It's been a while since we talked medieval on this blog! I've been considering a return to a much earlier chapter for my next story, so when I had the opportunity to host author Anna Belfrage, I couldn't say no. A love for British history isn't the only thing Anna and I have in common. We both participated in the Women's History Month special for Historical Writers Forum a couple of years ago. She is a brilliant, prolific writer, so I will hand the reins over to her.
Welcome, Anna!
~ Samantha
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1294 . . . a bad year for Edward I
Guest Post by Anna Belfrage
My latest release, Their Castilian Orphan, is primarily set in 1294. Why? Well, because it was a bad, bad year for Edward I. Mind you, I think he was of the opinion most years after the death of his wife in 1290 were pretty bad, but a year in which he was tricked out of his lands in France must qualify as exceptionally bad, right?
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| Edward I |
For those of us fascinated by 13th century politics and all its bloody connotations, the Sicilian Vespers can be seen as a beginning for many things. In 1282 the Sicilians rebelled against the heavy-handed rule of Charles of Anjou, a younger brother of St Louis of France, and were supported in their rebellion by Peter of Aragon, who was of the opinion Sicily rightfully belonged to his wife, Constanza.
I lean towards agreeing with Peter. Charles of Anjou used the support of the papacy to oust Manfred Hohenstaufen (Constanza’s father). He also went on to capture Manfred’s family. His young widow was brutally separated from her children and would die in captivity. Constanza’s half-brothers were put in chains and locked up, despite the eldest only being six. Purportedly, Charles also had the young boys maimed. Constanza’s half-sister was put under lock and key—alone. In brief, Charles comes across as brutal. But then, kings at the time were brutal. One only needs to remember how Edward I handled Dafydd ap Gruffydd’s children. They too were locked up—forever.
Back to our backstory: As a consequence of the Sicilian Vespers, the crown of Sicily passed to Peter of Aragon—on behalf of his wife. In Rome, the pope was furious. The papacy ordered Peter to return the crown to Charles. I am thinking he got the medieval equivalent of a middle finger in return . . . The pope retaliated by excommunicating Peter.
The pope wasn’t the only one who was angry. Leaving aside the apoplectic Charles of Anjou himself, his nephew, Philippe III of France, was just as incensed. Losing Sicily meant more of the Mediterranean under Aragonese control, and that did not please the French. So when the pope declared a crusade against Aragon, Philippe III was more than happy to lead it.
Initially, the French saw some success. They even managed to crown Philippe’s second son, Charles of Valois, as king of Aragon, but theirs was a fleeting moment of triumph. In 1286, what little remained of the French army staggered back home. Philippe III was dead of dysentery, replaced by his teenaged son, Philippe IV. Instead of covering themselves in glory, the French were humiliated.
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| Philippe IV & fam |
During the years 1286-1289, Edward spent all his time in Gascony, negotiating a treaty acceptable to all parties. He had a vested interest in that Charles of Salerno was his cousin, but more than that, Edward needed a treaty so as to send off his eldest daughter to marry Alfonso of Aragon. But the French demanded some sort of compensation for Charles of Valois’ lost crown (!) and were generally reluctant to any compromise—as was the pope.
In 1288, some sort of treaty was signed, and everything was finally sorted. Not. The conflict between the pope and the crown of Aragon would continue into the next century.
So what does all this have to do with 1294? Well, Charles of Valois supposedly never forgave Edward for “giving away his rightful crown”. Plus, I think Philippe IV was not exactly enamoured of the fact that a huge chunk of land within his kingdom was ruled by Edward.
Gascony was part of France, and accordingly, Edward I had to do homage to Philippe IV. Not something he fully enjoyed, what with him being much older than Philippe and (I’m guessing) quite convinced he was the superior monarch of the two. Philippe was to prove to the entire world that he deffo considered himself the most superior person around—not only was he to destroy the Templars, he was also to relocate the pope to Avignon, keeping His Holiness firmly under the royal thumb. But in 1294, all that lay in the future, the very handsome Philippe some years shy of thirty having his hands full with France and his siblings. One such sibling was Marguerite, and seeing as the English king was recently widowed, it was Philippe’s considered opinion that his half-sister would make Edward an excellent queen.
Edward was not opposed. I don’t think he wanted to marry again—he’d shared over thirty years with his Eleanor and likely missed her for the rest of his life—but he didn’t have a choice. After all, Edward only had one surviving son, and everyone knew a king needed at least an heir and a spare.
Other than sorting the potential “spare” issue, marrying Marguerite would reconfirm the happy relationship between the House of Capet and the House of Plantagenet. Since fifty or so years back, the French and the English kings had not only been brother kings, but also family. Henry III of England and Louis IX of France married sisters. Henry’s brother, Richard of Cornwall and Louis’ brother Charles of Anjou married the two remaining sisters, which likely had the Count of Provence hissing a satisfied “yessss!” as he saw all four of his daughters so well settled. (Raymond was, however, dead, before his fourth daughter wed. . .)
In the early 1290s, Edward was expending most of his efforts on Scotland—in some years to become his primary concern. Once he’d managed the Scottish matter to his satisfaction, it was 1293 and the French/English relations had nose-dived. Late in 1292, there was a major brawl in a Norman port between English and French mariners. Come May of 1293, that brawl assumed massive proportions, a fleet of English and Gascon ships attacked by Norman ships who flew red streamers, thereby indicating they would give no quarter. Turns out the English and Gascons ships were better captained, and several French ships, including crew and cargoes, were captured.
The French were incensed. This is an opportune moment to suggest that someone high up in the hierarchy had instigated that brawl in Normandy, someone like Charles of Valois, who very much wanted to rub the English nose in something. The English chroniclers openly accused him of fanning the flames of discord.
Edward had no desire to lock horns with the French, not when the entire Christian world had recently been shocked by the Muslim capture of Acre. No, Edward wanted to go on a crusade, and with the new, hostile situation in the Holy Land, the Church was more than eager to bankroll such a venture. But for Edward to be able to ride east, he needed peace with his neighbour, so when the French sent a sequence of irritated messages regarding their captured ships, Edward suggested three different solutions: his first suggestion was that the matter be sorted according to English law. One could argue that as it was the French who were the aggressors, this made some sense, but Edward must have known the French would refuse that outright. His second suggestion was that the matter be handled by a commission set up by France and England. His third suggestion was that the matter be put before the pope.
The French refused all three suggestions. This, according to the French, was not a dispute between two kings. Oh, no: it was a dispute between the French king and his vassal, the duke of Gascony (!!!) I imagine that did not go over well with Edward. The French ships, after all, had attacked English ships.
Late in 1293, Edward was rudely summoned to Paris, the wording borderline offensive as the French king demanded his unruly vassal to present himself before him.
“In your dreams,” Edward muttered—or whatever the medieval equivalent was. But he sent immediate instructions to his brother Edmund, who was presently in France, to somehow sort this mess.
Edmund of Lancaster was, obviously, also a close relative to the French king. But he was also the step-father of Philippe’s queen, having taken as his second wife Blanche of Artois, who was wed to Henri, King of Navarre, and gave him a daughter, Jeanne, before Henri departed this world.
Edmund, together with his wife and step-daughter—and Philippe’s step-mother, Marie of Brabant—started working on a compromise. Philippe himself was in and out of the room, and one gets the impression that Philippe was presenting himself as most amenable towards finding a peaceable solution. Edmund definitely believed he was making progress. Turns out he was wrong.
In February of 1294, Edward fulfilled his part of the deal. And then he waited. And waited. At some point, it became clear for Edmund (and the ladies) that Philippe, egged on by his brother Charles of Valois and many of his counsellors, had no intention of honouring the deal.
In April of 1294, Edward’s seneschal in Gascony, John St John, crossed over to England to inform his king that the French had no intention of returning the Gascon towns.
For Edward, this was a terrible humiliation. It also killed any remaining hopes he may have had to go on crusade—he could not leave while his kingdom was at war with France, and one thing was certain: Philippe’s actions meant war. By the summer of 1294, Edward was mustering a huge army in Portsmouth.
In England, there was a major ruckus when the barons understood just what had happened in Gascony (Edward had kept all of this close to his chest) Many were the voices suggesting this was all due to an old man lusting for a much younger bride. At the June parliament of 1294, Edward swore to the assembled magnates that he had not acted as he did out of lust, but because he desired to have peace with France so he could set off on his crusade. Apparently, he did this so eloquently he had the people present baying for French blood.
The king had planned to have his troops cross the Channel during the summer, but the weather had other ideas. The major invasion was now set for September, but yet again, the weather refused to cooperate. And it was at this point in time that Edward got the news that really put 1294 at the top of the “most hated years ever”, likely coming a close second to 1290, the year Eleanor died. You see, in October the Welsh rebelled.
Edward’s amassed forces were hastily deployed to Wales and the rebels were ultimately crushed. But in Gascony, the French still ruled, and it would take many years before some sort of peace was re-established.
Personally, I believe the Gascon conflict embittered Edward. Indirectly, the machinations of Philippe contributed to creating the ruthless king who was to ride so roughshod over the Scots. Not, of course, an excuse: Edward—and only Edward—bears the responsibility for his actions. And the Welsh, of course, would point out that he was pretty ruthless back in 1282/83 when he invaded Wales . . .
Their Castilian Orphan
Robert’s half brother, Eustace de Lamont, has not mellowed during his absence. He is more ruthless than ever, and this time he targets Robert’s and Noor’s foster son, Lionel.
Lionel is serving King Edward as a page when Eustace appears at court. Not only does Lionel become the horrified witness to Eustace’s violent streak, Eustace also starts voicing his suspicions about Lionel’s parentage. The truth about Lionel’s heritage is explosive—should King Edward find out, all would be lost for Robert and Noor.
In October of 1294, Wales rises in rebellion. Robert must leave his family unprotected to fight the Welsh rebels on the king’s behalf, comforted only by the fact that Eustace too is called to fight.
Except that Eustace has no intention of allowing his duty to his king—or a mere rebellion—come between him and his desire to destroy Robert FitzStephan . . .
Connect with Anna
All of Anna’s books have been awarded the IndieBRAG Medallion, she has several Historical Novel Society Editor’s Choices, and one of her books won the HNS Indie Award in 2015. She is also the proud recipient of various Reader’s Favorite medals as well as having won various Gold, Silver and Bronze Coffee Pot Book Club awards.
Find out more about Anna, her books and enjoy her eclectic historical blog on her website, Twitter, Bluesky, Facebook, Instagram, Book Bub, AmazonAuthor Page, and Goodreads.
Thank you for hosting Anna Belfrage today, and with such an interesting post about the historical background of the era!
ReplyDeleteTake care,
Cathie xo
The Coffee Pot Book Club
My pleasure!
DeleteThank you for hosting me!
ReplyDeleteOf course! Thanks for the great post!
Delete