People, Power and Identity in the

Late Middle Ages

Mark Ormrod’s scholarship sets new standards of meticulous archival re-

search into late medieval society. This collection of groundbreaking essays
celebrates his wide-ranging influence over several generations of scholars.
The seventeen chapters in this collection focus primarily on the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries and are grouped around the themes of resistance,
residence, religion, rule, record and reputations. Close scrutiny of medieval
records lies at the heart of the volume, allowing for exciting new insights
into late medieval life and political culture. The essays demonstrate the in-
terconnectedness of the localities and the crown and of religious and polit-
ical ideas, identities and practice. As such they follow the lead of Ormrod’s
hugely important contributions to medieval studies in the last thirty years.

Gwilym Dodd is Associate Professor of History at the University of

Nottingham.

Helen Lacey is Supernumerary Fellow in Medieval History at Mansfield

College, University of Oxford.

Anthony Musson is Head of Research at Historic Royal Palaces.

Studies in Medieval History and Culture

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People, Power and Identity in
the Late Middle Ages
Essays in Memory of W. Mark Ormrod

Edited by
Gwilym Dodd,
Helen Lacey and
Anthony Musson
First published 2021
by Routledge
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© 2021 selection and editorial matter, Gwilym Dodd, Helen Lacey
and Anthony Musson; individual chapters, the contributors
The right of Gwilym Dodd, Helen Lacey and Anthony Musson to be
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Contents

List of figures xi
List of abbreviations xiii
List of contributors xv

Introduction 1
GW I LY M D ODD

W. Mark Ormrod: a tribute 6

GW I LY M D ODD, H E L E N L AC E Y A N D A N T HON Y M US S ON

Resistance 21

1 The revolt of the famuli at Barton upon Humber,

Lincolnshire, in 1302 23
DAV I D C RO OK

2 Taking the law into their own hands: extra-judicial violence in

North Nottinghamshire during the civil war of 1321/1322 37
PAU L DRY BU RGH

3 On the road and in the market: Chaucer’s mapping of 1381 56

S Y LV I A F E DE R IC O

Residence 73

4 Richard II and his sense of place 75

M IC H A E L BE N N E T T

5 ‘I, Edmund’: a microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden in

fifteenth-century Colchester 92
BA RT L A M BE RT
viii Contents
6 Breton immigration in late medieval England 115
M A RYA N N E KOWA L E SK I

Religion 135

7 The bishop of Winchester, the abbey of Titchfield and the

‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook, 1375–1405 137
C H R I S GI V E N -W I L S ON

8 Monks on the move: the businessmen-religious of

late medieval England 157
A L I S ON K . MC H A R DY

Rule 175

9 The realities of political marriage: Isabella of Aragon and

Frederick III of Austria 177
R IC H A R D BA R BE R

10 Henry de Lacy and the kingship of Edward II 194

J. S . H A M I LT ON

11 Faction, prerogative and the common profit of the realm in the

Good Parliament 209
M A R K A RVA N IGI A N

12 ‘During our absence or until further order’: Edmund of

Langley, duke of York, and the custodianship of the realm,
October 1394–May 1395 229
D OUGL A S BIG G S

Record 245

13 “Cherchant toute Egypte pour les bons homes”: Philippa de

Vere (1367–1411) and her book 247
JO C E LY N WO GA N - BROW N E

14 The Norman rolls of Henry V 265

A N N E C U R RY
 Contents ix
Reputations 283

15 Some afterthoughts on Edward II 285

SE Y MOU R PH I L L I P S

16 ‘A woman given to slippery ways’? The reputation of

Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent 305
DAV I D G R E E N

17 John Talbot, John Fastolf and the death of chivalry 324

C R A IG TAY L OR

A bibliography of the major writings of W. Mark Ormrod 341

Index 351
Figures

2.1 East Midlands, 1322 44

3.1 Roman and secondary roads in Essex and Kent 59
3.2 Market towns in Essex and Kent 65
4.1 Richard II’s sense of place 76
4.2 Nottingham Castle in the sixteenth century. Etching from
T. C. Hine’s scrap book, courtesy of Nottingham city
museums and galleries 85
5.1 Church of St Leonard-at-the-Hythe, Colchester. Photo
supplied by the Friends of St Leonard-at-the-Hythe,
photographer Alice Goss 93
5.2 Detail of the membrane in the churchwarden accounts that
deals with disputes over the church’s real property
(C 47/37/18/35). Photo supplied by The National Archives 99
5.3 Map of Colchester c. 1500, indicating the locations
mentioned in Hermanson’s will. Own illustration
of the author 107
6.1 The Cornish hundreds and language boundary
between western (Cornish-speaking) and eastern
(English-speaking) regions in c. 1500 129
6.2 Administrative divisions and the language boundary
between Upper Brittany to the east (French-Gallo
speaking) and Lower Brittany in the west
(Breton-speaking) in the late Middle Ages 130
13.1 Part of the table of contents and the opening of the
prologue to the Vie des pères, with the inscription of Sibyl
de Felton’s acquisition of Philippa de Vere’s book. BnF
f. fr. 1038, fol. 4r. Reproduced with permission of the
Bibliothèque nationale de France 249
14.1 Locations given for acts enrolled on the Norman Rolls of
Henry V, 1417–1422 279
15.1 Charter of Edward II, 12 February 1327, confirming the
liberties of the city of Dublin: Dublin City
Archives, DCA 18 288
xii Figures
15.2 Image of Edward as Prince of Wales, followed by the
beginning of the ‘Lament of Edward II’: BL MS Royal
20.A.II, fol. 10r 291
15.3 Anglo-Norman translation of Latin prayer Deus propicius
esto inserted on the final folio of the Alphonso Psalter: BL
MS Add. 24686, fol. 136r 293
15.4 Image from the fifteenth-century Chronique d’Angleterre
by Jean de Wavrin showing the murder of Edward II by
red-hot iron: Austrian National Library, ÖNB, MS 2534,
fol. 374v (online image 758) 294
15.5 Image of the tomb of Edward II at Gloucester, dated
between July 1338 and June 1340: BL MS
Egerton 3028, fol. 63r 295
Abbreviations

BIHR Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research

BL The British Library, London
CChR Calendar of Charter Rolls
CCR Calendar of Close Rolls
CCW Calendar of Chancery Warrants
CFR Calendar of Fine Rolls
CIPM Calendar of Inquisitions Post Mortem
CPR Calendar of Patent Rolls
CYS Canterbury and York Society
EETS Early English Text Society
EHR English Historical Review
FCE Fourteenth-Century England
Foedera
Foedera, conventiones, litterae et cujuscunque generis acta
publica, ed. T. Rymer, 10 vols in 40 pts (The Hague, 1739–45)
GEC The Complete Peerage, ed. G. E. Cokayne, 13 vols (London,
1910–57)
HR Historical Research (formerly BIHR)
JBS Journal of British Studies
JEH Journal of Ecclesiastical History
JMH Journal of Medieval History
ODNB The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, ed. H. C. G.
Matthew and B. H. Harrison, 60 vols (Oxford, 2004–) – online
edition.
P&P Past and Present
PROME The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England, ed. P. Brand, A.
Curry, C. Given- Wilson, R. E. Horrox, G. Martin, W. M.
Ormrod and J. R. S. Phillips, 16 vols (Woodbridge, 2005) –
online edition.
RS Rolls Series
SR Statutes of the Realm, 11 vols (London, 1801–28)
TRHS Transactions of the Royal Historical Society
VCH Victoria County History
Unless otherwise specified, all unpublished documents are held in
The National Archives (TNA), Kew, London.
Contributors

Mark Arvanigian, California State University, Fresno

Richard Barber, Independent Scholar
Michael Bennett, University of Tasmania
Douglas Biggs, University of Nebraska-Kearney
David Crook, The National Archives and University of Nottingham
Anne Curry, University of Southampton
Paul Dryburgh, The National Archives
Sylvia Federico, Bates College
Chris Given-Wilson, University of St Andrews
David Green, Harlaxton College
J. S. Hamilton, Baylor University
Maryanne Kowaleski, Fordham University, New York
Bart Lambert, Vrije Universiteit Brussel
Alison K. McHardy, University of Nottingham
Seymour Phillips, University College, Dublin
Craig Taylor, University of York
Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Fordham University, New York
Introduction
Gwilym Dodd

This book was originally intended as a Festschrift for W. Mark Ormrod, to

celebrate his astonishingly productive and distinguished career as a medie-
val historian. Tragically, however, he did not live to see the publication of the
volume, though he knew that it was underway and was eagerly anticipating
its completion. The present publication is therefore offered as a tribute to his
memory, and in acknowledgment of the enormous contribution Mark made
to scholarship and academic life in a period stretching from the completion
of his PhD in 1984 to his untimely death in August 2020. Given the need to
keep the volume within manageable proportions, it was clearly impractica-
ble to commission essays from all the scholars who might have wished to
contribute. Among the many who share the interests and approaches evi-
dent in his own work, the contributors assembled here have therefore been
drawn from colleagues and research collaborators who worked most closely
with Mark: it is a measure of the remarkable breadth of his intellectual im-
pact that such a wide field of subject matter is represented. The contributors
to this volume do not include Mark’s many former PhD students and those
who worked with him on some of the big research projects that he instigated
in the course of his career: a separate volume incorporating essays from
those connected to Mark in these ways was published in July 2020.1
Mark was unquestionably one of the finest and most influential late medi-
eval historians of his generation. His research transformed our understand-
ing of how England was governed between 1250 and 1450 and will be an
enduring legacy for future scholars. His roots, however, lay in South Wales,
in Neath, where he was born to Margaret and David Ormrod on 1 November
1957, the eldest of three brothers, followed by Nicholas and Jonathan. From
early on he showed the same determination to achieve excellence that was
to be the hallmark of his academic work: he was a brilliant singer, a skilled
clarinet player (he played in the West Glamorgan Youth Orchestra) and was
head boy at Neath Boys’ Grammar School. He also loved acting – he played

2  Gwilym Dodd
the lead in West Side Story in the sixth form and regularly trod the boards
of the Neath Little Theatre, which had been co-founded by his maternal
grandfather. Mark read History at King’s College, London, where he grad-
uated in 1979 with the highest first-class degree recorded at that time, before
embarking on research at Oxford under the supervision of James Campbell
for a doctoral thesis on ‘Edward III’s Government of England, c. 1346–1356’.
He then held a British Academy Fellowship at St Catharine’s College, Cam-
bridge, and a number of temporary positions at the Universities of Shef-
field, Evansville (British Campus) and Queens University Belfast. In 1990
he moved to a lectureship at the University of York and was promoted to
Professor in 1995.
His best-known publication is a biography of Edward III (Yale, 2011). A
work of monumental proportions, extending to over 700 pages, Mark suc-
ceeded where previous scholars had failed by providing a comprehensive
overview of the reign of one of England’s most important and longest serv-
ing monarchs. In a brilliant and truly groundbreaking narrative, notable
for its deftness of interpretation, its mastery of published and unpublished
sources and its eloquence and sheer readability, Mark’s biography was re-
ceived with the highest critical acclaim and will be the definitive work on
the subject for generations to come. Mark would never have wished to be
pigeonholed solely as Edward III’s biographer, however, nor even just as a
political historian. In an astonishing publication record stretching across
thirty years, Mark published over eighty book chapters and articles, four-
teen edited collections and (as author or co-author) eight other books. As
a historian, he was something of a force of nature. Together, this research
established Mark as a leading authority on numerous aspects of the work-
ings of the late medieval English state, including notably its finance, law and
parliament, but much else besides. It was a particular hallmark of Mark’s
scholarship that he never allowed his work to be circumscribed by tradi-
tional subject boundaries. In fact, his work constantly transformed and en-
larged the parameters and methods of historical research – some of his most
important contributions explored the themes of governance, reputation and
identity through the lens of social and cultural history. The versatility he
demonstrated in the sources he used and the methodologies he employed
marked him out as a scholar of truly exceptional abilities and set the gold
standard for a new type of cultural history of medieval politics.
Mark was also a brilliant communicator. He had what he often praised
in the work of others: innate flair. He understood the importance of mak-
ing history interesting and engaging. Both in his published work and the
countless talks he gave to academic and non-academic audiences, and to
the undergraduate and graduate students he taught, Mark demonstrated a
remarkable ability to make complex ideas easy to comprehend, and he en-
abled his readers and listeners to connect to his subject matter effortlessly.
Mark never forgot that behind the fog of 600–700 years of time were real
people living real lives, often in adverse circumstances. It was his ability to
 Introduction  3
empathize with these people that made his work so engaging. Mark’s work
overturned long-held orthodoxies and shaped new fields, but in critiquing
the work of others he was unfailingly modest, generous and respectful.
After the earlier peripatetic stages of his career, Mark gained permanent
employment at the University of York in 1990, and it was here that he re-
vealed a deeply conscientious commitment to the life of the University, tak-
ing on a number of challenging managerial roles. Under his leadership in
1998–2001 and 2002–2003, the Centre for Medieval Studies flourished. In
2001 and from 2003 to 2007 he was Head of the Department of History. He
was a natural choice as the first Dean of the newly created Faculty of Arts
and Humanities at York in 2009, a position that he held until his retirement
in 2017. That he was able to sustain such a prodigious publication record in
the face of these heavy administrative responsibilities remained a source of
bafflement to many of his colleagues, and stands as testimony to his phe-
nomenal work ethic, dedication and efficiency.
His invaluable service to the University was matched by exemplary ser-
vice in the cause of wider scholarship through leadership of externally
funded research projects. It was characteristic of Mark’s approach that he
saw research fundamentally to be not just the pursuit of individual endeav-
our, but a collaborative and collective enterprise. Further underlying this
ethos was a deeply held conviction in the importance of making scholarship
and medieval records as accessible and relevant to the widest range of au-
diences. In 2003–2007 he led the Arts and Humanities Research Council
(AHRC)-funded Medieval Petitions project, which made possible the de-
livery of 18,000 fully searchable entries in The National Archives online
catalogue; in 2012–2015 he co-led the AHRC project England’s Immigrants
1350–1550, which produced a database containing 66,000 entries; and in
2014–2015 he co-led the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation project The Arch-
bishops’ Registers of the Diocese of York, 1225–1646, which established two
major online research facilities. Over the course of his career Mark cap-
tured over £4 million of research funding – a truly remarkable achievement
in a Humanities-based subject. The numerous collaborative partnerships
these and other projects produced, both within York and beyond – notably
with colleagues at The National Archives – remained for Mark a source of
great professional pride. The opportunities the projects provided in helping
younger scholars find their feet within academia also remained, for Mark, a
key driving force. From 2008 to 2011, he served as a member of the council
for the Royal Historical Society, and between 2008 and 2015 he chaired the
British Academy English Episcopal Acta Project.
As is testified by his regular open lectures and talks to history societies, as
well as his numerous contributions to popular historical journals, newspa-
pers, magazines and TV documentaries, Mark was committed to a ‘public
engagement’ agenda long before this became fashionable or a requirement
of the Research Excellence Framework. In conjunction with the Historical
Association and the Runnymede Trust his England’s Immigrants 1350–1550
4  Gwilym Dodd
contributed to changes in the national school curriculum in 2015, focusing
on the long history of immigration in Britain. This work also led to the
creation of the Runnymede Trust’s ‘Our Migration Story’, which won the
Guardian Award for Research Impact in 2019. It was indicative of Mark’s
intellectual generosity that he saw himself as much the facilitator of other
peoples’ research as a researcher himself. Initiatives that flourished in York
because of his leadership and support included the White Rose College of
the Arts and Humanities (the AHRC-funded collaborative doctoral train-
ing centre), the York Festival of Ideas and the Centre for Christianity and
Culture. He struck up a very close working relationship with the Borthwick
Institute for Archives. Mark was also one of the founders of the internation-
ally acclaimed York Medieval Press (working in association with Boydell
and Brewer), and it was under his directorship and leadership in 1998–2005
that it took wing to become a major publisher of academic titles in its own
right.
Mark’s desire to nurture academic talent and provide a supportive re-
search environment for younger scholars was as important to him as any
of his other accomplishments. In the course of his career he supervised
twenty-nine2 PhD theses and mentored over a dozen research assistants. He
was a man of great kindness and intellectual generosity, offering support
and encouragement to anyone – in or outside York – who approached him.
Those who benefitted from this support – not just students, but friends and
colleagues alike – will remember his wisdom, clear thinking and patience.
He was a prolific attender of conferences, where he was unfailingly generous
about sharing his ideas and discoveries. His commitment to the wider re-
search community was particularly shown in his enthusiasm for the annual
International Medieval Congress at Leeds, where, with his encouragement,
many of his research students presented their research for the first time.
Honest enquiry, free thinking and open debate remained the essence of his
approach to his mentoring and to his work. His was the purest form of re-
search mentality, devoid of all dogmatism and ego.
Despite his eminence in academia, Mark remained disarmingly down
to earth and approachable. Possessed of the sharpest of intellects, he
was nevertheless quite happy to discuss less high-brow subjects and was
firmly rooted in the real world. He will be remembered for the twinkle in
his eye and his mischievous sense of humour. He laughed a lot and took
a genuine interest in others. He was blessed with the love and support of
his partner, Richard Dobson, and family. In the course of his long illness
Mark displayed remarkable but entirely characteristic sanguinity. He was
researching until the very end: his latest book Women and Parliament in
Later Medieval England (Palgrave) was published in July 2020 and a

 Introduction  5
second book (Winner and Waster) was delivered to the publisher Boydell and
Brewer just ten days before he died. When he died Mark was not coming to
the end of his publishing career: in many ways it could be said that the best
was yet to come. Quite simply, he loved to research. It is immensely sobering
to reflect on what great intellectual treasures have been lost to the study of
the late Middle Ages as a result of these unfulfilled plans.
The essays in this volume honour the achievements and lasting legacy of a
bright and brilliant academic career. The themes into which they are grouped –
divided into six typically Ormrodian-style alliterative subheadings –
encapsulate the major strands that run throughout the groundbreaking
work that Mark produced, though each in different ways also speaks to the
wider themes with which the book as a whole is focused: people, power and
identity. While the contributors have approached the task of exploring the
ideas and questions in Mark’s work in different ways, all have written essays
that have broad implications. Some consider the experiences and activities
of whole groups of people (McHardy; Kowaleski), whilst others illuminate
big themes through the prism of case studies (Lambert, Wogan-Browne).
Many of the contributions in this volume examine the negotiation of power,
some within confrontational contexts (Crook, Dryburgh, Federico, Given-
Wilson, Arvanigian), others in an environment of shared interests and co-
operation (Biggs, Hamilton). Whilst Curry’s contribution speaks to the
invaluable work Mark did in opening up the records of medieval central
government to historical scrutiny, other chapters resonate with his pioneer-
ing work on identity and reputation (Green, Taylor, Bennett, Phillips, Lam-
bert). We are also particularly pleased to include discussions focusing on
medieval female subjects (Wogan-Browne, Barber, Green), since much of
Mark’s work – including his penultimate monograph – explored the impor-
tance of gender in the late medieval state and society. None of the chapters
fit exclusively into the categories to which they have been assigned, but each
addresses in varying proportions the overall strands or themes which in-
spired the title of the volume. In writing them, the contributors have been
conscious of the exacting standards Mark set in his own work: his attention
to the detail, his ability to synthesize complex material and offer engaging
and penetrating new insights; his faithfulness to the records and sources he
used; his intellectual integrity. The volume is offered in tribute to one of ac-
ademia’s brightest stars, an exceptional scholar and an outstanding human
being.
W. Mark Ormrod
A tribute
Gwilym Dodd, Helen Lacey and Anthony Musson

With the tragic and untimely death of Professor W. Mark Ormrod aged
sixty-two in August 2020, the academic world in general, and medieval stud-
ies in particular, lost one of its leading lights, a man whose publications,
research leadership and intellectual generosity informed and inspired, in
equal measure, a generation of scholars, students and the wider public. Only
with the passage of time will the extent of Mark’s remarkable legacy to aca-
demia be fully understood, but it will undoubtedly be felt in multiple ways:
in the very highest of standards he set in his research; in the vast array of
resources he was instrumental in making accessible through multiple large-
scale research projects; in his inspirational teaching of undergraduates, his
supervision of PhD students and his mentoring of research assistants; and
in the work he did to bring the medieval world to a broader audience. It
was characteristic of Mark that he excelled at everything he did, but re-
search remained for him, throughout his career, his foremost passion. In
a ‘virtual’ book launch held during the Covid-19 lockdown of the summer
of 2020, shortly before he died, Mark underlined this point: in the midst of
all the other pressures academics face on their time, research should always
be placed at the centre of their endeavours, otherwise, he said (with charac-
teristic sagacity), ‘we may as well all be working for an oil company’.1 His
remarkable list of publications – reproduced as an Appendix to this volume –
stands as testament to this ethos. His extraordinary work ethic and con-
scientiousness enabled Mark to maintain a prolific research output whilst
at the same time discharging the many other duties and obligations of high
academic office with exemplary efficiency.
Mark was possessed of a brilliant intellect. This was evident in the seem-
ingly effortless way he produced the highest quality work on a regular basis
for over thirty years. This work came to be defined by a characteristically
‘Ormrodian’ style of writing, which displayed (amongst other attributes)

1 The book launch for Monarchy, State and Political Culture in Late Medieval England: Es-
says in Honour of W. Mark Ormrod, ed. G. Dodd and C. Taylor (York, 2020). The volume
provides details of Mark’s prolific research grant capture and his PhD students.
 W. Mark Ormrod: a tribute  7
mastery of the sources, fine historical judgement, clarity of purpose, an
engaging turn of phrase, and genuine respect for his fellow scholars, past
and present, whose influence on his own work he was always ready to ac-
knowledge. These were qualities recognized by reviewers who variously
praised his work for its ‘exemplary clarity and directness of purpose’,2 and
for being ‘deft, coherent and highly readable’.3 Mark wrote as much for
the non-specialist as for an academic readership, as shown by his ‘cour-
teous provision of background information’, which helped make his work
‘immediately accessible’.4 He was not just a leader in his field; he led in many
fields. In the depth and especially the breadth of his understanding of how
England was governed, he was unrivalled. Few historians in the post-war
era have matched Mark’s scholarly contribution on the politics and political
culture of late medieval England. In this short tribute, we attempt to sum-
marize this extraordinary body of scholarship.
Given the enormous range of subject matter that Mark worked on, and
the areas that drew his attention in more recent years, it would be easy to
overlook the fact that his publication profile at the start of his career marked
him out, above all else, as an historian of medieval state finance. In over a
dozen articles and book chapters published across the late 1980s and 1990s,
Mark set himself the daunting challenge of uncovering the workings and
achievements of what he came to term the ‘fiscal state’. Initially, his work
was narrowly focussed and inspired by the work of his PhD thesis on the
governance of Edward III.5 In one of his earliest works, on the Protecolla
Rolls of the 1350s and 1360s, he showed how the drive for reform and more
efficient financial management on the part of the king’s ministers was un-
dermined and ultimately defeated by royal meddling and interference.6
Here, as with so much of what Mark wrote on finance and other technical
areas of late medieval governance, he never lost sight of the fact that behind
systems, processes and statistics were real people pushing real life agendas,
sometimes (perhaps often) in opposition to each other. His early work re-
vealed the sheer complexity of the system of late medieval state finance,
shaped as it was by a plethora of circumstances, personalities and priorities,
and deeply embedded within the social, political and economic framework.
From the outset, providing broader context and clear-sighted explanation
to raw fiscal data became a central plank of Mark’s approach to his subject
matter. It was evident in his essay on English customs, which highlighted
the ‘windfall’ nature of the indirect taxation of the mid-fourteenth century.7

8  Gwilym Dodd et al.
It was also shown to striking effect in his comprehensive re-evaluation of the
Parish Subsidy of 1371 which revealed, amongst other key findings, how the
priorities and prejudices of the broader political community were crucial in
forging and to a great extent maintaining the idiosyncrasies of the English
system of national taxation.8 This was an early foray into what Mark would
later term the ‘political economy’, a phrase used to encapsulate the consul-
tative and mediatory processes that overwhelmingly determined the shape
of the medieval English fiscal system.9
These early publications revealed the soundness of Mark’s research meth-
ods, the clarity of his erudition and his grasp both of the forensic detail
and broader significance of his research findings. They also underlined his
sensitive handling of exchequer records and other related material. Mark
readily acknowledged the enormous debt his work on finance owed to pre-
vious luminaries in the field such as Willard, Harriss, Carus-Wilson and
Coleman; but equally, his work plugged vital gaps in historiographical cov-
erage, not least by providing a comprehensive collection of fiscal data re-
lating to crown income and expenditure across the Middle Ages. Between
1989 and 1992, he produced over 200 financial datasets relating to English
and continental European medieval monarchies as part of the ‘Economic
Systems and State Finance’ sub-strand of researchers working on the Euro-
pean Science Foundation-funded project ‘The Origins of the Modern State
in Europe, 13th to 18th centuries’.10 This data established a firm statistical
base which allowed Mark to reconceptualize the finances of the English
state across the longue durée, and also to place the English evidence within
a broader European context.11 It meant in particular that he was able to
answer far-reaching questions with an empirical certainty that had entirely
eluded his predecessors.
One of his early publications to draw on this new data produced the first
proper elucidation of the subtle but crucial change to occur in the impor-
tance and value of indirect taxation, relative to direction taxation, across
the first half of the fourteenth century.12 In another, a tour de force in fis-
cal contextualization and statistical analysis, Mark placed the development
of state finance in the thirteenth century within the broader context of the
‘real value of English money’ and in the process raised crucial questions
about the relationship between the crown’s financial exactions and the wider

 W. Mark Ormrod: a tribute  9
economy, the actual purchasing power of the king’s agents and the momen-
tous structural shift that occurred across the century as crown revenue
moved away from a fiscalité féodale to a fiscalité d’état.13 Mark’s inclusive
approach to the subject matter reached its apogee with his brilliant elucida-
tion of the ‘fiscal policy’ of Richard II in which he assessed how effectively
the crown exploited changes within the structure and balance of interna-
tional commerce in the last decades of the fourteenth century.14 In tackling
such ambitious and complex matters, Mark’s handling of his evidence was
characteristically adroit. Always careful to avoid pushing his conclusions
too far, or to claim certainty in the face of an incomplete or equivocal pic-
ture, the sheer force of his reasoning, combined with the thoroughness and
integrity of his research methodologies, nevertheless ensured that these
publications collectively transformed our understanding of how the English
crown mobilized the kingdom’s resources, how effectively it did so and what
impact this had both on the crown itself and more generally on the medieval
economy.
In later years, Mark increasingly turned his attention to the experience
of the medieval taxpayer. This signalled a broader shift in his research in-
terests away from the overarching systems and structures of government
to the experiences, values and interaction of medieval people – a shift of
perspective, as it were, from ‘top-down’ to ‘bottom-up’. In one of his lesser-
known contributions to the subject, his exploration of the extent of the fiscal
burden in late medieval England offered an important corrective to the view
that taxation was used by the social and political elites primarily to oppress
the peasantry.15 To be sure, the system was unfair, but Mark showed that
the workability of the English tax system rested above all on achieving the
consent rather than the submission of those who paid taxes. The principles
of fiscal equity and proportionality remained a vital counterbalance to the
natural tendency of those in power to exploit their fiscal privileges. Mark
carried these themes forward in a far-reaching essay on the tax regime un-
der Henry V.16 Here, a notable highlight was his comparative analysis of
the real tax burden across the late medieval period, and his conclusion that
the wage revolution experienced after the Black Death more than offset the
concomitant decline in population to make even the very heavy taxation
of Henry V’s reign affordable for the ‘ordinary’ taxpayers of the kingdom.
Affordability was key. In his essay on the rebellion of Archbishop Richard
Scrope in 1405, Mark explored the political ideology underpinning Scrope’s
rebel manifesto, noting in particular that it was Henry IV’s transgression of
the fundamental fiscal principles of affordability and proportionality which

10  Gwilym Dodd et al.
propelled the archbishop into taking such drastic action against his king.17
These two essays, on Henry V and Richard Scrope, showed Mark at his very
best: his mastery of the sources, the flexibility of his methodologies and the
flair of his writing.
It was natural that Mark’s expertise in fiscal matters should be matched
by a major contribution to the history of the medieval parliament. Parlia-
ment frequents his writing. Much of the time it is in the background, contex-
tualizing other themes and considerations; as an historian of late medieval
governance it could hardly be otherwise. But in a number of key contribu-
tions, parliament assumes centre stage. Taking pride of place was his contri-
bution to the modern edition of the parliament rolls.18 It was Mark’s good
fortune – or curse – to have responsibility for Edward III’s reign, a p eriod
which saw a greater number of parliaments convened than any other –
fifty-four altogether. His Introductions to these assemblies are a master-
class in scholarship, replete with clarification, explanation and a vast array
of new insights and erudite observations. It would be easy to overlook the
scale of Mark’s contribution to this project, and to the history of the me-
dieval parliament in general. Taken together, his Introductions amount to
over 160,000 words, more than enough to fill the pages of a major scholarly
monograph. A number of his specialized publications traced the develop-
ment of parliament along more traditional ‘constitutional’ themes; a notable
early work was his exploration of the parliamentary representatives’ earliest
petitions in the 1320s and 1330s which, Mark argued, displayed such a level
of coherence and co-ordination as to suggest that MPs had fully emerged as
‘an independent force in English politics … with the potential to change the
course of government policy’.19 He explored a further crucial stage in the
political development of the medieval Commons in his study of the parlia-
mentary state trials of Edward III’s last years.20 But Mark’s contributions to
parliamentary history will be best remembered for his unparalleled mastery
of the parliamentary records21 and for his exploration of the use and mean-
ing of political language in a parliamentary context. In this latter regard,
Mark developed the methodologies and approaches of the so-called ‘new
constitutional history’ in two brilliantly argued essays, where he showed
how important terms such as ‘profit of the king and kingdom’, ‘common
profit’ and (simply) ‘commons’ were in shaping rhetoric and identity in par-
liamentary discourse.22

 W. Mark Ormrod: a tribute 11
In 2003, Mark’s work on parliamentary records developed a new and
hugely significant additional dimension when he secured funding under
the Arts and Humanities Research Council’s (AHRC) Resource Enhance-
ment Scheme for two major projects to catalogue and digitize the contents
of TNA series SC 8, known anachronistically as ‘Ancient Petitions’, but for
the most part constituting late medieval parliamentary petitions.23 Mak-
ing the contents of this key series, comprising over 18,000 documents, fully
searchable and accessible via the online TNA catalogue, has transformed
our understanding of the business of the medieval parliament and gener-
ated a new sub-discipline of ‘petition studies’ in which scholars, including
Mark himself, have carefully analysed the contents of the petitions and their
broader significance within the late medieval English polity.24 For Mark,
the great fascination of petitions lay in what he once memorably described
as the ‘worm’s-eye view’ they provided on life in the later Middle Ages, and
for the ‘demand’ rather than the ‘supply’ side of later medieval royal gov-
ernment that they highlighted.25 One major follow-up to this work was his
publication, with Helen Killick and Phil Bradford, of the earliest petitions
to have been compiled in the name of the Commons.26 Fittingly, one of his
final publications was an exploration of the presence and representation of
women in the medieval English parliament using petitions, a source that
Mark was pivotal in bringing to the attention of the scholarly community,
as his principal evidence base.27
As his work on petitions demonstrated, Mark’s command of both pub-
lished and unpublished sources was extraordinary. He was never happier
than ferreting away at TNA in obscure document classes, often emerging
with a triumphant gleam when he discovered new evidence or was able to
make fresh connections on the basis of a fragment of hitherto unidentified
material. A previously unnoticed document in the unlisted TNA series E
208 (Exchequer, King’s Remembrancer: Brevia Baronibus files), for exam-
ple, provided a rare opportunity to reconstruct both the structure of the
household for the younger children of Edward III as constituted in 1340 and
the identities of virtually all the members of its staff.28 He was also able to
revisit and re-evaluate well-known documents and provide a valuable cor-
rective to previous writing in many established areas. His reassessment of
the 1362 Statute of Pleading, ‘one of the best known, but least understood,

12  Gwilym Dodd et al.
statements on the use of the vernacular in medieval England’,29 is a case in
point. Comparing the text on the parliament and statute rolls and setting
it within the contexts of the prevailing linguistic, literary, legal and politi-
cal cultures, Mark demonstrated that the legislation could be read in three
ways: as part of the suite of political concessions the crown was offering the
parliamentary Commons in return for a grant of taxation; as an affirmation
of the new structure and powers of the county peace commissions; and as
a symbolic assertion of Englishness triumphing over the linguistic and ter-
ritorial hegemony of the French. In doing so, he was able to compare and
contrast this Edwardian statement with the more widely recognized use of
English as a mode of communication and discourse of governance under
Henry V and Henry VI. His article was also a major contribution to the
linguistic and literary history of England: Mark demonstrated the multi-
lingualism of the late medieval state’s documentation, making crucial dis-
tinctions between written and spoken text and between different text types
in the various offices of state and the courts. He showed that the older nar-
rative linking what were assumed to be state policies on language with the
adoption of English as a literary language by late fourteenth-century writ-
ers cannot be sustained, either for that period or for the fifteenth century.
Mark’s mastery of the records of central government translated into an
unparalleled understanding of how the late medieval English government
worked. Many publications illuminated not only its inner workings, but
also the motivations and machinations of royal administrators. His analysis
of institutional developments and administrative practices in the chancery
pinpointed important bureaucratic changes (such as the true origin of the
sub pena writ, one of the most powerful instruments of royal justice) and
enabled him to attribute (or newly attribute) them to particular individuals
within the royal secretariat.30 More subtly, he was also able to show that
the key bureaucratic reforms of the mid- and later fourteenth century un-
der chancellors Thoresby and Waltham, respectively, not only led to greater
efficiency and responsiveness to the king’s wishes, but were the product of
high levels of accountability and co-operation within a united royal civil
service.31 His analysis of the crown’s reaction to the Black Death ‘crisis’ was
particularly astute,32 as was his evaluation of the administration, personnel
and machinery of government before and after the Peasants’ Revolt, an area
which ‘so few historians have examined’.33 On the performance of the crown
in the face of this unprecedented upheaval, Mark’s conclusion was charac-
teristically incisive: ‘the crown was incapable of devising a comprehensive
and consistent policy either towards the rebels or the reform movement in

 W. Mark Ormrod: a tribute  13
parliament [which said] much about the state of inertia into which the gov-
ernment had descended since the middle decades of Edward III’s reign’.34
His adroitness with fiscal and bureaucratic intricacies extended to related
fields, such as the law. In partnership with Anthony Musson, he co-authored
The Evolution of English Justice: Law, Politics and Society in the Fourteenth
Century (1998), a book which helped to reinvigorate the study of legal culture.
Faced with the task of evaluating competing historiographical traditions
that endeavoured to characterize and explain the development of the law
and legal system in medieval England, Mark hit upon modern evolutionary
theory as a conceptual framework for understanding the disruptions and
continuities apparent in the history of English justice. Borrowing from the
natural sciences, notions of ‘exogenous’ (independent, sudden and unpre-
dicted external triggers) and ‘endogenous’ (autonomous internal develop-
ment) change not only neatly encapsulated the notable political, economic
and social pressures of the era, but also brought into play a methodological
approach which recognized ‘that human organisations and societal norms
are not simply conditioned by external pressures but may also be affected by
new cultural influences developing from within’.35
A consistent hallmark of Mark’s scholarship was the way he combined
scrupulous empirical analysis of governmental and legal archives with a
wider awareness of what these records meant for people’s everyday lives.
By the mid-1990s, informed by the ‘linguistic turn’, this began to crystallize
into the idea of ‘political culture’, with its focus on the political language,
ideas, customs and social behaviour of medieval society. Here, Mark was a
pioneer, publishing Political Life in Medieval England in 1995. On the face
of it, this was a slim and accessible student textbook, showcasing Mark’s ex-
traordinary ability to distil complex ideas into a succinct and clear form. In
fact, he was setting out a new, far-reaching thesis on the emergence, integra-
tion and expansion of the polity in fourteenth-century England. He argued
that this increasingly literate and engaged polity extended well beyond the
ranks of the elite, creating a public forum and developing channels of com-
munication from the regions to central institutions.36 By 2004, John Watts
was able to say that Mark’s perspective was ‘now so widely appreciated as to
be a commonplace’.37 Its legacy has been what might be called the ‘political
turn’, an appreciation that a wide range of people in the later Middle Ages

14  Gwilym Dodd et al.
could engage with political language, practices and institutions. Mark went
on to demonstrate this approach in numerous successive publications.
In 2000, Mark published another article on the Peasants’ Revolt which
focused on Joan of Kent and signalled his intention to engage with new
developments in gender history, using the role ascribed to Joan as a starting
point to examine attitudes to women and sexuality expressed during the
Revolt (‘In Bed with Joan of Kent’ also demonstrated Mark’s penchant for
eye-catching paper titles – a title previously toned down to ‘The Princess in
the Tower’ for his York Professorial Inaugural Lecture!). The methodology
Mark employed, reading the chronicles carefully for their subtle and elusive
assumptions about gender, pointed the way to future interdisciplinary re-
search examining the layers of discourses within texts. This was not Mark’s
only contribution to the history of women and gender. In the 2000s, when
he was working on the Ancient Petitions project, the team made a discovery
that transformed our knowledge of Alice Perrers, Edward III’s mistress and
one of the foremost political actors in the later years of his reign.38 In three
highly focussed articles, Mark revealed new details about Alice’s first mar-
riage, elucidating her background in the years before she became Edward’s
mistress, and providing a new perspective on the way she rose to power.
Mark maintained this interest in women’s history and, characteristically,
made sure that he saw Women in Parliament through to press with Boydell
and Brewer in 2020.
At the same time as publishing on the connections between political and
gender history, Mark developed his interest in medieval views on sexual-
ity and politics. In his article ‘Knights of Venus’, he discussed competing
views and representations of masculinity and male sexuality in the Ricard-
ian court.39 The same year, he published another article on boy kings and
their transition to adulthood and sexual maturity; this appeared in an essay
collection on Rites of Passage that he co-edited with his York colleague,
Nicola McDonald.40 This was followed two years later by a seminal arti-
cle on the ‘sexualities’ of Edward II. Here, he scrutinized Edward’s post-
humous reputation, arguing that ‘Postmodernism…has taught us to treat
such reputations not as deviations from some scientific truth about the past
but as historical phenomena that existed, and exist, in their own right’.41
Mark advocated the relevance of queer studies, which offers a means of
identifying allusive discourses on non-normative sex, gender and sexuality,
within the dominant heteronormative cultures of the past. Thus, he argued,

 W. Mark Ormrod: a tribute  15
‘[t]he kinds of readings made possible by queer theory lead me to propose
that issues of sex, gender and sexuality were not some kind of distraction
from the “real” political issues of Edward II’s reign – favouritism, counsel,
faction, tyranny – but, in fact, provided an important discourse through
which those very problems could be articulated and their controversial out-
comes be justified’.42 In characteristically eloquent manner, Mark disman-
tled outdated approaches to Edward II’s reputation, but simultaneously
provided a new and productive avenue for future research.
Mark’s work on Edward II formed part of a more encompassing interest
in medieval monarchy in general and the reign of Edward III in particular,
an interest that can be traced back to his very first book Crown and Political
Society in the Reign of Edward III (Yale, 1990). It was acclaimed at the time
as ‘a valuable and important book’43 and ‘a powerful and passionate work,
rich in new insights. Nothing of comparable importance has been written
on the reign for the past thirty years’.44 Yet, in spite of the ‘freshness’ of
his approach and the revisionist advances that he afforded in Crown and
Political Society, Mark was fully aware that (as in the words of Anthony
Tuck) ‘Edward III still awaits the lengthy and magisterial treatment’ that
had benefitted public perception of other medieval monarchs.45 While lesser
historians may have regarded this as a criticism, for Mark the call for ‘fuller
treatment’46 was a challenge he readily accepted. Over the course of the next
two decades, he set out to rectify this historiographical lacuna by the pub-
lication of numerous articles and chapters which delved into the minutiae
of the man, his family, beliefs, allies and enemies, setting these approaches
alongside newly emerging insights into European diplomacy, the operation
of parliament and the judicial system, magnate and gentry relations, reli-
gious and societal attitudes as well as contemporary literary works.
In one very early publication, Mark highlighted how Edward moved to
promote harmony at home through his offspring’s concentration on admin-
istration abroad and how his knowledge of their personalities bred reliance
on their acting honourably.47 The ultimate failure of such a plan through
unexpected mortality, loss of overseas territories and the king’s own mental
and physical incapacity, he argued, should not diminish our appreciation
of Edward’s ‘exceptional political perception’ or ‘the unusual spirit of har-
mony that prevailed in the Plantagenet family’, circumstances that explain
the exceptionally long period of domestic peace from the 1340s to the 1370s.

16  Gwilym Dodd et al.
A different facet of Edward III’s life – that of informality, intrigue and
intimacy – was glimpsed through Mark’s analysis of the career of Edward’s
one-time mentor and confidant, Richard de Bury (d. 1345), a man who suc-
cessfully straddled the divide between the public and private lives of the
king.48 Edward’s personal thoughts and habits were revealed through exam-
ination of a considerable body of previously neglected documentary, cere-
monial, artistic and architectural evidence.49 Though historians’ attitudes
had been steeped in ‘prejudices and generalizations’, no doubt coloured by
Edward’s ‘sexual adventures’,50 Mark’s re-evaluation revealed, in fact, how
entirely conventional and predictable this king’s personal devotions were.
Devoid of new trends in mysticism, Edward escaped the influence of current
religious debates and was not even directed by liturgical books: almsgiv-
ing, relic collecting and a deep-seated belief in the intercessory power of the
Virgin Mary and the cults of native English saints were the elements that
sustained Edward III’s personal faith. Typically, Mark’s conclusions drew a
broader message: that the king’s official attitude to the church was quite dif-
ferent from his private beliefs, but nevertheless his private devotional tastes
mapped closely onto the ideals of kingship and the public image he wished
to cultivate for himself and his regime.
In some of these publications, Mark may have been open to the criticism
that he erred on the side of the ‘favourable view of possibilities’ and gen-
erally had an ‘upbeat view’,51 yet he was mindful of the dangers of hind-
sight and always attempted to provide a balanced assessment. Tellingly, his
portrayal of Edward III was characterized as a ‘humane one’.52 Presciently,
one reviewer of Mark’s 1990 book remarked that ‘his achievement will help
decisively to shape and inform any future serious biography…’.53 It is thus
for his incomparable insights into the personality of Edward III and the re-
evaluation of his reign in a mammoth biography in the Yale Monarchs series
published in 2011 that Mark will predominantly be remembered for gen-
erations to come. In 2007–2010, Mark secured a Leverhulme Trust Senior
Research Fellowship which enabled him to write up the book. Containing
twenty-one chapters, he set himself the daunting task of writing a chapter
every six to eight weeks. At the end of the Fellowship (as ever, Mark delivered
on time) he had written a monograph of over 250,000 words. But he could
have written far more; to a number of people he was heard to complain at
the time (as always, with a glint in his eye) how unfair it was that he was per-
mitted a word count no higher than that used for the biography of Edward
II, a king who ruled for less than half the length of his son’s reign. Hailed as

 W. Mark Ormrod: a tribute  17
54
‘a magnificent achievement’ and ‘a book to linger over, to return to, and
to enjoy’,55 Mark’s achievement in this regard was generously acknowledged
by Chris Given-Wilson, who concluded in his review of Edward III that ‘[t]
his monumental work comfortably supersedes earlier biographies and will
immediately establish itself as the definitive study of both the king and his
reign’.56 Perhaps posterity will grant Mark a similar accolade to his own
epitaph to Edward III.57
One of Mark’s final projects was England’s Immigrants, 1330–1550
(www.englandsimmigrants.com). Funded by the AHRC from 2012 to 2015,
the team of researchers created a database with the names of over 64,000
first-generation immigrants to England. These names were drawn from re-
cords of registration and taxation created by the medieval English govern-
ment. Drawing on all his past experience of leading major funded research
projects, Mark achieved the very rare feat of bringing medieval studies into
the limelight of current policy research and contributing to contemporary
debates on Britain’s past. England’s Immigrants allowed for the creation of
materials for the teaching of history in schools, and in particular new Gen-
eral Certificate of Secondary Education strands on migration and empire.
The team also contributed to ‘Our Migration Story’, a Runnymede Trust
website (awarded the Guardian University Award for Research Impact in
2019). Such were the profound ramifications of this work on immigration
that Mark essentially carved out an entirely new field of scholarship, pub-
lishing an astonishing nine articles, two co-edited essay collections and a
co-authored book based on the project’s findings in the six years from 2014
to 2020.58 Much of this work focussed on how the English crown addressed
the challenge of having a significant immigrant population residing in Eng-
land at a time when relationships with the home governments of those im-
migrants, in particular French residents, were under severe strain. Mark’s
‘Friendly Foreigners’ article, the most cited of all his work on immigrants
so far, showed that denization, or the procedure for acquiring the rights of
English natives, did not arise out of the needs of merchants and the context
of international trade, as had so far been assumed, but out of the English

18  Gwilym Dodd et al.
crown’s policy to minimize the disruptions of international warfare for its
resident immigrants.
The culmination of this research was published in Immigrant England
1300–1550, which demonstrated the range and importance of knowledge
that could be gleaned from a forensic investigation of English governmental
records on medieval immigrants.59 The authors demonstrated that although
first-generation immigrants accounted for only c.1.5 per cent of the popula-
tion, their concentration in certain areas (like port towns) and in particular
trades (such as weaving) meant that in some places they were highly influ-
ential. Moreover, the book showed that first-generation immigrants had an
economic, political and cultural impact on English society (not just in some
places and trades) that was far greater than their numbers would suggest.
These findings swept aside the traditional narrative that portrayed the Mid-
dle Ages as a quiet period between earlier waves of settlement from Romans,
Anglo-Saxons, Vikings and Normans to the French Huguenots and Protes-
tant dissenters in the mid-sixteenth century. It also challenged long-held no-
tions that England became more insular across the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries as its sense of nationhood sharpened and it developed a more dis-
tinct ‘English’ identity. Late medieval English society was diverse and inte-
grated. The book’s sections on ‘Saracens’, ‘Moors’ and people of ‘Inde’ are
notably groundbreaking contributions to a growing body of scholarship on
blackness and race in medieval art and literature.60
Mark’s early retirement in 2016 was a bitter blow for a man who still had
many unrealized career plans to fulfil. But he remained as engaged and im-
mersed in research as he had always been. Freed from the numerous and
onerous responsibilities of University high office, he was able to do what he
loved doing most: writing about the later Middle Ages. He was not in the
end able to write the major works on late medieval political culture and the
fiscal state that he had long earmarked for ‘retirement’, but what he achieved
in this short time was remarkable all the same: two monographs, one jointly
authored book, six research articles/chapters and a jointly edited collection
of essays. His very final publication, Winner and Waster, delivered to the
publisher ten days before he died, provides a glimpse of what Mark’s future
research profile might have been: a methodologically versatile cultural view
of politics and political engagement immersed in the social and economic
conditions of the period.
The impact Mark had on our understanding of the late medieval English
political society was enormous, and his work will be cited and quoted for
many generations to come. In this short piece, we have tried to do justice to
a remarkable scholar and an astonishing record of publication, but Mark
would have wanted to be remembered and his legacy to be recognized in

 W. Mark Ormrod: a tribute  19
many more ways than simply the words he committed to paper. In many
respects, Mark was always a tough act to follow, yet it was in his spirit of
intellectual generosity that he did not claim to have uttered the last word
on any subject. Indeed, having opened up so many fields, he was keen for
other scholars and especially his own students (whom he discreetly men-
tored and championed) to follow his lead and challenge the received wisdom
on institutions, events and personalities. But it was his approach to research
that will perhaps leave the most enduring legacy, an approach in which he
regarded research to be a fundamentally collaborative rather than compet-
itive endeavour. The fruits of this ethos are to be seen in the innumerable
conferences and workshops he supported, the twenty-nine PhD students he
supervised, the numerous academic careers he helped establish, his con-
tributions to and leadership of a dozen major research projects, his public
engagement, his service to the wider academic community and the advice
and encouragement he gave to countless people, in and out of academia, on
medieval-related matters. It is a legacy that will benefit many future gen-
erations of medievalists and serves as a model not just for scholars in the
Humanities but of all disciplines.

Acknowledgements
Our thanks to Chris Given-Wilson, Craig Taylor and Jocelyn Wogan-Browne
for their valuable advice in preparing this tribute.
Resistance
1 The revolt of the famuli
at Barton upon Humber,
Lincolnshire, in 1302
David Crook

In the summer of 1302 a royal official, Richard Oysel, made a written com-
plaint in the form of a petition to the council of King Edward I. It stated that
there had been an attempt by some of the labouring men living in the manor
of Barton upon Humber, then in his charge, to dictate the terms by which
they would carry out their work, and to appoint their own officials to ensure
that their instructions in this regard were carried out.1 Oysel’s information,
with the council’s response added, survives among the ‘Ancient Petitions’
in The National Archives (TNA), and is printed below in the documentary
Appendix.
The details Oysel related were remarkable, to say the least. He reported
that at the instigation of two ploughmen and two carters, eighty of the serv-
ants (or serfs) in the town of Barton upon Humber had agreed among them-
selves (sount entrealiez bien) that none of them would take less than sixteen
shillings (sous) a year and their food; and that none of them would work in
summer time unless they were allowed time to sleep and then take supper
(soupe)2; and that no one with another master should interfere (nul de autre
mester se entremettreit). To maintain and keep these arrangements, Oysel
reported, they had appointed from among themselves a justice, a steward,
a prison keeper and prison (prisoner e prison) within the king’s estate (le
several le Roy), putting in stocks as punishment anyone brought before their
aforesaid ministers and convicted for any offence. He requested that certain
punishment should be imposed on the offenders, and especially upon the
four leaders (cheuetains) who had initiated this common enterprise (commun
dage). The reply to Oysel’s request (in Latin) was that the bailiffs should
go before the treasurer and barons at the exchequer and the justices of the

24  David Crook
Bench, and there do what, according to their discretion, ought to be done.3
The probable result of this was the attachment of the four leaders of the
confederation.
One man subsequently took legal action against the king’s officials in Bar-
ton, but it was over a year later when the matter reached the king’s court. In
Michaelmas term 1303, the court of King’s Bench, then sitting in York be-
cause of the Scottish war, heard a complaint by Roger son of Roger le Clere
of Barton upon Humber, against Robert de Burton and Stephen le Warner
of Barton, as to why they had arrested him with force and arms (vi et armis)
at Barton on 6 May 1302, imprisoned and maltreated him to his damage of
£ 20 and against the king’s peace, and held him in prison for three weeks, to
his further damage of £ 40. Burton and Warner denied the complaint and
stated that le Clere and certain servants and famuli (estate labourers) of Bar-
ton upon Humber had wickedly confederated together and entered into an
agreement by plighted faith (pactum fide) that none of them would serve for
a lesser stipend than food and one penny for any working day, nor tend more
than one kind of beast, and other unspecified articles made between them
concerning services and stipends. This was, they said, to the damage and in-
jury of all those of the locality who ought to receive the service of the famuli.
Oysel had been instructed on behalf of the king to make an inquiry into
such confederations made ‘in contempt of the king and to the mockery of
his kingdom’ (regis contemptum et regni sui elusionem factis). He was also
instructed to attach those who he found to be culpable in this regard. The
inquiry found that le Clere and others (unnamed) were involved, so Oysel
ordered Burton and Warner, described as his two bailiffs in those parts,
to attach them. Because le Clere was unwilling to submit to justice nor al-
low himself to be attached, they arrested him. They asserted that they had
done this in their capacity as royal bailiffs according to the ordinance of
the king’s council, and attached him until he would submit to the judicial
process. They asked for the appointment of a jury to substantiate or deny
their claim. In response, le Clere reasserted his complaint and also asked for
there to be an enquiry by a jury. The court decided that such a jury of local
men should be summoned to come before it at the quindene of Hilary fol-
lowing, in late January 1304. Le Clere also at the same time brought a case
against Robert son of Robert de Kelsey for the same offence. He did not
appear in court, and the sheriff had been ordered to attach him also, but he
had not been found. The sheriff was again ordered to arrest him and bring
him before the court at the same date. There the documentary trail ends.
No further entries in either case appear in the roll for that term or in any

 The revolt of the famuli  25
subsequent roll, so the matter seems never to have come to any conclusion
in the king’s court.4
It can be assumed that the Barton jury did not appear at the due date, and
that the case, like many others, did not continue to resolution and judge-
ment. It was notoriously difficult to secure the attendance of juries at hear-
ings many miles away, although getting from Lincoln to York was a journey
of only about sixty miles. At Westminster, where the court usually sat, some
at least regarded Lincolnshire as being in ‘remote parts’ (in remotis parti-
bus, scilicet, in comitatu Lincolnie), but the distance between the capital and
the county town was over a hundred and forty miles, more than double the
distance to York.5 It may well be that the leading men of Barton were in
any case reluctant to serve on a jury with difficult questions to answer, and
whose verdict would probably have important social and political repercus-
sions in the area.
Of the many people involved in these events, only five are named. Richard
Oysel’s wider career is well documented in government records because he
worked for the king in a senior capacity, and Robert de Burton and Stephen
le Warner of Barton were presumably his local agents. So too was Robert
son of Robert de Kelsey, who le Clere also sued in King’s Bench; he presum-
ably took his name from North or South Kelsey, respectively 16 and 18 miles
south of Barton, and north of Caistor.
By far the most intriguing figure in the story is Roger son of Roger le Clere,
who took Oysel and his men to court. His status is nowhere mentioned, but
he was confident and wealthy enough to bring a trespass suit for damages to
the King’s Bench at York towards the end of 1303, presumably after suing
out and paying for a writ of trespass from the chancery. It seems therefore
unlikely that he was one of the famuli himself, one of the two ploughmen
or one of the two carters mentioned in Oysel’s petition, and those who he
sued did not assert in court that he was. Perhaps he was either the justice or
steward that Oysel had said that the famuli had appointed, said by Oysel to
have been chosen from among them. The possibility that he was somewhat
higher in social status than the famuli should be considered.
A gentry family of ‘de Clere’, not ‘le Clere’ as he was named, flourished at
Fotherby and Ludborough in Lindsey, a few miles north of Louth and about
thirty miles from Barton, from the twelfth century to the mid-thirteenth
century, and they seem consistently to have used the Christian name ‘Roger’.
Before 1184, ‘lord Roger de Clere’ was mentioned in two charters made by
of one of his tenants in Fotherby, and it may have been the same Roger who

26  David Crook
was mentioned as the grandfather of the plaintiff in a foot of a fine relating
to Ludborough church which was made in the king’s court in 1210.6 About
1223–1239, another ‘Roger de Clere, knight’, received a grant of property in
Ludborough from the dean and chapter of Lincoln by chirograph.7 The fam-
ily also held land in Surrey and Yorkshire, brought to it by William de Rus,
husband of Roger’s daughter Agatha, but in 1249 the fortunes of the family
foundered when the estate was inherited after Sir Roger’s death by their
grand-daughter and heiress Maud, then aged only two. When Rus himself
died in 1253 without a male heir, Ludborough escheated to the crown, and
by 1260 it was held of William d’Aubigny by knight service.8
The possibility that Roger son of Roger le Clere was of higher status,
perhaps an illegitimate son or grandson of Roger de Clere or some other rel-
ative who had not been provided for by the family, deserves consideration,
although it is very tentative, especially as Oysel had in his petition said that
the representatives of the famuli were chosen from among their number. If
it did however have some substance, it might suggest that similar attempts
by agricultural workers to regulate the terms of their employment could
have happened elsewhere in the later years of the reign of Edward I, but
have left no record in the archives of the king’s courts because the workers
lacked someone like le Clere, able and willing to take court action against
the allegedly illegal means used by the landlord to restore control. As it is,
the uprising seems to be the only such event recorded in the records of the
king’s highest court at that time.
Barton upon Humber lies on the northern boundary of Lincolnshire fac-
ing the East Riding of Yorkshire on the opposite bank of the Humber, with
the modern road to the new Humber Bridge running to the west of the town.
It was at the key point on the route between Lincoln and eastern Yorkshire,
and during the civil war in the reign of King Stephen in the middle of the
twelfth century the river crossing was defended by a castle which seems
subsequently to have been demolished.9 At the turn of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries, it was linked to Hessle on the Yorkshire bank by a
ferry apparently operated by two barges, one large and one small, which in
1299–1300 were being repaired.10 The town and the road leading to it from
Lincoln are clearly depicted on the so-called ‘Gough Map’, probably drawn
in the later fourteenth century.

 The revolt of the famuli  27
In 1334 Barton had a higher population and tax base than any other town
in the North Riding of Lindsey.11 During the thirteenth century it also had
quite a complex tenurial structure. For over two centuries it had been under
the principal lordship of the Gand family, and in 1281 Gilbert de Gand,
the fifth of that name, claimed various privileges there before the justices
in eyre holding pleas of quo warranto: a weekly market on Monday and a
fair lasting eight days, view of frankpledge, ancient gallows and wreck of
the sea.12 However, on 29 July 1294, Gilbert surrendered Barton and other
manors that he held in southern Lincolnshire at Folkingham, Edenham
and Heckington to the king, and received them back to hold for life; it was
agreed that upon his death they were to revert to the king.13 That event came
to pass not long before 17 March 1298, when he was about forty-nine years
old, and the escheator took the four manors and the whole barony into the
king’s hands.14 The manor of Barton was put under the control of Oysel on
21 September 1298, to be held during royal pleasure.15
The Gand barony included property in many counties, but in Lincoln-
shire it was centred on Folkingham and its castle, formerly the caput of an
earlier Gilbert de Gand, the second of that name, who was briefly earl of
Lincoln in the reign of King Stephen, from about 1149 to 1154.16 Gilbert
had founded Rufford Abbey in Nottinghamshire about 1146 and granted
it considerable property in Barton, mainly at the southern end of the vil-
lage’s extensive territory near the Wolds, including a grange.17 The fifth
Gilbert had no direct heir, and his heirs in 1298 were his nieces Margaret
and Nicole, respectively the wives of William de Gerston and Peter III de
Maulay, and their respective sons, Roger and another Peter. Gilbert’s own
surviving sister, Juliana, by then over forty years old, already held a por-
tion, and she appears from later evidence to have retained it.18 Neither of
Gilbert’s nephews inherited Barton, however, under the terms of the agree-

28  David Crook
ment, and it remained in royal hands for nearly a decade. In 1298, Richard
Oysel had been appointed keeper of the manor of Barton on behalf of the
king, and in July 1302 he, now as bailiff of Holderness, still had it within
his bailiwick, and he certainly still did in February 1304.19 Gilbert’s widow
Lora belatedly received her dower in his land in June 1305, including that
from the portion of Barton then held by Juliana de Gand.20 Then, as one of
his earliest acts, Edward II in September/October 1307 granted to Henry
de Beaumont, his ‘kinsman’ (second cousin), for good service rendered, the
manors of Folkingham, Edenham and Barton, formerly of Gilbert de Gand,
and also granted a weekly market, an annual fair and free warren in the de-
mesne lands of all three manors and Heckington also.21 The dower lands of
Lora de Gand were excepted from this grant.
Before 1298, therefore, the Gand family had been chief lords of Barton
under the king, but the tenurial structure they presided over there was very
complex. In 1242–1243, under the heading for ‘Fees of G. de Gand in Lin-
colnshire’, there were six separate sub-holdings held by Ralph de Secheville
(one knight’s fee); Robert de Tattersall (a fifth of a fee); Henry de Long-
champ (a quarter of a fee); Robert de Willoughby (an eighth of a fee); Philip
de Burgh (an eighth of a fee); and the constable of Chester (a twentieth of
a fee).22 By the time of the death of Gilbert de Gand V in 1298 some hold-
ings were still the same and some had changed. The constable of Chester
continued to hold his twentieth of a fee; another Robert de Willoughby the
same eighth of a fee but which had afterwards come into Gilbert’s hands;
Richard le Rus of Barton held a fifth of a knight’s fee for a penny a year for
all services, perhaps in succession to Tattersall; Robert de Houton held a
quarter of a fee performing nothing but foreign service, perhaps in succes-
sion to Longchamp; and the abbot of Thornton held an eighth of a fee in
frankalmoin.23 By about 1250–1260, the abbot also had a sheepfold called
‘Beaumundcote’ in Barton, still to be found on the map.24 St Peter’s church,
today famous for its Anglo-Saxon architectural features and one of two par-
ish churches in the town, was not in the gift of the Gant family but that of

23 CIPM, III, no. 474.
24 Rufford Charters, ed. Holdsworth, III, no. 907. For its location see the map in Brown,
Notes on Barton-on Humber, II, opposite p. 92.
 The revolt of the famuli  29
the abbot of Bardney, although in 1304 a vicar was presented by the king’s
gift at a time when the abbey was in crown hands during a vacancy.25
In 1302, therefore, Barton consisted of a complex series of lordships, with
the main former Gand property under the control of Richard Oysel on be-
half of the king. The petition indicates that the famuli who formed the rebel-
lious confederation were working on the lands of the king, not of any of the
other local lords, since the reference prohibiting interference from another
master (nul de autre mester se entremettreit) indicates that it did not affect all
the lords, but only the king’s land. It also uses the terms ‘within the king’s
estate’ (deinz le several le Roy) to describe the area within which the officials
they had appointed were to operate.26 The documents show that the roles of
the famuli in Barton, paid agricultural labourers as opposed to performers
of customary services, involved ploughing, carting and the management of
animals. This would be the straightforward meaning of servientes, famuli
and servauntz, and this was practically always the status of charuers and
charetters.27 It is most likely that Roger and his friends were full-time em-
ployees, although the pay of sixteen shillings a year they demanded would
mean that they would work for only one hundred and ninety-two days a
year, at a penny a day, the equivalent of thirty-two weeks at six days a week,
probably varying according to the time of year in the agricultural cycle.
The so-called ‘pipe roll’ of the bishop of Winchester for 1301–1302 pro-
vides the most abundant easily accessible comparative information about
the activities and remuneration of the famuli and others on another estate at
exactly the time of the Barton union.28 However, the bishop’s officials at that
time employed little hired labour, depending overwhelmingly on stipendi-
ary ploughmen, carters, shepherds and herdsmen to carry out regular tasks
needed throughout the year, with customary services owed by the tenants
on the manors supplying the rest.29 This evidence is therefore less suitable
for comparison than that from some other estates where hired labourers
formed a high proportion of the workforce.30 Michael Postan pointed out
long ago that hired labour was increasingly the norm during the thirteenth
century, with ploughmen employed on, for example, the estates of the earl

25 CPR 1301–7, p. 216. The vacancy occurred because the abbot, Robert of Wainfleet, was
deposed by the king in 1303 and a royal custodian appointed (p. 210); after an appeal to the
pope, Wainfleet was restored in 1311: Heads of Religious Houses II, ed. Smith and London,
pp. 20–1.
26 On the roles and economic condition of famuli in this period, see in particular Rush, ‘Im-
pact of Commercialisation’, pp. 123–39; and Farmer, ‘Famuli’, pp. 207–36. Rush’s two
main sources were the account rolls of twenty-three Glastonbury manors for 1302–1303
and 1311–1312.
27 I am grateful to Paul Harvey for his expert opinion on these matters.
28 Pipe Roll 1301–2, ed. Page.
29 The position on the estates of Beaulieu Abbey in 1269–1270 was similar: see the references
in Beaulieu Abbey, ed. Hockey, pp. 19–23 and references indexed under ‘famulus’.
30 Pipe Roll 1301–2, ed. Page, p. xix.
30  David Crook
of Cornwall, the nearest to Barton being Howden, on the Yorkshire side of
the Humber, in 1296–1308; and some of the manors of Crowland Abbey, like
Whaplode in the extreme south of Lincolnshire, and near the other Gand
manors in the county, in 1258.31
On the Winchester estate, the wages of stipendiary ploughmen and cart-
ers seem to have been 3s. a year on most of the manors, although at Esher it
was twice that; at Wolvesey it was 5s.; and at Cams 4s.32 On the estates of the
abbot of Glastonbury in 1302–1303 and 1311–1312, the equivalent stipends
were nearly all worth 4s. or 5s., and the lowest was 3s. 10d.33 Ploughmen,
carters, shepherds, swineherds, oxherds and cowherds also received pay-
ments in grain and stock34; typically on the Winchester estates a quarter of
barley or rye every eight or ten weeks for a ploughman, and on several man-
ors allowances of food at Christmas and Easter, worth a penny on each oc-
casion.35 They also received quittances of rent of varying amounts, although
this applied to carters only rarely.36 Only with these additional allowances
would a stipendiary farmhand have sufficient to sustain a family.37 The
fewer numbers of shepherds and cowherds received 4s. or 3s. or occasionally
5s., a cowherd 2s.38 In the later fourteenth century, the typical stipend for
male stipendiary famuli on the Winchester estates was about 4s. a year, still
at a standard level across all the manors; but such uniformity did not exist
elsewhere, even within the same manor.39
Even on the Winchester estates, however, the stipendiary famuli were
occasionally supplemented by hired labour. There is no evidence at all for
the hiring of shepherds or cowherds during 1301–1302, but some for carters
and ploughmen. At Cams in Hampshire, a carter was hired to carry the
corn at harvest time for fourteen days at 7s., a rate of 6d. a day for seasonal
work and more for two full weeks’ work than the normal annual carter’s
stipend of 5s. on this manor.40 However, a man hired to plough there, work-
ing for seventy-two days between Easter and Michaelmas 1302, was paid
only ½d. a day.41 This was a low rate of pay, and it seems likely that he

34 Pipe Roll 1301–2, ed. Page, e.g., pp. 60, 75, 83, 140, 142, 157, 163, 165–6, 264, 301, 340, 360,
366.
35 Ibid., pp. 18, 27, 32, 36, 42, 202. On the Glastonbury manors, the value of grain liveries was
twice the amount of their cash stipends: Rush, ‘Impact of Commercialisation’, pp. 128–9.
36 Pipe Roll 1301–2, ed. Page, e.g. pp. 15, 25, 33, 40, 46, 54, 57, 61–2, 71, 77, 85, 91, 101, 105, 112,
118, 128, etc.

40 Pipe Roll 1301–2, ed. Page, pp. 364–5.

 The revolt of the famuli  31
was a plough-holder, the man who conducted the plough, rather than the
man who drove the oxen, like the plough-holder at Twyford hired for forty
days ‘at the time of the summer sowing when they ploughed after dinner’
at the same rate.42 At Twyford, twelve ploughmen were allowed 1½d. each
for twenty-two Saturday ploughings, probably stipendiaries being paid for
additional duties and at a far more satisfactory rate.43 At Bishops Waltham
each stipendiary ploughman received 1½d. for Saturday ploughing when
ploughing for sowing and a penny when fallowing.44 At Morton, however,
stipendiary ploughmen were not treated so generously for extra work, since
three of them working for thirty-six Saturdays, which they were not obliged
to do, received only ½d. additional stipend each for each Saturday.45 At
Highclere, however, four ploughmen received an additional 4s. 6d. for a year
of Saturday ploughings, in addition to their basic stipends of 3s., thanks to
the bishop.46
In Lincolnshire, it appears by contrast that the Barton carters and plough-
men were dependent mainly on their wages for their livelihoods rather than
stipendiaries living permanently on the estate, who would receive daily
wages or supplements to their stipends only when they carried out work ad-
ditional to that for which their stipends were paid. The 1d. a day wage that
they demanded must have been what they considered necessary to cover
their living expenses, because they did not have the substantial stipends and
allowances received by settled famuli like those of the Winchester manors,
nor did they have enough land to enable them to undertake their own cul-
tivation as the manorial tenants did. Their employment, especially that of
ploughmen, may have been partly or mainly seasonal, to add extra labour
at times of intense activity, especially at harvest. These men were probably
in effect compelled by economic circumstances and lack of geographical
mobility to work in the neighbourhood of Barton, dominated by the now
royal manor but including several other smaller estates within its substantial
area, and may have felt that only by such an association could they hope to
improve local wages and conditions of employment.
On 26 February 1301 an oyer and terminer commission was issued to
Richard Oysel and Ralph de Lellay to seek out a group of unknown men who
had entered the king’s warren at Barton, hunted in it and carried away hares
and rabbits, and at night had thrown down the gallows erected there.47 This

32  David Crook
sort of attack on the privileges of manorial lords was probably becoming
increasingly common all over England, generating many such commissions,
but some more significant legal developments were in progress. The confed-
eration of the Barton famuli was made during the period when the concept
of ‘conspiracy’, principally in respect of the perversion of legal processes,
was beginning to develop.48 The word conspiratio does not appear in either
of the two Barton documents, but confederatio is sometimes associated with
it in the earliest references. In January 1279 the justices in eyre in Kent and
elsewhere were instructed to enquire into ‘conspiracies and confederations’,
by which some men bound themselves together by oath to support their
friends in assizes, jury trials and recognitions to the disadvantage of their
opponents.49 Similar phraseology was used in a plea roll entry for a Here-
fordshire trespass case in king’s bench in 1281, when twelve defendants were
described as ‘conspirators and confederates’.50 However, when in the Easter
parliament of 1293 a parliamentary ordinance provided a specific writ of
‘conspiracy and trespass’ returnable in King’s Bench for those wishing to
complain about ‘conspirators, inventors and maintainers of false plaints’, no
mention was made of ‘confederates’.51 Nevertheless, the language used by
Oysel’s bailiffs or their representative to describe the offences of the Barton
famuli in the King’s Bench plea roll entry of 1303, that they invicem maliciose
confederarunt et pactum fide media inierunt, bears some resemblance to the
terminology used in conspiracy cases.
Just after these events, however, the trailbaston ordinance of 1305 was
followed by a supplementary ‘Ordinance of Conspirators’, sent on to the
trailbaston justices on circuit, which broadened the range of conspiracy to
include the recruitment of liveried retainers ‘to maintain their evil enter-
prises and stifle truth’.52 ‘Conspiracy’ and ‘confederation’ later came to be
mentioned together in the stereotyped language of numerous general oyer
and terminer commissions during the later fourteenth and fifteenth centu-
ries. Their inclusion only became common in the 1350s, although a clear
earlier example is a commission for the trailbaston sessions in southern and
south-western counties which began at the end of 1334.53
The crucial difference was that the confederation of the famuli at Barton
in 1302 aimed to improve their wages and working conditions, not to un-
dermine legal process, so their alleged offence did not properly fit into the

48 Harding, ‘Crime of Conspiracy’, pp. 89–108.

49 CCR 1272–79, p. 519.
50 Select Cases, ed. Sayles, I, p. 76 (AALT-IMG 0005).

 The revolt of the famuli  33
concept of conspiracy as it was coming to be defined in that period, and
there is no evidence that its leaders were put on trial. We know so much
about it because Roger son of Roger le Clere of Barton complained about
his arrest and sued for substantial damages in King’s Bench. The Statute of
Labourers from 1351, after the Black Death, which prescribed in detail what
farmworkers could receive in wages, did not anticipate the emergence of any
local confederations of famuli to challenge the effects of the laws, and no
evidence of any such confederation appears in the surviving proceedings of
the justices of labourers, which merely record the punishment of individuals
breaching the terms of the statutes.54 The Barton confederation of famuli in
1302 seems therefore to have been an isolated and remarkable occurrence
in the circumstances of a particular locality. Here we have, nevertheless,
over half a millennium before the six so-called ‘Tolpuddle Martyrs’ of 1833–
1834 refused to work for less than 10s. per week, the earliest evidence of an
association of agricultural workers attempting to improve their economic
circumstances through a form of collective and coercive bargaining with
employers, truly the earliest reference to an agricultural trades union in
England as yet identified.55

Documentary appendix

I
SC 8/315, no. E176, Richard Oysel’s information as mentioned in the enrol-
ment, plus the response. It was originally part of a longer document from
which this portion was cut at top and bottom. It belongs to an original file
of petitions returned to the Exchequer from the parliament of July 1302.56
Et sires pur ceo qe par la abette de deux charuers et de deux charetters
sount entrealiez bien a quater vintz de ceus servauntz en la ville de Barton’
sus le Humbre qe nul de eux prendra meins de xvj. souz par an e sa table e
qe nul de eux en este temps labora eynz ceo quil eit bon espace dormy e puis
pris la soupe e qe nul de autre mester se entremettreit. Et a cestes choses
meintener e garder avoient faite par entre eus justice, seneschal, pris[on]er57
e prison deinz le several le Roy a feure de cesps pur mettre en penaunce
cil de eux qe devaunt lur ministres avauntditz en nul point feust atteint.
Et de cestes choses devaunt Richa[r]d Oysel par bone enqueste ou grant

54 Putnam, Statutes of Labourers, passim.

55 I am grateful to Paul Harvey and Mark Bailey for very helpful comments and suggestions.
Any errors in interpretation are mine alone.
56
The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England, 1302 summer parliament, appendix, petitions
belonging to this parliament and not otherwise.

34  David Crook
partie de eux se mistrent sont atteinz. Par quei le dit Richard prie qe certeine
penaunce les seit eniointe. Et principalement a les quatre cheueteins qe tiel
commun dage comencerent.
Faciat ballivos illos venire ad scaccarium coram thesaurario et baronibus
et justiciariis de Banco et ibi fiat quod per discrecionem suam viderint esse
faciendum.

II
KB 27/174, rot. 27 [King’s Bench, Michaelmas term 1303]; image at http://
aalt.law.uh.edu/AALT1/E1/KB27no174/aKB27no174fronts/IMG_4363.htm
Linc’. Robertus de Burtone et Stephanus le Warner de Barton’ super
Humbre attachiati fuerunt ad respondendum Rogero filio Rogeri le Clere
de Barton’ super Humbre de placito quare vi et armis ipsum Rogerum apud
Barton’ super Humbre ceperunt et imprisonaverunt et maletractaverunt
et alia enormia etc. ad dampnum ipsius Rogeri viginti librarum et contra
pacem regis etc. Et unde queritur quod die sabbati proxima post festum
Apostolorum Philippi et Jacoby anno regni regis nunc xxx. ipsum Rogerum
ceperunt et imprisonaverunt et in prisona per tres septimanas detinuerunt
i
<etc.>i; unde dicit quod deterioratus est et dampnum habet ad valenciam
quadraginta librarum. Et inde producit sectam etc.
Et predicti Robertus et Stephanus veniunt. Et defendunt vim et injuriam
quando etc. Et dicunt quod predictus Rogerus et quidam servientes et
famuli de Barton’ super Humbre se invicem maliciose confederarunt et
pactum fide media inierunt quod nullus eorum alicui serviret pro minori
stipendio quam pro victu suo et pro i<uno>i denario quolibet die operabili
et quod non custodirent alia averia quam unum genus averiorum et alios
articulos de serviciis et stipendiis suis inter se fecerunt ad dampnum i<et>i
dispendium omnium illorum de patria qui servicium hujusmodi famulorum
habere debuerunt, per quod Ricardus Oysel ballivus domini regis ibidem
confederacionem et maliciam predictas consilio domini regis i<in parly-
amento suo>i apud London’ in termino sancti Michaelis anno i<regni sui>i.
xxx. incipiente intimavit, ubi injunctum fuit ei ex parte domini regis quod
diligentem faceret inquisicionem super hujusmodi confederacionibus in re-
gis contemptum et regni sui elusionem factis et omnes illos quos i<inde>i
culpabiles inveniret attachiaret etc.; unde idem Ricardus super hoc facta
inquisicione invenit predictum Rogerum et quosdam alios i<inde>i culpa-
biles, per quod precepit predictis Roberto et Stephano ballivis suis in par-
tibus illis quod illos attachiarent, qui quidem Robertus et Stephanus pro
eo quod predictus Rogerus se justiciari noluit nec pati se attachiari ipsum
arestarunt quousque etc.; unde dicunt quod ipsi tanquam ballivi domini re-
gis predictum Rogerum juxta ordinacionem consilii domini i<regis>i, prout
supradictum est, atachiarunt quousque se i<pati>i justiciari voluit, et non
contra pacem etc. Et de hoc ponunt se super patriam etc.
 The revolt of the famuli  35
Et predictus Rogerus dicit quod de injuria sua propria vi et armis ipsum
ceperunt et imprisonaverunt sicut superius se queritur et hoc petit quod in-
quiratur. Et predicti Robertus et Stephanus similiter. Ideo veniat inde jurata
coram [domino rege]58 a die sancti Hillarii in.xv. dies ubicumque etc. Et qui
nec etc. Quia tam etc.
Idem Rogerus optulit se quarto die versus Robertum filius Roberti de
Keleseye de placito predicto. Et ipse non venit. Et preceptum fuit vicecomiti
quod attachiat eum etc. Et vicecomes retornavit quod non est inventus etc.
nec aliquid etc. Ideo sicut pluries preceptum est vicecomes quod capiatur
quod sit coram rege ad prefatum terminum etc.

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36  David Crook
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Rufford Charters, ed. C. J. Holdsworth, Thoroton Society Record Series 29, 30, 32,
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Select Cases in the Court of King’s Bench, I, ed. G. O. Sayles, Selden Society 55
(1936).
Select Cases in the Court of King’s Bench, II, ed. G. O. Sayles, Selden Society 57
(1938).
Select Cases in the Court of King’s Bench, III, ed. G. O. Sayles, Selden Society 58
(1939).
Transcripts of Charters relating to Gilbertine Houses, ed. F. M. Stenton, Lincoln
Record Society 18 (1922).

Secondary sources
Abbott, M. R., ‘The Gant Family in England, 1066–1191’ (unpublished Ph.D. thesis,
University of Cambridge, 1973).
Beveridge, Sir W., ‘Wages in the Winchester Manors’, Economic History Review 7
(1936–7), 22–43.
Brown, R., Notes on the Earlier History of Barton-on Humber, II (London, 1908).
Davis, R. H. C., King Stephen (London, 1967).
Farmer, D., ‘The Famuli in the Later Middle Ages’, in Progress and Problems in
Medieval England: Essays in Honour of Edward Miller, eds. R. H. Britnell and J.
Hatcher (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 207–36.
Harding, A., ‘The Origins of the Crime of Conspiracy’, TRHS 5th Series 33 (1983),
89–108.
McFarlane, K. B., ‘Had Edward I a “Policy” towards the Earls?’, History 50 (1965),
145–59; reprinted in McFarlane, K. B., The Nobility of Later Medieval England
(New York, 1973).
Postan, M. M., The Famulus: The Estate Labourer in the Twelfth and Thirteenth
Centuries, Economic History Review, supplement series 2 (1954).
Putnam, B. H., The Enforcement of the Statutes of Labourers (New York, 1908).
Rush, I., ‘The Impact of Commercialisation in Early Fourteenth-Century England:
Some Evidence from the Manors of Glastonbury Abbey’, Agricultural History Re-
view 49 (2001), 123–39.
Sanders, I. J., English Baronies: A Study of Their Origin and Descent, 1086–1327
(Oxford, 1960).
Sherman, R. M., ‘The Continental Origins of the Ghent Family of Lincolnshire’,
Nottingham Medieval Studies 22 (1978), 23–35.
Smith, D. M. and London, V. C. M., eds., The Heads of Religious Houses: England
and Wales, II, 1216–1377 (Cambridge, 2001).
2 Taking the law into their
own hands
Extra-judicial violence in North
Nottinghamshire during the
civil war of 1321/1322
Paul Dryburgh

Among the numerous petitions submitted to the York parliament of May

1322,1 the assembly which sealed Edward II’s victory over his baronial
opponents after a prolonged civil war, is a remarkable request made to the
king and his council in the name of a six-year-old girl.2 Richera, daughter of
William of Cadeby of Lincolnshire, is one of the youngest petitioners in the
almost 18,000 records surviving in the Ancient Petitions series (SC 8) in The
National Archives, the digital delivery and improved description of which
is one of Mark Ormrod’s greatest scholarly achievements.3 Richera relates
her father’s seizure and overnight detention at Warsop in north Notting-
hamshire, an area exposed to gang warfare and extra-judicial violence, at
a critical phase of the conflict. Thereupon, William was beheaded by local
men and his estates consequently forfeited. She hoped the king would, by
his grace, grant her inheritance; her father was guilty of no crime and had
been killed without judgement. Richera did not, however, petition alone;
her mother Euphemia requested the restoration of lands jointly enfeoffed
upon her and her late husband, and the brother and widow of William’s
companion Thomas of Owmby, also beheaded, petitioned respectively for
their inheritance and dower.4 These are the bare bones of a complex story.
My aim is to flesh it out by delving deeper into the detail. I hope to use this
one story to enhance our view of a civil war in which many communities and
individuals seemingly took the law into their own hands, exploiting it for
profit – personal, commercial or legal – or perhaps fearing the consequences
if they did not. I want to extend our knowledge of local loyalties and explore

38  Paul Dryburgh
the local understanding and exploitation of criminal justice in a turbulent
decade.
We are fortunate that these three sets of petitions and numerous associated
writs and returns allow us to reconstruct the fates of William of Cadeby and
Thomas of Owmby. They also attest to the surprising efficacity and speed
of royal justice and to the grace a victorious Edward II showed to at least
some petitioners in straitened circumstances. Endorsements to each petition
assigned justices to summon the sheriff and coroners of Nottinghamshire
to empanel jurors to establish the truth and then return their findings into
chancery. Thus, on 24 May 1322, the king commissioned John de Doncaster,
Laurence de Chaworth and Robert Russel to investigate the events leading
to the forfeiture of Cadeby and Owmby, falsely believed in the aftermath of
their deaths to have been his enemies and rebels.5 Previously justice of the
Common Bench, Doncaster was one of the most experienced and trusted as-
size justices of the period.6 In 1322, he received several special commissions
to investigate crimes against the king in the north; on 20 April, for example,
he presided over a hearing in York into the robbery at Pontefract of 1,000
marks being brought from London by the royal valet Foious de Caillou.7
On 25 May, Doncaster attested a writ ordering John Darcy, sheriff of Not-
tinghamshire, to empanel a jury at Retford, around twelve miles northeast
of Warsop, on 9 June, attend himself and summon the county coroners to
testify about their inspection of the victims’ bodies.8 Darcy’s inquisition re-
turns into chancery gave fuller details of the circumstances of the deaths of
Cadeby and Owmby and provided the evidence required for the restoration
of their estates.9
A panel of twelve local men, though only one – Robert de Burton –
explicitly from Warsop, gave evidence to the justices before Darcy and the
coroners Roger de Sancto Andrea and Robert de Wolryngton. They testi-
fied that on Thursday, the eve of St Gregory last (11 March), around mid-
day, William of Cadeby and Thomas of Owmby passed through the middle
of Warsop. Certain young men from outside the village (quidam garciones
extranei) followed them and their party, possibly along the main highway
(erant garciones itinerantes per viam).10 At this point, John, the smith of

 Taking the law into their own hands  39
Palterton, William de Colley and other unknown men (alii ignoti) arrested
these young men, accusing them of committing robbery in the area (impo-
nentes eis quod ipsi fecerunt vnam roberiam ibi in patria). Their interest or
sympathy piqued, Cadeby and Owmby challenged the arrest, only to be
accused themselves of being of the young men’s band (imponentes predicto
Thoma de Ouneby/Willelmo de Cadeby fuisse de societate predictorum gar-
cionum extraneorum) and then arrested, seized and detained until vespers
on the following day. With the sunlight waning on that Friday, the captors
dragged Cadeby, Owmby and the young men outside the village and, of
their own deed, beheaded them without any cause (extra dictam villam dux-
erunt et ipsos de facto suo proprio decolauerunt absque aliqua causa). Asked if
the deceased had committed any robbery or other criminal act which could
have merited their arrest, the jurors said not. Asked whether either Cadeby
or Owmby were rebels or enemies of the king, they said not. A chancery
endorsement directed that their tenements forfeited for this reason should
not remain to the king and that inquisitions post mortem should be taken.
In response to chancery writs of late June 1322, Alan de Copledyke, the
official tasked with receiving and valuing contrariants’ lands in Lincoln-
shire, convened juries in Lincoln on 9 July to take such inquisitions. These
confirmed Richera of Cadeby and Walter, brother of Thomas of Owmby, as
respective heirs.11 Four days later, the king ordered Alan to remove the king’s
hand from their inheritances, as neither William of Cadeby nor Thomas of
Owmby held land in chief or had been rebels.12 In many senses, this closed
a traumatic episode for the two families; royal grace and the unexpectedly
well-oiled mechanics of justice in the aftermath of the civil war had ensured
the restoration of lands wrongly forfeited and the maintenance of property
rights in law, at least in this one case. And yet, this resolution leaves as many
questions as answers: in what context were the petitions submitted; who
were the victims and were they truly suspect; who were the perpetrators of
the arrest and what might their motivations have been in resorting to such
extreme violence; did they believe they were acting within the law; and what
does this reveal about the local political context?
If we start with the context in which the petitions were submitted, Mark
Ormrod, in a masterly contribution to the 2008 festschrift for David Crook,
demonstrated that the civil war of 1321/1322 produced dozens of petitions
from individuals and communities in the crucible of south Yorkshire, north
Nottinghamshire and the Isle of Axholme in northwest Lincolnshire, who
felt their best chance of redressing grievances was resort not to common law
action but to direct petition for royal grace. This was partly due to the wide-
spread, chaotic nature of the violence loosed throughout England, but which
was concentrated in that area in early 1322, and partly also to a perception

40  Paul Dryburgh
that local justice might neither be swift nor equitable.13 It was also attribut-
able to the more receptive nature of royal grace in the aftermath of the Bat-
tle of Boroughbridge (16 March 1322) and the subsequent pursuit, capture,
imprisonment and execution of a number of leading contrariants.14 Indeed,
attracting petitioners who had suffered from the activities or connections
of the king’s enemies might be deemed integral to restoring pristine royal
authority and asserting grace. Towards the start of the York parliament, Ed-
ward II formally revoked the Ordinances, those provisions for good govern-
ment and restraint of royal excess imposed upon him in 1311 and a catalyst
for bitter quarrelling over the decade.15 At a stroke, Edward reasserted his
‘executive privilege’ to decide royal business.16 He would not debar the com-
munity of the realm from discussing or legislating on matters touching the
common good and his private affairs, but would reaffirm parliament as the
proper national forum rather than magnate assemblies. Moreover, in reis-
suing some of the ‘good points’ of the Ordinances enshrined within the new
Statute of York, he aimed to show an appreciation for the concerns of all his
subjects.17 Seymour Phillips has convincingly argued that Edward’s subse-
quent pursuit of the confiscated estates of the contrariants proved a cynical
lack of magnanimity in these concessions.18 Nevertheless, it is probably in
the light of higher expectations of grace and fair treatment of claims to for-
feited estates that we should see the petitions at the heart of this discussion
and those of some of their fellow petitioners. This impression is heightened
if we examine the personal context in which our petitions were drafted.
It is possible to discern an external influence over, certainly, the petitions
of Walter of Owmby and his widowed sister-in-law Alice and possibly over
those of Richera of Cadeby and her mother. The petitions of Walter and
Alice appear from palaeographic analysis to have been drafted by the same
individual and include an almost identical concluding sentence. Here, Gil-
bert of Toothby, uncle of Alice, prayed the king ‘that he might do this thing
by good grace or by the ransom which the said Gilbert is ready to make him
at his will to act as an example in other similar cases’.19 Apparently from
the hamlet of Tothby in northeast Lincolnshire, Gilbert was a royal serjeant
with experience on judicial commissions in the county and elsewhere.20

20 CFR 1319–27, p. 35; CPR 1321–24, pp. 15, 204.

 Taking the law into their own hands  41
He appears to have been in favour, being granted a protection on 20 May
1322 during the parliament.21 It must have been at his initiative that these
petitions were forwarded. Equally, while there is no explicit association be-
tween them and those of Euphemia and Richera, the linguistic similarities –
though not the palaeographic (the hands are distinctively different) – and
the story they tell perhaps indicate they were at least drafted under the same
tutelage.22 Gilbert clearly knew how to navigate the processes of supplica-
tion. He appreciated what might appeal to the king, in terms of a financial
incentive and the linguistic triggers to bring success: in his petition Walter
of Owmby locates the seizure and execution of his brother ‘lately after the
defeat at Burton’.23 We will return to the broader context of Burton shortly,
but this standoff across the River Trent in early March witnessed, on 10
March, Thomas of Lancaster, the king’s chief opponent, effectively declare
open rebellion against his cousin.24 The implication in Walter’s declaration
that his brother and by association William of Cadeby had been unlaw-
fully killed following the skirmish at Burton was clear – this had been an
extra-judicial arrest and execution, perhaps perpetrated by those inimical to
the king. There might also be deliberate echoes here – meant for the king –
of the extra-judicial abduction and beheading of his favourite Piers Gave-
ston by men loyal to Lancaster in June 1312.25 Nevertheless, Gilbert’s inter-
vention bore fruit and the petitions were conceded and due legal process set
in train.
So, who were the victims and what might they have been doing to have
suffered their grisly fates? This is not an easy question to answer. Inquisition
post mortem returns reveal Thomas of Owmby and William of Cadeby to
have been minor Lincolnshire landholders, north and east of the county
town. Owmby’s estates were scattered across the vills of Owmby, Cold
Hanworth and Tetford, held in fee, and Willingham, held by the gift of his
father.26 Owmby and Tetford were held respectively of Henry Burghersh,
bishop of Lincoln, whose relationship with his uncle, the rebel Bartholomew
de Badlesmere, jaundiced the king’s view of him, causing his temporali-
ties to be seized; and the archbishop of York, Edward II’s friend, William

24 CCR 1318–23, p. 522. For chronicle narratives: BL Cotton Nero MS D X, f. 112; Anon-
imalle, ed. Childs and Taylor, pp. 104–5; Vita, ed. Denholm-Young, pp. 206–9; and for
interpretation, Maddicott, Thomas of Lancaster, pp. 309–10; Phillips, Aymer de Valence,
p. 223.
25 Vita, ed. Denholm-Young, pp. 48–9; Hamilton, Piers Gaveston, pp. 98–9.
26 SC 8/133/6608; CIPM, VI, no. 355, p. 214. Owmby appears to be the vill in Aslacoe wapen-
take near Caistor rather than Owmby-by-Spital off the Ermine Street a few miles north of
Lincoln, if the evidence in note 31 below links the two men correctly. Willingham has not
been identified.
42  Paul Dryburgh
Melton.27 Intriguingly, Willingham was held of the heirs of Henry de Lacy,
earl of Lincoln, whose daughter Alice had married Thomas, earl of Lan-
caster in 1290, bringing Thomas numerous Lincolnshire estates at Henry’s
death in 1311.28 William of Cadeby shared some of these tenurial connec-
tions: he held his chief manor of North Cadeby of Lincoln Cathedral, hav-
ing been jointly enfeoffed thereof by final concord in 1314, and a moiety of
the manor of Caenby of the bishop of Lincoln, along with land in nearby
Osgodby and Owersby.29
Both men were perhaps involved in mercantile activity, possibly in mar-
keting wool. They are of an ilk with many other growers and buyers who ap-
peared in the markets and fairs of town and countryside during the Middle
Ages, and in the contemporary systems of credit and debt.30 Prior business
connections might be glimpsed in a certificate of statute merchant – the
system by which local credit transactions were recorded – entered in 1315,
by which one Thomas de Hotham of Owmby recognised his debt of £8 6s.
8d., owing since 1310, to William, son of William of Cadeby. We know from
the final concord entered in 1314 mentioned above that this William is our
victim.31 Whether Thomas de Hotham was his business partner can only be
speculation; little else is discoverable about ‘Thomas of Owmby’.
It may be indeed that their journey via Warsop represented the return
to their estates from market, though precisely which is not obvious. Not-
tingham, one of the leading commercial centres in the East Midlands, held
its weekly market from Friday evening to Saturday evening, while Derby’s
burgesses claimed a four-day market on Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and
Friday.32 Warsop is located close to the Derbyshire border towards the
southwestern end of Bassetlaw wapentake at the northern tip of Notting-
hamshire. It sat on the highway which immediately linked the royal de-
mesne manor of Mansfield (and then on to Nottingham) to the south and
the Furnival caput of Worksop to the north. Warsop also had road links in
a northeasterly direction to Retford, the chief town of the wapentake, where

30 Bell, Brooks and Dryburgh, English Wool, pp. 59–63. For broader analysis of mercantile
activity and the wool trade, see Power, Wool Trade in English History, passim; Lloyd, Eng-
lish Wool Trade, Chapter 2, pp. 25–60.
31 C 241/80/48. For other certificates of 1305–1306, in which Thomas de Hotham of Owmby is
the debtor, see C 241/46/333; C 241/48/19. For the statute merchant system, see Nightingale,
‘Knights and Merchants’, pp. 36–62.
32 Gazetteer of Markets and Fairs (sub Derby, Nottingham). Mark Ormrod highlighted the
example of another Lincolnshire man John Kygge of Grantham, who petitioned Edward
II in 1322 about the plunder in November 1321 by men of the contrariant John de Mowbray
of his ship at Kinnard’s Ferry on the Humber bound for market in Nottingham: Ormrod,
‘Road to Boroughbridge’, pp. 79–80.
 Taking the law into their own hands  43
in June 1322 the inquisition into the executions was held. Interestingly, the
annual fair in Retford was set for the feast of St Gregory (12 March) – the
date of the beheadings – so perhaps our victims were heading there to con-
clude a business trip.33 Continuing in that direction travellers aiming for
northern Lincolnshire would reach the Trent. By travelling northeast as far
as Warsop, it seems that Cadeby and Owmby had eschewed a crossing route
further to the south that would have taken them via Newark to Lincoln
along the Fosse Way. It is possible they aimed to cross the Trent at Torksey
or Gainsborough, closer geographically to their estates. Despite silting of
the Foss Dyke in the thirteenth century, which provided a canalised conduit
for merchandise from the north Midlands and Yorkshire to Lincoln and
Boston, England’s principal wool port outside London, Torksey remained
an active settlement with toll and trading privileges. Gainsborough, a pre-
scriptive borough, was the furthest point on the Trent that could be reached
by seagoing vessels and another potential crossing point.34 Having said all
this, there is no unequivocal proof that Cadeby and Owmby were merchants.
There is no suggestion that their goods were impounded at their arrest or
reclaimed after their deaths. They do not appear to have been targeted as
merchants: this was no highway robbery gone wrong. One inescapable con-
clusion is that they were unlucky, in the wrong place at the wrong time.
In early 1322, physical and political geographies combined to place
Warsop within a vulnerable, sensitive area. As the civil war reached its cli-
max and resistance to the crown began to fragment, large numbers of men
flooded the area. The manor of Warsop was held by John de Somery. In-
quisition post mortem jurors testified in August 1322 that Warsop and the
nearby manor of Eakring had been demised to him by John (son of Richard)
de Sutton, whose family had held it for two generations and to whom it was
returned on 6 November 1322 after Somery’s death.35 Somery, an impor-
tant landholder in several counties, most obviously of multiple knights’ fees
in Staffordshire36 and the manors of Newport Pagnell (Buckinghamshire),
Bradfield and Sulham (Berkshire) and Old Swinford (Worcestershire),37
was most pertinently a royal household knight. He had been involved in the
king’s campaign against his baronial opponents that had simmered since

3 6 The fees are listed in an order to the two escheators north and south of the Trent to deliver
her inheritance to his sister Margaret and her husband John de Sutton on 26 February
1323, and also included estates in Berkshire, Oxfordshire, Surrey and Warwickshire: CCR
1318–23, pp. 630, 632.

44  Paul Dryburgh

Figure 2.1 East Midlands, 1322.

the emergence of the Despensers’ ambitions in the Welsh Marches during

1320 (Figure 2.1).38
On 23 April 1321, Somery had acted as a go-between for the king, bear-
ing the response of Humphrey de Bohun (earl of Hereford and Essex and
leader of the marcher contrariants) that he would not attend Council while
the younger Despenser remained in Edward’s company.39 After a summer
during which the Marchers linked up with Thomas of Lancaster and se-
cured the Despensers’ exile, a retaliatory military offensive was launched
by the king in November 1321, coinciding with their recall to England.40 As

38 Phillips, Edward II, pp. 363–9, 373–94; Davies, ‘Despenser War’, pp. 21–64.
39 CCR 1318–23, p. 367.
40 Phillips, Edward II, pp. 394–403; Maddicott, Thomas of Lancaster, pp. 300–4.
 Taking the law into their own hands  45
Alistair Tebbit noted, many household knights and others with connections
to the familia were involved, including John de Somery.41 On 30 Novem-
ber, Somery and other commissioners were ordered ‘to attack any of the
king’s subjects who may rise against the king, taking with him the posse
of the counties of Warwick, Leicester, and Stafford’, in which he had been
appointed to raise mounted men and foot soldiers to set out against the con-
trariants.42 Somery was marking himself out as a trusted and effective royal
agent. The subsequent winter campaign, in which Somery was involved and
which witnessed the capture of leading rebels and brought Edward’s victory
over the contrariants, has been brilliantly mapped out in recent scholarship,
and it is unnecessary to retrace those well-trodden footpaths here.43 Simi-
larly, the reconstruction by Mark Ormrod of the exploitation of the mael-
strom of civil war in south Yorkshire, north Nottinghamshire and north
Lincolnshire has demonstrated the deleterious effects on local communi-
ties and individuals. But, there are elements and episodes in the campaign
that may be relevant to the beheading in Warsop of William of Cadeby and
Thomas of Owmby on 12 March 1322.
At the end of February 1322, a frustrated Lancaster ended the siege of
the royal castle of Tickhill, held for the crown by the constable William
Aune. Lancaster and the earl of Hereford moved quickly to prevent a north-
ern advance by royal forces, then massing in the West Midlands, by block-
ing the river crossing at Burton upon Trent (Staffordshire) from about 1
March.44 Though the earls moved from Lancaster’s castle at Pontefract, his
force besieging Tickhill may have passed through or skirted Warsop as they
marched for Derby and then Burton. Likewise, the mobilization of royal
forces must have had a local impact. Stung by the assault on Tickhill, Ed-
ward began raising a sizeable army in early February. On 7 February, War-
sop’s manorial lord John de Somery was commissioned to raise the forces
of five midland shires as Edward mobilized the north and midlands against
the insurgents.45 The following day, Edward ordered the seizure of contrar-
iants’ estates in Lincolnshire and commanded the sheriff of Nottingham-
shire and Derbyshire ‘to pursue, arrest and imprison certain contrariants

4 4 Maddicott notes the burning of the town and destruction of Burton bridge at this time:
Thomas of Lancaster, p. 310.

46  Paul Dryburgh
who are wandering in his bailiwick, taking the posse if necessary’.46 On 11
February, Edward ordered a muster of somewhere approaching 20,000 men
at Coventry on 5 March. Four days later, the sheriff of Shropshire and Staf-
fordshire was ordered not to array Somery’s tenants, as John would provide
as many men as he could ‘by all means’, although whether this implied from
his wider estates is not clear.47 Edward simultaneously ordered all sheriffs
to arrest those committing great damages against him and his people and
to raise the hue and cry against all who appeared to be contrariants, as cer-
tain magnates were going about taking royal castles and towns and those of
faithful subjects, killing and wounding such men, stealing their goods and
taking grievous ransoms.48 A similar order of 23 February aimed to pur-
sue those contrariants who had, so spies informed the king, been allowed
to pass north through Northamptonshire in great number.49 So, while its
results did not match the king’s ambition, this was clearly an attempt to
mobilize the community of the realm against his opponents, drawing large
numbers of people into and through Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and
south Yorkshire.50
Eventually, the two armies faced each other across the Trent near Burton
in the opening weeks of March 1322.51 Shorn by the defection of his leading
retainer Robert de Holand and therefore leading a depleted force estimated
at under 1,000 men, Lancaster nevertheless unfurled his banners before flee-
ing for his castle at Tutbury.52 Described as ‘a fatal move which effectively
declared open rebellion against the king’, this allowed Edward to pronounce
Lancaster and the contrariants as traitors. They were to be pursued, the
king proclaimed on 11 March, with the hue and cry.53 It presaged a final
pursuit of Lancaster to his refuge in Pontefract, his defeat at Boroughbridge

46 CFR 1319–27, p. 91; CCR 1318–23, pp. 418, 515–6; Foedera, II, i, pp. 472–3.
47 CPR 1321–24, p. 64; CCR 1318–23, p. 421. Further nationwide commissions were issued on
13–16 February: CPR 1321–24, pp. 73–4; CCR 1318–23, pp. 516, 519, 520–4.
48
CFR 1319–27, p. 96; CCR 1318–23, p. 512; Foedera, II, i, p. 473.

 Taking the law into their own hands  47
and the long weeks of bloody retribution enjoyed by Edward against his
nemeses.54
Although Lancaster himself initially sought refuge at Tutbury, the main
body of his army probably retraced their steps north in flight. It is plausible
that men from both armies at Burton passed through Warsop, and that the
area was visited by unknown men whose intentions were unclear in such a
febrile atmosphere. Indeed, if we return now to the inquisition jurors’ tes-
timony of 9 June concerning the deaths of William of Cadeby and Thomas
of Owmby on 12 March, we find they admit they did not know who was in
the company of John the smith and William de Colley, their killers, ‘because
so many were unknown there in the local area then on account of the dis-
turbance at that time in the realm’.55 We know that Walter of Owmby was
keen to stress the link between his brother’s unlawful killing with Burton
the day before and that royal officials believed them to have been enemies
and rebels of the king at their arrest.56 However, even if we accept that the
seizure of these two men, their household and the young men whose arrest
they queried on the late morning of 11 March 1322 occurred amid the fog of
civil war, or that they perhaps believed they might have the backing of their
manorial lord John de Somery in punishing ‘rebels’, the extent and nature
of the violence perpetrated against Cadeby and Owmby is altogether more
extreme.57 Other men were persecuted after the skirmish, including John
de Clif, Lancaster’s retainer, detained for eight days after Burton in nearby
Clipstone Peel, but the arrest, overnight detention and beheading of Cadeby
and Owmby went beyond legal bounds, as we will now discuss when looking
at the perpetrators.58 Why, then, might a gang of Warsop men believe their
actions to be proportionate?
The identification of the perpetrators is an important step in answering
this question. The inquisition jurors could only supply the names of two
men – John the smith of Palterton and William de Colley. Palterton lies
about seven miles from Warsop, just across the county border into Derby-
shire. While not making him a villager, it does not necessarily make him
an outsider. William de Colley, however, was from Warsop. We know this
because in 1329 Edward III revived the general eyre and licenced trailbas-
ton commissions pursuant to the 1328 Statute of Northampton. Anthony
Verduyn has argued that this revival attempted to redress grievances from

54 Maddicott, Thomas of Lancaster, pp. 310–2; Phillips, Edward II, pp. 410–22.
55 quia multi ignoti fuerunt tunc ibidem in patria propter tempus perturbacionis adtunc in regno:
SC 8/203/10106; SC 8/204/10184.
56
SC 8/203/10102–3; SC 8/204/10183.
57 On 12 March, the king mandated a pursuit of rebels by Somery and Ralph Basset of Dray-
ton and writs of aid to the sheriffs of five midland shires, including Nottinghamshire: CFR
1319–27, p. 106; CPR 1321–24, p. 81.

48  Paul Dryburgh
the past decade of disorder.59 The rex roll of crown pleas from the Notting-
hamshire eyre of 1329–1330 names the gang as John of Palterton, John de
Colley, John de Mora, Peter de Mora, John de Godeshalue, Robert Gun-
nild and William, brother of John de Colley of Warsop.60 In this and a sub-
sequent entry, Godeshalue acquitted himself by juror testimony.61 In the
same eyre, two other men – Nicholas Barker of Worksop and John Payn of
Warsop – who had previously been indicted for the killings were acquitted
by, respectively, the record of Richard de Whatton, previous Nottingham-
shire assize justice, and the verdict of the visne of Warsop before the Basset-
law jurors.62 That leaves us with six men found guilty of fleeing sometime
after their beheading of Cadeby and Owmby, who were subsequently put in
exigent and outlawed. Initially they had been placed in the frankpledge of
William Payn of Warsop, but as he did not produce them, he was amerced.
Similarly, because the vill of Warsop had not seized them, it was amerced.
Had the community closed ranks to protect these men?
Later knowledge of their fates thus far escapes us. However, we might see
here evidence of the type of local criminal gang of which Scott Waugh and
John Bellamy have written, even if on a smaller scale.63 During Easter term
1323, John de Colley failed to respond to a suit in king’s bench against the
prior of St Oswald, Nostell, which had small parcels of land in Warsop and
a chapel at nearby Sookholme, and so was distrained to appear in Trinity
term.64 Warsop, too, was not immune from other small-scale criminality:
another plea in King’s Bench of Trinity term 1323 involved Matilda, daugh-
ter of John de Blacwell, suing six villagers for trespass, but again they did
not come and were distrained to appear in the next term.65 Whatever their
offences, they were serious enough to warrant suit before the highest crimi-
nal court. That, though, cannot be said of the killers of William of Cadeby
and Thomas of Owmby; they were pursued by royal justice for fleeing. Their
flight suggests they were aware of the gravity of their actions, but does the
considered, apparently deliberate, nature of the overnight detention of their
captives before beheading them suggest they perhaps believed themselves to
be acting legitimately?
Execution by beheading in England was reserved for traitors in the most
high profile cases; in the early fourteenth century, it became part of the de-
construction of public reputation and elaborate rituals of dehumanisation

 Taking the law into their own hands  49
66
and retaliation. Generally speaking, hanging was the usual judicial means
of execution for crime in England.67 Beheading, though, was considered
punishment for lesser criminals under certain circumstances: outlaws, those
who had persistently failed to answer legal summons and therefore stood
outside the law, could be beheaded when captured and killed, if they re-
sisted,68 just like those who were caught (and resisted) after a pursuit on
suspicion of a criminal act.69 As Henry Summerson notes in a superb anal-
ysis of the law and practice of summary justice, it ‘was certainly capable of
being terribly abused’.70 Nevertheless, the fact that the men of Warsop chose
beheading as their means of execution for Cadeby and Owmby without the
pursuit – and the apparent belief at the time that they were rebels – perhaps
indicates they believed themselves to be acting in a semi-official capacity in
support of the king at a time of serious disorder.
In order to prevent mob rule and lynch law in local justice, the practice
of beheading criminals was, in theory, regulated. The arrest of felons was
usually based on a system of indictment and appeal before local courts.71
However, in the circumstances outlined above, upon the discovery of an
offence – whether that be theft, robbery (stealing with the use of violence)
or unlawful killing – the hue was to be raised. Shouts or horn calls were to
be issued that would alert anyone in the vicinity.72 Village constables, in
charge of policing at community level, were then to raise a posse to begin a
pursuit, and a charge was to be made upon capture and before execution.
If the raising of the hue and cry was presented at the sheriff’s tourn as ex-
pected, it could produce information to alert communities to the presence
of criminals and facilitate their pursuit, capture and punishment. The rais-
ing of the hue also ought to have resulted in a presentment to the wapentake
court, but beheadings should also have been presented to the county court
or the eyre.73
The beheadings of William of Cadeby and Thomas of Owmby in Warsop
in 1322 conform, as far as we can tell, to none of these judicial practices. The
young men following them were arrested, on suspicion of robbery, before
Cadeby and Owmby themselves were arrested. We might suspect the wider
community of Warsop was increasingly wary of roaming bands of robbers
as law and order appeared to fragment in early 1322. Indeed, a petition from
the rector of Kippax in West Yorkshire complained about the driving off

66 Westerhof, ‘Deconstructing Identitites’, pp. 87–106.

67 Hudson, English Common Law, p. 78; Summerson, ‘Attitudes to Capital Punishment’,
p. 124.
68
Crime, Law and Society, ed. and trans. Musson, p. 17; Bellamy, Crime and Public Order,
p. 105.

50  Paul Dryburgh
of two horses and 133 sheep from his land at nearby Everton (Nottingham-
shire) into the Isle of Axholme by a gang of local men.74 England in the early
1320s was still impacted by the famine which had ravaged western Europe
since around 1315 and was dealing with a new threat posed by animal mur-
rain.75 The harvest of 1321 had been poor, the following winter ‘unusually
harsh’.76 The escalation of local brigandage and then outbreak of civil war
exacerbated a long-standing crisis. As Summerson observed, the activities
of thieves ‘were probably seen as all the more dangerous for constituting an
attack on the material resources of a society which had very little to spare’,
and a small unknown group could also have been a physical as well as mate-
rial threat.77 We can certainly say that William of Cadeby had a chequered
criminal past, although his killers were unlikely to have known.
In Hilary term 1321, a year before his killing, Adam of Swillington im-
pleaded ‘William de Cateby’ and thirty other men for forcibly seizing and
abducting sixty oxen and sixty cows at Osgodby (Lincolnshire) on 26 May
1320 and of otherwise breaching the king’s peace. The defendants challenged
the charge and both sides put themselves on the country.78 However, in
Easter term that year, a petition was made to the king on behalf of ‘William
de Cateby’, then imprisoned in Lincoln Castle for charges brought before
the keepers of the peace.79 William would answer any charge, and the king
wished he should be delivered and not be further exhausted by lengthy im-
prisonment (Nolentes igitur predictum Willelmum per diutinam detencionem
in prisona predicta taliter fatigari …). Should he have been found guilty of
trespasses not touching felony and could find sufficient mainpernors, then
the sheriff should deliver him from gaol. Delivery was achieved by main-
prise, the inquisition jurors of 10 January 1321 returning that Cadeby struck
and maimed one Robert le Somter of Barlings in the Lincoln fair on 24
June 1317. Moreover, William, said the jurors, ‘is a common evildoer and
disturber of the king’s peace’ (est communis malefactor et pacis domini Regis
perturbator). There may then have been few in Lincolnshire who lamented
his demise.
Nevertheless, it remains the case that the only potentially reliable infor-
mation we have about Cadeby and Owmby’s fate is the inquisition jurors’
testimony that they were detained overnight before being led outside the
village to be slain; after their death, they were initially deemed by remote

 Taking the law into their own hands  51
royal officials to be enemies and rebels of the king. Accusations of robbery
were made against the young men but no judicial presentments followed;
we can surmise that the perpetrators were not local officials – constables,
bailiffs or even keepers of the watch. By perhaps making it known that their
captives had been rebels and therefore potentially to be treated as outlaws
as well as robbers might have been greater post factum justification. But no
hue was raised and no pursuit made. Even if they offered initial resistance,
it would stretch credibility to pass off execution after a detention of maybe
thirty hours as representing summary justice. Whether the captors robbed
and/or assaulted them during detention is not known and never asserted,
but their flight is telling – they did not wish to present their captives to pub-
lic view, potential liberation or common law justice. This delay speaks of
uncertainty, debate and a conspiracy to conceal.
Where does this leave us? In the research for this contribution, I have yet
to come across exact parallels.80 The vast majority of recorded beheadings
in judicial records took place immediately after pursuit, as we would expect,
and this appeared to be common usage across England. Nottinghamshire
examples from the 1329 to 1330 eyre show the crown exerting its post factum
rights rather than challenging the usage itself: the sheriff of Lincolnshire
was ordered to attach a sub-escheator to explain to the king and the men
of Kneesall why he had withheld goods seized from malefactors beheaded
in flight there for homicide, without warrant; the community of Treswell by
Retford was amerced because it buried the killers of a priest beheaded in
flight outwith the view of the coroners.81 This has echoes of the Warsop case
with the Nottinghamshire coroners certifying that they had not examined
the body of William of Cadeby because they knew nothing about it.82 There
may not have been a body to present! However, the potentially strongest
echoes of the Warsop case I can find come in 1408, where miscreants in
Leicestershire placed individuals under house arrest and in shackles.83 Once
their abettors arrived, they plotted how to kill their captives, and ‘falsely
and feloniously usurping and taking upon themselves the royal power and
without any legal authority’, they beheaded the victims. In this case, though,
the perpetrators were pardoned.
It is also not implausible that Cadeby had an idea of the fate which
awaited them. He was a frequent visitor to Lincoln and had in 1321 been im-
prisoned in the castle. He may well have heard of the notorious 1318 case of

80 Summerson counted fifty-seven beheadings in the 1292 Lancashire eyre. Noteworthy ex-
amples where the crown disputed the action or the perpetrators justified it according to
local custom can be found in Crown Pleas of the Lancashire Eyre, ed. Lynch, II, pp. 50–1,
no. 65; 114–5, no. 186; 126–9, no. 204; 132–5, no. 218a–b; 156–7, no. 228; 158–9, no. 231;
206–9, no. 307; 412–3, no. 719.

52  Paul Dryburgh
an extra-judicial beheading just outside the city.84 Following a wage dispute
between Elias Martel of Canwick and his servant Thomas Leure, Elias and
two other men assaulted Thomas with a falchion, poleaxe and long knife.
When the village constables were called by Elias, they found Thomas bleed-
ing profusely and his hands tied. The constables flatly refused to comply
with Elias’ request to take the dying man out of the vill and behead him for
stealing a white mare, saying:

it was not the custom in the county of Lincoln to behead anyone re-
strained or for whatever reason arrested, rather it is the custom to take
a prisoner of this kind in Lincoln and to present him to the sheriff with
the stolen goods …

Undeterred and under cover of night, Elias and his accomplices dragged
Thomas to Galgtrepittes near Bracebridge and beheaded him. They pre-
sented the head to the constables and compelled them to present it to the
sheriff. As they acknowledged that the hue had not been raised and they did
not know the deceased, the sheriff refused to accept the presentment.
Here then we have a beheading carried out secretly with some forethought.
And yet, in this and none of these other examples have we beheadings for
which no hue and cry or pursuit had been raised, the detention of the vic-
tims for more than a day and then execution with little ceremony outside
the bounds of the community. That a small group of local men could expe-
dite killings of apparent strangers without obvious personal motive and of
dubious legitimacy fits with what we know about disturbances locally and
nationally during the civil war of 1321/1322. It also speaks both to the fear
within communities in this part of England of the criminal consequences
of loyalties and enmities over which they had little control and the lengths
to which individuals might go for personal gain, including the exploitation
and misappropriation of legal usage and practice. There is, however, much
about the remarkable arrest, detention and beheading of William of Cadeby,
Thomas of Owmby and their three nameless companions that remains in-
scrutable, even to the record.

Acknowledgements
This contribution owes its inspiration to a presentation, ‘Murder, Mayhem
and Executive Stress in 1320s Lincolnshire’, delivered at the 2017 Interna-
tional Medieval Congress by Alison McHardy. I am incredibly grateful to
Dr McHardy for sharing her text and allowing me to follow in her formida-
ble footsteps. The petitions on which this contribution is based are now pub-
lished in Petitions from Lincolnshire, ed. Dodd and McHardy, nos 52A-K,
pp. 79–87. The transcriptions and translations above are my own, however.

84 KB 27/235, rot. 98, and commentary in Crime, Law and Society, ed. and trans. Musson,
pp. 239–41.
 Taking the law into their own hands  53
I would also like to thank Dr David Crook for reading and commenting on
a draft. All conclusions are my own.

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3 On the road and in the market
Chaucer’s mapping of 1381
Sylvia Federico

In the weeks and months immediately following the Great Rising of 1381,
witnesses and commentators tried to make sense of what had happened: was
there a discernible purpose to the violence, even a misguided one? Or was it
a monstrous expression of diabolical inspiration, signifying nothing?1 The
judicial system, similarly, was at pains to distinguish leaders of the rebellion
who had some responsibility for its aims and objectives from the general
mass of followers, and to further distinguish these groups from people who
were simply caught up in or even themselves victimized by events.2 Mod-
ern historians have largely inherited these taxonomies in attempts to assign
meaning to the revolt.3 Some of its signal characteristics – the burning of
documents, for instance, the reading of proclamations or the carrying of
banners of St George – are activities deemed to be aligned with political
goals, such as an end to serfdom, organization of alternative governance
or reform of the king’s council, and are privileged as such. Other crimes –
such as assault or theft – although far more prevalent in the records, are
understood to be merely opportunistic, unguided by a discernible ideology

 On the road and in the market  57
and therefore not really part of the rebellion. Indeed, the fact that the over-
whelming number of charges in the aftermath of the revolt involves such
non-ideological crimes has disqualified it as a political movement for many
analysts.4 The current essay is inspired by Mark Ormrod’s consistent gloss-
ing of the ways in which medieval accounts of seemingly private or personal
(and often sexualized) topics were in fact essential elements of political rhet-
oric.5 Like Ormrod, I will read the political in the personal, and suggest in
this case that we err in trying to separate out those aspects of the revolt that
look to us to be strategic from those that seem merely tactical.6 Using spa-
tial analysis, this essay attempts to more precisely track the ways in which
small-scale, opportunistic and palpably self-interested energies during the
Rising of 1381 defined political action for its participants and contemporary
observers.
At the same time that scholarship has privileged the ‘big idea actions’ of
the rebellion over the smaller ones, so also have we witnessed a common
bias towards the events in London as those more important to the aims of
the rebels, with regional events correspondingly less weighted.7 But unme-
diated localness is of paramount importance to understanding the ideology
of the revolt. As Steven Justice has written, the rebels’ principles of political
reform centred on the distinction between the ‘plague of clerkly administra-
tion’ and the ‘contractual, face-to-face, communally sanctioned life of the
rural village’.8 Citing Thomas Walsingham, Justice continues that the rebels
‘“judged no name more honorable than the name communitas”—rightly un-
derstood to be the village as a political corporation with rights and respon-
sibilities in the common law, derived immediately from the crown’.9 The
rebels’ knowledge of the forms of such law was supported by the ‘persistence

58  Sylvia Federico
of local memory in the countryside’.10 If we acknowledge the Rising of 1381
as primarily inspired by and reflecting local concerns, knowledge and griev-
ances, not only do those localities themselves become our proper object of
study, but the idea of place emerges as an urgent symbol of and conduit for
its main motives.
This paper revisits the debate over the political meaning of the Rising of
1381 through a fresh consideration of roads and markets as the spaces not
just in which or via which the events of the revolt took place, but rather as
spaces that inspired and reflected the rebels’ ideas of social justice. Through
such analysis, we see that the ‘super-localism’11 of the rebellion – the dispa-
rate and hopelessly idiosyncratic motives that have often disqualified it as a
coherent movement in the judgement of many historians – is in fact its main
point. I also suggest how Chaucer’s ‘General Prologue’ to The Canterbury
Tales not only maps onto this overlooked spatial aspect of the ‘grammar
of insurgency’12 in late medieval England, but indeed constitutes a major
component of that discourse; in light of the evidence, we must reorient our
understanding of what Caroline Barron has called Chaucer’s ‘almost com-
plete silence about the events of 1381’.13

On the road
As much as proclamations, which were one of the hallmarks of the rebel-
lion, roads themselves were the ‘regular means of mass communication in
the late Middle Ages’.14 In addition to the thousands of miles of Roman
roads, a large system of secondary roads emerged during the Middle Ages
to serve more local needs. This secondary system, as F. M. Stenton notes:

provided alternative routes between many pairs of distant towns, united

port and inland markets, permitted regular if not always easy commu-
nication between the villages of a shire and the county town which was
its head, and brought every part of the country within a fortnight’s ride
of London.15

Villagers or townspeople who would have regularly travelled to markets,

and less frequently but still regularly the longer distances to fairs, would
have possessed a ready local knowledge of the routes that connected their

 On the road and in the market  59

Figure 3.1 Roman and secondary roads in Essex and Kent.

villages and manors with others in their county, including ‘stretches of pre-
historic ridgeway, cart-ways which had originally formed the boundary of
Saxon furlongs, and [very small] track-ways which had once led through
woodlands or across wastes’.16
Although small roads existed all over medieval England, Figure 3.1 shows
a striking absence of secondary roads in Kent, where the majority of the
outbreaks of revolt in 1381 occurred at points arrayed along the large Ro-
man roads.17
Terrain is a key consideration for this phenomenon: where the marshy
lowlands of the northern Thames estuary permitted the use of many sec-
ondary roads (and also encouraged the use of small craft upon brooks and
streams), we see a large amount of rebel activity happening away from the
Roman roads in Essex. The hills, downs and valleys of Northern Kent, how-
ever, made footpaths and small cartways more conducive for travel and the

60  Sylvia Federico
establishment of a secondary road system impractical. Knowledge of these
often obscure ways, the details specific to most effectively getting through
territory – or even those specific to most productively wandering by the
way – was proper to those local men and women who had traversed the
space for years, with the backways and byways functioning as alternatives
to the ‘king’s highway’.18 Such communication became a major source of
contention when villagers were denied access to casual movement on the
main road, as they increasingly were in the years leading up to the revolt. In
1381, the type of road you were on served as a marker of belonging to one
or several of the main contesting groups of the revolt. These patterns also
underscore the main characteristic of this revolt: how individual and group
actions became legible as ‘political’ activities even while at the same time
remaining fixed to their local place of origin.
From 1376, when a commons petition against vagrants was introduced
in the Good Parliament, walking on the public road without an authorized
reason was considered a crime.19 The impetus for the petition was to fur-
ther restrict workers’ free movement in the wake of the largely ineffective
rules codified in the 1352 Statute of Labourers. In the post-plague devas-
tated countryside, the 1376 petition notes, servants and labourers – if they
were accused by their masters of poor work or were insulted at being paid
the legally suppressed wage – would ‘take flight and suddenly leave their
employment and district, going from county to county, hundred to hundred,
and vill to vill, in places strange and unknown to their masters’. While at
large in this way, the wayward workers were received and taken into ser-
vice in new places, ‘at such dear wages that example and encouragement is
afforded to all servants to depart into fresh places, and go from master to
master as soon as they are displeased with any matter’. Even worse, the pe-
tition continues, these wanderers often lolled about, becoming beggars and
‘staff strikers’ in order to lead an idle life.20
The context for the petition, in the mid- to late 1370s, shows how pri-
vate parties increasingly took legal action to frustrate the rapid social dy-
namism of the post-plague years. As Kellie Robertson has demonstrated,
these newer forms of legal practice effectively excluded the lower orders
of society from benefits that landowners increasingly enjoyed, mainly the
freedom to determine labour contracts and to bring goods and services to

 On the road and in the market  61
21
market. By the 1380s, as Shane Legassie observes, the situation was such
that any movement on the road could be deemed suspicious in the context of
routine crackdowns on vagabonds, wayfarers and so-called ‘false pilgrims’,
all in the service of curbing the mobility – and by extension, the power – of
labourers.22
The freedom to negotiate an advantageous price for one’s own labour and
the related freedom to move about to secure such a transaction form the
ideological backbone of the rebels’ objectives – however individually diverse
they may have been. From the demand for the ‘end to serfdom’ to the de-
struction of objectionable documents, and from the attacks on lawyers to
the attacks on foreign workers in London, the contested road is not just the
route taken to say and do such things, but is the motivator of such things.
And as much as a proclamation or a banner, being on the road signalled
being a rebel in 1381.
The well-known case of John Shirle of Nottinghamshire shows how the
new vagrancy laws were used in the aftermath of the revolt to ensnare its
participants. Shirle was accused, in pleas held on 16 July 1381, of speak-
ing ‘damaging words’ in a tavern in Bridge Street, Cambridge – mainly the
opinion that the rebel John Ball had been unjustly condemned to death. For
this crime he was hanged. But the indictment notes that Shirle was initially
arrested because he had been a vagrant. He:

was taken because it was found that he had been a vagabond [vagabundus]
in various counties during the whole time of the disturbance, insurrec-
tion and tumult, carrying lies as well as silly and worthless talk from
district to district, whereby the peace of the lord the king could rapidly
be broken and the people be disquieted and disturbed.23

Given the context of the sanctions against gathering in the road, to be pres-
ent on it was assumed to be an act of rebellion.
As the authorities understood with Shirle, so also people in the country-
side understood of themselves. The records frequently describe people gath-
ering in the woods to organize in secret before then moving en masse to the
public road. The rebels, largely drawn from Essex and Kent, did not simply
leave those counties and march to London; rather, their presence on the
roads within the counties constituted much of their revolt.24 Mobs gathered

24 In the four counties of Kent (118), Hertfordshire (35), Essex (105) and Suffolk (72), some
330 villages were involved in the Rising. See Dyer, ‘Social and Economic Background’,
who has extracted the names of 400 rural rebels (actual number is probably tenfold that),
and estimates that 107 court rolls were destroyed (p. 12). Incidentally, Dobson surmises
62  Sylvia Federico
in woods and forests before taking to the rural roads, using the cover of the
forest to conspire and lay plans: Walsingham tells us that Falcon Wood out-
side St Albans was used as such a convening spot25, while the Chester Indict-
ment Roll records ‘secret confederacies within the woods and other hidden
places’ near Chester.26 On the way home, the woods and forests were again
used as hiding places when the tide had turned and the rebels were being
sought for justice: Walsingham describes people hiding in ditches in Essex
trying to escape the pursuit of Woodstock and Percy; the soldiers pursued
many men to the edge of the forest but would not follow them in, because of
the danger.27 After ‘abandoning to the soldiers the 800 horses they had been
using to draw and carry their loads’, many men were ‘protected and saved by
the cover of the woods’ and went on to try to regroup in Colchester.28 While
the woods were teeming with agitated folk, the open roads were where their
defiance was made manifest.29

In the market
While the road system was the fundamental communication network in
1381, the market was the fundamental ‘node’ within that network.30 The
market is also the place at which people and goods circulating via unofficial

that one of the reasons so many villages and towns immediately to the north and south
of the Thames estuary (i.e., southern Essex and northern Kent) rose up was because these
people were, ‘like the Londoners themselves, undoubtedly nervous about the dangers of
a naval attack up the Thames in the years immediately before 1381’ (Peasants’ Revolt,
p. xxxvi).
25 Peasants’ Revolt, ed. Dobson, pp. 269–74 (citing Walsingham, Historia Anglicana, I,
pp. 467–73).
26 Peasants’ Revolt, ed. Dobson, p. 297 (citing Chester Indictment Roll, Chester 25, no. 8,
membr. 57).
27 It is interesting to note here how Walsingham’s imagination conjures the woods as a terri-
fying wilderness, into which vast numbers of people could simply vanish – an idea reflected
in contemporary popular romances and ballads that situate the forest as a site of heroic
outlawry – when in fact the English countryside, including its forests, had been inten-
sively cultivated and managed for years. Chaucer himself, of course, served as substitute
forester in North Petherton (Somerset) during the Canterbury Tales period. See Weiskott,
‘Chaucer the Forester’. On the connection between forests and ‘outlaw romance’, see
Harlan-Haughey, Ecology of the English Outlaw, passim.
28 Peasants’ Revolt, ed. Dobson, pp. 311–2 (citing Walsingham, Historia Anglicana, II,
pp. 16–22).
29 The emphasis on secrecy was a constant theme in the judicial records from the Rising and
its several ‘after shocks’: in September of 1382, for instance, a group of people in Norfolk
were inspired by the devil to try to capture and kill Henry Despenser. Their plan was to
go ‘secretly to Saint Faith’s fair and force all the people gathered there either to swear to
support them or to suffer immediate slaughter. If successful, they planned to occupy the
abbey of St Benet of Hulme secretly’ (Peasants’ Revolt, ed. Dobson, p. 334, citing Walsing-
ham, Historia Anglicana, II, p. 70). For more on this conspiracy, see Prescott, ‘Abbey of St
Benet of Holme’, passim.
30 Masschaele, ‘Public Space’, p. 390.
 On the road and in the market  63
channels enter the public sphere. More than 1,000 markets were created in
England between 1200 and 1350, reflecting as many scholars have noted the
increasing role of money in the medieval economy.31 The right to hold a
market was granted by royal franchise and entitled the holder to certain
economic advantages, including the collection of tolls and ‘a monopoly of
sales transactions in the surrounding area’.32 Given the financial rewards of
a successful franchise, the distance between markets emerged as a highly
contentious matter, as markets established too close to each other would un-
dermine the monopoly that the franchise guaranteed.33 Even if not all mar-
ket franchises were profitable, the monopolies were nevertheless resented by
those who did not have them, a situation specifically singled out for com-
plaint during the revolt. One of the rebels’ signal demands – right along with
the request ‘to be free and quit of all bondage and the yoke of servitude’ –
during their meeting with the king at Mile End was that they ‘should in
future be free to buy and sell in all cities, boroughs, and market towns’.34
This direct appeal to Richard II sought to negotiate a fair deal between the
monarch and the commons, sidestepping those in between – administrators
and landowners – who either were perceived to be indifferent to the problem
or were actually benefitting from it.
The right to negotiate in direct free exchange was a crucial means of as-
serting oneself as an agent in what historians frequently refer to as the new
transactionalism of the late fourteenth century. Claire Valente underscores
this point in noting that the rebels of 1381:

perceived, largely correctly, that access to the king’s justice was more
restricted than previously, that the nobles no longer were acting as rep-
resentatives of the community and that, even if the parliamentary Com-
mons was taking up that role, it did so fitfully and fruitlessly.35

34 Reign of Richard II, ed. McHardy, pp. 68–9, citing Historia Vitae, ed. Stow, pp. 61–6.

64  Sylvia Federico
Such a perception of the need to act on one’s own behalf, with one’s own
resources, reinforces Paul Strohm’s foundational assertion on the shift in
late fourteenth-century English social relations, from the vertically oriented
feudalism to a reoriented horizontal plane of individual transactions, and
from static to dynamic definitions of status or station.36 As economic forces
were reshaping the possibilities for defining one’s place in society, the mar-
ket emerges not only as a crucial space for such jostling but also as a key
signifier of cultural transformation. As a place and as a symbol for the idea
of social place, the market offered the very kind of redress sought by the
rebels of 1381.
Markets were furthermore fundamental to the valuable exchanges of
news or tidings that enabled the landscape of social change in late medieval
England.37 Because of their centrality to the social life of rural villagers,
markets were typically used as sites for the official reading of royal proc-
lamations.38 As James A. Doig writes, proclamations could cover a wide
range of subjects, including requests for certain people to be present on a
specified day at a specified place, and orders to secure certain types of ac-
tion.39 And while Latin was the language of the writ, local village officials,
possibly the sheriff’s clerks, were responsible for translating the text of the
proclamation into English.40 The rebels imitated this form of communica-
tion in their own proclamations: writing, posting and reading aloud at the
market their orders and requests for action41; the marketplace, because it
brought together an ‘influx of people from surrounding villages’, ensured
that the information or news would ‘reach as broad a public as possible’.42
As I have tried to show in Figure 3.2, the spatial patterning of markets in
1381 provided an ideal communication network for such tidings through
widespread and dense territory, from home to market and back home again
and then on to another market the following day.
It would seem inevitable that the established routes for bringing goods
and news to market became the routes used for the revolt; or, to put it an-
other way, the revolt was communicated so quickly because many saw in it

36 See Strohm, Social Chaucer, passim.

37 See Britnell, ‘Markets, Shops, Inns, Taverns and Private Houses’, passim.
38 As Masschaele, ‘Public Space’, writes, for the royal administration ‘the chief advantage of
using markets to broadcast information lay in their popularity with the peasantry’ (p. 391).

 On the road and in the market  65

Figure 3.2 Market towns in Essex and Kent.

a ready opportunity, a market, in which to trade in their own definitions of

justice.
The Dunstable chronicler’s account neatly maps the rebels’ use of the
road and market network to convey themselves and their demands. The
chronicler notes that the outbreak of violence in Dunstable happened af-
ter a group of merchants went to the market at St Albans, thirteen miles
away, where they witnessed the attack on the abbey; as they returned home
later that day, they entered into a ‘conspiracy’ among themselves to attack
the priory of their own town.43 These merchant rebels, who included the
mayor, extorted from the prior a charter of liberties, including an article
‘that the butchers and fishermen of the neighbouring towns should not sell
meat and fish within the borough of Dunstable’.44 In short, they demanded

4 4 Ibid.
66  Sylvia Federico
a monopoly – the very opposite of the market deregulation that the rebels of
Mile End asked for.
These examples show us how established road and market patterns struc-
tured the movement of people and ideas during the revolt, but also demon-
strate how the outbreaks of violence in 1381 were flashpoints for very specific
local antagonisms, de-centred and often spontaneous – as opposed to a uni-
fied, concerted, coordinated effort. The rebels did not have a uniform set of
desires. But they did have a common desire to enter into exchanges whose
profit and purpose were to be determined by themselves, each according to
her or his own aims and objectives.45
As Andrew Prescott has written, historians must avoid applying a reduc-
tionist view of the political character of this revolt, which was after all often
spread by lunatic vagabonds’ rumours in roadside taverns.46 But we must be
careful to not dismiss the homely local or roadside tavern as a site for revolt
in favour of some grander public stage. Like roads and markets, ale stalls,
taverns and inns play a crucial role in understanding the political meaning
of 1381. As the work of Judith Bennett and Peter Clark has shown, a number
of subversively charged social networks converge in the consumption and
production of ale, with brewsters considered a particularly disobedient lot,
inns to be places of ill repute and drinkers, of course, to be loose of both
speech and morals.47 These observations consistently accompany contem-
porary narratives of the revolt, virtually all of which, as Ralph Hanna has
observed, ‘comment at some point on foolish drunkenness’.48 Shirle’s case,
already discussed in relation to his being taken as a vagabond, is further
significant in that he was accused of spreading news of the revolt in a tavern,
in the market town of Cambridge. Not only was he on the road with no legit-
imate purpose or destination, with the sole apparent function of his motility
to ‘carr[y] lies as well as silly and worthless talk’, he stopped long enough in
a drinking hall to disseminate his views.
One man’s ravings become a conspiracy when shared with a group: as
Hanna comments, Shirle’s speech, in ‘communicating events that have oc-
curred at a distance’, functions as a kind of ‘super-localism, the enunciated
interconnection of communities through “news”’.49 Shirle’s case under-
scores the idea that according to the authorities, taverns are places where
local matters become weaponized and rebels are formed.

48 Hanna, ‘Pilate’s Voice’, pp. 798–9.

 On the road and in the market  67
Chaucer’s rebels
The importance of the tavern as a gathering site for plotters of mischief
cannot be understated. We must also bear in mind that the pilgrimage route
along the road through Kent to Canterbury was a main conduit for the re-
bellion. The Kentishmen, according to Walsingham, once they heard what
the men from Essex were doing, without delay did the same thing: ‘in a short
time they stirred up almost the whole province to a similar state of tumult’.
Crucially, they focused on the pilgrimage road:

soon they blocked all the pilgrimage routes to Canterbury, stopped all
pilgrims of whatever condition and forced them to swear… to promise
to come and join the rebellion when they were sent for and to induce
their fellow villagers to join them, and to pay no tax except the custom-
ary fifteenths.

Walsingham continues that ‘soon afterwards the news of these deeds passed
rapidly through the counties’.50 Such news would have had to have travelled –
like all pilgrims would have travelled – along the bottleneck of the main
road (the peculiarity of the terrain through this section of Kent having re-
sulted in a lack of secondary roads), creating a forced density of mixed types
of traffic. The way to Canterbury, in other words, was a natural conduit for
conflict, a place where social antagonists could not help but meet.
This very road played a prominent role in a new conspiracy that arose in
Kent in September 1381: according to the confession of John Cote of Loose
in the parish of Maidstone, some pilgrims recently ‘come out of the north
country to the town of Canterbury, related in the said county of Kent’ that
John of Gaunt had made all his natives free, a rumor that inspired a group of
‘malefactors’.51 As Legassie reminds us, part of the restrictions on mobility
during the last quarter of the fourteenth century focused on pilgrims, who
‘were singled out for particular scrutiny, occasioning satire, moral panic,
and—increasingly—institutionalized surveillance’.52
In this climate of increased scrutiny, inns were identified in 1384 as sites
of particular concern, since the assembling of wayfarers that typically oc-
curred there had the potential to threaten civic peace. The law was estab-
lished in the City of London:

that all innkeepers within the liberty should be sworn to harbour no

one longer than a day and night, unless they were willing to answer for

50 Peasants’ Revolt, ed. Dobson, p. 133 (citing Walsingham, Historia Anglicana, ed. Riley, I,
pp. 453–6).
51 Ibid., p. 324 (citing Coram Rege Roll, Michaelmas 5 Richard II [KB 27/482, Rex membr.
1]).
52 Legassie, Medieval Invention, p. 5.
68  Sylvia Federico
them and their acts, nor to receive to their tables any strangers called
‘travaillyngmen’ or others, unless they had good and sufficient surety
from them for their good and loyal behaviour.53

From the mid-1380s, even to assemble in an inn was potentially to arouse

suspicion.
Of course, we cannot now avoid seeing The Canterbury Tales in relation
to the prevalent contemporary restrictions on and opinions regarding insur-
gent travel, vagrancy and false pilgrims: when Chaucer’s far-flung wayfarers
gather in an inn in Southwark, elect a leader and make a sworn pact (‘for-
ward’) among themselves to ride together towards the market town of Can-
terbury, telling tales of foolishness along the very road that large numbers
traversed in 1381, the potential for reading the text’s subversion, criminal
mischief and threat of violence is high. Several scholars have productively
framed the issue: David Aers, for instance, has pointed to the way the text
‘reflect[s] market values and pursuits’54 and Strohm has glossed its road nar-
rative as a celebration of variable style in relation to hegemonic discourse,55
but neither has fully considered the meaning of the market and the road
in relation to 1381. Justice has come closest in seeing the map of the re-
volt in the narrative device of Chaucer’s poem, noting that as the pilgrims
move along the road, ‘the places they pass are potential palimpsests through
which the memory of the Rising threatens to appear’. But Justice considers
this possible specter of 1381 as a temporal, and thus past, event, arguing that
Chaucer ‘almost invites recollection’ of 1381 but ultimately ‘must ward it off
to secure its own continuation’.56 In this, Justice joins other critics who see
various moments in the text as temporarily expressive of rebel sympathies:
Lee Patterson on the Miller, for instance, or Susan Crane on the Wife of
Bath, both of whom suggest that Chaucer briefly imagines rebel ideology
only to have it shut down, replaced with a diffusion of merely local or occu-
pational antagonisms.57
But if recent work on the revolt has established anything, it is that the
local or occupational is the political in 1381. If we understand the market
and the road as they signified to the rebels, as conduits for and symbols of
their own capacity for status motility, we see that Chaucer is anything but
silent. The tales are ‘news’ – from separate places and perspectives – that in
their exchange become ‘super-local’ and thus forge a community, however

56 Justice, Writing and Rebellion, pp. 224–5. In thinking more about Justice’s idea of the
‘palimpsest’, I have wondered if the movement of Chaucer’s pilgrims along the rebels’
road but counter-directionally away from London might be considered a movement back
in time, back towards the submerged (and largely silenced) local events and antagonisms
that inspired the revolt.

 On the road and in the market  69
carnivalesque or ‘topsy turvy’ in nature.58 Throughout this poem that
is famously about which forms of language pertain to specific types of
knowledge, control over such forms constitutes a major point of conten-
tion among the pilgrims on the road and between the characters within
their tales – many of whom display a deep familiarity with literate and legal
writing and engage in intellectually precise attacks on that documentary
culture. These depictions contribute to Chaucer’s comedic strategy, as the
‘low’ characters, like so many of the rebels of 1381, consistently demon-
strate knowledge that falls outside of their proper place, surprising and
typically besting their ‘betters’. The tales themselves are expressions of in-
dividual agency (through tissues or layers, of source material and influence,
parody and satire) that cumulatively constitute a discourse of insurgency,
whether fine or crude, reflecting either a coherent philosophy or merely a
desire to settle an old score. ‘I was of hir felaweshipe anon’,59 says Chaucer’s
rebel narrator, joining himself with a group of strangers met in an inn,
diverse folk with diverse views who negotiate a contract, hit the road with
their scandalous tidings and transact with each other to define and main-
tain their own advantage along the way. Chaucer’s poem is steeped in the
values of the revolt and, though naming it only once,60 thoroughly engages
its ideological space.

Acknowledgements
I am very grateful to Helen Lacey and Zach Stone for their many helpful
comments on this essay, and to Michael Hanrahan and Branden Rush for
their help with the maps.

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Residence
4 Richard II and his
sense of place
Michael Bennett

In summer 1393, Richard II visited Titchfield Abbey in Hampshire. Accord-

ing to a note entered in the abbey’s register, the king and queen arrived on
22 August with an entourage, including John Waltham, bishop of Salisbury,
Roger Mortimer, earl of March, and Edward, earl of Rutland.1 Going out in
procession to meet them, the abbot and convent led them, solemnly chant-
ing and with bells ringing, into the church. The royal party stayed the night
at the abbey, leaving the next day after a meal. The careful recording of the
route by which the party had come from Warsash to Titchfield reflects the
abbey’s interest in the compilation of itineraries at this time.2 Since War-
sash was the site of a ferry and the royal party reportedly returned to the
New Forest the same way, it appears that the king had crossed the Solent
by boat.3 Unfortunately, there is no direct indication of the nature and pur-
pose of the visit. For Richard, it may have been simply a summer excursion.
One possibility is that he wished to see Portchester Castle, about five miles
from Titchfield. If so, it would provide some context for the building of royal
apartments in the castle in the late 1390s.4
This paper considers Richard II’s sense of place. Although born in Bor-
deaux, he was the first king of England since the Norman Conquest whose
parents were both native born. He also travelled more extensively in Eng-
land and the British Isles than any other monarch until modern times. More
physically active than is sometimes assumed, he seemingly enjoyed being on
the move, and took an interest in sites relating to England’s royal and reli-
gious past. In this sense, this paper complements Mark Ormrod’s discussion
of Richard’s sense of English history.5 More basically, of course, it builds on
the work of Nigel Saul, who compiled an itinerary for Richard, discussed its
significance, and richly illumined the king’s attachment to Westminster.6 It

76  Michael Bennett
draws, too, on a larger body of scholarship on Richard’s relations with other
cities and regions.7 The aim, then, is to offer a broader exploration of Rich-
ard’s sense of place, the geopolitics of his reign and the manner in which he
sought to harness the strategic significance and symbolic power of key sites
(Figure 4.1).

Figure 4.1 Richard II’s sense of place.

 Richard II and his sense of place  77
Brought to England as a four-year-old, Richard lived with his parents, the
Black Prince and Joan of Kent, at Kennington near London, or Berkham-
sted nestled in the Chilterns.8 Prior to his accession in 1377, he can have seen
little of the country outside the capital and the Home Counties. If Richard
was briefly the darling of the Londoners at the time of his father’s death
in 1376 and his coronation in 1377, there was little else in the first years of
his reign to incline him to look positively on his kingdom and its people.
Disturbances in the capital in 1378 led to his first parliament being held in
Gloucester, but a visit to the tomb of Edward II, deposed and murdered fifty
years earlier, cannot have brought comfort to the young king. Apart from
brief summer trips to the midlands in 1379 and 1380, Richard continued to
spend most of his time in the Thames valley. In June 1381, he found himself
holed up in the Tower of London as the rebels took over the capital. In the
following months, Richard took to the field to exact retribution, but was
fortunately dissuaded from his resolution ‘to obliterate that race of men of
Kent and Jutes from the land of the living’.9 Over the course of his reign, as
will become apparent, Richard often felt himself aggrieved by his country-
men. There are nonetheless hints of his strong attachment to England, not
least in his concern for compatriots who were buried in distant lands. In
later years, he was concerned to repatriate the remains of Englishmen who
had died overseas, beginning with his elder brother Edward, who had died
in Bordeaux in 1370.10
Richard’s marriage to Anne of Bohemia in 1382 brought greater inde-
pendence in his domestic arrangements. Over summer, he and his new wife
spent time at Woodstock and made a visit to Bristol, part of the queen’s
endowment.11 In spring 1383, the royal entourage set out through Hertford-
shire and East Anglia to Our Lady of Walsingham, and then headed west-
wards into the midlands. Over the years, Richard continued to make free of
the hospitality of monastic houses, occasionally rewarding them with gifts
and other favours, but often leaving them out of pocket. In the following
years, Richard’s itinerary started to reflect a well-established royal pattern,
in which the summer months were ones of movement, often associated with
hunting. Still, his perambulations of his realm served some serious pur-
poses. The handsome young king showed himself to his subjects, met no-
tables in the provinces and visited major churches and shrines, often sites
associated with his royal forebears. His visit to Gloucester in 1378 presum-
ably seeded the initiative in 1385 to seek Edward II’s canonization, and his
stay at Bury St Edmunds in 1383 can be linked with his early adoption of St
Edmund, King and Martyr, as a patron.12 In 1383, too, he witnessed a mir-
acle at Ely attributed to St Etheldreda (Æthelthryth), the seventh-century

78  Michael Bennett
princess who preserved her virginity through two chaste marriages.13
Spending several months in the heartland of the old kingdom of Wessex,
he travelled as far west as Corfe Castle in Dorset, the site of the murder of
another royal saint, Edward, King and Martyr, four centuries earlier. In
returning to the capital he took in the cathedral cities of Winchester and
Chichester, and later in the year visited Rochester and Canterbury.14
Between autumn and spring, Richard generally remained close to West-
minster, the heart of his kingdom. Westminster Abbey, with its shrine of
St Edward the Confessor, where he had been crowned and where he went
to pray during the crisis in 1381, was his holy of holies. Acknowledging the
political centrality of the palace complex at Westminster, he commissioned
a series of statues of thirteen kings for the hall. Although he conducted for-
mal business at Westminster, he did not much use the palace or the Tower
of London as a residence. His palace at Eltham, on the south bank of the
Thames, was a convenient base for business in the capital, and with inner
and outer courts, well suited for both public and private functions. More
intimate was the palace of Sheen, a little further upriver, Richard’s main
retreat from the turmoil of the city. In the Thames-side palaces in the mid-
1380s, Richard and his queen were at the heart of a courtly milieu in which
Geoffrey Chaucer found inspiration to write Troilus and Cresyde and Leg-
end of Good Women, one version of which ends with an instruction that it
be presented to ‘the quene, / … at Eltham or at Sheene’ (F 496–7). After
Queen Anne’s death at Sheen in 1394, Richard ordered the demolition of
Sheen palace, though not before selecting a site at nearby Isleworth for a
replacement. In 1395, William Yevele created a model of a new palace for
his approval.15
On the move in the provinces, Richard could enjoy the company of
friends and favourites. In summer 1383, he perhaps relished for the first
time avoiding the oversight of tiresome ministers and censorious magnates.
When messengers caught up with him at Daventry with reports of a possible
military threat from France in September, he immediately saddled up and
rode at speed to St Albans, where he changed horses before pressing on to
Westminster.16 The sources provide only occasional glimpses of the people
accompanying him in the provinces. He was attended by Thomas Mowbray,
earl of Nottingham, at Eltham in April 1383 and at Barnwell near Cam-
bridge in July; he attended mass in the lodgings of Robert de Vere, earl of
Oxford, in Salisbury in late April 1384; and after touring Dorset and Hamp-
shire over summer, he and his entourage attended Mowbray’s wedding at

 Richard II and his sense of place  79
17
Arundel Castle. There were older men, too, in his inner circle, notably Sir
Simon Burley, under-chamberlain of the household, Michael de la Pole, his
chancellor, and Thomas Rushook, his confessor. The expedition to Scot-
land in summer 1385, in which Richard was joined by the queen and his
favourites, provided a larger opportunity to build an esprit de corps among
the men in his service. Setting out northwards at the head of a large army,
he arrived in Leicester, according to an observer, ‘accompanied, preceded,
and followed by the flower of English knighthood’.18 At York, he was the
guest of Archbishop Neville, with whom he developed some rapport. Less
auspicious was a fracas in which John Holland, the king’s half-brother, slew
another young nobleman. Passing through Durham and Newcastle, Rich-
ard led his army into Scotland as far as Edinburgh before retracing his
path southwards. He sought to protect Melrose Abbey, the burial place of
several Scottish kings, from destruction, and later compensated the monks
for damage done.19 Although the expedition was no great triumph, it occa-
sioned some self-congratulation in court circles, with Richard augmenting
the status of Robert de Vere to the marquis of Dublin and raising de la Pole
to the peerage as the earl of Suffolk.20
By this stage, Richard had some sense of England’s political geography.
Aware of rebellion and insubordination in London and the southeast in the
1380s, he took measures to build royal power in the region. In 1383, he sup-
ported the election of Nicholas Brembre as mayor of London, and over the
next five years he was the king’s man in the capital.21 He sought to establish
Sir Simon Burley, his mentor, as his chief lieutenant in Kent. Setting aside
Edward III’s last wishes, he sought to endow him with the Leybourne inher-
itance in Kent that his grandfather had intended to use for pious purposes.
In January 1384, he appointed Burley to the prestigious and politically
sensitive position of constable of Dover Castle and warden of the Cinque
Ports; his attendance at the installation, at Burley’s request, suggests that
they were aware that the appointment would not be well received locally.22
In his grant of the castle and lordship of Queenborough in Kent to Robert
de Vere in January 1385, Richard showed his awareness of its contentious-
ness by attaching to the charter the curse of God, St Edward and his own
on any who sought to oppose it.23 Although the royal position in Kent was
superficially strengthened, Burley’s arrogance and greed merely served to
fuel resentment and hostility to the court.24

22 Saul, Richard II, pp. 163–4.
23
CPR 1381–5, p. 542.
24
Saul, Richard II, pp. 163–4; McHardy, Reign of Richard II, pp. 145–7.
80  Michael Bennett
In autumn 1386, Richard faced a truculent parliament in Westmin-
ster. After being warned of the fate of Edward II by his uncle Thomas
of Woodstock, duke of Gloucester, he reluctantly accepted the impeach-
ment of de la Pole and the establishment of a Continual Council to rule
in his name for twelve months. Shortly afterwards, he withdrew from
the capital. On 4 December 1386, he was in the diocese of Salisbury in
the company of the triumvirate who would be his chief advisers over the
next twelve months, namely Archbishop Neville of York, de Vere and
de la Pole.25 In February 1387, he headed northwards, basing himself
for a month and a half at Nottingham, with side trips to Lincoln and
elsewhere, before returning to Windsor for the Garter Feast. In June,
he left again for the west Midlands, spending many weeks in the dio-
cese of Coventry and Lichfield, including a fortnight in the palatinate of
Chester.26 During this time, he declined to co-operate with the Continual
Council in Westminster, secured the advice of judges that support for the
Council was treasonous and devised plans for the destruction of his chief
antagonists. In late August 1387, he convened his own council at Notting-
ham, securing the attendance of the royal justices, sheriffs from across
the kingdom and delegates from London. Although the judges set their
seals to an indictment of Gloucester and the earl of Arundel, the sheriffs
stated that they were unable to oblige the king’s request for political and
military support as the commons sided with the magnates.27 At Windsor
Castle, however, the mayor and sheriffs of London assured the king that
the city would stand with him and instructed the citizenry to swear alle-
giance to the king ‘against all who are or shall be rebels or opposed to his
person or royalty’.28
On 10 November 1387, Richard made a formal entry into the city of
London and, along with his companions, walked barefoot to Westminster
Abbey and then processed with the monks to the Confessor’s shrine. On
the following day, he ordered Gloucester, Arundel and Warwick to appear
before him.29 Aware of the danger, the magnates were already mobilizing
their forces. Although his knights advised a pre-emptive military strike,
Richard was beginning to realize that the Londoners would not provide
sufficient assistance and accepted advice from unaligned lords to negoti-
ate with his adversaries. Avoiding a hastily contrived ambush, Gloucester
and his colleagues came to Westminster, knelt before the king and pre-
sented an appeal of treason against five ‘evil counsellors’, namely Arch-
bishop Neville, de Vere, de la Pole, Chief Justice Tresilian and Brembre,
for alienating the king from his people. Presenting himself as above the

25 C 270/25/17.
26 Saul, Richard II, p. 471.



 Richard II and his sense of place  81
fray, the king accepted the appeal for adjudication in a parliament to be
convened in the new year. In reality, he was effectively trapped in his own
capital.
Far from honouring his agreement with the magnates, Richard sent word
to de Vere to raise an army under the royal standard in Cheshire and neigh-
bouring districts and to advance on London. The Lords Appellant, now
including Henry of Bolingbroke and Thomas Mowbray, routed de Vere’s
army at Radcot Bridge on 20 December and, after Christmas, entered the
capital to confront the king, now ensconced in the Tower of London. To
pile on the pressure, they took the king to a high window to see the vast
number of men assembled in their cause.30 Threatened with deposition and
perhaps briefly dethroned, Richard had no option other than to accept the
proceedings against his former counsellors, including the banishment of de
Vere and Archbishop Neville who were already safely overseas, the execu-
tion of Burley, Brembre and others and the purging of the royal household.
The conviction of Brembre on the testimony of prominent Londoners un-
derlined the magnitude of the city’s betrayal of the king. The fate of Simon
Burley, who had friends among the lords, was sealed by a popular tumult
in Kent.31 If historians have rather overlooked the scale of the mobilization
against the court party in 1387, it certainly made a deep impression on the
king. A decade later, he evidently had little doubt as to the large number of
his subjects who supported the Appellants and the regional complexion of
the opposition. In 1398, he required London and sixteen counties, all the
counties south and east of a line from the Wash to the Cotswolds and repre-
senting over half the population of the kingdom, to make their submission
and to compound for their disloyalty.32
The crisis of 1387–1388 was formally resolved by the fiction that it was not
the king, who was still technically a minor, but his counsellors who were
responsible for the misrule. At the close of the parliament, the king and
the political nation entered a solemn compact to uphold the decisions of
parliament and draw a line under recent divisions. In a ceremony in West-
minster Abbey on 4 June 1388, Richard, enthroned and crowned, repeated
his coronation oath and received again the fealty of his subjects. Over the
following years, he acted as if he had learned from the recent troubles. After
declaring his majority in May 1389, he appointed a new broadly based coun-
cil and made some play of governing on its advice. He doubtless recognized
of course that appointing his uncles and other grandees to his council meant
that routine business would devolve to a smaller group of men who would be
more dependent on him. He could also hold meetings in locations more con-
venient to him than the magnates. In summer 1389, for example, he called

30 Knighton’s Chronicle, ed. Martin, pp. 426–7.

31 ‘Historia… per Thomam Favent’, ed. McKisack, p. 21.
32 Clarke, Fourteenth Century Studies, p. 105; Barron, ‘Tyranny of Richard II’, pp. 11–3.
82  Michael Bennett
councils at Windsor, Clarendon, Salisbury and wherever he happened to
stop.33 Still, Richard and the great men of the realm were seemingly ‘still
engaged in a negotiation about the extent of [his] ability to rule freely’.34
His itinerary between late 1387 and early 1391, which was largely confined
to the counties around London, perhaps reflects some inhibition. The only
exception was an excursion to the north midlands in July 1390, whose main
purpose was to join his uncles and other magnates at a hunting party at
Leicester Castle.35 In spring 1391, a long sojourn around Bristol in spring
appears to mark a significant break in the pattern. It is instructive that dur-
ing this time, the settlement between the king and the magnates appeared
to be under increasing strain.36 In a new accord in February 1392, Richard
shelved his ambition to recall de Vere and others from exile in return for new
commitments from the magnates that served to consolidate recent gains in
re-establishing his prerogatives.37
In spring 1392, Richard headed northwards. In an alarming initiative, he
ordered the removal of the central law courts and government offices from
Westminster to York.38 At a council at Stamford in May, he dispatched a
writ, couched in menacing terms, to the mayor, sheriffs and leading citizens
of London to appear before him at Nottingham on 25 June to answer un-
specified charges against them. After spending a week in York, overseeing
the work of the makeshift capital, he took up residence in Nottingham and
continued his campaign of intimidation against the Londoners. After re-
moving the mayor and sheriffs from their positions, he suspended the liber-
ties of the city and appointed one of his knights to take over its government.
In July, he summoned a larger group of Londoners to Windsor to submit
‘their persons and their property to the king’, and appointed a new warden
Sir Baldwin Raddington to negotiate the terms of a pardon.39 In August, the
king and queen entered London to receive its submission and to participate
in carefully scripted displays of sycophancy. Although he professed him-
self appeased after levying a heavy fine, Richard did not restore all the old
liberties or consider himself fully appeased.40 Most signally, he spent little
time in the newly restored capital in the following years. Early in 1393, he
convened a parliament at Winchester and then spent several months based
at Salisbury and around the New Forest, during which time he visited Titch-
field. He kept Christmas at Westminster in 1393–1394, but the queen’s death

36 Westminster Chronicle, ed. Hector and Harvey, pp. 454–5.

38 Barron, ‘Quarrel with London’, pp. 181–2.

39 Westminster Chronicle, ed. Hector and Harvey, pp. 502–3.
40
Barron, ‘Quarrel with London’, pp. 183–200.
 Richard II and his sense of place  83
in June 1394 and his expedition to Ireland in autumn took him away from
the Thames valley. He spent September travelling though south Wales, and
he was in Ireland from October 1394 until May 1395.41
In the mid-1390s Richard bonded with a new circle of advisers. In the di-
ocese of Salisbury in the summer in 1393, he spent much time with a group
of clerks who played major roles in supporting and giving expression to his
royal ambitions. Promoted to the episcopate in 1388, John Waltham, bishop
of Salisbury, served as his treasurer from 1390, encouraged his high view
of his kingship and on his death in 1395 was accorded the honour of burial
in Westminster Abbey.42 John Boor, dean of the king’s chapel from 1386
until 1399, was a native of the diocese of Salisbury and a member of the
cathedral chapter. His reputation as ‘a great historiographer’ makes it likely
that he informed the king’s interest in his royal heritage.43 Robert Tideman
of Winchcombe was with the king at Salisbury in July 1393 and his host at
Beaulieu abbey in September. A Cistercian monk, allegedly expelled from
Hailes Abbey for sorcery, he became Richard’s physician and confidant and
was granted the custody of Beaulieu in 1392 prior to his elevation to the
episcopate.44 The expedition to Ireland in 1394–1395 seems to have helped
to consolidate a broader political machine. Among the magnates, Sir Wil-
liam Scrope was the ablest and most ambitious. Appointed sub-chamberlain
of the royal household from 1393, he was with the king at Salisbury and a
close friend of Bishop Waltham. A successful soldier, who had purchased
the kingdom of Man in 1392, he was appointed constable of several castles
in Ireland and Wales, building up a commanding position around the Irish
Sea. He was arguably the king’s chief strategist in the late 1390s.45
In reasserting traditions of sacral kingship, of course, Richard looked to
Westminster. His crown-wearing in 1389 was the catalyst for further invest-
ment in his holy of holies. He presented a large ruby ring to the shrine for
use in future coronations, and commissioned a new pair of velvet corona-
tion slippers embroidered with pearls to replace the one lost in 1377, which
he sent to be blessed by Pope Urban VI.46 He invested in the fabric of the ab-
bey and participated in monastic observances. One of the stalls in the choir
seems to have been reserved to him and one of a pair of coronation portraits
appears to have been placed in the stall to signify his continuing presence at
mass. Though still in his twenties, he started to mark out the site for his own
burial in the abbey and arranged the burial of favoured servants, like Bishop
Waltham, close to it. Soon after the death of Queen Anne in 1394, he com-
missioned a joint tomb and took a close interest in the design and execution.

4 4 Davies, ‘Winchcombe, Tideman (Robert Tydman)’.

45 Vale, ‘Scrope, William’; Bennett, ‘English Rule Confirmed’, pp. 170–84.
46
Westminster Chronicle, ed. Hector and Harvey, pp. 414–5.
84  Michael Bennett
In 1393, he set in train a grandiose rebuilding of Westminster Hall, per-
haps to efface the site of his humiliation as well as to create a larger and
more imposing space in which he could, in Gwilym Dodd’s words, ‘propa-
gate his royal image and enhance the prestige and authority of his office’.47
The second of a pair of larger-than-life portraits of himself enthroned like
Christ in Majesty was doubtless destined for the building. His calling of
councils and parliaments to places at some distance to London, including
plans for a council and parliament at Nottingham in 1392 and 1395, also
served to unsettle the political community. In autumn 1397, he brought a
large force to Westminster to overawe parliament in the still incomplete new
building, and underlined his dominance over the institution by proroguing
it to Shrewsbury in February 1398 and securing a delegation of parliament’s
powers to a committee that followed the court.
Richard’s devotion to Westminster capped a wider support for Britain’s
sacred places. He associated himself with the national cult of St Thomas
Becket, and contributed munificently to the rebuilding of the nave of Can-
terbury Cathedral.48 After a visit to the city in 1393, he ordered a wider
celebration of King Ethelbert of Kent, Saint and Confessor. Informed of a
new miracle of St Thomas attested by a foreign pilgrim shortly afterwards,
he expressed pleasure at the spread of his cult through Christendom, but
expressed some regret that other English saints were not so widely hon-
oured.49 As he travelled around his realm, Richard continued to visit cathe-
drals and major religious houses, relishing the opportunities they provided
for staging his kingship with solemn processions and crown-wearings, and
extending his patronage to local building projects and cults. He made sev-
eral visits to York, briefly making it his capital during his quarrel with
London in 1392, and his contribution to the building work at the Minster
in 1396 was acknowledged in stone.50 In 1393, he wore his crown at a dinner
he sponsored for the provincial chapter of the Franciscans at Salisbury on
the feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary.51 In the late 1390s,
he was often based in the diocese of Coventry and Lichfield, celebrating
the Christmas season at the bishop’s palace at Lichfield in both 1397–1398
and 1398–1399. His expeditions to Ireland in 1394–1395 and 1399 involved
travel through Wales, including a visit to the minuscule cathedral city of St
Davids, as well as more extensive travel and longer stays in Ireland.52 His
commitment to regional cults is attested by the move in 1398 to have the
feasts of St Chad, St Winifred and St David celebrated nationally.53

50 Saul, ‘Richard II, York, and Itinerary’, pp. 79–81, revising Harvey, ‘Richard II and York’,
pp. 202–17.

 Richard II and his sense of place  85
As well as burnishing Britain’s holy places, Richard made signal use
of sites of royal power. His decision to rebuild Westminster Hall to pro-
vide a grander stage for regal assertion may also have been prompted by
a desire to replace the building in which he had been forced to accept the
assault on his kingship and the destruction of his friends. His memories
of his time in the Tower of London in summer 1381 and over the winter
of 1387–1388 must have been bitter, but prior to his final incarceration,
he visited there at least once to rummage among the crown jewels, dis-
cover the ampulla containing the holy oil of Canterbury and take what
he needed for use in Dublin.54 At times when he felt most embattled or
combative, he looked to Windsor and other castles. Especially instructive
is his use of Nottingham Castle, a veritable ‘symbol of royal might and op-
pression’ (Figure 4.2).55 In his early visits, he would have heard about the
coup staged by his grandfather and his loyal companions in 1330 to end
the tutelage in which he was held by his mother and to assume the reins
of power.56 In Nottingham Castle in August 1387, he had the chief justices
declare the Continual Council to be illegal and draw up an indictment
of the magnates who supported it. The mayor, sheriffs and aldermen of

Figure 4.2 Nottingham Castle in the sixteenth century. Etching from T. C. Hine’s
scrap book, courtesy of Nottingham city museums and galleries.

54 St Albans Chronicle, ed. Taylor, Childs and Watkiss, II, pp. 134–5, 238–41.
55 Thurley, Lost Buildings of Britain, p. 111.
56
Shenton, ‘Edward III and the Coup of 1330’, pp. 13–34.
86  Michael Bennett
London in 1392 cannot have imagined that the king had forgiven and for-
gotten their betrayal of his cause in 1387–1388 and must have been very
unnerved by the chilling summons to Nottingham to answer unspecified
charges against them. The chroniclers rather flounder in seeking to ex-
plain the king’s anger against the city of London. There was a strongly
sanctioned commitment to draw a line under the events of 1387–1388, how-
ever, and it was unsafe to speculate that the king was motivated by a desire
to seek revenge. Still, it would not have escaped the attention of Londoners
that Sir Baldwin Raddington, who was appointed to put a pressure on the
city in summer 1392, was the nephew of Sir Simon Burley and was married
to the widow of Nicholas Brembre.57
After announcing the arrest of Gloucester, Arundel and Warwick in
July 1397, Richard issued a further proclamation to declare that the ar-
rests were not for old but new treasons. It soon became clear however that
Richard was entirely focused, as he privately assured foreign princes,
on destroying the magnates who had fettered his rule and on reducing
the kingdom to obedience.58 In seeking to reverse the outcomes of the
past, Richard was aware of the sites of old struggles won and lost and
their symbolic significance. The next stage of the royalist campaign was
launched at Nottingham Castle in August. In an atmosphere of fear and
intrigue, Richard sat at the high table in the great hall of the castle on
the feast of St Oswald (5 August) and individually commanded several
lords to go outside the castle gate. They found William Scrope waiting
for them with a draft appeal of treason against the former Appellants
which they were expected to sign prior to its presentation to the king.59
In parliament in September 1397, Richard avenged himself on his former
opponents in a highly theatrical manner. In the proceedings against the
earl of Arundel, there was some focus on his role in the condemnation
of Burley, and it was observed that Arundel was afforded the same con-
sideration and was executed on the same site.60 In addition to punishing
his former antagonists, Richard rewarded his supporters, past as well as
present. Shortly after the arrest of Gloucester, Arundel and Warwick, he
had sent orders for the raising of 1,000 men in his palatinate of Chester.
Assembled at Henley on Thames, they soon gained notoriety for their de-
ployment around parliament and as the king’s bodyguard. In parliament
itself, he raised the earldom of Chester to the status of a principality and
awarded 4,000 marks to the men of Cheshire to compensate their losses at
Radcot Bridge.61 Although he issued a general pardon, it became clear that

60 Chronicle of Adam Usk, ed. Given-Wilson, pp. 30–1; Eulogium, ed. Haydon, III, p. 375.

 Richard II and his sense of place  87
the people who had supported the Appellants needed to seek additional
pardons. At Nottingham in March 1398, claiming that he felt unsafe to
travel in his own kingdom, Richard demanded that London and the six-
teen counties that had supported the Appellants appoint proctors through
whom they would collectively confess their guilt, plead for mercy and pay
a large fine.62 In terms of political geography, Richard evidently saw Eng-
land as divided by a line between the Wash and the Cotswolds, with the
counties to the south and east as hostile territories. Accompanied by his
inner circle and Cheshire guardsmen, Richard spent most of 1398 in the
west midlands, in Bath and Bristol, Coventry and Lichfield, Shrewsbury
and Chester, even visiting Macclesfield twice.63
In his second expedition to Ireland in 1399, Richard aimed to re-establish
his authority after a rebellion that had led to the death of his deputy in sum-
mer 1398. His departure at the head of a large army raised the concern that
he might intend to use Ireland and Wales as bases from which to oppress
England.64 His building up a power base around Cheshire, incorporating
several marcher lordships in the new principality and appointing Scrope to
key positions around the coast of the Irish Sea, would indicate geographi-
cal awareness and strategic vision in Ricardian circles. At the height of his
power, Richard reputedly had a sense of foreboding, and was attentive to
prophecies of both high destiny and doom.65 His pilgrimage to Canterbury
early in 1399, accompanied by his Cheshire guardsmen, was to seek St Thom-
as’s blessing for the Irish expedition and perhaps to appropriate to himself
the providential role attributed to a king anointed with recently rediscov-
ered holy oil of Canterbury.66 It is likely that he was drawn to the prophecies
which spoke of success in Ireland as setting the scene for the restoration of
order in England and a glorious career in Christendom.67 It was a matter of
concern in England that Richard took to Ireland his crown and other rega-
lia and royal treasure.68 His plan to hold a great feast in Dublin Castle on
the feast of St Edward the Confessor (13 October), indicative of a lengthy so-
journ, was widely known in Europe, with one source reporting his intention
on that occasion to make his nephew, Thomas Holland, king of Ireland.69

66 Eulogium, ed. Haydon, III, pp. 379–80; St Albans Chronicle, ed. Taylor, Childs and Wat-
kiss, II, pp. 238–41.


88  Michael Bennett
The return of Henry of Lancaster and the large-scale mobilization
against Richard meant that his fortunes followed a less auspicious script.
The beginning of the end came when he was drawn out of Conwy Castle,
which a contemporary knight identified as the triangular place where, ac-
cording to a prophecy of Merlin, a king who ruled for twenty-two years
would be undone.70 Richard could also see his predicament in more pro-
saic terms, grounded in political geography. He reportedly hatched plans
of resistance, escape and revenge that counted on support in Wales and
Cheshire.71 The French sources, reflecting the views of Richard’s own cir-
cle, stress the hostility of Londoners, and one even records that Richard
finally recognized that the game was up when he was given over to the
custody of men from Kent.72 Incarcerated in the Tower of London, under
pressure to abdicate, he was observed rehearsing the sad fate of English
kings and lamenting England’s history of disobedience, rebellion and regi-
cide.73 Richard would have recognized the grim aptness of his final impris-
onment in Pontefract Castle, the centre of the cult of Thomas of Lancaster,
the arch-representative of the tradition of baronial opposition that he had
set himself to destroy.

Bibliography

Manuscript sources
Cambridge University Library (CUL)
Ely Diocesan Records, D5/7A
London, British Library (BL)
MS Add. 70,506
London, The National Archives
C 1 Court of Chancery, Six Clerks Office, Early Pleadings and Proceedings
C 270 Chancery, Ecclesiastical Miscellanea
CHES 2 Palatinate of Chester, Exchequer of Chester, Enrolments
E 403 Exchequer of Receipt, Issue Rolls and Registers

Printed primary sources

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Second’, trans. J. Webb Archæologia 20 (1824), 1–423.
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1399, ed. R. R. Sharpe (London, 1907).
Calendar of Patent Rolls (CPR).

 Richard II and his sense of place  89
Chaucer, G., Legend of Good Women, in The Riverside Chaucer, ed. L. D. Benson,
3rd ed. (Oxford, 1987).
Chronicque de la Traïson et Mort de Richart Deux Roy Dengleterre, ed. B. Williams
(London, 1846).
Devon, F., Issues of the Exchequer, from King Henry III to King Henry VI, Inclusive
(London, 1837).
Eulogium Historiarum sive Temporis, ed. F. S. Haydon, Rolls Series, 3 vols (London,
1858–63).
Favent, T., ‘Historia sive narracio de modo et forma Mirabilis Parliamenti … per
Thomam Favent clericum indicatum’, ed. May McKisack, in Camden Miscellany
XV (1926).
Foedera, VII.
Harrod, H., Report on the Deeds and Records of the Borough of King’s Lynn (King’s
Lynn, 1870).
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(London, 1873).
Knighton’s Chronicle, 1337–1396, ed. G. H. Martin (Oxford, 1995).
Livi, G., Dall’Archivio di Francesco Datini Mercante Pratese (Firenze, 1910).
Maidstone, R., Concordia (The Reconciliation of Richard II with London), with a
translation by A. G. Rigg, ed. D. R. Carlson (Kalamazoo, MI, 2003).
The Chronicle of Adam Usk 1377–1421, ed. C. Given-Wilson (Oxford, 1997).
The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England, ed. P. Brand, A. Curry, C. Given-Wilson,
R. E. Horrox, G. Martin, W. M. Ormrod and J. R. S. Phillips, 16 vols (Wood-
bridge, 2005) (PROME) online edition.
The Westminster Chronicle 1381–1394, ed. L. C. Hector and B. F. Harvey (Oxford,
1982).
Walsingham, T., The St Albans Chronicle. The Chronica Maiora of Thomas Walsin-
gham, ed. J. Taylor, W. R. Childs and L. Watkiss, 2 vols (Oxford, 2003, 2011).

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Barron, C. M., ‘The Tyranny of Richard II’, Bulletin of the Institute of Historical
Research 41 (1968), 1–18.
Barron, C. M., ‘The Quarrel of Richard II with London 1392–7’, in The Reign of
Richard II. Essays in Honour of May McKisack, ed. F. R. H. Du Boulay and C. M.
Barron (London, 1971), pp. 173–201.
Barron, C. M., ‘Richard II and London’, in Richard II. The Art of Kingship, ed. A.
Goodman and J. Gillespie (Oxford, 1999), pp. 129–54.
Bennett, M., Richard II and the Revolution of 1399 (Stroud, 1999).
Bennett, M., ‘Richard II and the Wider Realm’, in Richard II: The Art of Kingship,
ed. A. Goodman and J. Gillespie (Oxford, 1999), pp. 187–204.
Bennett, M., ‘Richard II, Henry Yeveley and a New Royal Mansion on the Thames’,
Antiquaries Journal 82 (2002), 26–32.
Bennett, M., ‘English Rule Confirmed: The Isle of Man 1389–1406’, in A New His-
tory of the Isle of Man. Vol. 3. The Medieval Period, ed. S. Duffy and H. Mytum
(Liverpool, 2015), pp. 170–84.
Brown, R. A., Colvin, H. M. and Taylor A. J., The History of the King’s Works: The
Middle Ages (London, 1963).
90  Michael Bennett
Clarke, M. V., Fourteenth Century Studies (Oxford, 1937).
Davies, R. G., ‘Waltham, John (d. 1395)’, ODNB.
Davies, R. G., ‘Winchcombe, Tideman (Robert Tydman) (d. 1401)’, ODNB.
Davies, R. R., ‘Richard II and the Principality of Chester’, in The Reign of Richard
II: Essays in Honour of May McKisack, ed. F. R. H. Du Boulay and C. M. Barron
(London, 1971), pp. 256–79.
Dickins, B., ‘Premonstratensian Itineraries from a Titchfield Abbey MS. at Welbeck
(Classified I A 1)’, Proceedings of the Leeds Philosophical and Literary Society 4
(1938), 349–61.
Dodd, G., ‘Richard II and the Transformation of Parliament’, in The Reign of Rich-
ard II, ed. G. Dodd (Stroud, 2000), pp. 71–84.
Fletcher, C., Richard II: Manhood, Youth and Politics 1377–99 (Oxford, 2008).
Given-Wilson, C., The Royal Household and the King’s Affinity: Service, Politics and
Finance in England 1360–1415 (New Haven, CT, 1986).
Harvey, J. H., ‘The Wilton Diptych – A Re-examination’, Archæologia 98 (1961),
1–28.
Harvey, J. H., ‘Richard II and York’, in The Reign of Richard II: Essays in Honour
of May McKisack, ed. F. R. H. Du Boulay and C. M. Barron (London, 1971),
pp. 202–17.
Hepburn, F., Portraits of the Later Plantagenets (Woodbridge, 1986).
Lewis, N. B., ‘Simon Burley and Baldwin Raddington’, EHR 52 (1937), 662–9.
Maxwell-Lyte, H. C., Historical Notes on the Use of the Great Seal (London, 1926).
Mitchell, S., ‘Richard II: Kingship and the Cult of Saints’, in The Regal Image
of Richard II and the Wilton Diptych, ed. D. Gordon, L. Monnas and C. Elam
(Coventry, 1997), pp. 115–24.
Ormrod, M., ‘Richard II’s Sense of English History’, in The Reign of Richard II, ed.
G. Dodd (Stroud, 2000), pp. 97–110.
Ormrod, M., Edward III (New Haven, CT and London, 2011).
Proceedings and Ordinances of the Privy Council, ed. Nicholas Harris Nicolas, Vol.
I (London, 1834).
Richard II: The Art of Kingship, ed. A. Goodman and J. Gillespie (Oxford, 1999).
Saul, N., ‘Richard II and the Vocabulary of Kingship’, EHR 110 (1995), 854–77.
Saul, N., ‘Richard II and Westminster Abbey’, in The Cloister and the World. Essays
in Medieval History in Honour of Barbara Harvey, ed. W. J. Blair and B. Golding
(Oxford, 1996), pp. 196–218.
Saul, N., Richard II (New Haven, CT and London, 1997).
Saul, N., ‘Richard II, York, and the Evidence of the King’s Itinerary’, The Age of
Richard II, ed. J. L. Gillespie (Stroud, 1997), pp. 71–92.
Shenton, C., ‘Edward III and the Coup of 1330’, in The Age of Edward III, ed. J. S.
Bothwell (Woodbridge, 2001), pp. 13–34.
The Reign of Richard II, ed. G. Dodd (Stroud, 2000).
The Reign of Richard II: Essays in Honour of May McKisack, ed. F. R. H. Du Boulay
and C. M. Barron (London, 1971).
The Reign of Richard II: From Minority to Tyranny 1377–97, ed. A. K. McHardy
(Manchester, 2012).
Thornton, T., ‘Cheshire: The Inner Citadel of Richard II’s Kingdom?’, in The Reign
of Richard II, ed. G. Dodd (Stroud, 2000), pp. 85–96.
Thurley, S., The Lost Buildings of Britain (London, 2004).
 Richard II and his sense of place  91
Tout, T. F., Chapters in the Mediæval Administrative History of England, 6 vols
(Manchester, 1920–33).
Vale, B., ‘Scrope, William (1351?–1399)’, ODNB.
Wilson, C., ‘Rulers, Artificers and Shoppers: Richard II’s Remodelling of Westmin-
ster Hall, 1393–99’, in The Regal Image of Richard II and the Wilton Diptych, ed.
D. Gordon, L. Monnas and C. Elam (Coventry, 1997), pp. 33–59.
5 ‘I, Edmund’
A microhistory of an
immigrant churchwarden in
fifteenth-century Colchester
Bart Lambert

Introduction
On the north side of Hythe Hill, in the area of Colchester known as Hythe,
stands the church of St Leonard (Figure 5.1). The now-redundant place of
worship is best known for its role in the English Civil War: during the Siege
of Colchester (1648), Royalist soldiers took refuge in the building, mak-
ing holes in the church door that are still visible today.1 The present study
does not relate to this seventeenth-century past, but to an earlier and lesser
known part of the church’s history. It draws on a series of accounts that are
part of the Stonor and Cely Papers at The National Archives in Kew.2 The
documents date from the second half of the fifteenth century and record
the activities of St Leonard’s churchwarden, the layperson responsible for
the maintenance of the church fabric and various other duties in the parish.
More than seventy-five of such churchwarden accounts have been preserved
in England for the period from 1449 to 1500.3 What makes St Leonard’s
accounts more extraordinary is that they were produced by an immigrant
or alien, that is, someone resident in England but born abroad. The man in
question, Edmund Hermanson, came from Brabant in the Low Countries
and moved to Colchester in the 1460s, earning his living as a beer brewer.
Long considered a subject of only limited importance, the experiences
of immigrants in later medieval England have received vast historical in-
terest more recently, largely thanks to Mark Ormrod’s ‘England’s Immi-
grants’ research project. The project, which I was fortunate to be part of,
showed that during the fifteenth century, aliens constituted up to 1.5 per
cent of the total English population, with concentrations of over 10 per cent
in specific cities and towns. They came from other parts of the British Isles
and most regions of Europe and made essential contributions to the English
economy as craftspeople, servants or agricultural labourers. Immigrants in
fifteenth-century England were welcomed by most of the local population,

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  93

Figure 5.1 Church of St Leonard-at-the-Hythe, Colchester. Photo supplied by the

Friends of St Leonard-at-the-Hythe, photographer Alice Goss.

but could encounter hostility from particular groups at moments of political

or economic tension. Ormrod and his team also demonstrated that this pe-
riod was crucial for the regulation of alien presence, with the English crown
developing policies based on the criterion of nationality, but at the same
time introducing mechanisms to overcome these discriminations.4
Most of this work, however, was based on sources created by English royal
or, to a lesser extent, civic authorities. Even if these have allowed us to study
immigrants’ lives in remarkable detail, they mainly provide us with a top-
down perspective. The exceptions are immigrant wills, petitions and court
depositions, which have been the subject of particular scrutiny, but, being
formulaic and produced by legal professionals, have their own limitations
when it comes to reflecting aliens’ personal experiences.5 Edmund Herman-
son’s churchwarden accounts are different in that respect, as they show us
an immigrant individual, reporting on his own day-to-day business. This is
not to say that these documents are without problems: Clive Burgess in par-
ticular has highlighted the challenges of analysing churchwarden accounts
in isolation and taking their information at face value.6 Yet, by a fortunate
coincidence, Hermanson’s activities were recorded in many other sources
as well. These complimentary documents allow us to overcome some
of the churchwarden accounts’ shortcomings and add further detail to

94  Bart Lambert
Hermanson’s life story. Inspired by the genre of microhistory, the aim of
this study is to mine this unusually rich body of evidence and to see what
the singular story of an alien beer brewer can tell us about immigrant expe-
riences in later medieval England that government records, wills and peti-
tions alone cannot.7

A Brabantine beer brewer in fifteenth-century Colchester

The earliest known reference to Edmund Hermanson in Colchester dates
from 1466. According to the town’s borough court roll of that year, the civic
authorities fined him for grazing his pigs on the borough common.8 Fur-
ther in the same roll, Hermanson was listed together with others who were
amerced for brewing and selling ale or beer against the assize.9 In effect,
these payments constituted a tax on brewing. The desire to use the bor-
ough’s common resources and to engage in brewing activities without inhi-
bitions may have inspired Hermanson to acquire the freedom of the town;
also in 1466, he paid a fee to become a burgess of Colchester, which entitled
him to purchase and sell both wholesale and retail without paying tolls and
to freely graze his animals on the commons.10
There are reasons to believe, however, that Hermanson already roamed
the town’s streets before 1466. In 1460, a certain Edmund Beerbrewer was
assessed to pay the alien subsidy in the county of Essex.11 Introduced in
1440 and collected until 1487, this royal tax was imposed on all residents
older than twelve and born outside the kingdom. Ideally, the returns of the
alien subsidies provide information about immigrants’ place of residence,
place of origin and occupation; but in Edmund Beerbrewer’s case, there
are no details allowing further identification.12 Also in 1460, a man of the
same name was fined for obstructing the main road in Hythe, the port set-
tlement outside Colchester’s walls.13 Two years later, the same person was
reprimanded for using the common meadows and assaulting a certain John
Bardfeld with a stick.14 In 1465, the year when we first encountered Edmund
Hermanson, the name Edmund Beerbrewer disappears from the records. It
is therefore likely that both names refer to the same man. There are many
other examples in fifteenth-century England of immigrants recorded under

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  95
their original surname in one case and under a generic surname derived
from their occupation or nationality in another.15
The place where Hermanson tried to make a name for himself was one
which, in the 1460s, had passed its peak in many respects. During the four-
teenth century and early decades of the fifteenth century, Colchester was
known as a major cloth production centre, exporting textiles to markets
across Europe. The success of its cloth industry allowed it to thrive in a
period when other towns in England decayed. After the 1440s, however, the
activities of Colchester merchants in Gascony and Prussia severely declined
following political and military setbacks. These losses were temporarily
compensated by an increased presence of Hanseatic traders in the town. Yet
when Anglo-Hanseatic relations broke down in 1468, international trade
through Hythe completely collapsed. To make matters worse, Colchester
was struck by a brutal outbreak of the plague in the early 1460s. Economic
contraction and disease took their toll; while the evidence suggests that Col-
chester had about 8,000 inhabitants at the end of the fourteenth century,
this fell to just over 5,000 at the beginning of the sixteenth century.16
In the second half of the fourteenth century, Colchester’s expansion as a
textile centre was boosted by the immigration of highly skilled cloth work-
ers from Flanders and Brabant. Many of these people were exiled from their
home regions because of their participation in urban revolts.17 In the fif-
teenth century, however, this influx ran dry: only one immigrant weaver was
recorded in Colchester’s alien subsidy returns between 1440 and 1487.18 This
was not just caused by the decline of the town’s own cloth production, but
also by developments in these immigrants’ homelands. In the course of the
later Middle Ages, the large-scale urban textile industries in the Low Coun-
tries suffered from increasing competition from the countryside and from
other parts of Europe. As a result, workers in many cities switched from the
manufacture of cloth to the production of high-value consumer goods.19
The alien subsidy returns demonstrate that these people, too, came to
Colchester during the second half of the fifteenth century. Occupations were
listed only haphazardly in these documents, but immigrants in the town
were recorded as tailors, skinners and woaders. If occupational surnames
can be considered indicative of people’s professions, Colchester’s aliens also
worked as shoemakers, chair makers and patten or wooden clog manufac-
turers. While some of these immigrants came from Ireland, Scotland, Brit-
tany and Normandy, most were said to be ‘Dutch’, the designation given

96  Bart Lambert
in England to aliens from the Low Countries.20 The highest number of al-
iens recorded in Colchester in the alien subsidies is fifty-seven in 1484.21
These were nearly all male and included no immigrant wives. If we assume
that one in four of these alien men were married to immigrant women and
that each of these alien couples had, on average, one child before migrating
to England, then Colchester could have had about eighty-five permanent
immigrant residents in 1484.22 The town would also have attracted more
transient aliens, including, until 1468, some Hanseatic merchants, who were
not recorded in the alien subsidies and whose number is impossible to de-
termine.23 It is difficult to say how these figures compare to those of Col-
chester’s alien cloth workers in the fourteenth century, when we lack similar
sources. The numbers of newly enrolled burgesses went down spectacularly
in the course of the fifteenth century, but they are only an indirect indicator
in this respect; they mostly refer to English newcomers and do not include
the immigrants who lived in the town without obtaining the freedom.24
Why would Edmund Hermanson have migrated to Colchester in the early
1460s? On the surface, the contracting, plague-hit town offered few oppor-
tunities for ‘Dutch’ craftsmen like him. Could he have been driven to Essex
by specific push factors in his homeland? Edmund’s enrollment as a burgess
in 1466 states that he came from Brabant, a principality which had been part
of the territories of the Burgundian dukes since 1430.25 The Low Countries
were constantly struck by political unrest which, as explained above, had
driven craftspeople to Colchester before. Yet both in Brabant and the wider
Burgundian territories, the early 1460s were a relatively uneventful time,
with few civic rebellions or other causes of instability.26
An advantage of having a well-documented case like Hermanson’s is that
we can move beyond the common factors driving large numbers of people
abroad and reconstruct individual reasons for migration. Relevant in this
respect is Edmund’s line of work. From the earliest references in the English
sources, Hermanson was identified as a beer brewer. He also continued to
be recorded in Colchester’s borough court as brewing beer against the assize
from 1465 to 1485, the last year during his lifetime for which court rolls are
available.27 Originally imported from the Low Countries and then brewed

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  97
by ‘Dutch’ immigrants in England for their own consumption, hop-based
beer also became popular with English consumers during this period, start-
ing to compete with wheat-based ale.28 Conditions for ‘Dutch’ beer brewers
may have been particularly favourable in early 1460s Colchester. The plague
of those years appears to have killed off or driven away many brewers of
both ale and beer, possibly one third of the number engaged in these activ-
ities in the late 1450s.29 In 1466–1467, Hermanson only had one competitor
in the beer brewing business in town, in subsequent years never more than
six.30 For the purposes of comparison, Great Yarmouth, a town with an
estimated population of about 3,000 people in the late fourteenth century
and 3,700 people in the early sixteenth century had at least eight alien master
beer brewers around the middle of the fifteenth century.31
While English ale brewing typically involved many women, beer brew-
ing, which was more capital-intensive, was a male-dominated business.32
Yet in Colchester, the beer brewers recorded in the borough court rolls
were mostly female too. It seems that they provided their households with
a supplementary income while their husbands were engaged in other occu-
pations, as many English alewives did. The ‘Dutchman’ William Vangiles-
burgh, for example, had his main business in patten making, while his wife
brewed and sold beer.33 Hermanson, by contrast, was consistently fined for
brewing himself and was never recorded as having any other occupation,
which suggests that brewing was his main business and his household’s most
important source of income.34
It is likely that Hermanson had the means to operate on a larger scale than
Colchester’s female beer brewers. Unfortunately, he no longer appears in the
alien subsidy returns in the 1480s, when immigrant keepers of brewhouses
were assessed in a separate tax category and had the organization of their
businesses described very precisely. It is not clear why this was the case: he
may have purchased letters of denization, documents that entitled the immi-
grant recipients to privileges usually reserved for English-born people, in-
cluding the right to pay taxes as natives. Hermanson does not appear among
the recipients of denization in the chancery’s patent rolls, where these letters
were usually recorded. This is no guarantee that he did not receive such doc-
uments though; some immigrants are known to have obtained denization

98  Bart Lambert
but never had their grant enrolled.35 It is also possible that Edmund evaded
payment of the tax. The three immigrants who were assessed as brewhouse
keepers in the alien subsidy returns for Colchester in the 1480s included two
men who, like Hermanson, were fined in the borough court for brewing beer
themselves and none of the town’s female brewers. The alien subsidy records
suggest that all three ran considerable enterprises. Edmund Rumbold, for
example, employed no fewer than five alien servants, possibly apprentices
training on the job.36
In Colchester, Edmund Hermanson thus found a place with a permanent
‘Dutch’ community and a number of transient aliens in need of hopped beer,
a native population with a growing taste for the drink and few large-scale
competitors. The proximity of large international ports like London and
Ipswich would also have allowed for an easy import of hops and other com-
modities needed for beer brewing. Hermanson was never recorded in the
surviving customs accounts for London and Ipswich, but may have bought
raw materials directly from Colcestrians who do figure in these accounts,
like his fellow-immigrant Ambrosius Mynster.37

Churchwarden of St Leonard-at-the-Hythe
The churchwarden accounts of St Leonard’s leave little doubt as to who was
responsible for the creation of these documents; the first sentence in nine
of the thirteen membranes contains the first-person form ‘I Edmund Her-
manson’ or ‘I Edmund’ (Figure 5.2).38 When the accounts were produced
is less clear, as none of the documents is dated. The first membrane, how-
ever, refers to a dispute with a William Andrewe that is also recorded in
the Colchester borough court rolls of 1481–1482.39 It is therefore likely that
the accounts were created in the same year or shortly afterwards. Church-
wardens were laypeople elected by the parish community to manage part of
the parish’s revenues and expenses. They kept accounts, which were audited
at least once a year. Hermanson was not the only alien in England during
this period to be elected churchwarden: Judy Ann Ford identified two alien
churchwardens in early Tudor Sandwich, none of whom, unfortunately, left
any accounts.40

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  99

Figure 5.2 Detail of the membrane in the churchwarden accounts that deals with
disputes over the church’s real property (C 47/37/18/35). Photo supplied
by The National Archives.

According to Ford, two factors were essential for immigrants to be eli-

gible as churchwardens. The first was economic status: the aliens elected
in Sandwich were both among the most affluent members of their parish
community.41 This criterion certainly applied to Hermanson. The fact that
he had no fewer than three cows and seventeen pigs grazing on the town’s
commons in 1463–1464, when he was still recorded as Edmund Beerbrewer,
suggests that he may already have been quite well-to-do when he arrived in
England.42 His brewing activities must have benefited him greatly in sub-
sequent years; Colchester’s records show him and his first wife regularly
acquiring real property in the town.43 By the time he made his will in 1502,
he was able to leave no fewer than five tenements, a brewhouse, a limekiln
and land and make considerable cash bequests.44
Ford’s second criterion is political status: in Sandwich, both aliens had
held civic office before being elected as churchwardens.45 The only sign of
Hermanson being involved in civic matters was his testimony – as one of
the long-term burgesses in the town – that a recently slandered man was a
good yeoman in 1493.46 As far as is known, he never held civic office. It is
not that immigrants in fifteenth-century English towns were excluded from
political activities; aliens are known to have held civic office and to have
engaged with civic governance in quite a few urban centres in the country
during this period.47 It appears that Hermanson was interested in the public
recognition of being elected churchwarden, but not in the commotion that
often came with political involvement.

41 Ibid., pp. 207–10.

43 Oath Book, ed. Benham, pp. 134, 136, 142.


100  Bart Lambert
The nature of Hermanson’s churchwarden accounts is pretty heteroge-
neous and the relationship between the membranes is difficult to establish.
It is clear that the documentation contains both drafts and tidied copies of
the same accounts.48 Marginal notes in one membrane suggest that it could
have been used for auditing.49 On the dorse of another membrane, someone
wrote ‘this is of the cherche to’.50 Did Hermanson need to make notes to
keep these documents separate from his private bookkeeping? Without as-
suming that they cover all his responsibilities, the accounts give some idea
of Edmund’s activities as churchwarden. Most of his revenue came from
collections held among the parishioners on holy days and from particular
donations by the more generous members of the parish community.51 He
also collected the annual payments of quitrent owed by parishioners for
use of church-owned gardens, stalls and other real property.52 Conflicting
claims on this property sometimes resulted in disputes, described in a sep-
arate membrane. One of these disputes, with the aforementioned William
Andrewe, led to a lawsuit in Colchester’s borough court.53 For the collection
of rents, dues and donations, Hermanson could rely on two assistants. Re-
markably they included John Bardfeld, the man he had attacked with a stick
some twenty years earlier. Another membrane specifies the money Herman-
son lent to others, an activity also recorded in other churchwarden accounts.
Unlike the churchwardens studied by Burgess, Hermanson claimed to make
these loans himself.54 The debtors included prominent parishioners and the
town clerk, but also Elizabeth, ‘daughter of our lord of Norfolk’. It is not
clear whether interest was charged and the loans were supposed to make a
profit. In between these debts, Hermanson also recorded arrears for deliv-
eries of beer.55 Many parishes in later medieval England organized church
ales, events where ale was sold in order to raise funds.56 Did the immigrant
churchwarden appropriate this venerable English tradition and turn these
occasions into ‘church beers’ to serve his private business interests?
Hermanson also recorded expenses made for the church’s maintenance.
He paid people for deliveries of candle wax, frankincense and the materials
to produce a mass book as well as for ringing the church bells and cleaning
the church.57 Most of Hermanson’s costs, however, were made for repairs
and alterations to both the church and, in one membrane, a parish-owned

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  101
58
house. The churchwarden was responsible for the supplies of building
materials needed for these works. The accounts list endless payments for
timber, laths nails, lime and sand as well as for carrying these materials.
Hermanson’s orders of brick deserve special attention. The large-scale use
of this material had been introduced from continental Europe, in particular
from the Low Countries, at the start of the fifteenth century. Until the 1480s,
both the production of and construction with brick in England remained
dominated by ‘Dutch’ immigrants.59 Hermanson’s use of brick for St Leon-
ard’s church seems to have been rather limited and may have involved only
small-scale repairs.60 Yet he also paid 18s. 8d., one of the highest sums in the
accounts, for 7,000 bricks for the parish-owned house. This amount can only
have served for a substantial alteration or extension of the building. Refer-
ences to the use of brick on such a scale are fairly exceptional in church-
warden accounts before the sixteenth century.61 It seems then that beer was
not the only distinctively ‘Dutch’ product promoted by the churchwarden
from the Low Countries. Hermanson’s accounts also record payments for
work on the church and parish property carried out by tilers, glaziers and
other craftspeople. Because of the brevity of the entries, it is difficult to
establish the exact purpose of these activities, let alone to connect them to
the church’s material remains. Yet it may be no coincidence that on the one
hand, Hermanson made numerous payments for alterations to the roof, and
on the other hand that the ceiling of the church’s south porch has been dated
art-historically to the late fifteenth century.62
Some of the people Edmund relied on when buying supplies and hiring
craftsmen return frequently throughout the accounts. Carpentry, for exam-
ple, was usually carried out by the aptly named Edmund Carpenter or by
Robert Freeman.63 Several of these men belonged to known Colchester fam-
ilies, such as the Snellings and the Lallefords.64 What is remarkable is that
of the many suppliers and craftspeople mentioned by name in the accounts,
none could be positively identified as a fellow-immigrant. While Herman-
son may have spent money on building materials still considered as typi-
cally ‘Dutch’ at this time, none of the masons he worked with can be linked
to immigrants in the alien subsidy returns or has a distinctively ‘Dutch’

102  Bart Lambert
name.65 The same applies to the other suppliers and craftsmen he hired.
Unfortunately, the occupational information in the alien subsidy returns of
the 1480s is too fragmentary to determine whether the town’s aliens actually
were engaged in the specialized trades that Hermanson would have need-
ed.66 Lambert Polwycke, a Gelderlander assessed as a merchant in 1484, was
recorded as trading stones in the London customs accounts of 1480–1483,
but perhaps not the kind the churchwarden could have used.67 It is doubt-
ful however that none of the forty-one immigrants described as ‘servants’
in the alien subsidy returns during these years would have been capable of
carrying out the many unskilled tasks recorded in the churchwarden ac-
counts.68 Of the people said to have borrowed money, paid rent and made
a donation to the parish, only one can be identified as an alien: Thomas
Brown, who had received a loan from the churchwarden, and may have been
the Scotsman of the same name who lived in Colchester and received royal
letters of protection in 1480.69 It is not that St Leonard’s parish did not have
immigrant residents: it was part of the Hythe, the town’s harbour settlement
and a hotspot of alien presence.70 It may be that Edmund chose to use his
office to actively promote his relations with St Leonard’s native parishioners
rather than with his fellow-immigrants. Yet it is also possible that the other
aliens of the parish were unwilling or unable to become more fully involved
in its parish life, and that it was beyond Hermanson’s capacities to change
this situation.71
An important advantage of having documents produced by immigrants
as opposed to public authorities is that they can give us a glimpse into aliens’
use of language.72 The accounts of St Leonard’s were written in supralocal
southern English, that is, the kind of English found all over the southern
half of the country at this date, before Standard English had developed.73
As such, it is absolutely competent. Forms like ‘these be’, ‘dwellyth’, ‘hath
geven’ and ‘bare’ (past tense of bear), used throughout the accounts, are

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  103
unremarkable examples of southern English during this period. The <ey>,
<ay> and <oy> digraphs in words like ‘teyllynge’ (for ‘tiling’) or ‘boyss-
chell’ (for ‘bushel’) were not particularly common, but spelling variation
was still usual at this date. There is very little that allows to localize the lan-
guage in Colchester. One of the few examples of regional vocabulary used
is ‘Iopy pece’, a word recorded only in Cambridge and East Anglia meaning
‘jaw-piece’.74 Significantly, there is hardly any evidence of interference from
Middle Dutch either. ‘Firkin’ (a small cask) and ‘bondell’ (bundle) probably
come from Middle Dutch, but were also used frequently elsewhere in Eng-
land during this period.75 They are, therefore, more indicative of the general
impact of Middle Dutch on the English language than of the interference of
an individual immigrant’s mother tongue when writing English. In only one
instance could a case be made for the direct introduction of a Middle Dutch
word in Hermanson’s English. ‘Knepyll’ comes from Middle Dutch, mean-
ing the clapper of a bell. It also appears in the churchwarden accounts of
Boxford, north of Colchester, of 1535 and 1559, but is not known in writings
elsewhere.76 In terms of spelling, the English in Hermanson’s accounts is far
more competent than that of Theodoric Werken, a ‘Dutch’ scribe active in
England in the second half of the fifteenth century, whose English contains
oddities that can only be explained by the influence of Middle Dutch.77 An
analysis of the handwriting in the churchwarden accounts supports the idea
of Hermanson having adapted to English conventions. The accounts are all
written in the English cursive style or Anglicana, used only in England and
not on the Continent. Especially the ‘r’, ‘s’ and ‘e’ are very different from
those of a continental hand (Figure 5.2).
We should, of course, consider that a document in perfectly idiomatic
supralocal southern English and displaying English handwriting could have
been produced by a native scribe. Concluding that a churchwarden would
have written his accounts based solely on the use of the first-person form,
as Julia Carnwath did for the 1440s accounts of John Manyturn in Thame
(Oxfordshire), would be to underestimate the complexity of the accounting
process.78 The fifteenth-century churchwarden accounts of All Saints’ in
Bristol, for example, have entries in the first person plural, but also record
payments to clerks for keeping the books.79 Katherine French has shown
that rendering churchwarden accounts often involved both written and oral
practices.80 Within this context, churchwardens could have dictated their
accounts to professional scribes. This is also possible for the accounts of

104  Bart Lambert
St Leonard’s, though the form of the draft membranes, which look very
much like working documents and were frequently corrected and updated
in the same hand as the main text, suggests otherwise.81 It is also unlikely
that a scribe produced the tidied copies based on Hermanson’s drafts, as
both the language and handwriting in all these documents are consistent.
While many other churchwarden accounts record salaries paid to profes-
sional writers, Hermanson’s accounts, or at least what has been preserved
of them, do not.82 Edmund did make two payments to Colchester’s town
clerk, but these were for producing an official letter and an obligation, docu-
ments that required additional authentication and not for the churchwarden
accounts.83
The most important reason why churchwardens would have relied on oth-
ers to keep their accounts was that they were illiterate.84 This seems not to
have applied to Hermanson. Between 1460 and 1502, he was involved in
many real property transactions, which would have required at least a ba-
sic understanding of written deeds.85 In 1484, Hermanson was sued before
the court of common pleas by a yeoman called Simon Gerard. In one of
the hearings, Gerard presented a written bond (scriptum suum obligatorium)
in which Edmund would have admitted that he owed his opponent mon-
ey.86 It was a fairly common practice before this court to deny responsibil-
ity for a bond by claiming that one was illiterate and, therefore, not aware
of its clauses.87 Hermanson did not do so and simply stated that he had
not produced the document. We should also bear in mind that Hermanson
originated from a region where, by the fifteenth century, it was considered
normal for a master artisan to be able to read, write and count.88 While lit-
eracy was also widespread among craftspeople in fifteenth-century London,
the situation in a provincial town like Colchester may have been different;
even at the end of the fifteenth century, apprentices from the provinces were
sent home by their London masters because they were illiterate.89 In this
respect, it is possible that Edmund’s background as an immigrant from a

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  105
region where literacy was more developed was an additional reason for his
fellow-parishioners to elect him as churchwarden.
If we accept that Hermanson wrote the churchwarden accounts of St
Leonard’s, then his case provides us with very valuable information. Our
knowledge about immigrants’ language acquisition in later medieval Eng-
land is troubled by a lack of conclusive evidence. Many of the sources that
do tell us about this issue suggest that aliens’ use of English was very prag-
matic, characterized by a strong hybridity and an extensive use of loan
words, and that it was easily distinguishable from natives’ English.90 Yet,
most of these examples focus on short-term residents in the country or come
from authors who had an interest in highlighting the differences between
aliens and natives. It is doubtful that this would have applied to the many
immigrants who settled in England for longer periods of time. The Herman-
son case gives us a rare insight into these more established aliens’ command
of English, suggesting that it was perfectly possible for them to master the
language and, if they were literate, to write it competently.91

Well-integrated parishioner or ‘Flemish’ bandleader?

Burgess has argued that churchwarden accounts, in particular their for-
mal copies, could have been intended as documents for commemoration,
celebrating the churchwarden’s contributions to the parish.92 The constant
use of the ‘I Edmund’ form throughout the accounts of St Leonard’s cer-
tainly suggests that Edmund Hermanson was preoccupied with the way
in which his work was perceived. The document would have been very ef-
fective in conveying an image of him as a successful, perfectly integrated
parishioner, who enjoyed enough confidence among his fellow-parishioners
to be entrusted with a key position in parish life, entertained relationships
with everyone who mattered in St Leonard’s and worked for the benefit of
the parish in a way that seemed indistinguishable from the way in which
English churchwardens did their job. A similar impression emerges from
Hermanson’s will, a source type which has also been associated with com-
memorative purposes and has even been considered by some as a form of
biographical writing. Wills, the argument goes, allowed testators to create
an image of themselves that reflected how they wanted to be perceived by
later generations, albeit that this self-fashioning potential was subject to

106  Bart Lambert
particular constraints due to the formulaic nature of these documents and
their role as legal instruments.93
One element reflecting on Hermanson’s position in Colchester that is doc-
umented by his will, proved in 1502, is his marriage connections. From 1482,
at the latest, Edmund had been married to Mathilda or Maud Berwick,
a member of a local office-holding family.94 Either she must have died or
their marriage was disbanded, because the will mentions a certain Eliza-
beth as his wife.95 It is not known what family Elizabeth belonged to, but
the fact that she had Henry Marney, a knight and privy councillor of Henry
VII, and John Marney, probably Henry’s son and esquire of the body to the
king, among her executors and that she founded a fellowship at Cambridge
University in her own will, proved in 1506, suggests that beer brewer Her-
manson had married up.96 Edmund appears to have had no children, at
least no legitimate ones. In his will, he left real property to four unmarried
women, each of whom bore a different surname. One was the daughter of
Henry Barker, an executor of Hermanson’s will and possibly also his friend.
She received a significantly larger bequest than the others.97 Nothing in the
will allows the identification of the other three women. They may have been
daughters of other friends, poor girls of the parish, former employees or
Hermanson’s godchildren. Another option, though one which fits in slightly
less with the idea of commemoration, is that they were the former church-
warden’s daughters from extramarital affairs adopted by other men.
The other bequests in the 1502 will confirm the impression of Hermanson
having particular concerns about being remembered in a positive light. Ed-
mund left nothing to civic causes in Colchester.98 This ties in with the earlier
view of him steering clear of civic matters, but was by no means uncommon:
only 7 per cent of testators in the town made civic bequests between 1500
and 1509.99 Most of Hermanson’s property, in fact, was reserved for Col-
chester’s religious institutions. This, too, was not unusual: between 1500 and
1509, 48 per cent of testators in the town left something to a parish church or
religious house. More extraordinary is the number of Hermanson’s religious
bequests. He left money to nine of Colchester’s parish churches, including

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  107

Figure 5.3 Map of Colchester c. 1500, indicating the locations mentioned in Her-
manson’s will. Own illustration of the author.

the often neglected one of St Mary Magdalen, to St Botolph’s Priory and

to the mendicant houses of the Grey and Crutched Friars (Figure 5.3).100
Hermanson also wanted to leave a legacy beyond Colchester: he bequeathed
money to three parish churches in the nearby villages of Mile End, Wiven-
hoe and Greenstead, to the priory of St Osyth near the Essex coast and to
St Paul’s Cathedral in London. His connections with religious institutions in
Essex were probably a consequence of his work as churchwarden. The link
with London is more remarkable and may have resulted from his marriage
to Elizabeth, who made several bequests in the capital in her own will.101
Most of Hermanson’s donations to religious institutions in and outside Col-
chester had to be spent on repairs, perpetuating the work he had done as a
churchwarden, and on remembrance services for himself, his wife and his
friends.102
In addition to their other bequests, Edmund and Elizabeth Hermanson
each founded a perpetual chantry at St Leonard’s where they chose to be

108  Bart Lambert
buried. This was quite an exceptional move: only ten of these permanent
foundations are known to have existed in pre-Reformation Colchester.103
Edmund’s chantry was endowed with a tenement close to the parish church,
his townhouse, his brewhouse, his limekiln and two plots of land. In return
for the revenues from these properties, a priest had to sing remembrance ser-
vices for Hermanson and pray for his soul in perpetuity.104 Unfortunately,
Edmund’s investment provided only limited return. Hermanson probably
died shortly before 1 June 1502, when his will was proved. Thirty-two years
later, parliament passed the First Act of Supremacy, making Henry VIII
head of the English Church. In tandem with the dissolution of religious
institutions that followed, chantries and other religious foundations were
abolished. Hermanson’s chantry was dissolved and its endowment given to
Thomas Audley, lord chancellor of England, sometime before 1544.105 It
was last mentioned in 1550, when part of the former chantry properties was
passed on to two Essex landowners.106
If Hermanson’s churchwarden accounts and his will portray him as a be-
neficent and accomplished parishioner, then to what extent was his immi-
grant background part of this image? We have already seen that there are
hardly any interferences from Middle Dutch in the language of the church-
warden accounts. The accounts also indicated that Hermanson may have
promoted the use of typically ‘Dutch’ products such as beer and brick, but
they did not show that he employed fellow-alien workers. Elements that
could be associated with Edmund’s alien background are also few and far
between in his will. Adrian Johnson, another of Hermanson’s executors,
may have been the immigrant of the same name who paid the Tudor subsidy
in St Leonard’s, Colchester, in 1523.107 The document records no bequests
to institutions in Edmund’s homeland, something that does appear in some
other alien wills in later medieval and early Tudor England.108 Herman-
son did leave money to mendicant friaries, institutions which sometimes
had large numbers of alien friars and were popular with immigrants. The
Crutched Friars are even said to have had particular links with the Low
Countries.109 No such connections are known in Colchester, where both the
Grey and Crutched Friars also received many bequests from natives.110 The
only individual member of a religious institution that Hermanson left money
to was a canon at St Osyth’s called Cornelyis. This name was particularly
common in the Low Countries around this time, which may indicate that

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  109
Edmund and the man knew each other as a result of their shared ‘Dutch’
origins.111 Other than that, there are no references to the Low Countries in
the will. It seems safe to say then that if Hermanson’s will and churchwarden
accounts were meant to serve self-fashioning purposes, they did everything
but define him by his immigrant background.
How much do sources produced by others confirm the image of Herman-
son shaped by the will and the churchwarden accounts? At least one doc-
ument paints a very different picture of him. In a petition to the king, a
William Smyth of Colchester claimed that Edmund Hermanson had carried
off timber and stone from his property. When Smyth attempted to obtain
recovery of the materials, Hermanson gathered a band of ‘as well Flemy-
ngs as other indisposed [hostile] persons’ and threatened to murder him.
As a result of the intimidation, the petitioner no longer dared to remain in
the country and asked royal protection against his adversary.112 The peti-
tion is undated, but the incident may be connected to Hermanson’s time
as a churchwarden: according to his churchwarden accounts, he regularly
bought timber from a shoemaker named William Smyth.113 Rather than as
a perfectly integrated parishioner who entertained better relationships with
his English neighbours than with his fellow-alien residents, the petition thus
frames him as someone who engaged in criminal activities against native
Colcestrians and actively drew on his ‘Dutch’ networks to serve these ques-
tionable interests. Yet here, too, it is important to factor in the quirks of
the document. We should be aware that petitions were written to convince
authorities and that elements in Smyth’s narrative may have been exagger-
ated or added for dramatic effect.114 The term ‘Fleming’, for example, car-
ried more negative connotations during this period than its more neutral
alternative ‘Dutchman’.115 Placing Flemings on an equal footing with ‘other
indisposed persons’, Smyth or the professional who drew up his petition was
well aware of these preconceptions and deliberately exploited them in order
to persuade the reader of his opponent’s malicious intentions. Petitioners
also crafted narratives that were purposely designed to counteract their
adversary’s strengths. In this respect, Smyth may have stressed Edmund’s
otherness and his use of outsiders so emphatically in his petition exactly be-
cause Hermanson was well established and connected in his community in
real life. Would the petitioner genuinely have been forced to leave the town,

110  Bart Lambert
let alone the country, if his opponent only had the support of some Flemings
and ‘indisposed people’?
Arguably the most unbiased source allowing us a view on Hermanson’s
position and connections, in the sense that it had no direct interest in por-
traying him in a particularly positive or negative light, is Colchester’s bor-
ough court rolls. They show Edmund regularly acting as a pledge for his
English co-residents, but also for fellow-immigrants from the Low Coun-
tries.116 In 1481–1482, twelve men, consisting of English as well as ‘Dutch’
inhabitants of the town, swore that Hermanson was innocent in a dispute
with another Colcestrian.117 Apparently Edmund maintained privileged re-
lationships with both natives and other aliens. Yet even the image provided
by the borough court rolls, preserved only until 1485 and not available for
the last seventeen years of Hermanson’s life, could be skewed. If there is one
lesson to be learned from the exceptionally well-documented case of Ed-
mund Hermanson about the integration of immigrant residents in late me-
dieval English communities, then it should probably be that our views are
very much dependent on the source material we use. The negotiation of in-
clusion and exclusion between newcomers and social groups in pre-modern
societies was highly complex and hardly ever linear or comprehensive.118 If
even a combination of very different sources reflecting both the perspective
of authorities and the agency of the immigrant may not provide us with a
fully representative picture, we should ask ourselves to what extent one set
of documents in isolation can.

Conclusion
A distinguishing feature of microhistory is its ambition to reflect on ‘the
general’ by unravelling ‘the particular’. Edmund Hermanson’s microhis-
tory could be said to add to the general narratives of immigration in later
medieval England in several ways. His case provides us with new insights
into the possibilities and limitations of alien-born residents in English lo-
calities. It shows that it was possible for a beer brewer from the Low Coun-
tries to acquire substantial wealth and become part of the economic elite
in an English provincial town. It also demonstrates that economically suc-
cessful immigrants could be accepted into the highest echelons of an Eng-
lish parish community, running its day-to-day business and entertaining
close relationships with its most prominent members. One may argue that
Hermanson was a particularly privileged immigrant and that his story was
not representative of the agency of England’s other aliens. But was his priv-
ilege not, at least in part, of his own making? Admittedly, it looks like he
already had some means when he came to Colchester. Yet while many more

 Microhistory of an immigrant churchwarden  111
will have had enough resources to keep livestock upon their arrival in the
country, far fewer will have owned eight properties and acres of land forty
years later.
Hermanson’s microhistory also sheds new light on the acquisition of
the English language by later medieval immigrants, an otherwise elusive
aspect of the alien experience. The accounts documenting his activities as
churchwarden of St Leonard’s were written in competent supralocal south-
ern English, with very few interferences from Middle Dutch. Even though
the option of a native scribe cannot be excluded completely, there are strong
arguments to believe that the Brabantine immigrant, who had been living in
Colchester for over twenty years, produced the churchwarden accounts him-
self. Hermanson’s case may thus indicate that the English language skills of
at least some of the long-term alien inhabitants in the country were very
different from the pragmatic and deficient English attributed to immigrants
in other, predominantly narrative, sources during this period. While the lat-
ter accounts present language almost exclusively as a marker of distinction
between native and alien residents, Edmund’s case suggests that successful
language acquisition may also have functioned as a powerful facilitator of
immigrants’ integration and assimilation.
Whereas most sources show how immigrants in later medieval England
were perceived by others, Hermanson’s documents allow us a glimpse into
his own thoughts and ideas. Most notably, they reveal how Edmund wanted
to be seen and remembered by others. His churchwarden accounts and will
suggest that Hermanson was preoccupied with being remembered as an
accomplished, well-connected and well-integrated Colcestrian who cared
deeply about his parish. It is remarkable that these sources did very little to
fashion him explicitly as an immigrant, though they may have been meant
to deliberately counter others’ attempts to define him by his alien origins.
Edmund’s many efforts to be remembered almost came to nothing when the
Reformation reached England, abolishing his chantry and devaluating the
concept of good works he had invested in so lavishly. Ironically, it was his
typically ‘Dutch’ surname – one remnant of his immigrant background that
could not be erased – that made the present author look more closely into his
case, saving him from oblivion after all.

Acknowledgements
I am grateful to Clive Burgess, Gwilym Dodd, Jonathan Mackman, Ad
Putter, Joshua Ravenhill and Laura Wright for their help and advice.

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112  Bart Lambert
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ucts, ed. J. Blair and N. Ramsay (London, 1991), pp. 211–36.
Morant, P., The History and Antiquities of the Borough of Colchester in the County of
Essex (Colchester, 1810).
Ormrod, W. M., ‘French Residents in England at the Start of the Hundred Years
War: Learning English, Speaking English and Becoming English in 1346’, in The
French of Medieval England: Essays in Honour of Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, ed. T.
Fenster and C. P. Collette (Woodbridge, 2017), pp. 190–205.
Ormrod, W. M., Lambert, B. and Mackman, J., Immigrant England, 1300–1550
(Manchester, 2019).
Ormrod, W. M. and Mackman, J., ‘Resident Aliens in Later Medieval England:
Sources, Contexts and Debates’, in Resident Aliens in Later Medieval England, ed.
W. M. Ormrod, N. McDonald and C. Taylor (Turnhout, 2017), pp. 1–46.
Pajic, M., ‘“Ale for an Englishman is a Natural Drink”: The Dutch and the Origins
of Beer Brewing in Late Medieval England’, JMH 45:3 (2019), 285–300.
Putter, A., van Houts, E., Arbabzadah, M. and Kennedy, K. E., ‘Manuscripts’, in
North Sea Crossings: The Literary Heritage of Anglo-Dutch Relations, 1066–1688,
ed. S. Levelt and A. Putter (Oxford, 2021), forthcoming.
Ravenhill, J., ‘The Experiences of Aliens in Later Medieval London and the Ne-
gotiation of Belonging, 1400–1540’ (unpublished PhD dissertation, University of
York, 2019).
Röhrkasten, J., ‘Local Ties and International Connections of the London Mendi-
cants’, in Mendicants, Military Orders and Regionalism in Medieval Europe, ed. J.
Sarnowsky (Aldershot, 1999), pp. 145–83.
Salter, E., Cultural Creativity in the Early English Renaissance: Popular Culture in
Town and Country (Basingstoke, 2006).
Spindler, E., ‘Flemings in the Peasants’ Revolt, 1381’, in Contact and Exchange
in Later Medieval Europe: Essays in Honour of Malcolm Vale, ed. H. Skoda,
P. Lantschner and R. L. J. Shaw (Woodbridge, 2012), pp. 59–78.
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1871).
6 Breton immigration in late
medieval England
Maryanne Kowaleski

Considerable scholarly attention has been drawn to the fourth-century and

fifth-century migration of Britons to Brittany and, to a lesser extent, to the
post-Conquest settlement of Bretons in England.1 Far less consideration,
however, has been given to the movement of people between Brittany and
England in the later Middle Ages, with the exception of some political, mer-
cantile and military elites, few of whom settled permanently.2 This essay
aims to provide a fuller picture of the Bretons who migrated to England in
the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries by drawing on data in the ground-
breaking England’s Immigrants project initiated and overseen by W. Mark
Ormrod. After offering an overview of Breton immigration to England
from the fourteenth century onwards in the England’s Immigrants database
(EIDB), this study concentrates on Devon and especially Cornwall, where
the majority of Bretons migrated. In so doing, it relies on additional data
from the military survey of 1522 and the Tudor subsidies of 1523–1525 in or-
der to provide a more nuanced prosopographical profile of Breton migrants
in terms of their geographical distribution, age, status, occupation and pos-
sible motivations for migration. This migrant profile is also compared to
what we know of English immigrants from other regions.
Bretons were a small but distinctive ethnic group in late medieval Eng-
land. In the entire EIDB of aliens in England, Bretons represented just un-
der 3 per cent of all aliens identified by national origin, ranking them tenth
out of forty-one specific ethnic immigrant groups.3 Relying on figures from

116  Maryanne Kowaleski
the whole EIDB is, however, problematic since it contains duplicate records
and relies on data drawn from sources, such as the Tudor subsidies, which
were added for only ten counties. We can avoid some of these limitations by
focusing solely on those counted in the first collection of the 1440 alien sub-
sidy, which represents the best England-wide alien assessment since exemp-
tions proliferated in later taxes. In 1440, Bretons comprised a very small 1.7
per cent of the total alien taxpayers with stated national origins, although
it is likely that the ‘French’ might include some Bretons.4 It should also be
kept in mind that 70 per cent of the aliens in 1440 were never identified by
national origin, a problem that was much worse in some counties, such as
Gloucestershire and Hampshire where fewer than 10 per cent of the aliens
were listed by origin than in others, such as Devon and Wiltshire, where
the origins of aliens were identified over 90 per cent of the time.5 Method-
ological problems also arise when looking at Bretons who took out letters
of denization, which required a fee and an oath of allegiance to the English
crown in exchange for which the foreigner received the same rights as those
born in England. Because aliens had to apply and pay for the letters, those
who shouldered this expense were of middling to high status, unlike the al-
ien subsidies, which listed those much further down the social ladder. Over
60 per cent of the extant letters of denization, moreover, date to 1542–1544,
when tensions with France prompted the crown to require aliens, particu-
larly the French who lived in the southern counties, to become denizens

com/ (hereafter EIDB) using the search terms noted in the text and footnotes. There are
64,782 total references in the database dating to 1331–1585 (there are only eleven references
after 1552); 82 per cent of the references come from the alien subsidies (1440–1487), almost
10 per cent from letters of denization (71 per cent of these are for the period 1540–1544)
and 3 per cent from the Tudor subsidies. The remaining 5 per cent of references are from
oaths of fealty, licenses to remain, letters of protection and naturalization and other types
of petitions and licenses. Only 35 per cent (22,985) of the references identify the aliens’
English residence. In the case of Bretons, ethnic identification was made either by an ex-
plicit reference to an origin in Brittany, or by some variant of the surname ‘Breton’ for
aliens whose national origin was not recorded. Note that there are duplicate references in
the database, mostly in the various collections of the alien subsidies and in the later letters
of denization, which probably amount to less than 5 per cent of the total; these duplicates
have been removed from datasets used in this essay, along with EIDB references to two
Bretons in Wales and one in Calais.

 Breton immigration  117
6
if they wished to stay in the country. The advantage of these early 1540s
letters of denization is that a larger proportion (a little over half) states an
origin; Bretons constituted 9 per cent of those purchasing these letters.
The geographical distribution of Breton immigrants was heavily concen-
trated in the southwestern peninsula, especially Cornwall. Almost half of
the 664 references in EIDB to Breton aliens in England in 1337–1544 were
from Cornwall, followed by Devon with 12 per cent and Wiltshire at just
under 4 per cent.7 If we focus on those taxed in the first collection of the
1440 alien subsidy, 70 per cent of the Bretons taxed resided in the South-
west.8 But missing data and the varying methods used by the tax assessors
to identify places of origin makes even the 1440 figures only a rough esti-
mate, especially since the Devon returns offer much more complete data on
alien origins than Cornwall and most other counties.9 A third sample can
be gathered from the 201 aliens with letters of denization in 1542–1544, 9 per
cent of whom had been born in Brittany, the largest percentage of Bretons in
all the sources used in the EIDB. We know the English residences of almost
34 per cent of these Bretons: 27 per cent resided in Cornwall, 18 per cent in
Devon, 12 per cent in Hampshire, 10 per cent in Somerset and 6 per cent
each in Dorset, Kent and Norfolk.10 While it is important to remember that
we do not know the national origin of almost half of the aliens who took out
letters of denization in the 1540s and that those who did were wealthier than
most other migrants, it is nonetheless significant that all three methods of
assessing the geographical distribution of Bretons in late medieval England
points to their concentration in Cornwall and Devon.
Given the preference that Breton immigrants showed for settling in these
two counties, it is worth taking a closer look at the region by augmenting
the England’s Immigrants data on Bretons with information for Devon and
Cornwall from the 1522–1523 military survey and other Tudor subsidies.
The military survey is especially valuable for the details it adds on the occu-
pations, relative wealth and English location of Bretons. Ostensibly a muster

118  Maryanne Kowaleski
of all laymen over the age of sixteen, the survey was later used as the basis
of a forced loan from the better-off. It records the owners and values of
all lands in each parish, followed by those who were taxed on the value of
their goods. Because the original purpose was to secure an idea of military
readiness, male aliens, servants and others too poor to pay any tax were
included, with the result that the survey tended to capture an even larger
percentage of the male population than the Tudor subsidies.11 The amount
of detail offered by the returns varied by county. The only military survey
to survive for Devon covers its administrative and commercial centre, the
city of Exeter, and lists people by military categories within each parish, in-
cluding aliens.12 In contrast, the survey for Cornwall records sparser details
on military preparedness but survives for four of its nine hundreds although
only three of the hundreds identified aliens.13
In addition to references from England’s Immigrants and the military
survey for Cornwall and Exeter, the Breton dataset constructed for this
analysis adds references to Bretons in the 1523–1525 Tudor subsidies for
Devon and Cornwall. This new form of taxation encompassed all those over
the age of sixteen who possessed more than £1 annual income from land, or
£2 worth of goods or £1 in wages, thus extending further down the social
ladder than the medieval subsidies. Aliens paid a double rate, and if they
had neither goods nor wages, they still had to pay a poll tax of 8d.14 Some of
the Tudor subsidies for Devon and Cornwall were already in the EIDB, but
additional returns were entered from published transcriptions.15 The new
dataset of Bretons in England contains 1,108 records, which after exclud-
ing duplicates, comprises 848 references to individual Breton immigrants to
England, 1337–1544; 84 per cent of those with identifiable English locations
resided in Cornwall and Devon.16

 Breton immigration  119
The predilection of Bretons for these two English counties is not surpris-
ing given the direct sea route and active trade between Brittany and the
southwestern peninsula of England. Brittany’s most important overseas
market was England, and the quickest sailing route between the two ran
between the northern coast of Brittany and the southern coasts of Devon
and Cornwall. English ships, mariners and merchants were by far the largest
group of foreigners visiting late medieval Brittany, while Breton ships were
frequent visitors at southwestern ports, importing wine, linen cloth and can-
vas, and exporting primarily fish.17 They were crucial carriers at the region’s
customs head port of Exeter, where they handled almost all salt imports, 40
per cent of the linen cloth and about 15 per cent of wine imports arriving
by coast or from overseas in 1381–1433.18 This maritime trade continued to
flourish even during the troublesome years of the Hundred Years War, as ev-
ident in the increasing Breton share of the carriage of linen cloth and canvas
to Exeter, which rose from about 8 per cent in the 1390s to over 42 per cent
in the 1420s, while the percentage of Breton ships visiting the southwest-
ern ports also expanded over the course of the late fourteenth to fifteenth
centuries. Maritime trade between the two regions grew even stronger af-
ter the war. In 1497–1499, for example, ships from twenty different Breton
ports comprised almost half of all overseas ship traffic in Cornwall and in
1497–1498 were responsible for about three-quarters of all ships exporting
fish from Cornish ports.19
Strategic and political factors reinforced the strong commercial links be-
tween Brittany and England. Good relations were encouraged by the geo-
graphical location of peninsular Brittany astride England’s most important
Atlantic sea lanes to its holdings in Gascony. As a semi-independent prov-
ince of the kingdom of France, the duchy of Brittany generally maintained a
neutral position in the long-running disputes between England and France,
often signing separate treaties and agreements with the English crown. For
many decades, England was actively involved in the Breton civil war, occu-
pying Brest almost continuously in the period 1342–1397 and backing the
Montfort dynasty of dukes who ruled Brittany until 1514, when the duchy
finally became part of the kingdom of France. Brittany was also drawn into
the Wars of the Roses when large numbers of Lancastrians in exile sought

were duplicated in a Tudor subsidy, the military survey record was kept in the dataset
since it usually contained more information; in the end, there were about 147 references
from the military surveys, 292 from the Tudor subsidies in EIDB and sixty from Devon
Lay Subsidies, ed. Stoate and Cornwall Subsidies, ed. Stoate. Note that the records from
the Devon subsidies undercount Bretons because most aliens were identified without any
ethnic designation.

120  Maryanne Kowaleski
refuge and support there, including the future Henry VII who spent over a
decade in Brittany.20 Among his retinue in Brittany were many gentry and
noblemen from Cornwall and Devon.21
The frequent contacts between the southwestern peninsula of England
and Brittany were by no means always friendly, especially during periods
when the dukes or their rivals were more aligned with France. Hostilities
mainly manifested at sea, where both sides engaged in privateering and pi-
ratical attacks on each other’s ships, plundering cargoes and killing or hold-
ing crews for ransom.22 These problems flared up at the beginning of the
fifteenth century, when the English crown sanctioned privateering attacks
on Breton ships. In response, the Bretons and their French allies conducted
a night-time raid on Plymouth in 1403, burning and looting houses and large
parts of the harbour.23 Devon men retaliated with their own raids on Brit-
tany in the following months, and in 1404, the French, accompanied by Bret-
ons, attacked the Devon port of Dartmouth, although they were repulsed
with the help of people from the surrounding countryside. Several Breton
nobles were captured or died, and years later a nobleman was still seeking
his brother’s remains from the burgesses of Dartmouth.24 A Breton/French
raid on Fowey in Cornwall in 1457 was also viewed as retaliation for Cornish
piracy, while the English encouraged privateering against the Bretons again
in the early 1480s.25 England sent more troops over to Brittany in 1489–1491
to help the Bretons in their last, unsuccessful effort to ward off absorption
into France, using Dartmouth as one of the main embarkation points for
ships and troops sent to Brittany.26 Late medieval Breton mariners and their
counterparts from Devon and Cornwall were equally opportunistic in skirt-
ing the law and ignoring truces in the name of profit. Both sides may have
also considered such actions part of life at sea, given the advance arrange-
ments made between several Devon port towns and St Malo in Brittany for
ransoming captured crews; English merchants also did not hesitate to hire

20 For Anglo-Breton relations in the fourteenth century, see Jones, Ducal Brittany; for the
fifteenth century, see Pocquet du Haut-Jussé, François II. For Henry VII’s time in Brittany,
see also Chrimes, Henry VII, pp. 14–40, 52–4.
21 Rowse, Tudor Cornwall, pp. 110–3.
22 Early Chancery Proceedings, ed. Gardiner; Ford, ‘Piracy or Policy’; Kingsford, Prejudice
and Promise, pp. 78–106, 177–203; Moal, L’étranger en Bretagne, pp. 52–3, 255–6, 259–61,
269, 273–4.
2 3 For this and the following, see Walsingham, St Albans Chronicle, ed. Taylor, Childs and
Watkiss, pp. 384–7, 398–405 and n. 577; Russell, Dartmouth, pp. 43–7.
24 Jackson, ‘Letter from a Breton Knight’; Jones, ‘Les Trémazan’.
25
The Itinerary of John Leland, ed. Toulmin Smith, I, pp. 203–4; Pocquet du Haut-Jussé,
François II, pp. 37–8; Sutton, ‘England and Brittany 1482–86’.
26
Currin, ‘“The King’s Army”’.
 Breton immigration  121
Breton ships, and mariners from both regions were known to crew on each
other’s ships, suggesting a common understanding of life at sea.27
Brittany and Cornwall also enjoyed a shared language and to some extent
a shared culture. In this period, Cornish and Breton speakers could under-
stand each other, a factor that may have contributed to the large number of
Bretons who settled in Cornwall west of the Camel and Fowey rivers where
Cornish speakers dominated in 1500 (Figure 6.1).28 Breton immigration was
strongest in the Cornish-speaking hundreds of Penwith, Kerrier and Pow-
der, which must have eased assimilation for the Bretons who settled there
(Table 6.1). No less than 87 per cent of Bretons migrating to Cornwall chose
to reside in its Cornish-speaking region. Far less is known about the im-
migrants’ origins in Brittany, since the little data we have (49 cases) come
solely from the denization letters of 1544, which were taken out by well-
settled Bretons who had the wherewithal to pay for the letters. Just over
40 per cent of these Bretons came from Breton-speaking areas in western
Brittany (Figure 6.2), but we know the English homes of less than one-third
of these immigrants and the three Bretons with known origins who settled
in Cornwall all came from the French-speaking areas of Brittany.29 Given
the paucity of these data, not much can be made of these findings on Breton
origins, but the evidence about the choices that Breton immigrants made in
coming to Cornwall is more convincing. These settlement patterns, moreo-
ver, make Breton migrants unique among medieval England’s immigrants,
in that no other foreign migrants were able to find new English homes where
they could understand the local tongue without being bilingual.
The vast majority of the Bretons came from coastal settlements, which is
hardly surprising given the peninsular nature of Brittany and the need to
travel to England by sea. But this coastal orientation also shows up in the
occupations practiced by Breton immigrants, a significant number of which
were maritime oriented (Table 6.2), including fishers and mariners who rep-
resented 11 per cent of the known occupations of Bretons compared to 1 per
cent of all known occupations in the EIDB. They included sailors, fishers
and one lighterman, and their work could entail other types of maritime
tasks, like sewing canvas sails, as one unnamed Breton was hired to do in
Plymouth in 1486.30 All the fishers in the Breton dataset lived in Cornwall,
and all were poor. Nine resided in St Ives, in the far west Cornish-speaking

28 Padel, ‘Where Was Middle Cornish Spoken?’; Figure 6.1 is based on Padel’s evidence. On a
shared Celtic culture, see Payton, Cornwall, pp. 25, 34, 58–9, 65–7, 71, 78; Jones, ‘Brittany
and Wales’. I thank Dr Padel for his advice about Breton names.
29
The EIDB sample comprises forty-nine Bretons whose place of origin in Brittany can be
identified, but the English homes of only fourteen of these immigrants are known, includ-
ing four in Cornwall (none from the Breton-speaking region), three from Devon and two
from Hampshire.
30
Plymouth Municipal Records, ed. Worth, p. 90.
122  Maryanne Kowaleski
portion of the county, six of whom were listed as ‘pauper’; the other three
only possessed goods worth between 3s. and 10s.31 Those who were mar-
iners were more well off since over half were able to purchase denization
letters (Table 6.2). We know the English residences of only nine of the mar-
iners: six lived in Cornwall and three in Norfolk (two in Great Yarmouth,
a major herring port). One of the Cornish mariners claimed in 1544 that he
had come to England aged ten but had been in the country for thirty years,
and another fisher had married an English woman and had children. Four
of the mariners were aged twenty or less; the average age was twenty-eight
and the age range ran from a young boy of fourteen to a middle-aged man
of forty-six.32 The only age given for a fisher was sixteen, but it is likely that
the other fishers were also young since the majority simply had the surname
‘Breton,’ an indication that they had probably not been in the country long
enough to acquire a unique identity. As poor migrants from coastal Brit-
tany, it is likely that the fishing or maritime skills they had learned in their
home communities helped them find work as crew members in Cornwall’s
fishing industry, which was expanding in the fifteenth and sixteenth centu-
ry.33 Indeed, Cornwall would have been attractive to Bretons not only for
the common language and ease of travelling there on the many ships that
plied the route, but also because the two peninsular regions had very similar
maritime economies, which would have allowed young men from coastal
Brittany to quickly find work.
The other distinctive occupation practiced by Breton immigrants was
tinning, although this focus stemmed in large part from their immigration
to Cornwall, England’s chief tin-mining region. The medieval high point
of Cornish tin production was the early sixteenth century, exactly in the
period of the military survey, Tudor subsidies and the majority of the den-
ization letters.34 There were fourteen Breton tinners in the Breton dataset
constructed for this analysis, clearly a minimum estimate since aliens were
recorded for only three of the county’s nine hundreds in the military sur-
vey, which listed ten tinners; four were also recorded in 1544 as receiving
letters of denization, which implies some measure of stability and income.
The ten Bretons in the survey were noted as paupers or with very low values
of goods.35 Eleven of the fourteen (including all four with denization letters)
had some variant of the surname ‘Breton’, which tends to be an indication
of youth and relative poverty. Because the Breton tinners were poor and
primarily resided in rural stannary districts, it is likely that they, like many
English tinners, had by-occupations, especially in farming.36

34 Hatcher, English Tin, pp. 162–3.

35 EIDB; Cornwall Military Survey, ed. Stoate, pp. 4, 11, 56; the tinner’s muster roll of 1535
printed in this volume does not distinguish aliens.
36 Hatcher, English Tin, pp. 47, 51–3; Hatcher, Rural Economy, pp. 36, 93–4, 168–9, 234,
241–3.
 Breton immigration  123
Only a small number of the Breton immigrants were titled or in high-
status professional occupations. They included Joan Perient, the chief
lady-in-waiting to Joan of Navarre – the widow of John de Montfort, duke
of Brittany, who then married Henry IV and became queen of England –
and her husband John Perient, a highly placed esquire who served three
English kings and was the Queen’s Master of the horse. They were among
the few Bretons in Joan of Navarre’s household who took out letters of den-
ization.37 England’s long involvement in Breton affairs brought others to
England, including several prominent clergy, such as John Coupegorge,
a Breton chaplain who was the attorney of John III, duke of Brittany, in
England from 1334 until the duke’s death in 1341. Coupegorge also served
Edward III in a diplomatic capacity and as receiver-general in Brittany for
the Montfortists, the party supported by Edward III during the Breton civil
war. He was well rewarded for his efforts with benefices in England, but
seems to have ended his career in Brittany not England.38 Perhaps the most
intriguing Breton immigrant was Sir Roland Veleville, who was reportedly
the bastard son of Henry VII; although he had been in England since at
least the early 1490s, he waited until 1512, well after he had been appointed
constable of Beaumaris Castle in north Wales, to take out letters of deni-
zation.39 Another highly placed Breton cleric was Peter le Penec, a doctor
of civil and canon laws, who played a crucial role in the 1492 failed plot by
Henry VII to establish a Breton regime more friendly to England. Penec had
to leave Brittany, but remained a close councilor to Henry, who rewarded
him with several profitable benefices.40
Other well-educated Breton clergy in England included two Franciscan
friars who were pursuing scholastic studies at Oxford.41 Thirteen of the
thirty-nine Breton secular clergy were given the title of ‘Sir’, which implies a
secure living, although all but two of the Breton clergy surface because they
were willing to pay for letters of protection and denization.42 Many of the
more humble Breton priests probably escaped the notice of tax collectors
since the alien subsidies were not systematic in taxing foreign clerics. Some
of the clergy taking out denization in 1544 were household chaplains, such
as Philip Breton who resided with Sir William Godolphin, one of the richest
men in Cornwall, and Henry Halle, chaplain to the widowed Lady Strong,
probably in Somerset.43 Members of the professional classes included three

124  Maryanne Kowaleski
Breton surgeons who took out letters of denization in 1544, two of whom
had been in England for decades, while the third, Gilles Collyns, was called
‘a very good surgeon’ who had resided in Totnes for six or seven years.44 An-
other skilled professional, perhaps a cleric, was a Breton scribe who ended
up working in the far north, at Durham Priory.45
Skilled artisans were also amongst the Bretons who settled in England.
Some, such as the five current and former apprentices, must have arrived
in England as children.46 One of them, Philip Morys, was apprenticed to
another Breton immigrant in Exeter, which might suggest chain migration,
or at the very least, social networks among those in the Breton community.47
Others probably arrived with enough training to allow them to take up work
upon arrival. Tailoring was the most common craft practiced by Breton im-
migrants (Table 6.2), though it was also the top artisanal occupation in the
EIDB. Like many other immigrants, Bretons also worked in the leather and
fur trades as cordwainers, furriers, shoemakers, skinners, and tanners, and
as smiths, millers and a wide variety of other skilled crafts. But the evidence
on occupational choices cannot be pushed too far, since we know only 40
per cent of the occupations practiced by the Bretons, a problem that is espe-
cially marked for alien taxpayers (Table 6.2), who account for 73 per cent of
the records in the Breton dataset compared to the letters of protection and
denization, which capture many more occupations but primarily those at
the upper end of the social scale. Nonetheless, it can be said that the Breton
immigrants were as a rule less likely to pursue the high-end artisanal work
often practiced by the Flemish and ‘Dutch’ (a term which includes Holland-
ers and Germans).48
One craft group that stands out is the Breton woodworkers, particularly
the carvers (artists who carved wood), and joiners, who crafted furniture
and other ornamental wood fittings. The EIDB records fifty-one individual
carpenters, only one of whom was Breton, but there were seven Breton join-
ers and three Breton carvers. Few of their English residences are known, but
one of the carvers lived in Exeter and three of the joiners in Devon.49 Alan
Plymner was a joiner from Morlaix whose father was Breton but mother
was English. He had been apprenticed to an English joiner when a child and
in 1544 was residing in Ipplepen village in south Devon. Two of the other

https://www.geni.com/people/Sir-John-Rodney/6000000006444597041. Another example

in 1544 is Sir John de Larbar, Breton chaplain to Sir Humphrey Forster, likely of Berk-
shire; see https://www.geni.com/people/Sir-Humphrey-Forster/6000000013083068907.
4 4 EIDB: Tristram Bysset from St Brieuc and William Gooderus from Lannion.
45 Deuffic, ‘Guillaume du Stiphel’. He is not in the database.
46 EIDB; Tudor Exeter, ed. Rowe, pp. 26, 43.


 Breton immigration  125
Breton joiners were also married to Englishwomen.50 Despite being the
home of most Breton immigrants, Cornwall had no Breton carvers or join-
ers according to EIDB, although documentary references elsewhere indicate
that they were indeed active throughout Cornwall and Devon making rood
screens, rood lofts and seats for parish churches.51 Also significant is the
architectural evidence of Breton woodworkers found in the surviving fabric
of houses and churches in southwestern England, apparent in such Breton
stylistic features as spiky leaf carvings, linenfold wooden panels, delicate
lacework carving, stubby finials and flat door heads with small ogee arches.
Certain construction techniques found in this region were also typical of
Breton woodwork, including the dominance of horizontal timbers in church
screens, the use of laminated construction, elaborately carved prie-dieu and
the wooden galleries connected by a spiral staircase typical of the maison à
pondalez. This persuasive material evidence for the presence and cultural
influence of Breton woodworkers also underlines the problem of relying too
heavily on the chronologically scattered and often socially biased evidence
from the alien subsidies, Tudor tax rolls and the letters of denization.
Servants ranked first among known occupations taken up by Breton im-
migrants, accounting for about one-third of occupations (Table 6.2), which
was the case for most immigrant groups, especially those from France.52
The low status, youth and poverty of servants were evident in how they were
named; almost half of the Breton servants in England were known only by
their first name and the name of their employer and another one-third had
some variant of the surname ‘Breton’, pointing to their lack of an individ-
ualized identity. Only three of the forty Breton servants in the 1440 alien
subsidy claimed householder status. No Breton servant in the military sur-
vey or Tudor subsidies was taxed on land, most were taxed on wages rather
than goods in the subsidies and almost all paid the absolute minimum tax,
with a fair number excused from paying at all with such comments as ‘pau-
per’ or ‘nil’ written next to their names. There were five servants established
enough to purchase letters of denization in 1544, but two of them were long-
term servants of gentry and two were called ‘servingman’, perhaps a sign of
elevated status in the world of service.53 Ages were recorded for only two
servants – sixteen and eighteen – probably typical ages for immigrant serv-
ants. Three of the six female Bretons were servants, all resident in rural ar-
eas; two lived in Devon and the third, Joan Breton, in Worcestershire as the

50 EIDB: Peter Harris and Francis Gillet.

126  Maryanne Kowaleski
employee of Nicholas Breton, who though not an alien, may have had ties to
Brittany that helped attract Joan to faraway Worcestershire.54
Only a few Breton servants worked for fellow countryman, including
Philip Morys apprentice to Guy Blunworth of Exeter, also a Breton.55
There are, however, examples of Bretons working for other aliens, espe-
cially French speakers. In Devon, Ivon Tracey of Brittany worked in Exeter
for John Poke, a Norman, while John Durant, a Breton skinner in Exeter,
employed a Norman servant named John, a situation perhaps facilitated
by Durant’s wife, who was also Norman.56 Over 90 per cent of the Breton
servants worked for English employers, but some of the employers had mer-
cantile connections to Brittany. Robert May of Exeter, for instance, had
two male Breton servants named Oliver and Thomas, whom he may have
hired by virtue of contacts made in trading overseas in Brittany since he is
recorded as importing a wide variety of goods, including the typical linen
crées cloth of Brittany, on ships out of three different Breton ports.57 It is
also possible that some Breton servants accompanied English soldiers or
naval crew stationed or fighting in Brittany when they returned to England,
though no definitive examples can be identified.58
It is likely that many of the newly arrived servants resided with their em-
ployers, which was common practice in town and country for young, un-
married servants of all backgrounds.59 This practice is suggested too by the
placement of many servants in tax lists immediately after their employer’s
entry.60 When named, the employers almost always resided in the same par-
ish as the servant and were, not surprisingly, usually among the middling
and even upper strata of village society in terms of wealth. Unfortunately,
except for gentry or clerical employers, the tax and denization records that
comprise the Breton dataset rarely specify the employer’s occupation. Fur-
ther prosopographical work might reveal more information, which could
also shed light on the motivations for and early experience of the many Bre-
ton immigrants who took up service positions on arrival in England.61 Even

54 EIDB; Joan was the only Breton in Worcestershire, so it is also possible that she was not
Breton but simply adopted the surname of her employer
55 Tudor Exeter, ed. Rowe, p. 26.
56
EIDB; Tudor Exeter, ed. Rowe, pp. 23, 44–5; Kowaleski, ‘French Immigrants’, pp. 220–1.

 Breton immigration  127
less information is forthcoming about the large group of Bretons called la-
bourers (Table 6.2). Their profile closely matches that of servants; half had
some variation of ‘Breton’ as their surname, and they were taxed at the min-
imum rate on goods and wages, but never on land. They differed from serv-
ants, however, in that their ranks included no women and they more often
hired themselves out for occasional labour since their employers were never
mentioned. Although the two who gave their ages were only sixteen, it is
likely that many were older, given the decades that those who sought letters
of denization said they had already spent in England. These types of work-
ers were often highly mobile and thus escape the eye of many administrative
records; it is no coincidence that the bulk of the labourers in the dataset are
known from the military survey (Table 6.2), which was unusual in how far
down the social ladder its scope went.62

***

Most immigrant groups showed a marked preference for settling in specific

English regions, usually those geographically closest and economically
connected to their homeland. This situation was even more striking in the
case of Bretons, who overwhelmingly favoured settling in Cornwall and, to
some extent, the neighbouring county of Devon. In Cornwall, there were
large communities of fellow countrymen and women in the four western
hundreds and along the county’s south coast that would have smoothed
a Breton immigrant’s path in the new country. Assimilation in Cornwall
would also have been facilitated by the ease with which Breton and Cornish
speakers could understand each other. The continual influx of Bretons to
western Cornwall might also have helped keep Cornish alive longer as a spo-
ken language. Bretons were such a dominant group in Penwith hundred that
its military survey simply titled each parish’s list of aliens as ‘born in Britta-
ny’.63 The distribution of ‘Breton’ surnames also shows their concentration
in western Cornwall and the southern coasts of Devon and Cornwall.64
Although Breton immigrants could be found in all walks of life, a signif-
icant number were likely young, poor and unskilled, and almost all were
male. With the exception of woodworkers, few of the Bretons appear to have
matched the craft skills and accomplishments of, for example, the Flemish
and ‘Dutch’ immigrants. The Bretons were closer to the profile of Norman
immigrants, among whom there were also many servants and similar arti-
sanal skills. They differed from the Normans and other immigrant groups,
however, in their greater participation in maritime occupations and tinning.
Many Bretons likely arrived with seagoing experience, since their known

128  Maryanne Kowaleski
Breton residences were overwhelmingly coastal, so the expanding maritime
economy of Devon and Cornwall in the later Middle Ages would have pro-
vided them with plentiful employment opportunities. Tinning, however, was
unique to Cornwall (and to a lesser extent, Devon), so Bretons who acquired
work in that industry were taking advantage of openings that were becoming
available in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries when the Cornish
industry was at its medieval height. Overall, the relatively buoyant economy
of late medieval Cornwall and Devon and their demand for labour would
have provided attractive work options for newcomers. Indeed, Breton im-
migration to Cornwall actually appears to have expanded, as suggested by
a comparison between the numbers of Bretons in the 1440 alien subsidy and
those taxed in the Tudor tax rolls of the 1520.65 But open to debate is the ex-
tent to which hard times in Brittany helped to push migration to England or,
the more likely scenario, whether the intensification of commercial maritime
contacts between Brittany and southwestern England was a bigger factor. To
resolve this issue, more work needs to be done to match migration patterns
to the ups and downs in Cornish and Breton politics and economy.66
Finally, given the endemic piracy and wartime tensions between Eng-
land and Brittany in much of the fifteenth and early sixteenth century, it
is striking how little anti-Breton feeling can be discerned,67 even in Devon
and Cornwall where many had suffered in the fourteenth and fifteenth cen-
turies from Breton raids on their coasts and attacks and plunder at sea. In
1513, fears of coastal attacks by Bretons even stimulated the construction of
port defences in many southwestern harbours.68 In the 1520s, at the same
time as the Tudor subsidies list numerous Bretons in coastal communities
up and down the southwestern coast, they also record sixteen Cornish men
in St Sampson, Fowey, Luxulyan, St Ewe and Gorran who were granted
tax relief because they were ‘captured at sea by the Bretons’, including one
who died.69 The strife that occurred sprang primarily from opportunistic

68 Oppenheim, ‘Maritime History’, p. 485.

 Breton immigration  129
sea rovers on both sides who were, on the one hand, duly (and often un-
successfully) pursued in the courts, and on the other, made private agree-
ments regarding how to deal with ransoms if and when they were caught, a
pragmatic approach that was shared by maritime communities regardless of
which side of the Channel they were on.70 The absence of anti-alien feeling
in Devon and Cornwall can be attributed in large part to the prosperity
the two counties were experiencing in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries,
when many other regions and towns were struggling to cope with economic
depression and thus keen anti-alien sentiment in the face of competition for
jobs and markets.71 Breton neighbours were also nothing new in Devon and
especially in Cornwall, where a common language and culture may have
smoothed over some of the more difficult situations.

Figure 6.1 The Cornish hundreds and language boundary between western
(Cornish-speaking) and eastern (English-speaking) regions in c. 1500.

130  Maryanne Kowaleski
Table 6.1 Distribution of Breton immigrants in Cornwall by hundred and record
source

Hundred Settlements No. of Bretons

with
Bretons Total 1440 alien 1522– 1523– 1544
subsidy 1523 1525 denization
military subsidies letters
survey

Penwith 26 207 3 116 85 3

Kerrier 23 118 – 111 7
Powder 22 58 4 – 51 3
Pydar 6 19 – 19 0
West 12 22 3 16 3 0
East 3 16 16 – – 0
Trigg 4 18 8 9 1
Lesnewth 1 1 1 – 0 0
Stratton 1 1 – 0 1
98 460 27 140 278 15

Sources: England’s Immigrants, https://www.englandsimmigrants.com/search (includes data

from the 1440–1441 alien subsidy, the 1523–1525 subsidies and the 1544 denization letters)
supplemented with data from Military Survey, ed. Stoate (1522–1523); Cornwall Subsidies, ed.
Stoate (1524–1525).
Notes: A dash (–) means no data survives. Based on the number of Bretons in the 1523–1525
subsidies, this table significantly undercounts Bretons in Kerrier and Powder, neither of which
have an extant military survey that distinguishes aliens. Undercounting in Pydar and East is
also a factor because of missing tax returns. For other comments on illegibility or missing
parts in the returns, see Cornwall subsidies, ed. Stoate, p. v.

Figure 6.2 Administrative divisions and the language boundary between Upper
Brittany to the east (French-Gallo speaking) and Lower Brittany in the
west (Breton-speaking) in the late Middle Ages.
 Breton immigration  131
Table 6.2 Occupations of Breton immigrants in England

Occupations Total 1337–1496 1440– 1522–1525 1512–1555

No. 1488

Denization and Alien Military survey Denization

protection letters subsidies and subsidies letters

Maritime 45 6 0 20 19
Fishers 17
Mariners 1 3 18
Lighterman 1
Merchants 5
Tinners 14 10 4
Titled and 8 3 5
professions
Clergy 40 5 4 4 27
Artisans 87 0 3 28 56
Tailors 1 12 10
Leather and 1 2 13
fur
Smiths 7 1
Apprentices 2 3
Barbers 5
Woodworkers 1 9
Millers 2 3
Others 1 2 12
Servants 105 0 40 60 5
Labourers 45 0 1 37 7
Known totals 343 14 48 159 123
Unknown 505 14 67 344 79

Sources: England’s Immigrants, https://www.englandsimmigrants.com/search, supplemented

with data from Tudor Exeter, ed. Rowe; Military Survey, ed. Stoate; Cornwall Subsidies, ed. Stoate.

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Religion
7 The bishop of Winchester, the
abbey of Titchfield and the
‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook,
1375–1405
Chris Given-Wilson

Nearly forty years ago D. G. Watts, the historian of Titchfield (Hampshire)

and its Premonstratensian abbey of St Mary, drew attention to the ‘extraor-
dinary affair’ of the abbey’s dispute between circa 1375 and 1405 with its de-
pendent villagers at Hook.1 At the heart of this remarkable story was what
the abbot habitually referred to as Hook’s ‘pretended chapel’ (capella pre-
tensa). Yet although primarily a local dispute, its ripples spread far wider:
William of Wykeham, bishop of Winchester, became deeply involved in the
controversy, as did his enemies in London, several lords of the king’s coun-
cil, the archbishop of Canterbury and the pope.
Hook was so-called because it was on the ‘hook’ of land where the River
Hamble enters Southampton Water, creating a tidal inlet known as the
Fleet. Although it had close links with Southampton and Hamble, it was
a significant port in its own right in the fourteenth century, and ships ‘of
Hook’ were distinguished with care from those of its neighbours. For the
Crécy-Calais expedition of 1346, it provided over 200 mariners and eleven
ships, roughly half the number supplied by Southampton.2 Listed as royal
demesne in Domesday Book, by circa 1300 Hook was divided between the
manors of Hook Valence (held by the earl of Pembroke) and Hook Mortimer
(held by Roger Mortimer). It is the latter with which we are concerned here.3
The dispute over Hook’s capella pretensa had two distinct phases, 1375–
1379 and 1400–1405. The first known reference to it is dated 15 March 1364,

138  Chris Given-Wilson
when Pope Urban V ordered Bishop Edington of Winchester to inquire
into a petition from the inhabitants of Hook proposing the foundation of
a chapel there. According to the villagers, Hook was two miles from the
parish church of Titchfield and the road between the village and the church
often flooded, meaning that they could not go to church and infants and the
sick and elderly were denied the sacraments. Although Edington passed this
mandate to his official, nothing was done before the bishop’s death a year
later.4
Edington was succeeded by William of Wykeham, who was born within
the parish of Titchfield and had a strong affection for the abbey – a not
insignificant factor in the dispute that followed. This really began in July
1374, when Pope Gregory XI, picking up what his predecessor had dropped,
instructed Wykeham to inquire into the construction and endowment of
a chapel at Hook and to institute a curate there. Gregory was responding
to a petition from the king’s son, John of Gaunt, the earls of Suffolk, Staf-
ford and Warwick and Edward Lord Despenser. These five, with the duke
of Brittany, were the leaders of Gaunt’s ‘Great March’ of 1373–1374 from
Calais to Bordeaux, towards the end of which they were in regular contact
with the Avignon papacy and presumably presented their petition.5 Yet al-
though the support of these great lords surely helped to secure Gregory’s
compliance, it was local commitment that drove the project, the purpose of
which was to provide a chapel-of-ease for Titchfield parish church. It was
thus three of Hook’s tenants, William Osbern, Richard Clok and William
Farthing, whom Edmund Mortimer, earl of March and lord of Hook, li-
cenced on 28 February 1375 to alienate a plot of land eighty feet long and
sixty feet wide upon which to construct it. The bishop of Winchester was to
induct the chaplain.6
The problem was that neither Bishop Wykeham nor the abbot of Titchfield –
to whom the parish church had been appropriated since the abbey’s founda-
tion in 1232 – supported the construction of a chapel at Hook; and therein
lay the origins of the dispute. Despite this, within the next eighteen months
the villagers had built the chapel and installed a chaplain, Robert Wheeler.
It was apparently constructed on a plot of land adjacent to the house of one
William Maple, who was the prime mover in the affair. Maple was a man
of some substance: not just a landholder in Hook, he was also a burgess of
Southampton, where he held several tenements and served twice as mayor

 The ‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook  139
(1387–1389). He stood surety for knights and aliens, collected parliamentary
taxes and did not stand in fear of ecclesiastical authority.7
The timing of the chapel’s construction was fortuitous for the villagers
because Wykeham, once Edward III’s chancellor and a great power in the
realm, fell into disgrace in October 1376; convicted of malpractice and dis-
missed from the royal council, he was forbidden to approach the king’s pres-
ence.8 The chief agent of his downfall was John of Gaunt, one of the original
advocates of Hook chapel, and although this was probably no more than a
coincidence, now was clearly not the moment for Wykeham to embark on
any action that might be construed as a challenge to Gaunt. However, by
September 1377, once Edward III died and a spirit of conciliation prevailed,
Wykeham had obtained a pardon and resumed his political career. He also
now redirected his mind to Hook chapel.
The contention of the abbot of Titchfield, John de Thorney (1370–1390),
supported by Wykeham, was that the chapel at Hook prejudiced the rights
of both the abbey and the parish church. Their principal grounds for com-
plaint, repeated many times over subsequent years, were that (i) Wykeham
had never licensed the chapel; (ii) on Sundays and feast days the inhabitants
of Hook attended their own chapel rather than the parish church, thereby
depriving the latter of alms and tithes and endangering their souls; (iii) they
rang bells encouraging other parishioners to attend the chapel; (iv) they had
erected a font and baptized infants; and (v) Robert Wheeler also dispensed
other sacraments such as confession and extreme unction. On 23 Decem-
ber 1377, reciting these complaints, Wykeham ordered his sequestrator John
Langrish to go to Titchfield on a Sunday and, after mass, publish a monition
that the chapel must be closed within twelve days under threat of interdict.
Langrish duly went to Titchfield, but when he read out the monition, the vil-
lagers of Hook, assembled en masse in the parish church, shouted out ‘with
loud and arrogant voices’ (alta voce et pomposa) that they had no intention
of closing their chapel. Wykeham responded by putting the matter in the
hands of his official John Lydford, who on 22 January 1378, in the church of
St Mary Overy in Southwark, placed an interdict on the chapel.9
William Maple’s reaction was swift and provocative. Appearing before
a notary public in London on 29 January, he appealed to Pope Gregory
against Wykeham’s sentence. Pointing out that the chapel had been con-
structed with the consent of the lord of the village and that the villagers had
agreed to respect the rights of the parish church, he accused Wykeham of
refusing to hear their appeals (which the bishop had already dismissed as
frivolam, frustratoriam, minus veris fictam et fabricatam), or to give them a

140  Chris Given-Wilson
copy of the monition, which they needed in order to take legal advice, ‘since
I [Maple] and the parishioners of the said village are laymen and not liter-
ate’ (litteras non novimus). They had also been summoned at short notice to
Winchester Cathedral, where they would be in danger from the ‘snares of
their enemies’. Five weeks later, Maple drew up a second appeal (technically,
an interposition) for protection against any action which Wykeham might
take against him, a copy of which he pinned to the doors of Winchester
Cathedral.10
Months of stalemate followed, probably occasioned by the death of Greg-
ory XI on 27 March 1378 and the confusion that attended the outbreak of
the Great Schism, for not until the October parliament did the English rec-
ognize Urban VI as pope.11 By the spring of 1379, however, Wykeham was
ready to renew his campaign against the chapel, initially summoning the vil-
lagers, through the dean of neighbouring Droxford, to appear in Winchester
Cathedral on Maundy Thursday (7 April); meanwhile, on 31 March, he re-
newed the interdict on the chapel and excommunicated Maple, Wheeler and
twenty-four other named offenders.12 Most of them were villagers of Hook,
but at least one, William Waryn, was, like Maple, a man with wider connec-
tions. As the master of the ship Rodecog of Hook, he regularly transported
English armies to the continent during the 1370s and 1380s, serving under
commanders such as Sir Hugh Calveley (in 1378–1379), Sir Thomas Percy (in
1385) and even John of Gaunt, whose army he had helped to transport back
to England in 1374.13
Eventually, in late 1379, a compromise was agreed. Wykeham consented
to a chapel at Hook in which masses and other divine offices could be said
by a secular chaplain licenced by himself and removable at the discretion of
the abbot, but only as long as he was not instituted perpetually and used a
portable altar ‘such as might be found in an un-consecrated private chapel’.
The villagers were to build a house for him at their own expense and provide
the necessary books, chalices, vestments, ornaments, bread and candles for
the chapel. They must also continue to pay their share of the maintenance
of Titchfield parish church and cemetery as well as the customary tithes,
alms and other dues which they rendered there. They were obliged to attend

 The ‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook  141
services at Titchfield at Christmas, Easter, the feasts of SS Peter and Paul
and the anniversary of the church’s dedication, although those who were
infirmos, debiles et impotentes might be excused from this; women about to
give birth might also be excused, provided they subsequently went to Titch-
field for purification. All the villagers were to hear confession at the parish
church at least once a year and receive penances and the viaticum there,
unless they were too sick to travel or were about to go abroad in the king’s
service. Burials at Hook were strictly forbidden, since the ground was not
hallowed, and other sacraments permitted only in dire necessity. As the
price of these concessions, the villagers at Hook agreed to pay eighty marks
to Wykeham and ten marks a year to the abbey, to renounce their appeals
to the papacy and to submit to the bishop’s arbitration. For their part, the
abbot and convent had to appoint a chaplain at Hook within thirty days
of the death or removal of the previous incumbent. Once this agreement
was ratified, Wykeham would pardon the villagers and lift the sentences
of excommunication and interdict, but if they reneged on it these would
automatically be reimposed. The subsequent ratification of the agreement,
described by Lydford as bona et formalis submissio facta domino episcopo,
also stipulated a penalty of 1,000 marks by the villagers for its infraction.14
This compact was witnessed by two men of considerable standing: Hugh
Calveley, the great war-captain under whom William Waryn served that
year, and Sir John Montague, nephew and heir of the earl of Salisbury. Ma-
ple knew them both: he had stood as a mainpernor for Calveley in 1378,
while the tenement in English Street, Southampton, in which Maple lived,
was leased by Montague from the earl of Arundel.15 The likelihood is that
Calveley and Montague had not just witnessed the agreement with Wyke-
ham, but in effect brokered it, for while Lydford might have chosen to
represent it as a submission to episcopal authority, it was by no means an
unconditional surrender, and up to a point Maple and the villagers had got
what they wanted. What really mattered, however, was whether the agree-
ment would stick. For the next twenty-one years, it evidently did; what rup-
tured it was the death of William Maple – or, more precisely, his will.
Maple must have died in 1399 or early 1400.16 The text of his will has not
survived, but it is clear that he left funds for the establishment of a chantry
in Hook chapel, with a chaplain to sing masses for the souls of himself,
his relatives and his friends. This required an additional licence, which the
new abbot of Titchfield, John de Romsey, opposed. Against him stood the

142  Chris Given-Wilson
new chaplain at Hook, William Cake,17 and Maple’s leading executor, John
Michol, a vintner and future sheriff of London who had presumably been a
business associate of Maple and who enjoyed both the wealth and the incli-
nation to stand up for what he believed to be his obligations.18 The subse-
quent litigation took over four years to resolve and was carefully copied into
one of the voluminous registers compiled at Titchfield Abbey shortly after
1405, where it fills forty folios under the title Acta de Houke.19
Michol apart, Maple’s executors were Master John Batour, rector of the
parish church of Sherborne St John, William Tabellere of Clopham and
Hugh Champion of Southampton. On 5 May 1400, these four loaned 160
marks to the abbot of St Mary Graces (London) in return for an annuity of
eight marks (two marks each) for twenty years, presumably to pay William
Cake.20 Three weeks later, the dispute reignited: Abbot Romsey forbade any
chaplain to hold services at Hook or appeal to the pope, while Bishop Wyke-
ham sent a mandate to the dean of Droxford telling him to cite Cake, ‘who
calls himself a priest’ (presbiterum se pretendens), to appear before him at
Southwark on 19 June to explain why he had endangered souls by ringing
bells and celebrating masses in ‘a certain house’ in the ‘village or hamlet of
Hook’, despite it being under interdict. The villagers were warned that if
they attended any such services, they would be excommunicated.21
The dean duly went to Hook on 10 June, but found himself confronted by
several of Cake’s accomplices, who, ‘armed with hand weapons and drawn
bows with arrows at the ready’, threatened to resist him if he proceeded. One
of them seized the mandate from him and made off with it while two others
held him back. Fearing for his life, the dean retreated and reported back
that, although he had announced it in several local churches, he had not
been able to deliver Wykeham’s citation to Cake.22 Meanwhile, the abbot
had also sent a tutelary (tuitorie) appeal to the Court of Arches, the appeal
court of Canterbury diocese, seeking protection against his enemies, and on
4 June the archbishop’s official empowered four clerics of Worcester diocese,

20 CCR 1399–1402, pp. 130, 133–4, 181. Chapel or chantry chaplains generally received be-
tween four and ten marks (Wood-Legh, Perpetual Chantries, pp. 41–2; Duffy, Stripping of
the Altars, p. 369).
21 BL, Add MS 70507, fos. 48v–50r; cf. Wykeham’s Register, ed. Kirby, II, p. 500.
22
BL, Add MS 70507, fos. 50r–v.
 The ‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook  143
led by Hugo Saunder, to try their hand at summoning Cake.23 Saunder fared
no better than the dean. Unable to find Cake, who was protected by a large
number of armed villagers, and claiming to be ‘in danger of death or seri-
ous bodily injury’, he withdrew to confer with the dean of Droxford, who,
doubtless sympathetically, substantiated his account.24
By this time, news of the dispute at Hook had come to the notice of the
king’s council. Included in the Acta de Houke are four letters in French, one
from a ‘friend’ of the abbot, two from an ‘adversary’ and one from Rom-
sey himself, dating from June and July 1400 (see Appendix).25 The friend,
evidently a man with political connections, said that he had been informed
by ‘my friends on the king’s council’ that the abbot would shortly be made
to suffer because of Hook chapel, since ‘the earl of March and other lords’
were briefing the king and council against him, saying it would be profitable
to the whole community for foreigners as well as for locals to have a chapel
there; the upshot of which, he went on, was that the chapel was likely to be
approved, not just for foreigners but for all those who lived in the vicinity,
‘who suffer greatly from the lack of a chapel there, such as John Michol and
others’. If he wanted to avoid the anger of the king and council, therefore, he
advised the abbot either to reach an agreement with the people of Hook or
to hurry to London to counter the malice of his enemies.
That support for the chapel should come from the grandson of the man
who had founded it is not surprising, but it would be remarkable if it was
the current earl of March (another Edmund Mortimer) who intervened to
such effect in council, for he was barely nine years old at this time.26 The
likelihood is that it was the earl of Northumberland, Henry Percy, or his son
‘Hotspur’, who did so, for they held the wardship of the Mortimer estates
and were at the height of their power at this time.27 John Michol had clearly
been garnering support in London, and the first letter from the abbot’s ‘ad-
versary’ (probably Michol himself) left Romsey in no doubt that powerful
forces were now ranged against him. Referring back to a conversation they
had had at Southampton, he warned the abbot of the inconvenience to vis-
itors of not having a chapel there and advised him to find a remedy ‘so that
souls might be saved, and so that no other great lords should meddle with
such matters’, since ‘the chancellor and many other great lords are saying
that you are doing a great wrong to the village of Hook’. The village, he
pointed out, belonged to the king, and the villagers were royal tenants28;
he firmly intended, he declared, ‘with all my power’, to perform the will of

23 Titchfield’s mother’s house was Halesowen (Worcestershire).

24 BL, Add MS 70507, fos. 51r–52v.
25 Ibid., fos 54v–56v; these letters must have preceded the entries on fos. 52v–56v (see below).
26 He was born in 1391. His grandfather Edmund died in 1381, his father Roger in 1398.
27 Given-Wilson, Henry IV, pp. 190–201.
28 Presumably because Hook was ancient crown demesne, a point often disputed by the ab-
bots (Watts, ‘Peasant Discontent’, pp. 122–3).
144  Chris Given-Wilson
William Maple, for God and the salvation of souls, so it would be advisable
for the abbot to compromise.
Although firm, the tone of this letter was not unfriendly; nor was Abbot
Romsey’s response. Through his lawyer, he had been in touch with Maple’s
executor Hugh Champion to reassure him of his intentions, but since then,
despite Wykeham’s interdict, William Cake had continued to celebrate di-
vine services in the chapel. It was not true, said Romsey, that several of the
villagers had died without receiving the sacraments. Nor, despite what they
had promised, were they paying their tithes, alms or profits of merchandise
to the parish, apart from six pence per ship, or contributing to the mainte-
nance of the parish church. They had also maliciously accused the abbot of
assembling ‘a great multitude of men by collusion against the peace, and
with force of arms launching an attack against them in the village of Hook’.
These matters, he concluded, should be remedied at law.
The adversary’s response to this began by advising the abbot to pursue
his rights less vigorously, ‘because the whole of the king’s council is talking
about the great wrong that [the villagers] have suffered’. Whoever had ad-
vised the abbot to act in such a way was not a true friend, ‘for wise people
say that a man who is hated by his neighbours is not the lord of his land’. It
would be better to show mercy, for otherwise Hook chapel would probably
before long be ‘freer than before to receive the rights of holy mother church’.
Had the abbot invited him, he concluded, he would have come to speak with
him to arrange a compromise, ‘and no one else would have known apart
from you and me’.
‘And having considered these letters’, the Titchfield register continues,
‘the abbot and convent agreed to treat with the executors of the will of Wil-
liam Maple’. Negotiations took several months, during which time further
citations were issued, further unsuccessful attempts were made to enter the
village and further evidence was sent to the Court of Arches, although the
abbot’s case there was suspended pending the outcome of the negotiations.29
Eventually, on 16 November 1400, an indenture was drawn up and sealed
at the abbey. Its most significant point was that in return for the payment
by the executors of £160, the abbot agreed that Maple’s perpetual chantry
could be established in Hook chapel. In return, the abbey undertook to ap-
point and maintain a secular chaplain to reside in the village of Nether Bliss,
‘adjacent to the said chapel’, who would celebrate mass each day for the
souls of Maple and his friends and relatives. The abbot and convent would
meet the expenses of this chaplain and would have the sole right to appoint,
remove or replace him. He was not to dispense any sacraments of the church
without express permission, and those who attended the chapel were not to
contribute any of their tithes or alms to him. The abbot also undertook to

29 BL, Add MS 70507, fos. 52v–56v. John Eastfield, vicar of Titchfield, cited Cake again on 19
September, but dared not go to his house.
 The ‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook  145
pay for the house to be built in Nether Bliss. Crucially, however, the final
clause of the document stated that if Bishop Wykeham refused to sanction
this compact, it would be ‘as nothing’ – and refuse he did: ‘The foregoing
agreement’, the scribe concluded, ‘turned out to be null and void (vacue et
inanes) because the reverend Lord William bishop of Winchester did not
wish to give his assent’.30
Despairing of a resolution, the executors now followed Maple’s lead and
appealed to Rome. Their timing was fortuitous. The provision of pastoral
and sacramental care in appropriated parishes was a sensitive issue at this
time, with the parliamentary Commons putting pressure on Pope Boniface
IX to introduce reform, and although the villagers of Hook never directly
challenged the abbey’s appropriation of their parish, appropriators were on
the defensive.31 At any rate, Boniface’s response – when his bull of 31 De-
cember 1401 eventually arrived – gave the executors and the villagers what
they wanted. Agreeing that the two-mile trek from Hook was ‘tedious’ and
made it difficult for children and the infirm to receive the sacraments, he
licenced both the chapel and Maple’s chantry, with permission for a priest to
celebrate divine offices, hear confessions, baptize infants and give extreme
unction. Anyone who impeded this was threatened with anathemas. After
receiving the instruction to execute this decision, Archbishop Arundel in-
vited the abbot to come before him to argue his case.32
This prompted Abbot Romsey to draw up his hitherto most comprehen-
sive schedule of grievances against the chapel.33 In addition to his well-
rehearsed concerns about the dispensing of sacraments at Hook, the use
of force against the abbot’s commissaries and the withholding of tithes and
contributions to the parish church, he also pointed out that the villagers
were now claiming the same immunity from contributions to the parish as
other (licenced) chapels elsewhere in Winchester diocese; that the dying were
bequeathing twenty pence to the priest at Hook but nothing, or only four
or six pence to the vicar of Titchfield; that residents of nearby villages, even
Titchfield itself, were now going to Hook instead of to the parish church;
that Cake was celebrating private masses (missas peculiares) for anniversa-
ries and claiming to have the relics of saints which, he said, would secure
indulgences for those who contributed to his chapel. The villagers’ profits
from maritime traffic were also still an issue: payments made by ‘foreigners
about to go overseas’ were no longer benefiting the parish and the villagers
were handing over no more than six pence per ship per year. Moreover, they
had suborned great men of the realm to support them by falsely asserting
ancient privileges. Yet in reality, the abbot concluded, ‘the entire tenure of

30 Ibid., fo. 58r.

146  Chris Given-Wilson
that village of Hook is held in villeinage and bondage’ (native et in bondagio),
so that ‘should the aforesaid inhabitants refuse to make satisfaction for all
the aforesaid to the abbot and convent, or to be bound in future to do so,
they cannot’.34
Bishop Wykeham, now approaching his eightieth year, lent what support
he could, sending his chancellor to try to persuade Arundel to give the ab-
bot a sympathetic hearing, and as a result a mediation process was arranged
in London between the proctors of the abbot and the executors.35 However,
when Michol heard the terms on which the abbot proposed to negotiate –
increased payments, restrictions on sacraments and the dispensing of holy
water, and the insistence that the ‘villeins’ (nativi) of Hook would never use
this agreement to ‘proclaim themselves to be free’ – he rejected them forth-
with.36 And for Abbot Romsey, things soon got worse. When his appeal
against the pope’s bull was heard by Arundel’s chancellor Robert Hallum in
the Court of Arches in late July 1402, it was dismissed. Infuriated, the abbot
claimed that Hallum had simply ‘received some witnesses and claimed to
have examined them as to the truth of the said bull, but God knows how’
(sed qualiter Deus novit), then ‘instantaneously, almost in the blink of an eye’
(incontinenti, quasi in ictu oculi) decreed that the bull should be executed. He
would oppose this decision by any available means. Clearly irked at the ab-
bot’s tone, Arundel responded on 7 August by ordering him and Wykeham
to enforce Boniface’s bull and stop harassing the villagers and executors
forthwith, under penalty of major excommunication. Wykeham was also
told to pardon those whom he had excommunicated, grant the licence for
the chapel and – humiliatingly – to have Boniface’s bull read out in Win-
chester Cathedral as well as Titchfield parish church. When the Titchfield
scribe copied this into his register, he omitted some of its more uncomforta-
ble clauses, claiming that it had been issued ‘at the prompting of certain en-
emies of the abbot and in order to harass and enfeeble them’ (ad vexandum
et fatigandum eosdem).37
Yet Abbot Romsey was far from ready to give up. The only way that a
papal bull with archiepiscopal backing could be overturned was with a
countermanding papal bull, and despite the time and expense involved that
was the task he now set himself. His appeal to Boniface claimed that the
villagers’ bull had been obtained surreptitiously, and that Hook was not a

34 BL, Add MS 70507, fos. 58r–59v.

 The ‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook  147
town (oppidum) but a rural settlement of no importance (ruralis sine aliqua
eminencia) held in bondage; it was not two miles from the parish church but
a mile and a half at most, with a good connecting road; the villagers had
failed to mention that their ‘pretended chapel’ had been interdicted; there
were two other licenced chapels-of-ease in the parish, and a third was un-
necessary; the villagers’ behaviour had caused immense damage (laeduntur
in immensum) to the rights of both abbey and church, was contrary to the
laws of the realm and the crown and was imperilling their souls. Moreo-
ver, William Cake had, on 19 February 1403, with ‘diabolical presumption’
(presumpcione diabolica), conducted a burial service outside the chapel for a
certain Nicholas Lodere, a parishioner of Titchfield, which was ‘absolutely
scandalous’ (nimis scandalosum) and a manifest profanity.38
By the spring of 1403, money had been borrowed, credit for the journey
arranged with Florentine bankers and letters of procuration drawn up for
the lawyers who, accompanied by some of the monks, would carry the ap-
peal to Rome. And although the journey to Rome and the inevitable de-
lays there took over a year, when Boniface eventually responded on 7 June
1404 he gave the abbot everything he had asked for.39 Repeating Romsey’s
grievances almost verbatim, the pope annulled the bull he had granted the
villagers and declared their argument in favour of a chapel to be ‘completely
absurd’ (nimis absurdum). Archbishop Arundel and other prelates were en-
joined to enforce this volte-face with a diligence equal to that which they
had formerly shown in enforcing his earlier, diametrically opposed, bull and
to inform Bishop Wykeham of the vindication of his thirty-year campaign
against the chapel. But whether Wykeham heard the news is uncertain, for
he died on 27 September 1404. Four days later, Boniface unexpectedly fol-
lowed him to the grave after flying into a rage with the ambassadors of his
rival Avignonese pope.40
Yet the sudden death of two of the chief protagonists appears to have
had no effect on the outcome. After enormous trouble and expense, Abbot
Romsey had finally won – or so the Titchfield register suggests, for at this
point the scribe brought his Acta de Houke to a close, and for the next thirty
years nothing more is heard of the chapel. However, on 5 November 1437
(at whose prompting is not stated), an indult from Pope Eugenius IV to the
inhabitants of Hook gave them licence, on the well-honed grounds that the
two miles separating them from Titchfield made it inconvenient for them
to go there ‘to have mass and other divine offices celebrated by fit priests,
even on a portable altar, in the chapel which exists in the said hamlet, saving

38 BL, Add MS 70507, fos. 67v–71r; cf. HALSW, MS 5M53/1294 (later transcript).
39 The itinerary, financial arrangements, travel expenses and letters of procuration are all set
out in detail (BL, Add MS 70507, fos. 71v–79r).
40
Chronicle of Adam Usk, ed. Given-Wilson, p. 180.
 148  Chris Given-Wilson
the right of the said church’.41 So had the abbey really won? As far as can be
gathered, Eugenius IV’s indult – which sounds like a reversion to the 1379
compromise – did not provoke any response from either the new abbot of
Titchfield, Richard Aubrey, or Henry Beaufort, bishop of Winchester. As
long as the villagers and their chaplain exercised circumspection, perhaps
neither Aubrey nor Beaufort felt inclined to revisit the affair. At the very
least, the indult tells us that there were still in 1437, sixty years after its con-
struction, a functioning chapel at Hook and villagers eager to stand up for it.

***

Much of the story of Hook chapel has a familiar ring. There were thousands
of chapels in medieval England, many of them private (in the castles and
manor-houses of lords and gentry), many others chapels-of-ease.42 Bish-
ops, monasteries and parish rectors habitually imposed close restrictions
on the range of activities permitted to chaplains, especially concerning the
administration of sacraments, the number and type of masses that could be
said and their parishioners’ continuing financial obligations to the mother
church. Cemeteries, mortuary payments and baptismal fonts were particu-
larly sensitive issues.43 That disputes should arise was inevitable, and some-
times they persisted for decades: the status of the sumptuous urban chapel
of St Nicholas at King’s Lynn, with its large and well-connected mercantile
congregation, caused ‘gret ple and gret hevynes’ (‘much litigation and much
unpleasantness’) in the town, according to Margery Kempe, and was in dis-
pute (including appeals to Rome) for almost exactly the same period of time
as that of Hook, from the 1370s to the 1430s.44
This does not mean that bishops or abbots were fundamentally hostile to
chapels or chantries, the foundational raison d’être of which (the ‘increase
of divine worship’) was an ideal to which they could but subscribe, and
there were obvious spiritual benefits to be gained from making it easier for
parishioners to attend mass or receive the sacraments promptly. However,
they had to balance these needs against the unity and financial viability of
that most fundamental community of lay religious life, the parish; petitions
to erect chapels or chantries were thus carefully scrutinized and licences
granted only on condition that they should not prejudice the rights of the
rector or cause dissension among his parishioners. Sometimes they were re-
fused.45 Yet no case – or at least none that has yet come to light – appears to

 The ‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook  149
have excited as much comment at Westminster as that of Hook, and it is not
easy to explain why, in the summer of 1400, with so much else to concern
them, the lords of the royal council, the chancellor and apparently even the
king took such an interest in it.46 The most plausible explanation is that
the mighty Percys were determined to protect the interests of their ward
Edmund Mortimer, a boy now but potentially a future king.47 Yet they can
hardly have gone unopposed: Wykeham still frequently attended council
meetings, where he presumably put his side of the story, but his (and the
abbot’s) opinions seem to have been either disregarded or discredited.48
For Archbishop Arundel and Pope Boniface, the problem was whom to
believe. Arundel evidently did not send his own investigators to Hook; that
was what diocesans and their officials were for. Siding initially with his suf-
fragan, he hastily ate his words on receipt of Boniface’s first bull, only to be
forced to disgorge them again two years later. His failure to give a clear lead
either to the pope or to Wykeham probably made him look a little foolish;
unlike Boniface IX, he can hardly have been unaware of what the king’s
councillors were saying about Hook. Boniface, however, thousands of miles
away in Rome, could only act on such information as was brought to him,
although he too might have felt a little uncomfortable at having to perform
such pontifical acrobatics, however gamely he tried to justify his decisions
in spiritual terms.
Yet this was manifestly not just a matter of souls and salvation. The fact
that Hook was a thriving port, not the ‘rural settlement of no importance’
depicted by the abbot, must also have rallied support in high places for its
claim to a chapel. Ports were popular locations for chapels-of-ease, where
seafarers could pray for a safe crossing or give thanks (and offerings) for a
journey completed without mishap; the original 1374 petition from Gaunt
and his fellow commanders suggests that it was, from the beginning, not just
as a chapel-of-ease for villagers that Hook chapel was seen as desirable.49
Many of those who passed through Hook were knights and merchants, peo-
ple of substance who had both the financial means and the influence to sup-
port its case – men such as Hugh Calveley, John Montague, William Maple
and John Michol. Maple’s legacy establishing a chantry at Hook was in-
tended to secure the financial viability of the chapel, a method often chosen
by testators not only because it offered long-term security but also because
of the moral obligations of testamentary executors. He also evidently had
both the connections and the sense to appoint executors with the determi-
nation to see the business through.
However, the same factors that attracted influential support for Hook’s
chapel also made it imperative for the abbey not to allow it to slip beyond

46 Given-Wilson, Henry IV, pp. 167–9, 206–7.

150  Chris Given-Wilson
their control. Profits from merchandise, payments by ships’ captains and
offerings from travellers must have raised Hook’s income well above the
average for a village of its size, and the abbots clearly resented the fact that
these were (apparently) being siphoned off at source. This is no doubt one
explanation for what was widely seen as intransigence on their part, al-
though in Wykeham’s case natal sentiment also played its part. Yet neither
he nor the abbots were entirely inflexible: after all, the 1379 compromise
lasted for twenty years. Moreover, fault undoubtedly lay on both sides. By
building their chapel without episcopal licence, appealing to the pope, pin-
ning their defiance to the cathedral door, shouting down the bishop’s official
and threatening his commissaries with violence, the villagers significantly
raised the temperature of the dispute. Nor did they adhere to the terms of
the 1379 compromise. The chantry which John Michol resolved to establish
was perpetual, whereas Wykeham had only agreed in 1379 to a temporary
chaplain with a portable altar; burials at Hook were prohibited, yet William
Cake ignored this. Was this why Wykeham refused to compromise for a
second time in 1400, because he did not believe that the villagers would keep
their word? Abbot Romsey, meanwhile, may well have felt by this time that
the chapel was becoming such a threat to the integrity of his parish that
some form of damage limitation was essential.
Romsey’s insistence in 1401–1402 that the villagers of Hook held their
land ‘in villeinage and bondage’, and that nothing he agreed should be used
‘to proclaim themselves free’, indicates deeper concerns. The thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries witnessed numerous disputes between the abbots of
Titchfield and their tenants, many of which centred on the allegedly unfree
status of the tenants on their fifteen Hampshire manors. Concerted resist-
ance became a habit. Men such as William Waryn, residents of a flourishing
mercantile community divided between the abbot and great absentee land-
lords, where seafaring and merchandising opened windows on an unbound
world, drew strength from this history of self-assertiveness. And in an age of
rising expectations, declining serfdom, passive resistance and active revolt,
it may well be true that ‘crossing the tiny stream into the relatively cosmo-
politan world of Hook was one of the ways in which Titchfield people were
slipping away from customary status’.50
Disappointingly – though perhaps fortunately – this story ends not with
a bang but with a whimper. If Eugenius IV’s bull indicates that the chapel
was still in use in 1437, the port of Hook was in decline. Patterns of trade
were changing, ships getting bigger and the shifting sands of Southampton
Water causing the port to silt up. At some point during the later fifteenth
century, the chapel for which William Maple, John Michol and the villagers
had fought so doggedly seems simply to have become surplus to require-
ments, and by the time Titchfield Abbey was suppressed in 1537 it was barely
even a memory.51

50 Watts, ‘Peasant Discontent’, pp. 131–2.

 The ‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook  151
Appendix: Letters to the abbot of Titchfield, June-July 1400
(BL, Add MS 70507, fos. 54v-56v)
1 (‘quidam familiaris amicus predicti abbatis et conventus’):
Treshonore seigneur, vous pleise entendre que ieo suis certefye de-
par ascuns de mes amys del consail nostre seigneur le roy que vous
serres deyns bryef moult grevez par cause de la chapelle de Houke,
qar le roy et son consail sont enformez par le counte del March et
aultres seignours encountre vous qil serroit necessarie et lour prof-
itable pour tote la commune illoeqes auxi bien pur estraungez come
pur prevez davoir la chapele illoeqes avauntdit. Sur quey le roy et son
consail sont outrement acordez de ordeigner la dite capelle avauntdit
a la requeste des dit counte de March et plusures grauntz seignours,
et pur grantt almoygne de tote le pays, et pur toutz estraungez queux
sont moult pur defaute dune chapelle illoeques grevez, come Johan
Michol et autres. Les seignours avauntditz ont enfourmez, sur quey
me semble, que si la dite chapelle avauntdit serroit continue encountre
votre bon gree qadonq il serroit grauntement encountre vous et votre
meyson pur temps avenir, pur quey, treshonore, vous consayl, come
vous voillez eschuer la greve indignation de notre dit le roy et malice
dez aultres seignours avauntditz, acorder ovesque lez ditz gentz de
Houke en cas que vous voiez qil soit affaire, oud autrement que vous
soiez pour votre profit et honur a Loundres a plustot que vous purres
pur countresse la malice dez voz enemys avauntdiz. A dieu treshonure
sire vous comaund et vous doigne bon esploit encountre voz enemys
et bone vie et longe.
(Translation: From a certain familiar friend of the said abbot and con-
vent: Honourable lord, may it please you to understand that I have been
informed by certain of my friends of the council of our lord the king
that you will shortly be made to suffer greatly on account of the chapel
of Hook, because the king and his council are informed by the earl of
March and other lords opposed to you that it will be necessary and
profitable for all the community there, for strangers as well as for resi-
dents, to have the aforesaid chapel there. Following which the king and
his council are in complete agreement to ordain the aforesaid chapel, at
the request of the said earl of March and several other great lords, and
for the great relief of all the region, and for all the strangers who suffer
greatly from the lack of a chapel there, such as John Michol and others.
These lords have reported, according to my information, that if the said
chapel should be continued contrary to your agreement, that this would
then count greatly against you and your house in the future, and so,

The rectory at ‘Worthy Mortymer’, mentioned in Valor Ecclesiasticus, ed. Caley, II, p. 6,
refers to Headbourne Worthy near Winchester. The statement (in VCH Hampshire, 3, p.
228) that there was still a chapel there in 1570 seems to refer to Hook in Yorkshire (CPR
1569–72, no. 1941). The disused chapel of Our Lady of Grace which John Leland saw at
Hamble around 1540 was on the other side of the river (Orme, ‘Church and Chapel’, p. 101).
152  Chris Given-Wilson
honourable sir, I advise you, if you wish to avoid the grievous indigna-
tion of our said king and the ill-will of the other said lords, to come to an
agreement with the said people of Hook in a way that you can see that it
is done, or else that, for your own profit and honour, you come as soon
as possible to London to counteract the malice of your said enemies.
Honourable lord, I commend you to God and may he grant you a good
outcome against your enemies, and a good and long life.)
2 (‘alia littera adversarii abbatis eidem directa’):
Reverent et honure sire, pleyse vous entendre tochaunt la matiere del
chapelle de Houke, que ieo vous parla en Hampton sur le meer a notre
departir, ieo vous supplie que vous plese de moy mander votre gracieux
voluntee et votre conseill, et a regardant le mal et la peyne que se puet
venir en temps avenir par beaucope de maneres, et la destruction de les
arives pur ceo quils naient le droit de saunte eglyse, et regardant que les
gens de Hoke vous veuillent pair dismes custumes et toutz autres droitz
que a vous appurtenant, pur dieux vous plese de remedier et ordeigner
en teill manere que votre treshonure honour et les almes soient sauvies,
et que null autres grantz seignours ne se aient a meller de tieux choses,
qar par ma foy le chaunceller et plusurs autres graundes seignours ount
dit que vous feites a la ville de Hoke grant tort, et auxi la ville est du
roy et eux sount tenantz au roy; et si ne fuist pur doulte de vous faire
displesir, saches que votres briefs eussent estez annullez, qar tous les sei-
gnours disent que vous faites grant tort. Et pur ceo vous prie pur dieux
de moy escrire responce de ceste lettre par voz tresgraciouses lettres
dedeyns viii iours ou xv apres Saynt John, qar par ma foy et mon gree
ieo ne vouldroie offendre votre seignourie; et si cessy vous plese de moy
escrire ieo vous supplie, et si noun plese vous de moy avoir excusee, qar
a tute mon poer par ma foy ieo ferra la volunte de William Mapull que
dieux assoill. Et sachez que si vous plest ieo vorroye pluis que vous eu-
sses le gree et les costages que nulle autre; et pour dieux vous plese de re-
garder et doulter la desclaundre et malediction de poeple, qar cessy que
ieo face et pense a pursuir, ieo ne le face sinoun pur honour de dieux, si
maide dieux, et sauvation des almez et de complir la volunte du morte.
Et cessi vous plese mettre a fin, qar par ma foy vous le troverez tout pur
le meillour. Autre chose ieo ne vous say escrire, mes le saint espirit soit
gard de vous et vous doit bone vie et longe.
(Translation: Also, another letter sent to the same abbot by an
adversary:
Reverend and honoured lord, may it please you to understand, con-
cerning the matter of the chapel of Hook, that I spoke to you at South-
ampton on the sea at our leave-taking, where I begged you that it might
please you to inform me of your gracious will and your counsel; and
with regard to the evil and the inconvenience which might arise in the
future for various reasons and the damage to visitors because they do
not have the right of holy church, and seeing as the people of Hook are
 The ‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook  153
willing to pay you the accustomed tithes and all the other rights that
pertain to you, may it please you, for God, to remedy and ordain in such
a manner that your honourable honour and souls be saved, and that no
other great lords be obliged to meddle with these affairs, for by my faith
the chancellor and several other great lords have said that you are doing
a great wrong to the village of Hook, and also that the village belongs
to the king and they are tenants of the king, and if it were not for fear
of displeasing you, be aware that your writs would have been annulled,
for all the lords are saying that you are committing a great wrong. And
for this reason I pray you for God’s sake to send me your reply to this
letter by your most gracious letters within eight days or the quinzaine
of St John, for by my faith and my desire I do not wish to offend your
lordship; and so I beg you to write to me, if it please you, and if not, I
beg you to excuse me, for with all my power, by my faith, I will perform
the will of William Maple, whom God absolve. And may it please you to
know I would rather you than any other person should have the satisfac-
tion and the expenses; and may it please you for God’s sake to be aware
and take heed of the slander and ill-will of the people, for that which I
am doing and intend to pursue, I do only for the honour of God, so help
me God, and the salvation of souls, and to accomplish the will of the
deceased. And may you make an end of this, for by my faith you will
find that it is very much for the better. I know not what else to write to
you, but may the Holy Spirit keep you and give you a good and long life.)
3 The abbot replied at length that his lawyer had spoken with Hugh
Champion, one of Maple’s executors, on 31 May, to tell him that he
was willing to discuss matters, but that William Cake had continued to
say masses at Hook despite the interdict. It was not true that people at
Hook had died without receiving the sacraments. However, the people
of Hook were refusing to make payments to Titchfield as promised, and
were claiming that the abbot had attacked them with force of arms and
broken the peace, which was not true. These matters needed to be ad-
dressed at law without interference from the executors.
4 (‘alia littera adversarii abbatis predicti eidem directa’):
Tresreverant piere en dieu, plese vous assavoir que iay rescu votre
honourable lettre que vous mavez envoie le votre meme, le quele lettre
iay bien entendu, en la quele vous faites mencion que vous estes en bone
volunte pur faire fyn et tretir de la matere, sauvant le droit de seint mere
esglyse. Mon sire, dieu defende que nous desirrasoms autrement, qar le
povres gentz de Hoke ne desirront autrement, mes y me semble si a vous
pleust de tretir dicelle matere que vous neussez pursue si rigorousement,
qar tout le consaylle du roy parlont et parleront de la grante tort qil pre-
ignont, comes beaucope de gentz disont, qar ieo ne pense pas que soit
de notre bone volunte, mes qy vous conselle defare ensy, ieo me doulte
qil nest pas votre amy, qar les sages disount que nest pas seignour de son
pays que des vesines est haye. Pur quoy, mon honurable seignour, me
154  Chris Given-Wilson
semble que valeusse plus davoir fait ascun misericord de pees et accord,
qar par ma foy a un parole de les votres vous a eusses mis toute bone fin
et tout bon accord. Et pur ceo ieo vous supplie que vous plese de moy
avoir excuse, qar beaucope de gentz se mellent et se melleront dicest fait,
et ieo pense que la chapelle de Hoke serra plus franc de resceyvre les
droitz de saint mere esglyse que ne fuit par devaunt en brief de temps.
Et si vous ma eusses envoie un lettre daccord de votre bone consaill, ieo
fuisse venu devers vous pour avoir fait ascun bon fyn, et nulle autre ne
eusse saveu fors que vous et moy. Autre chose mon treshonure sire ieo
ne vous say escrire, mes ly seint espirit soit gard de vous et vous doigne
bone vie et longe.
(Translation: Another letter sent from the same adversary to the said
abbot:
Most reverend father in God, may it please you to know that I re-
ceived your honourable letter which you yourself sent me, which letter
I fully understand, in which letter you mention that it is your desire
to treat and put an end to this matter, saving the right of holy mother
church. My lord, God forbid that we should wish for anything else, be-
cause the poor people of Hook wish for nothing else, but it seems to me,
if it please you, that in treating of this matter you should not pursue it
so rigorously, because all the king’s council are and have been talking
of the great wrong that they are suffering, as many people are saying,
because I do not think that it is our wish, but whoever is counselling
you to behave like this, I fear that he is not your friend, for wise people
say that a man who is hated by his neighbours is not the lord of his land.
Therefore, my honourable lord, it seems to me that it would be better
to show a little mercy to achieve peace and agreement, for, by my faith,
it would take but one word from your people to bring this whole busi-
ness to a good conclusion and accord. I beg you therefore that it should
please you to excuse me, for many people are meddling and will meddle
in this affair, and I think that the chapel of Hook will soon be freer than
it has been until now to receive the rights of holy mother church. And if
you had sent me a letter of agreement from your good counsel, I would
have come to see you to make some good conclusion, and no one else
would have known apart from you and me. I know not what else to write
to you, my honourable lord, but may the Holy Spirit keep you and give
you a good and long life.)

Acknowledgements
My thanks to Craig Lambert, Mary South, Tom James, Rob Bartlett, An-
gela Clark and Chris Woolgar, all of whom read a draft of this article and
provided useful comments.
 The ‘Pretended Chapel’ of Hook  155
Bibliography

Manuscripts
British Library, London (BL)
Additional MS 70507, formerly MS Loan 29/56 (Titchfield Abbey Register)
Harley MS 1240 (Liber Niger de Wigmore)
Hampshire Archives and Local Studies, Winchester (HALSW)
MSS DC/G2/1; 5M53/1294; 5M53/1422
Lambeth Palace Library, London
Register of Archbishop Arundel, vol. 1

Printed sources
The Book of Margery Kempe, ed. B. Windeatt (London, 2000)
Calendar of Close Rolls (CCR)
Calendar of Fine Rolls (CFR)
Calendar of Inquisitions Miscellaneous (CIM)
Calendar of Inquisitions Post Mortem (CIPM)
Calendar of Letter-Books of the City of London I, ed. R. R. Sharpe (London, 1912)
Calendar of Papal Letters (CPL)
Calendar of Patent Rolls (CPR)
Cartulary of God’s House Southampton, ed. J. M. Kaye (2 vols, Southampton Record
Series 19–20, Southampton, 1976)
The Chronicle of Adam Usk, ed. C. Given-Wilson (Oxford, 1997)
Feudal Aids: Inquisitions and Assessments Relating to Feudal Aids 1284–1431 (6 vols,
London, 1899–1920)
John Lydford’s Book, ed. D. M. Owen (London, 1974)
Parliament Rolls of Medieval England 1275–1504, ed. P. Brand, A. Curry, C. Given-­
Wilson, R. Horrox, G. Martin, W. M. Ormrod and J. R. S. Phillips (16 vols,
Woodbridge, 2005) (PROME)
The Register of William Edington Bishop of Winchester, ed. D. S. F. Hockey (2 vols,
Hampshire Record Series, Southampton, 1986–1987)
The Soldier in Later Medieval England (online database), ed. A. Curry et al
The Southampton Terrier of 1454, ed. L. A. Burgess (Southampton Record Series
15, 1976)
Valor Ecclesiasticus Tempore Henrici VIII, ed. J. Caley (6 vols, 1810–34)
Wykeham’s Register, ed. T. F. Kirby (2 vols, Winchester, 1896–9)

Secondary sources
Armitage-Smith, S., John of Gaunt (London, 1904).
Brown, A., Popular Piety in Late Medieval England (Oxford, 1995).
Crawford, A., History of the Vintners’ Company, London (London, 1977).
Davis, V., William Wykeham (London, 2007).
Duffy, E., The Stripping of the Altars (New Haven, CT and London, 1992).
Given-Wilson, C., Henry IV (New Haven, CT and London, 2016).
156  Chris Given-Wilson
Goodman, A., Margery Kempe and her World (London, 2002).
Harvey, M., Lay Religious Life in Late Medieval Durham (Woodbridge, 2006).
Orme, N., ‘Church and Chapel in Medieval England’, TRHS 6 (1996), 75–102.
Sumption, J., Divided Houses. The Hundred Years War III (London, 2009).
Victoria County History of Hampshire 5, ed. W. Page (London, 1912).
Watts, D. G., ‘Peasant Discontent on the Manors of Titchfield Abbey, 1245–1405’,
Proceedings of the Hampshire Field Club and Archaeological Society 39 (1983),
121–35.
Wood-Legh, K., Perpetual Chantries in Britain (Cambridge, 1965).
8 Monks on the move
The businessmen-religious of
late medieval England
Alison K. McHardy

The popular picture of medieval monasteries – that they were full of men
performing the opus dei to the almost total exclusion of worldly activities – is
erroneous. When Bishop Salmon of Norwich conducted a visitation of his
cathedral priory in 1308, he found that in a house with some sixty monks,
only seven or eight were routinely present at services. His injunction com-
manded that forty should usually attend.1 Salmon, a former monk of Ely,
was a realist who recognized that a two-thirds attendance was the most he
could expect. This essay is an attempt to answer in part the question: What
might the rest be legitimately doing?
It will necessarily focus on the closed orders. These provided their
members – mainly Benedictine and Cistercian monks, and Augustinian
canons regular – with stable, permanent, secure residence. Their aims were
to create streams of prayers of praise and intercession, grant burial sites to
high-status individuals, provide places of hospitality and security, and create
reservoirs of learning. The great age of monastic foundations, and the fash-
ion for making generous grants of real property to them, had long abated by
1300, but once regulars had acquired endowments and rights there followed
the need to administer and defend such assets; and with property and priv-
ilege went the benefits and obligations which ownership conferred on the
religious as citizens and subjects of an evolving kingdom. These less glam-
ourous and heroic aspects of monastic life have traditionally received com-
paratively little scholarly attention, though a hint of the possibility of this
paper’s subject was provided in Jean Jules Jusserand’s English Wayfaring
Life in the Middle Ages. This pioneering work on travel in medieval England
was first published in French in 1884, and in English in 1889.2 Scholarly, de-
lightful and frequently reprinted, it has never been completely superseded.
Jusserand, an English language scholar and influential diplomat,3 assembled

158  Alison K. McHardy
a colourful collection of travellers traversing the roads and bridges which he
was among first to describe. Monks are mentioned only in passing for their
unsuitable clothing and beards.4
An important stimulus to studying the business aspects of monastic life
was made possible by the important The National Archives (TNA) series
code (SC) 8 (‘Ancient Petitions’) project, the brainchild of Mark Ormrod.
This revealed to researchers for the first time how members of religious or-
ders used petitioning to their advantage, and Petitions to the Crown from
English Religious Houses, c. 1272–c. 1485, brought this evidence to a wider
public.5 More recently, publication of the entire TNA series SC 10 (‘Parlia-
mentary Proctors’) has shown the importance of some religious in political
life.6 These enterprises, coupled with earlier work on the religious as tax
collectors prompted the present study.7 The religious under discussion here
were not the heads of religious houses, significant travellers though some
of those were, but their subjects, the ordinary choir monks, whose journeys
were far more unobtrusive. The subject will be considered under four head-
ings, two subjects arising from crown-church connections, one the relations
of the religious with fellow-clergy and finally the truly business and admin-
istrative aspects of their lives.

Attorneys at the exchequer

The great majority of collectors of clerical taxes, and of some lay taxes too,8
were the religious: either abbots or priors were commissioned alone or with
their convents. There were usually between thirty and forty collecting ar-
eas in England and Wales, though the number might rise to sixty plus for
the novel taxes of the decade 1371–1381.9 It seems likely that many heads
of houses delegated the work of collection to their brethren. Evidence of
this part of the process is meagre, but from monastic cathedral records we
find Robert de Brok (Norwich) as a collector in 1311–1312, as was Nicholas
de Hindolveston (Norwich) in 1314–1316. Robert de Aylesham (Ely) was a
sub-collector in 1331/1332 and 1334/1335, as in the latter year was William de
Reyersh (Rochester), while Thomas Crist (Bath) was charged with collecting
clerical tenths in 1337.10 Examples of monks taking taxes to the exchequer

 Monks on the Move  159
can also be found in such sources. In 1309, two Worcester monks, appointed
as collectors by their prior the previous year, accounted for the money at the
exchequer on 21 July for the fifteenth granted by the clergy, while in 1334
John de Mepeham II (Rochester) presented diocesan tax accounts in Lon-
don.11 Worcester examples from 1351/1352, 1371 and 1379 show individual
monks acting as the house’s proctor at the exchequer accounting for clerical
tenths collected in Worcester archdeaconry.12
More substantial evidence is in TNA series E 359, Enrolled Accounts:
digests of tax receipts which include not only each collector’s name but of-
ten the name of his attorney.13 Not all were regulars or even clerics, but
during the fourteenth century many were. Thus, we must imagine these fi-
nancial agents in religious orders converging on the exchequer, on or about
the required days, from all over England and Wales. Despite the weaknesses
and incompleteness of the sources, we can observe groups of attorney reg-
ulars from a surprising variety of houses travelling to Westminster. For ex-
ample, following the grant of a triennial tenth by the clergy of Canterbury
province in September 1337, these brothers accounted at the exchequer on
their superiors’ behalf bearing the first instalment: Roger de Byrmyngham
(Kenilworth, Warwicks.), Alan de Banham (Norwich), John de Thynford
(Eynsham, Oxfordshire), John de Leverton (St Katherine’s, Lincoln), David
de Wynscote (Hartland, Devon), William de Pyriton (Battle, Sussex), John
Wys (St Dogmells, Pembroke) and Thomas de Owyng (St John the Evange-
list, Brecon).14 The convocation of York had made a similar grant a month
later, so the named monks journeyed south from Durham Priory (Richard
de Wolneston), St Mary’s Abbey, York (John de Maghneby) and Thurgar-
ton, Nottinghamshire (John de Marchynton).15
Altogether, ninety-eight houses are known to have used their brethren as
attorneys during the fourteenth century (from 1314), nine from the northern
province, eighty-nine from the south. Although some remote houses, like
Carlisle and Anglesey, are never known to have employed colleagues, the
variety of houses using fellow-monks or canons is remarkable. Geograph-
ically, they range from Durham in the north to Abbotsbury (Dorset) and
Battle and Robertsbridge (Sussex) in the south and from Bodmin, St Ger-
mans and Launceston in Cornwall, Haverfordwest (Pembrokeshire) and
Valle Crucis (Denbighshire) in the west to Butley (Suffolk), St Botolph Col-
chester (Essex) and Faversham (Kent) in the east.
Some constant collectors, like the priors of monastic cathedrals and
of St Katherine’s, Lincoln and Thurgarton as well as the abbots of Hyde

160  Alison K. McHardy
(Hampshire) and St Mary’s, York, routinely sent colleagues as attorneys
with accounts and cash to the exchequer. But for some monastic attorneys,
these long journeys were unusual and surely exciting, if not daunting: for
Brother Laurence de Abberford canon of the Augustinian priory of Warter
in Yorkshire’s East Riding in 1334,16 for Brother Vincentius de Bodmyn
fellow-canon of the prior of Bodmin in 134417 or Philip Haralt canon of
St Thomas the Martyr, Haverford (west), an attorney in 1351.18 For others,
though, this became a repetitive task as it was for Geoffrey de Wintrington
canon of St Katherine’s, Lincoln in the middle years of Edward II,19 then
John Leverton of the same house,20 Hugh Feribrigg (Jervaux, Yorkshire) in
Edward III’s middle years21 and John de Halton (Norton, Cheshire) from
1377 to 1379.22 John Caunton (Thurgarton), who accounted at the exchequer
for all three parts of the triennial grant made in early 1370 by the convoca-
tion of York, was another such example.23
The picture changed in the fifteenth century. No monastic attorney after
1400 from York province has been found. In Canterbury province, the prac-
tice continued on a lesser scale under the early Lancastrians, but by 1453,
John Olney, fellow-canon and attorney of Newnham (Bedfordshire), was an
isolated example.24 With so much money in their grasp, it was not surpris-
ing that at least one agent going to the exchequer found the temptation too
much: Adam de Dalton junior, monk and refectorius of St Mary’s Abbey
York and a collector of the king’s tenth in 1310, went on the run with the
takings and headed for Wales.25

Parliamentary proctors
Heads of some religious houses were called to parliament from the mid-
thirteenth century until 1539. Numbers fluctuated, but from c. 1300 between
thirty and forty per session were commonly summoned. A parliamentary
abbot unwilling to attend in person (as most were) would often commission
a monk of his house as a proctor to represent him. The priors and chapters
of monastic cathedrals were also called, the priors sending deputies, while
chapters chose delegates. They were often the same men. Between 1248 and

3 E 359/17, m. 1; Weske, Convocation, p. 2.
2
24
E 359/24, m. 35.
25
Logan, Runaway Religious, p. 76.
 Monks on the Move  161
1447, more than 300 monks or canons (regular) chosen as parliamentary
proxies have been identified in the TNA series SC 10. From monastic ac-
counts, a further thirty-one names are found between 1281 and 1404.26
The reasons prompting an abbot to send a member of the house in his
stead might be several; youth and fitness was one, since many abbots in their
letters of regret for non-attendance stressed their own advanced age and
infirmity. Economy was another consideration; abbots in transit tended to
move in luxury and style, with a train of twenty plus horses not uncommon
for the heads of larger houses,27 whereas choir monks usually travelled with
one horse or two. In 1520, the abbot of Whalley’s (Lancashire) single jour-
ney to London cost £36 5s., but a year later the cost of three journeys to
London by less exalted emissaries totalled £4 17s. 8d.28
The great majority of monastic parliamentary proctors, some 250, were
appointed only once, the – admittedly incomplete – SC 10 series tells us, but
this leaves about one in six with multiple commissions. Between 1372 and
1388, Thomas Bury, monk of Peterborough, was sent by Abbot Overton
to parliament fourteen times. Richard Hethersett of St Albans was used
eleven times as proctor of his abbot Richard of Wallingford (1328–1334),
as, later that century, between 1373 and 1395, was Brother Robert Chestan
for another St Albans abbot (Thomas de la Mare: 1349–1396). Others with
commissions running into double figures were Brothers Geoffrey Gaddesby
of Selby (Yorkshire) – a future abbot (1342–1368) – Alan Kirkton of Thor-
ney (Cambridgeshire) and John Tintern of Malmesbury (Wiltshire).29 Many
more received two, three or four such commissions. It seems likely that there
were at least a handful of monks in every parliament, though it is only in
1307 that we have an apparently complete list. The Vetus Codex names nine-
teen religious from eighteen houses (two from Reading Abbey), and on this
occasion the prize for long-distance travel goes to Brother Geoffrey Worth
of Quarr Abbey on the Isle of Wight.30 Proctors’ precise duties remain un-
clear, nor do we know where they sat.

26 Mostly from BRECP, but also Denton and Dooley, Representatives of the Lower Clergy,
pp. 103–11.
27 In 1252, the prior and convent of Westminster Abbey limited to twenty the number of
horses for which the abbot could require fodder when visiting the five conventual manors
which he had the right to inspect; Documents Illustrating Rule of Walter de Wenlock, ed.
Harvey, p. 8. In 1405, the abbot of Peterborough took twenty-two horses when travelling
to Lincoln for the installation of Bishop Repingdon; Account Rolls of the Obedientiaries of
Peterborough, ed. Greatrex, pp. 129–30, 171.
28 Ashmore, ‘Walley Abbey Bursars’ Account’, p. 65. The economical travellers were laymen.
2 9 Series SC 10 printed in Proctors for Parliament, ed. Bradford and McHardy. All indices are
in volume 2.
30 Ibid., I, Appendix 3, pp. 223–32.
162  Alison K. McHardy
Proctors at church gatherings
Innocent III revived the practice of holding annual provincial councils,
and by 1300 the pattern was well established in the two English provinces.31
These gatherings were both more numerous and important than might
at first be thought, for the two convocations grew into the church’s tax-
granting bodies. The Canterbury convocation, which controlled the much
greater taxable value, was closely associated with parliament, often taking
place immediately after or even concurrently with the lay national assembly;
there was considerable osmosis between the two institutions. Churchmen,
both religious and secular, were far more assiduous in recording the names
of proctors to convocation than to parliament, so the discrepancy between
proctors’ names for convocation and parliament in monastic accounts (and
in bishops’ registers) is marked. Thus, Bath Abbey records contain nine ex-
amples of convocation expenses, one for parliament; Canterbury has eight-
een for convocation, as against twelve for parliament; Ely has twenty-one
for convocation, only five for parliament; Winchester has six convocation
references, only two for parliament; and Worcester has fifteen convocation
mentions, four for parliament.
Provincial chapters arose from a ruling of the Fourth Lateran Council
that all religious orders should hold provincial general chapters every three
years, and these meetings, especially those of the Benedictines, have left
considerable evidence. In contrast to the first two groups of agents, there
is no class of record which lists these travellers exclusively; so information
must be excavated from monastic archives, as has been done by Joan Gre-
atrex, William Pantin and Alan Piper.32 We might suppose that heads of
houses would make great efforts to attend their chapters in person. Not so.
In 1253, for example, the Benedictine chapter of Canterbury province was
attended by sixteen heads in person, but twenty-six were represented by
proctors, while ten neither attended nor sent representatives.33 Information
about proctors is sparse until 1336 when more papal legislation affected the
religious orders, and from then onwards the records of some larger houses
name the proctors attending these chapters. Pantin identified 111 names of
Benedictines attending these gatherings in their abbots’ stead from 1336 to
1532.
Less evidence has been gathered about the activities of the Austin canons,
but in June 1395, the abbot of Oseney (outside Oxford) appointed canon

 Monks on the Move  163
John Hasele as his proctor for the forthcoming chapter at Northampton,
and in May 1416, the prior of Launceston, with more excuse, surely, chose
his colleague Thomas Trethak for another chapter at Northampton.34 In
1375/1376, John de Malvern, a Worcester monk, even attended the Hospi-
tallers’ general chapter.35
One function of these chapters was to arrange for the visitation of houses
within the order, and we know that heads, who were supposed to conduct
these, did not always do so. Thus, in 1368, the abbot of Oseney appointed his
fellow canon William de Weston as visitor of Augustinian houses (unspec-
ified), and in 1440 the prior of Taunton commissioned a canon of Plymp-
ton, Robert Dryer, to carry out a visitation of Augustinian houses (again
unspecified) in Exeter diocese.36 Among Benedictines, Adam de Belagh,
monk of Norwich, deputized for his prior as visitor of Ramsey Abbey in
1318/1319, two Rochester monks conducted a visitation of Battle Abbey in
1390 and three years later two of their colleagues were commissioned by
their prior to visit the abbeys of Faversham and St Augustine’s Canterbury
and St Martin’s Priory Dover. Early next century, the prior of Peterborough
and Brother Richard Harleton were tasked with visiting every Benedictine
house within the diocese of Lincoln.37
The heads of monasteries which held appropriated churches were also
bound to attend diocesan synods. In theory, held twice a year, on the Mon-
days after Holy Trinity and St Luke, and lasting from one to three days, syn-
ods were attended by all secular clergy too. Diocesan synods are the most
elusive of all church gatherings.38 Exceptional were those in the diocese of
Ely, where both episcopal and monastic records show them occurring from
the late thirteenth into the sixteenth centuries. Accounts of Ely Cathedral
Priory contain sufficient examples of monks’ expenses travelling to diocesan
synods for us to see an established pattern, and the most often-mentioned
site for these meetings was Barnwell, an Augustinian priory just outside
Cambridge.39 The house was apparently well used to hosting large gath-
erings, which perhaps explains why it was chosen in September 1388 as the
venue for a meeting of parliament. Crucial, surely, to that decision was the
influence of Thomas Arundel, a powerful Appellant ally and until recently
the bishop of Ely. His record as bishop from 1374 to 1388 shows that during
his episcopate, diocesan synods were held regularly and always at Barnwell.

34 Augustinian Chapters, ed. Salter, pp. 77–8, 168, 172–3.

35 BRECP, p. 843.
36 Augustinian Chapters, pp. 165, 178–9.

164  Alison K. McHardy
Arundel’s enthusiasm for holding meetings there persisted into his time as
archbishop of Canterbury, in another century and under another dynasty.40

Those engaged in the house’s domestic business

Routine, though irregularly spaced, were journeys to announce the death of
the abbot and request a licence to elect the successor. Monastic messengers
had to deliver this information in person wherever the king was; so in 1292,
Brother Walter Chillenden of Canterbury went to Newcastle-on-Tyne to
gain permission to elect a successor to Archbishop Pecham.41 The king had
then to be informed of the choice of successor, in order to give his confir-
mation, and so had the appropriate bishop; two more journeys were needed.
The outline of monastic successions can usually be discerned in the Cal-
endars of Patent Rolls, but the number and names of each house’s envoys
can be found in the TNA series C 84: Ecclesiastical Petitions. Sampling of
this abundant material indicates that such messengers rarely went singly,42
occasionally went in threes,43 but mostly in pairs. Not surprisingly, they
were often identified as obedientiaries (the holders of an office below that
of the head). More unusual was Durham’s employment of the heads of two
‘substations’, Nicholas de Lusceby prior of St Leonard’s, Stamford, and
Robert de Haliden warden of Durham’s Oxford house, in 1345.44
By contrast to the irregular events of death or resignation, routine admin-
istration was a daily necessity and duty. In larger houses, an obedientiary
might be excused attendance at weekday services to manage his manorial en-
dowment, as was the case with Abingdon’s kitchener and St Albans’ cellarer,
both of whom were excused from weekday church attendance. Such men were
essentially the heads of small businesses or gentlemen-farmers.45 In other
houses, the duties of managing the properties might be more widely shared.
Various monks of Ely routinely went to some ten manors, including King-
ston and Lakenheath (Suffolk), Swaffham (Norfolk) and Wisbech (Cam-
bridgeshire), while Norwich’s seven most-visited manors were all in Norfolk.
Worcester Priory’s most crucial manors, including Bromsgrove and King’s
Norton, were all in Worcestershire, except Tibberton in Gloucestershire.
Records rarely give details of the monks’ duties at these properties, though
accounts of Durham Priory show individual monks taking beans, malt and

40 Aston, Thomas Arundel, pp. 68, 70–1.

41 BRECP, p. 121. The archbishop was technically the abbot of the house, as was each bishop
of a cathedral priory.
42 Bro. Robert de Remmesbury from Sherbourne in 1316: C 84/19/1.
43 William de St Leonard, Henry de Stretford and William Geryn, canons of Leicester in
1318, C 84/19/31; Thomas de la Ny, John de Wemewelle, and Walter de Kynardesligh,
monks of Glastonbury, in 1323, C 84/20/17.
44 C 84/24/38.
45 Accounts of the Obedientiaries of Abingdon Abbey, ed. Kirk, p. xx; Accounts of the Cellarers
of Battle Abbey, ed. Searle and Ross, p. 11; Levett, Studies in Manorial History, p. 111.
 Monks on the Move  165
geese from its manors, and Winchester Priory accounts record monks going
to collect ‘wool money’ from two Hampshire manors in 1328 from Silkstead
and in 1432 from ‘Hanyton’ (in Wootton St Laurence).46 Worcester’s Thomas
de Rudyng, whose career shows a life of constant manorial oversight from
1391 to 1414, was an infrastructure specialist who ‘saw to’ the water pipe into
the priory from a suburb and the construction of a new mill at Mildenham.47
Accounts also reveal that such journeys were not always austere. Winchester
monks seem to have done themselves especially well, with notes of monastic
visitors to the priory’s manors consuming fowls, capon, goose or both fowl
and goose.48 Even their horses might eat lavishly, on oats rather than the
usual hay and ‘horse-bread’ made of beans.49 It was perhaps not surprising
that some monks who were despatched on business outside the house were
reluctant to return promptly. Canterbury Cathedral Priory was surely not
uniquely troubled by such behaviour, though its records contain most evi-
dence. Gregory de Audinges was an early miscreant; carrying out manorial
visitations in the mid-thirteenth century, he and some colleagues were ad-
monished for absenting themselves too long from the house ‘and for their
excessive hospitality on the manors’. Similar complaints were made about
Richard Blundel and Hugh de Cretyng in about 1300.50 Impending visita-
tions, as in 1360, might lead to urgent recalls to face scrutiny.51
But a period of respectable service in estate management did no harm to
a man’s career in the cloister, as the life of Brother Peter de Rouclife at Selby
Abbey illustrates. A monk by 1377 and an obedientiary by 1386, his offices
included cellarer and bursar, posts which he sometimes held concurrently in
the 1380s and 1390s. By 1407, he was prior of Selby.52 Likewise, the historian
of the Crowland Abbey estates has noted that while abbots mostly remained
in the house, the earlier lives of many, in the fifteenth century especially, had
included experience of manorial administration as steward.53
Even when accounts cannot link journeys to monastic properties, they can
still reveal much about monastic travellers. At Coldingham (Berwickshire),
the prior and the sacrist apparently took turns, year about, to visit Edin-
burgh, Berwick and the mother house of Durham, but in 1332 the account of
the sacrist Nicholas de Thokerington shows him going also to Selkirk, Mel-
rose, Dryburgh and Roxburgh, while between 1369 and 1371 sacrist Simon
de Levingthorp travelled to Roxburgh, Norham and Dunbar, in addition

46 Durham Liber Vitae, ed. Rollason and Rollason, III, pp. 223–4, 233; BRECP, pp. 718, 884.
47 Ibid., pp. 866–7 (1395–7).
48
Ibid., pp. 685, 691, 697, 703, 718, 736.

50 BRECP, pp. 80, 90.

166  Alison K. McHardy
to Durham and Berwick.54 A century later, two monks of another north-
ern house, Fountains Abbey, showed even greater energy. During the year
1456–1457, John Eseby, the cellarer and bursar, made twenty-five journeys,
nearly all within Yorkshire, including many to York, once to meet the lord
mayor and once to Hull to buy wine, and also further afield: to Carlisle to
a diocesan synod, and once to London for unspecified purposes, a journey
there and back which took thirty-one days. He was sometimes accompanied
by Thomas Swynton, whose sole journeys were mostly within Yorkshire,
though twice to Crosthwaite in Cumberland.55 Many of the journeys which
monks made regularly were surely for a mixture of purposes: collecting
rents, enforcing legal rights, investigating standards of ecclesiastical pro-
priety. That was surely the case for Selby (Yorkshire), many of whose most
valuable properties lay over the Humber in north Lincolnshire. Relations
between abbey and tenants was not always harmonious, especially during
Selby’s decades of misgovernment in the later thirteenth century, so it is no
surprise that even in the mid-fourteenth century, the remit to Brother John
de Dax as proctor general ‘for our churches in the diocese of Lincoln’ was
‘to pacify and compose’.56
Almost all accounts consulted contain examples of monks going to con-
sult with or take messengers to individuals of consequence, though their
purposes are usually frustratingly vague. We can observe, though, two Can-
terbury monks who went to the executors of Edmund, earl of Cornwall,
in 1301 ‘to receive certain goods from them’.57 In 1317, Robert de Gelham
of Rochester was despatched to Durham to consult with cardinals there.58
Nicholas de Copanford’s mission to Elizabeth de Burgh, Lady of Clare,
in 1327 was to ‘discuss Lakenheath’, one of Ely’s own manors.59 Missions
by Durham monks in the fifteenth century to aristocrats – to the earls of
Northumberland and Westmorland in 1404 and to the earls of Northumber-
land and Warwick in 1465 – almost certainly had political, not economic,
purposes.60 Many embassies to a house’s bishop or archbishop were consul-
tations arising from long-running disputes or perpetual problems; so it is
pleasing to record one such journey which achieved the desired and decisive
result. The Premonstratensions of Welbeck Abbey, Nottinghamshire, had
long had their eyes on Flintham, a rich church in that county of which they

54 Account Rolls of the Priory of Coldingham, ed. Raine, pp. lix, lx.
55 Memorials of Fountains, ed. Fowler, III, pp. 26–8; the roll call of Fountains monks in 1449
is in Letters from the English Abbots, ed. Talbot, pp. 22–4. Thanks are due to Mike Spenc e
for this reference.
56
DL 42/8, f. 3 (Register of Abbot Geoffrey de Gaddesby – 3 September 1434). For bad
relations between the house and its tenants, see SC 8/48/2385, printed in Petitions from
Lincolnshire, ed. Dodd and McHardy, pp. 18–20.

 Monks on the Move  167
were patrons. On 15 June 1389, they commissioned the prior Walter Stavelay
and the cellarer Simon Castelton as proctors to seek permission from the
archbishop of York (Thomas Arundel) to appropriate this rectory, a request
he granted at Bishopthorpe on 21 June.61
All the houses whose accounts have been consulted had members who
went to London ‘on business’, something which applies to houses in both
provinces and over several centuries, including the sixteenth century. Rarely
is it possible to discern what heads of houses, let alone lesser brethren, were
doing there, but just occasionally the veil is lifted. In March 1308, St Al-
bans Abbey was in dispute with the local townsmen about the physical
boundaries between their two authorities. The matter was referred to the
king and council at Westminster, where the abbey’s legal team consisted of
three monks, Nicholas de Flamstede, Richard de Hetirsete and John Pyke,
along with Master Thomas Pyrot DCL.62 Some thirty years later, the sur-
vival of detailed accounts enables us to observe the activities of Brother
John Gretford, a monk of Ramsey, in the capital. Ramsey’s abbot then was
Simon of Eye, who was elected in 1316, and whose last visit to London was
probably early in 1338 when he came to London to attend parliament and
convocation. 63 By 1341, Abbot Simon was surely failing – he died in 1342 –
and in 1341 Brother John was based in London for extended periods, from
2 January to 9 March, from 18 April until 26 May, from 24 August until 4
September and from Michaelmas for twelve weeks, leaving him just time (we
hope) to return to Ramsey for Christmas. In the same year, he spent part
of March in Huntingdon and also visited Cambridge. His London activities
are noteworthy because the accounts detail not only routine items – kitchen
expenses, fodder costs and buying hardware – but also secretarial services
and amounts for ‘boys’ returning to Ramsey. Most interesting are the lists,
with costs, of his presents and payments to a series of high-profile persons.
In the first period, the list of those receiving gifts was headed by R(obert)
Parving, who received fish, then came R(oger) Hillary and Thomas de
Evesham – both given spices. Thomas Brayton’s gift was of oats. Thomas
de Blaston and William de Stowe both got fish and (Robert) Sadington had
spices. In the period starting 17 April, a shorter list was now headed by
Roger Hillary (fish), with cash gifts to David de Wooler (Wollore) and the
clerk of Thomas de Brayton. In the autumn period, there were cash gifts to
Thomas Blaston, Robert Parving, William de Shareshull and Richard de
Chester.64
Though a detailed investigation of these activities lies outside the scope
of this essay, some reflections may be offered. The laymen were lawyers.

168  Alison K. McHardy
Parving was a justice of Common Pleas (23 May 1340), then chief justice
of King’s Bench (24 July 1340), before becoming treasurer (15 December
1340) and finally chancellor (28 October 1341).65 Roger Hillary was a jus-
tice of Common Pleas (appointed 13 March 1337), becoming chief justice
of that court on 8 January 1341.66 From March 1337, Robert Sadington was
chief baron of the exchequer, a post he was to hold until 1345, with a brief
interlude as treasurer.67 William Shareshull was already a rising legal lumi-
nary and justice of Common Pleas.68 Thomas de Blaston was an exchequer
baron (1332–1342),69 as was the cleric William Stowe.70 Evesham, Brayton
and Wooler were all chancery highflyers, whether actual or future.71 Only
Richard Chester, perhaps a canon of York and former clerk of Archbishop
Greenfield, is uncertain in this group.72
Some of these had previous connections to the abbey. Roger Hillary was
a parliamentary proctor for the abbot back in November 1322.73 William
Shareshull, then a sergeant at law, had represented Ramsey Abbey in a case
in 1330.74 Sadyngton was a parliamentary proctor for Abbot Eye in May
1335.75 Although monastic ‘friends’ were of several different kinds,76 the
suspicion is that Ramsey Abbey was involved in litigation at this time.77
Perhaps the cash payments were simply fees for specific services, while the
gifts (the text by each of those says pro exemio) were more subtle douceurs to
receive favourable hearings. We can easily imagine that gifts of fish would
be especially welcome in Lent, and perhaps shortly after – Easter was on 8
April 1341 – while spices, a feature of high-status cuisine, were surely always
acceptable. Probably the fish did not come from Ramsey’s own extensive fen-
land resources; rather that Brother Robert, like the monks of Battle Abbey,

68 Sainty, Judges of England, pp. 63, 65.

69 Ibid., p. 111.
70 January 1341 to Easter 1346: ibid., p. 112. He was a prebendary of Wells and perhaps arch-
deacon of Colchester; Le Neve, Fasti, v. 3; viii. 42.

 Monks on the Move  169
78
did his ‘posh shopping’ in London. By keeping in the good books of so
many of the great and good Ramsey’s mobile monk may simply have been
acting prudently at a time of dramatic and fast-moving political turmoil.79
This was not the only task which Brother John Gretford performed for
Ramsey Abbey. From March 1330 to March 1340, he was a parliamentary
proctor for his abbot eight times.80 Less remarkable examples can be found
of men who represented their abbot both at the exchequer and in parlia-
ment, men like Richard Appleton of St Mary’s York,81 John Chaworth of
Hyde,82 John Bedford, a Ramsey monk of a later generation83 and the es-
pecially conscientious John Hainton of Bardney, who became, prior, then
abbot of his house.84 It is likely that such men also served in other capacities,
though we lack the records to prove this.
Among many monks whose careers took them out and about from their
houses, the most notable example yet found is Thomas Rome of Durham.
Although not an attorney at the exchequer, Rome, a monk from 1383 (d.
1425), had a remarkably active life. Not only did he hold a variety of jobs
within the priory, but was constantly on the move: once to parliament, but
frequently representing his house in convocations, chapter meetings and
making representations to archbishops, bishops and even earls, conducting
visitations, examining a Lollard, serving as bursar, then warden of Durham
College, Oxford (serving two stints in each post) and journeying to Pisa and
Rome. His only times for prayer and contemplation were surely when he was
on the road.85
In the light of this investigation it is appropriate to consider monastic
horses and monks’ riding skills. Monastic superiors, including the priors
of Coldingham, likely rode palfreys, high-class riding horses, while those
of lower status rode hackneys. The Coldingham records include a yearly
inventory of its horses, from a single palfrey, through hackneys (one or two)
to affers, that is, draught horses. Some are just called horses. The accounts
also show that buying horses, either for the prior’s use or for the sacristan,

170  Alison K. McHardy
was a regular expense.86 In contrast to warhorses and plough animals, ‘the
ordinary riding horse and the urban workhorse … have received scant atten-
tion’.87 Even if the precise type of horse is not specified, but is simply called
equus, most were probably ‘amblers’: horses who used ‘that easy pace so
odd to modern eyes, in which the horse moves both legs on the left forward
together, then both legs on the right’.88 The gait requires little skill from the
rider and is much less energetic than rising to the trot.

Conclusion
This essay has by no means exhausted the classes of extramural activities
which the religious might legitimately pursue. Two other subjects may be
briefly indicated. Least distant were the essentially local journeys which
monks made on diocesan business. This was more prevalent in dioceses
with monastic cathedrals, since the bishop lacked the pool of administrators
provided by the chapter of a secular cathedral, so they sometimes called on
the members of their cathedral priory for such tasks as hearing confessions
or conducting visitations.89 More distant were the journeys, local, national
or international, to pursue court cases or seek privileges. Though most of
such travelling was undertaken by the head of house, there were occasions
when he was unable to travel or might even be in dispute with his breth-
ren.90 Most extreme journeys were to Italy made by monks either seeking
papal favours for their house or in the course of disputes, either external or
even internal.91 The other important and increasing generator of journeys
was to obtain a university education. Monastic ‘outstations’ were founded
at Oxford before Benedict XII enacted legislation in the 1330s commanding
the claustral orders (Benedictines, Cistercians, Augustinian canons) to send
members to university. Monastic colleges continued to be founded during

86 Account Rolls of the Priory of Coldingham, ed. Raine, pp. xviii–xxi, xxiv, xxviii, xxx–xliii.
87 Medieval Horse, ed. Clark, p. 5.
88 Ibid., p. 7. In England, this gait died out in the seventeenth century, but it survives abroad,
both in the USA and in Iceland where the gait is called tölting. It is faster than a trot but
slower than a canter. The author has happy memories of tölting on Icelandic ponies over
the Braid Hills when a student in Edinburgh, long ago.
89 For example, at Worcester in 1337 (Simon Crompe: confessions); visitations of deaneries
in 1349 (Nicholas Clanefeld), 1401 (John Dudley), 1433 (Thomas Ledbury, William Her-
tilbury): BRECP, pp. 786, 793, 798, 821, 834. An Ely monk was commissioned to receive
criminous clerks in 1376; ibid., p. 407. Bath’s John Lacock was in 1457 licensed to preach
in English or Latin throughout the diocese; ibid., p. 33.
90 Many internal disputes can be readily identified by the long entries in the volumes of
Heads of Religious Houses, ed. Smith and London.
91 Journeys to the curia were made by Canterbury monks in 1298 (Richard Clyve), 1333
(Robert Hathbrande) and 1493 (Thomas Goldston IV); BRECP, pp. 126, 175, 192. Worces-
ter monks did the same in 1296 (Thomas Segesbarowe) and 1350 (Walter Wynforton); ibid.,
pp. 871, 899. Thomas Rome (1408) and Richard Billingham (1465, 1472) made similar jour-
neys for Durham; Durham Liber Vitae, ed. Rollason and Rollason, III, pp. 303, 367.
 Monks on the Move  171
92
the fifteenth century at both universities, and the Benedictine evidence is
substantial.93 University study did not always benefit the house back home
as some young men, having arrived there, were reluctant to leave.94
For nearly eighty years, the study of English monastic life has been con-
ducted under the shadow of the magisterial volumes written by the Benedic-
tine monk David Knowles.95 Dom David did not ignore our subjects here,
but treated them briefly, for they were peripheral to his main story. Much
recent work has examined the religious orders (the mendicants especially) in
the universities96 or concentrated on evidence of reform and revival.97 The
business aspects of monastic history have, though, been touched on by Mar-
tin Heale and are subjects of continuing research.98 Further, we could argue
that the subject of this paper has only become possible with recent work,
notably in the public records, and also that, as being neither institutional,
intellectual nor economic history, it falls between the cracks.
Much of the evidence gathered here arose in the fourteenth century, and
we have noted that some activities declined in the fifteenth century. There
is also a suggestion that some abbots who were commissioned as fifteenth-
century tax collectors ‘outsourced’ the task to local laymen, and there is at
least an impression that the work of estate administration perhaps became
more widely laicised as time progressed. We must, therefore, suppose that
travellers from the Yorkist era onwards would have met fewer business-
monks on the road. But, as Jean Jusserand’s work on their appearance al-
leged, and our own evidence has perhaps suggested, they might not have
noticed a difference.

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London, The National Archives
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92 Benedictine: Gloucester (1283–1291), Durham (c. 1289), Canterbury (1361); Augustinian:

St Mary’s (1435); Cistercian: St Bernard’s (1437). Cambridge: hostel for Ely monks (1340)
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93 Canterbury College, Oxford, ed. Pantin, 4 vols.
94 An extreme example is Letter Book of Robert Joseph, ed. Pantin.

96 For example, Sheehan, ‘Religious Orders 1220–1370’; Dobson, ‘Religious Orders 1370–
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98 Heale, Dependent Priories, Chapter 4.
172  Alison K. McHardy
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SC 6: Special collections: Monastic Accounts
SC 8: Ancient Petitions

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Fourteenth-Century Collection in Latin (Amsterdam, 2019).
Handbook of British Chronology, ed. E. B. Fryde, D. E. Greenway, S. Porter & I.
Roy, 3rd ed. (London, 1986).
Heale, M., The Dependent Priories of Medieval English Monasteries (Woodbridge,
2004).
Hudson, A., ‘Wyclif’s Books’, in Image, Text and Church, 1380–1600: Essays for
Margaret Aston, ed. L. Clark, M. Jurkowski and C. Richmond (Toronto, 2009),
pp. 8–36.
Jusserand, J. J., La Vie Nomade et les Routes d’Angleterre au 14e Siècle (Paris, 1884);
trans. Smith, L. T., English Wayfaring Life in the Middle Ages (London, 1889).
Kingsford, C., revised Ormrod, W., ‘Parning, Sir Robert (d. 1343), Justice and Ad-
ministrator’, ODNB, online edition.
Knowles, M. D., The Monastic Order in England (Cambridge, 1940).
Knowles, M. D., The Religious Orders in England, 3 vols (Cambridge, 1948–59).
Levett, A., Studies in Manorial History, ed. H. M. Cam, M. Coate, L. S. Sutherland
(Oxford, 1938).
Logan, F. D., Runaway Religious in Medieval England, c. 1240–1540 (Cambridge,
1996).
Lunt, W. E., ‘The Collectors of Clerical Subsidies’, in The English Government at
Work, 1327–1336; volume II: Fiscal Administration, ed. W. A. Morris and J. R.
Strayer (Cambridge, MA, 1947), pp. 227–80.
McHardy, A. K., ‘Clerical Taxation in fifteenth-Century England: The Clergy as
Agents of the Crown’, in The Church, Politics and Patronage in the Fifteenth Cen-
tury, ed. R. B. Dobson (Gloucester, 1984), pp. 168–92.
Ormrod, W. M., Edward III (London and New Haven, CT, 2011).
Page, F. M., The Estates of Crowland Abbey (Cambridge, 1934).
174  Alison K. McHardy
Putnam, B. H., The Place in Legal History of Sir William Shareshull Chief Justice of
the King’s Bench 1350–1361 (Cambridge, 1950).
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Rule
9 The realities of political
marriage
Isabella of Aragon and
Frederick III of Austria
Richard Barber

At the end of the thirteenth century, the kingdom of Aragon was in the
process of becoming a major power, ruled by an energetic and capable
monarch, James II.1 Numerous conquests in the previous half century in-
cluded the kingdom of Sicily, and a strong foothold in Sardinia and Cor-
sica, which, with the Balearic Islands, meant that James ruled much of the
coastline of the western half of the Mediterranean. James’s skills were as an
administrator and diplomat, working to consolidate the kingdom’s newly
won pre- eminence. His subjects in Aragon had resisted their kings over the
question of conquests outside Spain; they were more anxious to settle their
quarrels with neighbouring Castile. James succeeded in pacifying them and
re- establishing royal authority, making Aragon the centre of his operations.
He was said to send ‘more solemn envoys to the papal court in one year than
the kings of England and France in ten’. His relations with the pope were
good, but he was not always in a position to carry out the agreements that
he made: his brother Frederick was elected king by the Sicilians in 1296 in
defiance of an agreement between James II and the papacy.
James was married to Blanche of Naples, daughter of Charles II of Na-
ples, who bore him ten children. As was customary, their five daughters
were pawns in James’s complex diplomatic manoeuvres. Two married into
the Castilian royal family, one became a nun; matches for the other two were
sought further afield, in one case to the ruler of Romania.
Isabella of Aragon, the third daughter, born in 1300 or 1302, and her
marriage to Frederick III, duke of Austria, is the subject of this essay. For
once, instead of merely the documents relating to the formal negotiations
and the terms of her marriage, we have a much richer source of material in
the letters between her and her father over the course of some fifteen years;
there are over a hundred of these, addressed to her, her husband and her at-
tendants. Even more remarkably, the letters from her attendants to the king
are highly personal. They give precious insights into the reality of life for a
foreign princess after she joined her husband’s household.

178  Richard Barber
The correspondence
The letters survive in the royal registers now in the Archivo del Corona de
Aragon at Barcelona. The registers as a series show both James’s deep inter-
est in administrative matters and also the warmth of his personal relations
with his children. The Latin letters are in the high diplomatic style of the
period, much influenced by the ars dictaminis which was part of the scholas-
tic discipline of rhetoric.2 The elaborate protocol is underlined by one of the
rare occasions when James rebukes Isabella, by then duchess of Austria, for
failing to address a letter correctly.
The following informal note, written in Catalan, was enclosed in a Latin
letter from the king to his daughter on 9 June 1321, and rather surprisingly
was copied into the register at the same time3:

Dearest daughter, we have seen and read the note in your letter to us
and, as you requested, we are sending by the bearer of this balsam, the-
riak,4 and also aloe, the best that we have. Daughter, we have indeed
learned that you recently wrote a letter to our beloved eldest son, the
infante Alfonso, your brother, in which you named yourself first, and
in the same letter you addressed him colloquially.5 Now we believe that
you did not do this consciously or deliberately, but rather through a
mistake by your secretary or because of the style of address in use by
the king and your court. But this is not our style and it is not fitting,
particularly since the infante Alfonso is our firstborn in rank since his
elder brother James took holy orders,6 and he will therefore rule after
our days are done. You should know that in this country you do not use
the colloquial ‘tu’ to someone who is so great a person and it pleases
nobody for him to be addressed in this way. So, dear daughter, pay at-
tention to such matters when you have to write to him.

Normally, the letters in Catalan are the most personal and immediate. Isa-
bella’s attendants address the king very frankly and directly. They were of
course from noble families, and were probably writing them without using
scribes, but the tone of voice is nonetheless unexpected.

 The realities of political marriage  179
Isabella’s childhood
The first mention of Isabella in the records is problematic, as is the date of
her birth, which could be either 1301 or 1302. A letter in April 1300 gives
us a terminus a quo, because the writer says that the king has two sons and
two daughters.7 The first reference to her has been misinterpreted. In 1922,
Heinrich Finke printed a letter dated 30 August 1306 from ‘Constance em-
press of the Greeks’ to James, in which she says that she has been gravely ill
at Valencia, but she has now recovered. She continues: ‘The dear child dona
Isabel, your daughter, thanks be to God, is very well, and commends herself
to your grace’. The following year, on 1 April 1307, Gombald Dentença, the
official in charge of the province, writes to James to tell him of the empress’s
death. On hearing the news, he went immediately to see that Isabella was
safe and was being cared for. He found her in the empress’s house outside the
city walls, which was in a solitary place, being looked after by the empress’s
squires and ladies, so he and the bishop of Valencia arranged for her to move
to houses within the city. James then sent for her to be brought to his court.
This document is undated and in poor condition.8 I have not been able
to see the originals of the first two items; a digital image of the third shows
that the empress is simply referred to as C. olim imperatricis Grecorum. The
problem is this: Finke refers to the empress as ‘Constance’, and identifies
her as Frederick II’s daughter, who died in 1302. It should be Catherine, the
only grandchild of the last Frankish emperor of Byzantium, and therefore
claimant to the Greek empire in her own right. She died in Paris in 1307,
which fits the correspondence. Why she had a house in Valencia is unclear.
She had some connection with Aragon, as it had been suggested that Fred-
erick III of Sicily, James’s younger brother, should marry her.9 A placement
in the empress’s household would have been seen as eminently suitable for
Isabella’s upbringing.
Apart from this, we learn little of her childhood. There is some evidence
that she was her parents’ favourite daughter: several items in her dowry are
specifically named as having belonged to her mother Bianca, and James
shows particular concern for her. In 1313, when she had toothache, he gave
careful instructions to her major-domo, Peter Llull, that a surgeon was to be
consulted and his advice followed.10

180  Richard Barber
Isabella in the marriage market
Isabella’s mother Bianca died in 1310. She had been involved in all the mar-
riage negotiations for her first four children, and would have been delighted
by the embassy sent to Aragon by Margaret of Brabant, wife of Henry VII
king of Germany (and later Holy Roman Emperor). The envoys were Am-
adeus V, count of Savoy,11 known for his diplomatic skills, and one of the
king’s councillors to James in May 1311. They brought the proposal that
Waleran, Henry’s brother, should marry one of James’s daughters. Nego-
tiations began, but Waleran was killed by a crossbow bolt at the siege of
Brescia.12
However, by December, James’s envoy at the court of Henry VII was
exploring the possibility of a match between one of the king’s daughters
and Frederick of Austria with the latter’s representative there.13 As a re-
sult, Frederick quickly sent Conrad, commander of the Teutonic Order in
Wiener-Neustadt, to Aragon to pursue the matter. He presented two letters
of credence, issued in Vienna on 5 November 1311, to James II at Teruel in
February 1312.14 In the first, Frederick starts the wooing in fine style, send-
ing ambassadors to say that he is not marrying for money and wishes to wed
‘on account of your excellent nobility, wisdom and power, and the beauty of
your daughters’. His envoys declared that there was no prince more suitable
than their master Friedrich, known as ‘the Handsome’, who was courte-
ous, wise and noble, and tall. James gave detailed instructions to Peter Llull
about the clothes Isabella should wear when the Austrian envoys came to
inspect her.15 She was to be accompanied by suitable persons, either the
admiral or the sacrist of Barcelona, or failing them, by a small number of
honourable and good citizens.16
Frederick’s second letter suggested that if the king was minded to give his
daughter’s hand in marriage, he should send a reciprocal embassy to Vienna
to confirm the ambassadors’ description of him. Accordingly, James briefed
Francisco de Xiarch, canon of Teruel, to carry out this task later the same
month. He was to enquire about the duke’s age, ability and condition, and
the extent of his lands and his title to them. On 1 June 1312 at Klosterneu-
burg, Frederick wrote a letter to be taken to James by Xiarch, in which he
named Otto, abbot of St Lambert, a knight named Hervord von Symaning
and Conrad, the commander from the Teutonic order who previously vis-
ited Aragon, as his envoys for the detailed negotiations with the king about

 The realities of political marriage  181
17
the terms of the marriage. One problem had already arisen: the question of
what would happen to the lands endowed to Isabella at her marriage in the
event of Frederick’s death. Normally, it would have been Frederick’s prop-
erty, and inherited – if he had no children with Isabella – by his brothers.
To set aside this right of inheritance, sworn statements were required from
his brothers, but two of them were not yet of age and could not take the
necessary oath. A formula was duly found to circumvent the problem, but
it took some time.18 The completion of the negotiations is marked by letters
from James dated 5 September 1312, and the envoys returned to Vienna with
Bartholomew of Turri, canon of Vich, arriving in November.
About this time, another suitor suddenly appeared, when Robert, king of
Naples, proposed a match between Isabella and the king of Armenia. This
must have been sometime in September or November, when James wrote
to Robert saying that this was the first he had heard of the suggestion.19 He
had promised Frederick that he would not consider any other suitors for a
certain time, which had not yet expired.

Isabella prepares for marriage

Negotiations moved slowly, however, as it was not until 2 September 1313
that an embassy was sent to Barcelona to finalize the marriage agreement.20
The eleven-year-old Isabella was at Valencia, and James ordered Peter Llull
to have her sent to Barcelona accompanied by Sibylla de Angularia, who
seems to have been her guardian. Her marriage by proxy to Frederick took
place at Tarragona on 14 October. Rudolf von Liechtenstein, representing
Frederick, spoke in German, while Isabella responded in Catalan.21
At this point, Isabella’s trousseau was being assembled. We have James’s
instructions to his chamberlain about the trousseau, and details of her es-
cort, which are the fullest that survive for any medieval marriage.22 She was
given two crowns, and a third was to be repaired. There are good quantities
of jewels, and circlets and a mass of rings. For the table, there are a silver nef
with the arms of Castile, described in detail:

a silver ship, on the top of which are 4 enamelled shields and in the foot
of the ship are 4 enamelled shields; two of each of these bear the royal
seal and two flowers, and in the centre of the ship is a large enamel, in
the form of a fish, and the ship weighs thirteen marks and half an ounce.

20 AA, I, p. 345.
21 Zeissberg, ‘Elisabeth von Aragónien’, p. 184.
22 AA, III, pp. 239–49.
182  Richard Barber
Other table pieces are a handsome gold cup and lid, and a gold eagle set with
emeralds and spinel rubies. Cutlery, with special skewers for eating mulber-
ries, and napkin rings are also provided. Hand towels and silver basins for
handwashing, tableware in silver, Tunisian and Murcian carpets and chests
in which to pack all this are listed. The most remarkable item is a chess set
with a board of green jasper and crystal: beneath the crystal are ‘imaginary
figures’ and there are four lions embossed on the corners.
A large quantity of different kinds of cloth, much of it from the Nether-
lands, is supplied to be made up into garments, possibly on arrival in Aus-
tria. These include lengths of cloth of gold (not necessarily gold in colour,
but material of the highest quality), the most expensive item in the list after
the great gold cup. There are also lists of more practical items, such as a
silver warming pan for her bed, mattresses and towels for her household.
For several items or groups of items, there are precise instructions as to
which craftsman is to be used and what he is to do. Inevitably, repairs to the
jewellery were needed and a silversmith named Guaschi was to be employed
to mend a crown and replace missing jewels and pearls. John Garcesius was
to decorate ornaments for the reins of jennets, the famous breed of Span-
ish riding horses, while Bernardo Castelli of Barcelona was given nineteen
pieces of silver and twenty-eight Moorish bracelets to make fittings for ‘the
saddle and bridle of our daughter’.
James also gave very precise instructions as to the organization of the
princess’ entourage on her long journey to Austria.23 The bishop of Gerona
and Philip count of Saluzzo were to lead the princess’s escort. Their first
duty was to look after the princess, and to be close at hand throughout the
journey. If, when they stayed in a town or village, local dignitaries wished
to pay due respects to the princess, Peter Llull was to inform them so that
they could be present. Before they left Aragon, the two leaders were to ad-
dress the company and emphasize that they must at all costs avoid quarrel-
ling among themselves, as they would have no help from Aragon and the
leaders would be the first to punish them. On the way, James hoped that
Isabella might have an audience with the pope. Avignon was not far off
her route through southern France, and James’s relations with the papal
court were good. The king even prescribed the speech that the bishop was
to make on such an occasion. Neither the princess nor her companions were
to present any kind of petition to the pope. Furthermore, the princess was
not to stay at the court for more than a day after the audience, but was to
continue on her way. James was anxious that the journey should be accom-
plished as quickly as possible, and the norm was that she moved on each
morning. Exceptions were made for her uncle, the king of Majorca, if he was

23 Zeissberg, ‘Elisabeth von Aragonien’, pp. 160, 190–1; interestingly, this document is in
Catalan rather than in Latin.
 The realities of political marriage  183
at Perpignan, and for the count of Savoy and the Dauphin at Chambéry and
Vienne, respectively.
At the journey’s end, the speeches to be made to Frederick and his mother
Elizabeth by the bishop were also prescribed by James; in particular, if Eliz-
abeth was there, he was to express the hope that she would be a second
mother to Isabella. The king had sent Isabella to Vienna with personal com-
panions worthy of her status, but the duke was free to retain all of them or
send some or all of them back to Aragon. If he did choose to keep some
with Isabella, they should be men and women of her household whom Isa-
bella found most trustworthy. Frederick was henceforth arbiter of Isabella’s
entourage, and their fate is particularly poignant. There had already been
problems over the question of the friars who had been chosen to accompany
her, because the Austrian envoys had told Philip of Saluzzo that Frederick
would be displeased by their presence, for reasons which are not clear. Philip
asked James for his advice, and the king replied on 25 October by insisting
that they go because Isabella would need a confessor ‘who she could under-
stand’.24 James also wrote to Philip IV of France asking for safe conduct for
Isabella through French territory.

The journey to Austria

The journey began at last on 15 November 1313. When they reached Car-
pentras, in the papal lands around Avignon, Clement V met and gave Isa-
bella a splendid palfrey with his apostolic blessing and best wishes for the
completion of her journey.25 She and her company continued northwards to
the Rhine, to lands near Konstanz which belonged to Frederick. Here they
met his mother Elizabeth, who had come from Vienna to comfort his sister
Catherine, whose intended husband, the emperor Henry VII of the house
of Luxembourg, had died suddenly in August.26 Isabella stayed here for a
time to recover from the hardship of the journey, before continuing on her
way in January 1314, in the company of Catherine. They travelled through
Tirol to Carinthia, where Isabella met Frederick for the first time. Frederick
greeted her as soon as he saw her, and drew back the cover of her carriage.
He took her by the hand and spoke to her briefly, respectfully and modestly;
he then turned to his sister, consoling her and promising to find her another
husband.27 They travelled on together to Judenburg, ninety kilometres west
of Graz. Frederick wrote to James on 2 February, addressing him as ‘sweet-
est father and lord’ describing the wedding ceremony which had taken place

24 AA, I, p. 348.
2 5 Victring, Liber certarum historiarum, pp. 29, 60: a palfrey is a horse with a particularly
smooth movement, suitable for long journeys, and Victring notes that Isabella mounted it
when it was given to her.
26 Victring, Liber certarum historiarum, p. 61.
27 Ibid.
184  Richard Barber
two days earlier, promising to cherish ‘our dearest spouse and bride’. This
sets the tone of much of the correspondence between son and father-in-law,
respectful and affectionate, and unusually warm. He is sending the letter
back with the bishop of Gerona and Philip of Saluzzo; he had wanted them
to stay for a while, so that they could see his country and keep the young and
tender-hearted Isabella company, but they had pleaded urgent business and
he had regretfully allowed them to return.28
There was also one reason why Frederick was glad to release them. In the
same letter, he says that they will bring a verbal message which he is anxious
for the king to hear. The death of Henry VII had dealt a blow to Frederick’s
hopes for a close alliance with the emperor himself. Normally the emperor
would be succeeded by the king of Germany, but because Henry had only
been emperor for less than a year, there had not been time for an election.
Frederick saw himself as a possible candidate; whoever was chosen as king
of the Germans would also be the emperor elect. It was a tempting prospect,
and it was to dominate the lives of both Frederick and Isabella.
Isabella came to her new home in Vienna soon after the marriage in Fred-
erick’s company. Peter Llull, her major-domo, and another official from
Aragon had remained with them to complete the details of the marriage
contract; this business was completed on 20 May. On 29 June, she wrote a
letter for them to take to her father.29 In it, after a very formal opening, she
assures him of her great happiness and good health. She and Frederick were
received in Vienna with great warmth. Austria is a very beautiful country,
fruitful and delightful. She speaks warmly of the two envoys who are bring-
ing the letter, but is particularly concerned for Blanca de Calderiis, who,
now that Peter Llull is leaving, is her mainstay. Blanca is worried about the
two sons she has left behind in Spain and she hopes that her father will take
special care of them. She ends by rejoicing in the fact that Frederick already
has four of the electors on his side, and is hopeful that this will lead to his
success.

A contested election
The complex politics of Frederick’s election need to be summarized briefly.
Isabella’s part in her husband’s political and military life was marginal,
though she was important to him as the daughter of one of his chief allies,
and she may have accompanied him on his early military campaigns. She
supported him ‘unreservedly and loyally’ in her letters,30 particularly in re-
questing her father’s assistance, and rejoiced in his moments of triumph.
But the election about which she wrote so hopefully in the summer of 1314

28 Zeissberg, ‘Elisabeth von Aragonien’, p. 192.

29 Zeissberg, ‘Das Register 318’, pp. 10–1.
Dick, ‘Isabella von Aragón’, p. 175.
30
 The realities of political marriage  185
31
did not go well. The obvious candidate was Henry VII’s son John, king of
Bohemia, but he was considered too young. The electors divided into two
camps, largely because a number of them were unwilling to back anyone
from the Habsburg family whom Henry VII had supplanted in the imperial
succession. A double election took place. Louis of Bavaria was Frederick’s
rival; he was supported by those who favoured the Luxembourg dynasty.
The motives behind the two parties were in fact very complex, but left no
room for negotiation. Louis had the advantage that he had recently defeated
Frederick in an encounter – a skirmish rather than a battle – in a quarrel
over the guardianship of the young dukes of Bavaria, Louis’ cousins. The
result was that on 19 October 1314, Frederick was elected at Sachsenhausen
by four of the electoral princes and Louis was elected at Frankfurt the next
day by five of the princes. Normally any dual election would have been re-
ferred to the pope, but Clement IV had died on 20 April that year. The next
pope was not chosen until two years later.
Both groups now held coronations on 25 November. Frederick was
crowned with the imperial insignia at Bonn, which was not the traditional
place for the ceremony, by the archbishop of Cologne. Louis, on the other
hand, was crowned at Aachen, the correct site, by the archbishop of Mainz,
but with ‘inauthentic’ insignia. The proceedings were duly reported to the
papal curia and both parties canvassed for recognition. Alamanda Sapera
sent an enthusiastic account of the proceedings at Bonn back to Aragon.
She emphasizes that the archbishop of Cologne had been empowered by
previous popes to crown the emperor. In his sermon, he declared that ‘he
who holds the relics of our Lord pertaining to the kingdom is the one who
must be the king, and no one who does not have them can be called king’.32
Frederick, thanks to his family connections, particularly James II, had
the advantage in his attempts to win the favour of the curia and therefore
probably that of the future pope. The question of recognition now became a
political prize. James II wrote to various cardinals early in 1315, while Fred-
erick succeeded in arranging the marriage of his sister Catharine to Charles
of Calabria, son of Robert king of Naples. This strengthened his hand, as
Robert had good links to the papacy at Avignon as ruler of the surrounding
territory of Provence. It also met with approval from James, who hoped that
this might lead to peace between his brother, the king of Sicily, and Robert.
Meanwhile, in the immediate aftermath of the coronations, Frederick
and his brother Leopold had moved down the Rhine to Speyer, where they
attempted to besiege Louis, who set up camp in the Jewish cemetery, but
quickly retreated from the city when they appeared. Frederick then made
his way up the Rhine, visiting the major towns on that river and enlisting
their support. At Ravensburg, a large number of magnates gathered for a

186  Richard Barber
feast on 28 April 1315. A fortnight later, on Whitsunday, 11 May, Isabella
was crowned queen of the Germans at Basel, followed by the wedding of
Leopold to Catherine, the daughter of Amadeus of Savoy. Alamanda Sa-
pera wrote to her mother back in Aragon, full of excitement that Isabella
should be at the centre of this grand occasion:

As soon as the marriage was done they came to a city called Basel, and
there, on Whitsunday our lady was crowned with great solemnity and
with many people who were of the court, counts and dukes and prelates
and many others, and the aforesaid relics [the regalia of the Holy Ro-
man Empire] were displayed, and we saw it all.33

Financial difficulties and the dismissal of Isabella’s entourage

But life was not easy for the queen’s Catalan entourage. Alamanda com-
plained of the troubles and hard work caused by Frederick’s ‘great affairs’.
It quickly became evident that the Austrian court was poorer than James
had expected, and that his caution, evident in the negotiations before the
marriage, was justified. One object sums up the situation. When Frederick
wished to give Isabella a personal prayer book for her wedding, he did not
commission a new work, as would have been expected. Instead he produced
an existing manuscript, possibly already in the family, into which a new
section of miniatures had been inserted. These new miniatures included one
of St Elizabeth and one of his name day saint, St Catherine, to personalize
it for his wife.34
Immediately after the triumphant announcement of the wedding, Fred-
erick had to write a very different letter, explaining that the costs of the
occasion and of keeping Isabella’s retinue had left him very short of money.
He had been advised by his council that her attendants should be replaced
by Austrians of suitable rank and status. The news of this reached Isabella
at Baden in June, and she wrote sorrowfully to her father:

I am letting you know, my lord, that after the monk and John of Con-
stance, the courier, delivered our mail, they left, and the lord king Fred-
erick, my most beloved husband, before leaving, sent messengers to us
with a letter written by his own hand, in which it was stated that he
and his whole council had decreed that all of the damsels and all of the
company who came with me from Catalonia should be dismissed, with
the exception of Blanca de Calderiis and Bonanat Cardona, who writes

34 Wolter-von dem Knesebeck, ‘Kunstwerke aus dem Umfeld Friedrichs des Schönen’, pp.
330–1.
 The realities of political marriage  187
for me. And since we cannot do anything else, we have had to obey his
command: and this has caused us great consternation because we have
not been able to pay as much as the damsels and the rest of the com-
pany deserved. And the aforementioned lady, Blanca de Calderiis, is
here alone without any company and she has suffered many tribulations
in our service, and especially now that her work has doubled and I am
not giving her any remuneration, nor have we done, and I cannot pay
her as I should; therefore, my lord, I most humbly beseech you that you
be so good as to look after and indulge her sons as we have besought
you many times in previous letters. And if, peradventure, you could, my
lord, through your messengers to me or the king my husband, for love
of the two of us, send Blanca de Calderiis’ sons to us.35

James wrote from Barcelona on 6 August 1315 agreeing to this, insisting only
that Blanca de Calderiis should remain with Isabella.36 Isabella’s chamber-
lain Frederick and the rest of her attendants were to return to Spain. Fred-
erick was well rewarded by James, and other payments were made to her two
joglars, Fros and Freoli. They were probably both musicians and entertain-
ers, and would have been another link to the world of her childhood. Her
confessor also returned home.
There was possibly another reason for Frederick’s dismissal of the queen’s
retinue. About this time, Isabella’s chancellor, Bartholomew de Turri, was
murdered by his squire, who fled towards Aragon. The murderer was ar-
rested, and his confession was sent to the queen. Bartholomew had only
been in office since the end of the previous summer, when her previous chan-
cellor Bertrand de Gallifa and her long-standing major-domo Peter Llull
had returned to Spain. Alamanda Sapera wrote – and then crossed out what
she had written – of ‘the many ills that Bartholomew de Turri did to us, who
is dead, God pardon him!’37 Isabella’s retinue was in effect a small group of
involuntary exiles, with all the tensions that this implied.
Blanca de Calderiis clearly found life away from her sons very difficult.
She wrote directly and frankly to James about her situation in a letter which
reached him in June 1315:

I am most upset because I am still here, which greatly saddens and dis-
pleases me, and I feel dishonoured, for I lack any company, and espe-
cially, my lord, because of that I remain at risk of losing my body and
soul; and as they are making friar R. de Pons, the queen our lady’s con-
fessor, go, and I thus have no-one to be with and I do not know much
German, I shall not be able to make confession to any Germans.

188  Richard Barber
However, my lord, I endure this because of the pledge I made to you
not to leave the queen at any time without being ordered to by you. And
I beg of you, my lord, that it please you, that having informed you of
such things I may be allowed to go, without there being any dishonour
to you or to my lady the queen; or if not, I beg of you that my sons be
allowed to come here. And I beg of you, my lord, that you do me this
favour, so that they may come here honourably. 38

James replied to this (or perhaps to a later letter on the same theme) in Jan-
uary 1316.39 He addressed her as ‘his dear lady’ and emphasized that he was
fully aware of the good service she had rendered – and continued to render –
to Isabella, but he was adamant that she was to stay with the queen, ‘for as
long as she could worthily remain there’. If she absolutely wished to return,
she was to send a letter via the royal messengers, and then ‘we will take care
to organise your journey back’.
James is unlikely to have known that there was good reason for Blanca to
stay, because Isabella was pregnant. At some point in the summer of 1316, he
wrote to Isabella, complaining that she did not write to him often enough.
She sent a dignified reply on 24 July, promising, now she was older, she knew
what she should write to him about and would do so more frequently. The
letter contained tragic news: she had given birth to a son, baptized Freder-
ick, on 26 June, who had died only a few days later.40
Bonanat Cardona reported the news to Alamanda Sapera five days later.
She added that Blanca was very ill and longed to go home to see her sons.
Bonanat doubted if Blanca would ever recover.41 On 4 October, there was
little improvement:

I am further letting you know that Lady Blanca has sent a letter to the
lord king and her sons that she wishes to leave, and that the lord the
king, with whom she is corresponding, should arrange for her to go…
Tell her sons that one day she will die without confession.42

And the financial situation was no better. Bonanat was trying to get money
due to her and Alamanda from their mistress, but Isabella was in no posi-
tion to provide it:

38 AA, I, p. 365.
39 Zeissberg, ‘Das Register 318’, p. 45.
40
AA, III, pp. 306–7.


 The realities of political marriage  189
… After you departed, the household has gone from bad to worse, for
the queen’s and the duchess’s crowns and brooches have been pawned
for 700 marks and the money has been sent to the king who is with his
army. For she should not lack for money to the extent that she cannot
give any either to you or to me…. After you departed she did give me a
good horse, but she was unable to give me any money.43

Early in 1317, Isabella sent an eloquent letter about Blanca to her father,
which probably marks the moment when Blanca at last departed for Spain.
In it, she praises her steadfast loyalty, neither diminished by the passage of
time nor by adverse circumstances. She hopes that her father can reward her
suitably, particularly as she has not hitherto been allowed to return home.44
And she sends another letter, asking that Blanca’s waiting woman Kathe-
rina be exempted from taxes she owes in Barcelona. If there was a reply,
it is not in the royal records of Aragon. This is the last we hear of the little
contingent of Catalans who had set out with such high hopes.

Defeat and decline

From here onwards, Isabella seems to have had a household consisting en-
tirely of Austrians. She asked her father for the deeds relating to her dowry,
which was her personal property, but he refused to send them, fearing that
the lands would be used to raise money for her husband’s wars.45 Freder-
ick’s campaigns met with mixed success; he seems generally to have had the
upper hand over Louis of Bavaria. When Isabella wrote to her father to an-
nounce the birth of her daughter Elizabeth in August 1317,46 she added that
there was a real hope of a successful alliance with the Bohemian barons who
were at odds with their new king, John. John escaped from Bohemia and
found refuge with Louis. He was reconciled with the barons the following
year, and nothing came of the proposed alliance.
In 1319, Frederick and Louis faced each other in warfare for the fourth
time at Mühldorf on the border between Bavaria and Austria. Previously, at
Speyer in 1315, Louis had retreated; later that year, he offered no resistance
when Frederick besieged Augsburg. At Esslingen in 1316, Frederick took
up an impregnable position in a narrow valley and challenged Louis to a
battle in open country, a challenge which Louis did not take up. This latest
encounter ended with both sides retreating. Frederick now turned his atten-
tion to affairs in Austria and left the conduct of the war to his brother Leo-
pold. Leopold countered an attempt by Louis to invade Alsace at the end of

4 4 AA, III, pp. 324–5.
45 Schrader, Isabella von Aragonien, pp. 65–6.
46
AA, III, p. 342. Elizabeth was born on 8 July.
190  Richard Barber
the year by his prompt action. Frederick had hurriedly joined him, and not
only did Louis retreat, but many of his followers changed sides.
Isabella wrote joyfully to her father from Graz in February 1321 with this
news.47 Her letter began by reporting that both she and Frederick and their
children were well and in good spirits. Her second daughter Anna had been
born at some time between 1318 and 1320,48 but it was her elder sister Eliz-
abeth, now nearly five years old, who was her mother’s pride and joy: ‘every
day we find pleasure in her good manners and honest character’.
The interval of peace in the household was brief. On 22 September 1322,
Frederick once again confronted Louis of Bavaria and his allies at Mühldorf.
Louis’s allies now included John of Bohemia, with a formidable group of
knights and 500 Hungarian archers. Frederick was expecting his brother
Leopold to join him. Louis attacked, despite unfavourable odds, before the
other Austrian contingent arrived. The battle began at dawn, and was still
undecided by midday, when troops were seen approaching. The Austrians
believed that these were Leopold’s, but they proved to be reinforcements
for Louis from Nuremberg. Frederick’s army was outnumbered, and he and
his younger brother Henry were captured, together with an estimated 1,000
Austrian knights.49
Frederick von Gloysach, Isabella’s chancellor, took the tragic news to
James. The king wrote to Frederick, in prison at Trausnitz, from Tarragona
on 21 December.50 He declared that he regarded Frederick as his son and
would act for him as if he were his father. A version of the same letter went
to Isabella the same day as well as an appeal to the Pope. He asked for the
support of king Robert of Naples, reminding him of family ties. He sent
instructions to his agent at Avignon, Vidal de Villanova, instructing him to
act cautiously, as the Austrians had failed to support the pope in a recent
conflict with Milan. He also wrote to Leopold of Austria, saying that he
would shortly send an abbot from Aragon, who would visit Isabella to con-
sole her and also try to negotiate for Frederick’s release.51
Frederick might be in prison, but the pope was in no mood to accept
Louis as the king of the Romans. Louis had challenged the pope’s position
in northern Italy by supporting the Milanese against the papal army early
in 1323. This intervention led to his excommunication in October of that
year. Louis responded a year later by declaring that he would set out on the
traditional ‘journey to Rome’ for his coronation as emperor. Leopold mean-
while had not been idle, and had formed alliances which threatened Louis’

48 Zeissberg, ‘Das Register 318’, p. 65n.


 The realities of political marriage  191
position in Germany; at the same time, however, he handed over the impe-
rial regalia which were in his keeping to Louis.52 It seemed to be an impasse.
There are only two – slightly contradictory – letters from the following
two years. John of Constance, the courier between James and Isabella, re-
ports from Avignon on 25 April 1324 that Isabella is healthy and cheerful,
except for the imprisonment of Frederick.53 However, in a letter sent from
Barcelona on 11 June, James, writing in reply to a letter in which Isabella,
miserable and in despair, wished that she could be with him, does his best to
comfort her, but ends: ‘Therefore, dearest daughter, pay diligent attention to
these fatherly sermons’. Isabella took comfort in religion, going on pilgrim-
ages, and undertaking serious fasts and chastisements.54
Louis then produced an astonishing volte-face. On 13 March 1325 at
Trausnitz, where Frederick was still imprisoned, he and Frederick agreed
to share power in the empire.55 There was nothing in this for Leopold, who
was known to be playing his own hand, and resisted the pope’s attempts to
reconcile him with Frederick.56 James’s envoy at the papal court wrote on 20
September 1324: ‘that accursed Leopold wants his brother to die in captivity
so that he can take over the duchy [i.e. Austria]’.57 Two further versions of
the treaty were needed, which added a clause declaring that Frederick and
Leopold were likewise to share power in Austria. This was enough to pacify
Leopold, but he died suddenly three weeks later.
The exact date of Frederick’s release is uncertain; he was reported to
have been freed by another of James’s agents at Avignon writing on 11 June
1325.58 The reconciliation between Frederick and Louis was in fact a return
to an old friendship, but the complications caused by the pope’s unremitting
hatred of Louis meant that matters dragged on. Frederick had promised
to try to reconcile the pope with Louis, and was unable to do so. The letter
from Frederick to James recording his definitive release is not dated, but is
probably from the end of 1325.59
On 4 June 1326, at Graz, Isabella was at last able to write to her fa-
ther to celebrate Frederick’s release.60 She begins by excusing herself for
not writing in recent years, saying that ‘fortune has treated me as if she
were my stepmother’. Immediately after Frederick’s return home, she was
seriously ill, an illness which affected her whole body, but particularly her

192  Richard Barber
head. Her eyesight is so bad that she can only distinguish light and dark.
She asks James to send a skilled doctor; perhaps it is a cataract,61 but she is
not certain.
James replied in December, asking for more details of the illness, so that
he can find the right doctor; but he had to repeat the request in October the
following year, a month before his death in November 1327. James’s son Al-
fonso succeeded him and he too was concerned for Isabella’s health, writing
to Frederick to say that he was sending Jacobus sa Rocha, ‘who with God’s
help, and we say this for certain, will give her medicine which will restore
her health’.62 Six months later, Alfonso wrote to his sister to console her
after Frederick died in January 1330. On 12 July, Isabella died. She was not
yet thirty, and had been married for sixteen years. She was buried in the
Minorite convent in Vienna which she had founded soon after she came to
Vienna.63
Isabella’s story has all too many parallels in medieval history. For once,
however, we can hear the voices of the protagonists clearly and vividly, and
watch as the high hopes of the young princess fade away, and the loneliness
of exile takes over for both her and her three or four attendants, foreigners
in a strange land to the very end.

Acknowledgements
I first came across Isabella and her story when researching queens’ dow-
ries for Magnificence and Princely Splendour in the Middle Ages. I am most
grateful to Professor Noel Fallows for his help with translation of the doc-
uments in Catalan.

Bibliography

Manuscript sources
Barcelona, Archivo de la Corona de Aragón.
ACA, Cancillería, Registros, Núm.140 (Jaime II. Comune 32).

Printed primary sources

Finke, H., ed. Acta Aragoniensia: Quellen aus der diplomatischen Korrespondenz
Jaymes II. (1291–1327), 3 vols (Berlin and Leipzig, 1908) (abbreviated AA).

 The realities of political marriage  193
Gross, L., ed. Regesten der Grafen von Habsburg und Herzoge von Österreich aus dem
Hause Habsburg. 3 Abt. Die Regesten der Herzoge von Österreichs sowie Friedrichs
des Schönen als Deutsche König von 1314–1330 (Innsbruck, 1924).
Victring, J. de, Liber Certarum Historiarum, ed. S. Fedor, Scriptores Rerum Ger-
manicarum, in Usum Scholarum 36 (Hanover, 1910).
Zeissberg, H. R. von, ‘Elisabeth von Aragonien, Gemahlin Friedrich’s des Schö-
nen von Oesterreich (1314–1330)’, Sitzungsberichte der Philosophisch-Historischen
Classe der Kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften 137:7 (1898), 1–204.
Zeissberg, H. R. von, ‘Das Register Nr. 318 des Archivs der Aragonischen Krone
in Barcelona’, Sitzungsberichte der Philosophisch-Historischen Classe der Kaiserli-
chen Akademie der Wissenschaften 140:1 (1901), 1–91.

Secondary sources
Barber, R., Magnificence and Princely Splendour in the Middle Ages (Woodbridge,
2020).
Becher, M. and Wolter-von dem Knesebeck, H., eds., Die Königserhebung Friedrichs
des Schönen im Jahr 1314: Krönung, Krieg und Kompromiss (Vienna, 2017).
Bisson, T. N., The Medieval Crown of Aragon: A Short History (Oxford, 1986).
Dick, S., ‘Isabella von Aragón und Friedrich der Schöne: Heiratspolitik im Zeichen
des Königtums’, in Die Königserhebung Friedrichs des Schönen, ed. Becher,
pp. 165–80.
Hartmann, F., ‘Briefgewohnheiten in ungewöhnliche Zeiten’, in Die Königserhebung
Friedrichs des Schönen, ed. Becher, pp. 271–88.
Pauler, R., Die Deutschen Könige und Italien im 14 Jahrhundert (Darmstadt, 1997).
Pauler, R., ‘Friedrich der Schöne als Garant der Herrschaft Ludwigs von Bayern in
Deutschland’, Zeitschrift für Bayerische Landesgeschichte 61 (1998), 645–72.
Purton, P., A History of the Late Medieval Siege 1200–1500 (Woodbridge, 2010).
Schrader, J., Isabella von Aragonien Gemahlin Friedrich’s des Schönen von Oesterre-
ich (Berlin, 1915).
Schrohe, H., Der Kampf der Gegenkönige Ludwig und Friedrich um das Reich bis zur
Entscheidungsschlacht bei Mühldorf (Berlin, 1902).
Tabacco, G., ‘La politica italiana di Federico il Bello re dei Romani’, Archivio
Storico Italiano 108 (1950), 3–77.
Thomas, H., Ludwig der Bayer (1282–1347) Kaiser und Ketzer (Regensburg, 1993).
Wolter-von dem Knesebeck, H., ‘Kunstwerke aus dem Umfeld Friedrichs des
Schönen’, in Die Königserhebung Friedrichs des Schönen, ed. Becher, pp. 303–43.
10 Henry de Lacy and the
kingship of Edward II
J. S. Hamilton

Henry de Lacy, fifth earl of Lincoln (1249–1311), has frequently been re-
ferred to as one of the closest friends of Edward I of England (r. 1272–1307),1
but his equally close relationships with the king’s brother Edmund Crouch-
back, earl of Lancaster (1245–1296), and especially with the king’s son and
heir, Edward of Caernarfon (r. 1307–1327), have been largely overlooked.2
The most tangible outcome of Lacy’s connections with the royal house is
well known: the 1294 marriage, agreed upon two years earlier, between his
daughter and heir Alice, and Thomas, the son and heir of Edmund of Lan-
caster, by which five earldoms (Derby, Lancaster, Leicester, Lincoln and
Salisbury) would ultimately be united, transforming the house of Lancaster,
although a branch of the English royal family, into a great potential rival to
it as well.3 But Henry de Lacy could not have foreseen any negative conse-
quences of this union, or the great enmity that would develop between his
future son-in-law and his future king, being unswerving in his loyalty to
the crown and the royal family. Lacy has often been portrayed as a lead-
ing figure in the opposition to Edward II, and in particular to his Gascon
favourite Piers Gaveston. This discussion will use a number of overlooked
original sources to demonstrate the close and lasting bond between Henry
de Lacy and Edward of Caernarfon that persisted even during the difficult
early years of his reign as Edward II.
Henry de Lacy came of age on 13 January 1272, and he was knighted in
the following autumn by Henry III at the annual celebration of the Feast of
the Translation of St Edward the Confessor.4 Thus, his entry into public life
closely coincided with the accession of Edward I just a month later. Edward,
of course, was absent on crusade, and perhaps Lacy might have chosen to

 Henry de Lacy and kingship of Edward II  195
go with him if this had not been precluded by both legal and financial con-
siderations.5 In any case, it would appear that the new king already had
plans for Lacy that did not include the crusade. In a fascinating document
issued at Rhuddlan in the midst of Edward I’s second Welsh war on 20 De-
cember 1282, the king declared that in the first year of the reign, his brother
Edmund, along with Henry de Lacy, earl of Lincoln, Reginald de Grey and
other faithful subjects had acted to preserve the king’s peace, which was at
that time being disturbed by Robert de Ferrers, earl of Derby.6 Ferrers, the
letters allege, had illegally occupied Chartley Castle (Staffordshire) in a hos-
tile fashion in February 1273 – which castle Henry III had granted to Hamo
Lestrange of Ellesmere, who had accompanied Lord Edward on crusade
and also had prior connections to Edmund.7 Lancaster, Lincoln and their
companions had subsequently raised a large force and besieged the castle
resulting in the deaths of many men on either side, after which Edmund re-
ceived these enemies and rebels into the king’s peace. Now, nearly a full dec-
ade after the event, the king pardoned Edmund, Henry and their company
for any deaths, and also forgave the transgressions of any of those who had
acted against his peace but had been received back into it by his brother.
The story of Edward I’s ‘legal’ dispossession of the Ferrers family to the
great advantage of his brother Edmund has been recounted elsewhere, but
the actual physical violence at Chartley is generally overlooked.8 Moreover,
harking back to the civil strife of the previous reign, the magnates of Eng-
land were deeply divided by this dispute. While we find the earls of Lincoln

196  J. S. Hamilton
and Lancaster fighting side by side, Ferrers was able to draw support from
such substantial figures as the earls of Gloucester and Warenne.9 The con-
duct of the siege of Chartley appears to have been quite unchivalrous. This
is unsurprising, since Ferrers had previously been ‘swindled out of his inher-
itance’ (in the words of Andrew Spencer), having been forced to surrender
all of his lands to Edmund in 1266, forfeited his estates and titles in 1269 and
had little success in recovering them in the courts.10 That Edward I would
become a ‘masterful’ king able to avoid the kinds of division so familiar in
the reigns of Henry III and Edward II may in large part be attributed to the
strength of his personal relationships with leading magnates such as Lacy.
Throughout the first two decades of the reign of Edward I, the earls of
Lancaster and Lincoln were frequently to be found together, both at court
and in service to the crown on diplomatic, military and administrative
matters.11 Both Edmund of Lancaster and Henry de Lacy were regularly
employed on diplomatic assignments, on occasion together.12 In 1286, they
travelled to France with the king when he performed homage to Philip IV.13
Lacy accompanied Edward to Gascony where the king-duke spent the next
three years in reorganizing the duchy of Aquitaine. Given their experience
in France and Gascony, it is no surprise that in 1293, the two earls were
delegated to settle maritime disputes between the sailors of Normandy and
those of Bayonne and southern England. Their inability to effect a settle-
ment ultimately led to Edward I’s renunciation of his homage to Philip the

 Henry de Lacy and kingship of Edward II  197
Fair in June 1294 and to war with France.14 This war produced the final,
great, collaboration between the two earls as brothers in arms commanding
royal forces in Gascony.15 They sailed from Plymouth on 14 January 1296
with more than 350 ships.16 Following an unsuccessful attack on Bordeaux,
Edmund of Lancaster fell ill, and he died at Bayonne on 5 June 1296, in
Tout’s words, ‘worn out by the trickery of the French and the burdens of
defending his brother’s Aquitanian heritage’.17 It was left to Lacy to carry
on as king’s lieutenant in Aquitaine. Although the only battle of this Gascon
war was an English defeat at Bellegarde in early 1297, Lacy’s ability as an
administrator provided the resources necessary to maintain resistance in a
successful war of attrition that allowed Edward I to campaign in Flanders
and achieve a negotiated settlement that restored English rule to Gascony.
Returning to England, Lacy served as one of the executors of Edmund
of Lancaster’s will, and the Lancaster-Lacy connection is clearly commem-
orated on Crouchback’s magnificent tomb to the north side of the high al-
tar in Westminster Abbey, just to the west of the Confessor’s chapel that
was rapidly becoming a Plantagenet mausoleum.18 The tomb of Edmund
Crouchback is the ‘earliest example in England of the French type of cibo-
rium tomb’, but in its heraldic display it is more elaborate than anything in
contemporary France.19 There are twenty shields on each side of the base,
and some fifty-five in the gables of the canopy. These shields represent the
earls of England as well as notable baronial and knightly families connected
with the house of Lancaster. Especially prominent are the arms of the earl
of Lincoln, appearing twice on the north side of the tomb chest and three
times on the south side. The personal as well as the chivalric connection be-
tween Lancaster and Lacy is embodied here in stone, as it had recently been
embodied in flesh through the marriage of Thomas and Alice.

***

In the difficult last decade of the reign of Edward I, marked by the passing of
Edmund of Lancaster, Eleanor of Castile and other trusted advisors of the
king, Henry de Lacy played an increasingly important role in preparing Ed-
ward of Caernarfon for his future role as king. Not only was he instrumen-
tal in the negotiations that led to the arrangement of the marriage between

198  J. S. Hamilton
Edward of Caernarfon and Isabella of France,20 he also provided the prince
with instruction in military affairs and chivalric conduct. He accompanied
Edward I and Prince Edward to Scotland on the latter’s first military expe-
dition in 1300, as recorded in the Roll of Caerlaverock:

Henri le bon Conte de Nichole Henry the good Earl of Lincoln

Ki prowess enbraste et acole Who embraces and loves valour
E en son coer le a souveraine And holds it sovereign in his heart
Menans le eschiele primeraine Leading the first squadron
Baniere ot de un cendall saffron Had a banner of yellow silk
O un lion rampant porprin.21 With a purple lion rampant.

Lincoln led the vanguard, while earl Warenne led the second regiment, the
king the third and the prince the rearguard.
In July of the following year at Carlisle, Lacy performed homage to
Prince Edward for lands he held of him as earl of Chester.22 He was present
in Carlisle as the most senior of the five earls who had been chosen to ac-
company the prince on campaign in Galloway, where the king desired ‘that
the chief honour of taming the pride of the Scots may accrue to the prince’.23
The prince’s expedition, effectively led by Lincoln, did capture the castle at
Turnberry, but otherwise achieved little to tame ‘the pride of the Scots’.24
By January 1302, a truce had been arranged to last through to November,
and while the king and prince prepared to renew hostilities with the Scots in
1303, Lincoln travelled to France where on 20 May 1303 he and the count of
Savoy formally betrothed the prince to Philip IV’s daughter Isabella, in the
presence of the French king and queen and the princess herself.25
We are remarkably fortunate to have a roll, albeit incomplete, of the let-
ters of Edward of Caernarfon for 33 Edward I (1304–5), from which we can
gain considerable insight into the relationship between the earl of Lincoln
and the now twenty-year-old prince.26 The prince wrote to the earl on eight
occasions. Two letters of a legal nature are in Latin, the rest are in French:
the topics range from the mundane and administrative in nature to the ur-
gent and personal. No other earl was the subject of so much attention from

20 Foedera, I, ii, pp. 894–5, 952, 955; Phillips, Edward II, p. 81, nn. 18, 20.
21 Caerlaverock Roll of Arms of the Princes, p. 2.
22 Johnstone, Edward of Carnarvon, p. 63. Similarly, Lincoln performed homage for Rhos
and Rhuvoniog at Odiham in January 1303; CPR 1343–45, p. 228.
2 3 Calendar of Documents Relating to Scotland, ii, p. 305; CCR 1296–1302, p. 480.
24 Prestwich, Edward I, pp. 403–4.
25 Foedera, I, ii, pp. 952–4.
26 E 163/5/2, printed in Letters of Edward, ed. Johnstone. We can supplement the letters with
E 101/368/4, a roll of the daily expenses of the prince’s household for the same year. There,
we find (m. 2) that the earl of Lincoln dined with the prince in London on 8 February
1305, along with the bishops of Durham and Chester, the chancellor and the mayor and
burgesses of London.
 Henry de Lacy and kingship of Edward II  199
the prince, aside perhaps from his brother-in-law Ralph de Monthermer, the
titular earl of Gloucester in right of his wife.27
The first letter to the earl of Lincoln in the surviving series was written
on 4 June 1305 from Langley, concerning a royal debt of £80 owed to a
Castilian knight named Sonchenegoz for his service in Gascony with the
Aragonese captain known as Ladalit, acknowledged in letters given under
Lincoln’s seal.28 The most interesting feature of this letter is the prince’s
invocation of his mother’s Castilian heritage in supporting Sonchenegoz’s
effort to recover this debt.
Far more significant was a famous letter written by the prince at Midhurst
ten days later. It is worth quoting in full:

Edward etc. to the earl of Lincoln etc. greeting and dear friendship.
Know, sire, that on Sunday the thirteenth day of June we came to Mid-
hurst, where we found our lord the king our father; and on the Monday
following, on account of certain words which were reported to him as
having passed between us and the bishop of Chester, he became so en-
raged with us, that he has forbidden us to be so bold as to come into his
household, we or any of our following, and he has forbidden all the folk
of his household and of the exchequer to give or lend us anything for the
upkeep of our household. We have remained at Midhurst to await his
goodwill and favour, and we shall follow him all the time as best we can,
ten or twelve leagues away from the household, so that we may recover
his goodwill, as we greatly desire. Wherefore we pray you especially that
on your return from Canterbury you will come to us, for we have great
need of your aid and counsel.29

Although there is no evidence of the earl and prince meeting face to face in
response to this appeal, several more letters to the earl follow fairly soon
after, maintaining the close communication between them and suggesting
that even if the prince was not formally reconciled with the king until Octo-
ber, the worst of his ostracism was soon over.30
On 24 June, the prince dispatched John de Bedale from Perching to
William de Nouny, steward of the earl of Lincoln, bearing letters concern-
ing a house and lands that Bedale held from Lincoln.31 It would seem that

2 8 Letters of Edward, ed. Johnstone, pp. 18–9. See also SC 8/322/E534 for a petition from
Pascasius Valentini, known as Ladalit, concerning arrears from his service in Aquitaine,
and E 30/1676 for his release of all claims in March 1308; Cf. CPR 1292–1301, p. 489.
29 Letters of Edward, ed. Johnstone, p. 30, Johnstone’s translation.
30 Johnstone, Edward of Carnarvon, pp. 97–101.
31 Similar letters were also dispatched to Alan de Smytheton, who held a messuage and rent
in South Kirkby from Lincoln; Bedale may have held through Smytheton; Letters of Ed-
ward, ed. Johnstone, p. 35; C 146/7456. It is tempting to think that Edward’s connection to
200  J. S. Hamilton
the house had been battered in a storm and high winds, and that the earl (or
his steward) had demanded two and a half marks for having restored the
house, which charge the prince asks him to forego.
From a letter addressed to Roger Brabazon, chief justice of King’s Bench,
written on 27 June at Hellingly, it would appear that the prince and earl were
both patrons of Mankin the Armourer. The prince having learned that his
‘well loved’ armourer was imprisoned in London, asks Brabazon ‘for the
love of us’ to bring forward the inquest. As Hilda Johnstone noted in her
edition of the letters, Mankin and his brother Peter were indeed acquitted of
various felonies and trespasses against the peace in 1305, but at the request
of the earl of Lincoln rather than the prince.32
On the following day (28 June), the prince wrote to Lincoln from Battle
asking that the earl intercede in the case of the executors of Oliver of Ing-
ham, who sought to recover certain debts from the executors of Eleanor of
Castile. While this is essentially a routine legal or administrative matter,
the prince asks this for the release of his mother’s soul, adding a personal
dimension to the request.33 The prince did not write to the earl again for two
months during his period of relative isolation from the king, but on 11 Sep-
tember he wrote to ‘the noble man his dear cousin Sir Henry de Lacy, earl
of Lincoln’ from the park at Windsor, seeking his assistance in protecting
the prince’s rights in Gower at the upcoming parliament.34 Several more let-
ters to Lincoln followed regarding a variety of matters under consideration
by the king’s council. On 1 October from Kennington, the prince wrote to
Lincoln requesting that he aid John the Porter of Tickhill in his business
before the king’s council.35 Two days later, on 3 October the prince again
wrote from Kennington, this time on a matter of more personal concern.
The prince having come to understand that certain members of the king’s
council had ordered the prince’s bachelor Sir William Inge to travel to Scot-
land to serve as a justice, he states that he has great need for his service,
as Inge knows the prince’s business like no other. He argues that there are
other ‘good men, wise in the law and suitable for holding this place in those
parts (i.e., Scotland)’. Finally, he asks the earl to confer personally with Guy
Ferre, William Blyborough and Walter Reynolds on this matter.36 The ur-
gency of the prince’s concern is made clear in the very next letter in the com-
pilation, addressed to Guy Ferre, which urges him also to pursue the matter

John de Bedale came through Miles de Stapleton, whose more famous grandson Sir Miles
de Stapleton of Bedale shares a loconymic with this otherwise unknown John de Bedale.

34 Letters of Edward, ed. Johnstone, p. 113.

35 Ibid., p. 132. Perhaps relating to land held in Tickhill from Constance of Béarn; SC 8/346/
E1381.
36 Letters of Edward, ed. Johnstone, p. 133.
 Henry de Lacy and kingship of Edward II  201
of William Inge along with Blyborough and Reynolds, and then to go to the
earl of Lincoln, Hugh Despenser, and others of the king’s council ‘who are
our friends’ and tell them about the damage that would be done were Inge to
be sent away.37 This campaign was apparently successful, as Inge remained
with the prince.
Similarly, Prince Edward wrote to Lincoln again on 4 October, noting
that the king had ordered Lincoln to travel to the Curia in Rome, and that
the earl had requested the services of Sir Miles de Stapleton to manage the
business of the earl’s household in his absence. Here again, Edward was
unwilling to be parted from a member of his household, but there were ex-
tenuating circumstances. As he explains in his letter, rather apologetically,
he does not have the authority to release Stapleton, who had been placed
into his household as steward by the king.38 This is an interesting episode,
since Stapleton had served with the earl of Lincoln at Falkirk in 1298 and
again at Caerlaverock in 1300 – where Lincoln accompanied the prince. He
had also previously accompanied Lincoln to Rome in 1300, at which time he
was described as a knight of his household. It is tempting to think that Lin-
coln himself may have been behind Stapleton’s appointment as the prince’s
steward, and it seems remarkable that he would not have known that this
appointment had been made by the king himself. Although it appears that
Stapleton did re-enter Lincoln’s service in 1305,39 he went on to serve as
steward of the king’s household in the early months of Edward II’s reign,
and although he was included in the general pardon to adherents of Thomas
of Lancaster for the death of Piers Gaveston in 1313, he ultimately remained
loyal to the king, dying on the field at Bannockburn in the following year.40
A few days prior to his letter concerning Miles de Stapleton, on 29 Sep-
tember, the prince had written to Isabelle, widow of John FitzHugh, con-
cerning her marriage, which the king had granted to his valet John de
Stapleton. The prince urges Isabelle, somewhat plaintively, to assent to this
arrangement. On the same day, the prince also wrote to Richard Oysel, the
recently appointed escheator beyond Trent, to ensure that he provided as-
sistance to John de Stapleton in every way possible with regard to this grant.
Interestingly, as Johnstone noticed, letters patent actually granting the mar-
riage were issued on 30 September ‘at the instance of Henry de Lacy, earl of
Lincoln’,41 suggesting further communication between the prince and earl.

40 See Musson, ‘Stapleton, Miles, first Lord Stapleton’.

202  J. S. Hamilton
That the prince and earl continued to be in close contact after this series
of letters concludes is indicated in April 1306 when one Matilda, late wife
of Thomas de Belhus, who was being held at the Tower of London under
indictment for the murder of her husband, was pardoned at the request of
the prince on the information of the earl.42 A month later, Henry de Lacy
was present on 22 May 1306 when Edward of Caernarfon was knighted in a
lavish ceremony. Two of the closest friends of the king, the earls of Hereford
and Lincoln, fastened the spurs of the prince of Wales, introducing him to
the order of knighthood.43 Very soon after this, the earl and the prince once
again served together in Scotland, and Lincoln was the leading lay figure in
a delegation summoned to accompany the prince on a trip to France in the
spring of 1307, although this visit to the French court did not, in the end,
take place.44 Later in 1307, Lincoln would be among the first to swear hom-
age to King Edward II.45

***

According to the Brut chronicle, Lincoln was one of those charged by

Edward I on his deathbed with seeing to the welfare of Edward of Caer-
narfon,46 and during the early years of the reign of Edward II, Henry de
Lacy used all of his stature in efforts to facilitate the transition from the
old king to the new. Although the so-called Boulogne Declaration of Jan-
uary 1308 has long been seen as an attack on the crown, Seymour Phillips
has convincingly argued that ‘it was essentially designed to help Edward
rather than impose restraints on him’, and may well have been drafted in
conjunction with discussions regarding the king’s impending coronation.47
Subsequent to his return to England from the royal wedding in France, early
in 1308 Lacy hosted a meeting of the earls at Pontefract,48 where apparently
plans were discussed for the upcoming April parliament. At this subsequent
assembly, on 28 April, the earl of Lincoln presented the king with three ar-
ticles.49 The first of these three articles bluntly asserted that homage and al-
legiance were due to the crown rather than to the person of the king. It went
on to threaten direct action to constrain a wayward ruler. The second and
third articles were more narrowly personal, applying the principles adduced

4 6 Brut, I, pp. 202–3.

47 Phillips, Edward II, pp. 139, 142. For a contrasting view see Maddicott, Thomas of Lancas-
ter, pp. 73, 80–3.
48
Ibid., p. 80.

 Henry de Lacy and kingship of Edward II  203
in article one to justify the exile of Piers Gaveston and the confiscation of his
estates, to which the king reluctantly acquiesced in June.50 There are signs
of strain in the relationship between Edward II and Henry de Lacy in mid-
1308, but a reconciliation between the king and his magnates was achieved
at the Northampton parliament in August, and there is little evidence of any
lasting breach between the king and the earl. By November 1308, relations
with the king were sufficiently cordial that the earl was granted permission
to hunt with hawks along all preserved rivers and carry away his quarry.51
He was present at court at Windsor on New Year’s Day 1309,52 and in Feb-
ruary 1309 the terms of the wardship for the daughters of Brian FitzAlan
were renewed in the earl’s favour.53
In the first three years of the new reign, Lincoln was a ubiquitous pres-
ence at court as illustrated in the witness lists to the charter rolls. He was
present at court for 35 per cent of enrolments in 1 Edward II, 79.6 per cent in
2 Edward II and 70.3 per cent in 3 Edward II. Particularly in the first year,
he was also found together with his son-in-law Thomas of Lancaster, jointly
witnessing on 12 occasions (30 per cent of all enrolments).54 We cannot be
sure of the nature of the relationship between Henry and Thomas. In the
last decade of the reign of Edward I, they had often been at court together,55
and a similar pattern continued into the first year of Edward II, where they
appear together as witnesses on a dozen occasions between August 1307 and
May 1308.56 But while Lacy remained a ubiquitous presence at court dur-
ing the next two years, Lancaster appears just twice in late 1309 and three
times in March 1310 before withdrawing altogether. As he had in the reign
of Edward I, Lacy also continued to provide funds to the crown, in July 1309
receiving a bond for repayment of 600 marks that he had provided to the
keeper of the wardrobe John Droxford for the king’s use.57

50 For Lincoln’s relationship with Gaveston, see J. S. Hamilton, Piers Gaveston, earl of Corn-
wall 1307–1312 (London and Detroit, 1988), pp. 48, 50–1, 68, 74; Phillips, Edward II, pp.
147–9, 161–2. It is significant that Lacy almost certainly knew Gaveston’s father Arnaud
de Gabaston personally. As king’s lieutenant in Gascony, he appointed Arnaud as custos
of the town and castle of Sault with forty men-at-arms and fifty foot soldiers, and likewise
at Rochefort with five men-at-arms and fifty foot soldiers; C 47 24/2/23. See also Rôles
Gascons, ed. Bémont, III, no. 4476.
51 CPR 1307–13, p. 146.
52 CChR 1300–26, p. 125.

54 Witness Lists of Edward II, ed. Hamilton, pp. 1–7.

204  J. S. Hamilton
The tensions that repeatedly arose during the early years of the reign ulti-
mately led Edward II to agree in March 1310 to the establishment of a body
of twenty-one prelates, earls and barons ‘to ordain and establish the estate
of the king’s household and realm’.58 Both Henry de Lacy and his son-in-law
Thomas of Lancaster were elected to serve as Ordainers. Lacy, in all likeli-
hood, continued to play a moderating role throughout the period in which
the Ordinances were drafted. And he continued to have the king’s trust. On
1 September 1310, Edward II appointed Lincoln as king’s lieutenant and
keeper of the realm during his absence in Scotland.59 But when Edward or-
dered the removal of the exchequer and benches to York on 28 October 1310,
Lincoln threatened to resign and faced the king down, suggesting that he
was fully invested in the drafting process and the ongoing process of reform,
while also committed to serving the crown.

***

A remarkable, but little discussed, element of the earl of Lincoln’s efforts to

mentor the young king is physically embodied in a copy of the Brut presented
to Edward II in the third year of his reign by Lacy, providing the young ruler
with historical foundations for good kingship.60 That this gift was made
to the king after the drafting of the Boulogne Declaration and the Three
Articles, and perhaps even after the appointment of the Lords Ordainers,
suggests that the earl of Lincoln still had high expectations for the kingship
of Edward II. Although Sir Frederick Madden described the author of this
abridgement of the Brut Rauf de Boun as a ‘miserable history-monger’, and
his work as ‘a collection of historical notices chiefly derived from apocry-
phal sources, and put together in so confused and ignorant a manner, in
defiance of chronology, as to baffle all ingenuity to reconcile them to each
other’,61 yet Henry de Lacy must have had a clear plan behind the commis-
sion and organization of this abridgement. Perhaps such ‘baffling’ claims,
as that Arthur was the father of Ethelwold and grandfather of Alfred, are
less important than the assertion that Arthur-like Edward I had conquered
Wales and Scotland. If the details of the reign of Richard the Lionheart are
not entirely accurate, the crucial emphasis is on crusading and the chivalric
duties of a Christian king (si se aforsa par tout cel temps par l’eide de Deux
enhancer et cel malice ley payen destruer). Perhaps most significantly, this
very short chronicle (829 lines, covering eleven leaves in the MS [fols. 1r–11v]
and nineteen and half pages in the modern printed edition), devotes fully

1307–13, p. 285. This sum was still owed at the time of the earl’s death; CPR 1307–13,
p. 321.



 Henry de Lacy and kingship of Edward II  205
one-sixth of its coverage (138 lines) to the reign of Edward I, a reign in which
Henry de Lacy had been not just a witness, but a crucial actor. Surely it is
here that he is reaching out to the young Edward II, with whom he had been
so close for more than a decade, with practical lessons in kingship.
The depiction of Edward I is largely accurate and stresses one key prin-
ciple above all else: the maintenance of the king’s right (pur son droit mayn-
tiner). The portrait of the late king begins with his youthful crusade in the
Holy Land, stressing that he was a most noble and chivalric knight. In the
account of his wars in Wales – in which both Henry de Lacy and Edmund of
Lancaster had played such prominent roles – it is the treachery of Llewelyn
and David ap Gruffydd, and later Rhys ap Maredudd and Madog ap Llewe-
lyn that is stressed. The importance of Gascony is also emphasized. When
Edward returns from Gascony – with which Henry de Lacy was so closely
associated – the king purges the judges (and Le Petit Bruit correctly names
the chief justice of Common Pleas, Thomas de Weyland, along with Rich-
ard of Boyland, William de Brompton and Adam Stratton as among those
dismissed from office)62 and expels the Jews from England, both acts seen as
works of royal justice. The Great Cause of Scotland is treated at considera-
ble length, from the death of Alexander III and the adjudication of the right
to the crown by Edward I, through the failings of John Balliol, the treason
of William Wallace (un rabaud laron thief ) and finally the usurpation by
Robert Bruce, all these men guilty of disloyalty to the king of England. The
chronicle concludes with the death of Edward I at Burgh on Sands ‘in this
time of war’. It seems very clear that Edward II is being urged to action in
a just cause.
If Edward II did not emulate his father in word and deed as exemplified
in Le Petit Bruit, he did continue to value Lincoln’s advice throughout the
earl’s life as indicated by the earl’s continued service to and communication
with the king. His influential role is reflected in a privy seal writ dispatched
from the king on 8 September 1310 instructing Lacy to convene the great
council in order to consider various matters in Aquitaine.63 On 23 October,
Lacy wrote from London to John de Brittany, earl of Richmond, noting that
both he and the king, who was presently in Scotland, were in good health.64
On 22 November, the king wrote a series of letters to Lincoln, as keeper,
covering a commission in Gascony, exports to Flanders and administrative
matters, including appointments to office and the work of the exchequer.65
In December 1310, as the English and French negotiators entered into the
Process of Périgueux, the king wrote to his father-in-law Philip IV, noting
his need to discuss Gascon affairs with his experts, the earls of Lincoln and

206  J. S. Hamilton
Pembroke and Sir Otto de Grandison.66 The king wrote to Lacy, as keeper,
from Berwick in January 1311, on a variety of topics, including the Fresco-
baldi.67 This was likely their final communication.

***

Henry de Lacy did not live to see the impact of either Le Petit Bruit or the
Ordinances on Edward II, having died on 5 February 1311 in his London
house in Holborn. He was subsequently buried in a magnificent tomb – that
had much in common with the tomb of Edmund of Lancaster, although ap-
parently without a canopy – between the chapels of St Mary and St Dunstan
in the old St Paul’s Cathedral. We are fortunate to have Hollar’s engraving,
showing the ‘weepers’ and their shields, as well as the architectural design
of this splendid tomb.68 We also have another memorial of a different sort.
According to the Annales of John Trokelowe, Lacy shared his last moments
with his son-in law, advising Thomas of Lancaster in military matters and
his manner of living: Thomas was to guard the liberties of the Church, but
also to relieve the populace of England from the ‘various vexations and tal-
lages, imposed by kings, that have reduced them to servitude’. He was to
‘exhibit the honor and reverence due to the king, remove evil councillors and
aliens from the court, and maintain the dignity of the crown’.69 He was to be
a paragon of chivalric virtue and loyalty. The sequel was to prove decidedly
mixed, however, with dire consequences for the king, his cousin of Lancas-
ter and the kingdom as a whole. The absence of the steady hand of Henry de
Lacy, earl of Lincoln, would be greatly missed.

Bibliography

Manuscript sources
Bodleian Library: MS Fairfax 24
British Library: MS Burney 277; MS Harley 902
The National Archives:
C 53: Charter Rolls
C 146: Ancient Deeds
DL 29: Duchy of Lancaster: Minister’s and Receiver’s Accounts
DL 10: Duchy of Lancaster: Royal Charters
E 101: King’s Remembrancer
SC 8: Ancient Petitions

66 Cuttino, English Diplomatic Administration, p. 90.

 Henry de Lacy and kingship of Edward II  207
Printed primary sources
Annales Londonienses, Chronicles of the Reigns of Edward I and Edward II, ed. W.
Stubbs, RS (1882).
Calendar of the Charter Rolls.
Calendar of the Close Rolls.
Calendar of Documents Relating to Scotland.
Calendar of the Patent Rolls.
Foedera, conventiones, litterae et cujuscunque generis acta publica, ed. T. Rymer, 10
vols in 40 pts (The Hague, 1739–45).
Flores Historiarum, ed. H. R. Luard, 3 vols, RS (1890).
Johannis de Trokelowe et Henrici de Blaneforde chronica et annals AD 1259–1296,
1307–1324, 1392–1406, ed. H. T. Riley, RS (1866).
Letters of Edward, Prince of Wales, 1304– 05, ed. H. Johnstone (Roxburghe Club,
1931).
Rauf de Boun, Le Petit Bruit, ed. D. B. Tyson, Anglo-Norman Text Society, Plain
Text Series 4 (London, 1987).
Reliquiae Antiquiae: Scraps from Ancient Manuscripts, ed. T. Wright and J. O. Hal-
liwell (London, 1845).
Rôles Gascons, III (1290–1307), ed. C. Bémont (Paris, 1906).
The Brut, ed. F. W. D. Brie, EEET vol 131.
The Roll of Arms of the Princes Barons, and Knights who Attended King Edward I to
the Siege of Caerlaverock, in 1300, ed. T. Wright (London, 1864).
The Royal Charter Witness Lists of Edward I (1272–1307), ed. R. Huscroft, List and
Index Society 279 (Kew, 2000).
The Royal Charter Witness Lists of Edward II (1307–1327), ed. J. S. Hamilton, List
and Index Society 288 (Kew, 2001).

Secondary sources
Baldwin, J. F., ‘The Household Administration of Henry Lacy and Thomas of Lan-
caster’, EHR 42 (1927), 180–96.
The Complete Peerage, ed. G. E. Cokayne, 13 vols (London, 1910–57).
Cuttino, G. P., English Diplomatic Administration, 1259–1337, 2nd ed. (Oxford,
1971).
Davies, J. C., The Baronial Opposition to Edward II (Cambridge, 1918).
Duffy, M., Royal Tombs of Medieval England (Stroud, 2003).
Dugdale, W., The History of St Paul’s Cathedral in London (London, 1658).
Goodall, J., ‘The Heraldry on the Tomb of Edmund Crouchback, Earl of Lancaster
(d. 1296)’, in Gothic Tombs of Kinship in France, the Low Countries and England,
ed. A. Morgenstern (University Park, PA, 2000).
Hamilton, J. S., ‘Lacy, Henry de, fifth earl of Lincoln (1249–1311), magnate’, Oxford
Dictionary of National Biography, https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/15851.
Hamilton, J. S., Piers Gaveston, earl of Cornwall 1307–1312: Politics and Patronage
in the Reign of Edward II (London and Detroit, MI, 1988).
Johnstone, H., Edward of Carnarvon (Manchester, 1946).
Kantorowicz, E. H., The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Medieval Political Theology
(Princeton, NJ, 1957).
208  J. S. Hamilton
Lawton, R. P., ‘Henry de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln (1272–1311), as locum tenens et cap-
itaneus in the duchy of Aquitaine’ (unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, University of
London, 1974).
Lloyd, S., ‘Edmund [called Edmund Crouchback], First Earl of Lancaster and First
Earl of Leicester (1245–1296)’, ODNB, https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/8504.
Maddicott, J. R., ‘Ferrers, Robert de, Sixth Earl of Derby (c.1239–1279), Magnate
and Rebel’, ODNB, https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/9366.
Maddicott, J. R., Thomas of Lancaster, 1307–1322: A study in the Reign of Edward
II (Oxford, 1970).
McFarlane, K. B., ‘Had Edward I a “Policy” towards the Earls?’, History 50 (1965),
145–59.
Mercer, M., ‘King’s Armourers and the Growth of the Armourer’s Craft in Early
Fourteenth-Century London’, in Fourteenth-Century England VIII, ed. J. S.
Hamilton (Woodbridge, 2014), pp. 1–20.
Morris, M., A Great and Terrible King: Edward I and the Forging of England (New
York and London, 2009).
Musson, A., ‘Stapleton, Miles, First Lord Stapleton,’ ODNB, https://doi.org/10.1093/
ref:odnb/26301.
Phillips, S., Edward II (New Haven, CT and London, 2010).
Prestwich, M., Edward I (Berkeley, CA and Los Angeles, CA, 1988).
Richardson, H. G. and Sayles, G. O., The Governance of Medieval England
(Edinburgh, 1964).
Somerville, R., History of the Duchy of Lancaster (London, 1953).
Spencer, A., Nobility and Kingship in Medieval England: The Earls and Edward I,
1272–1307 (Cambridge, 2014).
Thiolier-Méjean, S., ‘Croisade et registre courtois chez les troubadours’, in Études
de philologie romane et d’histoire littéraire offertes à Jules Horrent à l’occasion
de son soixantième anniversaire, ed. J-M. D’Heur et N. Cherubini (Liège, 1980),
pp. 298–307.
Tout, T. F., ‘The Earldoms under Edward I’, TRHS, n.s. 8 (1894), 129–55.
11 Faction, prerogative and the
common profit of the realm in
the Good Parliament
Mark Arvanigian

Parliaments of the last quarter of the fourteenth century, very much in line
with England’s general political situation, were often rambunctious affairs.
Yet the parliament convened in April of 1376, the so-called ‘Good Parlia-
ment’, has long held a special interest for historians of England’s political
and constitutional development.1 By the early 1370s, the regime of an ailing
Edward III had fallen prey to a group of corrupt advisors and royal in-
timates, intent on self-enrichment at the expense of public well-being and
good government.2 These historians have seen the mandate of parliament in
fairly straightforward terms: oppose the court party, weed out the malfea-
sance and return the king’s government to good health. Yet that diagnosis
of the problem badly understates the complexity of the political situation
in 1376, and while the Commons’ countermeasures against the court pro-
vided short-term relief, their proposed reforms of government proved not
to be durable in the least; many were reversed within weeks, while others
fell under the axe of the Hilary Parliament the following January, when the
political situation was essentially restored to the status quo ante.3 For some
early constitutional historians, this represented something of a tragedy, as
the hard-won progress of reform made by the Lower House was quickly
reversed by the forces of ancient privilege and reaction.4 For Bishop Stubbs,

210  Mark Arvanigian
the Good Parliament was potentially a landmark moment, a step along the
sure path to English (then British) ‘exceptionalism’. He was cheered by the
willingness of the Commons to air new ideas and approaches, and the con-
fidence with which they pursued public reform, bolstered by their emerging
role as watchdog of the public fisc. While certainly disappointed by the fact
that these advancements were abruptly cut short after the end of the session
and during the following parliament, Stubbs and many who followed con-
tinued to believe that the Good Parliament represented a foundation stone
in what would become the nation’s unique ‘mixed constitution’ by the end of
the seventeenth century.5
If Stubbs’ successors lacked his enthusiasm for historical teleology and
his faith in a providential constitutional progress, they nonetheless accepted
his basic premise: the reality of ‘parliamentary evolution’. Ever the hard-
nosed administrative historian, T. F. Tout nonetheless found himself (albeit
hesitantly) adopting a more modest version of Stubbs’ interpretation, see-
ing in the Commons an unusually robust expression of reform principles
coupled to an equally striking willingness to insinuate themselves into the
king’s business.6 So, too, did the great parliamentary historians of the mid-
twentieth century, particularly Roskell beginning in the 1950s, and then
Richardson and Sayles in subsequent decades.7 For them, as for Stubbs,
1376 was a landmark for the Commons on several fronts, offering many
novelties of approach and mechanism. For example, election by MPs of
one of their own to serve as Speaker proved to be the crucible of that im-
portant constitutional office. They pointed also to the Good Parliament’s
forceful dissent of a proposed new round of royal taxation, and to its novel
use of impeachment, arrayed here against top royal officials and intimates
accused of incompetence and corruption. The latter came under the mech-
anism of another relatively new procedure, the so-called ‘common petition’;
and while impeachments lacked the force of law, they nonetheless served
as de facto indictments, and served to pave the way for the introduction

general flavour of this, see Wedgewood’s short and evocatively titled article ‘John of Gaunt
and the Packing of Parliament’.

 Faction, prerogative and the common profit  211
later on of more forceful censure and impeachment measures.8 The Good
Parliament was therefore seen by many as England’s first radical, reforming
parliament, foreshadowing especially the rise of the Commons, itself crucial
in the formation of that quintessentially English construct, rule by the king
in Parliament.9
Yet this easy interpretation detracts from a more complex and interest-
ing reality. The 1376 Parliament was clearly a confrontational gathering,
but the explanation for that was external to the body itself. It was found
instead in the broader political context on the one hand, and in the Com-
mons’ ever-more strenuous affirmation of their role in fiscal oversight on the
other. Royal spending – alongside its usual cognate, royal taxation – was
by this time the Commons’ most reliable route to influence royal policy.
Moreover, it is nearly axiomatic to assert that the war in France provided a
near-unlimited wellspring of royal need, as the treasury’s war requirements
produced consistent shortfalls of ready money. These rounds of taxation
were generally agreed to by the Commons in exchange for a wide variety of
concessions, perhaps not least of which was an emerging belief that it should
meet regularly.10 For Edward III, war, like kingship and government more
generally, was a personal and dynastic undertaking, part and parcel of a
broader effort to extend the influence of his family. This was borne out for
example in his dogged attempts to serve this end through the marriages of
his children, as Mark Ormrod has discussed in some detail.11 The dynastic
nature of Edward’s war and the problems borne by the rest of nation in its
prosecution were, for a time, buffeted by his military successes. The famous
victories at Crécy and Poitiers brought personal and national glory, after all,
and held out the prospect of annexing new territories, with opportunities
for yet-greater national prosperity.12 However, by the 1370s, popular mem-
ories of these victories were rapidly being complicated by others which told
of recent military and diplomatic failures. Fading alongside those memo-
ries of battlefield glory, it seems, was the Commons’ former enthusiasm for

212  Mark Arvanigian
lavishly funding the war as the king saw fit.13 Tensions were undoubtedly
exacerbated by the end of the long two and a half years of parliamentary
intermission, following the relatively contentious gathering of 1373.14 The
present essay seeks to clarify the context of the 1376 Parliament, while also
reconsidering the roles played by the Commons and the king – and perhaps
most importantly by the figure of John of Gaunt, around whom so much
revolved and for whose political life the parliament marked a sea change.

***

At least some of the attention paid to the Good Parliament by historians

has been the result of the survival of a rich core of literary and documentary
evidence.15 Modern historians are blessed to have no fewer than three con-
temporary reconstructions of events, providing a combination of basic re-
porting and some vivid detail.16 The most important of these is the work of
the anonymous clerks of parliament themselves, whose account for the par-
liament rolls was compiled following the end of the session, as per usual.17
Their account of the Good Parliament is unusually detailed and survives
mostly intact, the single crucial text for understanding the parliament.18
However, two other contemporary accounts also survive, both showing a
close knowledge of the proceedings, even as they differ substantially one
from the other.19 The Anonimalle Chronicle, compiled by an anonymous
monk of the Benedictine abbey of St Mary’s, York, is the shortest and likely
the most reliable of the two.20 Its treatment of the Commons’ prosecution
of the king’s closest advisors, for example, is admirably straightforward
and neutral in tone, recounting little more than the charges levelled against
them.21 This is probably explained by the regional stature of the accused,
in that while Lords Neville and Latimer served as steward and chamber-
lain of the royal household, they were also figures of considerable import
and influence in Yorkshire and the north-east. John Neville was the heir
to the Neville estates in North Yorkshire and Durham, and had even been

 Faction, prerogative and the common profit  213
granted leave to fortify Raby Castle (his main residence on the River Tees)
by his feudal lord and colleague Bishop Hatfield of Durham – in spite of
the fact that it lay on the northern border of Yorkshire, rather than that
with Scotland, where such requests were much more typically granted. Yet
Hatfield, like Neville, was a royal servant and advisor, the two connected
via the court and the tight web of acquaintance which typified the region.22
This had become more acute in recent years, as Neville translated some of
the dividends of high royal and Lancastrian service into greater regional
influence for himself and his family. One brother, William, had become one
of the senior admirals of the fleet and sometimes-keeper of the ports, while a
second, Alexander, had recently been elevated to the archbishopric of York,
and was by this date already enthroned at York Minster – a few hundred
yards from the gates of St Mary’s Abbey.23 Though Latimer lacked the Nev-
ille pedigree and regional influience, he was nonetheless also an important
landowner and had established himself in royal service as an able diplomat,
soldier and administrator, and had been of much service to both Gaunt and
the Black Prince in France. A Lancastrian retainer, he had also served as
Edward’s household chamberlain since the early 1370s, an important link
between Gaunt and the royal household. It is understandable, then, if in
his account of their indictments, the Anonimalle writer failed to report the
same spirit of righteous indignation shown by the Commons’ was reported
by other witnesses.24
The lengthiest and most influential ‘external’ account of the parliament,
however, was that of the St Alban’s chronicler Thomas Walsingham.25 With
his characteristically excellent access to the highest political circles, Walsin-
gham likely composed his account of the Good Parliament before 1388, in
a portion of his larger Chronica Maiora usually referred to by historians
as the Chronicon Angliae.26 In general terms, scholars have been reluctant
to rely exclusively on Walsingham’s accounts of events, in that he altered –
or had altered for him – much of his magnum opus following the Lancas-
trian Revolution of 1399, in order to accommodate the new regime’s sensi-
bilities.27 As historians of the reign of Richard II have shown, this seems
to have been part of a project to better align accounts of the period with

22 ‘Inquisitions Post Mortem, Richard II, file 56’; CIPM, pp. 277–91.
23 Arvanigian, ‘A Lancastrian Polity?’, pp. 121–42.
24 Taylor, ‘Good Parliament and its Sources’, pp. 88–90. The section of the Anonimalle
Chronicle dealing with the events of the Good Parliament has been reproduced (in trans-
lation) in Taylor, English Historical Literature, pp. 301–13.
25 This essay will refer to the version printed in the Rolls Series as the Chronicon Angliae, ed.
Thompson (hereafter CA).
26 For Walsingham’s treatment of the Good Parliament, see CA, pp. 68–101.
27 It has been suggested that for his account of the Good Parliament, Walsingham relied on
having had access to the account of the MP Thomas Hoo, whose witnessing of events he
describes in detail; Goodman, ‘Sir Thomas Hoo’, pp. 139–40.
214  Mark Arvanigian
Lancastrian sensibilities, particularly those touching the reign of Richard II.28
Yet, as one of the editors of the Chronica Maiora notes, the Chronicon An-
gliae is unlikely to have been altered from its original 1388 version, and so
probably represents the author’s authentic views of the Good Parliament
without Lancastrian revision.29 It is for this reason that we might conclude
that it represents Walsingham’s unaltered views on the parliament, allowing
for its use here.
However, Walsingham’s account of the Good Parliament presents histo-
rians with a second problem, one that cannot be quite so easily dismissed:
his deep and professed personal antipathy for the duke of Lancaster.30 In
his capacity as editor of the Anonimalle Chronicle, Galbraith warned against
taking Walsingham’s uncorroborated word on any subject touching John of
Gaunt’s character or behaviour.31 Holmes also adopts this standpoint in the
only dedicated scholarly monograph to date on the Good Parliament, and
makes sparing use of the Chronicon in the absence of corroboration.32 Yet
Walsingham’s view of the duke as a malevolent, ambitious and scheming
threat to good order is ultimately let down by the startling lack of support-
ing evidence. Gaunt’s dealings at the Good Parliament, and at the one which
met during Hilary 1377, are both very much cases in point. His influence
over the Commons in 1376 was only ever a minor one, a fact acknowledged
by most modern historians and confirmed by the Commons’ obvious antip-
athy towards him. The numbers confirm this: just seven Lancastrian retain-
ers or officers served as MPs in the Good Parliament, very few from outside
Lancashire itself. That number grew to just twelve for the January Parlia-
ment of 1377, one which he has long been accused of hijacking to avenge the
damage done to him by its predecessor.33
As Simon Walker has shown in some detail, Gaunt’s retaining was still
very much in transition during this period, with his political focus shift-
ing only very slowly away from the Continent and towards English politics.
In these transitional years, he simply lacked the wherewithal to pack the
Commons with supporters and retainers, even from the north. Yet the
claims of Wedgewood and others that Gaunt controlled the Hilary Parlia-
ment via an army of parliamentary retainers dutifully passing legislation
reversing the 1376 reforms – or at least preventing their recurrence – have
gone unchallenged for decades.34 To be clear: amongst those taking seats in

28 For the best discussion of the manuscripts and their dating, see Stow, ‘Richard II’,
pp. 68–102.
29 Taylor, English Historical Literature, pp. 65–6.
30 Reign of Richard II, ed. McHardy, pp. 36–7.

 Faction, prerogative and the common profit  215
the Commons in January 1377, just twelve can be identified as Lancastrian
retainers – a number only slightly higher than its immediate predecessor;
this rather minor difference in number does not serve to explain the about-
face in the attitude of the Hilary Parliament.35 A more likely one lies in the
extraordinary conditions surrounding both gatherings. Gaunt’s growing
power, alongside the infirmity (and eventual death) of the Black Prince, the
king’s own advancing age and infirmity, and the minority of the royal heir,
must have made for an alarming political moment for the Commons. Yet,
whatever Lancaster’s political ambitions, they were not pursued through the
packing of the Commons in 1376–7.

***

The central purpose of the Good Parliament, from the king’s perspective,
was made clear immediately. In his opening address on 28 April, the chan-
cellor John Knyvet announced the king’s intent that there be a new round
of taxation, for the purpose of shoring up the nation’s defences, continuing
to provide good government for the kingdom and providing for the ongoing
war effort in France.36 For the next two weeks the Commons met in the
Chapter House of Westminster Abbey on their own, before making the un-
usual request that the king appoint an intercommuning committee of lords
to assist them in their deliberations.37 The response was favourable, and a
committee of bishops, earls and barons (four of each) was duly appointed.
Its composition shows a real attempt to empanel genuine ‘neutrals’, since
many of those named were reasonably free of factional interests. However,
the issues in play were sufficiently weighty that the goal of a genuinely apo-
litical committee, if it had ever existed, was unrealistic. The bishops of Carl-
isle, London, Norwich and St David’s were joined by the earls of March,
Suffolk, Warwick and Stafford and the Lords Brian and Percy, along with
Sir Henry Scrope and Sir Richard Stafford.38 Though Courtenay of London
and the earl of March were hostile to Gaunt, Scrope, Percy and Guy Brian
(and to a lesser extent, Stafford) could actually be described as a Lancas-

even where he wielded considerable influence, as in Yorkshire: The Lancastrian Affinity,

pp. 262–91.

36 PROME, parliament of April 1376, item 2. The Anonimalle writer believed the specific
request for taxation was a fifteenth and tenth on the laity, plus the addition of either one
or two years’ wool subsidy; if so, it was quickly rejected or withdrawn from consideration,
most likely rejected by the Commons as a non-starter, never to appear again amongst the
proposals; Anonimalle Chronicle, ed. Galbraith, p. 80.
37 This had been provided also in 1373. McFarlane reminds us how unusual this was: in the
thirty-four parliaments between 1373 and 1407, the rolls record that the Lords only con-
ferred formally with the Commons (in any way) just seven times; McFarlane, ‘Parliament
and “Bastard Feudalism”’, p. 54 (note).
38 Anonimalle Chronicle, ed. Galbraith, pp. 80–5; PROME, parliament of 1376, item 8.
216  Mark Arvanigian
trian bloc. Though the time frame and sequence of events are left obscure
by the author of the relevant section of the parliament roll, it is likely to have
been understood that the proposed three-year subsidy on wool would be
agreed to by the Commons in exchange for the king entertaining a number
of proposed reforms. Thereafter, beginning on 24 May and after a lengthy
period of discussion and consultation with the intercommoning panel, the
Commons presented a slate of requests over the next several days.
Among the most important acts of the parliament were the removal from
court of the king’s mistress, Alice Perrers, and the great London merchant
and financier, Richard Lyons, who were both extremely influential with the
king. In addition, the Commons asked that the royal household be purged
of its top officials, the chamberlain Lord Latimer and the household steward
Lord Neville. Others would follow in the coming days and weeks, includ-
ing the well-known London merchant and associate of Lyons, John Pecche,
and his associate, William Ellis.39 Pressing their advantage, the Commons
next recommended that the royal council be disbanded entirely, and a new
one assembled from amongst the lords then serving on the intercommuning
committee. With Gaunt’s recommendation, the king agreed. Having done
so, and perhaps now reeling somewhat in the face of a reinvigorated Com-
mons, he also acquiesced to the prosecution of his old advisors. On 26 May,
Lord Latimer was arrested and ultimately detained at the pleasure of the
earl of March; two days later Richard Lyons was arrested and conferred
to the Tower, his property seized ahead of an impending trial. Thus sated,
the Commons, their principal concerns dealt with and their main targets
at court purged and punished, assented to the king’s proposed three-year
subsidy on wool. The timing here strongly suggests that MPs had already
agreed to this course of action ahead of time, awaiting only the king’s agree-
ment to their main slate of reforms to act.40
However, if the purging of Latimer and Neville was meant to diminish
Gaunt’s influence, the attempt failed.41 Any hopes that the new council
might rise above factional politics and engage a programme of reform were
quickly dashed. The Anonimalle writer suggests that the inclusion of Bishop
Wykeham of Winchester, who with Bishop Courtenay acted as the body’s
leading voices, ensured on the council elements hostile to any perceived
Lancastrian interests.42 While the inclusion of Mortimer likely made that

40 PROME, parliament of 1376, items 8, 19 and 30; Anonimalle Chronicle, ed. Galbraith,
pp. 93–4.
41 Ibid., pp. 90–2; Holmes, Good Parliament, p. 105. The recommendation of the Commons
as to the council’s reformation is referred to by the clerks of parliament in PROME, par-
liament of 1376, item 10.
42 This is hard to work through, as Wykeham’s relationship with Gaunt is murky; he had
once been among the duke’s household officers and stood as an attorney for him in 1375;
Foedera VII, p. 61.
 Faction, prerogative and the common profit  217
opposition easier, the impression of the Anonimalle writer’s account – that
Gaunt’s enemies were now arrayed against him on the council – is still not
quite correct.43 Gaunt himself retained his own membership on the panel
by agreement with the Commons, alongside his brother, the earl of Cam-
bridge; Archbishop Sudbury of Canterbury, a staunch ally of Lancaster, was
also included, with the lords Beauchamp, Percy and Brian. By that date,
Beauchamp and Percy were fee’d Lancastrian retainers, and Guy Brian a
staunch ally, as well.44 So while the new council was not an instrument of
Lancastrian policy, neither was it reflexively hostile to Gaunt’s interests.
Even so, the Commons might have had more success constraining Gaunt’s
ambitions had they not made a further critical concession: reinforcing the
king’s prerogative in appointing his own household officers, and confirming
that those officers should be free to execute their duties unhindered by the
new council. These caveats proved crucial, and undercut the reforms envi-
sioned by the Commons.
As it was, Roger Beauchamp was quickly installed as under- chamberlain
and Sir John Ypres replaced Lord Neville as household steward. Beau-
champ’s talent for service made him useful both to Gaunt and to the crown,
while his unimpeachable aristocratic lineage guaranteed respect even in the
loftiest circles. Ypres was a different animal altogether. Already an experi-
enced household servant, he rose to his new position after several years as
controller of the royal wardrobe.45 Yet he was also amongst Gaunt’s clos-
est advisors, knighted on the field of Najera for his service there. A decade
later saw him president of Lancaster’s ducal council and a senior member
of his household.46 So while the council now included members hostile to
Lancaster’s ambitions, it was in practice a weaker version of itself in two
main respects. Firstly, it had clearly ceded responsibility - and therefore au-
thority - for the daily business of governing to household officials, elevating
the latter in importance via the promise of greater autonomy. Secondly, the
composition of the council failed to curtail Lancaster’s influence, certainly
among the principal goals of these reforms. In Latimer and Neville, two
Lancastrian partisans were indeed dismissed by the Commons, yet two oth-
ers were simply elevated to serve in their stead; the effect was to further
blunt any potential acts by Wykeham and others which might be hostile
Lancaster’s interests in the final months of the reign. Moreover, the reversals
of the reforms of the Good Parliament’s efforts were spearheaded by the
working Lancastrian minority in the council, which also paved the way for
the parliamentary ‘counter-reformation’ of January 1377, which essentially
restored customary royal authority absent parliamentary oversight.

4 4 Walker, Lancastrian Affinity, p. 264; Tout, Chapters, VI, p. 47.
45 Holmes, Good Parliament, pp. 105–6.
46 Tout, Chapters, VI, pp. 23 and 28; Walker, Lancastrian Affinity, pp. 38, 78, 87 and 105.
218  Mark Arvanigian
Indeed, in the absence of parliamentary oversight and with the burden
of war set aside, Gaunt enjoyed significant freedom of action for the bal-
ance of 1376 and spent much of it rebuilding royal authority. To this end,
he laid the foundation for reversing the Good Parliament before its session
had even concluded, acting in his capacity as steward of the realm.47 In that
sense, then the failure of the Commons to enact a programme of meaningful
reform upon royal government was not one of zeal, or ideology or imagina-
tion, but of practical politics.
Yet in one important area, the Good Parliament was successful in forcing
the crown to address decisively an issue of great national import: the royal
succession. As Michael Bennett has shown, Edward III’s unusual and force-
ful act of placing the crown itself under entail established publicly his own
preference for the royal succession, in both general and specific terms. Yet
it also undoubtedly contributed to the intense factionalism that prevailed
during parliamentary proceedings, by encouraging the two ‘cadet-line’ can-
didates, Mortimer and Gaunt, to each mobilize their respective partisans in
the service of their claims.48 From one perspective, given the incredibly high
stakes injected into the parliament by circumstance and by the question of
the entail, it is surprising that any progress towards reform was made by the
Commons at all, testimony perhaps to the dire state of royal government
and the talents of the new speaker.49 De la Mare was an early practitioner
of popular politics within the parliamentary context: his experience in high
office (he was the steward of the earl of March) gave him sound qualifica-
tions to deal with the court and nobility. Yet he was also possessed of a rare
combination of personal eloquence and a mastery of the issues before the
House.50 As such, constitutional issues and partisan politics came into tem-
porary alignment, and the Speaker moved the Commons to take advantage
of their opportunity and reform what they agreed was an ineffective and
corrupt government.51
The Commons applied somewhat novel techniques like impeachment to
prosecute government officials for specific transgressions. While lacking the
force of law, these impeachments served as a useful instrument of pressure.
Their public enumeration of specific rather than vague charges of wrong-
doing, along with the gathering and presentation of evidence, proved suffi-
cient to move the king to act, even against his closest counsellors. Publicity

48 Bennett, ‘Edward III’s Entail’, pp. 580–3.

49 Roskell, ‘Sir Peter de la Mare’, pp. 24–37.
50 Oliver, Parliament and Political Pamphleteering pp. 29–35. The Good Parliament was
probably the first to use systematic pamphleteering to sway the wider community towards
their proposals; Oliver, ‘First Political Pamphlet?’, pp. 251–68.

 Faction, prerogative and the common profit  219
and specificity formed a winning combination and made the indictments
difficult to ignore, just as others lacking such seriousness and specificity –
say, ‘malfeasance’ or ‘evil counsel’ – were often easier to set aside. The Com-
mons were therefore commending themselves to the nation in 1376 as a legit-
imate instrument of public oversight. Here, the gathering and presentation
of evidence might usefully be arrayed in an attempt to influence royal pol-
icy, all through the mechanism of common petition.52 Aware of the peril to
members in this course of action, the Commons, before disbanding, made
special petition to the king for the protection of individual members against
any retribution they might encounter, especially at the hands of those re-
cently impeached, many of whom of course were powerful men.53 The peti-
tion may have been the response to just these kinds of threats, as MPs came
to understand their own individual jeopardy outside the chamber. This may
explain also why the Commons’ impeachments in 1376, spectacular though
they were in the context of the late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, were
also relatively few in number. In any case, the bell of impeachment could not
thereafter be ‘unrung’. In this sense, its broader importance lay in the fact
that institutional practice – in this case, parliamentary impeachment – once
introduced, had a kind of immortality, slumbering indefinitely before being
resurrected in the service of some contemporary utility.54

***

Given the intensity of the pressures and the politics of faction in the 1376
Parliament, might there have been any residual space for the expression of
political ideas? Perhaps so. Mark Ormrod and others have suggested that
political language provides a window into the Good Parliament’s self-
conception, and here that means above all else gauging the importance of
the relatively new phrase ‘common profit of the realm’. The term was a rel-
ative debutante, and made its impact on the Good Parliament initially as
the centrepiece of the extraordinary opening oath taken by the Commons.55
Yet it reappeared several times, including during a critical exchange alleged
to have taken place between de la Mare and the Lords in which the Speaker
requested the intercommuning committee. The Anonimalle writer in fact
puts the phrase several times in de la Mare’s mouth while addressing the
council; it reflected a new emphasis upon the well-being or prosperity of

220  Mark Arvanigian
the political community.56 Indicative of rising expectations on the part of
the Commons, concern over the common profit of the realm was in the pro-
cess of replacing the older ‘common weal’, which itself sought to set a min-
imal framework of security. Concern for the ‘common profit’ also reflected
a deepening agreement regarding the interests of the broader community of
provincial and urban England. Both, partly through their representatives
in the Commons, were demanding that royal government be more attentive
to their needs and prosperity, a sure sign of their maturity into legitimate
political stakeholders.
Yet these changes in the political lexicon reflect a deeper shift, away from
an acceptance of the traditional authoritarian model of kingship in favour
of something more inclusive. ‘Common profit’ connotes an emphasis on
shared interests and responsibility for the national destiny amongst the es-
tates of the realm. Traditional authoritarian models of royal authority had
long emphasized other elements of royal authority and responsibility, point-
ing especially to the sacral character and divine mission of kingship as the
ultimate source of any king’s prerogative – his ‘right to rule’. A monarch’s
feudal mastery of his nobility, his relationship with the church and his abil-
ity to co-opt his greatest magnates into governance in nomino regis perhaps
none of these surpassed the necessity of communicating to the wider realm
his acceptance of his sacred duty to his people, conferred upon him by God,
for it was this that conferred upon him the need for an extensive royal pre-
rogative. As such, it was perhaps the single critical factor in determining
the extent of that prerogative, more important than any legal institutions
or constitutional norms.57 This element of kingship is replete with symbolic
meaning, and while this is not the appropriate place to discuss its many
manifestations, in the case of Edward III it might be well to highlight just
two of them. The first is outlined briefly, above: the matter of political the-
ology. Beyond brute force, the king’s authority rested upon his royal status,
conferred by affirmation of the nobles and sanctified through anointment,
the latter formally conferring upon the office its sacred status. It is this pro-
cess of anointment (which made manifest a king’s sacred connections both
to God and to their past) that proved so helpful in defining a king’s relation-
ship to his subjects; he was seen in the ancient sense as a gift of Divine Grace
to his people, set apart from all others in status and authority. Only rarely
was this shaken, as it had been during the deposition crisis of 1326/1327. In
such cases, where a king was judged to be in violation of his duties, perhaps
articulated and given form through a coronation oath, the door might open
for the expression of some alternative criteria, such as the ‘common profit’
of the kingdom.

56 Ibid., pp. 311 and 313.

57 Ormrod, ‘“Common Profit”’, p. 215.
 Faction, prerogative and the common profit  221
Indeed, Edward III himself had long been a vigorous practitioner of this
approach to kingship, as a devotee of an older honour culture that encapsu-
lated conventional piety, chivalry and deeds of arms.58 He employed sym-
bols and slogans such as St George, the Arthurian Round Table and the
prominent phrase Dieu et Mon Droit to establish his priorities and make
known his values. Edward even adopted and mimicked early in the reign
that most famous of all legendary chivalric heroes, Arthur.59 He went so
far as to attempt the rebuilding of a new replica of the Arthurian Round
Table (never completed) for his own knights at a newly redesigned ‘temple
of chivalry’, the Great Hall of Windsor Castle.60 For some years, these sym-
bols and expressions were pressed into the service of his royal prerogative
and aspirations, extending to his aspiration for an imperial monarchy that
included both England and France. While the motto Dieu et Mon Droit was
not of his own invention, it nonetheless matched his aspirations perfectly.61
Indeed, the antiquity and provenance of the slogan were precisely the point:
its adoption provided a tangible link to the animating spirit that first moved
Richard Coeur de Lion to adopt it. Pleasantly for Edward, Richard I had
also wielded the motto in defence of his French possessions, against the in-
cursions of another French king. Dieu et Mon Droit even found its way into
Edward’s royal arms, perhaps our best summation of his thinking on the
subject of government.
Yet the motto was also used in several more specific contexts, of which
two stand out. The first was its adoption by Edward’s troops at Crécy as a
battle cry. Its prominence and the ideas it represented rose in status right
alongside Edward’s own. For just as Crécy, the greatest of all of his victories,
was vindication of his decision to press his claim in France, it also seemed
to provide evidence that God was indeed siding with him in that quest – the
motto borne out in battle. The second related use was the motto’s adoption
by Edward’s new chivalric fraternity, the knights of the Garter, after 1349.
Unlike noble or knightly standing, membership in Edward’s neo-Arthurian
band was reserved for his comrades in arms. With a royal clubhouse of
Windsor Great Hall, and with its own dedicated devotional chapel there
in St George’s (so named in dedication to the Order’s patron saint), mem-
bership in the Order became England’s highest honour.62 The motto served
as a public pronouncement of its purpose; it deftly married sacred, martial

222  Mark Arvanigian
and chivalric elements, all in the service of a king favoured by God, His
‘pious warrior’.63 In Old Testament terms, this was exemplified best by the
life of David, the faithful boy-hero who served as an instrument of God’s
will and later became His chosen king. This was the fulfilment of what had
always been his providential destiny, to rule a united kingdom of the Israel-
ites in the Promised Land of God’s Chosen People. Anointed by the Prophet
Samuel, his authority was as close to sacrosanct as the Hebrew tradition
allowed. For many other kings, useful parallels were abundant; for Edward,
they were acute, stretching from his own youthful overthrow of Isabella
and Mortimer (though not with a sling) to his proposed ‘destiny’ to rule
over all of his family’s realms as king. Models of prophetic kingship from
Christian history would only have encouraged him further in this thinking.
Most obvious among these was the first of all Christian monarchs, the Ro-
man Emperor Constantine, whose victories and subsequent reign were said
to have reflected the Divine Will. Providence and the will of God granted
Constantine victory over his enemies at the Milvian Bridge, and he repaid
it with the salvation of Rome’s Christians and with the building of God’s
Church on Earth in a new empire that provided Christians a footing in their
struggle with the established Pagan gods. Like both rulers, and in common
with most medieval kings, Edward also believed his successes to be provi-
dential, and in the service of righteous causes. This was only confirmed by
his stunning victories at Crécy and Poitiers, the surest possible evidence of
Divine favour.
Belief in his just cause, in his own place in providence and in the notion
that his mission was tapped from a sacred spring all produced in Edward
a strong belief in a certain kind of kingship. As the Vicar of Christ to his
people, it was of paramount importance that he regained all of his rightful
lands, an endeavour that had already met with great success, proof positive
of God’s emphatic approval. The metaphor of vicarage was very much on
the lips of theologians and political thinkers of the day, from religious re-
formers like Wyclif to political philosophers like Marsilius of Padua. All
emphasized in one way or another the sacral functions of anointed kings,
Christ’s designee to his people, His ‘Good Shepherd’.64 For those hostile to
papal influence in politics, these views proved attractive - of which Gaunt’s
short dalliance with Wyclif’s ideas is ample testimony.65 Yet as powerfully
adorned as Edward’s brand of kingship had been, by the last years of the
reign it was visibly damaged, evidenced by the contentious parliaments of
1373 and 1376, as well as the factional infighting within the nobility. For
Edward, success in France and his own personal chivalric aura had buoyed
his authoritarian approach to kingship, and left his government with an ex-

 Faction, prerogative and the common profit  223
pansive authority. Yet this had been largely dependent upon a single grand
supposition – that popular memory of the great victories prior to Brétigny
was strong enough to retain political capital. Yet for the Commons of 1376,
the achievements and glories of Crécy and Poitiers were long ago and far
away, belonging to the achievements of a previous generation.66 The king’s
age and frequent infirmities served as a living reminder of this, as did the
death on 8 June of the Black Prince – a teenage debutante at Crécy and the
hero of Poitiers. Exacerbated by the entire political community being as-
sembled, and raising many questions of course about the royal succession,
the prince’s death was also a powerful symbolic reminder of the passing of a
generation responsible for so many glorious deeds.67
It is in this context that the Commons chose to assume a new approach.
The employment of the term ‘common profit of the realm’ by the Good Par-
liament might of course have been lexical sophistry, not at all indicative of
any real change in thinking. Yet the adoption by the Commons of the new
phrase more likely reflects its utility in a moment of acute crisis, a sound
encapsulation of their goals.68 As John Watts points out, this was repeated
in the mid-fifteenth century, with the redefinition or repurposing of a num-
ber of important political terms. Watts’ example of the self-definition of
the participants in Cade’s Rebellion as the king’s true ‘liege men’, while at
the time being in open rebellion against his government, speaks not only to
their misunderstanding of the term, but also to an ongoing redefinition of
the meaning of fidelity to the crown, increasingly distinct from fealty to the
king’s person. The waning of the older, widely accepted expression ‘com-
mon weal’ in favour of a new one, ‘commonwealth’ (res publica), certainly
speaks to a wider conception of politics and public affairs. The reported use
of the phrase ‘common profit’ at the opening of the 1376 parliament likely
signaled a change in meaning from its predecessor – the ‘common weal’ or
‘commonwealth’ (from wele, as in the modern ‘welfare’) – which described a
simple absence of want and protection against dire need or hardship. Con-
versely, the new term ‘common profit’ placed a greater moral burden on
the state to attend to the ‘profit’, the thriving, of the commons rather than
simply attending to its basic needs. The shift is noteworthy also for moving
away from the view of the king as a powerful and providentially guided
shepherd of an otherwise helpless flock, towards a more complex, even

66 Edward himself was a living relic in 1376, having survived every one of his contemporar-
ies; Bothwell, ‘Emotional Pragmatism’, pp. 39–70. Ruddick has shown that by 1375 and
perhaps before, the view that England had now been abandoned by God was very much
abroad; ‘National Sentiment’, pp. 1–2.
67 Green considers the ‘meaning’ of his death as related to us by the rather unreliable chron-
iclers, most notable among them the Prince’s chief literary sycophant, Thomas Walsing-
ham; Green, Edward the Black Prince, pp. 185–7.
68
Watts, ‘“Common Weal” and Commonwealth’, pp. 147–66; some of this is also expressed
in a different context in his Henry VI, Chapter 1.
224  Mark Arvanigian
communitarian, constitutional arrangement which obliged the king to posi-
tively contribute to the general prosperity of his realm. This was the view ex-
pressed by the Commons in 1376, when they discussed the complementarity
of their twin roles as royal watchdogs and supporters of the crown. This was
aptly demonstrated by their taking of an unusual oath to open the session,
pledging to attend to the ‘common profit of the kingdom’.69 No oaths of this
sort had been seen since the crisis of Edward II’s reign in 1326/1327 – an oc-
casion which elicited much conversation in 1376 – and it was widely seen as
a sign that the Good Parliament felt itself to be weathering a similar crisis.70
Indeed, nowhere is that purpose more evident than in the common peti-
tions, which encapsulated several important criticisms. In them, the Com-
mons accused the crown of being overly focused on defending the royal
prerogative at home, and of advancing certain individuals’ war aims abroad
without paying sufficient attention to their impact on the nation – the ‘com-
mon profit of the realm’.71 For their part, the chroniclers of the parliament
remained wedded to the by-then traditional phrase for the public good, the
‘common weal’, synonymous with ‘common well-being’. Simple clerical con-
servatism might account for using the older form, yet there is also another
possibility. In studying Lancaster’s role in these affairs, Anthony Goodman
argues that the very value of the term as a basis for criticism of the royal
state lay in its imprecision.72 With its vague connexions to public opinion
and even violent mob action (as in 1381), accusations of politicians placing
their own personal profits over the public good could be powerful, and in-
deed these formed the heart of many of the most prominent denunciations
of Gaunt levelled by the Commons and the chroniclers. Their apparent,
widespread assumption that Lancaster intended to usurp the throne for
himself at the death of his father haunted his political efforts for some
years, as he sought to reshape his role in the new regime. What was unu-
sual here was the Commons’ confidence in confronting a perceived threat to
the crown and its heir, a confidence that perhaps hints at inspiration drawn
from the new popular politics and a conviction that they had much pop-
ular support. This also hides an irony at the centre of the king’s twilight
years, for while the Commons would come to venerate Edward III and his
many achievements posthumously, the Good Parliament was testimony to
the political community’s growing hostility to his authoritarian style and

 Faction, prerogative and the common profit  225
approach, favouring increasingly a more communitarian and collaborative
polity – something more attuned to the common profit of the realm.73

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12 ‘During our absence or until
further order’
Edmund of Langley, duke of
York, and the custodianship
of the realm, October
1394–May 1395
Douglas Biggs

On 1 October 1394 Richard II with the royal portion of the 8,000-man army
he had organized left Haverfordwest for Ireland. The king would spend the
next eight months in Ireland with the intention of restoring Irish rebels to
loyalty and bringing much-needed peace to his Irish possessions. Richard
II’s Irish campaign and its successes have been well covered,1 but to this
point no one has pursued in-depth analysis of the government at home dur-
ing the longest of Richard II’s three trips abroad. In the fourteenth century,
the governance of the realm during the months when the king was abroad
was usually the job for a mere caretaker. As T. F. Tout and Mark Ormrod
have demonstrated for the reign of Edward III, after the debacle of 1340
the king kept a tight control on the governance of the realm even when he
was abroad.2 Thus, after 1340 Edward’s custodians were either his minor
children or, in 1372, his grandson Richard of Bordeaux, then aged six.3 On
all these occasions, those who received the realm into their keeping until the
king returned, along with those royal councillors who advised them, had
little practical power and Edward III expected them to do very little on their
own initiative. Richard II, however, chose not to follow his grandfather’s
practice. Rather than run the government at a distance during his extended
stay in Ireland, the king left the custody of the realm to his uncle, Edmund
of Langley, duke of York.
Traditionally historians have made very little of this moment.
Nineteenth-century and twentieth-century historians routinely disparaged
Edmund of Langley as an individual of ‘no weight’, and heaped all manner

230  Douglas Biggs
of abuses upon him from being ‘lazy’, to ‘monumentally stupid’, to charging
him with suspicious fidelity.4 Even the great administrative historians gave
York’s longest of his three custodial periods scant attention. Sir Nicholas
Nichols found the eight months of York’s 1394/1395 custodianship to be
‘of much interest’, but did not draw any significant conclusions or conduct
a deeper study.5 James Baldwin failed to mention this important, if brief,
period of government by custodian and council in his great work on the
latter,6 and while T. F. Tout did discuss what he inaccurately termed York’s
‘regency’ of 1394/1395, he was far more concerned with charting the physical
movement of the Great Seal from Milford Haven to London than any mean-
ingful aspect of Edmund of Langley’s custodianship.7
More recent scholarship, however, has demonstrated that York had a sig-
nificant influence on and played a central role in the English political world
throughout his lifetime.8 This discussion argues that Richard II expected
his uncle to be much more than a mere caretaker of the realm, but rather
expected Duke Edmund to actually govern it in his royal absence. To this
end, Richard II had Edmund of Langley undertake significant and unprece-
dented tasks. In fact, Richard appears to have been so comfortable with the
competent and efficient way that his uncle ran the government during his
absence that he delayed his return from Ireland for several months despite
entreaties from the duke and council that he return sooner rather than later.
To demonstrate the efficacy of York’s government during Richard’s first
Irish campaign, this discussion will address three points. First, it will con-
sider the duke of York himself and why he was the perfect choice to serve as
custodian in Richard’s absence. Second, it explores the duke of York’s role in
the daily governance of the realm during his custodianship. Surviving docu-
ments demonstrate that he was quite active as the titular head of state over
these eight months in terms of confirming grants, constituting commissions
for various purposes and serving as the acting head of the council. Finally,
there will be a discussion of Edmund of Langley’s role in the parliament of
1395. The duke of York successfully summoned and managed a very eclectic

 During our absence or until further order  231
mix of knights of the shire in the parliament that sat from 27 January to 15
February 1395. In these three weeks the duke presided over the sessions,
adjudicated parliamentary petitions and most importantly of all, asked for
and received from MPs a full tenth and fifteenth – a unique achievement for
any custodian of the realm in the fourteenth century.9

***

York received his appointment as guardian of England ‘during the king’s

absence or until further order’ on 29 September 1394.10 On paper at least,
the appointment was not an unusual one. The powers outlined in Duke Ed-
mund’s appointment were largely of the same formula that had been issued
to other custodians of the realm since the 1340s, and was an almost verbatim
copy of Edward III’s letter giving custodial powers to Richard of Bordeaux
in 1372.11 While Edward II left adult regents such as Piers Gaveston, John
Droxford, bishop of Bath and Wells and Aymer de Valence, earl of Pem-
broke, during his brief trips outside England, Edward III always left the
keeping of the realm in the hands of a minor – first his younger brother,
John of Eltham, then his young sons Edward of Woodstock and Thomas
of Woodstock and finally his young grandson Richard II.12 Thus, the real
work of governing the realm lay in the hands of the council with the king
overseeing their activities from France.13 On the one occasion that Edward
had trusted the council to summon parliament and seek a subsidy in 1340,
Bishop Stratford failed utterly at the unenviable task of seeking the Com-
mons’ support for an unpopular war effort mired in debt and Flemish pol-
itics: the king’s wrath was legendary.14 After the issues brought forward by
the 1340 parliament, Edward spent the remainder of his reign always attend-
ing parliament, listening to the Commons and redressing their grievances.
As McFarlane noted, the king may not have liked to listen, but he had little
practical choice.15 It was only in 1372 that the king contemplated trusting
the management of a parliament to his council under the presidency of the
five-year-old Richard of Bordeaux, but the contrary winds in the Channel

232  Douglas Biggs
forced the cancellation of the relief of La Rochelle and Edward was able to
preside over parliament himself.16
By October 1394 when Richard II departed to campaign in Ireland, the
fifty-two-year-old duke was a natural choice to govern in the king’s absence.
Edmund of Langley had spent almost his entire life at court and thus at the
very epicentre of government. The duke’s experience in all aspects of pol-
itics, diplomacy, military affairs and administration ran deep. As a young
man, Edmund accompanied his father on his 1359 French campaign that
resulted in the treaty of Brétigny. His father thought enough of his abilities
to choose to marry him to Margaret de Male, heiress of the Duchy of Flan-
ders. Through the tangled web of diplomatic negotiations that flowed be-
tween Ghent, Paris, London and Avignon over the issue, Edmund of Langley
learned much about diplomatic policy and practice.17 During his father’s
dotage and after his death, York served regularly on diplomatic missions
to France, Castile and Portugal.18 Beginning in the 1370s, Edmund had led
a number of military expeditions to both France and Iberia in the middle
stages of the Hundred Years War, in addition to serving as constable of Do-
ver Castle and warden of the Cinque Ports in the early and uncertain years of
Richard II’s reign. While none of Edmund of Langley’s campaigns produced
victories on the scale of Crécy or Poitiers, they were competently led and
were not the complete failures that some have suggested.19 At home, Ed-
mund of Langley possessed a wealth of experience with politics and political
management at the highest levels. From the early 1360s Duke Edmund was
a regular attendee at parliament and had served as a trier of petitions. The
triers were significant officials in parliament and were responsible for adju-
dicating petitions that did not require the king’s grace.20 A total of thirty-
five parliaments met between 1362 and 1397. Edmund of Langley acted as a
trier on no fewer than twenty-three occasions. Only one peer acted as a trier
more often than Duke Edmund: his brother John of Gaunt who served on
twenty-six occasions.21 Much of the labour the triers performed turned not
always on providing a res judicita, but rather to act as a clearing house to re-
fer the petitions to the appropriate government department for final adjudi-
cation.22 Experience from this service made Edmund of Langley intimately

22 Ibid., pp. 104–8.

 During our absence or until further order  233
aware of which departments of government performed which tasks and
also acquainted him with many of the clerks who served in the government
offices.
In addition to his decades of experience with government offices and of-
ficials, the duke of York could be counted as the leading moderate politi-
cian in the realm. Duke Edmund led the group of moderates who worked
to hold the middle ground in the political crises from 1386 to 1388.23 These
moderates, of course, failed to hold out against the demands and political
actions of the Appellants between 1387 and 1389, but this neither nullified
their influence nor negated their political effectiveness. Edmund of Langley
and his fellow moderates waited for the political wheel of fortune to turn,
which it did, after a bare sixteen months. York, not his elder brother, had
been the architect of Richard II’s return to personal rule in May 1389.24 The
period of conciliar maturity and independence from the king in the years
that followed quite possibly had much to do with Duke Edmund as well.25
He often attended council meetings and Duke Edmund and his friends were
the leaders throughout the subsequent period of political moderation and
good governance until 1397.26
Thus, for Richard II, Edmund of Langley was the natural choice to leave
as custodian of the realm while the king looked to Irish affairs. The duke’s
experience in government and moderate political stance allowed him to
work freely with all factions of the political community, and Edmund of
Langley possessed neither the anti-clerical taint and feared political ambi-
tions of his elder brother John of Gaunt (who was conveniently out of the
country in Gascony during the period of Richard’s Irish expedition), nor
the political baggage and reputation for difficult behaviour of his younger
brother Thomas of Woodstock (who had accompanied Richard to Ireland).
While Edmund of Langley’s experience in diplomacy and administration
along with his moderate political stance made him the best choice to lead
the government, it is clear that the duke was heavily involved in the day-to-
day governance of the realm during the eight months he served as custodian.
There is no doubt that certain aspects of York’s custodianship were little
more than customary. Following convention, the king ordered the steward
and marshal of his royal household to execute their offices in the verge of

23 For York’s role in the political crises of these years, see Oliver, Parliament and Politi-
cal Pamphleteering, p. 95. For Edmund of Langley’s standing as a moderate, see Given-
Wilson, ‘Richard II and the Higher Nobility’, p. 112. Tout also perceived York as a political
moderate; Tout, Chapters, III, p. 459. See also Ormrod, ‘Government by Commission’,
pp. 303–21.
24 For a discussion of the duke of York’s role in Richard’s resumption of power, see my article
‘Our Dearest Uncle’, pp. 26–35.
25
For a commentary of the growth, maturity and independence of the council in the 1390s,
see Saul, Richard II, pp. 251–5.
26
For York’s attendance at council in the early 1390s, see Saul, Richard II, p. 253; POPC, I,
pp. 6–18; Tuck, Richard II and the English Nobility, pp. 141–3.
234  Douglas Biggs
Edmund of Langley’s household on 2 November 1394.27 The duke also gave
his assent to a number of letters issued out of chancery that he himself had
little to do with personally. For example, on 1 October 1394 he issued an
order to John Joce, Laurence Drew, John de Mosdale, serjeant-at-arms, and
Maurice Guyn to gather the king’s ships at Milford for the crossing – which
had already occurred.28 The custodian also sent a series of letters to Pope
Boniface IX’s court in Rome dealing with minor ecclesiastical affairs, which
although they were all warranted teste custodie, York himself probably had
little to do with.29 Nearly all letters patent and letter close issued out of
the Chancery between Richard’s departure in October and his return on 15
May bore the warranty teste custodie. While all of these letters and orders
bore Edmund’s name, it is doubtful that he had much of anything to do
with many of them personally. Nevertheless, the fact that his name alone
appears demonstrates York’s prominent role in the daily affairs of govern-
ment. It was not uncommon for child-guardians earlier in the century to
warrant chancery documents, but when their names appeared they were al-
ways noted as testifying to the documents with the council. The fact that
the chancery letters during York’s custodianship rarely bore the warranty,
‘and Council’ clearly demonstrated that those who ran the machinery of
government understood that Edmund of Langley alone possessed sufficient
authority to move the Great Seal and that those who received the chancery
instruments found no difficulty in acting on his orders.
One of the most significant aspects of York’s custodianship is that he ful-
filled functions that had not been allowed to minor guardians of the realm
in earlier periods; specifically, he issued charters in his name and heard par-
liamentary petitions and, indeed, granted some of them in his name. The
government issued one charter during the eight months that York served
as custodian. The fact that a charter was issued at all during the king’s ab-
sence is unusual, because Edward III never allowed royal charters to be
issued when he was abroad during his long reign. The fact that a charter
was issued at all during the king’s absence strongly suggests that Richard II
wished government to continue in as normal a way as possible and that he
trusted his uncle to perform tasks even at this level. The charter on the roll
bears the warranty given ‘by the hand of Edmund, duke of York, Custodian
of England, at Westminster, 30 October [1394], by the Privy Seal’30 York’s
appearance as the grantor of a royal charter was unusual if not irregular, be-

28 Foedera, III, p. 104.

29 Ibid., pp. 104, 106–7.
C 53/165, m. 16, Charter #13; CChR 1341–1417, pp. 349–50.
30
 During our absence or until further order  235
cause royal charters were part of the royal prerogative and lay with the king
alone. The charter was a grant of quasi-palatine rights to John of Gaunt
and his heirs over the hundreds of North Greenhoe and Smithdon in Nor-
folk.31 These two hundreds were contiguous to Gaunt’s hundreds of Gallow
and Brothercross in Norfolk on the northeast coast hard by the Wash.32
Thus, the charter York gave to his brother was merely extending rights to
Gaunt and his heirs in North Greenhoe and Smithdon that he already pos-
sessed in Gallow and Brothercross, which he had received from Edward III.
Quite possibly Gaunt and his servants were operating in North Greenhoe
and Smithdon the way they had operated in both Gallow and Brothercross,
therefore the charter of 20 October was merely the crown catching up with
an already existing practice.
Thus, there is nothing unusual about the document except that York’s
name was removed from the list of witnesses and added in the warranty
clause. It is possible that Edmund’s place as grantor was a mistake by the
clerk who wrote the charter roll, but this seems unlikely. The charter roll
was an enrolled account and as such the authoritative copy. On other parts
of the rolls where mistakes were made, the clerks either corrected or crossed
out the entry altogether, but in this case the entry has not been touched.
The fact that the clerk also removed Duke Edmund’s name from the list
of witnesses further suggests that his name did not appear as the grantor
by accident, especially considering that York witnessed every other one of
the seventeen charters granted in the eighteenth year of Richard II’s reign.
Richard gave York this type of power as custodian. But, since no other cus-
todian had ever exercised this power, his appearance as a grantor of the
charter is unusual and is perhaps a measure of just how much authority the
duke possessed for the eight-month term of his office.
York’s government was very active in maintaining a line of communica-
tions with the king in Ireland. These were not merely councillors asking the
king to tell them what to do, but clearly demonstrate Richard II engaging
with the duke and the council regarding advice on certain issues and how
best to address a whole host of problems. For example, there was concern on
the part of the council in February 1395 that the Scots might break the truce
with the king in Ireland and they sought his advice on the defences of the
Northern Marches. There were also a series of letters from November 1394
to March 1395 between the two over the issue of Irish rebels. Initially, York
and the council advised the king to treat the rebels harshly, but soon real-
ized the advisability of extending a blanket pardon to those Irish who had

236  Douglas Biggs
taken up arms against the king.33 It seemed clear to Richard II, Edmund of
Langley and the council that the benefits of mercy and oblivion outweighed
those of vengeance and justice.
Working with the chancery and communicating with the king were only
two of the tasks that Richard had entrusted to his uncle. Edmund of Lang-
ley not only had to oversee the collection and management of funds into and
out of the exchequer to support the king in Ireland, but also had to see to the
defence of the realm. The Michaelmas term for 1394/1395 reflected a signif-
icant increase in exchequer business. The receipt rolls show a total income
for the term at £120,320, 3s. 3½d. Steel found this an ‘unusually large’ total
and admitted that even though almost £50,000 of the total was bookkeep-
ing, it was still a significant sum.34 This substantial sum of money was used
to support the king in Ireland, of course, but it was also used to support the
defence of the realm. In spite of the general good feelings between London
and Charles VI’s court in Paris, Duke Edmund sent £2,624 to Calais for de-
fence on 7 November 1394.35 There is no doubt that the duke and the council
feared troubles on the Scottish border. As we have seen, York and the coun-
cil had informed the king of their fears in February 1395, but Henry, earl
of Northumberland and warden of the Western March, received £833 on 13
November 1394, followed by £1,850 from the customs of London, Boston
and Hull on 11 February 1395 and a final payment of £1,000 on 1 March,
which Steel thought came from the lay subsidy voted in the January 1393
parliament.36
While spending money was one side of the coin, Duke Edmund also
worked diligently to ensure that money was brought into the exchequer in
the form of loans. In late November, he tested a series of acknowledgements
of loans given to the king amounting to £1,700 from William Wykham,
bishop of Winchester; the king’s clerks John Scarle and Thomas Middleton;
and Aubrey de Vere, earl of Oxford, and Thomas Beauchamp, earl of War-
wick.37 On 5 December, the civic corporation of London loaned the king
£6,333. In February 1395, Duke Edmund sent a further round of letters to

34 Steel, Receipt of the Exchequer, pp. 70–1. James Ramsay thought that the income for the
term amounted to £147,000, but Steel’s calculations revealed a different number; Ramsay,
Genesis of Lancaster, II, pp. 294–303, 389.
35 This seems a rather large amount for the defences of Calais, especially since these years
were ones where the French truce held firm and Charles VI’s uncle Philip ‘the Bold,’ duke
of Burgundy, held sway in Paris. Duke Philip desired peace with the English, and since
his becoming regent in 1392 had worked to support a truce and lasting peace. He has sent
many lavish gifts to Richard II as well as John of Gaunt, Edmund of Langley and Thomas
of Woodstock; Stratford, Richard II and the English Royal Treasure, pp. 59, 62, 273.
36 Steel, Receipt of the Exchequer, pp. 70–1.

 During our absence or until further order  237
prelates asking for additional revenue to support the king’s efforts in Ire-
land.38 These letters and requests bore the fruit the duke wished, as between
November 1394 and 1 March 1395 the exchequer received over £20,000 from
various individuals, including £1,000 each from the treasurer, Richard Mit-
ford, bishop of Salisbury; the chancellor, Thomas Arundel, archbishop of
York; Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland; and a £1,333 6s. 8d. loan from
one of the king’s least favourite people, Richard, earl of Arundel.39 The in-
dividuals and civic corporations who loaned the king such large amounts of
money came from all parts of the political spectrum. Many of these, such as
Richard Arundel, his brother Thomas and the city of London, had a history
of difficult relations with the king, and the fact that all of them supported
the custodian and the government perhaps speaks volumes about the duke
of York’s moderation and influence across the broad spectrum of the polit-
ical community. While the duke was clearly concerned with the very real
matter of cash, he also sought the blessings of a higher power to further
support Richard’s Irish campaign. On 16 October 1394, York sent a series of
letters to the great prelates asking the archbishops and bishops to encourage
their parish clergy to offer prayers and undertake processions in their par-
ishes seeking the Lord’s help for a successful royal expedition in Ireland.40
While Edmund of Langley actively worked to raise money in the form
of loans, he was also well paid for his work as custodian. The duke was
active at the exchequer as he usually was when it came to his annuities.41
He drew £17 6s. 8d. on an annuity on 6 December 1394 and again on 22
February 1395.42 These were both payments from a 500 mark annuity that
the king had given his uncle to support his estate until lands could be found
to replace the annuity. But, in addition to these annuities, the duke received
compensation for his service as custodian. On 6 December 1394, York drew
£134 6s. 8d. out of the exchequer for his work at custodian and a further
£400 on 12 July 1395.43

38 POPC, I, p. 60.

40 One of these letters survives in the Register of John Trefant, bishop of Hereford; Registrum
Johannis Trefnant, Episcopi Herefordensis, ed. Capes, pp. 24–5.

238  Douglas Biggs
Perhaps the most important task Richard charged York with accomplish-
ing during his time as custodian was the management of parliament and the
securing of a subsidy. Letters Close were sent to the lords, the clergy and
to the sheriffs, ordering elections for knights of the shire and burgesses in
their respective constituencies, on 20 November 1394 summoning them for
a meeting in Westminster on 27 January 1395.44 In calling, presiding over
and managing parliament, the duke of York faced several challenges. First
was the simple fact of what Richard expected his uncle to achieve by calling
the assembly: a subsidy. This was not as easy as it might sound. The last time
the king had been out of the country and expected his ministers to secure a
parliamentary subsidy was in 1340 which ended in notorious failure. While
Richard trusted his uncle to accomplish something that not even Edward
III could, the task confronting York was not an easy one. Second, Duke Ed-
mund had to contend with the fact that many members of the king’s affinity
who would often have been returned to parliament as knights of the shire
were with the king in Ireland. Thus, the management of parliamentary se-
lections was especially delicate, for the duke needed an assembly that would
do his bidding and not arrive in Westminster with a long list of grievances
that might lengthen the assembly and potentially divert it from its intended
purposes. Sufficient opportunity for the assembly to be diverted from its
intended purpose seems to have existed, for Richard left a number of lords
at home who had been at the epicentre of political opposition and violence
less than a decade before. All of the former Appellant lords (i.e. Thomas of
Woodstock, duke of Gloucester; Richard Arundel, earl of Arundel; Thomas
Beauchamp, earl of Warwick; and Henry of Lancaster, earl of Hereford),
except Thomas Mowbray, earl of Nottingham, sat in the assembly without
any hint of disagreement or dissatisfaction with the king’s policy. In fact,
they even sat in the parliament with some of their most inveterate opponents
from the past and the present and together with them, they supported the
king they had perhaps tried to depose a bare seven years before.45
To manage this assembly and achieve the outcome Richard wished took
an attention to detail, an application to business and the ability to blend
competing interests to focus on achieving a common goal. The fact that Ed-
mund of Langley was able successfully to manage the assembly and secure
a subsidy was a unique feat for a fourteenth-century custodian and demon-
strates that he possessed all these qualities. Nevertheless, York did have sev-
eral advantages in managing a potentially surly and intractable parliament.
First was that Richard had skilfully manoeuvred his two remaining uncles
out of the country, and thus they would not be a potential focus for any
anti-government activity. John of Gaunt had left for his duties in Gascony

4 4 CCR 1392–96, pp. 386–7.

 During our absence or until further order  239
in July and Thomas of Woodstock had accompanied the king on his expedi-
tion to Ireland. While Thomas did return to London and to parliament, his
time in the county was brief. He was not in the country during the selection
of MPs and had very little influence on them; in fact, only five knights of
the shire can be identified as being part of the affinities of the three senior
Appellants (Gloucester, Arundel and Warwick). A second advantage for the
duke of York lay in the fact that Richard had left a number of members of
the royal affinity, and seventeen of these were returned as knights of the
shire. Some of these men were the most prominent members of Richard’s
affinity and were most loyal to the king. For example, Sir Bernard Brocas
of Hampshire had served Edward III and had been a king’s knight from
the beginning of the reign.46 Sir John Bushy who sat for Lincolnshire was
elected Speaker of the Commons, and he along with Sir William Bagot who
sat for Warwickshire were two of the king’s closest confidants.47 Philip Wal-
wyan from Bedfordshire was a king’s esquire and had been the usher of the
king’s chamber since 1384, while John Wittlebury who sat for Rutland was
the steward of the king’s manor and lordship of Okham in that county.48
A third advantage York had in managing parliament turns on the fact
that the many of the Lords, both secular and sacred, in the parliament of
1395 were some of his closest friends and political moderates. Henry Percy,
earl of Northumberland, who had been one of York’s closest allies in the
early 1390s, was busy with duties on the Northern Marches because of the
fear of a Scottish incursion and did not attend the assembly. Although Percy
was gone on the March, Duke Edmund still had many friends in parliament.
One of these was William Montague, earl of Salisbury. Earl William was in
his sixties, he had been at Poitiers with the Black Prince and as a young man
had a successful military career which transitioned into government lead-
ership as he grew older. He had served with York as a trier of petitions on
numerous occasions and had helped the duke restore the king to the govern-
ance of the realm in 1389. Another of Edmund of Langely’s close friends in
the Lords was William Wykham, bishop of Winchester. Wykham had been
in Edward III’s innermost circles and like Montague had served on many
commissions with Edmund of Langley throughout the 1370s and 1380s, in
addition to aiding the duke in restoring the king to governance following
the Appellant crisis in 1389. Thomas Brantingham, bishop of Exeter; Wil-
liam of Gloucester, abbot of Westminster; and Robert Braybrooke, bishop
of London, who were also present in the parliament, had connections to
Duke Edmund that dated back to the 1370s and were either long-standing
political moderates or close supporters of King Richard.49 All of them had

46 House of Commons, ed. Roskell, et al, II, pp. 359–62 (hereafter cited as HoC).
47 For Bushy, see HoC, II, pp. 449–54; for Bagot, see HoC, II, pp. 99–103.
48
For Walwyn, see HoC, IV, pp. 762–4; for Wittlebury, see HoC, IV, pp. 99–103.
49 For the friendship between Edmund of Langley and all of these men see Biggs, ‘Our Dear-
est Uncle’, pp. 25–35.
240  Douglas Biggs
long associations with Edmund of Langley, and although they were all older
men, York quite probably counted on them to help him steer the kingdom
on a moderate course.
Duke Edmund opened parliament on 28 January 1395 and he instructed
the chancellor Thomas Arundel, archbishop of York, to give his opening
address. The archbishop’s address followed three themes of ‘honouring the
king’. The archbishop asked the assembled peers and Commons to honour
the king first by reason that God had ordained him, second by reason that
Richard was an even-handed king who provided good governance and third
because he was a merciful king.50
The makeup of the Commons was an eclectic mix of members of no fewer
than half-dozen noble affinities, combined with members of the royal affin-
ity that had not gone to Ireland. The numerical significance of these MPs
with Ricardian sympathy strongly suggests that the king had left behind in
England some of his affinity who possessed unwavering loyalty to the king
and sufficient political weight to sway at least some members of Commons
to the king’s cause. Even though John of Gaunt had departed for his du-
ties in the Aquitaine, Henry Bolingbroke did attend the parliament of 1395
and fifteen members of the Commons were also members of the Lancas-
trian affinity. Gwilym Dodd argues that across Richard II’s reign, the in-
creasing numbers of royal affinity members returned as knights of the shire
demonstrates that ‘the Commons had shifted from sympathy for the king,
to co-operation and virtually to unquestioning support for his political pro-
gram’, and that ‘the king’s attitude to the Lower House had changed from
a policy of appeasement to one of careful management and assertiveness’.51
The duke of Gloucester had been sent from Ireland to address the as-
sembly with good news of the king’s success and the duke’s positive report
was supplemented by that of Lawrence Dru, one of Richard’s retainers. The
common petitions, of which there were only four, were not addressed to the
king but to the duke of York and the Lords. The duke’s answers to the peti-
tions were based around the concept that the statutes already on the books
concerning the petitioners should simply be upheld and enforced. The single
deviation from this standard response was the petition concerning the farms
of the sheriff of Essex and Hertfordshire. The petition asked that the sheriff
be given pardon and grace because the office was ‘around £180 or more from
his farm that [could not] be levied in any way’. The duke replied that the king
had given his council ‘sufficient power by authority of parliament to grant

50 PROME, parliament of 1395, item 1.

 During our absence or until further order  241
grace and mitigation … to such sheriffs’ in the past and that this would be
done.52
In the midst of the proceedings, a Lollard sympathizer or sympathizers
posted a list of ‘Conclusions’ in English on the door of St Paul’s and possibly
on the door of Westminster Abbey.53 Both Thomas Walsingham and the
Monk of Evesham claimed that these ‘Twelve Conclusions’ of the Lollards
caused enough commotion to be debated on the floor of the parliament,
although, as Chris Given-Wilson suggests, this was probably not the case.54
The same chroniclers also claimed that a committee of greater clergy was
hurriedly sent to the king in Ireland asking him to return to England imme-
diately to defend the Church against heretics. This too seems to be either an
overembellished story or an outright fabrication because the king did not
return until May. The text of the ‘Twelve Conclusions’ was standard Lollard
rhetoric, and only seems to have shocked or scandalized cloistered monastic
authors who knew little of the outside world in any case. Duke Edmund
and the government appear to have treated the ‘Conclusions’ as a nuisance
rather than a crisis, and after having ‘dealt efficiently’55 with the matter the
custodian moved forward with the main task at hand: securing the subsidy.
The assembly voted a much-needed tenth and fifteenth in only three
weeks, and set the collection dates at Whitsuntide and Martinmas (11 No-
vember).56 The duke of York dissolved parliament on 15 February 1395.57
The northern and southern convocations followed suit three weeks later
by voting a clerical tenth to support the king in Ireland. The remainder of
York’s first custodianship was uneventful and the king’s return in early May
allowed the administration of the realm to fall back to a normal routine.

***

Over the eight months that Edmund of Langley served as custodian of the
realm, he served as the active de facto governor of the realm. He oversaw
the proper workings of government administration by confirming grants,
constituting commissions for various purposes and serving as the acting

54 Annales Richardi Secundi, ed. Riley, pp. 173–82; St Albans Chronicle, 1394–1422, ed. Tay-
lor, Childs and Watkiss, pp. 215–7; PROME, parliament of 1395, Introduction.
55 PROME, parliament of 1395, Introduction.
56
Ibid., item 6; Steel, Receipt of the Exchequer, p. 72.

242  Douglas Biggs
head of the council. The duke used his influence as the kingdom’s leading
moderate politician to raise loans for the king’s needs in Ireland from both
secular and sacred lords, and even undertook the unusual, if not unique,
step of conferring a grant of royal grace to his brother John of Gaunt.
But perhaps the most significant action the duke of York successfully com-
pleted in his first custodianship was the summoning and management of a
very eclectic mix of knights of the shire in the parliament that sat from 27
January to 15 February 1395. In these three weeks, the duke presided over
the sessions, adjudicated parliamentary petitions and most importantly of
all, asked for and received a full tenth and fifteenth from the Commons – a
unique achievement for any custodian of the realm in the fourteenth cen-
tury. There is no doubt that Edmund of Langley was well paid for his ef-
forts, but it is also clear that he did the work. York was not merely a titular
head of government but a working one, whose efforts did much to facilitate
the king’s achievement in Ireland and were efforts that Richard II clearly
appreciated.

Bibliography

Manuscript sources
The National Archives, London
C 53: Chancery, Charter Rolls
E 101: Exchequer, Accounts Various
E 403: Exchequer, Issue Rolls

Printed primary sources

Annales Richardi Secundi eh Henrici Quarti, ed. H. T. Riley, Rolls Series (London,
1866)
Calendar of Patent Rolls, Richard II, 5 vols (London, 1895–1909)
Calendar of Close Rolls, Richard II, 5 vols (London, 1892–1927)
Calendar of Charter Rolls, Edward III – Henry V (London, 1916)
The Chronica Maiora of Thomas Walsingham, 1376–1422, trans. D. Preest, intro-
duction & notes J. Clark (Woodbridge, 2005)
Early Common Petitions in the English Parliament, c. 1290–c. 1420, ed. W. M.
Ormrod, H. Killick and P. Bradford (Oxford, 2017)
English Historical Documents, Volume IV, 1327–1485, ed. A. R. Myers (London, 1995)
The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England, ed. P. Brand, A. Curry, C. Given-Wilson,
R. E. Horrox, G. Martin, W. M. Ormrod and J. R. S. Phillips (Leicester, 2005),
online edition.
Registrum Johannis Trefnant, Episcopi Herefordensis, 1389–1404, ed. W. Capes
(Hereford, 1914)
The St Albans Chronicle, Volume II 1394–1422: The Chronica Maiora of Thomas
Walsingham, ed. J. Taylor, W. R. Childs and L. Watkiss (Oxford, 2011)
 During our absence or until further order  243
Thomas Rymer, ed., Foedera, conventions, litterae et cujuscunque generis acta pub-
lica, 10 vols (The Hague, 1739–45)

Secondary sources
Baldwin, J. F., The King’s Council during the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1913).
Biggs, D., ‘“A Wrong Whom Conscience and Kindred Bid Me to Right”: A Reas-
sessment of Edmund of Langley, Duke of York and the Usurpation of Henry IV’,
Albion 26 (1994), 231–46.
Biggs, D., ‘The Reign of Henry IV: The Revolution of 1399 and the Establishment
of the Lancastrian Regime’, in Fourteenth Century England, ed. N. Saul (Wood-
bridge, 2000), pp. 195–210.
Biggs, D., ‘To Aid the Custodian and Council: Edmund of Langley and the De-
fense of the Realm, June–July 1399’, Journal of Medieval Military History I (2002),
125–44.
Biggs, D., ‘“A Voyage or Rather an Expedition to Portugal”: Edmund of Langley in
Iberia 1381/82’, Journal of Medieval Military History 7 (2009), 57–74.
Biggs, D., ‘Chasing the Chimera in Spain: Edmund of Langley in Iberia, 1381/82’,
Journal of Medieval Military History 15 (2016), 79–98.
Biggs, D., ‘“Our Dearest Uncle:” The Role of Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, in
the Resumption of Richard II’s Personal Rule, 1389–92,” Czech and Slovak Jour-
nal of Humanities 2 (2018), 26–35.
Cronin, H. S., ‘The Twelve Conclusions of the Lollards’ EHR 22 (1907), 292–304.
Curtis, E., Richard II in Ireland 1394–5 and the Submission of the Irish Chiefs (Ox-
ford, 1927).
Curtis, E., ‘Unpublished Letters from Richard II in Ireland’, Proceedings of the
Royal Irish Academy 37 (1927), 276–303.
Dodd, G., ‘Crown, Magnates, and Gentry: The English Parliament, 1369–1421’
(Unpublished Ph. D. Dissertation, University of York, 1998).
Dodd, G., Justice and Grace: Private Petitioning and the English Parliament in the
Late Middle Ages (Oxford, 2007).
Given-Wilson, C., ‘Richard II and the Higher Nobility’, in Richard II: The Art of
Kingship, ed. A. Goodman and J. L. Gillespie (Oxford, 1999), pp. 107–28.
Handbook of British Chronology, 3rd Edition, ed. E. B. Fryde, et al (London, 1986).
Hutcheson, H. F., The Hollow Crown (New York, 1961).
Johnson, D., ‘Richard II and the Submissions of Gaelic Ireland’, Irish Historical
Studies 12 (1980), 174–92.
Lydon, J. F., ‘Richard II’s Expeditions to Ireland’, Journal of the Royal Society of
Antiquaries of Ireland 93 (1963), 135–49.
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idem, The Nobility of Later Medieval England (Oxford, 1973), pp. 287–97.
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(Woodbridge, 2010).
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Orpen, G. H., ‘Ireland, 1315–c. 1485’, in Cambridge Medieval History, ed. J. B. Bury,
et al., 8 vols (Cambridge, 1928–36), VIII, pp. 450–65.
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Journal of Medieval History 2 (1976), 339–64.
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and Richard II (Oxford, 1955).
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Record
13 “Cherchant toute Egypte
pour les bons homes”
Philippa de Vere (1367–1411) and
her book
Jocelyn Wogan-Browne

The entanglement of literary and sociocultural worlds in late medieval Eng-

land’s multilingualism continues to raise questions about the interrelations
and differentiations of francophone and English-language practices. Mark
Ormrod has argued that Edward III cultivated xenophobia, nativism and
(especially after 1362) English-language events and texts in England, but
continued to deploy a supranational, largely francophone ‘magnificence’
in his European strategies. Edward maintained an interest in francophone
romance and in ‘global’ texts, such as Mandeville’s Livre (a dedicatory let-
ter to Edward is copied in many of its manuscripts) and Marco Polo’s Di-
visament dou monde.1 Although English texts also became part of English
court culture during Edward’s reign and beyond, French continued as an
international court, diplomatic and literary as well as a professional and
mercantile language, and women in particular, but by no means exclusively,
continued to use francophone texts in England.2 This essay considers a lit-
tle discussed manuscript book belonging to Edward III’s granddaughter,
Philippa de Vere, countess of Oxford, duchess of Ireland (1367–1411) in order
to look at women’s participation in the borderless francophone culture of
late medieval England and at the cultural dimensions of texts inadequately
categorized as simply pious reading. As well as showing common interests
between lay and religious women across the estates of marriage, widow-
hood and professed religion, Philippa’s book dissolves boundaries between
pious reading and the genres we categorize as secular. As with Edward III’s
own books, the manuscript opens out into large, if Eurocentric, vistas of the
world and the advance of Christian empire in it.

1 Ormrod, Edward III, pp. 456–61; see also Brown, “Three Kings of Cologne”, pp. 61–85.
On the problematic but important term ‘global’, see Holmes and Standen, ‘Introduction’,
pp. 1–44.

248  Jocelyn Wogan-Browne
The book, now Paris, BnF f. fr. 1038, is a late thirteenth-century or early
fourteenth-century collection, whose texts are Continental and whose mak-
ing was most probably also in France. A professionally executed, high-
calibre, planned collection of 168 folios, with scribe, rubricator and artist(s)
working closely together, the book is serviceably and handsomely articu-
lated for readers.3 A table of contents formed from the texts’ rubrics and
running titles has been drawn up and added in an initial quire of four leaves
(separately foliated as 1r–4va) also containing the verse prologue to the
opening text (Figure 13.1). The manuscript contains French prose versions
of Latin originals:

1a La Vie des pères (Vitae patrum fols. 1ra–110ra

prose champenois version with verse
prologue)

1b Les Voyages de saint Antoine (prose fols 110ra–113v

version of Itinerarium attributed to
Antoninus Placentinus
2 L’Histoire de Barlaam et Josaphat fols 114ra–162rb (title rubric, fol. 113vb)
3 La Légende de l’Antechrist (based on fols 162rb–164ra
Adso of Moutier-en-Der, Libellus de
Antecristo)
4 Si comme Nostre Sires vendra jugier le fols 164ra–164rb
monde
5 L’Assomption Notre Dame fols 164va–167v

An extra set of blue running titles (Liber I, II, III) suggests the book was
seen as a three-volume compilation, consisting of items 1a and b, item 2 and
items 3–5.
The manuscript’s texts are well represented in multiple versions and most
have later fourteenth-century and fifteenth-century English and earlier in-
sular French versions, so that Philippa’s book, among its other points of
interest, is a window into a network of medieval texts that became common
to anglophone and francophone readers wherever they were. The particular
selection and ordering of texts in BnF fr. 1038, however, are distinctive in
their methodical extension of Christian empire’s claims beyond Europe and
the North African Mediterranean to Eurasia.4

 Philippa de Vere (1367–1411) and her book  249

Figure 13.1 Part of the table of contents and the opening of the prologue to the
Vie des pères, with the inscription of Sibyl de Felton’s acquisition of
Philippa de Vere’s book. BnF f. fr. 1038, fol. 4r. Reproduced with per-
mission of the Bibliothèque nationale de France.

An inscription notes Philippa as the owner (Cest liuer(e) est a Philipe de

Coucy Duchesse Direland (et) Comitesse Doxenfordh, fol. 167v), and an-
other marks the book’s acquisition by Sibyl de Felton, abbess of Barking
(1393–1419) from Philippa’s estate in 1411 (Cest liure achata dame Sibille de
Feltonne abbesse de Berkyng de les executurs de dame Philippe Coucy duch-
esse dIrland et contesse d’Oxenford, fol. 4ra, see Figure 13.1). Sibyl de Felton
owned Latin, French and English texts, and was a highly competent and
enterprising abbess who developed Barking’s library and its doctrinal and
liturgical culture.5

250  Jocelyn Wogan-Browne
That Philippa’s was a book belonging to a secular noblewoman, and
also identified for acquisition by a nunnery, is further evidence of the now
well-established overlap in the literary culture of religious and laywomen,
just as it is evidence of the seamlessness with which French-language works
could pass between insular and overseas owners and communities. Neither
Philippa’s lay status nor her high rank precludes commonalities of language
and interest in the book. She and Sibyl de Felton were from overlapping
circles. Philippa’s base after 1387–1388 was at Great Bentley in Essex, some
60 miles from Barking, and Barking was in the patronage of the de Veres, so
they may have known each other. Sibyl’s father Sir Thomas Felton (d. 1381)
was seneschal of Aquitaine and a close companion of Philippa’s uncle, the
Black Prince: Felton became a member of the Order of the Garter in Jan-
uary 1381 shortly before his death and two years after Philippa had joined
her mother, Princess Isabella, among the women given Garter robes (1379).6
Sibyl entered Barking by 1384 (probably as a vowess) and became its abbess
in 1393, while her husband Sir Thomas Morley (d. 1413) was still alive. Vow-
esses, women who took vows of chastity after or during their marriage, of-
ten became nunnery inhabitants or associates, and Sibyl’s position, though
exceptional in her eventual abbatial rank, was not irregular.7 Nicole Rice
has used Barking’s early fifteenth-century English-language lives of two ex-
emplary chaste wives (Sara, wife of Tobit, and Susanna, falsely accused by
the Elders) to show that monastic chastity, even if primarily envisaged as
virginity, was in Barking’s culture, as elsewhere, ‘inseparable from the states
of wifehood and widowhood’.8 Sibyl de Felton’s own revised Ordinale con-
tains rituals for the consecration of widows and virgins (uirgo precedens et
uidua subsequens) and also a ceremony for the blessing of vowesses.9
Philippa de Vere herself is best known as the scandalously abandoned
wife of Robert de Vere, ninth earl of Oxford (1362–1392) and (thanks to de
Vere’s position as Richard II’s favourite) duke of Ireland (from 1386). Not
only Philippa’s book but the circumstances of her life were cross-channel.
In 1365, her mother, Isabella of Woodstock, Edward’s eldest and favourite
daughter (1332–1382), married Enguerrand, Sire de Coucy (c. 1340–1397), a

 Philippa de Vere (1367–1411) and her book  251
chivalric paragon to his contemporaries and a powerful recruit for Edward
III from the French military and political leadership.10 Philippa was born at
Eltham in 1367, her older sister Marie in France the previous year. Isabella
spent time with her daughters and husband in France as well as at her fa-
ther’s court, but de Coucy, who had remained in favour both with Edward
III and Charles V of France (r. 1364–1380), decided after Edward’s death in
1377 that his loyalties could no longer be split; he remained permanently in
France with his older daughter Marie, and Isabella and Philippa thereafter
lived in England.11 Philippa and the teenage de Vere married in 1376 (she
was nine) and in 1387–1388, de Vere repudiated and divorced her for Agnes
Lancecrona, a woman of Anne of Bohemia’s chamber. The queen strongly
protested and Maud de Vere (d. 1413), Philippa’s formidable and politically
active mother-in-law, took Philippa to live with her at her moated manor
of Great Bentley in Essex.12 Though ascribed by the Westminster chroni-
cler to Maud’s affection for Philippa, this move is also likely to have been a
matter of noblewomen (along with much of the court) closing ranks against
de Vere’s action and Richard’s tolerance of it.13 De Coucy sent a messenger
with a letter enquiring after Philippa’s welfare in 1389.14 She retained her
titles (the divorce granted de Vere by Urban VI in 1388 was nullified by his
successor Boniface IX in 1389).15 Philippa was well supported in her anom-
alous position. For that matter, so was her mother Isabella, who spent from
1377 till her death in 1382 neither divorced nor widowed in relation to En-
guerrand de Coucy, and so was Sybil de Felton, the much respected married
abbess of Barking.
Philippa’s cross-channel existence continued after her marriage in her
own movements between the two courts. She was present at the 1392 Am-
iens truce talks, when Froissart presents her (in an image derived perhaps
as much from social expectation as observation) as ‘in good estate but like
a widow who had had little joy in her marriage’ (en bon arroy ainsi comme
une dame vesve qui petit de joye avoit en durant son marriage) and as having
a très-ardant désir to see her father.16 She escorted Isabella, Richard II’s

 252  Jocelyn Wogan-Browne
widow, to Calais on Isabella’s journey back to France in 1401.17 Philippa
also seems, like many elite women, to have paid largely successful attention
to her landed and financial interests, though she did have finally to agree to
renounce her possessions outside England to her elder sister Marie.18 She
died in England on 24 September 1411; it is not known where she is buried.
Philippa’s will is not extant, and evidence of her cultural activities and
tastes is hard to come by; no other manuscript owned by her is known to
survive.19 Since the inscription of ownership accompanying her monogram
on MS fr. 1038, fol. 167v replaces an earlier, erased note, it is unlikely that
the book came from her father or mother, and she may have acquired it her-
self, perhaps on her own visits to France.20 Nothing is known of her book’s
early history, but it must have travelled from France to England since it was
in Philippa’s and Barking’s ownership there, and it has well documented
trajectories between England and France and between women and their in-
stitutions on both sides of the channel in the fifteenth century.21
The book’s principal texts are, as tabulated above (p. 248), the Vie des
pères and Barlaam et Josaphat, together with a sequence of briefer pieces.
The manuscript opens with the Vie des pères in the prose champenois ver-
sion originally composed for Blanche de Navarre (d. 1229), countess of
Champagne and its regent from 1201 to 1222.22 It is a reworking of the Vitae

22 On Blanche’s governance, see Evergates, Aristocracy, pp. 36–42.

 Philippa de Vere (1367–1411) and her book  253
patrum compilation of lives and sayings of the desert fathers by Jerome,
Rufinus and others. A foundational classic of ascetic Christian spirituality,
this compilation and its variants had an increasing vogue in the later Middle
Ages, and, as I shall argue, was equally engaging for both secular and reli-
gious readers.23 The text’s (verse) prologue, addressed to Blanche by name,
urges her to ‘abandon Cligés and Perceval’ (heroes of romances by Chrétien
de Troyes) and ‘narratives of worldly vanity’ (Laissiez Clieges et Perceval…
et les romanz de vanité, 4/33–6) in favour of the examples of those who left
towns and cities to conquer paradise in the desert (6/89–98).24 It adjures her
as a ‘Noble countess, daughter of a king’ to ‘let the king of kings see you
faithfully living in the world’ (vivre en cest sieccle loialment, 6/101, 104–5).
The cultural fiction that pious and secular lives involve separate worlds
and genres of reading is thus set up at the outset of the book only to be
immediately dissolved. The prologue replaces a putative secular-religious
binary by a third term of the ‘mixed’ life of the religious layperson and,
in invoking Blanche, presents an elite pedigree for the text and offers an
illustrious exemplary figure of a chaste matron reader and pious ruler under
God. Women of Blanche’s dynasty and other elite women owned romances
alongside more obviously devotional reading, and both kinds of texts in-
volve multifarious interests across a wide spectrum of socio-economic and
political concerns, just as the practice of piety itself may have political di-
mensions. The genres involved are more capacious and polysemous than
their rhetorical opposition suggests.25 The Vie des pères, for instance, is less
removed than at first appears from the romances its dedicatee Blanche is
supposed to abandon: Cligés (a romance whose hero’s quest relates Arthur’s
insular court to those of the German empire and Constantinople, and which
demands a martyr-like death to the world from its heroine) and Perceval

23 On the Vie des pères tradition see Grossel’s concise account in her ‘Des lectures au ré-
fectoire’, pp. 183–6 (she omits the thirteenth-century insular translation for the Lincoln
Templar Henri d’Arci; see Dean with Boulton, Anglo-Norman Literature, nos 583–85), and
Rosenthal, Vitae Patrum. The principal editions of the Latin collection remain Roswey-
de’s De vitis patrum (1605, rev. 1628) and PL 73 and 74.
24 For convenience, citations are normally to page and paragraph or verse number in La
Traduction champenoise, ed. Grossel with Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 868 (c.
1260–1270) as base and variants from MS fr. 1038.
2 5 Blanche de Navarre is thought to have sent a manuscript (BL MS Add. 36614) contain-
ing Chrétien de Troyes’ Conte du Graal [Perceval] and a life of the desert saint Mary of
Egypt for the marriage of her niece Jeanne de Flandre to Ferdinand of Portugal in 1212.
Jeanne subsequently commissioned a continuation of the Conte du Graal (La Traduction,
pp. xxxiii–iv).
Like her husband’s grandmother (Blanche de Navarre), Blanche d’Artois (see n. 21
above) was familiar with romances and is the probable owner of Paris, BnF f. fr. 123
(d’Avril and Stirneman, Manuscrits enluminés, pp. 110–2; Stones, Gothic Manuscripts, I.1.,
p. 99). This manuscript of the Lancelot-Grail cycle was made in England and contains a
later generation of romances than those over which Blanche de Navarre is adjured in the
Vie des pères prologue.
 254  Jocelyn Wogan-Browne
(a version of the Holy Grail quest with accompanying bodily and behav-
ioural disciplines). Whether eremitic or chivalric, asceticism can fascinate
as a technique of discipline and power formative of the body in society; and
hermits are specialists in this, as knights are. The Egyptian desert of the
Vie des pères is much akin to the forest of the Grail quest (itself given an in-
fluential Cistercian-informed prose version, c. 1225–30)26: both are settings
for fiercely disciplined spiritual quests and exemplary narratives of heroic
asceticism and its failures, and both reiterate rather than dissolve the social
structures and preoccupations of which they are proposed as a reformative
reimagining.
The Vie des pères is nevertheless, on the face of it, an unattractive text for
women lay readers: several hundred short stories, mainly of ascetic elderly
men, including many (no doubt smelly) hermits. The Vitae patrum tradi-
tion notoriously works with (sometimes intersectional) misogynist and ra-
cial stereotypes; indeed, it opens in Philippa’s manuscript with stories of
St Cyprian and his young disciple who bites off his tongue and spits it at
his temptress (une foule feme bele) rather than yield (7/3–5), while devils en
guise de folle femme appear to aspirant holy men, only to be unmasked as
ethiopiene, leide et tant occure et orrible (‘an Ethiopian, ugly and very dark
and horrible’, sic MS, see also 355/626).27 The compilation also includes anti-
Jewish narratives such as the image desecration of ‘The Crucifix of Beirut’
(pp. 392/162–395/175). But the Vie des pères has a broader cast of characters,
including heroic women saints and female hermits, and it has some more
complicated reading experiences to offer than its stereotypes might suggest.
In addition to stories of St Syncletica, the desert mother and her rigor-
ous spiritual counsel (267/179–83) or of abaiesse Saire (‘Mother Sara’) and
her resounding victory over the spirit of fornication (pp. 297/338–298/339),
the lives of saints Marina, Euphrosyne, Marie the penitent (of Egypt) and
Thaïs are included (pp. 359–90).28 The first two have had much modern
study for what their lives as cross-dressed saints say of medieval concep-
tions of gender, but they also offer further points of identification (especially
to the iterative and meditative habits of reading inculcated by the use of

 Philippa de Vere (1367–1411) and her book  255
the psalter among socio-economically privileged medieval women readers).
It is worth noting that this selection of women saints opens with Marina’s
father longing for his little daughter from within his monastic life. In tears
at the feet of his abbot, the newly tonsured father strategically explains that
‘I have left one of my sons (un mien fil) who is still very little in my town’
(MS fr. 1038 ‘in the world’): ‘I am very uneasy when I think of him’, 360/3). In
spite of coenobitism’s commitment to renouncing family ties in favour of the
monastic familia, Marina’s father is invited to bring his ‘son’ to live in the
monastery, where ‘he’ grows up and eventually dies. Here, as throughout
the Vie des pères, the severance of family relations is never seen to be easy
(as it perhaps was not for Philippa de Vere), however strongly it is counselled
or required. The compilation’s other female lives, those of the repentant har-
lots Mary of Egypt and Thaïs, offer ascetic practice and commitment to
the ‘paradise’ romance of the desert as transcendence of and alternative to
the need for women to exercise their sexual capacities for money or for the
generation of family.
The desert of the Vie des pères itself emerges as an intensely peopled social
world, filled with coenobitic communities as well as solitaries, economically
and socially linked to the cities of Egypt and Palestine, and rife with visi-
tors internal and external, wanted and unwanted. Once again, family ties
are both shunned and persistent, as are those of patronage and friendship;
many stories concern their evasion or negotiation. Even in cases where the
holy men refuse contact with their patrons or family members, cures and
messages are given by long-distance prayer or other means (with St An-
thony himself setting the pattern of remote cures in the case of the emper-
or’s marshal’s daughter, 29/127–30/129). Not only family, but many other
visitors cause questions and problems: monks visit hermits, worthy laymen
visit monks or send messengers and letters to them, as do various widows
and chaste matrons. Gifts and goods for sale are sent to and fro; the city
and the desert, avatars of urban and secular lives and the romance of mo-
nastic life, exert a constant pull on each other. This is a space that seethes
with feeling: a concentrated display of human appetites and emotions and
their passionately aspiring regulation in an exotic locale (with, for instance,
crocodiles on occasion, 78/170–4, 196/435–6), but still a society with many
familiar features. One hermit is jealous of the number of another’s visitors
(134/115), but the uncompetitive St Eulales, having unintentionally woven
the best basket, flees in embarrassment further into the desert (138/134–
140/141); when the emperor visits a recluse near Constantinople to lament
the burdens of empire, the holy man listens, but then retreats deeper into
the desert, in contrast to monks who compete for the love of princes (125/72–
126/78). The desert is both solitude and its own social world; there are, for
instance, rhythms and rituals of assembly for desert ascetics: they gather to
celebrate liturgical feasts (130/93–131/99), to pay tribute and consult with ex-
ceptional ascetics over the life of perfection (254/116). Nowhere is the desert
so strongly a society as in the plethora of stories it generates, sometimes with
256  Jocelyn Wogan-Browne
named tellers – Sainz Basiles contoit d’une nunnain… (323/469), but more
often uns prodons, uns abes, uns freres (passim): a multitude of narratorial
perspectives, circulations and exchange.
The Vie des pères carefully balances exemplary but impossibly ascetic her-
oism with the virtue of laypeople, treading a line between adjuration and
reassurance. On the one hand it includes many stories of holy men humbled
by the greater piety of laypeople (as in St Panutius and the busking vielle
player of Thebes, the marital chastity of a townsman and the charitable
merchant, 56/57–60/79, or St Macharius and the two virtuous city women,
175/330–176/334). On the other hand, some desert inhabitants are inimitable
celebrity spiritual athletes. Some fathers conquer the intense temptation of
a cucumber with extreme mental and physical asceticism (115/21, 153/209),
and two heroic youths taking a gift of figs from a monastery at Scetis in
Egypt’s Wadi-al-Natroun to a sick colleague living deeper in the Nitrian De-
sert lose their way and are found starved to death, alongside the untouched
basket of fruit (253/108–11). Again, an exceptionally pure hermit, so chaste
as never to feel sexual stirrings, awake or asleep (il ne sentoit ne en veillant ne
en dormant nul movement de sa char, 259/138), dreams that an angel removes
from his belly a stinking tumour-like lump (une boce enflamee et gieta puer,
259/139) as God rewards him with perpetual purity of body and soul. But
two keen laymen who become monks and castrate themselves por le regne
Deu in an overly literal reading of the Gospel (qu’il entendirent trop cruele-
mant, 317/440) are immediately excommunicated and have to demonstrate
repentance all the way up to the pope and back to the bishops of Egypt and
Alexandria (317/440–319/446). The Vie des pères offers a range of narrative
situations whereby the reading audience is engaged and their discrimination
of meaning and its implications for conduct is as much challenged as that of
the participants. No simple set of rules or precepts emerges from this world
of stories: like many successful compilations, the Vie des pères is a reservoir
of proliferating meaning residing in the reading experience itself and open
to systematic, repeated or occasional use in readers’ and listeners’ choices
and pathways through the text.
All this is gathered under the figure of an anonymous narrator who re-
ports his encounters and tale-gathering in Egypt as if from a field trip: ‘in
order to give good examples to those who want to hear, a worthy man made
this book and went searching all Egypt for the holy men’ (pour bonne exem-
ple donner a ceus qui voudroient a bien entendre, fist uns preudons ce livre (et)
ala cerchant toute egypte pour les bon homes, MS fr. 1038, fol. 11va, cf. La
Traduction, 45/3). He returns from the desert to the Mount of Olives to write
up his quest and its harvest of things told and seen. The Vie des pères thus
becomes a gallery of spiritual and ethical possibilities framed as a travel
book and an ethnography, the very vernacularity of the text helping to ret-
rofit the long tradition of the desert fathers’ heroic asceticism as a form of
travel narrative. It is not so distant from Mandeville’s wildly popular Livre
with its accounts of exotic peoples and customs and Eurocentric engage-
ment with a wider world.
 Philippa de Vere (1367–1411) and her book  257
In Philippa’s manuscript, the Vie des pères’ universe of tale-telling is
mapped into more spatial terms by concluding with the Voyages de saint
Antoine, a version of the anonymous Itinerarium usually attributed to An-
toninus Placentinus, and introduced with a rubric explaining that Ici fine
la vie des peres et cil qui ce [MS de] livre fist raconte les uoiages que saint
Antoine fist en la terre doutre mer (‘here the Life of the Fathers ends and
he who made [this] book recounts the journeys St Antoninus made in the
lands across the [Mediterranean] sea’, MS fr. 1038, fol. 110ra; 441/1). There
follows a narrative cartography of the Holy Land, moving through Syria,
the former Roman provinces of Judea and Syria Palaestina, and Egypt. The
territories of Egypt and the adjacent Latin kingdom traversed in the Vie des
pères become more explicitly spatialized as an extension of Christian cult,
for which they provide holy sites and relics as the narrator follows Anton-
inus’s tours.29 Although it is a compilation of the late thirteenth century,
the Vie des pères in its fourteenth-century life could thus be seen as offering
readers in England a continuing engagement with crusading and pilgrimage
territories and an expansive, specular version of Christian empire against
the background of Edward III’s claims and losses regarding Plantagenet
rule in North West Europe.
The book’s second substantial text, L’Histoire de Barlaam et Josaphat,
takes Christian empire further East. It is well known as the narrative of a
young prince, Josaphat, and the Eastern holy man (Barlaam) who forms
him as a Christian in spite of his pagan father, the king of India. In origin
a life of the Buddha, this story has some 150 versions in Asian, African and
European languages. In Europe (after Georgian and Greek intermediaries
were translated into Latin) it was appropriated from the eleventh century
onwards as a Western narrative of Christian empire, its origin in the Bud-
dha’s life remaining unrecognized until the mid-nineteenth century.30 Like
the Vie des pères, Barlaam et Josaphat’s appeal to varying spheres of interest
is not suggested by the label of ‘pious tale’.31 The prose so-called champe-
nois version copied into Philippa’s book opens with an account of Christian
foundation and conversion after St Thomas the apostle’s mission to India:

29 La Traduction, ed. Grossel, pp. 441–5, with maps at pp. 556–9. For a larger map and a
tabulation of toponyms in Latin, Greek and Hebrew with modern-day Arabic and other
equivalents, see Itinerarium Antonini Placentini, ed. Milani, pp. 72–9. Grossel suggests
that Antoninus’s Itinerarium was added to the Vie des pères as a form of virtual travel for
Blanche de Navarre, who had herself been unable to go on crusade (Grossel, ‘Des lectures
au réfectoire’, p. 192).
30 See further Uhlig, Le Prince des clercs, Introduction, pp. 13–44; Lopez and McCracken, In
Search of the Christian Buddha, pp. 127–36.
31 Barlaam et Josaphat is included in devotional, romance and hagiographic collections; for
its francophone versions and their manuscripts, see Sonet, Roman de Barlaam et Josaphat
(the fourteen extant manuscripts of Philippa’s version are listed at I, pp. 136–8, 138–47);
Hunt, ‘Einer bisher unberücksichtigte Handschrift’, pp. 217–29; and Grossel, ‘Le Roman
de Barlaam et Josaphat’, pp. 141–60.
258  Jocelyn Wogan-Browne
An ce tans que les yglises et li moutier furent conmencié a esdefier u non
nostre seingneur Jhesu Crist, et que li saint home commencierent nostre
seingneur a servir par diverses manieres d’ordre moinnial, si s’espandi
la beneüree renonmee par toutes les parties du monde: et quant elle se fu
toute espandue qu’elle fu venue tresqu’en Ynde, une si grant parties des
Yndiens deguerpirent toutes choses terriannes et s’en fouirent u desert
et illec reçurent en cors mortiex conversacions d’angres… et …li pluseur
s’en aloient es ciex ausint come en vollant de pannes dorres.32
(‘At the time when the churches and minsters had begun to be built in
the name of our lord Jesus Christ and the holy men began to serve our
Lord in various kinds of monastic orders, then their blessed renown ex-
panded throughout all the regions of the world: and when it had spread
so far as to arrive in India, a great number of Indians left all earthly
matters and fled to the desert and there, in the bodies of mortal men,
they led the lives of angels, … and … many of them went to heaven as if
flying on golden wings’).

In Philippa’s manuscript, the opening initial shows a king and two monks
(fol. 114ra) portrayed as white and Western (as are all the figures in the man-
uscript’s initials except Antichrist and the devils, who are black, fol. 162rb).
India’s religious are called priests of the temple and ‘Saracens’ (Sarragins,
p. 107) and are due to be converted into a version of the Western patriarchal
desert. Barlaam et Josaphat continues with a situation familiar from West-
ern saints’ lives and romances: a much blessed king has no heir, so that the
heir who is born by special intercession is both a gift from God and, since
Josaphat becomes a Christian holy man, a challenge to earthly dynastic am-
bitions. This version of the text also contains a lengthy exposition of other
faiths – the ‘pagan’ faiths of the Chaldeans, the Greeks and the Egyptians,
and of the Jews – as inadequate and partial in comparison with Christianity
(pp. 108–14). Before he abandons his throne for his long-desired eremitic
life, Josaphat replaces the temples of India with churches. There is of course
much else in this long text, itself inlaid with exemplary stories as well as
preaching, debate and speeches (e.g. a surprisingly nuanced discussion be-
tween Josaphat and the saige et belle woman sent to seduce him, in which
her offer of marriage nearly works, pp. 123–7; some robust advice from Josa-
phat to his successor on a king’s responsibility for honest officials, serious
care for the poor and not maintaining outmoded laws simply as a matter
of respect for ancestors, pp. 142–5; the story of Josaphat’s father King Ar-
venir’s progress from furious and brutal intransigence to conversion and
reconciliation, passim, esp. pp. 117–8 and 134–5). But the overarching theme

 Philippa de Vere (1367–1411) and her book  259
of irresistible, naturalized Christian conquest and conversion remains, es-
pecially when, as in Philippa’s book, Barlaam et Josaphat is a sequel to the
Vie des pères’ Christianized Mediterranean and near East.
In its final sequence of texts, the book, mappa mundi like, places the spaces
it has marshalled under the aegis of eschatological time and judgement with
the Libellus de Antechristo by Adso of Montier-en-Der (d. 992) in a summary
French prose anonymous version (fol. 162rb, without the original dedica-
tory letter to Gerberga of Saxony, Queen and Regent of France, d. 984).33 A
short piece (Si comme Nostre Sires vendra jugier le monde) elaborating on a
chiliastic period of forty days’ repentance between Antichrist’s defeat and
before the final judgement follows (fol. 164ra) as a direct sequel to Adso.
Again, questions of Christian conquest bulk large: the French text follows
Adso in his argument that Antichrist cannot come until the Roman Empire,
so much stronger than the Greeks or the Persians, has fallen; that that em-
pire, though diminished, persists in the French kings; and that the last world
emperor may well be a French king, who will reign in peace before going to
Jerusalem and placing his sceptre and crown on the Mount of Olives.34 Fi-
nally, a prose L’Assomption Notre Dame, in which the bodily assumption of
the Virgin is unambiguously clear, both returns to the early apostolic period
and shows the installation of an intercessor for everyone as fully present in
heaven.35
Philippa’s book continued its career across topographical and other bor-
ders. Some years after Sibyl de Felton’s death in 1419, it went back to France
as part of the duke of Orléans’ library when he was finally released from his
hostageship in England in 1440. This most probably happened, I suggest,
through the agency of a de la Pole noblewoman. Katherine de la Pole, sister
of William de la Pole, duke of Suffolk, one of D’Orléans’ keepers in Eng-
land, was Barking’s abbess from 1433–1473, and would have had knowledge
of the manuscript and the authority to gift it away from the abbey.36 Suf-
folk was also the third husband of Alice, granddaughter of Chaucer, also a
possible intermediary and one who owned at least twenty-one books in her
trilingual library (though the texts of Philippa’s manuscript do not seem
to have been among them).37 The book eventually went into the library of
Charles d’Orléans’ third wife, Marie de Clèves (d. 1487). This trajectory may
encompass different purposes in its transmissions: if the manuscript was a

36 Bush, ‘Pole, Katherine de la; Watts, ‘Pole, William de la’; Askins, ‘The Brothers Orléans
and Their Keepers’, pp. 27–46.

260  Jocelyn Wogan-Browne
parting gift to Charles d’Orléans from the sister of Suffolk (whose keeper-
ship may have included his acting as d’Orléans’ exchange partner in French
and English lyric writing), it could have been more important as a book gift
than for its particular collection of texts. That the book went on to Marie de
Clève’s library, however, suggests that it was perceived as a book she might
wish to own. A rhymed Vie des pères leads the 1467 list of those books from
d’Orléans’ brother Jean d’Angoulême’s library that ‘Madamoiselle’ (prob-
ably Jeanne, his daughter; d. 1520) has taken from the library ‘pour passer
temps’.38 Barking itself continued to read the Vie des pères, acquiring a copy
of Caxton’s English translation from the French in its 1495 printing by Wyn-
kyn de Worde.39
For texts as compilatory as those in Philippa’s book, no single meaning
is possible. But the collection does have a very particular shape: not a mis-
cellany but an anthology, carefully compiled, of ‘global’ texts (in so far as
‘global’ may be applied to the horizons visible from North West Europe in
the later Middle Ages). Philippa’s manuscript witnesses to the claims and
the spread of Christian empire in a Eurocentric world, while providing ex-
emplary instances of heroism and fortitude in Christianity’s service under
the purview of Christian eschatology. With its customized mix of Mediter-
ranean and Eastern narratives, the book also combines a worldwide view
of piety with the attractiveness of travellers’ tales, told, like other contem-
porary travel narratives, under the final eschatological framing of a newly
enlarged and Eastward-looking world.
One of the most interesting findings from Janice Radway’s classic study
of women’s romance-reading in modern small town America was that
the women highly valued the cultural and geographic information to be
gleaned from their romances as a window onto the world.40 Philippa’s
manuscript allows us to reconstruct a high-powered version of informa-
tion about the world as a component of medieval women’s religious read-
ing. For women of Philippa’s rank, as for Sybil de Felton and Katherine
and Alice de la Pole, the book’s worlds need not have been simply exotic
or fantastical but could be bound up with contemporary religion and
militancy, even as this changed over time. The manuscript was compiled
around or slightly after the 1293 Siege of Acre, presumably, given its de-
luxe attributes, for readers whose own lineages and networks intersected
with or were aware of those of the rulers of the Latin Kingdom, Sicily and
Cyprus, and whose sense of Eastern lands must have been simultaneously
informed by Realpolitik and perceptions of the sacred. Philippa’s father
himself died in 1397 on a later crusade, contracting plague in Ottoman
captivity after the battle of Nicopolis. We see in Philippa’s book how the

38 Ouy, La librairie des frères captifs, ‘Inventaire après décès des livres de Jean d’Angoulême,
1467’, p. 70.
39 Bell, What Nuns Read, p. 110, no. 8.
40
Radway, Reading the Romance, pp. 107–18.
 Philippa de Vere (1367–1411) and her book  261
French of Outremer in both its sense of ‘across the channel’ and ‘across
the Mediterranean’ could be a language with its own imperialisms, rephras-
ing the medieval world throughout which it was an important means of con-
tact, and offering a world both partly known to and partly opened up and
to some extent historicized for women by their religious reading. The piety
of such readers as the women who commissioned and owned the compila-
tion’s texts (from Gerberga in the tenth century to Blanche of Navarre in
the thirteenth) and the owners of the manuscript from the thirteenth to the
late fifteenth centuries were the pieties of women familiar with rule and with
crossing boundaries in various spheres, women to whom various worlds
were available or imaginable. French as a language of Christian empire in
the book owned by Edward III’s granddaughter rejoins women’s reading
to the king’s own interest in books of travel, trade and conquest in a piety
engaged with the world and its politics rather than confined away from it.

Acknowledgements
I am grateful to Professor Elizabeth Tyler for helpful discussion, to the Co-
lumbia Medieval discussion group and to Professor Richard Ingham for
listening to earlier versions of this paper, and to this volume’s editors for
helpful suggestions and improvements.

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MS Add. 36614
London, The National Archives
SC 8 Ancient Petitions
Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France
MS fonds français 123
MS fonds français 1038

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14 The Norman rolls of Henry V
Anne Curry

To celebrate a new gallery for the nineteenth-century facsimile of the Bayeux

Tapestry held by Reading Borough Council, David Bates and I organized
a conference in 1992 on the relationship between England and Normandy.
Mark Ormrod was the natural choice to speak on the fourteenth century.
He argued that:

Edward III’s assumption of the title of duke of Normandy in 1356

marked the start of a consistent and not wholly unrealistic policy pur-
sued over the following three years and intended to bring the restoration
of the duchy, along with other former Angevin dominions in northern
France, to the English crown.1

But, as he added, by the end of the fourteenth century a claim to Normandy:

can hardly have seemed more than …an expression of personal van-
ity and dynastic piety taken up at a moment of supreme confidence in
the reign of England’s greatest warrior king. No one in England surely
can have contemplated that they would shortly have a ruler who would
make that fancy a reality and, in the process, outrank even the glorious
Edward in the late medieval hierarchy of royal heroes.

Mark was, of course, anticipating the coming of Henry V whose success in

Normandy is indeed without parallel. There is much to suggest that even in
his first campaign of 1415, Henry intended the conquest of the duchy. On
that occasion, he had to make do with the capture of Harfleur alone. In the
second campaign of 1417, Henry’s ambition to conquer Normandy is indis-
putable. Proof is found not only in a systematic siege campaign but also in
direct statements of intent, the latter being the subject of my contribution to

266  Anne Curry
the 1992 conference.2 Soon into his second campaign Henry began to call
himself duke of Normandy, a title not used in 1415, and orchestrated vari-
ous invocations of the Norman ducal inheritance of the kings of England.
Although he dropped his ducal title after acceptance as heir to the French
throne in the treaty of Troyes of 21 May 1420, he was careful to reserve the
duchy to himself until such time as he inherited the throne at the death of
Charles VI.3
Much information about Henry’s ‘Norman policy’ comes from the ten
rolls of a new enrolment of the English chancery created for his conquest
and occupation of the duchy – the Rotuli Normanniae (C 64/8–17). This pres-
ent discussion examines the Norman rolls as a new chancery enrolment –
the last new enrolment of the medieval period – considering why and how
this form of record was created and by whom. The earliest entry on the first
roll is dated to the day of Henry’s landing at the mouth of the River Touques
on 1 August 1417.4 The last two entries on the final roll are dated 30 Au-
gust 1422, the day before he died at the castle of Vincennes.5 Implicitly, the
relevant clause of the treaty of Troyes meant that Henry’s control of Nor-
mandy passed to his heir as king of England, the nine-month-old Henry VI.
Following Henry V’s death, the late king’s chancellor of Normandy, John
Kemp, bishop of London, handed over at Rouen the seal for the duchy to
John, duke of Bedford:

to whom the said king the father had committed the governance of the
same duchy on his death bed for a certain time for the assistance of his
son and because of the need for justice to be done in the said duchy.6

Bedford was indeed referred to as governor of Normandy in documents

produced during the seven weeks between the death of Henry V and the
death of Charles VI. The French king’s death on 21 October 1422 triggered
the implementation of the main element of the Troyes settlement: Henry
VI became king of France, and Normandy was reunited with the French
crown. We must assume that the relatively short time between 31 August
1422 and 21 October meant that no Norman roll was put together for these
first months of Henry VI’s reign.
As with other enrolments of the English royal chancery, the overriding
principle of division in the Norman Rolls was by regnal year, which began
at the anniversary of royal accession (in Henry V’s case, 21 March). The
first roll, C 64/8, covered the period from Henry’s landing in Normandy on

 The Norman rolls of Henry V  267
1 August 1417 to 20 March 1418, with entries occupying forty-seven mem-
branes.7 The default pattern of one roll covering one regnal year is demon-
strated by the ninth roll, C 64/16, which covered the year from 21 March 1421
to 20 March 1422, with seventy-nine membranes containing entries.8 The
tenth roll, C 64/17, began on 21 March 1422, but was cut short by the king’s
death at the end of August. It contains forty-nine membranes of entries.
The remaining seven rolls from 21 March 1418 to 20 March 1421 each
cover only part of a regnal year. As with other chancery enrolments such
as the Patent Rolls, the usual reason for such multiple rolls was weight of
business. Henry’s sixth year from 21 March 1418 to 20 March 1419 generated
two rolls, C 64/9 and 10, the second of which was begun in late January 1419
after the surrender of Rouen. The extent of business is demonstrated by
the size of both rolls, with entries occupying eighty-one and seventy mem-
branes, respectively. The following year, from 21 March 1419 to 20 March
1420, also generated two rolls, reflecting an even more impressive scale of
activity: C 64/11, covering 21 March to late December 1419, has 144 mem-
branes of entries, C 64/12, covering only the first three months of 1420, 83.
There are three rolls for Henry’s eighth regnal year from 21 March 1420 to
20 March 1421, but the explanation here is the impact of the treaty of Troyes.
C 64/13 was begun at the accession anniversary but was made to end just
before the treaty was sealed on 21 May 1420.9 During that two-month pe-
riod, entries filled forty-four membranes. C 64/14 took the treaty as its point
de depart; two of its fifty membranes of entries are occupied by its text.10
This roll covered the period to January 1421 when a new roll was started,
C 64/15, which ran to the anniversary of 20 March 1421 and contained fifty
membranes of entries.
Overall, entries occupy 697 out of the 810 membranes which make up the
rolls as a whole.11 The total number of entries is around 10,000, reflective
of the intensity of Henry’s government of Normandy and especially of his

268  Anne Curry
presence in person for most of the last five years of his reign.12 By the sum-
mer of 1419, action moved along the Seine valley towards Paris, creating
an area known as the pays de conquête which was joined with the duchy
in terms of English administration, as entries in the rolls show. Their geo-
graphical coverage expanded further as time went on since they were used
to enrol some acts made by Henry as regent of France. On occasion, too, the
rolls were used for business concerning England and Gascony. Nothing es-
caped Henry V’s attention;13 the Norman rolls are a strong exemplification
of that situation. Further proof of the impact of the king’s presence in per-
son can be derived from comparison with the Gascon rolls. Henry’s whole
reign generated only five Gascon rolls, which together contain sixty mem-
branes of entries.14 For the period covered by the Norman rolls, there were
only two Gascon rolls, each covering multiple years and with only fifteen
membranes of entries, a stark contrast with the 697 of the Norman rolls. A
similar comparison can be drawn with the Treaty (or French) rolls (C 76),
which have only seventy-five membranes of business for the period covered
by the Norman rolls.15
The main focus of the present discussion is the Norman rolls as a new
chancery enrolment, but it is appropriate to emphasize briefly their excep-
tional potential for the historian. Their use to date has been piecemeal be-
cause of the lack of a full edition, but they are already known as a source for
the benefits of conquest for the English, especially the land grants made by
Henry to his soldiers and administrators.16 Their value for the reconstruction
of military actions is also substantial. Given that acts were normally enrolled
at the place where the king was (although, as we shall discuss later, there is ev-
idence of the development of a fixed chancery after the surrender of Rouen),
their place-dates can be used for a narrative of events [Fig. 14.1]. Treaties of
surrender were enrolled as were safe conducts for departing garrisons.17 The
rolls allow us to follow Henry and his army, noting how various contingents,
under commands delegated by the king, were sent into different theatres, and
how garrisons were established as well as how troops were victualled.18
The rolls provide unique insights on the relationship between the Nor-
mans and the English. Henry was committed to winning over the Normans

 The Norman rolls of Henry V  269
to his rule and to integrating conqueror and conquered.19 Hundreds of Eng-
lishmen are mentioned in the rolls, but for the Normans the figure is in the
thousands. Military commanders and administrators were regularly given
powers to accept the allegiance of inhabitants, who in return would be given
a bulette to show that they had accepted Henry’s authority and which gave
them immunity from future attack. We can also trace those who chose to
resist or flee. Theirs were the lands which Henry redistributed, not only to
his soldiers and administrators but also to loyal Normans. Henry made the
day of his landing, 1 August 1417, the defining moment in law. Early land
grants required beneficiaries to make a token render to him on that day. In
March 1419 he ordered any legal proceedings begun before 1 August 1417
to be suspended,20 and invited Normans to seek confirmation of whatever
they had held on that date; there are hundreds of such confirmations on the
rolls. The rolls also demonstrate the feudal obligations which Henry sought
to impose, or perhaps to resurrect from earlier practices, on both Norman
and English landholders.21 An impression can also be gained of economic
trends both locally and internationally, especially in towns and through the
issue of trading licences, most notably for English and Breton suppliers, and
there is a wealth of material on interactions with the church.22
Various phases are clearly demonstrated, from an initial state of military
emergency to the settled conditions which followed the treaty of Troyes and
which enabled the calling of the Norman Estates in January 1421 as well
as a ‘vote’ of taxation. Particularly fascinating is Henry’s establishment
of administrative structures. Early ad hoc arrangements gave way to the
re- establishment of a structure wholly familiar to the Normans from the
Valois past, with bailliages and vicomtés.23 Whilst Henry always appointed
Englishmen as baillis, all lesser officials were local men. The rolls are replete
with appointments to and confirmations of offices as lowly as the pilotage
of ships passing through the bridge at Pont-de l’Arche,24 thereby providing
rich insights into the social fabric of Norman petty officialdom.
The Norman rolls reveal the extent to which Henry followed French prac-
tice, preserving rather than innovating, but it is important to remember that
the very creation of a Norman roll is an indication of his intentions. Just
as in the case of their organization by or within regnal years, so too the
rolls followed the standard format of English chancery enrolments. Their
appearance – a left-hand margin of around 3 cm in which a short explana-
tory heading of each entry is provided, with the text of the entry occupying

20 C 64/10 m. 19d.

22 Allmand, ‘The English and the Church’.
23
Curry, ‘The baillis of Lancastrian Normandy’, pp. 357–68.
24
C 64/10 m. 32d.
270  Anne Curry
the rest of the membrane width – is exactly as for the other enrolments, as is
the system of authorization, abbreviation, dating and so on. This distinctive
system, which had no parallel in France, had its origins in the reign of John,
during which time the Fine (C 60), Charter (C 53), Close (C 54) and Patent
Rolls (C 66) were begun. The same format was subsequently applied to other
contexts with increasing systematization.25 Thus a roll dedicated to Gascon
affairs began under Henry III but took on the full form of an annual Rotulus
Vasconie (C 61) from the second year of Edward I. It was also under Edward
I that a Scotch Roll (Rotulus Scotie, C 71) was begun as well as a Statute
Roll (C 74). All the chancery rolls so far mentioned existed under Henry V
and beyond. So too did the Treaty (or French) rolls (Rotuli Francie, C 76),
although these have a complex history linked to the short series of Almain
rolls (Rotuli Alemanni, within C 76) which had existed from 22 Edward I
(1293–1294) to 15 Edward III (1341–1342). The Welsh rolls (Rotuli Wallie,
C 77) begun by Edward I in 1277 did not outlive that king’s reign, and a
Roman roll (C 70) concerning papal matters was compiled only from the
end of Edward I’s reign to 34 Edward III (1360–1361).
In principle, therefore, there was no lack of precedent to inform a new
chancery enrolment for a specific geographical context. Whilst the Norman
rolls of Henry V were the first new creation since the reign of Edward I, there
was continuing expertise in the chancery through the dedicated rolls for
interests in Gascony, Scotland (although now limited to border areas and to
military and diplomatic activity) and France. The Rotuli Francie included
the business of Calais and the Channel Islands as well as international ac-
tivity more generally, being the place of record of appointment of embassies
as well as of letters of protection and appointments of attorneys for soldiers
departing on campaign. They continued to be used for this purpose for all
of Henry’s expeditionary armies, although from the late spring of 1418, we
start to see the Norman rolls also being used to enrol such acts.
There is an important difference, however, with the other chancery enrol-
ments of Henry V, all of which were compiled in the chancery at Westmin-
ster, even those concerning Gascony. Henry’s Norman rolls were drawn up
within Normandy itself with the direct personal involvement of the king,
as the witness clause teste rege and the authority clause per ipsum regem
indicates.26 The king was overseas from 1 August 1417 to 1 February 1421
and again from mid-June 1421 to his death on 31 August 1422. During his
absence in England in the spring of 1421, authority in Normandy was dele-
gated; acts continued to be enrolled on the rolls within the duchy per ipsum
regem per relationem (magni) consilii. The question of seals needs further

25 Guide to the Public Record Office. Volume 1, pp. 14–26.

26 ‘When Henry V was in France the note of warranty “By K” is found frequently only on the
Norman rolls written in France, and infrequently on the rolls written in England where it
means that a signet letter has been sent from the chancellor from the king’ (Brown, ‘Au-
thorization of Letters’, p. 142).
 The Norman rolls of Henry V  271
investigation but, following Edward III’s practice, Henry presumably took
with him in 1417 the Great Seal, leaving for use in England a slightly smaller
version known as the exchequer seal.27 Exactly what seal was used in Nor-
mandy during the king’s absence in 1421 remains obscure; it seems likely
that a special seal had been produced for the duchy to reflect its special
status following the treaty of Troyes and that this was used both by the
king when present and by those to whom he had delegated authority. This
interpretation is based on the account of the transfer of seals after Henry’s
death, where, as we have seen, the seal for the duchy was handed to the duke
of Bedford in Rouen.28
There are no indications that Henry had plans in his 1415 invasion for a
new enrolment, but given that the campaign of that year lasted little more
than three months, intentions may simply have been overtaken by events.
The king continued to use the French rolls for ensuing matters, such as safe
conducts for Agincourt prisoners. The grant of a house in Harfleur on 28
December 1415 to Richard Bokeland was similarly enrolled,29 as was that of
29 January 1416 of the nearby lordship of Frilense to Sir John Fastolf, then
in the Harfleur garrison,30 and the presentation of Jean de Bordiu to the
parish church on 3 January.31 Since Harfleur was intended as a second Cal-
ais, with a treasurer appointed in January 1416 whose powers were modelled
on those of the treasurer of Calais, the French roll was the appropriate place
of enrolment. This situation persisted even after the Norman rolls began
since the administration in Harfleur was not fully integrated into the rest
of Henry’s duchy until January 1421.32 That said, lines of demarcation were
soon blurred. The last entry in the French rolls concerning Harfleur dates
to 9 February 1419, but the earliest entry on the Norman roll for Harfleur –
the appointment of Robert Spellowe as its bailiff, with power over all non-
military personnel and to hold courts as at Calais – was enrolled on 16
September 1417.33

28 PROME, parliament of 1422, item 14, which speaks of a seal ‘semblant a son grant seal’
being brought back to England, implying Henry had not taken the actual great seal back
to Normandy in 1421.
2 9 C 76/98 m. 6.
30 C 76/98 m. 4.

272  Anne Curry
There is strong indication that the Norman rolls were begun as soon as
Henry arrived in Normandy in 1417, confirming that a plan to create a ded-
icated new enrolment had already been devised before he left England.34
As noted, the earliest act is dated 1 August 1417, the day of the landing at
the mouth of the River Touques. In all, twelve acts are dated between 1 and
10 August at what is now Bonneville-sur-Touques. There is then a gap of
ten days until the next set of entries on 20 August, when the abbey of Saint
Stephen at Caen is the location given. The abbey was stormed by the duke
of Clarence on 15 August. The king arrived before Caen on 18 August and
took up accommodation at the abbey soon afterwards. Caen was taken by
assault on 4 September, but the French king was given until 19 September
to send an army of relief. Entries in the Norman rolls continued to be place-
dated at the abbey of Saint Stephen up to and including 20 September, but
from the following day the king was at the castle of Caen where he remained
until 2 October. He then moved to the abbey of Saint-Pierre-sur-Dives 38
km to the south of Caen before beginning on 7 October the siege of Argen-
tan, a further 34 km to the south.
On the face of it, therefore, the writing of acts began as soon as the landing
had been effected. Whilst twelve acts were dated at Bonneville-sur- ­­ Touques,
382 were dated at the abbey of St Stephen between 20 August and 20 Sep-
tember, the majority on 1 September, giving licence to the masters of ships
which had transported the army to return home. From 9 September, we be-
gin to see acts whereby the king took into his protection individual laymen
and clergy as well as parishes which accepted his authority. Once he was in
the castle of Caen, 500 acts were made between 20 September and 2 Octo-
ber, mainly similar protections but now encompassing a wide area beyond
Caen. We can see that emissaries that had been sent out to negotiate but ­
communities and inhabitants had also been encouraged to approach the
king directly. Bayeux surrendered to the duke of Gloucester on 19 Septem-
ber, following the king’s confirmation of rights and privileges of all its in-
habitants who chose the allegiance of the king. On the following day, Henry
made his first administrative appointment of Sir John Assheton as royal
seneschal of Bayeux. The first land grant to an Englishman dates to 25 Sep-
tember 1417. Not until 24 December 1417, however, did Henry make his first
appointment of a bailli, when he made Sir John Popham bailli of Caen, vir-
tually all of this bailliage now being within English allegiance.35
A close study of the first Norman roll C 64/8, in which the entries dis-
cussed in the previous paragraph are found, indicates that in its make-up it
follows standard chancery practice, covering the period from the landing on

34 It has been speculated that the Ordinaciones Cancellarie, a set of chancery regulations
first issued in 1388–1389, were revised at royal behest ‘about the time of Henry’s second
invasion’ (Richardson, Medieval Chancery, pp. 11, 13–4).

 The Norman rolls of Henry V  273
1 August 1417 to the end of the regnal year on 20 March 1418. Entries were
written onto individual membranes which were subsequently sewn together
at the end of the regnal year. As a result, there is not a single linear chrono-
logical order to the entries. Cognate entries were entered onto one or more
membranes which were placed in sequence. So the licences to shipmasters
were placed on the dorse of membranes 26d and 27d, and the royal protec-
tions to Normans on membranes 21d–25d. This also indicates that face and
dorse were in use simultaneously, as seems to have been common English
chancery practice. That there had been considerable thought behind the en-
tering of acts is emphasized by the way that treaties of surrender were placed
onto dedicated membranes, 2–6, even though they were widely disparate in
terms of the date of their making. The appointment of 1 August 1417 of the
duke of Clarence as constable of the army is found on membrane 2, as is
the appointment of Assheton as seneschal of Bayeux. It is also important to
emphasize that the rolls both now and throughout their existence included
both letters patent and letters close indiscriminately, even though the term
used to describe them even at the time was as patentium.36
Two questions arise from these observations. The first is whether a formal
static chancery was established by Henry in Normandy, and if so, when. The
second concerns the personnel on whom Henry V relied for the formation of
the Norman rolls. We know that a chambre des comptes was established at
Caen by the king in November 1417,37 following the appointment, enrolled
on the Norman rolls, of Sir John Tiptoft on the first day of that month as
president of the scaccarius of Normandy and of other judicial bodies as well
as treasurer-general within the duchy.38 Tiptoft had not participated in the
1415 campaign since the king had chosen to send him to Gascony, appoint-
ing him as seneschal on 30 April 1415.39 He continued to hold this post in
absentia after his return to England in December 1415 and was one of the
leading captains of the 1417 expedition.40 It is highly significant that the king
consciously gave him the administrative leadership of both duchies, to hold
simultaneously. Tiptoft would most certainly have been fully aware of the
nature of the Gascon rolls.
Henry’s chambre des comptes was in the castle of Caen. The most obvious
place for a chancery would be in the same location. But the evidence of the

36 For example, as noted on membrane 30 of C 64/15.

38 C 64/8 m. 19 (RN, p. 205). Tiptoft held his post until the appointment of William Allington
as treasurer-general of Normandy on 1 May 1419 (C 64/11 m. 51d), Allington’s powers
being extended to cover the pays de conquête on 24 January 1420 (C 64/12 m. 41d). Tiptoft
continued to serve in Normandy but remained seneschal of Gascony until 1423, being in
that duchy for some of 1420–1421.
39 Roskell, ‘Sir John Tiptoft’, pp. 107–50.
40 He indented for 120 men (E 101/70/2/621) but the surviving muster lists 131 in his company
(E 101/51/2 m. 39).
274  Anne Curry
place-dates in the Norman rolls suggests that the vast majority of acts were
enrolled wherever the king was. In other words, the chancery itinerated with
the king. It was during the king’s stay at Bayeux that the appointment of
Philip Morgan as chancellor was enacted on 8 April 1418.41 By this time, the
first regnal year had ended and its roll was now being assembled. Another
entry in the Norman roll, the appointment on 20 May 1418 of Thomas Der-
lyng as sergeant of the king’s cancellarie in Normandy, suggests formaliza-
tion of structure and practice.42
The choice of Morgan as chancellor was prompted by both his experience
and his closeness to the king. Even whilst in the service of Thomas Arundel,
archbishop of Canterbury, in the first decade of the century, the Oxford-
educated cleric Morgan had received commissions to hear cases on ransoms
and appeals from the court of admiralty.43 He entered royal service after
Arundel’s death and had been much trusted by Henry V in negotiations
with the French in 1415–1416. He had accompanied the king to France in
1417, being given licence to hear confessions in the army. We find him act-
ing as a musterer of troops but also continuing his diplomatic activity. He
was particularly active in negotiations towards the treaty of Troyes and was
present with the king at the sealing of the treaty. Such service redounded to
his benefit in terms of ecclesiastical preferment. Elected bishop of Worcester
in April 1419, he was consecrated in Rouen Cathedral on 3 December 1419.
We find some changes once Rouen was in English hands, but these were
gradual. The rolls indicate that the king, along with his officials, took up
residence at the castle by 21 January, and that between late March and mid-
August, as the king moved on to Evreux, Vernon, Mantes and finally Pon-
toise, the chancery continued to itinerate with him. From mid-August 1419
onwards, however, we can detect two simultaneous strands of acts: those
made at Rouen and those made wherever the king was as he progressed
down the Seine Valley. It appears that his ‘secretariat’ had been divided
and some form of static chancery established in Rouen Castle. This is also
visible in the way the membranes of the rolls were deployed, suggesting that
the two sets of documents were put together into one roll at the end of the
relevant period. From mid-April 1420, a further change can be seen whereby
almost all acts were once again made where the king was in person. As a
result, we can follow Henry’s movements to Troyes and in the campaigns
which followed as well as in his entry to Paris on Advent Sunday before he
returned to Rouen at the end of 1420. Between his departure from Rouen in
mid-January to cross to England and his return in mid-June, all acts were

 The Norman rolls of Henry V  275
made at Rouen. After his return we find two simultaneous sequences again
as in the period from August 1419 to April 1420.
Morgan had returned to England with the king in January 1421, but did
not come back with him in June. By at least November 1421 and probably
from Henry’s return to France, John Kemp was chancellor of Normandy.44
His background was similar to that of his predecessor. Also Oxford edu-
cated and in the service of Archbishop Arundel, he had become dean of
the Court of Arches in February 1414. He had crossed with the army of
1417. As Morgan, Kemp had power to hear its confessions, but he was also
appointed ‘to exercise the jurisdiction of the archbishop of Canterbury over-
seas, which meant chiefly in those parts of France that the king was slowly
acquiring by conquest’.45 Kemp’s influence on Henry’s policy towards the
Norman church is therefore likely to have been considerable right from the
start. Appointed as keeper of the privy seal on 3 October 1418, he returned
to England but was back with Henry in France in the next year. Like Mor-
gan, he was preferred, whilst in Normandy, to an English bishopric – that
of Rochester (July 1419) – being consecrated on the same day as Morgan at
Rouen Cathedral, 3 December 1419. Kemp was also heavily involved in the
finalization of the terms of the treaty of Troyes and in the taking of oaths in
its aftermath. His standing in the eyes of Henry V had led to his preferment
to the see of Chichester in the late summer of 1420 and to his further prefer-
ment to the bishopric of London in November 1421. He remained with the
king for the rest of his life and, as we have seen, was responsible for handing
over to the duke of Bedford the seal for the duchy following the king’s death.
We are also able to identify other officials of the Norman chancery. It
is certain that clerks were drawn from the English chancery, much as men
are known to have worked between the Irish and English chancery.46 John
Chamberlain’s service as a chancery clerk can be traced back to the reign of
Henry IV.47 It seems that he had also been intended for service in Aquitaine
under Tiptoft in 1415.48 Chamberlain’s presence in Normandy is evidenced
in the Norman rolls by the grant to him for his good service of three houses
in Harfleur and two in Caen as well as lands near Pont-de-l’Arche.49 Rich-
ard Sturgeon is another English chancery clerk who worked in Normandy,
being similarly rewarded with property in Caen – a house neighbouring the
church of St Peter which lay at the foot of the castle where Sturgeon may

4 4 E 101/187/15 doc 2. He resigned as keeper of the privy seal on 25 October 1421.

45 Davies, ‘Kemp [Kempe], John (1380/1–1454)’.
46 Richardson, Medieval Chancery, p. 25.


276  Anne Curry
have worked on the compilation of the rolls.50 John Stokes, an English chan-
cery clerk of the first form (the highest grade in the chancery) much used by
Henry in diplomatic missions, was in Normandy from at least April 1418,
when the king requested that a ship be found to take him from England to
Coutances.51 He was rewarded by a prebend at Bayeux Cathedral in August
1419 which he surrendered in the autumn of 1420, receiving instead a preb-
end in York.52 Since the last reference to him in the Norman rolls is Decem-
ber 1420, he undoubtedly returned to England with the king, receiving a new
appointment in the English chancery in December 1421.53
The most striking career is that of John Stopyndon. There is no doubt that
his career was made in the service of Henry in Normandy, making possible
his elevation in the mid-1420s as a clerk of the first form and keeper of the
hanaper of the English chancery.54 It is unclear when Stopyndon first came
to Normandy, but he is found acting as a musterer in the two last months
of the siege of Rouen.55 In the early months of 1420, we see his name at the
end of documents for which he had been responsible.56 Considerable royal
largesse came to him through a house grant in Harfleur, a pension from
Glastonbury Abbey and a prebend in Rouen Cathedral.57 On 17 January
1421, as Henry prepared to leave Rouen to return to England, he committed
to Stopyndon the custody of the rolls of his Norman chancery (rotulorum
cancellarii sue Normannie) and made him responsible for the receipts of the
hanaper.58 Henceforward, Stopyndon bore the title keeper of the hanaper of

50 C 64/8, m. 11 (RN, p. 261), dated 1 February 1418. Sturgeon received attorneys at the siege
of Alençon in late September 1417 (C 64/8 m. 15, RN, p. 235), at the siege of Falaise in Jan-
uary 1418 (C 64/8 m. 15, RN, p. 235) and at Bayeux in March 1418 (C 64/8 m. 9; RN, p. 272).
He acted as musterer during the siege of Rouen in the autumn of 1418 (C 64/ 9 m. 8d, 11d)
and at Gisors in September 1419 (C 64/11 m. 20d). For his career, see Richardson, Medieval
Chancery, p. 98.
51 C 64/9 m. 39d. This was probably linked to a mission to Yolande of Aragon (C 64/9 m.
9d). Stokes acted as musterer in August 1418 (C 64/9 m. 18d), October 1418 (C 64/9 m. 11d),
March 1419 (C 64/11 m. 78d), July 1419 (C 64/11 m. 35d), August 1419 (C 64/11 m. 29d), May
1420 (C 64/11 m. 27) and December 1420 (C 64/14 m. 12d).
52 Grant: C 64/11 m. 27; surrender: C 64/14 m. 23 and C 64/14 m. 15; York grant: C 64/14 m.
23.

54 Ibid., p. 125. Richardson (pp. 33, 119) also suggests that John Brokholes and Nicholas
Neuton were in Normandy, which I cannot substantiate. Nicholas Wymbusshe, clerk of
the petty bag (p. 102) may have been at Rouen in February 1419 (C 64/10 m. 33).

56 E 101/187/14, folio 35.
57 C 64/12 m. 35; C 64/14 m. 17d (18 September 1420); C 64/16 m. 29 (22 July 1421). He was also
granted a pension from Exeter Cathedral at royal command on 10 April 1420 (Calendar of
Signet Letters, item 891).
58 C 64/15 m. 30d. See also a note written on the other side that this roll, ‘tercio parte paten-
tium de anno viij’, was enrolled in the time of John Stopyndon as keeper.
 The Norman rolls of Henry V  277
the Norman chancery, as we can see in an order concerning the audit of his
accounts in June 1422.59
Stopyndon had been assisted in his career by association with Richard
Southworth, who had served in the chancery from at least 1409. That South-
worth was in Normandy is suggested by the king’s request from Bayeux on
12 March 1418 to the abbot and convent of Leicester Abbey that he should
be the recipient of the allocated pension to a royal clerk.60 This act may
signify his retirement from service in the duchy. Southworth’s link with Sto-
pyndon is evidenced in a rather striking way: in his will made in 1417, South-
worth, the earliest known owner of a copy of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales,
bequeathed the work to Stopyndon.61
Whilst we can identify some of the officials of the chancery in Normandy,
there remain many gaps in our knowledge, not least on the structure and
organization of personnel. It has been suggested that in the English chan-
cery, clerks needed to produce three to seven documents a day.62 Given the
quantity of entries on the Norman rolls, it would seem clerks there were
no less busy. Were local men also employed? We certainly find both Eng-
lish and Normans working in the chambre des comptes as the occupation
became established; the spring of 1418 seems to be a key turning point in
this context.63 French hands are certainly apparent on the last Norman roll
of 1422.64 Whilst most entries of the rolls are in Latin, the customary lan-
guage of all English chancery enrolments, we also find acts in French (the
French of France not Anglo-Norman), such as the treaties of surrender.
There are also occasional entries in English, such as Henry V’s ratification
of the agreement between the duke of Exeter and the inhabitants of Dieppe
for the town’s surrender in February 1419.65 It was deemed essential that
English soldiers understood fully what terms had been reached. Given the
number of English settlers, it is also significant that an order of June 1421
that all persons holding land from the crown in Normandy appear before
the chancellor or treasurer by midsummer was also enrolled in English, no
doubt mirroring the language in which it had been publicly proclaimed.66
The quantity of business dealt with in the Norman chancery is truly re-
markable, all the more so given that many of the interactions with the in-
habitants of the duchy were based on individual petitions, as the entries on

60 C 64/8 m. 9 (RN, pp. 269–70).

64 For instance, in a long confirmation of the privileges of Rouen Cathedral, 15 August 1422
(C 64/17 m. 1–4).

66 C 64/16 m. 32d.
278  Anne Curry
the rolls reveal.67 The Norman rolls, as indeed the chancery itself, were an
essential part of Henry’s strategic plan for the duchy right from the outset,
remaining key to the very end of his rule, with a wide range of business.
Take, for instance, an order of 29 May 1422 that all ecclesiastics holding
lands without amortization should apply for licence to the chancery of Nor-
mandy.68 There was no parallel in the Valois past to the Norman rolls, but
it is important to remember that the rolls were only one element in Henry’s
governance. As we have noted, he also established a chambre des comptes
in Caen, another innovation since the duchy, as part of the Valois royal
demesne, had been controlled in the previous regime by the chambre des
comptes in Paris. Relatively little survives of the archive of Henry’s chambre
des comptes, but there is enough to show that it produced orders and acts
which were not enrolled in the Norman rolls. Rather, a separate archive
was created which conformed to the format of the French royal chambres
des comptes, always using French rather than Latin. But on occasion we can
see how acts in the Norman rolls were implemented through the chambre
des comptes. So, for instance, we find a copy in what is left of the chambre
archive of the royal grant of 12 April 1419 to Benedict Coutellier of lands of
a rebel in the bailliage of Caen.69 At the end of the text of the grant we find
an order by the gens des comptes to the bailli of Caen ordering him to allow
Coutellier to enter the lands. The wording makes clear Coutellier had pre-
sented the letters of his grant to the chambre des comptes whose officials had
then entered it in a register. Whilst no such register is known to survive now,
it existed in 1828 when Charles Vautier was able to publish extracts from it,70
and it shows clearly the procedures, administered by the baillis and reported
through the chambre des comptes, which followed grants and confirmations,
where the holders needed to carry out an aveu et dénombrement, a prisée and
a formal act of homage.
The extensive nature of the Norman rolls means that a full analysis will
take some time. One question concerns a separate roll of four membranes
for years 6, 7 and 8 Henry V. In 1880, this roll was included with others in
the calendar of the Norman rolls published in the forty-first Annual Report
of the Deputy Keeper of the Public Records.71 But in 1910 it was included in
the calendar of patent rolls for 1416–1422, and the roll is catalogued in The

68 C 64/17 m. 20d.

Figure 14.1 Locations given for acts enrolled on the Norman Rolls of Henry V, 1417–1422. During sieges the location was given as ‘before
x’ or ‘in the army before x’, but in all cases save Chartres Henry subsequently entered the town which was then given as the
The Norman rolls of Henry V  279

location of the acts.

280  Anne Curry
National Archives within C 66.72 Its entries range from 16 November 1417
to 12 August 1420. All bear place-dates in Normandy and France but all
concern English places or business, such as pensions to be paid from county
revenues. One of the entries on this roll is a grant of 5 June 1418 to Janico
Dartas from the revenues of Drogheda, which is also found on the Norman
roll C 64/9 covering March 1418 to January 1419. This same grant was rati-
fied on the Patent Roll of 6 Henry V on 20 July 1418 at Dartas’ request.73 It
was clearly felt by some that ratification in England was needed, yet there
were many other acts concerning English or Irish revenues on the Norman
rolls which do not appear on the special or any other Patent roll. Finally, we
can assume the Norman rolls were kept in Normandy until after the death
of Henry, since we find some entries in later rolls confirming or amending
those in earlier rolls. But they were taken back to England at some point
after the death of Henry V. We do not know when, but it would be logical
for John Stopyndon, their keeper from 1421, to have been responsible for
bringing them back, for which he deserves our gratitude given the fascinat-
ing insights they offer into Henry V’s master plan.

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Jenkinson, H., ‘A New Great Seal of Henry V’, Antiquaries Journal 18 (1938), 382–90.
Massey, R. A., ‘Lancastrian Rouen: Military Service and Property Holding 1419–
49’, in England and Normandy in the Middle Ages, ed. D. Bates and A. Curry
(London, 1994), pp. 269–86.
Newhall, R. A., The English Conquest of Normandy 1416–1424: A Study in Fifteenth-
Century Warfare (New Haven, 1924).
Newhall, R. A., ‘Henry V’s Policy of Conciliation in Normandy, 1417–1422’, in An-
niversary Essays in Medieval History of Students of C.H. Haskins, ed. C. H. Taylor
(Boston, MA, 1929), pp. 205–29.
Ormrod, W. M., ‘England, Normandy and the Beginnings of the Hundred Years
War, 1259–1360’, in England and Normandy in the Middle Ages, ed. D. Bates and
A. Curry (London, 1994), pp. 197–213.
Ormrod, W. M., Edward III (New Haven, CT and London, 2011).
Richardson, M., ‘The Earliest Known Authors of “Canterbury Tales” MSS and
Chaucer’s Secondary Audience’, Chaucer Review 25 (1990), 17–32.
Richardson, M., The Medieval Chancery under Henry V, List and Index Society,
special series vol. 30 (1999).
Roskell, J. S., ‘Sir John Tiptoft, Commons’ Speaker in 1406’, in Parliament and
Politics in Late Medieval England, ed. J. S. Roskell, 3 vols (London, 1983), III,
pp. 107–50.
Schnerb, B., ‘Sauver les meubles. A propos de quelques traités de capitulation de
forteresses du début du xve siècle’, in Frieden schaffen und sich verteidigen im
Spätmittelalter/Faire la paix et se défendre à la fin du Moyen Âge, ed. G. Naegle
(Munich, 2012), pp. 215–64.
Vale, M. G. A., Henry V: The Conscience of a King (New Haven, CT and London,
2016).
Reputations
15 Some afterthoughts on
Edward II1
Seymour Phillips

There is no end to the writing of books. However definitive a book may try
or appear to be there is always more evidence to be assessed, more inter-
pretations to consider, errors to be corrected. Edward II is of course no ex-
ception. In the decade since my book first appeared in 2010, significant new
material has come to light2 or has come to my attention, sometimes very
surprising, such as the charter issued in Edward II’s name in February 1327,
nearly a month after his deposition.3 A great deal has also been published
on Edward II and his reign, some of it, as will appear below and notably the
work of Ian Mortimer and Kathryn Warner, presenting certain conclusions
very different from my own.4 What follows is not, however, a review article,

286  Seymour Phillips
but rather a series of loosely connected observations, with a particular em-
phasis on the final years of the reign and their aftermath.
When I was consulted in 2014 by David Smith, the former County Archi-
vist for Gloucestershire and the Archivist at Berkeley Castle, who was then
conducting a thorough search of the Berkeley archives for evidence relating
to Edward II’s captivity there in 1327,5 I took the opportunity to revisit some
of the events surrounding Edward’s flight into south Wales in the autumn of
1326, notably through an examination of the chronicle material contained
in Trinity College Cambridge MS R.5.41.6 In my book I stated, on the basis
of references in the chronicles of Lanercost Priory, Adam Murimuth and
the Anonimalle chronicle, that Edward II and the Younger Despenser sailed
from Chepstow on 20 October with the initial intention of reaching Lundy
Island in the Bristol Channel and probably from there escaping to Ireland,
but that contrary winds forced them back to land after four days at sea.7
However, the Trinity chronicle says that Edward put to sea on 22 October
and implies that he was trying to sail in the direction of Bristol rather than
Lundy.8 This would have made some sense since Bristol was believed still to
be in the hands of another of his leading supporters, the Elder Despenser,
earl of Winchester. Unknown to Edward, though, his estranged wife Isa-
bella and her own supporters and army were closing in on the city of Bristol.
The date of her arrival there is usually given as 18 October, but evidence
from the Berkeley records and from the Trinity chronicle suggests that 22
October was the more likely date and that Bristol Castle fell on 24 October.9
The Trinity chronicle then adds the very significant details that the contrary
winds which held up Edward in the Bristol Channel also allowed Isabella’s
own fleet of ships to sail from Bristol in pursuit of Edward and that his ships

The Man; Warner, Hugh Despenser the Younger and Edward II; Heyam, The Reputation of
Edward II, 1305–1697. Kathryn Warner’s books, in combination with her long-running
blog (http://edwardthesecond.blogspot.com), provide a great deal of very useful prosop-
ographical information on the reign of Edward II. Several other books deal in part with
the reign of Edward II: Mortimer, The Greatest Traitor; Mortimer, The Perfect King; and
last, but very far from least, Mark Ormrod’s fine volume in the Yale English Monarchs
series, Edward III.

 Some afterthoughts on Edward II  287
may even have been attacked by Isabella’s on 23 and 24 October.10 At any
rate, Edward was forced to return to land at Cardiff and made his way to the
Younger Despenser’s great and well-stocked fortress nearby at Caerphilly.
Caerphilly could have held out against a prolonged siege (as it did under the
command of the Younger Despenser’s son, from December 1326 until 20
March 1327), but much would also depend on whether Edward II’s Welsh
allies, Rhys ap Gruffudd and Gruffydd Llwyd, who had been summoned,
arrived in time to relieve him and so save him from his enemies, as they had
done in 1322.11 Their support did not, however, materialize, and after a few
days Edward and the Younger Despenser left Caerphilly and moved west-
wards to the Cistercian abbeys of Margam and finally Neath. Although, as
I have previously argued, Edward’s movements may simply have been a sign
of desperation rather than any rational plan of action, he may also have
hoped as a last resort to make his escape by sea from a nearby port such as
Swansea. This could be the origin of the reports that he planned to reach
Lundy, at the mouth of the Bristol Channel, and much closer to South-West
Wales than Chepstow, and from there to make his way to Ireland.12
Instead, of course, Edward’s fate was to be capture, deposition disguised
as voluntary abdication and imprisonment. His reign formally ended on 21
January 1327 and was proclaimed in London three days later. On 1 Febru-
ary, his son and successor Edward III was crowned in Westminster Abbey.
But in one corner of the former king’s dominions, Ireland, the news took
much longer to arrive. There on 12 February 1327, the last known docu-
ment in the name of Edward II, a charter confirming the liberties of the city
of Dublin, was witnessed and issued by John D’Arcy, the Justiciar of the
Lordship of Ireland13 (Figure 15.1).
Edward was imprisoned, first in Kenilworth and then in Berkeley Castle.
Despite the lurid reports of some of the chroniclers,14 and despite his lack of
the personal possessions he had left behind him at Caerphilly,15 he appears
to have been well treated physically. After Edward’s removal to Berkeley,

288  Seymour Phillips

Figure 15.1 Charter of Edward II, 12 February 1327, confirming the liberties of the
city of Dublin: Dublin City Archives, DCA 18.

his custodians there, Thomas de Berkeley the lord of the castle and John
Maltravers, were allowed £5 a day for his maintenance16; altogether they
were paid £700, of which £200 came directly from the exchequer, while in
May 1327 they received a further £500 in cash, equivalent to one hundred
days’ maintenance.17 He was even sent two pipes of Rhenish wine by his
son and successor Edward III.18 The Berkeley accounts contain references
to the supply of wine, wax, spices, eggs, cheese, capons, cattle and so on
for Edward’s use.19 The most recent and most thorough examination of the
Berkeley records by David Smith and his colleagues has shown that Edward
had his own household, which included a marshal (unnamed) to look after
his horses, possibly numbering about half a dozen. Edward had his own
kitchen and cook for preparing meat and poultry, but had to use the castle

 Some afterthoughts on Edward II  289
kitchen for baking bread. He also had at least one personal servant, John de
Wakerl’, who was in attendance in his chamber and was also the granger for
the core manors of the Berkeley estate as well as having some medical role
in the castle.20
While Edward’s physical needs were apparently well looked after, it is
possible only to speculate on his mental condition. The chronicles are how-
ever the source of much comment and opinion upon Edward’s state of mind
and suffering. The author of the Flores Historiarum, a writer who was not
sympathetic to him, commented that Edward, while still technically king,
spent Christmas 1326 at Kenilworth ‘in great sadness’ (in ingenti tristitia).21
The unknown author of the Brut chronicle remarked that the downfall of
Edward II and the disasters of his reign were the fulfilment of the proph-
ecies of Merlyn: ‘and ever afterwards he lived his life in much sorrow and
anguish’.22 According to Geoffrey le Baker, when told of his deposition at
Kenilworth on 20 January 1327, Edward was so affected by grief that he
could barely stand and had to be helped by the earl of Leicester and bishop
of Winchester. ‘[…….] Weeping and crying out, Edward said that he was
deeply saddened that his people were so angry with him, but was pleased
that his son would at least succeed him as king’.23
As is well known, there is even a source that lays claim to being Edward’s
own record of his state of mind after his deposition, The Lament of Ed-
ward II, consisting of one hundred and twenty lines written in French (en-
titled De le Roi Edward le Fiz Roi Edward, le Chanson qe il fist mesmes) and

20 Smith, Edward II: His Last Months, pp. 29–31, 35–43 (these pages are an invaluable source
since they contain photographs of all the portions of documents relating to Edward). John
de Wakerl’ attended Thomas de Berkeley in September 1327 but there is no evidence that
he also attended Edward.

290  Seymour Phillips
supposedly composed by Edward himself while in prison. In it, Edward be-
moans his fate and shows repentance for his past misdeeds24:

1. ‘In winter time harm befell me, fortune has thwarted me too much,
good luck has eluded me all my life. Full often have I experienced this:
there is no one on earth so fair nor so wise, so courtly nor so famed,
who, if luck does not favour him, will not be proclaimed a fool.
3. ‘They make me suffer cruelly, granted that I have well deserved it.
Their false faith in parliament has brought me down from the heights
to the depths. Ah, Lord of salvation I repent and beg thy mercy for all
my sins! May the agony which my body endures be to my soul joy and
mercy.
6. ‘I give myself to thee, Lord Jesus, asking forgiveness and grace. I
used to be so greatly feared, now all despise me; I am called the tumble-
down king, and all the world mocks me; my most intimate friends have
deceived me, too late I see it openly.
15. ‘Wise men and foolish, I beg you all, pray for me together, to Mary,
mother of mercy, who nurtured Jesus the Almighty; that for the joys she
had of him, she may pray him devoutly, that he have mercy on all who
are betrayed and falsely condemned’.25

While the poem itself makes poignant reading, there is not the slightest ev-
idence that it was actually written by the deposed king.26 However, BL MS
Royal 20.A.II, which contains one of the known texts of the poem, is inter-
esting in itself. The manuscript, which was made during the reign of Edward
II, begins with a series of images of English kings, the last of which depicts
Edward while he was still Prince of Wales. The image is preceded by a Latin
couplet: Princeps Edwardus non tua lancea tarde/in Scotos mota per te sit
Cambria nota, either referring to Edward’s previous experience of fighting
in Scotland or expressing hope that he would wage war against the Scots
without delay, and that his exploits might be noted in Wales. Originally a
Latin poem in praise of Edward seems have been written below the image,
but was later erased and replaced by the text of the lament, presumably ex-
pressing the disappointment which was to follow his accession. The poem is

24 The poem, which was first discovered by Paul Studer in 1921, exists in two separate
fourteenth- century versions, in Longleat MS 26, fols. 76v–77r, published in Aspin,
Political Songs, pp. 93–104 (text and English translation); and in BL MS Royal 20.A.II,
fols. 10r–10v, published in Smallwood, ‘The Lament of Edward II’, pp. 521–9. See also
Phillips, Edward II, pp. 22–3, 542.
25
The translation is taken from Aspin, Political Songs, pp. 100–2.
26
See Valente, ‘The “Lament of Edward II”, pp. 422–39; Tyson, ‘Lament for a Dead King’,
pp. 359–75.
 Some afterthoughts on Edward II  291

Figure 15.2 Image of Edward as Prince of Wales, followed by the beginning of the
‘Lament of Edward II’: BL MS Royal 20.A.II, fol. 10r.

then followed by Peter Langtoft’s French chronicle of English history down

to 130727 (Figure 15.2).
Another manuscript with connections with the reign of Edward II, al-
though not necessarily with Edward himself, is one of the treasures of the

292  Seymour Phillips
British Library, the famous Alphonso Psalter, BL Add. MS. 24686, begun
for the planned marriage in 1284 of Alphonso, the elder brother of the fu-
ture Edward II, and Margaret, the daughter of the count of Holland. Af-
ter Alphonso’s death, it was completed and given to Edward I’s daughter
Elizabeth when she married John, the heir of the count of Holland, in 1297.
In 1302 the widowed Elizabeth married Humphrey de Bohun, the earl of
Hereford, and died in 1316.28 On the final folio of the manuscript, a hastily
written prayer for divine protection has been inserted in Anglo-Norman
French.29 When the manuscript was on display in 2011 as part of the British
Library exhibition of royal manuscripts, a caption suggested that the prayer
was connected with the earl of Hereford, who was killed in the battle of
Boroughbridge on 16 March 1322.30 However this identification no longer
appears on the website and was not included in the catalogue of the exhibi-
tion.31 The Alphonso Psalter does not appear either in the earl’s will, drawn
up before the Scottish campaign of 1319, or in the inventory of his posses-
sions dated 31 March 1322.32 The prayer is in fact ‘a previously unidentified
Anglo-Norman translation’ of a familiar Latin prayer Deus propicius esto
asking for divine protection from his/her enemies. The mystery remains as
to who felt him/herself so much in need of spiritual support as to scribble
on a blank folio of an otherwise fine illuminated manuscript33 (Figure 15.3).
Edward II’s stay as a prisoner in Berkeley is generally believed to have
come to an end with his death on 21 September 1327. On the following day,
Sir Thomas Gurney was dispatched with letters from Edward’s custodian
Sir Thomas de Berkeley to inform Queen Isabella and Edward III of the
former king’s demise.34 On 21 October, the body was moved to St Peter’s
Abbey, Gloucester, where it lay in state until the funeral on 20 December.35

28 The death of Elizabeth is noted on fol.7r in the calendar which begins the MS.
29 The Alphonso Psalter has been digitized and can be accessed on the BL website (https://
www.bl.uk/catalogues/illuminatedmanuscripts). The prayer appears on fol. 136r. At the
end of the prayer two further lines were added in a different hand, in an illegible scrawl.
30 The same information appeared on the BL website when I downloaded it in 2012.

34 Smith, Edward II: His Last Months, pp. 33 and 46 (photograph of the entry in Select Roll
39, Receiver’s Account); Phillips, Edward II, pp. 548–9.
35 For details see ibid, pp. 550–5.
 Some afterthoughts on Edward II  293

Figure 15.3 Anglo-Norman translation of Latin prayer Deus propicius esto inserted
on the final folio of the Alphonso Psalter: BL MS Add. 24686, fol. 136r.

At the time of the funeral, there seem to have been no suspicions that Ed-
ward II’s reported death was other than natural, but soon rumours began to
spread that he had met a violent end.36 The most lurid were the reports by
the author of the Brut chronicle and in Ranulf Higden’s Polychronicon and
Geoffrey le Baker’s Chronicon that Edward was murdered by the insertion
of a red-hot iron into his bowels. While the story is generally dismissed by
modern commentators, it has stuck in popular imagination to this day.37 An
imaginary depiction of the scene was discovered some years ago in a

36 For a survey of the various chronicle reports on Edward’s death, see Phillips, Edward II,
pp. 560–5.

294  Seymour Phillips

Figure 15.4 Image from the fifteenth-century Chronique d’Angleterre by Jean de

Wavrin showing the murder of Edward II by red-hot iron: Austrian
National Library, ÖNB, MS 2534, fol. 374v (online image 758).

manuscript in the Austrian National Library in Vienna of the fifteenth-

century Chronique d’Angleterre by Jean de Wavrin38 (Figure 15.4).
The magnificent tomb, which still exists in the former St Peter’s Abbey,
now Gloucester Cathedral, was constructed to house the former king’s re-
mains.39 There are no extant records for its construction, for which dates of

38 ÖNB, MS 2534, fol. 374v (image 758 of the online version). I know of it through Chris
Given-Wilson who was sent the details by a German colleague, Professor Dr. Klaus Os-
chema, of the Ruhr-Universität, Bochum. My thanks to both of them.

 Some afterthoughts on Edward II  295

Figure 15.5 Image of the tomb of Edward II at Gloucester, dated between July 1338
and June 1340: BL MS Egerton 3028, fol. 63r.

c.1330 and 1336–1339 have been suggested.40 However, there is an image of

the tomb in BL MS Egerton 3028, a manuscript of Wace’s Brut, which has
been dated between July 1338 and June 1340, and which at least demon-
strates the existence of the tomb by that date41 (Figure 15.5).

40 Phillips, Edward II, p. 558.

296  Seymour Phillips
The image is accompanied by some verses which show sympathy with the
former king and that his posthumous reputation for holiness was already
starting to develop:

And when he was dead and gone, he was carried to Gloucester; he was
buried with great honour. God has greatly honoured him, for he has
delivered many from the languor holding them. God for his sake has
done great miracles.42

It has long been known that the tomb and the outer wooden coffin were
briefly opened in 1855 in the presence of Dr Francis Jeune, then Canon in
Residence (later bishop of Gloucester), and others, but that the inner lead
coffin containing the body was apparently not opened. However in 2010, a
letter written in 1913 by Evan Browell Jeune (1852–1936), the youngest son
of Dr Jeune, came into the possession of the Gloucester Cathedral Library.
This gives a different version of the events of 1855. This information had
been conveyed to the younger Jeune many years before by his father, who
died in 1868. His father had told him that ‘when the tomb of Edward II was
being repaired, the lead coffin was opened up in his presence and the hair
and the beard of the king were quite intact; “His friends could quite well
have recognised him”. The coffin was resealed after a document stating the
facts and the names of those present had been placed within it; “I may thus
say that I have talked to a man who saw Edward II”’.43
However, the traditional narrative of Edward II’s imprisonment and
death at Berkeley is hotly contested by two mutually inconsistent counter-
narratives, in both of which Edward was not murdered but survived and was
either held in custody in Corfe Castle in Dorset by his enemies in order to
ensure their control over the young Edward III or was concealed at Corfe
by his friends and allies, against the possibility that he might one day be
restored to his throne. In the first version, Roger Mortimer arranged for the
removal of Edward from Berkeley before staging a false funeral in Glouces-
ter. The second version of Edward’s survival, which developed after 1327
and in 1330 led to the execution of Edward’s half-brother the earl of Kent for

 Some afterthoughts on Edward II  297
attempting to release him from Corfe, reached its final development in the
late 1330s in the now-famous Fieschi Letter, according to which Edward had
escaped from Berkeley by killing a doorkeeper who was later buried in his
place, before moving to Corfe and finally leaving England altogether, pursu-
ing a wandering life in Ireland and on the Continent, and ending his days in
one or more hermitages in northern Italy. His body was then allegedly laid
in a tomb at the abbey of Sant Alberto di Butrio before being transferred to
the already-existing tomb at Gloucester, which Ian Mortimer argues took
place in the early 1340s, possibly in 1342.44
The context of Edward’s supposed death in September 1327 was a series of
increasingly determined attempts to free him from captivity, first from Ke-
nilworth in March and April 1327, which led directly to Edward’s removal
to Berkeley Castle in May. In July, a further plot culminated in an attack on
the castle which may have brought about Edward’s release from his prison.
Whether he remained within the walls of the castle or was temporarily freed
altogether is unknown, but he was certainly swiftly recaptured.45 However,
recent research by David Smith and his colleagues has shown that the cas-
tle suffered considerable damage in the attack.46 It is also likely that while
the repairs were being carried out, Edward was moved for a time to an-
other location, probably Corfe Castle, where he may have been for at least
a month, before being returned to Berkeley.47 If he was indeed at Corfe,

4 4 ‘Hotly contested’ is not too strong a term for the debate, led by Dr. Ian Mortimer and ex-
pressed first in his paper ‘Death of Edward II in Berkeley Castle’, pp. 1175–214, and then,
most forcefully, in his book Medieval Intrigue, which appeared a few months after my own
and was in a sense ‘lying in wait’ for my book. In his book, he contributes an essay in which
I am cast as one of ‘Twelve angry scholars: reactions to “The Death of Edward II”’, with
himself presumably in the Henry Fonda role of ‘juror number 8’: cf. the 1957 film version
of Reginald Rose’s 1954 play, ‘Twelve Angry Men’. On the supposed date of Edward’s
death, see Mortimer, Medieval Intrigue, pp, 176–7, 212. The ‘Mortimer argument’ has been
taken up by, among others, Kathryn Warner in her books Edward II the Unconventional
King and Long Live the King and Stephen Spinks’ Edward II, The Man; and reiterated in
a public lecture on the death of Edward II given by Dr. Mortimer at TNA in Kew in June
2018. For counterarguments, see Phillips, Edward II, pp. 565–74, 577–99, and Chapter 12,
‘Afterlives’; and Andy King’s recent paper, “The Death of Edward II Revisited’, pp. 1–21,
especially pp. 19–21. See also Haines, ‘Roger Mortimer’s Scam’, pp. 139–56; Haines, ‘Ed-
wardus redivivus’, pp. 65–86.
45 Phillips, Edward II, pp. 542–7.
46 ‘During the raid damage was done to doors, locks and other fixtures and fittings which
is recorded in the accounts. In particular the castle had been made insecure by damage
to a postern door, presumably the raiders’ means of entry, and emergency measures were
needed: ten men were brought in to block it up in a single day. Some of these works were
new, strengthening security rather merely repairing damage, but the accounts do not al-
ways distinguish between them. The bars, probably for windows, were new work. The
broken windows of the chapel were not necessarily caused during the raid’: Smith, Edward
II: His Last Months, pp. 43–4 (photographs 79, 82 of records).

298  Seymour Phillips
this might help to explain some of the later stories about his survival there
after 1327. The discovery in early September 1327 of yet another plan to free
Edward, this time by adherents in Wales, was one conspiracy too many and
was followed by his reported death on 21 September, probably at the hands
of Thomas Gurney and William Ockley.48 Thomas de Berkeley was con-
veniently absent at his nearby manor of Bradley, either genuinely through
illness, as he was to claim in 1330, or because he had been warned to stay
out of the way while events unfolded, but not so far away as to be unable
to report on their outcome.49 These events do not of course in themselves
actually prove that Edward II did die in September 1327, but they make it
highly likely.
Further context is provided by the seriously disturbed state of England
in the wake of the unprecedented deposition of a legitimate anointed king,
however unsatisfactory a ruler he had been in practice: the growing tension
between Roger Mortimer and Henry of Lancaster; the continuing war with
Scotland and the danger of a renewal of war with France; and the belief
among sympathizers with the former king, of whom there were many, even
after his reported death and burial that he was in fact still alive.50 This cul-
minated in the attempt in 1330 by Edmund, earl of Kent, to contact his
half-brother Edward, in the belief that he was being held in custody in Corfe
Castle. On the basis of the earl of Kent’s confession and a letter between the
London merchant Simon Swanlond and William Melton the archbishop of
York, Kathryn Warner has argued strongly that the former king was indeed
alive and might be released from captivity.51
However, circumstantial as these stories are, there is no convincing evi-
dence that Edward really was alive. Neither the earl of Kent nor the arch-
bishop of York had direct contact with the supposed prisoner at Corfe, and
depended on third parties who claimed without supporting evidence that
the king was alive. In his confession, as recorded in Murimuth’s chronicle,
the earl of Kent said that he had written to John Deveril, the constable of
Corfe.52 According to the version of events in the Brut, which also includes a
supposed letter from the earl to Edward himself, the constable had admitted
that Edward was in his charge but that nobody was permitted to see him.53
In a further detail, Geoffrey le Baker claimed that a Dominican friar who
was sent to Corfe by the earl of Kent to confirm that his brother was alive,

48 Phillips, Edward II, pp. 547–9.

49 Smith, Edward II: His Last Months, pp. 33, 41 (photo 75); Phillips, Edward II, pp. 572–3,
577–81.
50 See Phillips, Edward II, pp. 542–50, 565–71.

 Some afterthoughts on Edward II  299
bribed a doorkeeper, made his way inside in layman’s dress and saw Edward
dining splendidly.54 The truth will probably never be known. It was most
likely a product of wishful thinking and hope on the part of friars and oth-
ers who had participated in the plots to free Edward II from captivity while
he was certainly still alive, current enemies of Roger Mortimer and agents
provocateurs (probably including John Deveril and William de Kingsclere)
acting on Mortimer’s behalf.55 There is little doubt that Mortimer knew
much about the plot well before the earl of Kent and the archbishop of York
were arrested and questioned. For example, it is possible that a messenger
from the earl of Kent was deliberately allowed into Corfe and did indeed see
someone ‘dining splendidly’ but without being allowed close enough to see
whether it really was the former king.56
The crux of the debate lies in how we interpret the record of the inter-
rogation of Edward II’s jailor Thomas de Berkeley during the November
1330 parliament, in which he said that he did not know about Edward II’s
death until the present parliament (nec unquam scivit de morte sua usque
in presenti parliamento isto).57 This could mean, as Ian Mortimer argues,
Berkeley claimed ‘that he had not at any time heard of the death’, that is, he
had only just become aware of Edward II’s death, as a result of the recent
trial of Roger Mortimer and his associates,58 or, as I would argue, it can
also, and probably does, mean that he did not know about the circumstances
of the death until 1330. Bear in mind that Berkeley is also recorded as claim-
ing that ‘he was never an accomplice, a helper or a procurer in his death’
(ipse nuncquam fuit consentiens, auxilians, seu procurans, ad mortem suam),
which surely means that Berkeley knew that the death had occurred but that
he claimed he had no part in it.59 Bear in mind too that he had written to
Edward III under his own seal in September 1327 to announce the former
king’s death. It is doubly unfortunate that the text of this letter, presumably

54 ‘Nocte introducitur in aulam, iussus induere habitum secularem, ne perciperetur, videbatur-

que sibi ipsum videre Edwardum patrem regis cene splendide assidentem’: Le Baker, ed.
Thompson, p. 44.

300  Seymour Phillips
written in Norman French, has not survived, and that the report in the 1330
parliament roll of Berkeley’s words is a summary in Latin of an interroga-
tion which was presumably also conducted in Norman French.60
Which brings me finally to the Fieschi Letter, which I have discussed else-
where, addressed to Edward III between 1336 and 1338 by the papal notary
Manuel Fieschi, containing the confession of someone claiming to be the
former Edward II and detailing his wanderings through England, Ireland,
France, Germany, the Low Countries and Italy as well as visiting the pope in
Avignon. The letter has been the object of fascination and controversy since
its discovery in the 1870s by the French scholar Alexandre Germain among
the records of the diocese of Maguelone preserved in Montpellier. Manuel
Fieschi had close links to the English crown and held several valuable ben-
efices in England; while a near relative of his, Nicolino Fieschi, acted as a
confidential agent for Edward III in the 1330s and 1340s.61 Neither of them
had met the real Edward II, but another near relative, cardinal Luke Fieschi,
who had been a papal envoy in England in 1317–1318 at a particularly del-
icate time in English politics and knew Edward well, was at Avignon until
his death in 1336. The Fieschi were certainly aware of the difficulties which
might be caused to the English crown by someone genuinely or even falsely
claiming to be the former Edward II, especially at a time when England and
France were moving inexorably towards war. It is likely that with the prior
involvement and approval of the pope, and perhaps even of Edward III,
Manuel and Nicolino de Fieschi then ensured that ‘Edward’ was held in safe
custody in places in northern Italy that were under the control or influence
of the Fieschi family. Their motivation was probably, as I have suggested,
to avoid embarrassment to Edward III. Manuel’s letter to Edward III would
thus in effect bring him up to date with events.62 However, the letter could
also, as both Ian Mortimer and David Smith have argued, have been used,
if it suited the interests of the papacy, in order to disrupt Edward III’s claim

60 Although there are no surviving parliament rolls for the six parliaments held between
September 1327 and March 1330, there is no evidence as Mortimer argues that they were
destroyed in case they (and other records) contained any evidence ‘that might cast doubt
upon his regnal legitimacy’: Mortimer, Medieval Intrigue, pp. 175–6. The records of the
following six parliaments between November 1330 and January 1333 are contained in a
single composite parliament roll (C 65/2). If a similar pattern was followed for the six
earlier parliaments, the accidental loss of such a roll at a later date is all too possible. For
comparison, of the twenty-six assemblies held during Edward II’s reign, a parliament roll
survives for only eight and some of those (notably 1312, 1318 and 1321) are fragmentary.
See PROME and Phillips, ‘Parliament in the Reign of Edward II’, p. 27.
61 In 1997, I visited the Archives départementales de l’Hérault in Montpellier to examine the
text of the Fieschi letter in Series G 1123: Cartulaire de Maguelone, Register A, fol. 86r.
I also did considerable research on the Fieschi and their relations with the English crown.
In 1999, I was also able to visit the sites in Northern Italy associated with ‘Edward’, nota-
bly Cecima and Sant’Alberto di Butrio. For a detailed discussion of the subject see Phil-
lips, Edward II, pp. 582–96. See also Ian Mortimer’s essay, ‘Edward III, his Father and the
Fieschi’ in Medieval Intrigue, pp. 175–233; and King, ‘The Death of Edward II Revisited’,
pp. 17–9.
62 Phillips, Edward II, pp. 591–3. See also Mortimer, Medieval Intrigue, pp. 182–9, 197–206.
 Some afterthoughts on Edward II  301
to the French throne by throwing doubt on his own legitimacy as king or to
try to disrupt Edward III’s alliance with the Emperor Ludwig IV.63 It is also
possible that the letter was no more than a draft which was never actually
sent or employed, for whatever purpose. This is strongly suggested by the
fact that the clerk who copied the Fieschi letter into the register of the di-
ocese of Maguelone added the word vacat (‘it is vacant’ or ‘it is cancelled’)
alongside the transcript, while the contemporary index volume of the regis-
ters of the diocese omits any mention of the letter.64
My own opinion is that, if the wanderer really was the former king, it is
surprising that he was initially allowed to continue his travels after leaving
Avignon, even if he was accompanied by a minder, especially since he also
visited places such as Brabant, where his sister Margaret was the widow of
Duke John II, and Paris which he had visited several times as king. There
was a considerable risk that a deposed king, however diminished in status
and however humble in appearance, would attract attention both from those
who knew or guessed his identity and from foreign enemies who might find
ways to use him against the kingdom of England. If the French monarchy,
in particular, had picked up any hint of Edward’s possible existence, or even
that of a wandering imposter, it would certainly have exploited the infor-
mation. Some such suspicion may have lain behind the seizure of Nicolino
Fieschi in Avignon in April 1340 by French agents who had crossed the
Rhône.65 However Ian Mortimer argues forcefully that the wanderer really
was the former Edward II. He also argues that ‘Edward’ had been taken
from Berkeley to Corfe and released from custody to begin his wanderings
dressed as a hermit after the fall of Roger Mortimer in November 1330.66
This raises another question. If ‘Edward’ was released from custody, by
whom was he released? It is difficult to believe that if the new regime of Ed-
ward III knew or suspected that the former king was alive in Corfe Castle,
they would simply have allowed him to leave the country, with all the risks
that would have entailed, or that they had not checked to discover who, if
anyone, was living in Corfe.
Like myself, Mortimer emphasizes the role of the Fieschi and the pope in
‘Edward’s’ custody in Italy.67 We are also in agreement that the man calling
himself William le Galeys, who was brought to meet Edward III in Germany
in 1338, was the same as the man detained in Italy, although we disagree on

64 Phillips, Edward II, p. 584. I have modified my view of the letter, which I previously argued
had been sent to Edward III.


302  Seymour Phillips
William’s identity.68 In conclusion, while I am still of the opinion that Ed-
ward II did die at Berkeley in September 1327, there is room for debate as to
his ultimate fate. Research (and controversy) will no doubt continue.69

Bibliography

Manuscript sources
Berkeley Castle Muniments
Select Rolls 39, 41, 42
Cambridge, Trinity College Library
MS R.5.41
Dublin City Archives
DCA 18
France, Archives départementales de l’Hérault, Montpellier
Series G 1123, Cartulaire de Maguelone, Register A
London, The National Archives
C 65: Chancery, Parliament Rolls
DL 27: Duchy of Lancaster, Deeds, Series LS
E 175: Exchequer, King’s Remembrancer and Treasury of the Receipt, Parliament
and Council Proceedings, Series II
E 352: Exchequer, Pipe Office, Chancellor’s Rolls
London, British Library (BL)
MS Additional 24686
MS Cotton Titus A XIX
MS Egerton 3028
MS. Royal 20.A.II
London, Inner Temple Library
MS Petyt 511
Oxford, Bodleian Library
MS Rawlinson D. 329
Vienna, Austrian National Library
ÖNB, MS 2534
Wiltshire, Longleat House (Marquess of Bath)
Longleat MS 26

68 Ibid., pp. 178–82; Phillips, Edward II, pp. 594–6. Contrary to Mortimer’s assertion that
the appearance of William le Galeys at Koblenz in 1338 came as a surprise to Edward III,
I think it was prearranged. Even if Edward III knew that William was not his father, it
would be perfectly understandable for him to be curious to know more.

 Some afterthoughts on Edward II  303
Printed primary sources
Adae Murimuth Continuatio Chronicarum, ed. E. M. Thompson, Rolls Series (Lon-
don, 1889).
Anglo-Norman Political Songs, Anglo-Norman Texts, ed. I. S. T. Aspin, Anglo-
Norman Text Society 9 (Oxford, 1953).
The Brut or the Chronicle of England, ed. F. W. D. Brie, EETS OS 131 (London,
1906).
Calendar of Close Rolls (CCR)
Calendar of Patent Rolls (CPR)
Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, ed. E. M. Thompson (Oxford, 1889).
Flores Historiarum, ed. H.R. Luard, Rolls Series, 3 vols (London, 1890).
The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England, ed. P. Brand, A. Curry, C. Given-Wilson,
R. E. Horrox, G. Martin, W. M. Ormrod and J. R. S. Phillips, 16 vols (Wood-
bridge, 2005) –and online edition (PROME).

Secondary sources
Bigelow, M. M., ‘The Bohun Wills’, American Historical Review 1 (1896), 414–35.
Chrimes, S. B. and Brown, A. L., Select Documents of English Constitutional His-
tory, 1307–1485 (London, 1961).
Duffy, E., The Stripping of the Altars (New Haven, CT and London, 1992).
Given-Wilson, C., Edward II: The Terrors of Kingship (London, 2016).
Haines, R. M., ‘Edwardus redivivus: the ‘afterlife’ of Edward of Caernarvon’,
Transactions of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society 114 (1997),
65–86.
Haines, R. M., ‘Roger Mortimer’s Scam’, Transactions of the Bristol and Gloucester-
shire Archaeological Society 126 (2008), 139–56.
Heyam, K., The Reputation of Edward II, 1305-1697: A Literary Transformation of
History (Amsterdam, 2020).
King, A., ‘The Death of Edward II Revisited’, in FCE IX, ed. G. Dodd & J. Bothwell
(Woodbridge, 2016), pp. 1–21.
Marvin, J., The Construction of Vernacular History in the Anglo-Norman Prose Brut
Chronicle (Woodbridge, 2017).
McKendrick, S., Lowden, J. and Doyle, K., ed., Royal Manuscripts: The Genius of
Illumination (London, 2011).
Mortimer, I., The Greatest Traitor: The Life of Sir Roger Mortimer, 1st Earl of
March, Ruler of England, 1327–1330 (London, 2003).
Mortimer, I., ‘The Death of Edward II in Berkeley Castle’, EHR 120 (2005), 1175–214.
Mortimer, I., The Perfect King: The Life of Edward III, Father of the English Nation
(London, 2006).
Mortimer, I., Medieval Intrigue: Decoding Royal Conspiracies (London, 2010).
Mortimer, I., ‘Documentary Enlightenment: The Death of Edward II and the Prin-
ciples of Historical Methodology’, public lecture given at TNA, Kew in June 2018.
Ormrod, W. M., Edward III (New Haven, CT and London, 2011).
Phillips, S., ‘Edward II and the Prophets’, in England in the Fourteenth Century:
Proceedings of the 1985 Harlaxton Symposium, ed. W. M. Ormrod (Woodbridge,
1986), pp. 189–201.
Phillips, S., Edward II (New Haven, CT and London, 2010).
304  Seymour Phillips
Phillips, S., ‘Kings in Captivity: The Case of Edward II of England, ‘The Island
King’, Quaestiones Medii Aevi Novae, 18, Kings in Captivity (2013), 37–58.
Phillips, S., ‘Parliament in the Reign of Edward II’, FCE X, ed. G. Dodd (Wood-
bridge, 2018), pp. 25–46.
Phillips, S., ‘Tout and the Reign of Edward II’, in Thomas Frederick Tout: Refash-
ioning History for the Twentieth Century, ed. C. M. Barron and J. T. Rosenthal,
Institute of Historical Research Conference Series (London, 2019), pp. 107–22.
Rees, W., Caerphilly Castle and Its Place in Annals of Glamorgan (Caerphilly, 1974).
Smallwood, T., ‘The Lament of Edward II’, Modern Language Review 68 (1973),
521–9.
Smith, D., Barlow, J., Bryant, R., Heighway, C. and Jeens, C., Edward II: His Last
Months and His Monument (King’s Stanley, 2015).
Smyth, J., of Nibley, The Lives of the Berkeleys, ed. Sir J. Maclean (Gloucester, 1883).
Spinks, S., Edward II, The Man: A Doomed Inheritance (Stroud, 2017).
Stanton, A. R., ‘Design, Devotion and Durability in Gothic Prayerbooks’, in Manu-
scripta Illuminata: Approaches to Understanding Medieval and Renaissance Man-
uscripts, ed. C. Hourihane (Princeton, NJ, 2014), pp. 87–107.
Stones, A., ‘The Egerton Brut and its Illustrations’, in ‘Maistre Wace”: A Celebra-
tion, ed. G. S. Burgess and J. Weiss (St Helier, 2006), pp. 167–76.
Turner, T. H., ‘The Will of Humphrey de Bohun earl of Hereford and Essex, with
extracts from the inventory of his effects, 1319–1322’, Archaeological Journal 2
(1845), 339–49.
Tyson, D., ‘Lament for a Dead King’, JMH 30 (2004), 359–75.
Valente, C., ‘The “Lament of Edward II”: Religious Lyric, Political Propaganda’,
Speculum 67 (2002), 422–39.
Warner, K., ‘The Adherents of Edmund of Woodstock, Earl of Kent, in March
1330’, EHR 76 (2011), 789–805.
Warner, K., Edward II the Unconventional King (Stroud, 2014).
Warner, K., Isabella of France: The Rebel Queen (Stroud, 2016).
Warner, K., Long Live the King: The Mysterious Fate of Edward II (Stroud, 2017).
Warner, K., Hugh Despenser the Younger and Edward II: Downfall of a King’s
Favourite (Barnsley, 2018).

Internet resources
The Auramala Project: https://theauramalaproject.wordpress.com
https://www.bl.uk/catalogues/illuminatedmanuscripts
Warner, K., Blog on Edward II: http://edwardthesecond.blogspot.com
16 ‘A woman given to slippery
ways’? The reputation of Joan,
the Fair Maid of Kent
David Green

The reputation of Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent (c. 1328–1385), was at best
mixed during her lifetime and it has remained so ever since. She remains
(in)famous for her marital entanglements with Thomas Holland (d. 1360),
William Montague (d. 1397) and finally Edward the Black Prince (d. 1376).
Impressions of her character and appearance have been coloured by Jean
Froissart’s well-worn description of her as a woman more beautiful and
amorous (or possibly ‘loving’) than any in the realm (la plus belle… et plus
amoreuse),1 and other authors, perhaps in a similar fashion, suggest Joan was
often at the mercy of her various bodily ‘appetites’.2 Contrasting evidence,
however, suggests the Fair Maid to have been a diplomatic woman, blessed
with political acumen and dedicated to the good of the realm. The disjunc-
tion between these images is striking. Together, of course, they reflect the
typical manner in which medieval women were stereotyped and, in the case
of the former, the defamation most of those suffered who stepped, willingly
or otherwise, into the political arena. Nonetheless, the dichotomy may be
seen in other evidence less prone to such obvious partiality. It appears, for
example, to be reflected in Joan’s domestic circumstances and in the char-
acter and composition of her household. It is apparent that the court Joan
and Edward established at Bordeaux and Angoulême during the period of
the principality of Aquitaine (1362–1370) was lavish, perhaps excessively so,
as was her personal expenditure on clothing and jewellery.3 Yet she also sur-
rounded herself with individuals who had serious cultural and literary inter-
ests as well as austere religious leanings. Indeed, her later household became
home to a number of people suspected of having Lollard sympathies and
she was closely involved in efforts to protect John Wyclif from persecution.
There is, of course, no reason to believe Joan was as one-dimensional
as either of these extremes suggests, nor why we should not accept that her

306  David Green
character changed and developed as she aged and took on greater respon-
sibilities. As a result of her marriage to the heir apparent (in 1361) and later
through her position as the king’s mother (from 1377), the domestic (house-
hold) sphere over which she could have expected a degree of control became
extended into the kingdom at large, where influence wielded by a woman
was commonly distrusted. It is in this context that Joan’s reputation was
of particular significance. It is clear that towards the end of her life, she did
much to ameliorate the febrile political conditions that surrounded the ac-
cession and first years of the reign of her last-born child Richard II (b. 1367),
and yet her reputation would prove one of the factors that led to or, at least,
excused his deposition.
Joan’s reputation, conflicted during her lifetime, remains divided because
of the nature of the available sources and the character of those (near-)con-
temporaries who detailed her life. Archival evidence from Joan’s house-
hold as countess of Kent, princess of Wales and Aquitaine or as the King’s
Mother is sparse at best. Monastic authorities such as Thomas Walsingham,
Adam Usk and Henry Knighton were wary of the authority she might wield,
especially after her support for Wyclif became apparent, while authors of
chivalric works such as Froissart and Chandos Herald tended to view her
in simplistic, ‘romantic’ terms as a beautiful adjunct standing radiantly and
quietly in support of her menfolk. In recent years, Penny Lawne and Tony
Goodman have filled the lacunae in certain aspects of Joan’s life and ca-
reer with two popular biographies. In spite of these works, however, the
issue of Joan’s reputation remains worthy of discussion. This paper is less
concerned with the veracity of contradictory evidence than with what that
evidence suggests about the relationship between Joan’s liminal position in
the English political hierarchy and her personal reputation, and it will con-
sider how each influenced the other. In so doing, it will touch on just a few
of the themes and issues Mark Ormrod explored to such good effect in his
numerous publications as well as other areas of research he inspired in his
students, colleagues and friends. Mark’s own work on Joan, her sexual repu-
tation and her experiences during the Peasants’ Revolt (1381) will be evident
throughout.4
This paper also seeks to take advantage of the wealth of scholarship, re-
cently published and ongoing, concerning queenship and the position of
elite women in late medieval society. This provides a different methodology
and a new lens through which to consider the Fair Maid as well as a series
of archetypes that can be used to evaluate her career and influence. Even
with these in mind, however, it is not easy to find an entirely suitable com-
parison for Joan. She spent nearly fifteen years expecting to become queen
and yet was never crowned. It is difficult to think of any woman with a sim-
ilar experience in England. As the king’s mother during her son’s minority,
certain aspects of Joan’s career bear comparison with those of Isabella of

 Reputation of Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent  307
Angoulême (d. 1246), Isabella of France (d. 1358)6 and Katherine de Valois
5

(d. 1437).7 Other resemblances may be seen with Elizabeth Woodville (d.
1492) who was a widowed mother when she married in 1464 and whose chil-
dren would also have their legitimacy called into question.8 Had she lived
rather longer, Blanche of Lancaster (d. 1368), given her cultural interests
and her rise from the peerage into the ranks of royalty, could have provided
some parallels.9 As a woman of influence with a reputation questioned by
many, Joan’s contemporary Alice Perrers (d. 1401/1402) offers a different
model, even if the match is very far from perfect.10 Similarly, although the
comparison is by no means exact and certain differences profound, the ca-
reer and reputation of Katherine Swynford (d. 1403), especially in the years
after Henry IV’s accession, also offers interesting parallels.11
What most of these women did share with Joan were the questions raised
about their reputation – their ‘honour’. The latter concept is a slippery one
and highly gendered in its application.12 As Christine de Pizan wrote in the
Le livre du Trésor de la Cité des Dames (1405):

there is nothing that is so becoming to a noble [woman] as honour…If

she does not lead a life by which she acquires praise, honour and a good
reputation by doing good, she entirely lacks honour.13

In connection with this issue, Mary Flannery has noted that:

later medieval English texts depict the practice of shamefastness as es-

sential for the preservation of female honour…Shamefastness is not an
emotion, but is rather a disposition towards and susceptibility to shame:
a state of vigilance that simultaneously guards one against shame and
makes one more sensitive to it.14

308  David Green
This was perhaps a disposition Joan could not cultivate, or because of force
of circumstances, she became particularly susceptible to accusations that
called her honour into question. Many of the praiseworthy deeds she per-
formed later in life would be called into question on account of events that
took place in her childhood and adolescence.

Births, marriages and deaths

The political aftershocks from Edward II’s deposition determined the di-
rection of Joan’s early life. In 1330, her father, Edmund of Woodstock, earl
of Kent, was executed for treason when she was only two years of age. Soon
after, she was taken into the royal household and into the care of Queen
Philippa (d. 1369), whose influence on Joan’s life should not be underesti-
mated. The queen, however, had nothing to do with the clandestine mar-
riage Joan undertook in late 1339 or early 1340 when aged only twelve to
Thomas Holand. The union, although consummated, remained secret and
because of this and perhaps also believing erroneously that Holand had died
while campaigning in Prussia, Joan was convinced or compelled in the win-
ter of 1340–1341 to marry the rather more suitable William Montague, son
of the earl of Salisbury. It was only in 1347 that Holand found himself in a
position, financially and politically, to begin proceedings at the papal court
to reclaim his bride. After a protracted case, on 13 November 1349 the pope
declared the marriage to Montague void, and Thomas and Joan could live as
husband and wife.15 The decade that followed appears to have been a happy
one for the couple, although Holand was absent, campaigning in France, for
much of the later 1350s. Indeed, it was while serving in Normandy that he
died late in 1360. Joan, however, did not remain unwed for long – less than a
year afterwards she married the Black Prince.
If Joan’s marriage to Holand had been inappropriate for her, then that
contracted with Edward of Woodstock was deeply unsuitable for him. It
was remarkable enough that the prince had not yet married, given that by
this time he was thirty-one years of age, but marriage to a woman with
such a colourful past was extraordinary.16 Edward III appears to have been
frustrated by his son’s actions, although it seems unlikely that his anger
and embarrassment was as extreme as is sometimes suggested. Indeed, the
king assisted the couple in securing the necessary licences from the papacy.
A dispensation was required, given that the parties involved were cousins
and related within the third and prohibited degree.17 Successive Angevin

 Reputation of Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent  309
and Plantagenet kings had sought political advantage in marrying foreign
brides, especially from France and the Iberian peninsula. Given this policy,
the marriage to Joan should be considered a lost opportunity, but it is note-
worthy that contemporaries made no complaints of the sort engendered by
Richard II’s marriage to Anne of Bohemia, the impoverished ‘little scrap of
humanity’.18 Rather, the king, it seems, tried to turn the prince’s marriage
to Joan to his advantage by making it a display of English independence. If
Valois rulers might take brides from their own nation, why should the Plan-
tagenet heir be denied the same opportunity?19
Such a statement of confidence was not insignificant, given that the mar-
riage took place during the lull in the Hundred Years War brought about by
the treaty of Brétigny (1360). This agreement appended very considerable
territories to the English duchy of Gascony and the prince was dispatched
to take charge of these. It may be significant that he seems to have moved
more quickly to ensure the presence in Bordeaux of his goldsmith and two
embroiderers than to ensure his administrators had enough money for their
own expenses.20 The court Edward and Joan established would become
characterized by display and conspicuous consumption.21 This was most
evident in a tournament held to commemorate Joan’s churching and to cele-
brate the birth of their first child Edward of Angoulême in 1365. The Chron-
icle of the Grey Friars of Lynn suggests that on this occasion, Joan’s retinue
consisted of twenty-four knights and twenty-four lords, while a further 154
lords and 706 knights attended the festivities. The prince is said to have
stabled 18,000 horses at his own expense and the celebrations lasted for ten
days. The cost of the candles alone is said to have exceeded £400.22
Such excesses delighted some and scandalized others. In a similar fashion,
so too did Joan’s personal style and choice of clothing. She is said to have
favoured tight-fitting garments of silk and ermine with low-cut necklines

22 Gransden, ‘A Fourteenth Century Chronicle’, p. 271.

310  David Green
and wore pearls and precious stones in her hair.23 While many sought to em-
ulate her, others were appalled. A Breton lord, Jean de Beaumanoir, noted
that he expected his wife to dress as an ‘honest women’ and not to adopt the
‘fashions of the mistresses of the English or the Free Companies’. He was
‘disgusted by those women who follow such a bad example, particularly the
princess of Wales’.24 The comparison suggested between Joan and a mer-
cenary’s mistress indicates that by this point and even in France the Fair
Maid’s reputation had been sullied.25
Regardless of this, by comparison with her mother-in-law, Joan may be
considered rather parsimonious. Payments of £715 13s. 6d. to Giles Davy-
nell, an embroiderer, for work for the prince, Joan and her daughters, and
of £200 for jewelled buttons for the princess may seem exorbitant, especially
since 2,000 marks were set aside annually for the expenses of her chamber.26
However, the stolid Philippa of Hainault spent around £20,000 on clothing
and jewellery over the last ten years of her life. It was after all ‘expected of a
queen that she should…use her appearance for the purpose of enhancing the
regal image’.27 To a lesser degree, this must also be true of a queen-in-waiting.

Lollardy and the stain of heresy

It was, however, from the household of the prince and princess of Wales that
evidence emerges of an apparently anomalous aspect of Joan’s character and
reputation. In the later fourteenth century, anti-papalism, anti- clericalism
and the fear of sudden death brought by plague and war encouraged many
among the English secular elite to seek out different foci for their religious
patronage and more austere forms of worship.28 In most cases, this encour-
aged support for thoroughly orthodox, albeit somewhat ascetic, monastic
orders such as the Carthusians. Soon after his marriage, Edward began
making modest grants to the Selwood charterhouse (five marks a year) as
well as the prior and order of Hinton near Bath (ten marks a year) and the

23 Emerson, Black Prince, p. 171; Sherborne, ‘Aspects of English Court Culture’, pp. 14–6;
Barber, Edward III and the Triumph of England, pp. 89–95.
24 Cited by Dupuy, Le Prince Noir, p. 200.
25 See also Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, ed. Luce, pp. 123–5, in which the author sug-
gests Joan seduced the prince when he visited her to ask if she would consider the suit of
one of his knights, Bernard Brocas. The concerns expressed with clothing were, of course,
far from new, nor were they restricted to female attire. The author of the Brut blamed the
garments worn by Queen Philippa’s Hainaulters for ‘many of the evils and misfortunes
that have beset the kingdom’; cited by Newton, Fashion in the Age of the Black Prince, p. 9.
26 BPR, IV, pp. 427–8, 476, 500.
27 Sekules, ‘Dynasty and Patrimony in the Self-Construction of an English Queen’, p. 167;
Stafford, Queens, Concubines and Dowagers, pp. 108–9.
28
Thomson, ‘Orthodox Religion and the Origins of Lollardy’, pp. 39–55; Swanson, ‘Prob-
lems of the Priesthood’, pp. 845–69; Harper-Bill, ‘English Church and English Religion’,
pp. 79–123.
 Reputation of Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent  311
prior of Witham (five marks a year).29 Joan maintained some of these pay-
ments after Edward’s death, and in 1383 she made a further grant to Michael
de la Pole (d. 1389), a former retainer of the prince and by that time chan-
cellor, to support the Maison Dieu in Myton (the Carthusian hospital at
Kingston-upon-Hull), which he had founded.30
In some cases, however, a demand for ecclesiastical reform and a search
for personal salvation led to the explorations of less orthodox and perhaps
even heretical alternatives.31 Although eventually shunned by the ‘Estab-
lishment’, John Wyclif initially found favour with a number of the royal
family, including the princess of Wales. In addition to its anti-clerical and
anti-papal connotations, his demand for a general reformatio Ecclesiae to
be overseen by the lay powers accorded with the Crown’s wish to extend
its authority in the spiritual sphere.32 As a result of this, he has been seen
as a spokesman and propagandist for the court and accordingly, he was pro-
tected by the royal family, certainly in the years prior to the Peasants’ Revolt.
Joan appears to have played a significant role in orchestrating Wyclif’s de-
fence against prosecution in 1378. In the previous year, Pope Gregory XI
(1370–1378) had issued five bulls condemning Wyclif’s ideas. When the
authorities at Oxford failed to act against him, Wyclif was commanded to
appear before an episcopal tribunal at Lambeth. According to Walsing-
ham, Joan despatched Lewis Clifford to demand that the bishops take no
action against Wyclif and they submitted meekly to her will. Whether this
truly explains what transpired must remain open to question. It may be that
Walsingham simply wished to provide an explanation for Wyclif’s escape
from censure and punishment that suited him. In actuality, it may be that
the actions of the citizens of London who disrupted the meeting were sig-
nificant in swaying opinion, while John of Gaunt may also have brought his
influence to bear. There also seems little doubt that Wyclif responded to the
charges brought against him with considerable skill – a fact Walsingham
acknowledged but may not have wished to prioritize. In any event, it is either
the case that Joan’s authority was very considerable at this point and she
influenced matters herself or that Walsingham considered her authority to
have been such that she might have been able to do so.33 It is also of interest
that many of the so-called Lollard Knights, identified by Henry Knighton
and Thomas Walsingham, first came to prominence in the households of

29 BPR, IV, pp. 423, 462, 488. See also Tuck, ‘Carthusian Monks and Lollard Knights’,
pp. 149–61; Hogg, ‘Life in an English Charterhouse’, pp. 19–60.
30 E.g. BL Ch 2130; Tuck, ‘Pole, Michael de la, first earl of Suffolk’.

312  David Green
the prince and princess of Wales.34 Indeed, four of their number John Clan-
vowe (d. 1391), the aforementioned Lewis Clifford (d. 1404), William Neville
(d. 1391) and Richard Stury (d. 1395) were among the executors of Joan’s
will, while another, William Beauchamp (d. 1411), may also have held some-
what unorthodox beliefs.35 However, it is far from certain that these men
were staunch Wyclifites in reality. The attitudes of Sir John Clanvowe may
be broadly representative of the ‘group’ as a whole. While his treatise The
Two Ways (c. 1390) may be seen as somewhat ‘puritanical’ and with certain
Lollard sympathies, it was far from a direct endorsement of Wyclif’s ide-
as.36 Furthermore, even if the princess’ household did harbour individuals
whose attitudes were a little unconventional, perhaps inhabiting some ‘no-
man’s land’ a little beyond the orthodox but not yet clearly heretical, oth-
ers connected with it had no such qualms about the state of the Church.37
Among Joan’s other executors were Robert Braybroke (d. 1404) and William
of Wickham (d. 1404), bishops of London and Winchester, respectively.38
Evidence for Wyclifite sympathies is sometimes said to be found in re-
quests for simple, austere funerals, although there are a number of prob-
lems with this approach and individuals who were in other ways entirely
orthodox might leave instructions for ascetic ceremonies or even call for the
denigration of their body after death.39 There is no such suggestion in Joan’s
will. She asked to be buried alongside Thomas Holand at the now lost Grey
Friars house in Stamford (Lincolnshire). In many ways this seems an odd
rather remote choice, although the foundation was certainly of considerable
antiquity and the burial place of her kinswoman Blanche Wake (d. 1380) as
well as her ‘first’ husband.40 Perhaps, like Queen Isabella, Joan may also
have seen advantages, spiritual and political, in such a public association
with the Franciscans.41 It has been suggested that the princess originally
intended to be buried in one of chantries she and Edward had founded at

34 Kightly, ‘Lollard Knights’.

38 Joan petitioned the papacy on Braybroke’s behalf for a canonry and prebendary of York;
Calendar of Papal Letters, Petitions, I, p. 397.


 Reputation of Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent  313
Canterbury in return for the papal dispensation to marry.42 It is tempting to
speculate whether her decision changed when it was decided to relocate the
prince’s tomb from this same location to the much more splendid surround-
ings of the Trinity Chapel alongside Becket’s shrine. If so, the Stamford
Grey Friars might be seen as a somewhat austere setting by comparison.43
There is certainly no reason to believe that Joan’s choice of burial site
was the result of a difficult relationship with Edward. Indeed, such evidence
as we have suggests quite the contrary. Chandos Herald painted a rather
touching portrait of their reunion on the prince’s return from the Spanish
campaign in 1368. He wrote:

The princess came to meet him [Edward], and everyone rejoiced. They
embraced tenderly when they met: the prince kissed his wife and son,
and went on foot to his lodging, holding them by the hand.44

While we should not necessarily accept this as an accurate reflection of their

relationship, it is noteworthy that the only personal letter the prince com-
posed which remains was addressed to Joan, his Trescher et tresentier coer,
bien ame compaigne.45 This, of course, was a letter recounting the battle of
Nájera (1367) and designed for public consumption as part of an organ-
ized propaganda programme rather than a deeply personal communiqué.
It is also the case that such letters, with the exception of those addressed to
members of the clergy, were often effusive in their initial greetings. In mis-
sives composed during the 1355–1356 chevauchée, John Wingfield addressed
Richard Stafford as ‘Most dear lord and most trustworthy friend’, and the
Black Prince described the mayor, aldermen and commons of London as
‘Most dear and well beloved’.46 However, the salutation and expression
of goodwill in the prince’s message to Joan appear heartfelt and perhaps
rather more ardent than epistolary formulae used commonly. It was also,
of course, unusual for such letters to be sent to women.47 Regardless of the
reasons underpinning Joan’s decision to be buried in Stamford, her tomb
certainly seems to have been a far less imposing and politically charged

46 Life and Campaigns of the Black Prince, ed. and trans. Barber, pp. 55, 57.
47 Williams, ‘English Vernacular Letters’, pp. 206–21; Kong, Lettering the Self, pp. 1–11.
314  David Green
memorial than many of those chosen by her near-contemporaries. Queens
Isabella and Philippa, for example, both made detailed plans for their own
commemorations at the Grey Friars in London and at Westminster, respec-
tively.48 Joan, of course, was not a queen, although as the king’s mother and
prior to Richard’s marriage to Anne of Bohemia, she was the pre-eminent
lady at court.

The king’s mother

Between July 1377 and January 1382, Joan occupied a powerful yet liminal
position in the English political hierarchy: she was the king’s mother but had
never herself been a queen. Her status was further confused by the circum-
stances of Richard II’s minority in which the pretence was maintained that he
was fully competent to govern. In reality, the daily business of the realm was
in the hands of a series of ‘continual councils’, the membership of which was
comprised in no small part of men drawn from the households of the king’s
mother and late father.49 While her influence over these councillors, men such
as Richard Stafford (d. 1380), Hugh Segrave (d. c. 1387) and John Devereux
(d. 1393) as well as Simon Burley (d. 1388) and John Fordham (d. 1425), who
became, respectively, vice-chamberlain and keeper of the privy seal, cannot be
easily assessed, neither should it be discounted. John of Gaunt’s absence from
the ‘continual councils’ has often been noted and, in this context, his wish to
maintain close links to his sister-in-law at this time may be significant.50
While her status remained uncertain, Joan nonetheless played many of
the roles traditionally ascribed to queens, including as an intercessor and
most obviously as a mother, which was ‘perhaps, the most important of all
the queen’s responsibilities’.51 While Joan’s reputation became a political
burden for Richard in his later years, there seems little doubt that he ben-
efitted from her influence during her lifetime. The nature of their personal
relationship is difficult to judge, but the king’s apparent fondness for his
mother can perhaps be seen in his adoption of the White Hart as a per-
sonal device,52 while her grief at the estrangement between Richard and
his stepbrother John Holand suggests a deep personal bond.53 Royal moth-
ers were, of course, often encouraged to follow heavenly models. Given her

48 Ormrod, ‘Queenship, Death and Agency’, pp. 87–103.

49 Saul, Richard II, pp. 27–31.
50 Collette, ‘Joan of Kent’, pp. 351, 353–5; Goodman, John of Gaunt, pp. 275, 295 nn. 3–4.

 Reputation of Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent  315
reputation, links between Mary and Joan are not to be found. Rather, ref-
erences to her as the Fair Maid or even ‘the Virgin of Kent’ were most likely
sarcastic.54 It is a further example of her conflicted reputation.
Among her other ‘queenly’ duties, Joan served as an intercessor on sev-
eral occasions.55 Of particular significance were her actions in 1377 and 1385,
when she helped resolve conflicts between Gaunt and the city of London,
and between Gaunt and the king. On this latter occasion, according to the
Westminster Chronicler, a dispute among members of the royal council over
policy regarding the Low Countries led to ‘grave dissension’ and the author
suggested that a plot may even have been hatched to assassinate Gaunt, which
the king approved. Joan’s actions, in this instance, appear to have been deeply
significant in bridging the rift between the two men.56 Indeed, she appears to
have developed such a reputation as a mediatrix that Adam Usk imagined she
played a role in resolving, albeit temporarily, a dispute between Richard and
the Lords Appellant which actually took place after her death.57 While there
is no evidence that Joan sought to exercise the rights of a queen consort or
the privileges of the ‘king’s mother’ in the manner of Margaret Beaufort, for
example, there is no question that she was politically active and astute and the
number of requests she made for pardons increased markedly after Richard’s
accession.58 Even after the king’s marriage to Anne of Bohemia, Joan contin-
ued to receive petitions, if in smaller numbers than previously.
Even though uncertain, Joan’s political influence was clearly recognized
and she was often petitioned to request pardons, bequests or grants from
the king and, on occasion, the papacy – some of these, incidentally, suggest
her essential orthodoxy.59 Joan’s communications with the papacy included
requests that her damsel Margery Mere be permitted to eat milk, cheese
and eggs during Lent. This rather touching petition was granted, although
only if it could be proven that pottage was ‘insufficient for her weakness’.
Joan also made requests that her friends, Andrew and Elizabeth Lutterel,
might have a portable altar and the right to choose their own confessor.
She requested similarly that Marion Louches be permitted to have a port-
able altar, and that Johanetta Peverel and Walter Bary (her butler) receive

54 Barber, ‘Joan, suo jure countess of Kent’; Benz St John, Three Medieval Queens, pp. 12–3,
20–2.

316  David Green
plenary remission of their sins. Joan also made a personal petition for ple-
nary remission of sins at the hour of her death and permission to choose
her own confessor who would have authority to commute her vows, with
the exception of those of continence and pilgrimage. Such petitions contrast
somewhat with those made by the Black Prince, which focused chiefly on
securing benefices for members of his retinue.
Although Joan’s reputation does not seem to have much inhibited her po-
litical activities in this period, she appears to have been a subject of gossip
nonetheless, and this became a weapon with which to attack the king. A good
reputation was an essential tool for a woman with any sort of role on the po-
litical stage of late medieval England. Maintaining one’s reputation – one’s
honour – was vital. It has been suggested that noble women needed to ‘take
particular care always to perform [i.e. demonstrate they had] a controlled
personality in a controlled body, in highly controlled social circumstanc-
es’.60 Many authors were deeply concerned with the public implications of
private (im)morality, and from this perspective, given her reputation, Joan
suffered.61
According to such measures, Joan’s life had been far from controlled. Her
marriage to Holand could be seen as headstrong and disobedient or even
devious and undutiful, while that to the Black Prince has been described as
‘wilful, heedless and outrageous’. Indeed, it could be considered ‘sinful and
invalid, since they were within forbidden degrees of kinship’.62 Even Knight-
on’s restrained account of her early marital strife suggested she wielded a
certain sexual power – he wrote, ‘having secured a divorce from [Montague
she] married Sir Thomas Holland, for whose desire for her [my italics] it was
said the divorce had been made’.63
Joan’s sexual reputation may also have coloured accounts of the assaults
said to have been inflicted on her during the Peasants’ Revolt. Indeed, some
of these may be fictitious, designed to emphasize the inversion of society and
the extent to which behavioural norms were transgressed in 1381, at least in the
opinion of many who discussed the events. According to Walsingham, the
rebels entered Joan’s chambers in the Tower displaying their ‘vile staves’
(baculis…uilissimis), rolled around on her bed and made lewd suggestions to
her.64 Joan’s reputation may have made her a suitable character for Walsin-
gham’s lurid description.

60 Colette, Performing Polity, pp. 31–2, 45.

61 See, for example, Lewis, ‘Women and Power’, pp. 323–50.
62 Goodman, Joan, the Fair Maid, pp. 23, 69.

64 The rebels ‘dared to enter the king’s chamber, and even his mother’s, with their vile staves…
some of them invited the king’s mother to kiss them’; Walsingham, St Albans Chronicle,
I, pp. 424–5; Ormrod, ‘In Bed with Joan of Kent’, pp. 279–83; Federico, ‘The Imaginary
Society’, pp. 179–80.
 Reputation of Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent  317
That carnal reputation would follow Joan into posterity. It can be seen in
blatant terms in a case of treason brought early in 1388 against one Thomas
Austin. His wife was said to have alleged that the ‘kynge [Richard II] was
nevere the prynses sone and also … that his moder [Joan] was nevere but
a strong hore’.65 Such accusations would continue to plague Richard. Al-
though the 1399 deposition charges made no mention of the king’s supposed
illegitimacy, Froissart suggested a conversation took place between Richard
and Bolingbroke just prior to the king’s resignation of the throne in which
Henry stated that Richard was ‘not the son of the prince of Wales, but of
a priest or a canon’, and that the prince had been ‘jealous of the princess’
conduct…[although] she knew well how to keep [him] in her chains through
subtlety’.66
Paul Strohm has noted that later medieval women tend to be portrayed
in ‘such superficially different incarnations as mother, mediatrix, sorceress,
whore’.67 Joan of Kent was no sorceress, but otherwise these conflicting ste-
reotypes can all be found in accounts of her life. Often, they sit uncomfort-
ably alongside one another as when Walsingham discussed Joan’s mediation
in the dispute between Gaunt and the Londoners. On this occasion, her
reputation and status were said to be such that ‘the citizens replied [to her
entreaties] with all respect that out of regard for her they would do whatever
she commanded’. And yet, during the events of 1381 she was treated as if she
were a ‘common wench’.68 Similarly, when describing the quarrel between
Gaunt and Richard in 1385, Walsingham emphasizes Joan’s gluttony and
love of luxury while at the same time commending her wish to work for the
good of the realm:

Lady Joan, the king’s mother, refused to put up with the troubles of the
kingdom, and though not strong and used to luxury, and hardly able
to move about because she was so fat, nevertheless neglected her tran-
quil way of life, and gladly took upon herself the troublesome journey
first to the king, and then to the duke, sparing no expense whatsoever
and pleading with them humbly until she achieved her desire to restore
peace and concord between the two men.69

In a comparable fashion, Adam Usk attributed to her remarkable political

skill and foresight in an imagined incident in which Joan mediated between

66 Froissart, Chronicles of England, ed. Johnes, II, pp. 696–7.

318  David Green
Richard and the Appellants, and yet, on the occasion of the king’s deposi-
tion, he wrote that:

many unsavoury things were commonly said [concerning Richard’s

birth], namely that he was not born of a father of the royal line, but of
a mother given to slippery ways [ex matre lubrice vite dedita] – to say
nothing of many other things I have heard.70

Perhaps the dichotomy is inevitable given the misogyny intrinsic to so many

clerical commentators when faced with a woman of considerable skill and
influence. Yet, Joan suffered not only on account of the reputation created
through her various marriages but also because of her uncertain position
in the political hierarchy. Although fulfilling many of the roles expected
of queens, she lacked the precise status as well as some of the limited pro-
tections available to an anointed consort. If a queen may be said to have
an official body, one created by unction and coronation, then her physi-
cal body remained a ‘site of sin and pollution’.71 Joan underwent no such
transfiguration, and given her reputation this only made the charges against
her more damaging. As with her supposed links to Lollardy, the princess
appears to have often been found guilty by association rather than commis-
sion. Indeed, many of the comments that shaped and continue to shape her
reputation may be mere fabrications. They serve nonetheless as instructive
narratives which reflect the anxieties and agendas of their (male) authors.72
If we accept, as surely, we should, that ‘reginal activity is essential in re-
constructing the dynamics of family structure, kingship and statecraft’ in
the later medieval period, then although not a queen, the example of Joan
of Kent adds significantly to our understanding of such issues.73 Her career
provides instructive examples of many of those activities which have driven
and continue to shape the direction of queenship studies, including patron-
age, political agency, household dynamics and diplomatic activity as well as
issues of representation and reputation.74 It is, however, her liminal position
and uncertain status, the fact that she stood both on the fringes of the royal
family and at its centre, was both the victim of circumstance yet did much
to shape the political character of a nation that made and continue to make
her such a compelling figure.

13.

 Reputation of Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent  319
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1399–1422 (New Haven, CT, 1998).
Swanson, R. N., ‘Problems of the Priesthood in Pre-Reformation England’, EHR
105 (1990), 845–69.
Taylor, C., ‘The Salic Law, French Queenship, and the Defense of Women in the
Late Middle Ages’, French Historical Studies 29 (2006), 543–64.
Taylor, C., Chivalry and the Ideals of Knighthood in France during the Hundred Years
War (Cambridge, 2013).
Thomson, J. A. F., ‘Knightly Piety and the Margins of Lollardy’, in Lollardy and the
Gentry in the Later Middle Ages, ed. M. Aston and C. Richmond (Stroud, 1997),
pp. 95–111.
Thomson, J. A. F., ‘Orthodox Religion and the Origins of Lollardy’, History 74
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Chaucer, ed. P. Strohm and T. J. Heffernan (Knoxville, TN, 1984), pp. 149–61.
Tuck, A., ‘Pole, Michael de la, first earl of Suffolk (c. 1330–1389)’, ODNB.
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 Reputation of Joan, the Fair Maid of Kent  323
Wentersdorf, K. P., ‘The Clandestine Marriages of the Fair Maid of Kent’, Journal
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Wilkinson, L., ‘Queenship in Medieval England: A Changing Dynamic?’, The His-
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17 John Talbot, John Fastolf
and the death of chivalry
Craig Taylor

John Lord Talbot (c. 1387–1453) and Sir John Fastolf (1380–1459) are perhaps
the best known English captains of the fifteenth century. The two men were
bound together forever by their involvement in the disastrous defeat at Patay
on 18 June 1429.1 But both played much larger roles in the final stages of the
war in France. Fastolf fought at Agincourt in 1415, took part in the sieges of
Caen and Rouen between 1417 and 1419, captured the duke of Alençon at the
battle of Verneuil in 1424 and led the successful English forces at the battle
of the Herrings near Rouvray in February 1429.2 Talbot made his name dur-
ing the recovery of Maine and serving alongside the earl of Salisbury in 1427
and 1428, took part in the siege of Orléans in 1429, led the defence of Paris
in 1434 and 1435 and was appointed marshal of France in 1436. As English
military fortunes steadily declined, Talbot still managed to win a number of
small but noteworthy victories such as the capture of Pontoise in 1437, and
was created earl of Shrewsbury in 1442. His career ended in failure when he
became a hostage when the French captured Rouen in 1449, and then led the
Anglo-Gascon army that was destroyed at Castillon on 17 July 1453.3 The
dramatic manner of this defeat at the hands of French artillery has led to
Talbot being remembered as ‘the last chivalric hero’, with his death seen as
symbolically drawing the curtain upon the age of chivalry.4
Talbot and Fastolf were also linked by their unusual efforts to shape and
define their reputations and legacies through their patronage of two of the
most well-known cultural enterprises of the Hundred Years War, the Shrews-
bury Book and the Boke of Noblesse. Talbot commissioned the Shrewsbury
Book as a wedding present for Queen Margaret of Anjou in 1445, drawing
together into one elaborate manuscript a remarkable collection of chival-
ric romances and texts that showcased his knowledge of the latest French
debates about knighthood and his personal engagement with the English

 Talbot, Fastolf and the death of chivalry  325
5
enterprise in France. Meanwhile, the retired Fastolf gathered together a
number of scholars at Caister in Norfolk, including William Worcester who
wrote the Boke of Noblesse. This was probably drafted around 1451 and re-
vised for Edward IV in 1475, and offered an analysis of the military failures
in France together with proposals for future action. As such, it also served
as a defence of the military skill and judgement of Fastolf.6
Talbot and Fastolf have carved themselves unique places in English his-
tory, but less attention has been paid to their reputations across the Channel
in France. Given their prominent role in so many English military cam-
paigns, it would be reasonable to imagine that the French would have held
both men in disdain or even fear. But in reality, they enjoyed more complex
reputations in France, and were remembered in fascinating ways across a
range of chivalric texts that are little known to English historians. Stories
told about Talbot and Fastolf by their enemies reveal much about the com-
plexities of aristocratic culture and identity at the end of the Middle Ages,
not to mention the inadequacy of the romantic notion that chivalry died on
the battlefield at Castillon in 1453.

***

The lives and reputations of Sir John Fastolf and John Talbot, earl of Shrews-
bury, were both shaped by the battle of Patay on 18 June 1429.7 French forces
had successfully broken the siege of Orléans on 8 May 1429 and had then
quickly taken Jargeau, Meung-Sur-Loire and Beaugency in quick succes-
sion, forcing the English into a desperate retreat. Pursued by an aggressive
French army, Talbot had set up an ambush at Patay, hoping to catch the pur-
suing force unawares. But the enemy vanguard spotted the English troops
and Talbot’s forces were quickly overwhelmed. Many leading Englishmen
were taken prisoner, including Sir Thomas Rempston, Thomas Lord Scales
and Talbot himself, who reportedly told the duke of Alençon and Joan of
Arc when he was brought before them immediately after the battle that the
unexpected defeat had simply been the fortune of war.8
Fastolf had fought alongside Talbot at Patay, but managed to escape.
When he reached Paris, the duke of Bedford suspended him from the Order
of the Garter for withdrawing from the battlefield, before reinstating him

326  Craig Taylor
and absolving him of blame.9 Despite Bedford’s vote of confidence, Fastolf
was never able to escape the shadow of Patay. On 11 February 1435, Thomas
Overton publicly denounced him as ‘a fugitive knight which is the gravest
charge that one can level against a knight’.10 This charge was levelled in the
context of a legal dispute between Fastolf and his servant Overton, part of
a much wider story of financial scandals and abuse of prisoners committed
by Fastolf during his service in France.11 But it was Talbot who most aggres-
sively pursued the charge of cowardice against Fastolf, ultimately forcing a
tribunal chaired by Henry VI that probably took place in February 1442.
This tribunal ruled in favour of Fastolf, according to William Worcester,
which may explain why there is almost no evidence regarding what actu-
ally happened in that courtroom. But it is reasonable to assume that the
most serious charge levelled against Fastolf was that he had acted at Patay
in a manner unbecoming of a Garter knight.12 It is no surprise then that
Worcester paused in the Boke of Noblesse to defend his master’s view that
the manly man who acted with caution and good sense was better than the
‘hardy’ man who was rash, foolhardy and acted against discretion and good
advice.13
French chroniclers were well aware of the accusations against Fastolf. The
Burgundian Jean de Wavrin had a clear incentive to defend the English cap-
tain, given that he himself had fought under Fastolf’s command at Patay and
had retreated from the battlefield alongside him.14 Wavrin claimed that Fas-
tolf had refused to retreat when the Valois forces overwhelmed the English
line, preferring to die or be captured rather than abandon his men, but that
Jean, Bastard of Thiau, and the other captains persuaded him to withdraw
with ‘the greatest grief that I ever saw shown by a man’.15 Wavrin admitted
that Bedford had reproached Fastolf and suspended him from the Order
of the Garter after the battle, but emphasized that the duke had quickly
overturned that judgement following an inquiry, particularly when he heard
that Fastolf had voiced his disagreements with Talbot and the other English

 Talbot, Fastolf and the death of chivalry  327
captains before the battle had even begun.16 Indeed, Wavrin had already
incorporated Fastolf’s remonstrances into his narrative, describing how the
Englishman had urged caution three times and on each occasion was over-
ruled by Talbot. So, for example, Wavrin reported that Fastolf advised a
council of war held at Janville on 16 June 1429 that they should withdraw
and wait for reinforcements rather than attempt to relieve Beaugency, but
Talbot had rejected that plan.17 Wavrin claimed that Fastolf repeated his
call for caution the following day, and then on the eve of the battle, the two
captains had argued about tactics shortly before Talbot implemented his
disastrous plan to ambush the French vanguard.18
Other Burgundian chroniclers were less certain about the rectitude of
Fastolf’s actions, even as they echoed Wavrin’s narrative of the events.19
Monstrelet offered an abbreviated account of Fastolf’s retreat from the bat-
tlefield, merely stating that he had galloped off to save his life and had fled
without striking a blow.20 Monstrelet also reported the subsequent inquiry
by Bedford, and it was in this context that the chronicler offered a very ab-
breviated account of Fastolf’s disagreements with Talbot over strategy. But
presenting this in the context of the desperate attempt by Fastolf to defend
his actions rather than embedded in the narrative of the campaign itself
invited scepticism, especially when Monstrelet concluded by referencing
the feud that subsequently developed between Fastolf and Talbot.21 Jean Le
Fèvre offered an even more abbreviated account, in which he simply stated
that all the English captains at Patay were captured except for ‘Jehan Bas-
cot’ who left the battlefield, for which he was later reproached because he
was a knight of the Garter, but defended himself by saying that he was not
responsible for what had happened.22
Valois chroniclers were presumably less informed about the disagree-
ments between Fastolf and Talbot, and certainly had less reason to defend
Fastolf. The official historiographer Jean Chartier merely reported that
Fastolf and the other Englishmen who were able to escape the battlefield at
Patay retired to Corbeil, and made no reference to his suspension from the
Order of the Garter or the subsequent feud with Talbot.23 Guillaume Gruel
and the Berry Herald were equally brief, simply stating that Sir John Fastolf
fled the battlefield.24 Guillaume Tringant merely noted that Talbot had been

20 Monstrelet, La chronique, IV, pp. 328–30.

22 Lefèvre de Saint-Rémy, Chronique, II, p. 145.
23 Chartier, Chronique, I, p. 87.
24 Gruel, Chronique d’Arthur de Richemont, p. 74; and Le Bouvier, Les chroniques, p. 138.
328  Craig Taylor
captured at Patay and that ‘Sir John Fastolf led a company of Englishmen
to Janville and saved them by his good leadership’, in a commentary ap-
pended to Le Jouvencel, written by Jean de Bueil in the mid-1460s.25 Writing
between 1471 and 1472, Thomas Basin went much further in reporting that
‘Jean Fascot’ succeeded in fleeing from the battle of Patay for which he was
regarded as very dishonourable and shameful by the English.26
Yet some French writers were still willing to pay respect to Fastolf, what-
ever suspicions attached to his name across the Channel. For example, the
English captain was the direct inspiration for one of the characters in Jean
de Bueil’s chivalric romance Le Jouvencel. According to the commentary
offered by Tringant, Jean Helphy, lieutenant-general of the duke of At, was
modelled upon Fastolf.27 Helphy appeared late in the story, when the young
hero known as the Jouvencel had travelled to the kingdom of Amydoine to
fight for its king against a rebellion in support of the duke of At. During
a skirmish outside the walls of a town held by Helphy, the Jouvencel ac-
cepted the offer of a safe conduct to pass alone through enemy lines in order
to meet his counterpart. While they were speaking, Helphy’s forces were
pushed back into town and the Jouvencel initially thought to take advantage
of this opportunity to capture the enemy captain. But after a conversation
about the importance of integrity, good faith and trust, the two captains
inspected one another’s troops and allowed them to meet and to share a
meal before going their separate ways. The narrator commented that some
reproached the Jouvencel for not capturing his enemy, but others argued
that the two captains had acted honourably and shown the importance that
they placed upon integrity.28 Like many of the stories in Le Jouvencel, this
episode served a didactic function, emphasizing the importance of good
faith in negotiations. But according to Tringant, this incident had been in-
spired by a real event that may well have happened in 1434.29 It certainly
showcased a more noble side of Fastolf than the supposed cowardice that he
had displayed at Patay.
Jean de Bueil and Guillaume Tringant were far less complimentary about
John Talbot. Bueil had fought against Talbot at both Patay and Castillon,
and so was ideally placed to offer an assessment of the English captain.30 He
directly discussed the battle of Castillon early in the narrative, but merely
stated that Talbot had been one of the English commanders killed there.31

25 Bueil, Le Jouvencel, ed. Szkilnik, p. 702.

26 Basin, Histoire de Charles, VII, I, p. 142.
27 Bueil, Le Jouvencel, ed. Szkilnik, p. 708. For the complex manner in which Jean de Bueil
drew upon real history in creating the apparently fictional events and people in this text,
see Bueil, Le Jouvencel, trans. Taylor and Taylor, pp. 1–14.
28 Bueil, Le Jouvencel, ed. Szkilnik, pp. 454–7.
29 Bueil, Le Jouvencel, ed. Favre and Lecestre, I, pp. lxviii–lxx.
30 For the life and career of Bueil, see Bueil, Le Jouvencel, ed. Favre and Lecestre, I, pp. i–
cclxxxvii, and Famiglietti, Recherches sur la maison de Bueil.
31 Bueil, Le Jouvencel, ed. Szkilnik, p. 155.
 Talbot, Fastolf and the death of chivalry  329
There is no evidence that Bueil modelled any character in Le Jouvencel upon
Talbot, though Guillaume Tringant did claim that Talbot’s relief of the cas-
tle of Le Mans from a French siege on 27 May 1428 had inspired the account
of the siege of Catre in Le Jouvencel, where the hero of the story was drawn
out into the field to face his enemies but they used the opportunity to slip
into the town and slam the gates shut against him.32 Tringant’s commentary
also mentioned Talbot’s unsuccessful attempt to seize Louviers in 1439, and
offered a more detailed account of the Castillon campaign in which he ar-
gued that the English defeat had been caused by Talbot’s strategic error in
attacking the French infantry south of the Garonne rather than their cav-
alry that was north of the river.33 So it is striking that for Jean de Bueil and
Gulllaume Tringant, Talbot was a much less impressive enemy than Fastolf
or indeed many of his fellow captains such as Matthew Gough.
Bueil’s lack of regard for Talbot was undoubtedly a consequence of his
first-hand view of the ignominious end to the Englishman’s military career.
Other French commentators were unimpressed by Talbot at the end of his
career. Robert Blondel was most dismissive of Talbot in his account of the
French campaign to recover Normandy, offering a lengthy invective against
the aged English captain for refusing to take the field against the army led
by the count of Dunois in 1449.34 Blondel also described how Talbot surren-
dered himself as a hostage during the French capture of Rouen in November
1449, adding that Charles VII was unconcerned that if released, Talbot’s
skill and courage might rally the English troops and turn the course of the
war; the French king boldly declared that there was no reason to fear just
one man, and that his troops would certainly defeat Talbot and kill him in
battle, prophesizing the events at Castillon.35
Yet it is important to remember that earlier in his career, Talbot had built
a reputation amongst the French as an aggressive captain, thanks to stun-
ning actions like the daring recapture of the town of Laval in 1428 and the
capture of Pontoise in 1437. Talbot had also been known as a cruel and bru-
tal soldier: as Pollard has argued, his ‘tenacity in the English cause had
won him respect, while his reputation for cruelty had made him feared and
hated’.36 The anonymous clerical author of the Journal d’un bourgeois de
Paris reported that Talbot beheaded townsmen of Le Mans who had helped
Valois troops to seize the town in 1428.37 Enguerrand de Monstrelet was

330  Craig Taylor
more matter of fact about Talbot’s decision to execute the garrison of Joigny
when he captured that fortress through a surprise attack in 1434.38 But he
was deeply upset by ‘cruelties’ committed by Talbot and Somerset at Lihons
in the Burgundian county of Amiens in 1440: three hundred men, women
and children had taken refuge in a church and refused to surrender, so the
Englishmen burned the church to the ground and the people sheltering in-
side were ‘most piteously killed and burned’.39 Writing around 1471–1472,
Thomas Basin, bishop of Lisieux, described how Talbot killed an unarmed
French prisoner during the siege of Pontoise in 1441, personally striking him
with an axe in a manner that Basin condemned as barbaric and contrary to
divine and human law.40 This story was not confirmed by any other sources
and is suspicious, given that it served in the narrative to justify the brutal
treatment of Englishmen after the end of the siege. But the fact that the story
was plausible enough for Basin to include it in his account is revealing.41
Another factor in French hostility to Talbot was a longstanding tradi-
tion that presented the Englishman as the arch-enemy of Joan of Arc, de-
spite the fact that he had been captured at Patay some two years before she
was burned at the stake.42 The most famous example is the Mistère du siège
d’Orléans, a mystery play that was probably performed during the celebra-
tions that commemorated the deliverance of the city on 8 May 1429.43 In
this version of the story, Talbot swore to enact vengeance upon Orléans for
the death of the earl of Salisbury, and was an angry and brutal man intent
upon stopping Joan and her divine mission to save the city and France.44
When Joan’s herald delivered to Talbot her famous letter demanding that
the English raise the siege of Orléans, he rejected it as idle chatter and took
the messenger prisoner.45 Following her arrival at the city, Joan met with
Talbot and again insisted that she had been sent by God and that the Eng-
lish should return to England. In response, Talbot angrily insulted her, call-
ing her a shepherdess, a strumpet and whore, a witch and a madwoman,
and threatened to hang her. Joan responded by calling Talbot a liar and
prophesized that he would die at the hands of the soldiers of Charles VII.46
In the fighting that followed, Talbot lost many soldiers and swore vengeance
against Joan and the French for their treachery, denouncing her as a whore

38 Monstrelet, La chronique, V, p. 91.

40 Basin, Histoire de Charles VII, I, p. 274.

4 4 Ibid., pp. 201–4.
45 Ibid., pp. 465–70.
46 Ibid., pp. 492–6.
 Talbot, Fastolf and the death of chivalry  331
before uttering a cry that was more usually associated in French mystery
plays with Herod and other damned souls.47
Later there were French celebrations of the defeat of Talbot and the Eng-
lish at Castillon. Four processions were held in Compiègne immediately af-
ter the battle to mark the defeat of Talbot and the English, for example, and
‘mystères patriotiques’ such as La déconfiture de Talebot advenue en Borde-
lais were subsequently performed during the annual commemoration of the
deliverance of the city from the English.48 One anonymous short chronicle
of the battle was entitled La destrousse de Talbot.49 A longer account of the
battle was presented by Thomas Basin, who gleefully blamed the English
defeat upon the rashness and overconfidence of Talbot. According to Basin,
Sir Thomas Evringham had desperately warned Talbot against attacking
the French siege camp outside of Castillon, pleading with him to wait for
the arrival of his infantry and artillery and then to establish their own forti-
fied camp nearby. But Talbot had ignored the advice of his standard-bearer,
confident that the Frenchmen would be terrified by his arrival and therefore
simply flee. For Basin, this was not true courage but mere audacity and te-
merity.50 He also reported that Talbot was wounded in the leg by the will of
divine providence and then dragged from his horse by the French archers
and killed. At the end, Talbot desperately begged for his life, but his offers
of gold were ignored because he had been so hard and cruel to the French.
Basin’s conclusion was that Talbot had perished by the sword just as he had
lived by it, echoing the words of Christ (Matthew, 26: 52); citing the apostle
Saint James, he declared that Talbot had been judged without mercy just as
he himself had judged others without mercy.51
Yet alongside this hostility towards Talbot, there was also a more sym-
pathetic response and even grudging respect for him voiced within French
aristocratic circles. The earliest chivalric account of the battle of Castillon
was written immediately after the event by Berry Herald, Gilles Le Bouvier,
and offered a factual and unsentimental account of the defeat of the English
and the death of Talbot.52 But a few years later, Jean Chartier was far more
generous, noting that Talbot had been an old man when he had ridden into
his last battle and offering a mixed epitaph for him:

50 Ibid., II, pp. 194–6.

51 Ibid., pp. 196–8.
52 Le Bouvier, Les chroniques, p. 390.
332  Craig Taylor
And such was the end of this famous and renowned English leader, who
for such a long time had been one of the most formidable scourges and
sworn enemies of France, for whom he had proved to be a dread and a
terror.53

The chronicler Mathieu d’Escouchy described Talbot as the most prudent

and valiant English knight in his continuation of the chivalric narrative
written by Monstrelet.54 So it is no surprise that the Burgundian writer of-
fered the most positive French account of Talbot’s actions at Castillon. He
defended the English captain’s error in attacking the enemy camp by say-
ing that Talbot had been motivated to be aggressive by his desire to serve
his king and to respond to the intense pressure that the citizens of Bor-
deaux had put upon him to act.55 Escouchy insisted that Talbot had been
blessed with as much natural sense and courage as any knight who could
bear arms in those times.56 His only error was to believe a report that the
French were abandoning their camp outside of Castillon, and so Escouchy
advised princes, lords and captains to learn from this only to trust the re-
ports of loyal officers, knights and gentlemen.57 Escouchy also emphasized
the bravery of Talbot, reporting that one veteran had advised his captain
to abandon the attack because of the strength of the French position, but
that Talbot had refused to change course and may have even struck the sol-
dier across the face with his sword.58 This French chivalric tradition of re-
spect for Talbot culminated in the praise given to him by André Thevet in
Les vrais portaits des hommes illustres in 1584, who testified to the regard in
which Talbot had been held by his enemies: ‘If there was ever an English
captain who became immortal amongst those of his country, it was John
Talbot’.59
Chroniclers offered conflicting accounts of precisely how Talbot died at
the hands of French archers. The Berry Herald and Jean Chartier reported
that his throat was cut after he had been knocked from his horse, while Es-
couchy claimed that Talbot was killed by a blow to the head, and recounted
a pitiful story in which Talbot’s herald searched the battlefield and identi-
fied the brutally disfigured body of his master.60 But there was a clear con-
trast between the brutal way that Talbot had been treated by the ordinary
French soldiers and the respect that was afforded to his mortal remains by

56 Ibid., p. 35.

 Talbot, Fastolf and the death of chivalry  333
his aristocratic enemies. It is commonly believed that his body was prepared
for burial by the local Carmelites and that he was interred on the site of
the battle at Notre Dame de Talbot, also known as the Chapelle de Tal-
bot, which was probably synonymous with the nearby Chapelle de Notre-
Dame de Colles that was destroyed in the eighteenth century.61 Jacques de
Chabannes sent Talbot’s gorgerette to Charles VII who was at La Roche-
foucauld, and the king reportedly declared ‘May God have mercy upon a
good knight’.62 The brigandine that Talbot had worn during the battle was
listed in an inventory of the arms and armour held at the castle of Amboise
in 1499, alongside other military relics such as the swords of Lancelot of the
Lake, Philip the Fair, Jean II and Charles VII, daggers that had belonged to
Charlemagne and Louis XI, axes of Saint Louis and Bertrand Du Guesclin
and the armour of Joan of Arc.63 The English captain’s sword, engraved
with the motto Sum Talboti pro vincere inimico meo, was found in the river
Gironde many years later according to André Thevet, who compared it to
the sword of Joan of Arc.64
It is not hard to imagine that this culture of respect for Talbot was influ-
enced by his chivalric courage at Castillon, a man in his mid-sixties riding
into battle with such bravery. It was logical to treat him as a worthy oppo-
nent in order to magnify the significance of that final French victory. But it
is also important to remember that Talbot was well known to Charles VII
and the members of his court, having been held prisoner with all due hon-
our and respect just a few years before Castillon.65 Talbot was one of eight
English hostages who surrendered to the French in order to guarantee com-
pliance with the agreement to surrender Rouen on 2 November 1449. Talbot
had witnessed the French king’s ceremonial entry into Rouen on 10 Novem-
ber 1449, his presence was recorded by most of the chivalric chroniclers,
and he was depicted in a miniature of this event in Martial d’Auvergne’s
Les vigiles de la mort de Charles VII, composed after 1472.66 The English
captain had then become a prisoner of war when Richard Curson failed to
hand over Honfleur by 15 November as promised in the original surrender

334  Craig Taylor
agreement. Talbot remained a prisoner of Charles VII until 10 July 1450,
when the king released him upon the condition that he take a vow to go
on pilgrimage to Rome for the papal jubilee.67 As Ambühl has noted, this
was an honourable way for Charles to free his prisoner without needing to
worry that the English captain would immediately rejoin the war. It also
highlighted Talbot’s piety, and served as a fitting conclusion to a story of
shared chivalric honour and respect.68 The moment of Talbot’s release was
commemorated in a lengthy passage and miniature in Martial d’Auvergne’s
Les vigiles de la mort de Charles VII, a verse account of the reign that also
included an account of the Englishman’s daring capture of Avranches in
1439, but made no mention of his death at Castillon.69
Of course, Talbot also had long-standing relationships with many French
noblemen, most notably the Burgundians alongside whom he had fought be-
fore their duke’s reconciliation with Charles VII in 1435.70 This may explain
his role in two important chivalric texts associated with the Burgundian
ducal court. Les cent nouvelles nouvelles was a collection of prose stories
that was probably composed between 1456 and 1461 and dedicated to Duke
Philip the Good.71 The fifth of the tales was attributed to a squire named
Philippe de Loan and recounted the story of two judgements passed by Tal-
bot against soldiers in his service.72 In the first case, the English captain had
issued a safe conduct to a French prisoner to allow him to travel to secure
his ransom, but the document had been ignored by an English soldier on
the specious grounds that the Frenchman had breached his promise not to
carry any instruments of war because he was wearing buckle straps (les agu-
illetes). Angry at this infringement of his safe conduct, Talbot humiliated
the English soldier and released the Frenchman. In the second example,
Talbot punished another soldier for stealing a silver-coated and enamelled
chalice and made the man promise never to set foot again in another church.
At the time that Les cent nouvelles nouvelles was written, there was a great
deal of debate about the law of arms, both in the courtroom and in the
pages of didactic works by authors like Honorat Bovet and Jean de Bueil

 Talbot, Fastolf and the death of chivalry  335
who often used similar kinds of stories to reveal wider legal and ethical
principles.73 But it is hard to read the tale attributed to Philippe de Loan as
another didactic lesson to encourage debate about technical, legal matters,
not just because it would have been out of character with the wider nature
of Les cent nouvelles nouvelles, but also because there was little controversy
or debate about the specific judgements issued by Talbot in these two situa-
tions. It seems more likely that the tale served to commemorate a man who
was described as ‘the most bold, valiant and fortunate of English captains at
arms, as everyone knows’.74 The narrator did not deny that Talbot had had
flaws: he had been ‘a hot-headed man, with an unpredictable temper, and he
was very displeased when things were done other than correctly, especially
in matter of war’.75 Furthermore, the Englishman was described as ‘terrify-
ingly brutal and cruel’, and said to have committed many crimes during war,
though the narrator did claim that Talbot had never permitted any of his
soldiers to set fire to a church or to pillage, perhaps aware of the irony given
the events at Lihons in 1440.76 But this tale did echo the genuine importance
that Talbot had placed upon military discipline and obedience.77
A more enigmatic Burgundian response to Talbot is recorded in the chiv-
alric romance Olivier de Castille that was written by Philippe Camus be-
fore 1467 at the request of Jean II de Croÿ, count of Chimay.78 The story
recounted the adventures of a Castillian prince named Olivier who was
forced to leave the court of his father, the king, when his stepmother made
unwanted advances upon him. During a voyage to England, he befriended
a knight named Jehan de Talbot who died soon afterwards. As a mark of
chivalric respect, Olivier organized Talbot’s funeral and also paid off the
debts that he owed to a burgess, before himself being robbed. Walking
through some woods, he encountered a ghostly figure, the Blanc Chevalier,
who offered to lend Olivier the equipment that he needed to take part in a
tournament in London in return for half of his winnings. When Olivier was
victorious, winning the hand of the princess Elaine, the Blanc Chevalier ini-
tially demanded his share of his prize before relenting and admitting that he
was actually the spirit of Talbot and had just been testing his friend.
As a piece of literature, Olivier de Castille offers a fascinating exploration
of the power of chivalric friendship and brotherhood, together with a dra-
matic example of the pious motif of the ‘Grateful Dead’.79 But it is far from

336  Craig Taylor
clear why the author chose to identify the English knight as John Talbot and
to offer such a fictionalized account of his death and betrayal by his family
who refused to pay for his burial or to honour his debts. It might simply be
that Camus was simply invoking the name of a famous Englishman: he cer-
tainly demonstrated very little accurate knowledge of England beyond a few
place names.80 It does not help that the text cannot be dated precisely and
might have been written as early as 1430, long before the real John Talbot
had died. But Olivier de Castille does at least testify to a level of chivalric
caché attached to the name Talbot in Burgundian aristocratic circles.

***

The modern memory of Fastolf and Talbot owes the most to William Shake-
speare. Henry VI part one reimagined the events following the death of
Henry V in 1422 and presented Talbot as a central figure in the story, lead-
ing the fight against Joan of Arc at the siege of Orléans and dying heroically
in battle against her soon afterwards, some twenty years before Castillon.
Shakespeare’s Talbot was described as an English Achilles and the terror
of the French, and served as the direct counterpart to Joan: his heroism,
honour and loyalty contrasted with her witchcraft, lies and unchivalric ap-
proach to war.81 Meanwhile Shakespeare’s Fastolf was a base coward who
betrayed the crown, his fellow soldiers and his duty. In this version of events,
Fastolf fled from the battlefield at Orléans, leaving Talbot to be captured
by the enemy.82 Once free, Talbot had denounced him as a coward and had
him thrown out of the Order of the Garter: ‘I vow’d base knight, when I did
meet thee next, / To tear the Garter from thy craven’s leg’ (Henry VI, Part
One, IV.1, lines 13–29)’. This distillation of their stories and identities into
such simplistic but compelling tropes reveal a great deal about the preoc-
cupations of Shakespeare and his audiences, and the continuing power of
chivalric ideals in his day.83 Above all, it marked the final triumph of Talbot
in his personal feud with Fastolf following the battle of Patay.
Shakespeare derived most of his history from Edward Hall’s The Union
of the Two Noble and Illustre Families of Lancaster and York, including the
claim that Talbot had been the terror of the French.84 Woodcock has iden-
tified some evidence to support the notion that Talbot was remembered
with fear in sixteenth-century France.85 On 14 July 1512, a Venetian consul

80 Visser-Fuchs, History as Pastime, pp. 229–30.

81 See, for example, 1 Henry VI, II.3 lines 14–6, IV.2 line 16, IV.7 lines 60 and 77–8, and also
see Woodcock, ‘John Talbot, Terror of the French’, pp. 249–51.
82 1 Henry VI, I.1 lines 131–4.

 Talbot, Fastolf and the death of chivalry  337
named Lorenzo Pasqualigo wrote a report on the muster of English troops
en route to Calais; he identified the commander as George Talbot, fourth
earl of Shrewsbury (1468–1538), and noted that he came from a family who
were ‘always accustomed to beat the French’.86 A week later, Andrea Badoer
sent a related report to the Venetian senate, commenting that the French
were still in the habit of quietening ‘their babies by threatening them with
the cry of the coming of the Talbots’.87 Such comments testify to the last-
ing impact of Talbot’s reputation as an aggressive and brutal military com-
mander long after his death. But there was another tradition of respect for
Talbot amongst French aristocratic chroniclers and chivalric writers who
refused to be swept away by the patriotic hostility voiced in more popular
sources like mystery plays, and echoed by chroniclers like the author of the
Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris and Thomas Basin. In part, this reflects the
continuing importance of personal chivalric ties formed when Talbot fought
alongside Burgundian knights early in his career or was held prisoner at
the French royal court. It also reveals a lack of deep concern about brutal
actions committed by Talbot that were not regarded as illegal or unchivalric
at the time, and which were certainly matched by many of his opponents
throughout the war. Meanwhile, Fastolf might have been forever marked
in England by his actions at Patay, but he too could be respected by his
French opponents. In short, Talbot and Fastolf symbolize the continued
importance and impact of chivalric values across national lines at the very
end of the Hundred Years War, and their stories and legacies raise new ques-
tions to replace the old chestnut that the battle of Castillon marked the end
of the age of chivalry.

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A bibliography of the major
writings of W. Mark Ormrod

1985
Editor, England in the Thirteenth Century: Proceedings of the 1984 Harlaxton Sym-
posium (Woodbridge, 1985).

1986
Editor, England in the Fourteenth Century: Proceedings of the 1985 Harlaxton Sym-
posium (Woodbridge, 1986).
‘The English Government and the Black Death of 1348–49’, in England in the Four-
teenth Century: Proceedings of the 1985 Harlaxton Symposium, ed. W. M. Ormrod
(Woodbridge, 1986), pp. 175–88.

1987
‘The Protecolla Rolls and English Government Finance, 1353–64’, English Histori-
cal Review 102 (1987), 622–32.
‘The English Crown and the Customs, 1349–63’, Economic History Review, 2nd se-
ries 40 (1987), 27–40.
‘Edward III and the Recovery of Royal Authority in England, 1340–60’, History 72
(1987), 4–19.
‘Edward III and his Family’, Journal of British Studies 26 (1987), 398–422.

1988
‘The Origins of the Sub Pena Writ’, Historical Research 61 (1988), 11–20.
‘An Experiment in Taxation: The English Parish Subsidy of 1371’, Speculum 63
(1988), 59–82.

1989
‘The Personal Religion of Edward III’, Speculum 64 (1989), 849–77.
342  The major writings of W. Mark Ormrod
1990
The Reign of Edward III: Crown and Political Society in England, 1327–1377
(London and New Haven, 1990) [re-published, Stroud, 2000, 2005].
‘The Peasants’ Revolt and the Government of England’, Journal of British Studies
29 (1990), 1–30.
‘Agenda for Legislation, 1322-c. 1340’, English Historical Review 105 (1990), 1–33.

1991
Editor, England in the Thirteenth Century: Proceedings of the 1989 Harlaxton Sym-
posium (Stamford, CT, 1991).
‘State-Building and State Finance in the Reign of Edward I’, in England in the Thir-
teenth Century: Proceedings of the 1989 Harlaxton Symposium, ed. W. M. Ormrod
(Stamford, CT, 1991), pp. 15–35.
‘Political Theory in Practice: The Forced Loan on English Overseas Trade of 1317–
18’, Historical Research 64 (1991), 204–15.
‘The Double Monarchy of Edward III’, Medieval History 1 (1991), 68–80.
‘The Crown and the English Economy, 1290–1348’, in Before the Black Death: Stud-
ies in the Crisis of the Early Fourteenth Century, ed. B. M. S. Campbell (Manches-
ter, 1991), pp. 149–83.

1992
‘Katharine Mortimer’s Death at Soutra’, in Sharp Practice, 4: Fourth Report on Re-
searches into the Medieval Hospital at Soutra, Lothian/Borders Region, Scotland,
Edinburgh, Soutra Hospital Archaeoethnopharmacological Research Project, ed.
B. Moffat (Edinburgh, 1992), pp. 110–20.

1993
‘St Maurus Wind: The Weather in Medieval England’, Medieval History 3 (1993),
59–63.

1994
‘England, Normandy and the Beginnings of the Hundred Years War, 1259–1360’, in
England and Normandy in the Middle Ages, ed. D. Bates and A. Curry (London,
1994), pp. 197–213.
‘The Domestic Response to the Hundred Years War’, in Arms, Armies and Fortifica-
tions in the Hundred Years War, ed. A. Curry and M. Hughes (Woodbridge, 1994),
pp. 83–101.

1995
Political Life in Medieval England, 1300–1450 (Basingstoke and New York, 1995).
‘Royal Finance in Thirteenth-Century England’, in Thirteenth Century England V,
ed. P. R. Coss and S. D. Lloyd (Woodbridge, 1995), pp. 141–64.
 The major writings of W. Mark Ormrod  343
With J. Barta, ‘The Feudal Structure and the Beginnings of State Finance’, in Eco-
nomic Systems and State Finance, ed. R. Bonney (Oxford, 1995), pp. 53–79 [trans-
lated as ‘La Structure Féodale et les Débuts des Finances Publiques’, in Systèmes
Économiques et Finances Publiques, ed. R. Bonney (Paris, 1996), pp. 37–66].
‘The West European Monarchies in the Later Middle Ages’, in Economic Systems
and State Finance, ed. R. Bonney (Oxford, 1995), pp. 123–60 [translated as ‘Les
Monarchies d’Europe Occidentale à la fin du Moyen Age’, in Systèmes Économi-
ques et Finances Publiques, ed. R. Bonney (Paris, 1996), pp. 111–50]

1996
Editor, with P. G. Lindley, The Black Death in England (Stamford, 1996).
‘The Politics of Pestilence: Government in England after the Black Death’, in The
Black Death in England, ed. W. M. Ormrod and P. G. Lindley (Stamford, CT,
1996), pp. 147–81.
‘Government by Commission: The Continual Council of 1386 and the English Royal
Administration’, Peritia 10 (1996), 303–21.

1997
‘York and the Crown Under the First Three Edwards’, in The Government of Medi-
eval York: Essays in Commemoration of the 1396 Royal Charter, ed. S. Rees Jones
(York, 1997), pp. 14–33.
‘Urban Communities and Royal Finance in England During the Later Middle
Ages’, in Actes Colloqui Corona, Minicipis I Fiscalitat a la baixa Edat Mitjana, ed.
M. Sánchez and A. Furió (Lleida, 1997), pp. 45–60.
‘Accountability and Collegiality: The English Royal Secretariat in the Mid-
Fourteenth Century’, in Ecrit et Pouvoir dans les Chancelleries Médiévales, ed. K.
Fianu and D. J. Guth (Louvain la Neuve, 1997), pp. 54–85.

1999
With A. Musson, The Evolution of English Justice: Law, Politics and Society in the
Fourteenth Century (Basingstoke and New York, 1999).
‘Finance and Trade Under Richard II’, in Richard II: The Art of Kingship, ed. A.
Goodman and J. L. Gillespie (Oxford, 1999), pp. 155–86.
Editor, with M. Bonney and R. Bonney, Crises, Revolutions and Self-Sustained
Growth: Essays in European Fiscal History, 1130–1830 (Stamford, CT, 1999).
With M. Bonney, ‘Crises, Revolutions and Self-Sustained Growth: Towards a
Conceptual Model of Change in Fiscal History’, in Crises, Revolutions and
Self- Sustained Growth: Essays in European Fiscal History, 1130–1830, ed. W. M.
Ormrod, M. Bonney and R. Bonney (Stamford, CT, 1999), pp. 1–21.
‘England in the Middle Ages’, in The Rise of the Fiscal State in Europe, c. 1200–1815,
ed. R. Bonney (Oxford, 1999), pp. 19–52.

2000
Editor, with J. Bothwell and P. J. P. Goldberg, The Problem of Labour in Fourteenth-
Century England (Woodbridge, 2000).
344  The major writings of W. Mark Ormrod
‘England: Edward II and Edward III’, in The New Cambridge Medieval History VI
(c. 1300-c. 1415), ed. M. Jones (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 273–96.
‘Competing Capitals? York and London in the Fourteenth Century’, in Courts and
Regions in Medieval Europe, ed. S. Rees Jones, R. Marks and A. J. Minnis (Wood-
bridge, 2000), pp. 75–98.
‘The English State and the Plantagenet Empire, 1259–1360: A Fiscal Perspective’, in
The Medieval State: Essays Presented to James Campbell, ed. J. R. Maddicott and
D. M. Palliser (London, 2000), pp. 197–214.
‘In Bed with Joan of Kent: The King’s Mother and the Peasants’ Revolt’, in Medieval
Women: Texts and Contexts in Late Medieval Britain. Essays for Felicity Riddy, ed.
J. Wogan-Browne, R. Voaden, A. Diamond, A. Hutchison, C. M. Meale and L.
Johnson (Turnhout, 2000), pp. 277–92.
‘Richard II’s Sense of English History’, in The Reign of Richard II, ed. G. Dodd
(Stroud, 2000), pp. 97–110.

2001
Editor, with C. Humphrey, Time in the Medieval World (Woodbridge, 2001).
‘A Problem of Precedence: Edward III, the Double Monarchy, and the Royal Style’,
in The Age of Edward III, ed. J. S. Bothwell (Woodbridge, 2001), pp. 133–54.
‘Love and War in 1294’, in Thirteenth Century England VIII, ed. M. Prestwich, R.
Britnell, and R. Frame (Woodbridge, 2001), pp. 143–52.

2002
‘Fifty Glorious Years: Edward III and the First English Royal Jubilee’, Medieval
History, new series 1 (2002), 13–20.

2003
‘The Use of English: Language, Law, and Political Culture in Fourteenth-Century
England’, Speculum 78 (2003), 750–787.

2004
Editor, Fourteenth Century England III (Woodbridge, 2004).
Editor, with N. F. McDonald, Rites of Passage: Cultures of Transition in the Four-
teenth Century (Woodbridge, 2004).
‘Coming to Kingship: Boy Kings and the Passage to Power in Fourteenth-Century
England’, in Rites of Passage: Cultures of Transition in the Fourteenth Century, ed.
W. M. Ormrod and N. F. McDonald (Woodbridge, 2004), pp. 31–49.
‘Knights of Venus’, Medium Aevum 73 (2004), 290–305.
‘On – and off – the Record: The Rolls of Parliament, 1337–1377’, in Parchment and
People: Parliament in the Middle Ages, ed. L. Clark (Edinburgh, 2004), 39–56.
‘Monarchy, Martyrdom and Masculinity: England in the Later Middle Ages’, in
Holiness and Masculinity in the Middle Ages, ed. P. Cullum and K. Lewis (Cardiff,
2004), pp. 174–91.
 The major writings of W. Mark Ormrod  345
2005
Editor, with P. Brand, A. Curry, C. Given-Wilson, R. Horrox, G. H. Martin and J.
R. S. Phillips, The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England (Woodbridge, 2005), 16
vols, Ormrod as co-author of vol. 1, pp. 1–21, sole author of vol. 4, pp. 231–461,
and sole author of vol. 5, pp. 1–428.
‘The Royal Nursery: A Household for the Children of Edward III’, English Histori-
cal Review 120 (2005), 398–415.
‘For Arthur and St George: Edward III, Windsor Castle and the Order of the
Garter’, in St George’s Chapel Windsor in the Fourteenth Century, ed. N. Saul
(Woodbridge, 2005), pp. 13–34.
‘Law in the Landscape: Criminality, Outlawry and Regional Identity in Later Medi-
eval England’, in The Boundaries of the Law: Geography, Gender and Jurisdiction
in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. A. Musson (Aldershot, 2005), pp. 7–20.

2006
Editor, with R. Horrox, A Social History of England, 1200–1500 (Cambridge, 2006).
‘Robin Hood and Public Record: The Authority of Writing in the Medieval Outlaw
Tradition’, in Medieval Cultural Studies: Essays in Honour of Stephen Knight, ed.
R. Evans, H. Fulton and D. Matthews (Cardiff, 2006), pp. 57–74.
‘Who was Alice Perrers?’, Chaucer Review 40 (2006), 219–29.
‘The Sexualities of Edward II’, in The Reign of Edward II: New Perspectives, ed. G.
Dodd and A. Musson (York, 2006), pp. 22–47.

2007
‘An Archbishop in Revolt: Richard Scrope and the Yorkshire Rising of 1405’, in
Richard Scrope: Archbishop, Rebel, Martyr, ed. P. J. P. Goldberg (Donington,
2007), pp. 28–44.

2008
‘The King’s Secrets: Richard de Bury and the Monarchy of Edward III’, in War,
Government and Aristocracy in the British Isles, c. 1150–1500: Essays in Honour of
Michael Prestwich, ed. A. Kettle, C. Given Wilson and L. E. Scales (Woodbridge,
2008), pp. 163–78.
‘The Rebellion of Archbishop Scrope and the Tradition of Opposition to Royal Tax-
ation’, in The Reign of Henry IV: Rebellion and Survival, 1403–1413, ed. G. Dodd
and D. Biggs (Woodbridge, 2008), pp. 162–79.
‘The Road to Boroughbridge: The Civil War of 1321–2 in the Ancient Petitions’, in
Foundations of Medieval Scholarship: Records Edited in Honour of David Crook,
ed. P. Brand and S. Cunningham (York, 2008), pp. 77–88.
‘The Trials of Alice Perrers’, Speculum 83 (2008), 366–96.
‘Alice Perrers and John Salisbury’, English Historical Review 123 (2008), 379–93.
‘Poverty and Privilege: The Fiscal Burden in England (XIIIth–XVth centuries)’, in
La Fiscalità Nell’Economia Europea Secc. XIII-XVIII, ed. S. Cavaciocchi, 2 vols
(Prato, 2008), II, 637–56.
346  The major writings of W. Mark Ormrod
2009
Editor, with G. Dodd and A. Musson, Medieval Petitions: Grace and Grievance
(Woodbridge, 2009).
‘Introduction: Medieval Petitions in Context’, in Medieval Petitions: Grace and
Grievance, ed. W. M. Ormrod, G. Dodd and A. Musson (Woodbridge, 2009),
pp. 1–11.
‘Murmur, Clamour and Noise: Voicing Complaint and Remedy in Petitions to the
English Crown, c. 1300–c. 1460’, in Medieval Petitions: Grace and Grievance, ed.
W. M. Ormrod, G. Dodd and A. Musson (Woodbridge, 2009), pp. 135–55.
‘The Language of Complaint: Multilingualism and Petitioning in Later Medieval
England’, in Language and Culture in Medieval Britain: The French of England, c.
1100–1500, ed. J. Wogan-Browne, C. Collette, M. Kowaleski, L. Mooney, A. D.
Putter, and D. Trotter (York, 2009), pp. 31–43.
‘The Origins of Tunnage and Poundage: Parliament and the Estate of Merchants in
the Fourteenth Century’, Parliamentary History 28 (2009), 209–27.
‘The New Political History: Recent Trends in the Historiography of Later Medie-
val England’, in New Approaches to the History of Late Medieval and Early Mod-
ern Europe: Selected Proceedings of Two International Conferences at the Royal
Danish Academy of Sciences and Letters in Copenhagen in 1997 and 1999, ed.
T. Dahlerup and P. Ingesman (Copenhagen, 2009), pp. 37–59.

2010
‘Parliament, Political Economy and State Formation in Later Medieval England’,
in Power and Persuasion: Essays on the Art of State Building in Honour of W. P.
Blockmans, ed. P. Hoppenbrouwers, A. Janse and R. Stein (Turnhout, 2010), pp.
123–39.
‘Queenship, Death and Agency: The Commemorations of Isabella of France and
Philippa of Hainault’, in Memory and Commemoration in Medieval England:
Proceedings of the 2008 Harlaxton Symposium, ed. C. M. Barron and C. Burgess
(Donington, 2010), pp. 87–103.

2011
Edward III (New Haven, CT/London, 2011).
‘Government Records: Fiscality, Archives and the Economic Historian’, in Dove va
la Storia Economica?/Where is Economic History Going? Methods and Prospects
from the 13th to the 18th Centuries, ed. F. Ammannati (Prato, 2011), pp. 197–224.

2012
Editor, Fourteenth Century England VII (Woodbridge, 2012).
‘Hatfield the Politician’, in Thomas Hatfield: Bishop, Soldier and Politician, ed. A.
Bash (Toronto, 2012), pp. 21–34.
‘The Good Parliament of 1376: Commons, Communes, and “Common Profit” in
Fourteenth-Century English Politics’, in Comparative Perspectives on History and
 The major writings of W. Mark Ormrod  347
Historians: Essays in Memory of Bryce Lyon (1920–2007), ed. D. Nicholas, B. S.
Bachrach and J. M. Murray (Kalamazoo, MI, 2012), pp. 169–88.
‘Needy Knights and Wealthy Widows: The Encounters of John Cornewall and Let-
tice Kirriel, 1378–1382’, in The Medieval Python: The Purposive and Provocative
Work of Terry Jones, ed. R. F. Yeager and T. Takamiya (New York/Basingstoke,
2012), pp. 137–49.
‘John Mandeville, Edward III, and the King of Inde’, Chaucer Review 46 (2012),
314–39.

2013
‘Parliamentary Scrutiny of Royal Ministers and Courtiers in Fourteenth-Century
England: The Disgrace of Sir John Atte Lee (1368)’, in Law, Governance and Jus-
tice: New Views on Medieval Constitutionalism, ed. R. W. Kaeuper (Leiden, 2013),
pp. 161–88.
‘The English Monarchy and the Promotion of Religion in the Fourteenth Century’,
in Religion and Politics in the Middle Ages: Germany and England by Comparison,
ed. L. Körntgen and D. Waßenhoven, Prince Albert Studies 29 (Berlin, 2013),
pp. 205–18.
‘Henry V and the English Taxpayer’, in Henry V: New Interpretations, ed. G. Dodd
(York, 2013), pp. 187–216.
‘Afterword’, in Clergy, Church and Society in England and Wales, c. 1200–1800, ed.
R. C. E. Hayes and W. J. Sheils (York, 2013), pp. 175–8.

2014
‘Friend of Foe? Foreigners in England in the Later Middle Ages’, The Historian 124
(2014), 12–17.

2015
‘Man under the Montacutes’, in A New History of the Isle of Man, III: The Medieval
Period, 1000–1406, ed. S. Duffy and H. Mytum (Liverpool, 2015), pp. 151–69.
With B. Lambert, ‘Friendly Foreigners: International Warfare, Resident Aliens and
the Early History of Denization in England, c. 1250-c. 1400’, English Historical
Review 130 (2015), 1–24.
‘The King’s Mercy: An Attribute of Later Medieval English Monarchy’, in La Légit-
imité Implicite: Le Pouvoir Symbolique en Occident (1300–1640), ed. J.-P. Genet.
2 vols (Paris, 2015), II, 321–35.
‘“Common Profit” and “The Profit of the King and Kingdom”: Parliament and
the Development of Political Language in England, 1250–1450’, Viator 46 (2015),
219–52.

2016
Editor, with P. Crooks and D. Green, The Plantagenet Empire, 1259–1453, Harlax-
ton Medieval Studies XXVI (Donington, 2016).
348  The major writings of W. Mark Ormrod
With P. Crooks and D. Green, ‘The Plantagenets and Empire in the Later Middle
Ages’, in The Plantagenet Empire, 1259–1453, Harlaxton Medieval Studies XXVI,
ed. W. M. Ormrod, P. Crooks and D. Green (Donington, 2016), pp. 1–34.
‘The Foundation and Early Development of the Order of the Garter in England,
1348–1399’, Frühmittelalterliche Studien 50 (2016), 361–92.
‘The DNA of Richard III: False Paternity and the Royal Succession in Later Medi-
eval England’, Nottingham Medieval Studies 60 (2016), 197–236.
With B. Lambert, ‘A Matter of Trust: The Royal Regulation of England’s French
Residents During Wartime, 1294–1377’, Historical Research 89 (2016), 208–26.

2017
Editor, with N. McDonald and C. Taylor, Resident Aliens in Later Medieval Eng-
land, Studies in European Urban History (1100–1800), 42 (Turnhout, 2017).
With J. Mackman, ‘Resident Aliens in Later Medieval England: Sources, Contexts,
and Debates’, in Resident Aliens in Later Medieval England, Studies in European
Urban History (1100–1800), 42, ed. W. M. Ormrod, N. McDonald and C. Taylor
(Turnhout, 2017), pp. 3–31.
With H. Killick and P. Bradford, Early Common Petitions in the English Parliament,
c. 1290-c. 1420, Royal Historical Society Camden Series, 5th series 52 (2017).
‘Pardon, Parliament and Political Performance in Later Medieval England’, in
Prowess, Piety and Public Order in Medieval Society: Studies in Honour of Richard
W. Kaeuper, ed. C. M. Nakashian and D. P. Franke (Leiden, 2017), pp. 301–20.
‘French Residents in England at the Start of the Hundred Years War: Learning Eng-
lish, Speaking English and Becoming English in 1346’, in The French of Medieval
England: Essays in Honour of Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, ed. T. Fenster and C. P.
Collette (Woodbridge, 2017), pp. 190–205.

2019
With B. Lambert and J. Mackman, Immigrant England, 1300–1550 (Manchester,
2019).
‘How Do We Find Out About Immigrants in Later Medieval England?’, in Whose
Middle Ages? Teachable Moments for an Ill-Used Past, ed. A. Albin, M. C. Ehler,
T. O’Donnell, L. P. Nicholas and N. Rowe (New York, 2019), pp. 69–79.
‘Memory, Genealogy and Nationality in Plantagenet England: The Plugenet and
Walerand Estates, 1265–1368’, in Fourteenth Century England XI, ed. D. Green
and C. Given-Wilson (Woodbridge, 2019), pp. 77–107.

2020
Women and Parliament in Later Medieval England (London, 2020).
Editor, with J. Story and E. M. Tyler, Migrants in Medieval England, c. 500–c. 1500
(Oxford, 2020).
With J. Story and E. M. Tyler, ‘Framing Migration in Medieval England’, in Mi-
grants in Medieval England, c. 500–c. 1500, ed. W. M. Ormrod, J. Story and E. M.
Tyler (Oxford, 2020), pp. 1–18.
 The major writings of W. Mark Ormrod  349
With B. Lambert, ‘The State and the Immigrant: Negotiating Nationalities in Later
Medieval England’, in Migrants in Medieval England, c. 500–c. 1500, ed. W. M.
Ormrod, J. Story and E. M. Tyler (Oxford, 2020), pp. 298–325.
‘England’s Immigrants, 1330–1550: Aliens in Later Medieval and Early Tudor Eng-
land’, Journal of British Studies 59 (2020), 1–19.
‘Enmity or Amity? The Status of French Immigrants to England during an Age of
War, c. 1290–c. 1540’, History 105 (2020), 28–59.

2021
Winner and Waster and its Contexts: Chivalry, Law and Economics in Fourteenth-
Century England (Woodbridge, 2021).
Index

Note: Bold page numbers refer to tables; italic page numbers refer to figures and
page numbers followed by ‘n’ denote footnotes.

Abberford, Laurence de 160 Aragon, king of

abbeys of, Bath 162; Battle 163, 168; James II 177–83, 185–8, 190–2
Margam 287; Crowland 30, 165; Arts and Humanities Research Council
Glastonbury 276; Kirkstall (AHRC) 3, 11, 17
313n43; Melrose 79; Quarr 161; Arundel, earl of
Ramsey 163, 167–9; Rufford 27, Richard 80, 86, 141, 237, 238, 239
28n21; St Albans 167; Gloucester Arundel, Thomas see York,
292, 294; Caen 272; Welbeck 166; archbishop of
Westminster 75, 77, 78, 80–4, 161n27, Assheton, Sir John 272
197, 241, 287 Audinges, Gregory de 165
Acta de Houke 142, 143, 147 Audley, Thomas 108
Aers, David 68 Aune, William 45
AHRC see Arts and Humanities Austin, Thomas 317
Research Council (AHRC) Aylesham, Robert de 158
Alençon, duke of; John II
324, 325 Badlesmere, Bartholomew de 41
Alexander III, see Scotland, king of Badoer, Andrea 337
Almain rolls 270 Bagot, Sir William 239
Alphonso Psalter 292, 292n29, 292n31, Baker, Geoffrey le 293
292n32 Baldwin, James 230, 230n6
Ambühl, Rémy 334 Balearic Islands 177
‘Ancient Petitions’ 11, 14, 23, 37 Balliol, John see Scotland, king of
Andrewe, William 98, 100 Banham, Alan de 159
Anglesey 159 Bardfeld, John 94, 100
Angoulême, Edward of 309 Bardney, John Hainton of 169
Angoulême, Isabella of see England, Barker, Henry 106
queen of Barker, Nicholas, of Worksop 48
Angularia, Sibylla de 181 Barlaam et Josaphat 248n4, 252, 257,
Anonimalle Chronicle 212, 213, 257n31, 258–9
213n24, 214, 215n36, 216–17, Barlings, Robert le Somter of 50
219, 286 Barron, Caroline 58
Appellant, Lords 81, 86, 87, 163, 233, Barton-upon-Humber 23–34
238, 239, 315, 318 Bary, Walter 315
Aquitaine 96, 97, 205, 240, 250, 275, Basin, Thomas 328, 330, 331, 337
305, 305n3, 306 Bates, David 265
Aragon, Isabella of see Portugal, Bath and Wells, bishop of
queen of John Droxford 231
352 Index
Batour, John 142 Bordeaux, Richard of see England,
battles of, Boroughbridge 40, 292; king of
Castillon 325, 328, 331, 337; Crécy Bordiu, Jean de 271
211, 211n12, 221–3, 232; Nájera 313; Boulogne, Declaration of 202
Nicopolis 260; Patay 325, 328, 336; Boun, Rauf de 204
Verneuil 324 Bouvier, Gilles Le 331
Bavaria, Louis of 185, 189–91 Bovet, Honorat 334
Bayeux Tapestry 265, 272–4, Brabant, duke of
276, 277 John II 301
Beauchamp, Roger 217 Brabant, Margaret of 180
Beauchamp, Thomas see Brabazon, Roger 200
Warwick, earl of Brantingham, Thomas 239
Beauchamp, William 312 Braybrooke, Robert 239, 312
Beaufort, Henry see Winchester, Brayton, Thomas de 167, 168
bishop of Brembre, Nicholas 79, 80, 81, 86
Beaufort, Margaret 315 Brétigny, treaty of 232, 309
Beaumanoir, Jean de 310 Breton, Joan 124, 125
Beaumont, Henry de 28, 28n21 Breton, Nicholas 126
Bedale, John de 199, 200n31 Breton, Philip 123
Bedford, countess of Bristol Channel 286, 287
Isabella of Woodstock 250 Brocas, Sir Bernard 239, 310n25
Bedford, duke of Brokholes, John 276n54
John I 266, 271, 275, 325, 326, Brok, Robert de 158
326n14, 327 Brown, Thomas 102
Bedford, John 169 Bruce, Robert see Scotland,
Beerbrewer, Edmund 94, 99 king of
Belagh, Adam de 163 Bueil, Jean de 328–9, 334
Belhus, Thomas de 202 Burgess, Clive 93, 100, 105
Bellamy, John 48 Burgh, Elizabeth de 166
Benedictine Order 157, 162, 163, 171, Burghersh, Henry see Lincoln, bishop of
212 Burgh, Philip de 28
Bennett, Judith 66 Burgundy, duke of
Bennett, Michael 218 Philip the Bold 236n35
Berkeley, Sir Thomas de 286–9, 289n20, Philip the Good 334, 334n70
292, 296–300, 302 Burley, Sir Simon 79, 81, 86, 314
Bishops Waltham 31 Burton, Robert de 24–5, 38
Black Death 9, 12, 33 Bury, Richard de 16
Black Prince, see Woodstock, Bury, Thomas 161
Edward of Bushy, Sir John 239
Blacwell, John de 48 Byrmyngham, Roger de 159
Blaston, Thomas de 167, 168 Byzantium 179
Blondel, Robert 329
Blundel, Richard 165 Cadeby, Richera of 39, 40
Blyborough, William 200, 201 Cadeby, William of 37–9, 41–3, 45,
Bodmyn, Vincentius de 160 46n50, 47–52
Bohemia, Anne of see England, Caen 272, 273, 275, 278, 324
queen of Caillou, Foious de 38
Bohemia, king of Cake, William 142–5, 146n37,
John 190 147, 150, 153
Bohun, Humphrey de see Calabria, Charles of 185
Hereford, earl of Calderiis, Blanca de 184, 186–9
Bokeland, Richard 271 Calveley, Sir Hugh 140, 141, 149
Bolingbroke, Henry see England, king of Campbell, James 2
Boor, John 83 Camus, Philippe 335
 Index  353
Canterbury 67, 68, 78, 84, 85, 87, 160, Clere, Roger de 24–6, 33
286n6, 313 Clèves, Marie de 259, 260
Canterbury, archbishop of Clifford, Lewis 311, 312
John Pecham 164 Clif, John de 47
John Stratford 231 Cligés (Troyes) 253
Simon Sudbury 217 Clok, Richard 138
Thomas Arundel see York, Clopham, William Tabellere of 142
archbishop of Colchester 62, 92, 94–104, 106–8, 110,
The Canterbury Tales see Chaucer, 111; siege of 92
Geoffrey Coldingham (Berwickshire) 165, 169
Cardona, Bonanat 186, 188 Colley, John de 48
Carlisle 159, 166, 198, 215 Colley, William de 39, 47
Carnwath, Julia 103 Collyns, Gilles 124
Carpenter, Edmund 101 Constance, John of 186, 191
Carthusians 310 continual councils 80, 85, 314
Castelton, Simon 167 Copanford, Nicholas de 166
Castile 177, 181, 232 Copledyke, Alan de 39
Castillon 324, 325, 328, 329, Cornwall 30, 115, 117, 118, 118n16,
331–4, 336, 337 119–23, 125, 127, 128, 128n66, 129,
castle of, Bristol 286; Conwy 88; Corfe 138n16, 166
78, 296–8, 301; Dublin 88; Nottingham Cornwall, earl of
84, 85, 86, 86, 87; Pontefract 88; Raby Piers Gaveston 41, 194, 201, 203,
213; Windsor 80, 82, 85, 221 203n50, 231
Cateby, William de 50 Coucy, Enguerrand de 251, 252n18
Caunton, John 160 Coucy, Sire de 250
Chabannes, Jacques de 333 Coupegorge, John 123
Chamberlain, John 275 Cretyng, Hugh de 165
Chambre des comptes 273, 277, 278 Crist, Thomas 158
Champion, Hugh 153 Crook, David 39
chancery 12, 25, 38, 39, 97, 168, 234, Curson, Richard 333
236, 266–70, 272–8 Cyprus 260
Channel Islands 270
Charlemagne 333 Dalton, Adam de 160
Charles, duke of Orléans 259–60 Darcy, John 38
Charles V see France, king of D’Arcy, John 287
Charles VI see France, king of d’Aubigny, William 26
Charles VII see France, king of d’Auvergne, Martial 333, 334
charter of liberties 65 Davynell, Giles 310
Chartier, Jean 327, 331–2 Dax, John de 166
Chaucer, Geoffrey Dentença, Gombald 179
The Canterbury Tales 58, 68, 277 Derlyng, Thomas 274
Chaworth, Laurence de 38 Despenser, Edward Lord 138
Chestan, Robert 161 Despenser, Hugh see Winchester, earl of
Chester, Richard de 167, 168 Devereux, John 314
Chillenden, Walter 164 Deveril, John 298
Chronica Maiora (Paris) 213, 214 Devon 115–17, 117n7, 117n8, 118,
Chronicle of the Grey Friars of Lynn 309 118n16, 119, 120, 124–9, 138n16
Chronicon Angliae 213–14, 293 Dodd, Gwilym 84, 240
Chronique d’Angleterre 294 Doig, James A. 64
Clanvowe, Sir John 312, 312n36 Doncaster, John de 38, 38n6
Clarence, duke of Droxford, John 203, 231
Thomas of Lancaster 273 Dru, Lawrence 240
Clark, Peter 66 Dryer, Robert 163
Clement V see Pope Du Guesclin, Bertrand 333
354 Index
Dunois, Jean de 329 Margaret of Anjou 324
Dunstable Chronicler 65 Philippa of Hainault 308, 309n19,
Durant, John 126 310, 314
Durham 79, 124, 159, 164–6, 169 England’s Immigrants database (EIDB)
Thomas Rome of 169 115–17
Eseby, John 166
Edenham (Lincolnshire) 27, 28 Essex 59, 61–2, 67, 94, 96, 107, 108, 240,
Edward I see England, king of 250, 251
Edward II see England, king of Evesham, Thomas de 167
Edward III see England, king of Evringham, Sir Thomas 331
Edward IV see England, king of exchequer 8, 23, 33, 168, 169, 199, 204,
EIDB see England’s Immigrants 205, 236, 237, 288; attorneys at the
database (EIDB) 158–60; seal 271
Ellesmere, Hamo Lestrange of 195, Exeter, duke of
195n7 John Holand 314
Ellis, William 216 Thomas Beaufort 277
Eltham, John of 231
Emperor, Farthing, William 138
Frederick III 177, 180, 181, 183–7, Fastolf, Sir John 271, 324–37, 326n9,
189–91 326n12
Leopold of Austria 185, 189–91 Felton, Sibyl de 249, 249n5, 250–51,
Ludwig IV 301 259, 260
England, king of Felton, Sir Thomas 250
Edward I 15, 16, 45, 194, 196, 196n11, Feribrigg, Hugh 160
196n12, 197–9, 201–3, 203n55, 205, Ferre, Guy 200
221, 223n66, 232, 270, 299, 310, 312 Ferrers, Robert de 195, 196, 196n10
Edward II 194–206, 224, 231, 270, Fieschi, Luke 300
285–302, 285n2, 286, 286n6, Fieschi, Manuel de 300
287, 289, 290, 292, 293, 294, 295, Fieschi, Nicolino de 300, 301
295n41, 296, 296n42, 297n44, 298, Finke, Heinrich 179
299, 302, 308 FitzAlan, Brian 203
Edward III 2, 209, 211, 211n9, 218, 220, FitzHugh, John 201
221, 224, 229, 231, 234, 235, 238, 239, Flamstede, Nicholas de 167
247, 251, 261, 265, 270, 271, 288, Flanders 232
292, 296, 299–301, 308, 309n19 Flannery, Mary 307
Edward IV 325 Flores Historiarum (Paris) 286n6, 289
Henry III 194–6 Folkingham (Lincolnshire) 27, 28
Henry IV 9, 81, 123, 230n8, 240, 275, Fordham, John 314
307, 317 Ford, Judy Ann 98
Henry V 265–79, 336 France, Isabella of see England,
Henry VI 326, 335n77 queen of
Henry VII 183–5 France, king of
Richard I 221 Charles V 251
Richard II 63, 75–88, 213, 214, Charles VI 266
229–36, 236n35, 240, 242, 251, Charles VII 329, 330, 333, 334
296n42, 306, 309, 314 Louis XI 333
England, queen of Philip IV 183, 196, 205, 333
Anne of Bohemia 77, 78, 83, 251, 309, France, queen of
314, 315 Blanche of Navarre 252, 252n21,
Eleanor of Castile 196n12, 197, 200 253n25, 257n29
Elizabeth Woodville 307 Franciscans 84, 312
Isabella of Angoulême 306–7 Frederick III of Austria see Emperor
Isabella of France 198, 292, 307, Frederick III of Sicily see Sicily, king of
312, 314 Freeman, Robert 101
 Index  355
French, Katherine 103 Halton, John de 160
French rolls 268, 270, 271 Hampshire 30, 75, 78, 116, 117, 150,
Froissart, Jean 211n12, 251, 305, 165, 239
306, 317 Hanna, Ralph 66
Hanseatic merchants 96
Galeys, William le 301 Haralt, Philip 160
Gallifa, Bertrand de 187 Harfleur 265, 271, 275, 276
Gand, Gilbert de 27, 28 Harleton, Richard 163
Garcesius, John 182 Hasele, John 163
Gascon rolls 268, 273 Haverford 160
Gascony 309 Heale, Martin 171
Gaunt, John of see Lancaster, duke of Helphy, Jean 328
Gaveston, Piers see Cornwall, earl of Henry III see England, king of
Gelham, Robert de 166 Henry IV see England, king of
Gerard, Simon 104 Henry V see England, king of
Germain, Alexandre 300 Henry VI see England, king of
Gerston, William de 27 Henry VII see England, king of
Given-Wilson, Chris 17, 241, 294n38 Herald, Berry 327, 331, 332
Gloucester 77, 292, 294, 295, 296, 297 Herald, Chandos 306, 313
Gloucester, duke of Hereford, earl of
Humphrey, 272 Humphrey de Bohun 44, 45, 202,
Thomas of Woodstock 80, 86, 233, 292, 292n32
236n35, 238, 239, 240 Hermanson, Edmund 92–111
Gloucester, earl of Hermanson, Elizabeth 107
Gilbert de Clare 196, 199 Hetirsete, Richard de 167
Gloucester, William of 239 Higden, Ranulf 293
Godeshalue, John de 48 Hillary, Roger 167, 168
Godolphin, Sir William 123, Hindolveston, Nicholas de 158
123n43 Hine, T. C. 85
Goodman, Anthony 224, Holand, John see Exeter,
224n72, 306 duke of
Gough, Matthew 329 Holand, Robert de 46
Grandison, Sir Otto de 206 Holand, Thomas 308, 312
Grantham, John Kygge of 42 Holland, John 79
Greatrex, Joan 162 Holland, Sir Thomas 88, 305, 316
Great Seal 230, 234, 271, 287n12 Hook (Hampshire) 137–54
Gregory XI see Pope Hook Mortimer 137
Gretford, John 167, 169 Hook Valence 137
Grey, Reginald de 195 Hotham, Thomas de 42
Grossel, M.-G. 253n23, 257n29 Houton, Robert de 28
Gruel, Guillaume 327 Humber 23, 24, 26, 30, 166
Gruffydd, David ap 205 Hundred Years War 119, 232, 309,
Gruffydd, Llewelyn ap 205 324, 337
Gruffudd, Rhys ap 287 Hyde, John Chaworth of 169
Gunnild, Robert 48
Gurney, Sir Thomas 292, 298 Inge, William 201
Guyn, Maurice 234 Ingham, Oliver of 200
Ireland, duchess of
Hainault, Philippa of see England, Philippa de Vere 247–61
queen of Ireland, duke of
Haliden, Robert de 164 Robert de Vere 78–82, 250,
Hall, Edward 336 252n19
Halle, Henry 123 Isle of Axholme 50
Hallum, Robert 146 Isle of Wight 161
356 Index
Joan of Arc 308, 312n38, 313, 314, Lincoln 25, 26, 39, 41–3, 50–2, 80, 160,
314n53, 315, 316, 325, 330, 333, 336 163, 195, 195n5, 196, 196n12, 198,
Joce, John 234 198n26, 199–205, 203n50, 203n56,
Johnson, Adrian 108 204, 205
Johnstone, Hilda 200, 201 Lincoln, bishop of
Justice, Steven 57 Henry Burghersh 41
Lincoln, earl of
Kelsey, Robert de 24, 25 Henry de Lacy 42, 194–206, 195n5
Kemp, John 266, 275 Lincolnshire 25–8, 30, 31, 39–43, 45, 46,
Kempe, Margery 148 46n50, 50–2, 166, 239
Kent 61 Llull, Peter 179–82, 184, 187
Kent, Joan of 14, 77, 317, 318 Llwyd, Gruffydd 287
Kent, earl of Loan, Philippe de 334, 335
Edmund of Woodstock 308 Longchamp, Henry de 28
Killick, Helen 11 Loose, John Cote of 67
King’s Bench 24, 25, 32, 33, 48, Louches, Marion 315
168, 200 Louis XI see France, king of
Kingston 164 Lusceby, Nicholas de 164
Knighton, Henry 56n1, 305n2, 306, 311 Lutterel, Andrew 315
Knowles, David 171 Lutterel, Elizabeth 315
Knyvet, John 215 Lydford, John 139
Lyons, Richard 216
Lacy, Henry de see Lincoln, earl of
Lakenheath (Suffolk) 164 Madden, Sir Frederick 204
The Lament of Edward II 289 Male, Margaret de 232
Lancaster, Blanche of 307, 309n19, 312 Maltravers, John 288
Lancaster, duchess of Malvern, John de 163
Katherine Swynford 307 Manyturn, John 103
Lancaster, duke of Maple, William 138, 139, 144, 149,
John of Gaunt 67, 138–40, 149, 209n4, 150, 153
212–14, 214n34, 215–18, 222, 224, March, earl of
232, 233, 235, 236n35, 238, 240, 242, Edmund Mortimer 138, 149
309n19, 311, 314, 315, 317 Roger Mortimer 75, 296, 298–9, 301
Lancaster, earl of Mare, Thomas de la 218, 219
Edmund Crouchback 194, 197, 205–6, Maredudd, Rhys ap 205
252n21 Marney, Henry 106
Henry, 3rd earl 298 Marney, John 106
Thomas, 2nd earl 41, 44, 88, 196n10, Maulay, Peter III de 27
201, 203, 204, 206 McDonald, Nicola 14
Lancecrona, Agnes 251 Melton, William see York, archbishop of
Langley, Edmund of see York, duke of Mepeham II, John de 159
Langrish, John 139 Mere, Margery 315
Langtoft, Peter 291 Meung-Sur-Loire 325
La Rochelle 232 Michol, John 142, 143, 149–51
Latimer, Lord 216, 217 Middleton, Thomas 236
Lawne, Penny 306 Mitford, Richard 237
Legassie, Shane 61, 67 Monstrelet, Enguerrand de 327, 329,
Leicester 79, 82 332, 334n70
Lellay, Ralph de 31 Montague, John see Salisbury, earl of
Le Mans 329 Montague, William see Salisbury, earl of
Leopold of Austria see Emperor Montfort, John de 123
Leure, Thomas 52 Monthermer, Ralph de 199, 199n27
Leverton, John de 159, 160 Montier-en-Der, Adso of 259
Levingthorp, Simon de 165 Mora, John de 48
 Index  357
Mora, Peter de 48 Paris, Matthew: Chronica Maiora 213,
Morgan, Philip 274, 275 214; Flores Historiarum 286n6, 289
Morley, Sir Thomas 250 parliament 13, 15, 33, 41, 77, 80, 81, 82,
Mortimer, Edmund see March, earl of 84, 86, 108, 140, 160–2, 167, 169, 200,
Mortimer, Ian 216, 218, 285, 297, 202, 209–14, 216, 218, 223, 224, 230–2,
297n44, 299, 299n55, 300, 300n60, 236, 238–42, 290, 299, 300n60; at
301, 301n63 Northampton 47, 203; at York 37, 40
Mortimer, Roger see March, earl of Commons 10–12, 63, 145, 209–20,
Morys, Philip 124, 126 223, 224, 231, 239, 240, 242
Mosdale, John de 234 common petitions 210, 219, 224, 240
Mowbray, John de 42 parliamentary proctors 160
Mowbray, Thomas see Norfolk, duke of Labourers, Statute of 1352 33, 60
Murimuth, Adam 286, 288n16, 298 Pleading, Statute of 1362 11
Mynster, Ambrosius 98, 98n37 Parving, Robert 167, 168
Pasqualigo, Lorenzo 337
Naples, king of Patay 325–8, 330, 336
Robert 185, 190 Payn, John, of Warsop 48
Navarre, Blanche de see France, Payn, William, of Warsop 48
queen of Peasants’ Revolt 12, 14, 306, 311, 316
Neville, William 312 Pecche, Sir John 216, 299n55
Nichols, Sir Nicholas 230 Peel, Clipstone 47
Norfolk, duke of Perrers, Alice 14, 40, 42, 194,
Thomas Mowbray 78, 81, 238 195n7, 196n10, 197, 209n2, 216,
Norman Conquest 75 219, 307
Normandy 196, 265–7, 270–9, 308, 329 Pembroke 206, 231
Norman rolls 265–79 Pembroke, earl of
Northamptonshire 46 Aymer de Valence 231
Northumberland, earl of Penec, Peter le 123
Henry Percy 62, 143, 166, 215, 217, Percy, Henry see Northumberland,
236, 237, 239 earl of
Norwich 163, 164 Percy, Sir Thomas 140
Nottinghamshire 38, 39, 42, 45, 46, 48, Perient, John 123
51, 59, 166 Peverel, Johanetta 315
Nouny, William de 199 Philip the Fair see France, king of
Phillips, Seymour 40, 202
Ockley, William 298 Piper, Alan 162
Olney, John 160 Pizan, Christine de 307
Osbern, William 138 Plymner, Alan 124
Oseney 162, 163 Poke, John 126
Overton, Thomas 326 Pole, Alice de la see Suffolk, duchess of
Owmby, Thomas of 37–9, 41–3, 45, Pole, Katherine de la 259, 260
46n50, 47–50, 52 Pole, Michael de la see Suffolk, earl of
Owmby, Walter of 40, 41, 47 Pole, William la see Suffolk, duke of
Owyng, Thomas de 159 Polwycke, Lambert 102
Oxford, countess of Pontoise 274, 324, 329, 330
Maud de Vere 251, 252n18 Popes
Oxford, earl of Boniface IX 145, 149, 234
Aubrey de Vere 236 Clement V 183
Oysel, Richard 23–8, 28n19, 29, Gregory XI 138, 139, 140, 311
31–3, 201 Urban V 138
Urban VI 83
Padua, Marsilius of 222 Popham, Sir John 272
Palterton, John of 38–9, 47, 48 Portugal, queen of
Pantin, William 162 Isabella of Aragon 177, 178n6
358 Index
Postan, Michael 29 Saunder, Hugo 143
Prescott, Andrew 66 Sayles, G. O. 210
Pyke, John 167 Scales, Thomas Lord 325
Pyriton, William de 159 Scarle, John 236
Scotland, king of
Raddington, Sir Baldwin 82, 86 Alexander III 205
Radway, Janice 260 Balliol, John 205
Rempston, Sir Thomas 325 Bruce, Robert 45n44, 205, 285n2
Retford 38, 42, 43, 51 Scrope, Richard 9, 10
Reyersh, William de 158 Scrope, Sir Henry 215
Reynolds, Walter 200, 201 Scrope, Sir William 83, 86, 87
Ricehas, Nicole 250 Secheville, Ralph de 28
Richard I see England, king of Segrave, Sir Hugh 314
Richard II see England, king of Selby 161, 165, 166
Richardson, H. G. 210 Shareshull, William de 167, 168
Robertson, Kellie 60 Shirle, John 61, 66
Roman roll 270 Shropshire 46, 333n61
Romsey, John de 141 Sicily 177, 185, 260
Roskell, J. S. 210, 211n10 Sicily, king of
Rouclife, Peter de 165 Frederick III 179
Rouen 266, 267, 271, 274–6, 276n50, Smith, David 286, 288, 297, 300
324, 329, 333, 333n61 Smyth, William 109
Rudyng, Thomas de 165 Somery, John de 43–7, 47n57
Rumbold, Edmund 98 Southworth, Richard 277
Rushook, Thomas 79 Spellowe, Robert 271
Russel, Robert 38 Staffordshire 43, 46
Rus, William de 26 Stafford, Sir Richard 138, 215,
Rymer, T. 267 313, 314
Stapleton, John de 201
Sadington, Robert 167, 168 Stapleton, Miles de 200n31, 201
Saluzzo, Philip of 183, 184 Stavelay, Walter 167
Savoy, Amadeus of 185 Stenton, F. M. 58
Selby, Geoffrey Gaddesby of 161 Stokes, John 276
St Albans, Richard Hethersett of 161 Stopyndon, John 276, 276n58,
St David 215 277, 279
St Edmund 77 Stowe, William de 167, 168
St Eulales 255 Strohm, Paul 64, 68, 317
St James 331 Sturgeon, Richard 275, 276n50
St Leonard 164 Stury, Richard 312
St Leonard-at-the-Hythe 98–105 Suffolk, duchess of
St Louis 333 Alice de la Pole 259, 260
St Syncletica 254 Suffolk, duke of
St Thomas 257 William de la Pole 259
St Thomas the Martyr 160 Suffolk, earl of
Salisbury, bishop of Michael de la Pole 79–80, 138, 311
John Waltham 75, 82, 83 Summerson, Henry 49, 50, 51n80
Salisbury, earl of Sutton, John de 43, 43n36
John Montague 141, 149 Swaffham (Norfolk) 164
William Montague 239, 305, 308 Swanlond, Simon 298
Sancto Andrea, Roger de 38 Swillington, Adam of 50
Sant Alberto di Butrio 297 Swynford, Katherine see Lancaster,
Sapera, Alamanda 185–8, 188n42 duchess of
Saul, Nigel 75 Swynton, Thomas 166
 Index  359
Talbot, George 337 Wallace, William 205
Talbot, Jehan de 335 Wallingford, Richard of 161
Talbot, John 324–37, 334n70, 334n72, Walsingham, Thomas 56n1, 57, 62,
336n83 62n27, 67, 213, 241, 305n2, 306, 311,
Tattersall, Robert de 28 316, 317; Historia Vitae et Regni
Tebbit, Alistair 45 Ricardi Secundi 314n53
Teutonic Order 180 Walwyan, Philip 239
The National Archives (TNA) 11, 23, Warner, Kathryn 285, 286n4,
158, 161 297n44, 298
Thevet, André 332, 333 Warner, Stephen le 24, 25
Thokerington, Nicholas de 165 Warsop 37, 38, 42–3, 45, 47–9, 51
Thorney, Alan Kirkton of 161 Warwick, earl of
Thorney, John de 139 Thomas Beauchamp 80, 86, 138, 215,
Thynford, John de 159 236, 238, 239
Tickhill 45 Waryn, William 140, 140n12, 141, 150
Tideman, Robert 83 Watts, D. G. 137
Tintern, John, of Malmesbury 161 Watts, John 13, 13n37, 223
Tiptoft, Sir John 273, 273n38 Waugh, Scott 48
Titchfield 75, 82, 137–42, 144–8, 150, 151–4 Wavrin, Jean de 294, 294, 326,
Titchfield, abbot of 326n14, 327
Richard Aubrey 148 Welsh rolls 270
TNA see The National Archives (TNA) Werken, Theodoric 103
Torksey 43 Westminster Chronicler 315
Tothby, Gilbert of 27, 28, 40–1 Weston, William de 163
Tout, T. F. 210, 229, 230 Whalley (Lancashire) 161
Tresilian, Robert 80 Whatton, Richard de 48
Trethak, Thomas 163 Wheeler, Robert 138, 139, 140n12
Tringant, Guillaume 327–9 Willingham 41, 41n26, 42
Trokelowe, John 206 Willoughby, Robert de 28
Troyes, Chrétien de 253n25; Cligés 253 Wiltshire 116, 117, 117n7, 117n8
Troyes, treaty of 266, 267, 269, 271, Winchester, bishop of
271n27, 274, 275 Henry Beaufort 148
Turri, Bartholomew de 187 William of Wykeham 137–41, 146,
149, 150, 216, 216n42, 217, 236,
Usk, Adam 305n2, 306, 315, 317 239, 312
Valence, Aymer de see Pembroke, earl of Winchester, earl of
Valente, Claire 63 Hugh Despenser 201
Valois, Katherine de 307 Wingfield, John 313
Vangilesburgh, William 97 Wintrington, Geoffrey de 160
Vautier, Charles 278 Wisbech (Cambridgeshire) 164
Veleville, Sir Roland 123 Wittlebury, John 239
Verduyn, Anthony 47 Wolryngton, Robert de 38
Vere, Aubrey de see Oxford, earl of Woodcock, M. 336
Vere, Maud de see Oxford, countess of Woodstock 62, 77
Vere, Philippa de see Ireland, duchess of Woodstock, Edmund of see
Vere, Robert de see Ireland, duke of Kent, earl of
Villanova, Vidal de 190 Woodstock, Edward of, the Black Prince
Von Gloysach, Frederick 190 213, 215, 223, 231, 239, 250, 305, 308,
Von Liechtenstein, Rudolf 181 309n19, 313, 316
Von Symaning, Hervord 180 Woodstock, Isabella of see Bedford,
countess of
Wakerl’, John de 289, 289n20 Woodstock, Thomas of see Gloucester,
Walker, Simon 214, 214n34 duke of
360 Index
Woodville, Elizabeth see England, Xiarch, Francisco de 180
queen of
Wooler, David de 167, 168 Yevele, William 78
Worcester, William 326n12; Boke of York, archbishop of
Noblesse 324–6 Alexander Neville 79, 80, 81
Worde, Wynkyn de 260 Thomas Arundel 145, 146, 146n37,
Wyclif, John 222, 305, 306, 147, 149, 163–4, 167, 237, 238, 240,
311, 312 274, 275
Wykeham, William of see Winchester, William Melton 41–2, 298
bishop of York, duke of
Wynscote, David de 159 Edmund of Langley 229–42, 309n19
Wys, John 159 Ypres, Sir John 217