plantagenet

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. 

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 – DiliffCC 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.

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

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

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

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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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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.

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!

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 Studies10(8), 14–15. https://one-name.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/journal/vol10-8.pdf. 

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On this day in 1189, King Henry II of England died at Chinon Castle. Henry was the very first Plantagenet king of England, and though his eventful life could be the subject of many posts (ooh, foreshadowing!), today we’re focusing on how he led a new dynasty to the throne.

Before we dive in, though, a note: you’re going to see the name Henry repeated throughout this article. A lot. For that matter, there are also quite a few Matildas in this story, but as we’re focused on one particular Henry and his mother, Matilda, I’ll refer to the others primarily by their relationship to our main duo whenever possible.

Henry and Matilda…and Henry…and another Henry….

Henry I as depicted in the 14th century

Henry Plantagenet’s claim to the English throne came through his mother, Matilda. Matilda was the eldest child of Henry I of England, who was in turn son of William the Conqueror, Duke of Normandy, who became the first Norman king of England after he won the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Matilda also had a younger brother, William Adelin, who was Henry I’s sole legitimate son.

The Empress

Matilda spent only the first few years of her childhood in England, as she was soon sought out as a bride for Henry V (another one!) of the Holy Roman Empire. As this was an enormous honor for Matilda and a boost to her father’s prestige, young Matilda was sent off to Germany to be raised and prepared there for her future role as queen and empress.

Matilda was married in January 1114, and even though disagreements between her new husband and the Pope meant that she was never officially crowned empress, she still adopted the title and used it for the rest of her life. Matilda also gained first-hand experience in leading and governing during her time in the Holy Roman Empire, as her husband left her in charge as regent several times during his absences. In 1118, Matilda ruled Henry’s Italian holdings while he put down a rebellion in Germany, yet despite being only 16, she proved herself to be effective and capable in the role. These experiences undoubtedly shaped her belief in a woman’s ability to govern, which would play a significant role in her future.  

Empress Matilda

Catastrophe in the Channel

Disaster struck Matilda’s family in 1120 when her brother, William, drowned in the sinking of the White Ship as it sailed from Normandy back to England. Despite his numerous illegitimate offspring, Matilda’s father never had any further legitimate sons, and his queen had died two years before. Henry I remarried quickly, hoping to produce another legitimate heir, but suddenly the future of the English crown was very much in question. 

The sinking of the White Ship, 1120

Despite the uncertainty in her homeland, Matilda remained secure and settled until May 1125, when her husband also passed away. Henry V left her with lands and property in Germany, and though she seemed content to remain in her adopted country, her father demanded her return to England. Matilda initially resisted, but as she was his sole remaining heir, she capitulated eventually. 

Oaths in England

Matilda had returned to her father’s court by Christmastime 1126. Despite his remarriage to Adeliza of Louvain nearly six years before, Henry I still had no new son, and he realized that he must make arrangements of some kind to protect the kingdom in the event of his death. He took the unusual step of commanding his barons to swear fealty to his only living heir, Matilda. 

Even though Matilda was now recognized as his heir, Henry I never envisioned a future where she fully occupied the English throne herself, alone and in her own right. Instead, he looked to Matilda to do what he could not: remarry and produce a son, who would then inherit his grandfather’s throne. Matilda’s primary role was to be the bridge between generations, safeguarding the Norman kingship until her son could don the crown. In 1127, Henry announced his choice for his daughter’s next husband: Geoffrey of Anjou, the son of Henry’s old enemy.

Geoffrey of Anjou

An Angevin Alliance?

Henry I might have been pleased with his announcement, but he was nearly the only one who was. Matilda was furious; she despised her intended, who was 11 years her junior, as an immature boy, and she considered him to be wildly inferior in terms of noble rank. How could she, an empress, even consider marrying the son of a mere count? It was unthinkable!

Many of the English barons disliked the idea as well. Historically, Normandy and Anjou had been tense rivals, so those barons with a Norman background instinctively mistrusted their longtime enemies. Nor did they want any Angevin getting so close to the English throne; the prevailing assumption of the time was that the husband was in charge in any marriage, regardless of social rank, so the barons feared Geoffrey’s interference if he became Matilda’s spouse. 

Rather than viewing the situation as a risk, Henry I saw it as an opportunity to eliminate an enemy and further safeguard the Anglo-Norman holdings. By creating an alliance with Anjou, he intended to protect Normandy’s southern borders and reduce the risk of invasion on the edges of his territory. So regardless of his daughter’s rage and the misgivings of his barons, Henry proceeded with the marriage negotiations. 

A New Hope

Matilda’s second marriage took place in 1128. Despite several years of tumultuous relations between Geoffrey and Matilda, their first son was born in 1133. This newest Henry, known as Henry Plantagenet (after his father’s family) or as Henry FitzEmpress (meaning “son of the empress”), carried all his family’s weighty ambitions on his tiny shoulders.

With baby Henry’s birth, it looked as though all of his grandfather’s plans were coming to fruition. All the old king needed to do now was hold things together for a few more years, and then the dynastic disaster triggered by the White Ship’s sinking would be averted. Unfortunately for England, fate had other plans.

Betrayal or Absolution?

Little more than two years later, Henry I fell ill and died on December 1, 1135. Most accounts reported that Henry reaffirmed Matilda as his heir on his deathbed, but some later swore that in his last moments, Henry absolved his barons of their previous oaths, clearing the way for another claimant to the throne.

That claimant was Henry’s nephew, Stephen of Blois. Stephen had long been close to the old king and had sworn his own oaths to Matilda, yet upon hearing the news of his uncle’s death, he raced to London to claim the crown.

King Stephen

On the other side of the Channel, Matilda had been counting on the loyalty of the English barons to preserve the throne for herself and her son. Some did remain true, but many switched allegiances and accepted Stephen instead. Whether they did so because they believed that Henry I had actually changed his mind (or at least chose to believe so to ease their consciences after breaking their oaths), or because they feared the combination of an unprecedented female ruler with a distrusted Angevin consort, the outcome was the same: suddenly, Matilda found herself without the support of the nobles she needed.

An Aside About Kingship

At this point in our story, we should recall that in 12th century England, kingship did not transfer from one ruler to another the same way it did in later centuries. At this time, the passage of the crown from father to heir was not yet assumed as an established custom, nor was there any automatic conferral of kingship to the next heir at the exact time of the previous king’s death. The previous ruler had the right to name his successor, whether that be a blood relative or not, but until certain formalities were undertaken by or on behalf of that successor, the country was leaderless and vulnerable.

Taken together, these nuances meant that not only was the crown NOT automatically assumed to belong to Henry I’s child (and/or designated heir), but also that as of the moment Henry I took his last breath, there was no king – and therefore no king’s laws – in England until the next ruler was determined. No wonder so many people of England were content to embrace the first claimant, a man who did have a reasonable familial claim to the throne, in order to preserve peace and order. 

Anarchy

Based on what we’ve already witnessed about Matilda’s nature, you will likely not be surprised to learn that she did not simply accept that Stephen got the better of the situation. Instead, Matilda started planning her path to reclaiming her rightful inheritance. In 1139, the Empress was joined by her half-brother, Robert of Gloucester. Robert was  thought to be Henry I’s favorite illegitimate son, and though he initially accepted Stephen’s usurpation, he soon came to regret that decision. He fully committed his resources and military experience to asserting his half-sister’s claim.

The next several years, which later became known as the Anarchy, were a difficult time for the people of England. Civil war broke out and battles between Stephen’s troops and Matilda’s forces, led by Robert, took place across the country, causing damage and disrupting lives. Neither side seemed able to gain and hold an advantage as the tide of momentum swept back and forth. 

In February 1141, it seemed that Stephen’s luck had run out. He was captured at Lincoln and taken prisoner, and for several months that summer, Matilda was recognized as ruler and known as the Lady of the English. Then in September, it was Matilda’s turn to suffer a grave setback, as Robert of Gloucester was captured and Matilda was forced to negotiate a prisoner exchange with Stephen’s wife. Stephen was released in exchange for Robert’s return, and any gains the Empress had made vanished.

Depiction of the Battle of Lincoln, from Historia Anglorum

Late in the spring of 1142, Stephen besieged Matilda at Oxford, and it appeared that he might finally claim the victory. Yet Matilda escaped by night with a handful of knights as escorts; they wore white cloaks to blend in with the snowy landscape, then escaped through Stephen’s lines and traveled six miles to safety. She had eluded Stephen once more, but still neither side gained a significant advantage.

Periods of fighting persisted until 1147, when Robert of Gloucester, Matilda’s staunchest ally and vital supporter, passed away. Worn down and without her chief commander, Matilda relinquished her fight to gain the throne for herself, and instead passed her claim on to her son, Henry, to pursue.

Reaching a Resolution

Henry FitzEmpress engaged Stephen’s forces in battle now and again over the following years until 1153, when after a period of stalemate, supporters of both Henry and Stephen urged them to make a settlement. In early August, the two men finally reached agreement on the Treaty of Wallingford. Under the terms of the treaty, Stephen would remain king, but Henry would be named Stephen’s heir and would assume the throne after his death.

Stephen died on October 25, 1154, exhausted after the long fight for his kingdom and the recent deaths of his wife and son. Henry II was crowned king in Westminster Abbey on December 19, 1154, becoming the first king of the Plantagenet dynasty. That dynasty would go on to rule England for over 300 years, until the battle of Bosworth in 1485 saw the last Plantagenet king slain in battle and the crown picked up by a new dynasty: the Tudors.

King Henry II
Empress Matilda

As for Matilda, she spent her remaining years counseling her son and serving as his regent in Normandy. Upon her death in 1167, she was buried in the abbey of Bec-Hellouin. Her inscription reads ‘Great by birth, greater by marriage, greatest in her offspring, here lies the daughter, wife and mother of Henry.’ 

And that, folks, is how the Plantagenet dynasty got its start – but it’s just that, a start! We’ll have plenty more to learn from this exciting, if contentious, family line.

Related post: learn about the botanical basis of the dynasty’s name!

Sources and Further Reading

Norton, E. (2015). England’s Queens: From Boudica to Elizabeth of York. Amberley. 

Lewis, M. (2019). Stephen and Matilda’s civil war. Pen & Sword History. 

SPENCER, C. (2021). The White Ship: Conquest, Anarchy and the Wrecking of Henry I’s Dream. William Collins. 

Jones, D. (2014). The Plantagenets: The Warrior Kings and Queens Who Made England. Penguin Books

https://www.historyextra.com/period/medieval/matilda-daughter-of-henry-i-a-queen-in-a-kings-world/

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