawns" when their marriages are arranged by their (cruel, heartless, callous, uncaring...) fathers.  You shall remember that having your royal or noble heroine wail "But I don't love him!" when informed of her impending marriage to a king or nobleman is by now a tedious cliché.

You will remember that, contrary to what you might assume, depicting Isabella of France as being willing to take a lover at the age of sixteen and foist a child of non-royal blood onto the English throne is an insult to her, not a compliment.

9) You shall remember that depicting women as all of a sudden no longer possessing their own agency, becoming the proverbial "helpless pawns" and coming under the total control of nasty unscrupulous men whenever they do things you don't approve of, when two pages earlier you were applauding their independence of action and thought as they did noble and good things, is as patronising and paternalistic as the 'sexual prejudices' of previous centuries you're decrying.

10) If you wouldn't refer to Roger Mortimer as Isabella of France's 'straight lover', to Alice Perrers as Edward III's 'female lover', or to John of Gaunt's 'heterosexual relationship' with Katherine Swynford - and of course you wouldn't - then you shall remember that there is no reason to call Piers Gaveston or Hugh Despenser Edward II's 'gay lover' or to talk about their 'homosexual relationship'.  Merely 'lover' and 'relationship' or 'sexual relationship' will suffice; it will be readily apparent to your reader that Edward, Piers and Hugh were all men and that their relationships were therefore evidently same-sex. 

Furthermore, you shall remember that making lame statements such as "It's different when men love women" in an attempt to justify why you think Edward's (presumed) adultery with men is nasty and icky while his grandson John of Gaunt's adultery with Katherine Swynford is fabulously romantic, looks bigoted.

The question I'm posing in this post is: Did Thomas of Lancaster suffer from some disabling disease? If so, what do you think it could have been?

Diagnosing someone with a disease more than 700 years after their death is naturally a rather foolish undertaking by default, but we can speculate.

After the disaster at Bannockburn, Thomas was the de facto ruler of England for some years. Yet he failed to rule properly, instead largely staying cooped up at his castle of Pontefract. He avoided travelling and was remarkably passive. Inevitably, his subordinates and the other magnates tired of his inefficient leadership and Hugh Despenser the Younger filled the power vacuum. He wasn't exactly the people's choice either, and Thomas soon found himself leading another rebellion in 1321. This time, he was defeated in the Battle of Boroughbridge in 1322 and paid for his intransigence with his life.

So why did he behave like that? A power-hungry earl who refused to rule when he was given the chance? The logical explanation to this conundrum could be that he didn't seize his chance because he couldn't, not because he didn't want to.

We don't have much to go by here, but there are a few records that can act as his medical journal.

In 1305, back in the good days when Thomas and Edward of Caernarvon were still friends, during the reign of Edward I Thomas was unable to come to stay with Edward. Edward wrote to him, genuinely wishing him a speedy recovery.

"Very dear cousin, we hold you well excused that you have not come to us, and your illness grieves us much, and if we can come to you we will do it willingly, to see and to comfort you."

20 November 1311: Edward II is “glad” to hear Thomas health has improved, expresses hopes to see him and Sir Robert Holland at parliament. The letter is addressed to Sir Robert.

"We are very joyous and pleased about the good news we have heard concerning the improvement in our dear cousin and faithful subject Thomas, earl of Lancaster, and that he will soon be able to ride in comfort. And we send you word and dearly pray that, as soon as he is comfortable and able to ride without hurt to his body, you should ask him to be so good as to hasten to us at our parliament."

July 1317: Thomas writes Edward that he’s not in any state to travel and can not attend a council meeting.

January 1321: Edward pardons Thomas’ absence, as he had ‘not yet sufficiently recovered from his illness to travel’.

The poor chap may have been in chronic pain. That would go some way in explaining his grumpy attitude and inability to get along with people.

Your thoughts?

I came across a rather balanced post on facebook of all places, written by the author David Pilling. I think it merits crossposting here. It was written yesterday.

#OTD in 1284 Edward II was born at Caernarfon.

Modern fiction has painted Edward as a coward, an abusive husband and a terrible king. In Outlaw King (2018) he is portrayed as a noisy buffoon with a tragic haircut.

The real Edward was only one of these things — sadly, it was the one that really counted. Even if you strain every point in his favour, it is very difficult to make a case for Edward’s kingship.

It is not that he lacked ability. Caroline Burt, in her recent study of the governance of the first two Edwards, has shown that Edward II could be a very effective ruler when he chose to be. However, he only made the effort when his favourites were threatened. Otherwise, he was largely disengaged from his own administration — more so, Burt argues, than any other medieval ruler of England. That made for a stark contrast with his father, a notorious micro-manager.

It is true Edward inherited a difficult situation in 1307, including heavy debts and an unfinished war in Scotland. The debts had no obvious practical effect on England’s ability to raise armies and wage war. Some historians have sought to qualify Edward’s responsibility for Bannockburn, noting the difficult circumstances he faced.

Even if you accept that, he cannot be absolved from abandoning his allies in Scotland, refusing to consider a face-saving peace deal, and continuing to throw men and money down a very deep hole. By the end of the reign, he had lost control of the northern counties and was effectively facilitating the payment of ransoms demanded by Robert Bruce’s forces from English towns and cities.

The story that the infant Edward was presented to the Welsh as a prince who spoke no English is a later myth. In reality he was created Prince of Wales in 1301. There was no investiture ceremony, and he seems to have been granted the title so he could lead Welsh troops into Scotland. While he had some loyal supporters among the Welsh gentry, others were bitterly opposed and played a role in his downfall.

In one respect Edward succeeded brilliantly: after 1315 he rapidly became very rich, and by 1323 his finances had skyrocketed. This was largely due to the confiscation of the estates of English rebels. After 1323, Edward and his new favourites, the Despensers, embarked upon a large-scale campaign of extortion, kidnapping and blackmail, termed a ‘reign of terror’ by Natalie Fryde.

After several years of this, large sections of the political nation declined to resist the invasion of his estranged queen, Isabella of France, and her ally Roger Mortimer. Edward was deposed and probably murdered* at Berkeley Castle, although the notorious hot poker story is almost certainly untrue. Death by smothering (to leave no marks) is more likely. There is also a tradition—impossible to verify or deny—that Edward escaped custody and lived as a hermit in Italy.**

Attached is a poster for Derek Jarman’s play about Edward II.

—

*This is what I disagree on personally, but otherwise I think it’s a very fair take, and his tone is reasonable and respectful throughout.
**Very good of him to mention this possibility, most detractors usually give it the silent treatment. But it’s not impossible to verify, while his death in 1327 can not be proven. In fact, the evidence speaks against his death at Berkeley Castle.

I came across a nice blog post (link here and below) written by Gemma Hollman only a few days ago, which ties in neatly with the analytical post about Queen Isabella posted in this sub a couple of days ago.

A short excerpt from the blog:

'When the queen of England, Isabella of France, approached the Count and Countess [of Hainault] for a marriage alliance between her son Edward and their daughter Philippa, they leapt at the chance to know their daughter would one day become a queen.

The couple were teenagers, and the first few years of their marriage were hardly auspicious. Isabella of France had overthrown her husband, Edward II, and had her son made Edward III in his place. But though Philippa had thus become a queen far earlier than anticipated, she and her husband were kept under Isabella’s thumb. She did not want to give up her position at the top of the ladder. This was where Philippa would first discover the power of pregnancy for a queen.

Philippa fell pregnant around aged 15, and this was to change the course of her and her husband’s lives. Firstly, Philippa had never had a coronation, Isabella not wanting to have a rival as a consecrated consort. But now that Philippa would be giving birth to the new heir to the throne, it was unthinkable that she would remain uncrowned to do so.'

Hollman's take reinforces the point made that Isabella would not have planned to depose her husband. Isabella had wanted her life and position back and was unwilling to take the back seat. SHE was meant to be the queen, that had been HER role and destiny.

Hollman falls into the usual trap of referring to Roger Mortimer as Isabella's lover (do we really know this?), but the post is a good read all the same.

See Gemma Hollman's full post here:

14th century – History… the interesting bits!

Images:

Philippa of Hainault's coronation, 15th-century illustration from Froissart's Chronicles

Gemma Hollman's book 'The Queen and the Mistress - The Women of Edward III'

I just realized that user flairs had been somehow deactivated for members of the sub - sorry about that! No idea how it could have happened.

Now the flairs should be active again, so feel free to choose one that fits your preference. Let us mods know if you face any issues :)