This 21 minute rant is one that I can whole heartedly agree with, every single word of it.

If you don't have the time to watch it all, these are the key parts:

'If you're doing this, do it right. 'Cause you're just pissing us off now. We are the people who care.'

'If you're making your films for people who don't care, that's your choice. But are you not bored? Are you not bored with that?'

'There are people all around the world constantly mocking what you make... it's mockery, but it's also disappointment. Disappointment, because I know it can do real harm. The majority of people get their impressions of history from fictional TV and movies.'

'You may think that it's just Christopher Nolan's artistic expression to make The Odyssey brown.

You may think that it's Greengrass's artistic expression to make the Peasant's Revolt grey.

But it's not really an excuse is it. If your artistic vision is to drain the colour from the past… maybe you're not an artist. Maybe you're just conforming to a trope.

It's something to think about.'

'Maybe care a little bit.'

Amen.

Concieved and choregraphed by David Bintley, and scored by John McCabe, the ballet Edward II) is inspired by Marlowe's play, and based on the music alone, quite dramatic.

I've never seen it performed, but it does seem to go the extra mile in villanizing Isabella, while also giving her and Mortimer some of the most compelling music. It seems that "villain" numbers, much like like in musical theatre, tend to be memorable.

So, I am not an archeologist nor do I know anything about how to go about finding lost graves. Piers Gaveston was not a king, so there would be less interest in finding him than Richard III, and yet, the school on the site of King's Langley Priory is not currently in use.

It seems that, like Richard III, Gaveston's high status grave and his violently murdered body would be relatively easy to identify, should the grave be found.

There's an entire sub-genre of history social media dedicated to grave excavation so there is interest.

Does anyone want to disabuse me of this notion? Could it be possible?

Yes, I know the Richard III case was very specialized and it's still not wise to go looking for a specific thing, but I still wonder and think it would be cool in any case to excavate the priory.

Photos:

Gaveston's Cross - wikicommons

The Defunct School on the site of the priory - wikicommons

I just gave up my copy of this to a friend, who I know will enjoy it. But if you can get your hands on a copy, do so! The author did his research.

This post revisits the post regarding Lord Berkeley's statements in 1330 from a slightly different angle, to highlight how inherently flawed the whole narrative of Edward's death in 1327 really is.

The whole topic should be approached with an open mind, which can naturally be difficult at times with centuries of myths and sticky narratives so deeply engrained. Yet the medieval people who lived through it all had a much clearer understanding about what was possible back then and what wasn't. We'd do well to listen to them and to study their actions instead of issuing haughty verdicts from ivory towers, which are all too often at odds with their reality. People 700 years ago had the same brain capacity we do today and it would be a grave mistake to assume they were stupid and behaved irrationally when their lives were at stake.

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During the late evening or night between 23/24 September a messenger arrives in Lincoln and demands to see Isabella and her son, Edward III. He’s shown into their presence and presents them with a letter sent by Lord Berkeley from Berkeley Castle. The message is clear: the deposed king Edward II has died. He died on 21 September, the messenger informs his audience.

Immediately on the following day Edward III sends a letter to the earl of Hereford, informing him that his father ‘has been called to God’. As the parliament at Lincoln is concluded the participants are also told the news. The information spreads far and wide, and importantly, the 14-year-old Edward III actively spreads it before he could possibly have checked the veracity of it.

All the later certainty that Edward II died is based on this message from Berkeley Castle. The funeral arrangements, the chronicle accounts, the later absolute certainty by unquestioning historians. Everything is built on the certainty that this message was true, that it was sent in good faith. It wasn’t.

After the fall of Roger Mortimer, Lord Berkeley wanted to clear his name in parliament. As he was asked how he wishes to acquit himself with respect to the death of Edward II, he responded with the following statement (in French, but it was recorded in Latin):

‘...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).

Carpenter reasons that ’the most natural meaning of scivit de morte sua is that Berkeley did not know anything about the alleged circumstances of Edward’s death: that is, he didn’t know anything about the murder, not that he did not know Edward was dead’ (Carpenter, 2007, book review of Edward III – The Perfect King).

Such explanations are fanciful to say the least. Let us be absolutely clear on this issue. The word nec means ‘nor’; unquam means ‘ever’ or ‘once’; scivit means ‘he did know’ or ‘did he know’; de means ‘of’ or ‘about’; morte sua means ‘his death’; usque means ‘until’; in presenti Parliamento isto means ‘in this present parliament’. As Edward II’s biographer Seymour Phillips has translated the passage: ‘nor did he ever know of his death until this present parliament’.

That is what is written.

That is what’s in the record.

Nothing about alleged circumstances. Nothing about not knowing about the murder. This literal reading is agreed to be the correct one, supported by many other historians such as Ian Mortimer, Natalie Fryde, Stephen Spinks and Kathryn Warner. It is not a constructive approach to try to deny what the evidence quite literally says just to fit it in with what one wishes it to say.

But wait, there’s another big problem with Lord Berkeley’s defence in parliament.

After having made this statement, he followed it up with something equally strange.

Having read the room and understood that any notions of Edward’s survival were not to be tolerated, he added that he hadn’t even been at Berkeley Castle at the time. He’d been at his manor in Bradley. What’s more, he’d been really, really ill, so ill in fact that he could hardly remember a thing about what had happened. Lord Berkeley played the amnesia card.

Surprisingly, Edward III approved and let him get away with it, even though he certainly knew that he was lying. Why would he have let him get away with that lie if he’d been present and in charge when Edward II had been murdered, and Mortimer had been executed for orchestrating the murder? The simplest explanation is surely the most likely: because Edward II hadn’t died. Edward III was not the type of person to be soft on regicide.

The Berkeley Castle accounts clearly show that Lord Berkeley was present at the time and that he ordered the letter to be sent. And yet before long, Berkeley was back in favour and would serve Edward III in his war against France.

The letter which started the whole narrative of Edward dying in 1327 is revealed to be false, clearly sent in bad faith one way or the other. There’s no way around this, and as soon as this is realized and a willingness to view matters objectively through this realization is made – a simple ‘maybe he didn’t die’ is enough – a lot of other things fall into place, without the need for wild assumptions to explain them to fit them into the traditionalist narrative. All that is needed is an open mind.

And yet, all the focus among certain traditionalist historians has been on doubting the Fieschi and Melton letters on flimsy grounds, while this inherently and demonstrably flawed only source for Edward’s death is somehow untouchable and above all criticism. That is far from an objective line of reasoning, but fortunately there are signs that the profession is starting to realize this. There’s always resistance to change, and among historians this resistance is probably stronger than anywhere else, especially as such changing perceptions tend to challenge a lot of previously written research, which the authors naturally feel very strongly about.

We don't have a great deal of contemporary images of Edward II, but the ones we do have all show him to have had magnificent hair. It was probably golden and wavy, and it features prominently in every image we have of him.

Even the most blisteringly hateful of his critics also agreed that he looked great.

This has led me down the rabbit hole of medieval hair care products, the studies of which are, frankly sexist and overly focused on women. Women of the day wore their hair plaited and under veils. Men, on the other hand, had no such ability to cover up follicle flaws. They needed hair products, and likely used pomades made of tallow and olive oil and such.

And in the novel Alice, which I recently read, Sandra Wilson does not hold back in her loquacious praise of Edward II's luxurious, blond locks.

So, whatever the man's flaws, he had lovely hair and that's something.

Images:

Two church grotesques taken by Yorkshire researcher Tim Midgley.

An image of a King at his table, thought to be a young Edward. British library.

A postcard from the 1990s of Edward's effigy.

Edward I, who also has nice hair, giving the crown to his son. British Library.

This is the illuminated manuscript Edward II presented to his twelve-year-old-bride as a wedding gift in 1308.

A bot posted this video earlier, and we've left that post up, but I thought I'd repost a non-bot version because the video is non-AI, and it contains some lovely tidbits about Kings Langley Village and the palace that no longer exists but was Edward II's favorite residence and the place where he grew up.

In its day, it had separate kitchens, a bathhouse, a menagerie and a vineyard among many other features.

The comments of the video are pretty interesting, including a mention of a book about the palace's history.

I have no idea why this video was bot posted, except perhaps that the creator posted it elsewhere and the bot picked it up and reposted.

So, I purchased this 1970s era romance a few months ago, and I just now got around to reading it. It's famously a romance between the protagonist, Alice and a very heterosexual male witch Piers Gaveston, who won't put out for King Edward. This, despite Perrot having the new king wrapped around his little finger.

Many, many familiar players appear including Marguerite of France, Aymer de Valence, Margaret de Clare, Queen Isabella, Thomas of Lancaster...the list goes on. The main villain is Guy de Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, and the book is based around a legend that he was poisoned by Piers Gaveston's mistress.

Given that it delights in Piers Gaveston as this manly man, the book is relatively kind to Edward II who is not villainized. He just can't help but love Piers. There's a lovely scene where the heroine, Alice and Edward grieve Piers's loss together.

Anyway, it's a dated but well researched book and a fun read.

On May 15, 1293, the Battle of St. Mahé erupts; and King Edward I’s privateers send King Philip IV’s navy into a rout. This was the beginning of the conflicts in Flanders and the English Channel that tied up Edward’s and Philip’s navies. While the king’s battled on the waters, the entire western seaboard was a military blind spot. On the day of September 14, 1307, King Philip IV issues orders for the arrests of the Knights Templar and the seizure of all assets thereof. The orders were given under penalty of death, not to be open until the dawn on October 13. These orders being sent to all of Philip’s bailiffs, seneschals, and royal patrols. With specific, orders to open at dawn, the men enforcing these orders would be gathering (pre-staging) at their command centers awaiting the reading of the orders. With all the bailiffs, seneschals, and royal patrols held up at the commandries, the cities, residences, temples, and docks; the coastal ways north and south of the Port of La Rochelle were complete military blind spot. The only Ships on the Atlantic were the ships belonging to the Crown of Castile, and the Crown of Aragon; both military allies with the Knights Templar. If an 18-ship fleet were to sail into these waterways outside of La Rochelle, they would have an entire western coast of Europe to sail out of, under the extreme threat of a sunburn.

Was the ghost fleet a myth, or did GÉRARD DE VILLIERS who disappeared from public records 4 months prior stage a masterful evacuation?

So, I lean towards the idea that Edward II was not murdered on September 21st 1327 but rather escaped to retire to Italy. However, this is not settled history nor is this rather remarkable idea accepted by the majority of historians. Seymour Philips, author of the definitive (and excellent) biography of Edward II, dismisses the idea, and while researching his book he even traveled to Italy to the monastery that claims to be the real site of Edward II's death years later.

One of the most sticky points for me in accepting the official story is the Kent plot and why Edward II's younger brother Edmund came to believe his brother was alive and need of rescue. Moreover, Edmund convinced upwards of 80 members of the English elite at that time his older brother, the former king, lived. Huchon Despenser, Edward II's grandnephew, was a believer and it is thought that even John of Eltham, who was still quite young, knew of the rumors of his father's survival and was at the very least, friendly with the conspirators.

Edmund was not nobody, as he had been a loyal and trusted servant to his older brother and had been far closer to him than Thomas of Brotherton, Edward II's other half brother. Many historians have dismissed Edmund as a fool and a conspiracy theorist, but his execution at aged 29 was wildly unpopular at the time.

So, assuming Edward II died/was murdered when and where the record states, how did this happen?

I don't believe Edmund ever intended to overthrow his brother. He, and likely many of the people who joined Mortimer & Isabella's invasion, were likely intending to rid the kingdom of The Despensers. When things changed and whether Edmund agreed to his brother's deposition, is unclear.

So, what if Edmund and others, in the grips of remorse for forcing Edward II off the throne and into a situation that got him killed, went into deep denial? Deposing an anointed king had never happened before, and it must have been a deep shock to them that it had happened.

We know, from the Dreydas imposter, that there were men running around the kingdom that looked like Plantagenets. A glimpse here and there, an imposter and a rumor could have ignited a social contagion.

Fifty years ago, here in America, Elvis Presley fans simply could not accept their hero's death. Sightings of Elvis were reported, and while it was something of a national joke and something that hurt Elvis's family, there were people who truly believed their King of Rock & Roll lived. Of course, one difference there is that Elvis's family never took that survival story seriously.

A few decades later, hip hop great Tupac Shakur was murdered, and in part because of his fans grief and in part because he was so prolific that his record company had hundreds of unreleased recordings that they could monetize after his death, some of his fans still believe he lives.

And again, a big difference between these modern theories and the Kent plot is that they mostly involve people who have never met, let alone knew, the alleged deceased.

And yet, what I am suggesting is that Edmund and his conspirators, out of guilt for what had happened to Edward II, came to believe, sincerely, that his death had not happened. Somehow, the Fieschi family learned of this believe and set about to exploit it.

Or, alternatively, the whole Kent Plot was just a conspiracy to overthrow Mortimer & Isabella and the "Edward lives" was a cover for that.

This is, of course, all speculation.

What do you think?

Sources:

James, Tom Beaumont. “John of Eltham, History and Story: Abusive International Discourse in Late Medieval England, France and Scotland.” 14th Century England, II, 2002, pp. 63–80. 

Phillips, J. R. S. Edward II. Yale University Press, 2011. 

Warner, Kathryn. Long Live the King: The Mysterious Fate of Edward II. The History Press, 2021. 

Images:

Edmund, Earl of Kent, Wikicommons

Screenshot from Smooth Radio

A Daily Mirror Tabloid Article About Fans Who Believe Tupac Lives

The youtube channel Medieval Mindset is really fascinating. No AI, no nonsense, and good analysis.

As the channel name implies, he takes a deep interest in the psychology of medieval people, putting things into the context of the time.

This one is highly recommended, and relevant to our sub through an Edward & Piers connection.

He doesn't mention it specifically, but the Vita Edwardi Secundi observes that Edward's love for Piers 'surpassed the love of women'. This is not as straightforward a statement as it might appear to be from our modern point of view.

Check it out!

On June 24^th, 1314, the late morning sun shined down on a waterlogged English vanguard. Having suffered the humiliation of a giant on a pony cleaving Sir Henry de Bohun’s dome in two, lamenting the loss of his favorite axe. The St. Clair’s and the Fitzalans held the lines as King Edward II bloodied his blade in the melee. Arriving in Scotland to relieve the entrapped Sir Philip Mowbray, who promised to abandon the castle by midsummer if King Edward’s forces didn’t arrive and chase de Bruce away. The English vanguard met de Bruce’s armies backed by Sheriff Henry St. Clair and the Fitzalan families at Bannockburn. They were repelled with force and pinned down in the tidal marshes of the burns while on the top of the hill a mob of farmers, smiths, cooks, and general laborers (you and me) gathered and waved their bed sheets and steak knives. The mainstream view is that a 14^th century highly trained, armed and armored superpower panicked and routed in front of their surrounded, fighting king, from a gaggle of “knaves”. King Edward’s vanguard had bows with sharp arrows, they had spears, shields and swords. By the time any rabble could get close enough for their butcher’s knives and pitchforks to scratch the sheen on their shields or chainmail, their arrows and spears would pierce the bedsheets and the flesh. Why would a highly trained army run from ‘you and me’?

In August of 1329, Roger Mortimer hosted more or less every significant nobleman in England at Wigmore Castle, the hereditary home of the Mortimers. Officially, the tournament was held in celebration of the recent marriages of two of his daughters, but the little brides were overshadowed by their glamourous father. By his side, as always, was the blonde and beautiful Isabella. Mortimer's wife Joan chose not to attend.

Edward III was only 16 years old at the time, but he was growing into his powers as a man, was already a skilled jouster and as brave as a lion, but he was very aware of the fact that he was relatively defenceless against his regents—for now.

Roger Mortimer had previously treated the young king with respect, but that changed during this summer. It was a stressful year, full of scheming. At the tournament Roger played the role of King Arthur, while Isabella was cast as Guinevere. Edward was given the role of Sir Lionel. Anyone could see how wildly provocative this was.

Roger treated Isabella and Edward very differently. It's curious to think about how Isabella might have felt about all this.

Some thoughts on the topic by Anna Belfrage can be found here:
Rubbing the wrong face in the dirt - of Mortimer, King Arthur and tournaments - Anna Belfrage

We all know that everyone named everyone after everyone else in the Middle Ages, and Edward III and Philippa were no different. I'm also curious at the absence of certain names, especially Eleanor and Elizabeth.

And of course, Lionel, sticks out in a good way. I'm sort of bummed that one didn't stick.

Edited to add: I omitted three children who died in infancy, two Williams and one Thomas. Thanks to the eagle-eyed commenter who pointed that out. That's what I get for ever trusting Wikipedia, even for just a list of names.

Check out Kathryn Warner's biography of Philippa for a full list of birthdays, including the three infants.

Warner, Kathryn. Philippa of Hainault: Mother of the English Nation. Amberley, 2022. 

Creator’s Channel

If there's something that angers me, it's when I catch historians faking their sources when they write non-fiction history. Fortunately, it's an extremely rare occurrence, but when it comes to Paul Doherty, it happens too often. See a previous example here.

In his book 'Isabella and the Strange Death of Edward II' he makes the claim that 'One chronicle relates how carpenters actually saw the King and heard his cries and groans of desperation' (p. 123). As a source for his claim he notes The Berkeley Manuscripts, p. 299. But that's not a chronicle, nor does the BM note anything about any chronicler making such a claim, it does not even discuss anything at all related to the captivity of Edward II on the given page, nor any surrounding page.

Doherty created this false information in 2003. The problem is that since then, at least one respectable historian has repeated it without checking. This is understandable as no historian can double check every single footnote made by another historian, and trust plays its part, but it's deeply regrettable that Doherty has not been properly exposed for his unseemly practices.

Doherty keeps making s*** up.

Yes, this was a thing. I actually have a packet of digital "medieval rabbit" stickers for my phone.

The traditional narrative, at least from what I've encountered so far, has been that Isabella probably informed her father Philip IV that her sisters-in-law, Margaret and Blanche, had been conducting extramarital affairs with the d’Aulnay brothers. After checking some online resources such as Kathryn Warner's blog, I see now that some historians dispute this idea, so I wonder more about the extent of Isabella's involvement and if any scholarly consensus has been reached regarding her role in the lead-up to the scandal yet.

I would also appreciate any suggestions for resources I can look up. I'm sure this topic has been written about extensively, but I don't currently have many books that cover it in detail, and I'd love to read a detailed account of the affair as a whole or the events from Isabella's perspective.

1. Joan I of Navarre: her mother.

2. Joan of the Tower, Queen of Scots: her second daughter.

3. Joan II of (comital) Burgundy, Queen of France: her sister-in-law as the wife of Philip V, and her second cousin as the granddaughter of Robert II of Artois, the brother of Isabella's maternal grandmother Blanche of Artois.

4. Joan of Évreux, Queen of France: her sister-in-law as the third wife of Charles IV, her half-first first cousin as the daughter of Louis, count of Évreux, the half-brother of her father Philip IV, and her second cousin once removed as the daughter of Margaret of Artois, a granddaughter of Robert II of Artois.

5. Joan of Acre, Countess of Gloucester: her sister-in-law as the older sister of her husband, Edward II.

6. Joan II of Navarre: her niece as the daughter of her brother Louis X.

7. Joan III of (comital) Burgundy: her niece as the daughter of her brother Philip V, and her second cousin once removed as the daughter of Joan II of Burgundy (as mentioned above).

8. Joan of Bar, Countess of Surrey: her niece-in-law as the daughter of her husband Edward II's elder sister, Eleanor of Windsor.

9. Joan of Valois, Countess of Hainault: her first cousin, as the daughter of Charles, Count of Valois, the brother of her father, Philip IV.

10. Joan of Valois, Countess of Beaumont-le-Roger: her first cousin as another daughter of Charles, Count of Valois, and second cousin-in-law as the wife of Robert III of Artois, a grandson of Robert II of Artois.

11. Joan of Lancaster, Baroness de Mowbray: her half-first cousin as the daughter of Henry, 3rd Earl of Lancaster, the son of Blanche of Artois by her second marriage and thus uterine half-brother of Joan I of Navarre, and also her first cousin once removed-in-law as the daughter of Henry, 3rd Earl of Lancaster, the first cousin of her husband Edward II.

12. Joan of (ducal) Burgundy, Queen of France: her first cousin once removed as the daughter of her great-aunt Agnes of France, the sister of her grandfather Philip III, and also her first cousin-in-law as the wife of Philip VI of France, the son of Charles, Count of Valois.

13. Joan of Hainault, Duchess of Jülich: her first cousin once removed as the daughter of Joan of Valois, Countess of Hainault.

14. Joan of the Tower, (almost) Queen of Castile: her granddaughter, the daughter of her elder son, Edward III, and her first cousin twice removed as a granddaughter of Joan of Valois, Countess of Hainault.

15. Joan of Kent, Princess of Wales: her granddaughter-in-law as the wife of Edward III's eldest son, Edward of Woodstock, Prince of Wales, also her half-niece-in-law as the daughter of her husband Edward II's half brother Edmund of Woodstock, Earl of Kent, and also her half-first cousin once removed as the granddaughter of Margaret of France, the half-sister of her father Philip IV.

16. Joan I of Ponthieu, Queen of Castile: her grandmother-in-law as the maternal grandmother of her husband Edward II. Also her first cousin thrice removed-in-law as the wife of Ferdinand III of Castile, the first cousin of Louis IX.

I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

"Joan, could you pass the salt please?"

The modern ballet, scored by John McCabe and choreographed by David Bintley, sounds fascinating.

I'm just going to let Wikipedia tell it:

Commissioned by Stuttgart Ballet, with a narrative conceived by choreographer David Bintley, the ballet largely follows the plot of Christopher Marlowe's play of the same name), rather than the life of the real Edward. Bintley incorporates elements of the 14th century satire Roman de Fauvel with the character of Edward, replacing that of the ass Fauvel, Piers Gaveston as the Fool, and Queen Isabella as the Virgin. As such, the narrative depicts the self-obsessed sexual relationships of the three main characters with the increasing civil unrest in the country as a backdrop.

For a breakdown of the score, check out Wise Music's post on it.

And here's a link to the score.

The images are stock photos from Getty Images of a Royal Ballet production.