history

Wild asters, traditionally known as Michaelmas daisies.
Photo: author’s own. All rights reserved.

This blog is being published on Saturday, October 5, 2024 to align with #HistoryWritersDay24, a celebration of history writers, publishers and bloggers – both non-fiction and fiction. 

Happy fall, y’all! The autumn season officially started two weeks ago, though with temps consistently popping in and out of the mid-80s here in Minnesota, it hasn’t quite felt like it. Yet despite the heat, we’ve come to the official end of summer.

In the U.S., these first weeks of fall might not seem terribly eventful, aside from homecoming football games, hayrides and apple picking excursions. In Plantagenet England, however, the early autumn season shepherded in an important date on the religious and civic calendars: the 29th of September, or the feast of Michaelmas. 

Michaelmas (pronounced “mickel-mas”) is a feast day in the western Christian church honoring St. Michael the Archangel, that foremost of angels who commands the heavenly armies and defeated Satan, tossing him and his followers out of Heaven as pictured in the statue below. The tradition dates back to the 5th century A.D., when a chapel was dedicated to the saint in Gargano, Italy, and vestiges of this celebration persist even into our modern-day culture. Once called “St. Michael’s mass,” the name of the observation became truncated as “Michaelmas” over time, just as Christmas was once known as “Christ’s mass.” Some Christian traditions have included other heavenly beings in the same feast day, celebrating specific archangels such as St. Raphael or “all angels” at the same time. 

Jakub Hałun, 20190816 Archangel Michael sculpture, St. Vitus Cathedral, 1400 5302, CC BY-SA 4.0

As with all the best holidays, Michaelmas was celebrated with a feast. Falling as it did at the end of the harvest, the Michaelmas banquet table was loaded with the many bounties of the season, but the main star of the culinary show was the goose. Having been fattened on the leftover grain in the fields after the harvest was complete, the goose was a symbol of prosperity, and it was even said that eating a goose on Michaelmas prevented financial hardship in the coming year! All in all, folks were surely glad of the opportunity to take a break from their labors in the field, gather with friends and neighbors as the days shortened, and enjoy the fruits of their hard work. 

The period of English history we now refer to as the Plantagenet era (strictly for ease of use, despite its many problematic aspects) fell toward the end of the Middle Ages, at a time when Michaelmas commemorations had grown beyond being a Catholic “Day of Observation” – or as we might say in today’s parlance: a “Get Your Behind To Church (Or Else) Day.” (Mostly joking, of course, but making sure you went to church on these extra-important days was a Big Deal.) The 29th of September had become an important date on the socio-economic and political calendars as well. In a society dominated by the seasons and celebrations of the Church, it made sense to align secular obligations and timetables with the ecclesiastical calendar already familiar to nearly all members of society. As a result, Michaelmas became one of four “quarter days” that divided the year into fourths and signified the beginnings & endings of contracts, employment terms, and educational sessions. Debts and legal proceedings were to be resolved in time to be publicly recorded on the quarter day, serving the public interest by preventing disputes from running on indefinitely.

Raphael artist QS:P170,Q5597 (https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Raphael_-_St._Michael_Vanquishing_Satan.jpg), „Raphael – St. Michael Vanquishing Satan“, marked as public domain, more details on Wikimedia Commons: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Template:PD-old

In England and Wales, the quarter days were established in line with the solstices and equinoxes and have generally been observed as Lady Day (March 25), Midsummer (6/24), Michaelmas (9/29) and Christmas (12/25) since at least the Middle Ages. In other parts of the British Isles, a similar quarter day system was also utilized, but the quarter dates themselves were tied instead to the old Celtic calendar. Before its Christianization in the 5th century, Ireland observed the Celtic festivals of Imbolc (2/1), Beltane (5/1), Lughnasadh (8/1) and Samhain (11/1). Scotland and parts of northern England had their own set of quarter days, marked by Christian festivals that fell halfway between the solstices and equinoxes and close to the traditional Celtic dates: Candlemas (2/2), Whitsunday (traditionally the 7th Sunday after Easter, later set by law as 5/15), Lammas (8/1) and Martinmas (11/11).

All this is a quaint slice of history – and maybe a nice bit of trivia to tuck away for the next pub quiz – but irrelevant to our modern life, right? Well, perhaps not; the quarter days system isn’t quite as obsolete and antiquated as we might think.

Michaelmas in the Modern

First, the idea of neatly dividing the year into quarters is still prevalent in both England and the United States. Though the dates of the calendar and fiscal years have shifted away from the traditional quarter days, most residents of both countries are likely familiar with quarterly financial accounting practices as used by businesses, organizations and government agencies. We use these convenient markers as opportunities to evaluate past performance, review future goals and chart course corrections as needed, and we acknowledge the importance of tying up loose ends more frequently than once a year.

Second, many American and British academic institutions still begin their school years with fall terms, following the centuries-old traditions of farming communities to start school after the majority of the harvest was in (aligning with St. Michael’s feast day) and the students’ help was no longer needed to wrap up their families’ summer agricultural work. Students of all ages in the U.S. are used to dividing their school years into two semesters, or perhaps four quarters, with the new school year usually beginning in August or September.

Yearly terms for primary and secondary students in the United Kingdom and Ireland run along similar timeframes, though they are often divided into three terms  with breaks in between. Most universities in the U.K. begin their academic years in late September or early October, and each subdivided period is referred to as a semester or a term. Some of the oldest and most distinguished universities still retain the traditional nomenclature and begin their academic years with a Michaelmas term. The University of Cambridge, the University of Oxford and Trinity College, Dublin are examples of this continuing practice.

Looking east in the interior of the Divinity School in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, Oxfordshire, England. Photo by DAVID ILIFF. License: CC BY-SA 3.0, Divinity School Interior 3, Bodleian Library, Oxford, UK – Diliff, CC BY-SA 3.0

Finally, law courts in England, Wales and Northern Ireland begin their legal years with a Michaelmas term, which has been accompanied by a number of ceremonial activities throughout history. The United States Supreme Court also begins its legal year on the first Monday in October, though it is referred to simply as the October Term. While not directly related to St. Michael or his feast day, another religious tradition grew up in conjunction with the start of legal terms across Europe and is continued in some Christian communities worldwide today: the Red Mass.

The Red Mass is a Catholic mass traditionally celebrated annually at the start of the legal year to request, in short, heavenly guidance for all those involved with the administration of justice. It has a long, if interrupted, history dating back to the first recorded event at the Cathedral of Paris in 1245, after which it increased in popularity across Europe. It came to England around six decades later, during the reign of Edward II. Readers with any familiarity with the intense and sometimes violent struggles between Catholics and Protestants over the centuries, however, will be unsurprised to hear that there does not seem to be any recorded continuous celebration of the Red Mass extending back to the Middle Ages. Presumably, it went underground along with other Catholic practices during times of danger, then resurfaced again when it was perceived safe to bring it forward once more.

Today, following a resurgence of Catholicism in the 20th century, the Red Mass is observed in many countries around the world to . In London, the annual service takes place at Westminster Cathedral. In Washington, D.C., where the U. S. Supreme Court sits, the Cathedral of St. Matthew the Apostle is celebrating the 72nd annual Red Mass on Sunday, October 6, 2024.

Villanova Law Library, Red Mass 2012 (11222993585), CC BY-SA 2.0

So there it is: a quick history highlighting the traditions of Michaelmas, an observation stretching back over a millennium while still peeking into our modern lives today. If you want to learn more, check out the sources and suggested reading below!

Sources and Suggested Reading

https://www.nts.org.uk/stories/st-michaels-day-and-michaelmas-traditions

On Michaelmas
Dr. Janega’s work is absolutely phenomenal, but I should add a *teensy* content warning: there’s a wee bit of grownup language included in this excellent article. Consider yourself warned!

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanctuary_of_Monte_Sant%27Angelo

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aster_amellus#:~:text=The%20English%20common%20name%20derives,Michael%20the%20archangel).

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michaelmas

https://theabbotscircle.com/post/the-story-of-michaelmas

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Michaelmas

https://www.rte.ie/brainstorm/2024/0927/1078446-september-29th-michaelmas-ireland

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Quarter-Day

What Are Quarter Days & Why Do We Use Them?

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michaelmas_term

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Academic_term

https://www.supremecourt.gov/about/procedures.aspx

https://www.johncarrollsociety.org/membership/the-red-mass

https://web.archive.org/web/20130407032833/http://www.johncarrollsociety.org/about-jcs/index.aspx

https://www.stmatthewscathedral.org/events/15430/72nd-annual-red-mass

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Mass

Red Mass, to mark the Legal Year
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This past week, we commemorated the death of Henry V of England on 31 August 1422. For a man who was hailed in his day as a mighty warrior king, immortalized by Shakespeare, and even today looms larger than life in historic memory, his end was abrupt, unexpected and lacked glory. Perhaps fittingly, I will save full discussion of his eventful life for other occasions, but as the impacts of his passing would be felt for decades, the event itself deserves commemoration. 

Henry V of England. National Portrait Gallery

A note to prepare the reader: if you feel somewhat turned around by the plethora of Henrys in this story, it’s for good reason! Three generations of Plantagenet kings in succession, all christened Henry, marked the start of the 15th century, much as the 12th century was home to multiple powerful matriarchs who shared the name Matilda. (Read about one such Matilda, mother of the Plantagenet dynasty who also carried the title of Empress, here.) In an effort to maintain the distinction between each as much as possible, I have utilized their alternate names or titles to assist. 

Boyhood in the Royal Family 

Our Henry was the oldest child of Henry Bolingbroke (the future Henry IV) and Mary de Bohun. Born at Monmouth Castle in September 1386, he was known in his early years as Henry of Monmouth. His grandfather was John of Gaunt, the powerful Duke of Lancaster and one of Edward III’s sons. John’s nephew, Richard II, was on the throne at the time of his grandson’s birth.

Monmouth Castle, birthplace of Henry V
“Monmouth Castle” by Philip Halling is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

Throughout his youth, Henry’s father Bolingbroke found himself increasingly at odds with his cousin, the king. Just as Henry was reaching his teenage years, Richard sent Bolingbroke into exile, even while Henry himself was still serving the king on campaign in Ireland.

An Inheritance Denied 

The following year, Henry’s grandfather John of Gaunt died, and Richard II refused to allow the Lancaster titles and lands to pass to his heir, the exiled Henry Bolingbroke. The ensuing conflict is worthy of further discussion at another time, but for our purposes now, suffice it to say that Bolingbroke did not take the loss of his inheritance well. It was the proverbial last straw, and it galvanized Bolingbroke to take action.

Richard II

Richard II had become increasingly tyrannical as his reign progressed, so by 1399, Bolingbroke had easily gathered supporters from amongst those nobles who had been alienated from the crown.  He returned to England, declaring that his aim was to reclaim his title and rights as Duke of Lancaster, but he found that he had enough support have himself proclaimed king. 

Henry was still with Richard in Ireland when Bolingbroke usurped the throne as Henry IV. To his credit, Richard did not punish the son for the sins of the father, though it certainly must have made for some uncomfortable moments. 

Henry IV of England (r. 1399-1413 CE). Made by an unknown artist c. 1597-1618 CE. 580 mm x 445 mm (22 7/8 in x 17 1/2 in). National Portrait Gallery

Henry, Prince of Wales

With his father now on the throne, Henry was made Prince of Wales and joined his father on his military campaigns, where he gained experience and demonstrated significant skill. They suppressed a revolt by the Welsh prince Owain Glyndwr and defeated a group of rebellious English nobles led by Sir Henry “Hotspur” Percy at the Battle of Shrewsbury.

Despite that battle ending in a royal victory, it nearly had fatal consequences for the new royal family. During the fighting, 16-year old Prince Henry was struck in the face by an arrow, which missed his nose and his eye but embedded itself into the back of his skull.

The task of treating the prince’s gory wound fell to John Bradmore, a surgeon from London. I will omit the grisly details here, but Bradmore later wrote a book, Philomena, about the inventive treatment he successfully used on the prince.  He was able to prevent a deadly infection from taking hold, and Henry escaped with only the scars on his face.

The King is Dead. Long Live the King!

Henry IV died in 1413, and his son succeeded him as Henry V and the second king of the Lancastrian line. The new king set about piecing the country back together and smoothing over some of the fissures that opened after his father deposed Richard II. He saw to it that Richard’s body was respectfully reinterred in Westminster and welcomed his father’s enemies back into his councils.

With things on the home front settling down, Henry prioritized the continuing wars in France. His forebears had been pursuing their claim to the French throne since 1337 in what would become known as the Hundred Years’ War, and Henry’s military training and instincts led the way to fresh successes in battle. 

Victory at Agincourt

Henry V’s most illustrious victory came in October 1415 at Agincourt. The English were heavily outnumbered and should have lost the battle, at least on paper, but the French suffered from disorganized leadership and a battleground site that put them at a disadvantage.  

English archers using longbows cut down many knights and horses at a distance, while remaining protected from the advancing French lines by sharpened poles embedded into the ground in front of them at an angle. Any foot soldier or cavalry rider who got too close would have been impaled on those stakes. Many French fighters even suffocated in the mud left behind from the previous day’s rains; the battlefield was so crowded that once a soldier slipped and fell, he was unlikely to be able to get back up and instead either drowned or was trampled by his fellows pressing onward from behind.

The Battle of Agincourt. “File:Wikibooks – Histoire de France.jpg” byEnguerrand de Monstrelet is marked with CC0 1.0

After their victory, the English captured a large number of French prisoners of war. Normally, those prisoners of noble rank would have been ransomed back to their families. Not only was it the chivalric thing to do, it also meant that both sides benefitted from the transaction: the victorious side gained significant sums of money, and the vanquished were spared their lives. At Agincourt, however, Henry ordered his men to execute all of the prisoners they had taken. Whatever his motives may have been, Henry’s battlefield glory and reputation were somewhat tarnished by his treatment of his defeated enemy.

Warrior King on Campaign  

For the next several years, the tide of the war remained in England’s favor. The French were in such political disarray that Henry was able to conquer and hold large areas of territory. By 1420, Charles VI of France was forced to sue for peace.

That summer, Charles and Henry signed the Treaty of Troyes. As part of their agreement, Henry was recognized as regent of France and named as Charles’ successor to the throne. To cement the peace and symbolize the joining of England and France together, Henry was to marry Charles’ daughter, Catherine of Valois. The two were married at Troyes Cathedral in June 1420.

Marriage of Henry V and Catherine of Valois. British Library.

Henry spent the next several months continuing his campaign, but he returned to England at the end of that year. He remained there until June 1421, when he returned to France after the death of his brother, who had been leading the English forces.

Fateful Parting 

While Henry was away, his new queen, Catherine, gave birth to the couple’s first child: a baby, Henry, born at Windsor Castle in December 1422. Sadly, baby Henry would never meet his father; even as Catherine welcomed their son and heir, Henry V had already embarked on what was to be his last military campaign.

Over the winter of 1421-22, the English army laid siege to the town of Meaux. Sometime during the siege, Henry had contracted dysentery, then known as the bloody flux. While such diseases were common occurrences amidst the unsanitary conditions of siege warfare, Henry was strong and still only around 35 years of age; it must have been hard for anyone who knew the young warrior king to imagine him brought low in such a manner.

Unfortunately for his family and his country, Henry succumbed on August 31, 1422. His body was returned to England and interred at Westminster Abbey. Suddenly the old king was gone, and the new king of England and heir to France was a tiny boy, barely nine months old. 

Arrangements for an Infant King

During the months following his initial illness, Henry had made what preparations he could to protect his son’s future and the stability of England in the event that he did not recover. He would have been painfully aware that his heir was his baby son, whose minority would be a dangerous time for both the boy king and the country. 

Henry named his brother John, Duke of Bedford, as regent of France on behalf of the baby Henry VI, who inherited his father’s role as successor to Charles VI. Henry and John’s remaining brother, Humphrey, would be appointed as the boy’s protector and regent in England to protect, guide and advise him at home.

“Woe to thee, O land, when thy king is a child….” – Ecclesiastes 10:16

With their new sovereign a nine-month-old baby and an ongoing foreign war, England’s stability began to fracture. Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester had control over the infant king at his late brother’s command, but his powerful uncle, Cardinal Beaufort, often opposed and even undermined Humphrey. 

Fifteenth-century drawing of Humphrey Duke of Gloucester

Factions soon formed that supported either the duke or the cardinal. Throughout Henry VI’s minority, the nobility quarreled for influence over the impressionable young king and sought the favor of his uncles.

Impact on the French Wars

While his soldiers certainly may have grieved the loss of their warrior king, Henry V’s death did not have an immediate detrimental effect on the English objectives in France. Bedford proved himself to be a capable administrator, and the next several years saw a succession of victories as the army worked its way south.

Eventually, however, the years of intense warfare took their toll on the English government, its army and its people. The treasury was running dry, old reliable commanders died or could no longer lead troops, and the French started to rally, aided by the arrival of Joan of Arc. Over the years, lands won by Henry V were gradually lost, one after another, and the English people grew disenchanted with the fight for glory across the Channel. 

In the eyes of many English citizens, all of the money, time, effort and blood they had spent for the cause over nearly a century was being squandered away by feuding nobles and disastrous military mistakes. Unsurprisingly, these frustrations contributed to the increasing instability at home.

A Very Different Sort of King

By the time Henry VI reached his majority and could rule on his own, it had become evident that this king was made of different stuff than his father had been. By nature, he was more suited to be a scholar than a warrior. He was extremely pious and devout, but he lacked the natural instincts for ruling a country or curbing a raucous bunch of nobles. More and more, Henry relied on his favorites and rewarded them richly, which only served to further unbalance the court.  Where his father had worked to reunite the country and expand its influence on the continent, Henry’s reign was a slow spiral downwards until ultimately he, too, was deposed from the throne. 

Henry VI. National Portrait Gallery

Ultimately, Henry V’s early death led to significant imbalances both at home and abroad. Those factors simmered until they eventually erupted into the civil war that would later become known as the Wars of the Roses. 

Sources and Further Reading

https://www.history.com/topics/british-history/henry-v-england

https://www.history.com/topics/british-history/battle-of-agincourt?li_source=LI&li_medium=m2m-rcw-history

https://www.history.com/topics/middle-ages/hundred-years-war?li_source=LI&li_medium=m2m-rcw-history

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/true-story-henry-v-englands-warrior-king-180973432/

https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/things-you-didnt-know-facts-henry-v-battle-agincourt-shakespeare-hundred-years-war-france/

https://www.historytoday.com/archive/coronations-henry-vi

The Scar of Henry V

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On this day in history, 12 August 1469, the father and brother of the Queen of England were executed by the King’s former closest friend. How did such a horrible act come to pass? To set the scene, we must step back to the beginning of Edward IV’s reign, to the early summer of 1461. 

A Fraught and Fragile Peace

Edward IV was officially crowned king following his decisive victory at the battle of Towton, where the Lancastrian forces supporting Henry VI and Margaret of Anjou were defeated so soundly that all but the most deluded acknowledged that the Cousins’ War (later known as the Wars of the Roses) was finally all but over. After long years of strife and instability, Henry VI was deposed and the Yorkist line of the Plantagenet dynasty was established on the English throne. The new king now faced the challenge of restoring a workable peace. 

Edward IV by an unknown artist, National Portrait Gallery

Unsurprisingly,  Edward rewarded the men who had been loyal supporters of his cause and kept them close; notably Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, who had been the cousin and most loyal ally of Edward’s father, Richard Duke of York. The support Warwick gave to the Yorkist cause, ultimately resulting in Edward IV’s kingship, earned him the nickname “Kingmaker.” 

Edward also realized that in order to avoid further rebellions and keep himself on the throne, he needed to mend fences with the Lancastrian lords who had supported Henry VI. He pardoned those former enemies that surrendered and swore fealty to him, in most cases even returning their lands. Edward had learned from Henry VI’s disastrous early reign that if he did not rule with the advice and input of lords on both sides, he could just as easily be deposed himself.

For the first several years of the new reign, despite the addition of their former enemies to the royal council, Warwick enjoyed his position as Edward’s closest advisor and effectively the most powerful person in England after the king himself. In Warwick’s mind, he was where he deserved to be after all the efforts he’d made to put Edward on his throne: in a place of influence and respect.

The King’s Independence

The internal harmony at Edward’s court lasted until the fall of 1464. By September, Warwick had returned from the continent, where he’d been negotiating a marriage for Edward with the French princess, Bona of Savoy, no doubt pleased with his efforts and ready to report his success to the king and his council. 

Instead, Edward preempted his longtime mentor and made a shocking announcement: he had already made a marriage of his own in secret! Warwick was undoubtably shocked that Edward had ruined this opportunity to make an alliance that would strengthen England’s position abroad and cement Edward as the true king. 

Elizabeth Woodville, Edward IV’s chosen queen. Daughter of Richard Woodville, Baron Rivers and Jacquetta, Dowager Duchess of Bedford

Even worse in Warwick’s eyes, Edward’s chosen queen was the daughter of Richard Woodville, Baron Rivers, one of those Lancastrian lords that the king had pardoned after Towton. To Warwick, it was complete and utter betrayal. 

The Envious Earl

In the months and years after Edward and Elizabeth’s marriage, the king became more reliant on his Woodville in-laws. He rewarded them as well; Elizabeth’s father was made Earl Rivers, and her siblings made advantageous marriages with the other noble families of England. 

Warwick’s jealousy grew. Despite Rivers’ proven success throughout his long military and administrative career, Warwick believed that his own higher birth and his constant loyalty to York should ensure his unchallenged place at the top of Edward’s government, and he deeply resented the diminishment of his own influence.

Warwick suffered another blow to his pride when Edward refused to grant his permission for his brother, George, Duke of Clarence, to marry Warwick’s elder daughter, Isabelle. It proved to be too much for the earl to stomach. He retreated to Calais with his family, where Isabelle and George were married on 11 July 1469 in defiance of the king.

George, Duke of Clarence

The Kingmaker Strikes Again

Just a day after the wedding, the Earl of Warwick was joined by his new son-in-law the Duke of Clarence, and his brother the Archbishop of Canterbury in issuing a proclamation, officially stating their grievances against the state of Edward IV’s government. Naturally they could not take issue with the king himself; that would be treasonous. 

Instead, they leveled attacks against his advisors, including the Woodville men and even Queen Elizabeth’s mother, Jacquetta, who was not only Countess Rivers but also the Dowager Duchess of Bedford. Warwick declared them to be guilty of giving Edward poor advice that damaged the country’s peace and economic success, and he accused them of looking only to their own betterment.

Following that declaration, Warwick and Clarence readied their forces to return to England. Warwick intended to replace Edward on the throne with his brother. To him, any York king would do, as long as it was he who pulled the strings.

Kingmaker Captures King

Back on English soil, a band of rebels led by Robin of Redesdale had been operating that summer in the north, probably at Warwick’s encouragement. Their mischief had been handled easily enough by loyal lords, so Edward was not overly concerned. He had been traveling to various locations around the country with his entourage, including his father-in-law, Earl Rivers, and his two brothers-in-law, Anthony and John Woodville. 

In late July, Redesdale’s rebel forces were moving south, and the Earl of Pembroke took the royal army out to suppress them. The two sides met in battle at Edgecote Moor on 26 July 1469, where despite the earl’s best efforts, the royal army was defeated. Meanwhile, Warwick and Clarence had landed in England and marched to Coventry, where Warwick’s supporters were to meet and join forces. The captured Earl of Pembroke was brought before Warwick at Coventry, where he was beheaded on 27 July 1469 (see my previous post on this topic here).

William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, kneeling before the king

When Edward heard the news of the disastrous battle and Pembroke’s fate, he was farther north in Nottingham. From there, he ordered Earl Rivers and his sons to ride immediately away for their own safety. Edward knew his old ally Warwick well enough to know that his wife’s family would not be treated mercifully if they fell into his hands. Edward’s small force rode south, but they were overtaken by the Warwick faction and the king was taken prisoner. 

Warwick’s Vengeance

With King Edward in his custody, Warwick effectively controlled the government. He took this opportunity to eliminate several of his opponents, including the Woodvilles.

Richard and John Woodville, who had been sent to Wales, evaded Warwick for a time but were eventually captured at Chepstow and handed over to him. At Warwick’s command, Earl Rivers and his son were beheaded on 12 August 1469 at Kenilworth.

Anthony Woodville was also captured, but for unknown reasons he was spared the judicial murder suffered by his father and brother. He returned to London later in 1469, now as the new Earl Rivers, which must have brought at least a small measure of comfort to his grieving mother, sister and nieces. 

Anthony Rivers, 2nd Earl Rivers, kneels before his brother-in-law, Edward IV and his sister, Elizabeth

Sources and Further Reading

Higginbotham, S. (2015). Murder at Coventry. In The Woodvilles: The wars of the roses and England’s most Infamous family (pp. 53–61). essay, The History Press. 

Gregory, P., Baldwin, D., & Jones, M. K. (2012). Jacquetta of Luxembourg. In The women of the Cousins’ War: The Duchess, the Queen and the King’s Mother (pp. 132–133). essay, Simon & Schuster. 

Gristwood, S. (2014). Blood sisters: The women behind the wars of the roses. Basic Books, a member of the Perseus Books Group. 

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“File:Rock and Cytisus scoparius flowers, Rosis cf01.jpg” by Christian Ferrer is licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0 

In my previous post, we took a brief historical wander down the path that led England from the Norman Conquest in 1066 to the coronation of Henry II, the first Plantagenet king, in 1154. Quite an exciting story, which I hope also gives a glimpse into my fascination with this dynasty!

This week, let’s take a quick look at why the family became known as the Plantagenets. Henry II may have owed his claim to the English throne to his mother’s Anglo-Norman heritage, but the dynasty he founded inherited its unique name from his father, Geoffrey of Anjou.

Geoffrey, Angevin Count

Geoffrey was born on August 24, 1113, the oldest son of Fulk V, Count of Anjou and Ermengarde, Countess of Maine. He would have been brought up learning all the political and martial skills necessary to take over his father’s county, and by the time he was in his early teens, his reputed skill and potential came to the attention of many, including King Henry I of England.

In 1128, aged 15 and recently knighted, Geoffrey married Matilda, now the sole legitimate heir of the English king. Matilda was eleven years his senior and already a widow; in fact, she retained her of Empress title from her first marriage for the rest of her life. Just a year following their marriage, Geoffrey’s father relinquished his title as Count in order to become the King of Jerusalem, so his son took up the reins as Count Geoffrey V of Anjou.

Enamel plaque from the tomb of Geoffrey of Anjou

From Nickname to Family Name…Eventually

The traditional story says that Geoffrey had a habit of adorning his hat with a sprig of planta genista, a yellow flowering plant more usually known as ‘common broom,’ which earned him the nickname Plantagenet (or at least a similar variation). It paints a lovely and rather romantic picture, doesn’t it?

As with many such old tales, however, several aspects of this origin story are still debated. First, some historians raise the possibility that the name refers not to the literal broom plant, but instead to the idea of the Angevin house being a new ‘shoot’ or offspring, growing from other well-established European houses. Second, no evidence has been found yet proving that ‘Plantagenet’ was used as an actual family name by any of its living members until Richard, Duke of York, when he attempted to strengthen his claim to the throne in the 15th century by adopting the Plantagenet surname.

Stained glass depicting Richard Plantagenet, Duke of York
St. Laurence’s Church, Ludlow, England

Whatever the truth of the association, the name has stuck as the recognizable label for the dynasty that ruled England for over 300 years. Let’s take a quick peek at the broom plant, which still thrives nearly a millennium after Geoffrey adopted the Plantagenet name for his ducal house. 

Common Broom

Known today as Cytisus scoparius, common broom is considered an invasive species in areas of the US and Canada, and as such it is purposefully controlled. It has a long history  as a medicinal plant, though like many others, its modern use is discouraged unless under the direction of an expert practitioner due to its potential toxicity and the existence of more reliable and safer alternative treatments.

“Cytisus scoparius (Besenginster)” by enbodenumer is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

Mrs. M. Grieve referenced the usage of broom for medicinal purposes dating as far back as Anglo-Saxon times, including its use by Welsh doctors in the early medieval period and its presence in English pharmaceutical texts in later centuries, including her own early 20th. It was taken internally to assist with cardiac issues or with those impacting the gastrointestinal system, as the plant was known to have cathartic and diuretic effects. 

Its dangerous potential was also well known, and Mrs. Grieve warned that large doses could impart significant harm to the heart and respiratory organs, including the potential for lethal damage. She also cautioned that common broom can be easily confused with its more dangerous cousin, Spanish broom (Spartium junceum), leading to cases of accidental poisoning.

Considering those risks, I’d say common broom is better left to be appreciated for its visual and historical interest!

“Cytisus scoparius (Besenginster)” byenbodenumer is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

For more on the rise of the Plantagenet dynasty, see my previous post here.

Sources and Further Reading

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genisteae

https://botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/b/broom-70.html#par>  accessed July 7 2021

https://pfaf.org/user/Plant.aspx?LatinName=Cytisus+scoparius>  accessed July 7 2021

Plant, J. S. (2010). Understanding The Royal Name Plantagenet. Journal of One-Name Studies, 10(8), 14–15. https://one-name.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/journal/vol10-8.pdf. 

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If you live in the United States, you may have seen recent news reports and online warnings about an apparent resurgence and spread of the plant known as poison hemlock. Just earlier this month, it was reported by the Mansfield News Journal as spreading across the state of Ohio, causing concerns about its extreme toxicity and the danger to humans and livestock.

“Poison Hemlock” by Dendroica cerulea is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

These reports may be giving you flashbacks to your social studies classes (hang on, didn’t some famous guy die from drinking hemlock, like way back in the old days?), but while your history teachers would undoubtedly be proud of your recall, it’s important to remember poison hemlock is still a very real threat to us today, especially if we run across it unawares. In fact, you may notice that it looks rather familiar…perhaps to a certain plant I’ve already posted about? (See my previous post on yarrow here.) You’re not imagining things; there are distinct similarities between the two in appearance, though their impacts on the human body are largely opposite.

Because hemlock has such a close resemblance to a common and well-loved medicinal herb, it’s imperative to understand and be able to spot the differences to stay safe. Let’s take a look at what poison hemlock is, its history and how to steer clear of this potentially deadly imposter.

What is Poison Hemlock?

Not to be confused with the hemlock tree, poison hemlock is a member of the carrot family (Apiaceae) and its Latin name is Conium maculatum. Its lacy, divided leaves spring from a smooth green stem, and it produces clusters of small white flowers in an umbel (umbrella-shaped) form. All parts of the plant are highly toxic to humans and animals; even a small touch can cause irritation to the skin. Hemlock has an unpleasant, rank and alkaline smell when the leaves are crushed. It contains alkaloid poisons that affect the central nervous system and can cause paralysis in the limbs, working inward to the respiratory muscles and leading to death.

Poison hemlock is native to North America, Europe and western Asia. It is now found in nearly every U.S. state after it was marketed in the 1800s as a fern for the garden. It prefers shaded areas with moist soil, but it can crop up near roadsides, the edges of fields, ditches, marshy areas and meadows.

Hemlock’s History

The Ancient World

The effects of hemlock were well-known in ancient Greece and Persia.  Physicians sometimes used hemlock to relieve conditions like arthritis and as a sedative, but such treatment was risky due to the extremely fine difference between a beneficial dose and a toxic one. (This should go without saying, but DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME!) Most frequently, hemlock was used as a method of execution in this period.

Poison hemlock’s most well-remembered victim was the ancient philosopher, Socrates.  Despite his renown, Socrates was tried and convicted of polluting the minds of the youth of Athens, where he taught and served.  While the most famous account of his death, recorded by Plato, is questioned by scholars as to its factual accuracy, it is generally accepted that Socrates consumed a drink containing hemlock.  The hemlock’s toxicity would have gradually paralyzed all of his muscles, including his heart and lungs, causing death.

David, Jacques-Louis. The Death of Socrates. 1787. Oil on canvas. 51.0 in × 77.2 in. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Accessed 6/30/21. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/436105

Hemlock’s infamy was not restricted to the ancient Mediterranean, however; it crops up in herbals through the centuries, even into the early 1900s. Let’s look at some examples to see how herbalists in successive time periods portrayed this plant.  

Medieval Europe

Our first stop is in the twelfth century, at a Benedictine monastery in modern-day Germany. You may be surprised to find that the widely-known and well-respected herbalist here was a woman! Hildegard von Bingen was the abbess, and alongside various musical and spiritual compositions, she also authored two medical texts, including Physica, one of the earliest-known herbals written by a woman.

Hildegard certainly doesn’t beat around the bush in her entry on hemlock. She immediately identifies the dangerous consequences of ingesting this plant:

“Hemlock (scherling) is hot and has danger in it so that, if a person eats it, it destroys everything that has been well and correctly established in his blood and humors.  It causes bad inundations in him, in the same way that storms make disturbances in the water.”

Yikes!  The message is clear: stay away! 

Yet despite its clear risks, Hildegard identified some instances in which hemlock can help when carefully administered:

“…one who has been badly stricken by spears and cudgels, or who has fallen from a high altitude so that his flesh and limbs are crushed, should cook hemlock in water and place the expressed water over the limbs which are injured.  He should tie a cloth over the area, and so dissipate the humors which have collected there.”

As with the ancient Greeks, medieval Europeans were aware of hemlock’s potential to heal, yet they greatly respected its power to harm.

Von Bingen, Hildegard. Self-portrait. 12th century. Illustrated manuscript.

Renaissance England

Skipping forward a few centuries to the Renaissance (or early modern) period, we find an era when knowledge of medical science was becoming increasingly available and accepted, yet a keen interest in plants and gardening spurred an increase in the number of herbals and plant guides being written.  One of the best-known volumes was The English Physician by Nicholas Culpeper. 

Reflecting trends of the time, Culpeper’s description of hemlock began with its striking appearance: 

“The common great hemlock groweth up with a green stalk, four or five feet high, and sometimes higher, full of red spots; at the joints are set very large winged leaves, which are divided into many other winged leaves, set one against another, dented on the edges, and of a sad green colour.  The stalks are branched towards the top, each bearing umbels of white flowers, which are followed by whitish flat seed. The root is long, white, hollow, and sometimes crooked, of a very strong, heady, and disagreeable smell.” 

Culpeper went on to advise that hemlock was very dangerous and must not be taken internally, though like Hildegard, he did acknowledge that if utilized in just the proper way, it could ease certain topical ailments. Interestingly, Culpeper wrote of a possible antidote to be used in the case of a patient who had mistakenly ingested hemlock, though even his own words sound remarkably unconvinced of its likelihood of success.  

“File:Portrait of Nicholas Culpeper Wellcome L0014459.jpg” is licensed under CC BY 4.0

The Age of Enlightenment

In the mid-18th century, Austrian physician Anton von Stoerck studied the potential of several poisonous plants to be used in medical treatments.  His process of staged experimentation (first on animals, then on himself, then finally on patients) led the way toward the clinical trial model used today. 

Von Stoerck described the process and outcomes of his study of hemlock in An Essay on the Medical Nature of Hemlock, published in 1760, which he addressed and dedicated to the Holy Roman Empress, Maria Theresa. Inspired by accounts of successful treatments recorded by early writers like Pliny, von Stoerck experimented with hemlock extracts and powders. He detailed the outcome of 20 cases he treated, and though he concluded his essay with a series of additional questions he hoped to pursue, he remained convinced that with proper preparation, hemlock could be a medicinal asset to humankind. 

Anton von Stoerck. https://wellcomecollection.org/works/tak887n4, accessed 6/30/21

Modern/20th Century

By the early 20th century, the medicinal use of hemlock had been well-established. Maud Grieve, author of 1931’s A Modern Herbal, credited such use back to the work of von Stoerck, though she qualified that “it has lost some of its reputation owing to the uncertain action of the preparations made from it.” Mrs. Grieve provided an overview of the practices of her day, which primarily relied on hemlock’s same sedative and antispasmodic properties that had been noted as far back as the ancients.  Yet despite the apparent acceptance of the plant’s benefits, Mrs. Grieve echoed the cautions of her forebears and emphasized that hemlock treatments must be dispensed with great care to avoid poisoning, paralysis and death. 

Maud Grieve, 1928, National Portrait Gallery, London

Today

Since the time of Mrs. Grieve’s writing, modern medicine has advanced and become sufficiently accessible in most regions where hemlock thrives that less reliance is placed on the curative properties of plants alone when treating physical ailments. As a result, safer and more effective remedies are available for the complaints previously treated with hemlock, eliminating the need to risk dangerous overdoses. Yet as recent news brings home, poison hemlock is still very much alive and well in our natural environment, and as such it continues to pose a toxic threat.

What’s Next?

Now that we’ve discussed the long and much-documented history of poison hemlock, we need to learn how to recognize it and – perhaps most importantly – avoid misidentifying it as another benign plant! Stay tuned for my next post on distinguishing dangerous hemlock from friendly yarrow, coming out on Friday, 7/2/21!

Sources and Further Reading

https://www.mansfieldnewsjournal.com/story/news/2021/06/19/dangerous-plant-blooming-rampantly-across-buckeye-state/7705613002/

https://www.growforagecookferment.com/poison-hemlock/

https://www.nps.gov/articles/poison-hemlock.htm

https://carnegiemnh.org/poisons-carnegie-hemlock/

https://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Hemlock

https://thatbiologist.wordpress.com/2015/01/08/a-short-history-of-poison-hemlock/

https://www.ucl.ac.uk/~ucgajpd/medicina%20antiqua/sa_hemlock.html

https://www.history.com/topics/ancient-history/socrates

https://www.botanical.com/botanical/mgmh/h/hemloc18.html#top

Von Bingen, Hildegard. Essay. In Hildegard Von Bingen’s Physica: the Complete English Translation of Her Classic Work on Health and Healing, translated by Priscilla Throop, 26–27. Rochester,, VT: Healing Arts Press, 1998. 

CULPEPER, NICHOLAS. Essay. In CULPEPER’S ENGLISH PHYSICIAN: and Complete Herbal (Classic Reprint), 200–201. London: FORGOTTEN Books, 2015. 

An essay on the medicinal nature of hemlock: … / translated from the Latin original. Written by Dr. Storck.

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