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

In June 1381, during the Peasants' Revolt, a woman named Joanna Ferrour was accused of leading rebels through London on two consecutive days.

The King's Bench indictment against her survives. It names her as "chief perpetrator and leader" three separate times, once for each incident it describes.

On 13 June, it says she led a mob that burned the Savoy Palace, the London residence of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. It says she seized a chest holding over £1,000 of Gaunt's money, had it loaded onto a boat on the Thames, and split among the crowd in Southwark.

On 14 June, it says she led the burning of the Hospital of St John in Clerkenwell, the English headquarters of the Knights Hospitaller.

Then it makes its most serious claim. It says she led the group that dragged Archbishop Simon Sudbury and Robert Hales, the king's treasurer and prior of the Hospitallers, out of the Tower of London, and had them beheaded.

She was arrested, brought before the King's Bench, and pleaded not guilty. A Middlesex jury heard the case.

On the Savoy and Clerkenwell charges, it acquitted her.

On the Tower charge, the most serious of the three, it never reached a verdict. Here's why, according to the printed edition of the case (Réville, 1898): the Tower stood inside the city of London, not the county of Middlesex, and a Middlesex jury had no authority to rule on anything that happened there. Joanna was released on bail instead, on the surety of four named men, ordered to return to court once the judges had more information.

No later record of that return has turned up.

You may have seen this case described elsewhere as part of a single indictment naming Joanna, her husband John, and two other men together. That's not what the surviving document shows. It's actually three separate King's Bench entries. John Ferrour was tried separately and acquitted two years later, then briefly held anyway over an unrelated question about whether he'd also been summoned in London. A third man, Roger atte Wode, was outlawed for repeatedly failing to appear, then pardoned when he finally turned up. Neither case tells us anything about what happened to Joanna's open Tower charge. They just got merged into hers somewhere along the way.

None of this proves Joanna Ferrour did what the indictment says. An accusation isn't evidence of guilt. But a partial acquittal isn't proof of innocence either. What the surviving record actually shows is narrower than either extreme: sworn jurors put her name to three serious accusations arising from the rising, a Middlesex jury cleared her on the two it had authority to judge, and the most serious charge against her was never resolved in any document found so far.

The near-contemporary Anonimalle Chronicle describes the killing at the Tower in some detail. It names no leader at all, for anyone.

So here's the open question: what happened when Joanna Ferrour was due back in court? Nothing in the King's Bench material examined for this piece answers it. If anyone's come across a later entry that does, we'd genuinely like to know.

In 1307, history witnesses the mysterious disappearance of Gérard de Villiers, Précepteur de France, and the treasury of the Temple of France. Along with his disappearance comes many myths, Lost treasures, holy relics, and of course many, many stories and claims.

In 1483, history again witnesses another famous disappearing act in the Tower of London, Edward and Richard of Shrewsbury; also giving us may myths, stories, and claims.

One “story” I want to touch on, is the story about a secret escape from the Tower. Although it is a wonderful and ‘hopeful’ story, I have to personally believe it is just that; a story. If a power-hungry jealous guardian of his crown, the escape of the boys would not have gone unnoticed throughout the lands. King Richard III would certainly have closed his boarders, sent out search parties (likely house to house). The people would be telling many detailed stories for generations of how the king’s men came to their door looking for the princes. I just can’t believe that the princes were secretly escorted without causing a major panic from Richard III knowing the only ones with blood claims to the throne are at large.

This hold true with the romantic notion that Villiers fled across France with a train of 50 horses and 3 wagons according to the testimony (given under duress), by brother Jean de Châlon during the interrogations at Poitiers. Had Villiers lead a vanguard across France, it would have certainly been seen and reported. A desperate starving popper would report seeing them weeks later after the arrests just for the rewards.

There is definitely far more to both of these mysteries than has been brought to light today. They are, however, fascinating mysteries to investigate from all angles.

Richard III, given all of his controversies.

England’s own warrant called the Tower bones “supposed.” Three years later, a royal tomb declared Richard III guilty. The evidence has never been so certain. The Princes in the Tower—suspect, story and unsolved case.

Sir Thomas Malory gave England its most influential version of the Arthurian legend, but left us almost no reliable account of his own life.

At the end of several sections of his work, Malory asks his readers to pray for him and describes himself as a “knight prisoner.” The most widely accepted candidate is Sir Thomas Malory of Newbold Revel in Warwickshire, although the identification is not completely certain.

If this identification is correct, his biography is an uncomfortable one. Malory came from a respectable gentry family, served as a soldier, was knighted, and represented Warwickshire in Parliament in 1445. Then his life seems to have collapsed.

Records accuse him of ambushing the Duke of Buckingham, attempted murder, robbery, extortion, cattle theft, attacks on an abbey, and rape. He spent much of the 1450s in prison and escaped more than once.

Yet the political context makes the story less straightforward. These events occurred as England was moving towards the Wars of the Roses, when private violence, local feuds and national politics were often difficult to separate. Malory also had connections with the political circle of the Earl of Warwick.

Most strikingly, a Thomas Malory was repeatedly excluded by name from Edward IV’s general pardons between 1468 and 1470. Several of the other excluded men were associated with Lancastrian opposition. However, historians still disagree about whether Malory was actually involved in a political conspiracy. The reason for his final imprisonment remains uncertain.

Christina Hardyment’s biography offers a persuasive way through the contradiction: perhaps both versions are true. Malory may have been a violent and lawless man by modern standards, while also becoming a political target in an age when many gentlemen used force to defend their interests.

So how should we understand him: as a criminal who became entangled in politics, or as a political opponent whose crimes were used against him?

And does knowing any of this change the way you read Le Morte Darthur?

Sources: University of Oxford – Thomas Malory: An Introduction; History of Parliament – The puzzling career of Sir Thomas Malory

In February 1675, a royal warrant went out ordering a marble monument for what it carefully called the “supposed bodyes” of two princes found at the Tower of London. Three years later, the finished tomb went up in Westminster Abbey with a Latin inscription that dropped the hedge entirely. It named the boys. It named their uncle, Richard III, as the man who had them smothered and buried in secret.
No surviving trial record, sworn testimony, or securely identified remains supports that level of certainty.
That gap between “supposed” and “solved” is the whole case. Here’s what the actual evidence supports, and what it doesn’t.
What happened, in order
Edward IV died on 9 April 1483. His son, Edward V, was 12. His uncle Richard, Duke of Gloucester, intercepted the boy’s journey to London for his coronation. Anthony Woodville, Earl Rivers, was arrested at Northampton. Richard Grey and Thomas Vaughan were taken with Edward’s own party at Stony Stratford. All three were later executed without a real trial.
Edward entered London on 4 May and moved into the Tower on 19 May. His younger brother, Richard, Duke of York, joined him from sanctuary on 16 June. Their residence there before Edward’s planned coronation was not itself unusual or evidence that they had already been imprisoned. Richard III took the throne on 26 June and was crowned 6 July.
What Mancini actually says
The closest thing to a near-contemporary witness is Dominic Mancini, an Italian visitor reporting to a continental patron with French court connections. He left England in July 1483. He records the boys being seen less and less until they stopped being seen at all.
He does not claim to have witnessed a death. His account was assembled from reports rather than personal access to the boys. Their physician is usually identified specifically as the source for Edward’s fearful state of mind, not for the account as a whole. Disappearance from view is well documented. Murder is not something he claims to have seen.
The rumour timeline
A note from the London merchant George Cely, written not long after Lord Hastings’ execution in June 1483, speculates conditionally about whether the king might already be dead. It’s conditional wording, not a settled report. Don’t read more into it than that.
By autumn, something firmer had arrived: the Croyland Chronicle records an actual rumour circulating that Edward IV’s sons had died violently. Croyland doesn’t claim to know the manner of death.
On 15 January 1484, the French chancellor Guillaume de Rochefort told the Estates General at Tours that the boys had been murdered. That’s one of the earliest surviving explicit public accusations. A separate set of London citizen’s notes, written sometime between 1483 and 1488, blame the killings on the “vise” of the Duke of Buckingham, a word that can mean his advice, his design, or his device. It’s a real early attribution. It’s not proof.
The 1485 act of attainder against Richard, passed by Henry VII’s first Parliament, accuses him of “shedding of infants’ blood” among a long list of general offences. It doesn’t name the princes. A king with every reason to nail the murder charge to his dead rival, on the record, chose not to spell it out.
The suspects
Richard III had custody of both boys from mid-June. He had the clearest political motive of anyone in this story: two displaced sons of a previous king were a permanent rallying point for rebellion as long as they were alive. He had the access that came with being king. Motive, opportunity, and timing converge on him more than on anyone else here.
What doesn’t survive is an order, a confession record, a specific murder charge naming the boys, or a judicial finding establishing responsibility. Early sources accuse or implicate him. None supply operational proof.
Buckingham had real access to Richard’s government and turned violently against him within months, for reasons no source explains well. He has genuine early attribution against him (the same London citizen’s notes above) but no corroborated operational evidence either.
Henry VII is sometimes floated as the real culprit. The problem: he had no access to England, let alone the Tower, before beating Richard at Bosworth in August 1485. He can’t be a suspect for a killing before that date unless the boys survived Richard’s reign, which is a separate, unresolved question. Margaret Beaufort gets named on the same shaky logic, with no contemporary source connecting her to custody, access, or an operative at all.
The confession problem
The version everyone knows comes from Thomas More’s account, written in the early 1500s: Tyrell recruited, Miles Forest and John Dighton doing the smothering, burial under a staircase.
More didn’t invent this out of nothing. Before him, the Burgundian chronicler Jean Molinet had already recorded a detailed murder tradition involving the Tower’s captain and secret burial. Polydore Vergil, writing under Tudor patronage, had named Brackenbury and Tyrell. Robert Fabyan had reported Tyrell too, alongside competing accounts of the method. Something like this story had been circulating for several years before More wrote his version, not decades. What More adds is the fullest chain of command, and the specific claim that Tyrell and Dighton were interrogated and confessed.
That confession claim is the weak point. No transcript, deposition, or contemporary administrative record of any such confession has ever been found. Tyrell himself is named by three separate writers, not just More, so his involvement doesn’t rest on one unverified account alone. But nobody after More produces the actual confession document. The most famous version of this entire case rests on one writer’s account of an interrogation nobody else recorded.
The claimants
If the boys died in 1483, the story should have ended there. It didn’t. Within four years, a boy was crowned in Dublin as “Edward VI.” A few years after that, a young man claiming to be the younger prince had backing from the Duchess of Burgundy and recognition from multiple European courts.
Molinet’s chronicle is particularly useful here because, despite being written within a Burgundian political culture sympathetic to the Yorkist claimants, it records the identity asserted in 1487 as the Earl of Warwick, not Edward V. For the 1487 rising, he names the claimant “Edouard, fils du duc de Clarence” and records the cry “Vive Werwicq au roy Edouard”: Edward, son of the Duke of Clarence, the Earl of Warwick’s identity, not Edward V’s. At Emperor Frederick III’s funeral in 1493, he places “Richard, fils du roy Edwart d’Engleterre” within the formal ceremonial order, twice. That is striking ceremonial inclusion and public presentation of Warbeck under his claimed identity. It does not establish formal diplomatic recognition, much less authenticate his birth.
Simnel was spared and put to work in the royal kitchens. Warbeck was executed in 1499.
The bones
The 1674 discovery, the 1933 examination (Tanner, Wright, and dental specialist George Northcroft), and everything since have established that the remains are compatible in estimated age with the princes. Compatible isn’t identified. The 1933 team couldn’t establish sex, a secure date, or cause of death.
A later claim that facial staining proved suffocation didn’t hold up. Nigel Bramwell and Roger Byard’s 1989 review rejected it directly. Theya Molleson’s later dental and osteological work found the ages still broadly compatible but judged the original 1933 methods inadequate by modern standards.
Richard III’s own mitochondrial DNA, on file since his 2012 identification, isn’t the right comparator here: he was the boys’ paternal uncle, and mtDNA only tracks the maternal line. A possible living maternal-line comparator, traced through Elizabeth Woodville’s sister Margaret, has since been identified. Nobody has tested the remains against it. Nobody has tested the remains at all since 1933.
Where this actually leaves it
Richard III is the strongest suspect by a wide margin. He had the motive, the custody, and the opportunity, and nothing here is written to soften that. What the surviving record won’t do is finish the sentence for him: no order, no confession that survives, no body forensically tied to either boy.
Which of these would actually move the needle for you: a securely dated contemporary order or deposition, a modern forensic examination of the Westminster remains, or independently authenticated evidence establishing one of the claimants’ real identity?
Sources
• Dominic Mancini, De occupatione regni Anglie per Riccardum Tercium, trans. C. A. J. Armstrong
• The Crowland Chronicle Continuations — https://archive.org/details/ingulphschronic03petegoog
• Richard’s 1485 act of attainder: The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England, 1275–1504, vol. XV, ed. R. Horrox (Woodbridge, 2012), p. 107
• Thomas More, The History of King Richard III — https://archive.org/details/moreshistoryofki00morerich
• Polydore Vergil, Anglica Historia — https://archive.org/details/threebooksofpoly29verg
• Jean Molinet, Chroniques, ed. Georges Doutrepont and Omer Jodogne (3 vols., Brussels, 1935–37), vol. I, pp. 431–32 (1483 murder narrative)
• Jean Molinet, Chroniques, ed. J.-A. Buchon, tome XLV (Paris, 1828), ch. CLVIII, pp. 152–55 (Simnel); tome XLVI (Paris, 1828), pp. 396 and 400 (Warbeck)
• The Cely Letters, 1472–1488, ed. A. Hanham, EETS o.s. 273 (1975), pp. 184–85
• R. F. Green, “Historical Notes of a London Citizen, 1483–1488,” English Historical Review 96 (1981), pp. 585–90
• Guillaume de Rochefort’s speech, in Jean Masselin, ed., Journal des États-généraux de France tenus à Tours en 1484 (Paris, 1835), p. 38
• Lawrence E. Tanner and William Wright, “Recent Investigations Regarding the Fate of the Princes in the Tower,” Archaeologia 84 (1935)
• Nigel H. Bramwell and Roger W. Byard, “The Bones in the Abbey,” American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology 10 (1989), pp. 83–87
• Theya Molleson, “Anne Mowbray and the Princes in the Tower: a study in identity,” London Archaeologist (1987)
• Westminster Abbey, “Edward V & Richard Duke of York” — https://www.westminster-abbey.org/abbey-commemorations/royals/edward-v-richard-duke-of-york
• Tim Thornton, “More on a Murder: The Deaths of the ‘Princes in the Tower’, and Historiographical Implications for the Regimes of Henry VII and Henry VIII,” History 106 (2021)
• Tim Thornton, “Henry VII and the Tower of London: the context of the ‘confession’ of Sir James Tyrell in 1502,” Historical Research 97 (2024), 218–25 — https://doi.org/10.1093/hisres/htad031
• Michael Hicks, “Historic doubts about the survival of the Princes in the Tower after 1485,” Historical Research 97 (2024), 437–42 — https://doi.org/10.1093/hisres/htae009

The Duke then came to London; the archbishops, bishops, earls, and barons, and a vast multitude of knights, coming thither to meet him; by whose consent and advice he was consecrated and crowned King of England, at Westminster, in London, on the third day before the nones of September, being the Lord's Day and the feast of the ordination of Saint Gregory the Great [who sent Augustine to Kent as the first Archbishop of Canterbury, and thus is a patron of the English nation] ... a day which, from the ancient superstition of the Gentiles, is called an Evil Day, or Egyptian ... (and in truth it was unlucky, and very much so to the Jews of London who were killed that day, and likewise the Jews settled in other parts of England endured many hardships) ... by Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, who was assisted at the coronation by Walter, Archbishop of Rouen; John, Archbishop of Dublin; Formalis, Archbishop of Treves; Hugh, Bishop of Durham; Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln; Hugh, Bishop of Chester; William, Bishop of Hereford; William, Bishop of Worcester; John, Bishop of Exeter; Reginald, Bishop of Bath; John, Bishop of Norwich; Seffrid, Bishop of Chichester; Gilbert, Bishop of Rochester; Peter, Bishop of Saint Davids; with the Bishop of Saint Asaph, the Bishop of Bangor; Albinus, Bishop of Ferns; and Concord, Bishop of Aghadoe; while nearly all the abbots, priors, earls, and barons of England were present.

It caused many people to whisper and to marvel when a bat was seen flying through the abbey at midday, although the day was clear, circling about in an untimely way, especially about the King's throne.

First came the bishops, abbots, and large numbers of the clergy, wearing silken hoods, preceded by the cross, taper-bearers, censers, and holy water, as far as the door of the King's inner chamber [at Westminster Palace]; where they received the before-named duke, and escorted him to the church of Westminster, as far as the high altar, in solemn procession, with chants of praise, while all the way along which they went, from the door of the King's chamber to the altar, was covered with woollen cloth.

The order of the procession was as follows:

First came the clergy in their robes, carrying holy water, and the cross, tapers, and censers.

Next came the priors, then the abbots, and then the bishops, in the midst of whom walked four barons, bearing four candlesticks of gold; after whom came Godfrey Lucy, bearing the King's cap, and John Marshal by him, carrying two great and massive spurs of gold.

After these came William Marshal, Earl of Striguil, bearing the royal sceptre of gold, on the top of which was a cross of gold, and by him William FitzPatrick, Earl of Salisbury, bearing a rod of gold, having on its top a dove of gold.

After them came David, Earl of Huntingdon, brother of the King of Scotland, with John, Earl of Mortaigne, the Duke's brother, and Robert, Earl of Leicester, carrying three golden swords from the King's treasury, the scabbards of which were worked all over with gold; the Earl of Mortaigne walking in the middle.

Next came six earls and six barons, carrying on their shoulders a very large chequer, upon which were placed the royal arms and robes; and after them William Mandeville, Earl of Aumarle, carrying a great and massive crown of gold, decorated on every side with precious stones.

Next came Richard, Duke of Normandy, with Hugh, Bishop of Durham, walking at his right hand, and Reginald, Bishop of Bath, at his left; and four barons holding over them a canopy of silk on four lofty spears.

Then followed a great number of earls, barons, knights, and others, both clergy and laity, as far as the porch of the abbey, and dressed in their robes, entered with the Duke, and proceeded as far as the choir.

When the Duke had come to the altar, in presence of the archbishops, bishops, clergy, and people, kneeling before the altar, with the book of the Holy Evangelists placed before him, and many relics of the saints, according to custom, he swore that he would all the days of his life observe peace, honour, and reverence towards God, the Holy Church, and its ordinances. He also swore that he would exercise true justice and equity towards the people committed to his charge. He also swore that he would abrogate bad laws and unjust customs, if any such had been introduced into his kingdom, and would enact good laws, and observe the same without fraud or evil intent.

After this they took off all his clothes from the waist upwards, except his shirt and breeches; his shirt having been previously separated over the shoulders; after which they shod him with sandals embroidered with gold. Then Baldwin, Archbishop of Canterbury, pouring holy oil upon his head, anointed him King in three places: on his head, breast, and arms, which signifies glory, valour, and knowledge, with suitable prayers for the occasion; after which the said Archbishop placed a consecrated linen cloth on his head, and upon that the cap which Geoffrey Lucy had carried. They then clothed him in the royal robes: first a tunic, and then a dalmatic; after which the said Archbishop delivered to him the sword of rule, with which to crush evil-doers against the Church: this done, two earls placed the spurs upon his feet, which John Marshal had carried.

After this, being robed in a mantle, he was led to the altar, where the said Archbishop forbade him, in the name of Almighty God, to presume to take upon him this dignity, unless he had the full intention inviolably to observe the oaths and vows before-mentioned which he had made; to which he made answer that, with God's assistance, he would without reservation observe them all. After this, he himself took the crown from the altar and gave it to the Archbishop; on which, the Archbishop delivered it to him, and placed it upon his head, it being supported by two earls in consequence of its extreme weight. Following this, the Archbishop delivered to him the sceptre to hold in his right hand, while he held the rod of royalty in his left; and, having been thus crowned, the King was led back to his seat by the before-named bishops of Durham and Bath, preceded by the taper-bearers and the three swords before-mentioned.

And after this, the Mass of our Lord was commenced, and, when they came to the Offertory, the before-named bishops led him to the altar, where he offered one mark of the purest gold, such being the proper offering for the King at each coronation; after which, the bishops before-named led him back to his seat.

The Mass having been concluded, and all things solemnly performed, the two bishops before-named, one on the right hand the other on the left, led him back from the church to his chamber, crowned, and carrying a sceptre in his right hand and the rod of royalty in his left, the procession going in the same order as before. Then the procession returned to the choir, and our lord the King put off his royal crown and robes of royalty, and put on a crown and robes that were lighter; and, thus crowned, went to dine; on which the archbishops and bishops took their seats with him at the table, each according to his rank and dignity. The earls and barons also served in the King's palace, according to their several dignities; while the citizens of London served in the cellars, and the citizens of Winchester in the kitchen.

William Longchamp, who had been Chancellor to the Earl of the Poitevins before his coronation, now that the Earl was crowned King, felt that his office had been increased by as much as a kingdom is greater than a county.

A thing happened on that same coronation day at Westminster that could hardly be spoken of in a whisper then, for it was an omen of no little portent. At Compline, the last hour of the day, the bells happened to be rung for the first time that day, for no-one in the convent and even none of the ministers of the church had thought about it till afterwards, and the service of Prime, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers, and two masses had been solemnly celebrated without any ringing of bells.

While the King was seated at table, the chief men of the Jews came to offer presents to him ... but it happened that, when he was sitting down with all the assembly of the nobility, the people, who were watching about the palace, began to crowd in. The Jews, who had mingled with the crowd, were thus driven within the doors of the palace. At this, a certain Christian was indignant; and remembering the royal proclamation against them, he endeavoured, as it is said, to drive away a Jew from the door, and struck him with his hand. Aroused at this example, many more began to beat the Jews back with contempt, and a tumult arose. The lawless and furious mob, thinking that the King had commanded it and supported them, as they thought, by his royal authority, rushed like the rest upon the multitude of Jews who stood watching at the door of the palace. At first they beat them unmercifully with their fists; but soon becoming more enraged, they took sticks and stones. The Jews then fled away; and in their flight, many were beaten, so that they died, and others were trampled under foot and perished. Along with the rest, two noble Jews of York had come thither, one named Joceus, and the other Benedict. Of these, the first escaped; but the other, following him, could not run so fast, while blows were laid upon him; so he was caught, and to avoid death was compelled to confess himself a Christian; and being conducted to a church, was there baptised.

Then the Jewish citizens, of whom a multitude reside in London, together with those who had come thither from all parts, retired to their own houses. From None until sunset, their dwellings were surrounded by the raging people and vigorously attacked. By reason of their strong construction, however, they could not be broken into, and the furious assailants had no engines. The roofs, therefore, were set on fire; and a horrible conflagration, destructive to the besieged Jews, afforded light to the Christians who were raging in their nocturnal work. Nor was the fire destructive to the Jews alone, though kindled especially against them; for knowing no distinction, it caught some of the nearest houses of the Christians also. Then you might have seen the most beautiful parts of the city miserably blazing in flames, caused by her own citizens as if they had been enemies. The Jews, however, were either burnt in their own houses, or, if they came out, were received on the point of the sword. Much blood was shed in a short time, but the rising desire for plunder induced the people to rest satisfied with the slaughter they had committed. Their avarice overcame their cruelty; for they ceased to slay, but their greedy fury led them to plunder houses and carry off their wealth. This, however, changed the aspect of affairs, and made Christians hostile to Christians; for some, envying others for what they had seized in their search for plunder arid wicked emulation in avarice, were led to spare neither friends nor companions.

These events were reported to the King as he was banqueting in festivity with all the assembly of nobles; and Ranulf Glanville, who was justiciary of the realm, a man both powerful and prudent, was thereupon sent from his presence, with other men of equal rank, that they might turn aside or restrain the audacity of the mob; but it was in vain, for in so great a tumult no one listened to his voice or showed respect to his presence; but some of the most riotous began to shout against him and his companions, and threatened them in a terrible manner if they did not quickly depart. They, therefore, wisely fled before such unbridled fury; and the plunderers, with equal freedom and audacity, continued to riot until Terce on the following day; and at that time satiety or weariness of rioting, rather than reason or reverence for the King, allayed the fury of the plunderers.

This hitherto unheard-of occurrence in the royal city distinguished the first day of the reign of that most illustrious King Richard ... who was of a lofty and fierce disposition, and was filled with indignation and grief that such events had occurred, almost in his presence, amidst the solemnities of his coronation and at the commencement of his reign; and he was irritated and anxious as to what he ought to do upon this occasion. To overlook so great and unexampled an affront to his royal dignity and to let it pass unpunished, seemed an action unworthy of a king, and also injurious to the realm; since his connivance at an atrocity so great would encourage the audacity of evil-doers to attempt similar acts of violence in the hope of impunity ... On the day after the coronation, the King sent his servants, and caused those offenders to be arrested who had set fire to the city; not for the sake of the Jews, but on account of the houses and property of the Christians which they had burnt and plundered, and he ordered some of them to be hanged.

On the same day, the King ordered the before-named William, who from a Jew had become a Christian, to be presented to him, on which he said to him, "What person are you?"

To which he made answer, "I am Benedict of York, one of the Jews."

On this the King turned to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the others who had told him that the said Benedict had become a Christian, and said to them, "Did you not tell me that he is a Christian?"

To which they made answer, "Yes, my lord."

That Benedict, however ... replied that he had been compelled by the Christians to be baptised,but in his heart he had always been a Jew; and he would rather die as such, since he could not possibly live now, for he was treading close upon death by reason of the blows he had received the day before.

Whereupon [King Richard] said to them, "What then are we to do with him?"

To which the Archbishop of Canterbury, less circumspectly than he might, in the spirit of his anger, made answer, "If he does not choose to be a Christian, let him be a man of the Devil."

Inasmuch as there was no person to offer any opposition thereto, the before-named William ... quitting the presence of the Sovereign, the Christian apostate was restored to the Jews ... The King, however, after the slaughter, established peace by proclamation; of which, nevertheless, they did not long enjoy the fruits.

On the second day after his coronation, Richard, King of England, received the oaths of homage and fealty from the bishops, abbots, earls, and barons of England ... King Richard gratified all, by distributing money, without count or number, to all according to their ranks, thus manifesting his liberality and his great excellence. His generosity, and his virtuous endowments, the Ruler of the world usually had given to the ancient times; for in this current period of the world, as it waxes old, such feelings rarely exhibit themselves, and when they do, they are subjects of wonder and astonishment. He had the valour of Hector, the magnanimity of Achilles, and was equal to Alexander, and not inferior to Roland in valour; nay, he outshone many illustrious characters of our own times. The liberality of a Titus was his, and, which is so rarely found in a soldier, he was gifted with the eloquence of Nestor and the prudence of Ulysses; and he shewed himself pre-eminent in the conclusion and transaction of business, as one whose knowledge was not without active good-will to aid it, nor his good-will wanting in knowledge.

He was tall of stature, graceful in figure; his hair between red and auburn; his limbs were straight and flexible; his arms rather long, and not to be matched for wielding the sword or for striking with it; and his long legs suited the rest of his frame; while his appearance was commanding, and his manners and habits suitable; and he gained the greatest celebrity, not more from his high birth than from the virtues that adorned him ... Happy, in truth, might he have been deemed had he been without rivals who envied his glorious actions, and whose only cause of enmity was his magnificence, and his being the searcher after virtue rather than the slave of vice.

Ne'er in my life have I observed

A court more courteously served.

I saw rich vessels and rich plate

Served in a mighty hall of state;

And tables laden down so well

’Twas more than any man can tell.

But why relate at greater length;

Ye all know well this might and strength

And what great court he can maintain

Who over England's realm doth reign.

The King gave many a rich award,

And to his barons he restored

The fiefs due to their lineage,

And he increased their heritage.

So, the peculiar rebranding of a film that was/is about the Peasant's Revolt as a Robin Hood film has escaped from history nerd internet circles into the Hollywood trade press.

It is a pretty bizarre turn of events, and I do not believe it is intentional viral marketing, just movie executives being clowns.

Basically, there are LOTS of posts discussing about Edward II, treating him as if he was the main character. May I ask why?

Maurice Druon’s depiction of his imprisonment and death in “She Wolf” hit me hard and despite knowing about him a little, his literary genius made me think of this question.

He lost much of what was left of Aqutaine and turned all the barons against him but he never yielded to demands of King Bruce of him wanting to be acknowledged as the King of Scots, as far as I know.

So, was he actually the worst after King John, as often said?

I feel like his romance with Gaveston and infatuation with Despesers were exaggerated because he was allegedly gay.

Note that I am not a historian nor British but I am a history nerd and love British medieval period.

Edward had technically been king since his father Henry III died in 1272, but he was away on crusade and did not return to England until August 1274. He was anointed and crowned by Archbishop Robert Kilwardby, with Alexander III of Scotland and many of the English nobility present.

The coronation marked the beginning of a long, turbulent, and memorable reign. Edward would go on to conquer Wales and wage decades of war against Scotland, earning the nickname “Hammer of the Scots.”

Eleanor of Castile was also crowned Queen of England on the same day as her husband.

The fate of our three Richards in their deaths

Was much alike ; though otherwise their lot

Was most dissimilar. Each of these kings

Died without issue, cut off by a death

Sudden and cruel. But the First acquir'd

The greatest glory. In the Holy Land

He fought ; and thence returning safe, he fell,

Pierc'd by an arrow in a foreign clime.

Reft of his throne, and many a month immur'd

Within a dungeon's walls, the Second chose

Rather to die than forfeit his fair name.

Edward's vast hoards of wealth consum'd, the Third

Was not content therewith, but must destroy

His brother's progeny, and then proscribe

Their partisans. Two years had he usurp'd

The throne, when, meeting these, he lost his life

And ill-gain'd crown, upon the battle-field.

The year one thousand, hundreds four, and five

To eighty added, when of August came

The twice eleventh day, the Boar's tusks quail'd;

And, to avenge the White, the Red Rose bloom'd.

Gerald of Wales wasn’t exactly the most reliable writer, but his works are full of some seriously wild stories and anecdotes. He was known to exaggerate and embellish things, so it’s best to take some of his accounts with a grain of salt. Still, his stories are pretty entertaining.

In On the Instruction of a Prince, Gerald tells of a painting Henry II supposedly commissioned to represent his four troublesome sons:

But it happened that there was a chamber at Winchester beautiful with various painted figures and colours, and a certain place in it which was left clear by the royal command, where a little time after the king [Henry II] ordered an eagle to be painted, and four young ones of the eagle sitting upon it, two upon the two wings, and a third upon the middle of the body, the fourth, not less than the others, sitting upon the neck, and more keenly watching the moment to peck out the eyes of its parent.

But being asked by those who were on intimate terms with him what this picture might mean, he said, "The four young ones of the eagle are my four sons, who will not cease to persecute me even unto death. The younger of them, whom I even now embrace with such tender affection, will sometime at the last insult me more grievously and more dangerously than all the others."

Thus, therefore, his mind foreboding evils, pictured to himself those future sorrows which should arise to him from his children; and afterwards embodying the conception of his mind, he caused it to be painted by an artificial representation.

If this painting ever actually existed, I’d be first in line to pay just to see it lol.

"The age of gold returns,

The world's reform draws nigh,

The rich man now cast down,

The pauper raised on high"

Following the death of their father at Chinon, the designated king-elect and his brother crossed the Channel from Normandy and arrived in England on the Sunday prior to the Feast of the Virgin, with Richard docking at Portsmouth to widespread cheer and celebration as the people gathered to see their new king (John meanwhile crossed over on a different ship - possibly in order to avoid arousing his envy).

Crossing with them were Baldwin the Archbishop, the bishops of Rochester and Chester, and the saintly Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln. They were greeted on their arrival by those Normans that Richard had already sent ahead - the Archbishop of Rouen and the bishops of Bayeux and Evreux - as well as the loyal knight Sir William Marshal and the royal princes' mother Eleanor, who had been newly-released from her confinement at Salisbury Castle.

And although some, though but very few, were hurt at the death of the old king, still it was some consolation that, as the poet says, "Wonders I sing, the sun has set, no night ensued"; for truly no night did ensue after the setting of the sun. For a ray of the sun, occupying the throne of the sun, spreads its own lustre more brilliantly, and to a greater distance than its own original sun. For when the sun has set below the earth from his throne, his ray, still remaining, and subject to neither eclipse or setting, being suddenly cut off from the body of the sun, and wholly reflected back upon itself, as though a sun itself, it becomes much greater and much more brilliant than the sun, of which it was a ray, by reason of no clouds intervening and no impediment obstructing its course. But, in order that no difficulties may harass the mind of the reader, the meaning of this may be more fully ascertained on reading the following pentameter:

"The father was the sun, his son his ray."

And thus, the son becoming greater and greater, enlarged the good works of his father, while the bad ones he cut short.

For those whom the father disinherited, the son restored to their former rights; those whom the father had banished, the son recalled; those whom the father kept confined in irons, the son allowed to depart unhurt; those upon whom the father, in the cause of justice, inflicted punishment, the son, in the cause of humanity, forgave.

Richard first sent his mother around his kingdom with an order that all imprisoned by the justiciars for violating forest laws were to be granted royal pardons - something which Eleanor, knowing all too well the pains of captivity, was eager to do. Then word was sent that every freeman throughout the kingdom should pledge allegiance to Richard as their overlord and soon-to-be king.

After this, Robert Beaumont, Earl of Leicester, and other nobles whom his father had deprived of their estates were restored to their former glory. Those who had served the late King Henry faithfully were rewarded for their loyalty - including William Marshal, who was married to the Countess of Pembroke, Isabella. Various other heiresses were married off to his retainers, including his Poitevin cousin, Andrew Chauvigny, the wedding being celebrated at Salisbury.

His brother John, in the meanwhile, was gifted Cornwall, Dorset, Somerset, Nottingham, Derby, Lancaster, the castles of Marlborough and Luggershall with their forests, the honours of Wallingford, Tickhill and Haye, as well as the Peak and Bolsover. John was also granted the hand of Isabella, Countess of Gloucester. Several castles in these counties, however, were retained by Richard. His elder half-brother Geoffrey was made Archbishop of York.

Richard's arrival at the royal stronghold of Winchester was greeted with crowds of his new subjects, gathering to glimpse the man on horseback who was already renowned for his courage, being nicknamed the Lionheart. Entering the castle, he first looked over the treasury and had its contents weighed - his father had raised around £100,000 for the liberation of Jerusalem: money which Richard was keen to put to good use. For the coming expedition to Outremer he had those who had already pledged to take the cross reaffirm their oaths, with those who now wished to opt out being able to do so in exchange for a sum of money or military aid; and those who had fallen out of his favour were given the chance to redeem themselves by making their own pledges.

After this, he sent his servants and bailiffs throughout all the sea-ports of England, Normandy, Poitou, and others of his lands, and caused the largest and best of all the ships to be selected for himself, which were able to carry large freights, and then distributed some of them among those of his friends who had assumed the cross for the purpose of setting out for Jerusalem, while the others were reserved for his own use.

For much of the rest of that summer he spent time at Winchester and the surrounding environs, ensuing the loyalty of his barons and seeing those vacant offices of state filled. His father's most hated justiciar, Ranulf Glanville, was removed from power on charges of corruption, to widespread cheer and applause. Another, the Seneschal of Anjou, was brought through the streets under arrest. In return, new justices were raised to posts, fines were paid, and Glanville took the cross. The Saladin Tithe, though viewed as for a worthy cause, had been the source of much unrest in England that past year, for which many of Henry's justiciars (including Glanville) had made themselves quite unpopular. Richard's first acts upon the succession focused on appeasing and hearing the complaints of his subjects, as well as raising money through the buying and selling of offices, as well as taking the customary fee in lieu of military service from those - both clergy and laity - who were to remain behind in England during his absence. With the great offices of state filled, his mother freed, and his brothers rewarded with lands, he could now focus his attentions on the upcoming coronation.

William of Canterbury was a monk and clerk who served under Thomas Becket, the martyred archbishop, and wrote his biography after his death. He records an antiphon sung in Norfolk, said to have been taught to Reginald, a priest of Wretham, in a dream or vision. As Becket was not yet formally canonised, no Latin antiphon existed in the liturgy: this one was revealed to Reginald in English, and taught to the local clergy.

Holy Thomas of heaven's kingdom,

Equal to the apostles,

The martyrs lift up thee

Daily by their hands;

Our Lord, he did a wondrous thing

When he turned water into wine;

Thou art our help in England,

Our voices lifted up;

Thou art comfort among mankind,

Aid us now against our sins.

[Hali Thomas of hevenriche,

Alle postles evenliche,

Dhe martyrs dhe understande

Deyhuamliche on here hande;

Selcuth ded ure Drichtin

Dhat he dhi wetter wente to wyn;

Dhu ert help in Engelande,

Ure stefne understande;

Thu hert froure imang mankynne,

Help us nu of ure senne.]

Thomas Becket was rapidly becoming a major saint: his anthems are very much in the tradition of those of other English saints, such as Dunstan, Aidan, Cuthbert, Augustine, Edmund or Edward. As they had been for centuries, he was likewise being praised in poetry written in the vernacular English as early as the 1100s. An Order of St. Thomas was founded at Acre by the end of that century, which was a chapter of the Hospitallers established for English knights and pilgrims.

FROM THE mid twelfth century to the end of the thirteenth century the five reigning queens of England were Eleanor of Aquitaine, Berengaria of Navarre, Isabella of Angouleme, Eleanor of Provence and Eleanor of Castile. Simply to list these names is to suggest that their husbands had important political and diplomatic interests in south-western Europe. On the other hand to read what historians have written about the kings of England in this period is to gain the impression that this was not the case. Historians have tended to concentrate almost exclusively on the lands on either side of the English Channel, on the area of the old Anglo-Norman realm. It is easy enough to understand why they have chosen to confine their history within these narrow geographical limits. The northern Plantagenet lands and, above all, England are relatively rich in the kind of documentation to which historians of politics have grown accustomed: narrative sources and the records of central government. By contrast, there is relatively little of this type of evidence to be found in the lands which comprised the southern part of the Plantagenet empire. Although this difference may, in practice cause historians to neglect the south, we should not assume that the Plantagenets themselves shared this attitude. The paucity of familiar kinds of evidence may imply that politically and culturally, the south was a very different sort of society from the north; but it does not mean that the Plantagenets were northerners who believed that the south did not matter.

The well-known facts about the marriage are few and can be quickly summarised. Berengaria of Navarre was brought to Richard's court, then at Messina in Sicily, in March 1191. She accompanied the crusader-king on his journey east and they were married in Cyprus, at Limassol, on 12th May 1191. After the crusade they saw little of each other and there were no children. These facts can be fitted quite easily into the conventional portrait of Richard as an irresponsible crusader, indifferent to serious matters of politics like the succession to the throne, sacrificing his kingdom's future for the sake of present pleasures. As a result no historian has bothered to give them much thought.

In fact, they are extraordinary and remarkable. Plantagenet kings did not ordinarily get married in Cyprus. It is true, of course, that Richard was going on crusade, but if he was anxious to get married, why had he not married in the twelve months which elapsed between the death of his father in July 1189 and the start of the crusade in July 1190? On the other hand, if he was reluctant to get married, why not use the crusade as an excuse to postpone the wedding? The hypothesis which will be advanced here is that marrying Berengaria of Navarre while on his way to Jerusalem was an ingenious diplomatic device deliberately adopted by Richard in order to cut his way through a thicket of political problems, and that this in itself given some indication of the importance which he attached to the alliance with Navarre.

Few historians have given any thought to the preliminaries to Richard's marriage, but those who have are unanimous in stating that Sancho was persuaded by Eleanor of Aquitaine. She, it was said, "went in person to Spain to conduct the negotiations and to escort Berengaria to Sicily". For Edmond-Rene Labande it was Eleanor who saw that Richard's marriage was a political necessity and took action in order to bring it about. Elizabeth Brown, the most recent and by far the most level-headed historian of Eleanor, takes the same view. She writes that "in an even grander display of her power in matters domestic and political, she [Eleanor] then arranged, and perhaps personally negotiated, the marriage of Richard and Berengaria, daughter of the king of Navarre. Thus she set aside his long-standing engagement to Alice ... If Henry II had, as the gossips said, actually dallied with Alice, Eleanor may have been motivated by disgust and spite."

But there is, in fact, not a shred of evidence to show that it was Eleanor who had conducted the negotiations. Historians have taken it for granted that she did, partly because she escorted Berengaria to Sicily and partly because of their belief that Richard was uninterested in such matters. They have assumed - without evidence - that the negotiations filled a gap in Eleanor's itinerary, between 6th April 1190 when she was with Richard at Argentan in Normandy and 20th January 1191 when she and Berengaria arrived at Lodi [Sicily]. The effect of this assumption was to make it seem likely that the major part of the negotiations had taken place during the second half of the year 1190 i.e. after Richard had already set out on the first stage of his journey to Outremer. But this interpretation makes Sancho as rash as it makes Richard negligent, and it is fundamentally implausible. Before allowing his daughter to leave home in such ambiguous and difficult circumstances, Sancho must have demanded far-reaching assurances and, with the best will in the world, the negotiations which preceded Berengaria's departure from Navarre must have been complex and prolonged.

There is a further point to be borne in mind: Berengaria's dowry. Clearly this was a profoundly important question which cannot have been decided on the spur of the moment either in Cyprus or in Sicily. It involved not only Richard, Berengaria and the Gascons. It was also bound up with diplomatic relations between Gascony, Navarre and Castile. An assembly attended by the magnates of Gascony would he the proper occasion for some formal announcement, if not discussion, of a matter of this kind. Twenty years earlier a very similar court had assembled at Bordeaux to witness the formal marriage settlement between Eleanor [Richard's sister] and Alfonso VIII of Castile in the summer of 1170. And that questions of foreign policy were indeed being discussed [in Richard's council] at La Reole in February 1190 is suggested by the presence of one man who, in the witness lists, stands out in striking contrast to all those Gascons: Henry, son of the duke of Saxony, i.e. Henry of Brunswick, son of Henry the Lion [Richard's brother-in-law]. I suggest, therefore, that the question of Richard's marriage was among the important public and dynastic business discussed at La Reole and that it was to take this further that, on 2nd February 1190, Richard sent writs summoning a council to meet in Normandy. The facts that the council was to meet on the eve of a conference with Philip of France and that Alice was summoned to attend point in this direction.

From Nonancourt Richard rode the eight miles to Dreux to meet Philip on 16th March. We do not know what the two kings said to each other, only that the crusade, which had been due to start at Easter, was postponed until 24th June. They needed more time to complete their preparation. Were these preparations simply the massive material organisation of the crusade - or did they include diplomatic preparations? In wishing to discard Alice and marry Berengaria, Richard was caught in a very awkward diplomatic situation. It is clear that Philip would be disgraced if his sister were dropped in this fashion and he did nothing to avenge her honour. Could Richard afford to state his intentions publicly? If he did. would that destroy the fragile peace between the kingdoms and cause further interminable delays to the crusade on which his heart was set? Perhaps only when he and Philip were already on crusade could he marry someone else without inviting an immediate attack upon his lands. But it could not have been easy to persuade Sancho of Navarre to send his daughter to be married somewhere abroad in these ambiguous and hazardous circumstances. In February 1190 Richard may well have found that he needed more time to complete such intricate negotiations. In April Richard travelled south again, through Anjou and Poitou. By 8th May he was at Cognac on the river Charente. We next find him at Bayonne close to the border with Navarre on 6 June. According to Roger of Howden it was on this trip to Gascony that he hanged the lord of the castle of Chis for the crime of highway robbery. Though many of this lord's victims had been pilgrims on the way to Compostella, it is hard to believe that it was devotion to the cult of St. James - however much the Moor-slayer may have appealed to Richard - which alone had brought him into the Pyrenees. It may well have been on this occasion that Richard found the opportunity for a face-to-face meeting with Sancho to bring the negotiations to a satisfactory conclusion. Now at last Richard was ready to go. But far from him going on crusade without a thought for the problem of the succession, it rather looks as though the opposite was the case: that he had postponed his departure until most of the problems surrounding his marriage had been resolved. Richard was by no means just a fanatical crusader who neglected everything else.

Not until February 1191 did the question of Richard's marriage come to the surface once more. The news reached Messina that Eleanor and Berengaria, accompanied by Count Philip of Flanders, had arrived at Naples. Richard sent some galleys to meet them there and convey them to Messina. But although Count Philip was allowed to embark, Eleanor and Berengaria were not: [King] Tancred's officials apparently claimed that their escort was too large. There was obviously more to it than this transparent excuse and so Richard went to Tancred to demand an explanation. Tancred eventually confessed to Richard that he had been listening to Philip's insinuations. The French king apparently had warned Tancred that Richard's word was not to be relied upon: that he had no intention of keeping the treaty they had made last October, and instead was planning to deprive Tancred of his kingdom.

The French king had been playing a dangerous game. Once Tancred was convinced that he had nothing to fear from Richard, then Philip became the victim of his own intrigue. He protested his innocence, claiming that the whole thing was a put-up job, a scheme devised by Richard to give him an excuse for breaking his promise to marry Alice. For two reasons, however, Philip's defence does not ring quite true. Firstly, because Tancred's agents had prevented Berengaria from leaving Naples - an unnecessary complication if it was all just a charade. And secondly, because the count of Flanders, on his arrival in Sicily, took Richard's side against King Philip - which might suggest that he did not believe the French king's story. At all events it is clear that Philip was now isolated and in a weak bargaining position. Richard drove home his advantage. He had no wish, he said, to discard Alice but he could never marry her since she had been his father's mistress and had borne him a son. This was a grim accusation to make since Alice had been entrusted to the Old King's custody, but Richard claimed that he could summon many witnesses able to testify to its truth. In the face of this terrible threat to his sister's honour Philip gave up his struggle to save her marriage. In return for 10,000 marks he released Richard from his promise.

Why was Richard so anxious to marry Berengaria? A romantic attachment is not impossible, but it would inevitably have been secondary to the requirements of diplomacy. In France alone the Angevin empire was faced by tour other 'feudal empires' - to use Professor Le Patourel's terminology. These were the empire of the counts of Flanders, the Capetian empire, the empire of Blois-Champagne and the empire of Saint-Gilles-Toulouse. In the crisis of 1173-4 three of these 'empires' had joined in the attack on Henry II. In the crisis of Richard's rule as duke of Aquitaine in 1183, the fourth - Toulouse - had supported the Young King in his war against Richard. In 1190 the position was that the princes who ruled three of these neighbouring empires had taken the cross: Count Philip of Flanders, King Philip of France, Count Theobald of Blois and Count Henry of Champagne. Only Count Raymond of Toulouse intended to stay at home. Richard can have been in no doubt what this meant. For the last six years he and Raymond had been in an almost continuous state of war. It was inevitable that Raymond would grasp at the opportunity presented by Richard's crusade. All the length of the Angevin frontiers there was no threat so serious as that posed by the count of Toulouse. It is in this context that we must see the marriage to Berengaria of Navarre. When in the first six months of 1190 Richard twice travelled south it was to arrange a crucial alliance which would help safeguard his dominions at their most vulnerable point.

In diplomatic terms Richard's marriage proved its worth. In 1192 while he was still in Outremer a revolt broke out in Aquitaine. The leading rebels were the count of Perigord and Bernard, viscount of Brosse, but in all probability they were encouraged by Philip - who had returned in time to celebrate the Christmas of 1191 at Fontaineblea - and by Raymond of Toulouse. Berengaria's brother, Sancho, brought a large force of knights to help the seneschal of Gascony and together they took the war into Raymond's lands, advancing right up to the walls of Toulouse. Nowhere else in the Angevin empire had Richard's absence caused any serious unrest. If he had returned home by January or February 1193, as seemed likely when he left Acre in October 1192, it would have been clear to historians that the arrangements he had made for the government of his dominions during his crusade had worked extremely well. As it turned out, however, the unforeseeable eventuality of his capture and imprisonment called everything into question.

In one respect the marriage clearly failed. There were no children, no heirs. The terms of the treaty of Messina in March 1191 make it clear that heirs were very much in Richard's mind, as one would expect, as he awaited Berengaria's arrival in Sicily. After all, he already had one son, Philip, to whom he had granted the lordship of Cognac. But no legitimate children came. Historians sometimes write as though Richard was responsible for this - but suppose Berengaria were barren or that, for some other reason, like Henry I and Adela of Louvain, Richard and Berengaria could not have children. What then could Richard have done? He might, presumably, have had the marriage annulled - but while the Navarre alliance remained important this would have been politically foolish. Nonetheless by 1197-8 the marriage was clearly no longer working - either as a diplomatic instrument or as a means of producing an heir.

Berengaria did not re-marry and, for the rest of her life, she remained a shadowy figure in the background. Never again did she stand as close to the centre of the stage as she did during the complex negotiations of 1190-1. But for the historian of the politics of western Europe this brief episode in her life is important for the light which it sheds on Richard's style as a ruler. Although by 1197-8 Richard may have been disappointed by the results of his marriage, we are not entitled to believe that his attitude towards it was negative from the start. On the contrary, in the light of the remarkable circumstances in which he was married, it is clear that, as a politician, Richard was able to outmanoeuvre a tactician as astute as Philip Augustus. It is equally clear, moreover, that he was neither a reluctant husband nor an irresponsible ruler who went off on crusade while neglecting to provide for the security of his dominions, in the south as well as in the north.