Battle Song!

 My review of Battle Song by Ian Ross, part one of a new trilogy set during the Montfortian era in England. 

I usually wince a bit when reading novels or watching screen dramas set in this period; the events and people are all very complicated, but tend to be painted in very broad strokes. Happily, Ian has too much skill and respect for the subject to deal in cliché. 

"Battle Song is the first book of a barnstorming new trilogy by Ian Ross, an author who has previously focused on Constantine the Great and the later Roman Empire. In this he has switched to the equally bloody and complex complex world of 13th century England, a time of great upheaval, seismic political reforms and murderous civil strife. 

 The trilogy follows the story of Adam de Norton, a (fictional) young squire in the service of Humphrey de Bohun, Earl of Hereford, who dreams of knighthood and recovering his late father’s lands. After the death of his father in Wales, Adam’s inheritance was snatched away by strangers, leaving him without any great name, fortune or ancestral estate. His personal misfortune plays out against the wider canvas of the year 1261; after several years of bitter wrangling, it seems Henry III has curbed the power of his rebellious barons, led by Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester. Yet the respite is only temporary, and storm-clouds are poised to engulf the kingdom. 

After a fatal hunting accident, Adam is transferred to the service of Sir Robert de Dunstanville, a ruthless knight with a bad reputation, who needs a squire to accompany him on the tournament circuit in France. Ross particularly excels in describing the bloody chaos of tourneys in this era, very different from the more decorous jousts of the later period. Tourneys were pitched battles, essentially, which often degenerated into free-for-alls and spilled over into the crowd. The idea was to capture knights for ransom, but crippling wounds or even death were commonplace. Adam witnesses the brutish violence and strategy at first, and saves the life of a certain Edward Longshanks, who scarcely needs any introduction. This episode is based on the reality of Edward’s painful early experiences on the French tourney circuit, where he was gravely wounded on several occasions. 

From here on, Adam is increasingly drawn into the battle for power in England, as well as his own private entanglements. This is not merely a story of battles and men at war, although that would be no bad thing: Adam gets romantically involved with Robert’s niece, Joanne de Quincy, adding emotional depth to the tale. The story gradually builds in scope and intensity, as Adam finds himself embroiled in full-scale battles and sieges, including an epic set-piece at Rochester and the showdown at Lewes, where Simon defeated the royalists and took Henry and Edward prisoner. Ross is a master at describing the grim reality of war, up close and personal, the sweat and cramp and terror of being trapped in contending battle-lines, or the hellish danger of scaling castle walls under a storm of rocks and missiles. 

While none of the conflicts are resolved (it is only the first book, after all), this reader was left keen to discover how things play out—even though I am well aware of the period, and the fate of the historical characters. These are all very well-drawn, especially Simon and Edward, whom Ross presents (quite properly) as formidable, alluring and yet repellent at the same time, as engaging as they are untrustworthy. The subtlety of these depictions, with the author refusing to paint with primary colours, is another tick in the novel’s favour. It is all too easy to portray controversial figures as simplistic heroes and villains, but Ross has too much skill, as well as passion and respect for the subject, to stoop to crude caricature."

Basculus Balistarius

Most of my posts are on kings and things, but occasionally the records provide us with a glimpse of men lower down the social scale. Let’s have a look at an ordinary soldier, a crossbowman of Gascony named Ernald Basculus de la Ripe de Oléron (yes, really). He usually appears as ‘Basculus the Crossbowman’. 

As his extravagant name suggests, Basculus was from the Isle of Oléron, off the coast of Gascony. As such he did military service for the Plantagenet king-dukes, wherever they chose to send him. Bascules first appears in 1289, at a place called Petra Nigra (now Peyranère) a height of about 1500 metres on the border between Aragon and Gascony: it still marks the line between France and Spain today. His job was to help guard a temporary lodge or fortress built on this snowy pass, where Edward I came to meet a group of high-status hostages, returned by the King of Aragon. Among other tasks, Basculus supervised the mending of the road for the king’s journey. 

Our crossbowman next crops up in 1294, serving against the Welsh in Gwynedd, where he received wages on 19 September. In 1298 he was in Scotland, where he fought at the battle of Falkirk mounted on a black rouncy, a cheaper form of warhorse to the expensive beasts ridden by the nobles. His horse was lost in the fighting, for which he was paid decent compensation of £10. 

Basculus next turns up in 1301, when his luck ran out. On 28 July 1301 he was captured by the Scots at Peebles, while the main English army under Edward I marched towards Glasgow. Perhaps he was taken in a skirmish. 

Although he was not a knight, Basculus must have been considered worth ransoming. He was back in service by August 1303, when he bought a horse for the king at Dunblane. On 12 March 1304 he was entrusted with a much more delicate task. The entry reads: 

"12 March: 5.0d to Basculus the crossbowman, for money paid by him to five harpers meeting the king on the roads above Sabulum between Dovayn and Sanford, 6 March, of the king’s gift." 

Basculus was awarded 5 shillings, by the king's gift, as recompense for money paid by him to five harpers who met King Edward on the road somewhere near 'Sabulum' in Scotland. 

This was part of Edward's propaganda drive in 1304, when he paid Scottish musicians to walk beside his horse as he rode through Scotland, singing songs “as they did in the time of King Alexander”. The idea was to promote him as the natural successor to Alexander III, who had fallen off a cliff back in 1286. That whole John Balliol project was quietly shelved. 

As the entry suggests, Basculus was now a trusted servant, and part of the king‘s household. In the payroll for this year he is described as Basculus Balistarius, sergeant to the king, in pay for the whole of the leap year of 366 days: 264 days with a valued horse at a rate of 12d per day, and 102 days without one at 8d per day. Good money, when one considers the average wage was 2d for an infantryman. 

After that I lose sight of Basculus. By now he had been in service for at least fifteen years, with a lot of travel and hard campaigning. Perhaps he was killed, or died of dysentery, or was pensioned off. He may well appear in a later entry or two, but I have yet to spot him.

No no, yes yes

#OTD in 1422 Henry V died of dysentery in France, aged just 35, leaving the infant Henry VI to enjoy a long and glorious reign (hmm). Immortalised as England's golden boy by Shakespeare, Henry is regarded as one of the great English warrior-kings. 

Which means, of course, that he also comes in for a torrid storm of criticism: no no, he was really a vicious sod with a horrid scar on his face who trashed France and left an impossible legacy. No no, yes yes, hee hee, ho ho. 

Whatever. The real Henry was clearly a competent soldier and administrator, though it is doubtful he would have imposed a permanent conquest of France. If he had lived another 20-30 years, I suspect England would have held onto Aquitaine and parts of northern France, and there would have been no Wars of the Roses.

Heirs to the Princes

 Dr David Stephenson has a new book out, available from 15 September. Quote: 

"A new history of medieval Wales, where survival meant adapting, not defeat. The Edwardian conquest of Wales is often seen as a final blow to Welsh autonomy, but Heirs to the Princes challenges this narrative, revealing a different story—one of adaptation and resurgence. 

This study depicts the rise of a Welsh administrative and military elite in the generations following 1277 to 88 and traces how native leaders navigated shifting power structures to secure influence within the English Crown’s rule. 

 The book recontextualizes Edward I’s later reign through close documentary analysis, showing him not merely as a ruthless conqueror but as a ruler who came to rely on Welsh support, addressed grievances, and fostered a new governing class. It also details Edward II’s complex relationship with Welsh magnates, leading to the crises that shaped his rule. Through profiling key figures of the emerging Welsh gentry, Heirs to the Princes revises our understanding of post-conquest Wales and highlights the resilience of its leaders and their pivotal role in the road to the Glyn Dŵr rising of 1400.” 

David is one of the best historians of medieval Wales, imo, and anyone with a genuine interest in the subject should get a copy of this. He doesn’t need me to speak for him, but I’ll add a bit of context. The reign of Edward I is kaleidoscopic - the subject is massive, which is why it still generates so much heat centuries after his death (and why I keep bleating on about him). 

Nobody can deny the oppression and exploitation of Edward’s conquest of Wales. However, after the major Welsh revolt of 1295 Edward was flexible enough to adapt his policy. This involved promoting the Welsh gentry, who formed the backbone of the Plantagenet administration of Wales for the next century. Nobody has to like that, or dislike it, it just is. This is historical reality, not polemic or one-eyed narrative. If that sounds interesting, get the book. If not, do something else.

Get 'em in a church...

My pics of the Golden Gate at Yedikule in Istanbul, from a visit in 2022. Here, on 15 August 1261, Michael VIII entered the ancient Roman capital and was crowned in Hagia Sophia, marking the restoration of the Empire after 57 years of Latin/Western rule. 

Michael was the head of the 'aristocratic' party within the empire of Nicaea, which became the most powerful of the Roman successor states after the fall of Constantinople in 1204. As such he clashed with Theodore II Laskaris, emperor of Nicaea, who tried to downgrade the old aristocratic families in favour of new men. 

Talented as he was, Theodore showed signs of mental instability towards the end of his short life. Most unwisely, he started to inflict ever more cruel and random punishments on his nobles; this included having Michael's sister, Maria, arrested on charges of witchcraft, sewn up in a sack and beaten with sticks. She survived, but this was hardly going to endear Michael and his family to the emperor. 

If Theodore had lived much longer (he died young in 1258) there might have been yet another civil war. As it was, Michael usurped the throne from Theodore's heir, John IV, butchered his supporters in a church and had the boy blinded on his eleventh birthday. Efficient chap. 

(Again, note the whole "get 'em in a church, slaughter the lot" vibe. A tried and honourable strategy, used everywhere from Scotland to the Byzantine Empire).

The buck stops with Edward II

 #OTD in 1325 peace was declared between England and France. This was the end of the War of St-Sardos in Gascony; a disaster for Edward II and the English, in which the territorial gains of his father were wiped out in a few months. 

The English war effort had been dismal, and Edward might have lost the entire duchy. He was saved by the Gascon gentry, who rallied to the failing Plantagenet cause. Thanks to them, Edward held onto Bordeaux and the hinterland, though he had to surrender the Agenais, acquired by Edward I via the Treaty of Amiens in 1279. Even this limited gain came at the price of relinquishing Gascony to his son, the future Edward III, who now stood in his father's place as duke. 

Edward now had to respond to petitions from dispossessed Gascons. It may seem unreasonable to make comparisons with his father, but the contrast is glaring. After the previous French ended in 1303, Edward I had responded generously to pleas from his Gascon subjects. Edward II's responses in 1325, in similar circumstances, have been characterised as “excessively mean-spirited and parsimonious” (Dr Malcolm Vale). 

His policy is difficult to understand. Edward II had become very rich by this point, after dispossessing the forfeit estates of the Contrariants in England. He could afford to be generous to the Gascons who had stood by him, when they might have easily defected to the French. When he failed, some of the more powerful families abandoned him and switched sides anyway. These included the lord of d'Albret, who had personally funded the war efforts against France and served Edward I in Scotland. Without him, the English lost their chief financier in Gascony, while the French gained one. That is not good policy, however you choose to look at it. 

Edward II has been caricatured (usually in bad fiction) as weak, unintelligent, cowardly, and a bad husband and father. He was none of these things. As king, it is impossible to defend his record unless you simply ignore all the defeats and failings. Pinning all the blame on his father, Longshanks, a currently unpopular historical figure, is a cheap get-out. 

Certainly, Edward II inherited heavy debts and an unfinished war in Scotland. Those debts had no obvious practical effect on his capacity to raise armies and wage war (what he did with those armies is another matter) and after 1315 he became one of the wealthiest kings in Europe. Lack of money was not the cause of his downfall. 

As for the Scottish war, Edward junior chose to press it with the same brutality and persistence as his old man, minus the competence. Nobody forced him to. When you look at his policies and decision-making elsewhere, such as the affairs of Gascony, it is the same pattern of bungling and misjudgement. Perhaps it was all someone else’s fault - the laundrywoman? His dog? - but Edward was the king: the buck stopped with him.

All to the sword

#OTD in 1121 King David IV of Georgia defeated the Seljuk Turks at the battle of Didgori, still celebrated in modern Georgia. 

David was up against a large Islamic coalition led by Najm al-Din Ilghazi, who had formerly ruled the Armenian principality of Mayafariquin on the upper Tigris. The sources are conflicting, but it is clear that David's army was heavily outnumbered. He did, however, have a large number of heavy cavalry. These included his personal retinue, the 'mona-spa', and several hundred Frankish knights. 

On the day of battle, the Georgians lured the much larger Seljuk host into a mountainous and wooded area near the Didgori mountain range, west of Tbilisi. At David's signal, his men sprung the trap and charged down from the mountain sides, catching the Seljuks in a pincer movement. After heavy fighting, many of the Seljuk leaders were killed or captured, triggering the collapse of their demoralised army. 

Thousands were slaughtered in the rout. A Georgian chronicler said that David's men pursued the Seljuks for three days, "putting all of them to the sword and leaving them to the carnivorous beasts and birds of the mountains and plains” of the Manglisi Valley. A Frankish chronicler, Matthew of Edessa, wrote that:  

"...terrible and savage slaughter of the enemy troops ensued and the [enemy] corpses filled up the rivers and covered all valleys and cliffs." 

Allowing for exaggeration, this was clearly a disastrous defeat for the Seljuks. A triumph for the Georgians, it was also splendid news for the Roman Emperor, John II, who was allied to David. Between them, the allies were rolling back the Seljuks on two fronts at once.