Special guest interview with Cathie Dunn

Tell us about your latest book 

CD: My latest release is called Ascent, the first in my new House of Normandy series about the early medieval women who forged the dynasty of Normandy. Ascent tells the story of Poppa of Bayeux, handfasted wife to Rollo (or Hrólfr, as I call him) the Viking leader who rose to greater power in Neustria from AD 911. Both are real characters, but the novel is mainly from Poppa’s perspective, showing how she handled the challenges life – and Hrólfr – threw her way.

What is your preferred writing routine? 

CD: I don’t have a routine as such, but I prefer to write in the afternoons, and into the evenings. I’m not an early bird. 

I usually do some research upfront, but as I add new chapters, I seek new historical events that could fit into the narrative, so I also research ‘on the go’. 

What advice do you have for aspiring writers? 

CD: Read as much as possible in your chosen genre, to learn from other authors, and to get a feel for structure, style, narrative, and relevant tropes. Become familiar with the research those authors conduct, into how much/little detail they go, and how their characters develop through the story. Especially if new writers hope to break into a well-established market, or pitch to specific publishers, it’s really important to convey a sense of knowing the types of novels they publish.

What have you found to be the best way to raise awareness of your books? 

CD: Author branding is an important part. Know your subject area, blog about it, chat about it and share news on social media. These days, readers want to engage with writers, know our inspirations. A solid social media presence is now essential, and it’s worth trying out different outlets to see which you’re most comfortable with.

But don’t fall into the void! Social media can be time-consuming, so you need to set aside time to write. 

Tell us something unexpected you discovered during your research. 

CD: The most unexpected bit of information I found wasn’t through research – I came across it when chatting to my former neighbours in the southern French village where we used to live. 

They were telling us about the renovation works in the kitchen of their old house. When they raised the kitchen floor, they found bones and part of a cranium! 

There was an ancient Visigoth graveyard nearby, but not where our houses were. So where had these bones come from?

Of course I had to use this little adventure in a story, and it became the focal point of my dual-timeline mystery, Love Lost in Time.

What was the hardest scene you remember writing? 

CD: I sometimes find it hard to write about the death of my main characters. Some death scenes are easier to write, but others not so. I found it particularly emotional to write Nanthild’s death in Love Lost in Time, as I’d grown close to her. Similarly with Poppa of Bayeux in Ascent. 

But while Nanthild was fictional, Poppa existed. She was a living, breathing woman, so I had to give her an ending with her dignity intact. 

I write historical fiction, so death features regularly in different ways, but I found it especially sad to write about the deaths of Nanthild and Poppa. 

What are you planning to write next?

CD: I’ve just released Ascent, so I’m currently working on the second in the House of Normandy series, about Poppa’s daughter-in-law Sprota, a Breton woman, handfasted wife of Poppa’s son William Longsword, and mother to his heir. 

Alongside this project, I work on the second in my series about the Affair of the Poisons, an event that shook the court of King Louis XIV of France.

Thank you again for inviting me, David. And for your fabulous questions. I had great fun answering them. 

International buy link: my book.to/NormandyAscent

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B09RNB6N5L 

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09RNB6N5L 

 

Patronage and power

My review of Patronage and Power in the Medieval Welsh March: One Family's Story, by David Stephenson.

This is, as the title suggests, a study of a particular family on the medieval Marches of Wales. It is a follow-up to Stephenson's 2019 study Medieval Wales c.1050-1332: Centuries of Ambiguity, and tackles similar themes.

The family in question were of obscure origin, and first appear in the record as minor tenants of the Mortimers, one of the great powerhouses of the Welsh March. They rose to power and influence during the reign of Henry III (1216-72) and prospered for over a hundred years, before the male line ran out in the early fifteenth century.

It is a remarkable story, and one that raises interesting questions about a traumatic time in Welsh history. For many, the story of medieval Wales is a straightforward narrative of tragedy, conquest and exploitation. These things are true to a large extent. However, as books like this show, there is much more to be said.

Stephenson has produced an account of a Welsh lineage who owed everything to their patrons – the Norman lords of the March and the English crown – and consistently fought anyone who opposed their interests. These rivals included Prince Llywelyn ap Gruffudd as well as English political rebels. The family's trajectory ended in the same vein, resisting Owain Glyn Dwr on behalf of the king of England. This was a world of shifting identities and loyalties, in which lordship and patronage were every bit as important as 'patriotism'. The particular family that Stephenson focuses on on were far from untypical: many Welsh kin-groups, particularly on the March, followed the same policy.

A key figure was Hywel ap Meurig, who prospered in the service of Henry III and Edward I. As well as serving his lords, the Mortimers, Hywel made himself useful as a royal diplomat. He and his neighbours on the March had followed this course for several generations. Thus, when Prince Llywelyn sought to expand the borders of the principality of Wales, he butted against the interests of Welshmen who had risen high in March service. They did not wish to be ruled by Llywelyn, and only accepted his authority under duress. When the prince tried to compel loyalty, via some fairly crude methods, they kicked back.

As Stephenson shows, this conflict of interest was well underway long before Edward I came along. What might have happened if Longshanks never existed, or died in the Holy Land? To judge from available evidence, Wales was on course for civil war anyway. Llywelyn's enemies, both within the principality and the March, were legion. When that war came, in 1276, his power base collapsed internally. The contribution of Hywel and his neighbours was to raise an army on Edward's behalf and invade Gwynedd.

After Hywel's death in 1281, his heirs continued in royal service. As constables of royal castles and commissioners of array, they held key positions in postconquest Wales. Over time, perhaps inevitably, they became Anglicised. At some point in the fourteenth century – it is uncertain when – they abandoned Welsh forms and adopted the English-style surname of Clanvoe. Yet the family were equally content to lean on Welsh ancestry. To that end they concocted a false genealogy claiming descent from the ancient lords of Dinefwr. Anything to prop up their wealth and prestige, which in turn equated security.

One of the themes to emerge from the book is the dangerous unpredictability of medieval politics. A wrong move could spell disaster. Even Hywel's family, as adept as they were at evading pitfalls, sailed closed to the wind at times. The worst moment came in 1323 when his son, Philip, threw in his lot with the Lancastrian rebels against Edward II. It says much of Edward's regime that a family of Welsh royalists, who had supported the crown for well over a century, should take such a step. Philip only survived by taking refuge with John Charlton of Powys, who somehow persuaded Edward to take the Welshman and his kin back into favour. It pays to have good neighbours

Later generations of the family expanded their horizons well beyond Wales. They became overseas diplomats and crusaders, familiar faces at most of the royal courts of Europe. In that respect this is an extraordinary tale. One could even say there is a kind of glory to it, or at least an impressive sense of achievement. Whatever else might be said about this family, they produced one truly extraordinary figure in Sir John Clanvoe; warrior, crusader, poet, author, Lollard, probable homosexual, close personal friend to Anne of Bohemia, among other crowned heads. Clanvoe's tomb lies adjacent to a mosque in Istanbul, where he died of plague on the way to crusade. In every sense, his family had come a very long way.

I found this a compelling book, albeit short. It could act as a springboard for new lines of research into medieval Welsh history, and suspect this was the intention. There is certainly much left to explore. For instance, another angle could be a comparison between Hywel's heirs and other Welsh gentry families. A number of the descendents of those who fought for Edward I chose to support Glyn Dwr against the usurper regime of Henry IV. Hywel's descendents, however, remained loyal to the crown. Some discussion of these competing motives and loyalties in Wales, and how they changed over time, would be welcome.

The sins of Geordie Burn

 

A reiver awaiting justice, or something like it

In late 1593 the eastern borders of England and Scotland erupted into open warfare. The cause was a personal dispute between the respective deputy wardens of the Marches: these were Robert Carey, cousin to Elizabeth I, on the English side, and Robert Kerr on the Scottish side, called 'firebrand' after his fierce temper.

Carey had only recently come to the turbulent Border. He had tried to befriend his opposite number, Kerr, by inviting him to a meeting to discuss border affairs. Kerr's response was to ride into England and murder a defenceless peasant outside his own house. Then he rode back home again, probably making obscene gestures all the way. The message was stark: no peace on the border, no compromises, no civilised chats over wine and cake.

When he discovered what had happened, Carey swore revenge. His first act was to ride south to London without cancelling the agreed meeting with Kerr. Thus, when the Scottish warden arrived at the time and place, he found nobody waiting for him. After waiting in vain for several hours, he rode home in a towering rage.

So, both men had now snubbed each other. Match point. At the start of winter, Kerr took revenge by sending bands of Scottish reivers into the English East March, where they exercised their dreadful talents: killing, raping, stealing livestock, lifting portable goods. Carey's response, as described in his memoir, was to call out the garrison of Berwick:

'I had no other means to quiet them [the Scots], but still went out of the garrison horsemen of Berwick to watch in the fittest places for them, and it was their good hap many times to light upon them with the stolen goods driving before them'.

Those Scots taken prisoner were tried before a jury and hanged. Carey explains that he was compelled to use the 'bloody hand', since it was the only way of dealing with 'Scotch thieves'.

Among the captives taken was one Geordie Burn. Carey describes this man as a great thief and a favourite of Robert Kerr, and hence useful. Carey tried to use Burn as leverage, by threatening to hang the man unless Kerr agreed to meet and negotiate.

Carey, who had an enquiring mind, decided to interrogate Burn. To that end the aristocratic Englishman disguised himself as a Borderer - he must have been a decent actor - and went down to talk to the prisoner in his cell. 

It seems Burn was happy to chat. Carey's account of their conversation is the nearest we can get to an interview with a real-life Border Reiver, those notorious gangsters who terrorised the Anglo-Scots borderlands for over a century.

Carey, again in his own words, was horrified by what Burn had to say:

'He voluntarily of himself said, that he had lived long enough to do so many villainies as he had done, and withal told us that he had lain with above forty men's wives, what in England, what in Scotland; and that he had killed seven Englishmen with his own hands, cruelly murdering them; that he had spent his whole time in whoring, drinking, stealing and taking deep revenge for slight offences'.

Shocked and enraged, Carey resolved to execute Burn the very next morning. Nothing on earth, he wrote, would have persuaded him to spare the rogue's life. Poor old Carey: he was still new to the border, and perhaps failed to appreciate that Burn was not an untypical product of the blood-soaked frontier.

And so it was done. When the gates of Berwick opened at sunrise, Burn was taken out and hanged on the common gallows. Kerr, when he heard of the execution, made vows of 'cruel revenge'. 

Brandon - Tudor Knight

 

Guest Post by Tony Riches – Charles Brandon meets Duchess Margaret of Savoy

In my research for my book, Brandon Tudor Knight, there were no shortage of incidents and episodes which gave me an insight into his true character. I’d like to choose one involving Duchess Margaret of Savoy that’s well documented and suggests the strength of Brandon’s relationship with the king.

The young Henry VIII wanted to prove to his people that (unlike his father) he was a true warrior king, and – respond to the demands to ‘teach the French a lesson.’ In 1513 he chose Charles Brandon to lead the invading English army of some 30,000 men on an ambitious mission to France.

Brandon’s appointment as High Marshall was quite amazing considering his only previous military experience was a disastrous sea battle in the English Channel. The army had plenty of battle-hardened commanders, so although there were no doubt mutterings behind the king’s back, Henry’s choice shows the degree of trust he had in Brandon’s leadership ability.

The invasion of France went surprisingly well and after a short siege the city of Tournai surrendered on 24 September 1513. It’s said that when the king was presented with the keys to the city he passed them to Brandon – quite an honour, as Charles had only been knighted in the March of that year.

There were several weeks of celebration after the victory, culminating with a grand banquet as guests of Margaret of Austria, Duchess of Savoy. Margaret was the daughter of Emperor Maximilian, the holy Roman Emperor, and King Henry’s great rival. Margaret was also wealthy, well-educated and powerful. Having been widowed twice, she’d sworn never to marry again, but Henry thought she would make the perfect partner for his best friend Charles Brandon.

There are various accounts of the story of how Brandon ‘proposed’ to her, but I like the one attributed in Sarah Bryson’s Charles Brandon The King’s Man, to Margaret herself:

One night at Tournai, after the banquet he [Brandon] put himself upon his knees before me, and in speaking and him playing, he drew from my finger the ring and put it upon his, and since showed it to me; and I took to laugh, and to him said that he was a thief, and that I thought not that the king had with him led thieves out of his country.

I prayed him many times to give it [the ring] to me again for that it was too much known but he understood me not well and kept it until the next day that I spoke to the king, requiring to make him give it to me because it was too much known, I promising one of my bracelets the which I wore, the which I gave him, and then he gave me the said ring.

Brandon didn’t take the hint of course, and later at Lille it is reported that he once again knelt before the duchess and took another ring from her finger. Again, Margaret had to speak with Henry VIII, this time complaining not about the ring but of Brandon’s conduct, in stepping out of line - far beyond his status.

Henry was enjoying these games of Tudor ‘courtly love’ and, instead of ordering Brandon to return the ring, gave Margaret a more precious one set with diamonds. The incident caused in international scandal and of course infuriated Margaret’s father, Maximilian.

Years later Brandon sent his eldest daughter to the court of Margaret of Savoy - perhaps to learn something of how a woman could exercise power, or possibly in reconciliation for his earlier conduct.

Brandon enjoyed great favour from the king throughout his life, including protection from his many enemies within the English nobility, who called him a ‘stable boy’ (he was once Henry’s Master of the Horse). Thomas Cromwell’s reforms to the royal household created the new position of Lord Great Master to oversee everything and Brandon was the first to hold this post.

He worked for Henry right up to the day he died, when the king said that in all their long friendship Charles Brandon had never knowingly betrayed a friend or taken advantage of an enemy. He is reported to have asked his council, ‘Is there any of you who can say as much?’

Tony Riches

Everyone has secrets... but will Charles Brandon’s cost him everything?

🇺🇸 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07L3YGBWJ

🇬🇧 https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07L3YGBWJ

#Tudors #HistoricalFiction #KindleUnlimited #audiobook

About the Author

Tony Riches is a full-time UK author of best-selling historical fiction. He lives in Pembrokeshire, West Wales and is a specialist in the lives of the early Tudors. For more information about Tony’s books please visit his website tonyriches.com and his popular blog, The Writing Desk and find him on Facebook and Twitter @tonyriches

Harry of England

Harry of England is a new history by Teresa Cole of the eight kings of England named Henry. The rear of the jacket features an interesting quote from a 17^th century poem on Henry V:

“O, when shall such English men,
With such acts fill a pen

Or England breed again

Such a King Harry?”

To judge from Cole's narrative, England should be wary of breeding any more King Harrys. Not that they were all flops, by any stretch, but this is essentially a tale of cruelty, violence, avarice, war and invasion, with the odd period of calm between conquests. Six of the eight gentlemen on display here were forceful, dominant personalities, one was a mediocrity, the other a crashing failure. Let us copy the author's example, and go through them one at a time.

First, Henry I, otherwise known as Beauclerc or Fine-Scholar because he could read. This opening chapter is a little disjointed, split between colourful anecdotes of Henry's youthful escapades, and sober discussion of the creation of the Exchequer and various legal codes during his reign. This gives the impression that many of our worthy, respectable institutions were founded by a man who was part-pirate, part-lawyer. Perhaps so: the mindsets are arguably similar.

Henry's grandson was Henry FitzEmpress, a man of demonic energy who snatched the King of France's wife and – more by accident than design – cobbled together a vast, unsustainable empire that fell apart almost as soon as he died. This Henry, famous for killing Thomas Becket and fighting his own children, was perhaps the closest England came to having a genius on the throne. Imbued with enormous energy, intellect and strength of will, he was a hard act to follow.

Henry III makes for an uninspiring sequel. A king 'of simple life and plain', according to Dante, the account of his reign is a bit of a slog by comparison with the previous two. At first dominated by ambitious advisors, Henry eventually shrugged them off to achieve nothing very much. Following two dismal attempts to recover lands in France, he agreed to the Treaty of Paris, a catastrophic agreement that reduced his dynasty to mere vassals of the kings of France. After a purple patch in the middle of the reign, Henry's fortunes in England and Wales deteriorated, until he was obliged to fight a ruinous civil war against Simon de Montfort. To do him justice, Henry survived all his trials and managed to die in bed, an achievement in itself.

Next, Henry IV or Bolingbroke, who kicked his cousin Richard II off the throne and founded the Lancastrian dynasty. Cole describes Henry as a serious, well-intentioned man who might have made a fine king in less stressful circumstances. Maybe; he certainly did well to hang onto his stolen crown, in the teeth of endless plots and wars and rebellions. Cole concludes, quite reasonably, that Henry probably wished he had done something else with his life.

Then we have another superstar of the Plantagenet dynasty, Henry V. I found this one of the most interesting chapters, as Cole focuses on Henry's diplomacy and domestic policies as well as the French wars. Nor does she sugar-coat the character of this brutal, wily king, who needed all the glitter Shakespeare tipped over him. Cole also makes the point that Henry's grinding war taxes were causing serious discontent in England, long before his premature death of dysentery. If he had lived, and continued to pump every resource into the conquest of France, England may have collapsed into civil war even sooner.

This leads us onto Henry VI. Poor Henry; the runt of the litter, really, incapable of redeeming his father's legacy, controlling the rival factions at court, or doing anything useful. Cole's account of his reign reads like one long unravelling disaster, both at home and abroad. Despite occasional efforts to assert himself, Henry could do nothing to prevent the loss of France, including the precious duchy of Gascony, or the final slide into civil war. In this context, his bouts of insanity were merely the icing on a very rotten cake. All of this makes for a depressing read, and one is left with the impression that death – when it came for Henry, at the hands of Yorkist assassins – was a merciful release.

Henry VII, perhaps surprisingly, is something of a relief from all this failure and woe. A rank outsider, with a technically laughable claim to the throne, he defeated Richard III at Bosworth and founded (for better or worse) the Tudor dynasty. Of Welsh descent, Henry was one of the most successful usurpers in British history. He navigated his way through some very choppy waters with a shrewd touch, fighting off one challenge after another. Cole makes the telling remark that history has not always been kind to Henry, apparently because he lacked sufficient glamour and romance. A bean-counter, in other words, who accumulated wealth and refused to fight silly wars. A fig for glamour, say I. Give me a dull little king, who checks and counter-signs his own accounts, every time.

We end with the most famous of the lot, Henry VIII. Charles Dickens, in his history of England, described Bluff King Hal as one of the worst villains to ever draw breath. Cole, it would seem, does not disagree, Nor do I. Even compared to the sins of his forebears, there is something especially repellent about the eighth Henry. He was not unsuccessful, and England continued to prosper (at least in terms of finance) under his rule. Even so, I found myself grimacing at his antics. The preposterous, swaggering ego; the faithless disloyalty of the man; his habit of killing former friends and loyal advisers; the willingness to go to any extreme, just to serve his own swollen ambition and sense of self. And, of course, the disgusting treatment of his wives, especially Catherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. When the bloated, smelly tyrant finally expired, I almost felt like punching the air.

Overall, despite the occasional grimace, I thoroughly enjoyed this. To condense eight turbulent reigns in a little under 300 pages is a difficult task, but Teresa Cole has done an admirable job. Perhaps the sequel will be on English kings named John. A great saving on paper.

Disclosure: a review copy of this book was kindly provided by the publishers, Amberley.

A stirring world (4)

In 1593 Robert Carey, cousin to Elizabeth I, took up his post as Deputy Warden of the English East March on the Border. One of his first acts was to ask to meet with Robert Kerr, his opposite number on the Scottish side, so they could peacefully settle any disputes.

Poor Carey. It seems nobody had bothered to tell him about Robert Kerr, one of the most notorious ruffians on the 'Godforsaken' Anglo-Scottish borderland. The aristocratic Englishman would soon learn.

To be fair, Kerr was a product of his time. He learned the dark arts of raiding and robbery for a living at a very young age: his first 'voyage on horseback' was made in 1585, when he was just fifteen (or even younger) at a raid on Stirling. Two years later he was a leader, along with the 'Bold Buccleuch' and Lord Johnstone, of a 2000-strong raid against the Collingwoods. This so displeased James VI that he forbade Kerr's marriage to Maitland of Lethington's daughter. Kerr duly thumbed his nose at the king and got married anyway.

His career went on as it had begun. At various times Kerr was forced to take refuge in England on charges of murder, and he got himself in a confusing tangle of feuds against English and Scottish reiver gangs. At one point he killed three men at Wooller, only to escape justice (such as it was), and then went into England looking for victims. Finding none, he spent the day in an alehouse at the local fair instead. John Carey, Robert's brother, remarked nervously in a letter that he didn't know what the world was coming to.

After years of killing and raiding, Kerr acquired the nickname of 'the fyrebrande of the border'. This was a tough world, and he must have been considered exceptionally brutal to stand out from all the other mob bosses. Even so, Robert Carey thought he could befriend the man and have a quiet border.

Fat chance. In his memoir, Carey indignantly records what followed. He sent an envoy to Kerr, who welcomed the man and gave him lodgings for the night. Kerr then wrote a friendly letter to Carey, in which he declared:

'He was glad to have the happiness to be acquainted with me, and did not doubt but the country would be the better governed by our good agreements'.

Hmm. Watch out, Carey, the wolf is smiling. The next day, Kerr entertained the English envoy to dinner and filled him up with strong drink. Then he put the man to bed and rode out with half a dozen of his followers. They crossed into England and came to a village. Carey describes what happened next:

'Then he [Kerr] broke up a house, and took out a fellow, who he pretended had done him some wrong, and before the door cruelly murdered him, and so came quietly home, and went to bed'.

Kerr and his men then rode home to Scotland. The next morning he gave Carey's envoy another friendly letter to take to his master, and sent the man off. 

It seems the murder was commited as a crude warning to Carey: he and Kerr could not be friends, and there would be no peace on the border. When Carey learned of it, he was furious:

'When I heard what a brave (trick) he had put upon me, I quickly resolved what to do, which was, never to have to do with him till I was righted for the great wrong he had done me'.

The stage was set for a bitter feud.

Warrior made captive

On 3 April 1263 Dafydd ap Gruffudd met Lord Edward at Hereford and offered his allegiance to the English prince. Under the terms of their agreement, Dafydd was promised the cantref of Dyffryn Clwyd and the commote of Rheinmerch in Rhufoniog until he recovered his full inheritance in Gwynedd Uwch Conwy. In a further agreement, ratified by Henry III at Windsor on 8 July, this was replaced by the grant of Dyffryn Clwyd and the whole of Rhufoniog.

The agreement at Hereford was struck when Edward was about to set out on campaign against Dafydd's brother, Prince Llywelyn. Dafydd's motives for deserting his brother, at such a time, are complicated. They had a troubled relationship. As a youth, Dafydd had been deprived of much of his share of Gwynedd, when Llywelyn and another sibling. Owain Goch, divided much of the land between themselves. This triggered a civil war, in which Llywelyn emerged the victor. Owain was imprisoned, but Dafydd given a chance to redeem himself. 

He remained loyal to Llywelyn for eight years, until the spring of 1263, and the decision to join with Edward. It is likely that Dafydd was still unhappy with the division of land in Gwynedd, even though Llywelyn had permitted him to rule Dyffryn Clwyd. Ultimately, Dafydd would not be satisfied with anything less than an equal share.

According to the Annals of Chester, Dafydd was also anxious to secure the release of his brother, Owain Goch, from prison at Dolbadarn castle. This was certainly a bone of contention inside Gwynedd. A Venedotian poet, Hywel Foel ap Griffri, described Owain as 'a warrior made captive by the lord of Eryri'.

Llywelyn ignored any such calls for Owain's release. In his eyes, the prisoner was too dangerous, and threatened Llywelyn's hegemony. There was also the looming threat of the king of England, who regarded Owain as the rightful heir to Gwynedd. At the same time Llywelyn was not bloodthirsty, and refused to simply kill his rebellious brothers.

The Hereford treaty of 3 April marked the start of a 19-year alliance between Dafydd and Edward. They worked together to destroy Edward's enemies in England and Wales, until Dafydd's career took another shocking turn.