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Overview
This biography by the bestselling author of The Time Traveler’s Guide to Medieval England takes an insightful look at the life of Henry V, casting new light on a period in history often held up as legend.
A great English hero, Henry V was lionized by Shakespeare and revered by his countrymen for his religious commitment, his sense of justice, and his military victories. Here, noted historian and biographer Ian Mortimer takes a look at the man behind the legend and offers a clear, historically accurate, and realistic representation of a ruler who was all too human—and digs up fascinating details about Henry V’s reign that have been lost to history, including the brutal strategies he adopted at the Battle of Agincourt.
“The most illuminating exploration of the reality of 15th-century life that I have ever read.” —The Independent
“Compelling, exuberant . . . vivid.” —Simon Sebag Montefiore, New York Times–bestselling author of The Romanovs: 1613–1918
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780795335495 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | RosettaBooks |
| Publication date: | 09/01/2018 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 618 |
| Sales rank: | 363,213 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Christmas Day 1414
It was the second Christmas since his father's death. Henry V, wearing his full royal robes and his golden crown, was seated on a marble chair beneath a tall silk canopy. He looked along the full length of the palace hall, beyond the gilt-silver goblets and golden plates before him. Servants bustled around in their short tunics and coloured hose, serving the hundreds of knights and gentlemen seated on benches at the lower tables. The previous evening they had decked the hall with evergreens: ivy around the doors, and holly within, and they had prepared thousands of candles to burn through Christmas morning. Dozens of silver chandeliers hung from the rafters, adding a golden glow to the winter light of the windows on either side. Now, as the king began to eat, minstrels were playing: the notes of their harps, pipes and tambourines drifted over the hum of the assembly. Faces were bright, looking forward to courses of roast beef, pork and goose in rich sauces — so welcome after the long fast of Advent.
Twelve days of festivity lay ahead of them. There would be music, carolling, dancing, play-acting and jokes. One servant would be appointed the Lord of Misrule, to oversee the household games. William, the king's fool, would perform for the select few. There would be serious events too: the re-enactment of the Nativity, the dole of pennies to paupers, and many more religious services in the king's presence, in the royal chapel of St Stephen, just a few steps from the hall. Outside the palace, in the cold streets of Westminster and London, people were preparing to carry antlers, carved animal heads and masks in their processions. Later the king would watch mummers dress in outlandish costumes and perform 'disguising games'. With such celebration and excitement in the air, one might almost say that men's cares had been laid aside.
Almost, but not quite. Henry knew his father's legacy still cast a shadow over many of those present. Men might have said that England now had a young, strong and pious king — but they had said the same about his father fifteen years ago. Everyone in that hall knew what Henry IV had achieved. He had been the greatest tournament fighter the English royal family had ever produced; he had fought a crusade with the Teutonic Knights in Lithuania; he had been on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem; he had three times led an army to victory in battle and had taken control of England when Richard II was threatening to become a tyrant. And yet even he had found it impossible to control the kingdom. He had suffered vicious political attacks in almost every parliament he had held. He had survived at least three assassination attempts, three armed insurrections, three other seditious plots, a decade of Welsh revolt, and continual piratical attacks by the French. His reign had been synonymous with rebellion, unease, heresy and doubt. No one could be certain that his son's reign would be any different.
Everything came down to the means whereby Henry IV had taken the throne. Whichever way you looked at it, to take the throne was not legally defensible. In 1376, the ageing Edward III had drawn up a settlement in which he made his grandson, Richard II, his heir. According to this document, if Richard died without sons, then John of Gaunt and his son, Henry of Lancaster (the future Henry IV) would become kings in turn. Thus Henry IV had grown up believing he had a right to succeed to the throne. But in 1399 he had deposed Richard — the rightful, anointed king. This was not inheritance; many men held that it was against God's law. Worse still, Richard apparently drew up his own settlement of the throne prior to his deposition, making not Henry but the duke of York and his sons his rightful heirs. Although the old duke had no wish to become king, Richard's settlement automatically nullified that of Edward III. So Henry IV had been forced to find an arcane and highly dubious legal basis to justify his succession. He took the throne as the male heir of Henry III, who had died more than a century earlier. In reality, his succession was due to overwhelming political support and an election in parliament. When that popular support sharply declined in early 1401, and parliament started to oppose him, the real basis of his kingship was undermined.
The great problem for Henry IV was that any sign of divine disapproval of his rule could be attributed to his illegal occupation of the throne. In this respect, he was doubly compromised. Not only had he removed the previous king in an unlawful move, he had put forward his own claim to be Richard's successor in defiance of the dynastic rights of another family descended from Edward III, the Mortimer earls of March. Edmund Mortimer was the great-great-grandson of Edward III through Philippa, only daughter of Lionel, Edward III's second son. Henry IV was descended from Edward III's fourth son. Edmund therefore had a claim to the throne which was arguably stronger than that of the Lancastrians. Even though he was descended from Edward III through a woman (Philippa), the common law of England held that a woman could transfer her father's property and titles to her own heirs if she had no brothers — and Philippa had no siblings at all. So, if the crown of England was a 'property', then Henry's father had broken the law in taking it in 1399, for it should have descended to Edmund. All the opposition that Henry IV had suffered during his reign — from piratical attacks and the harvest failures to rebellions and bad weather — could be blamed on God's displeasure that the Lancastrians and not the Mortimers were occupying the throne.
Of course, we do not know what Henry V was thinking at that moment, as he ate, looking at his household over the great gold eagle-topped spice-plate. But we can be certain his father's legacy had not been forgotten. His family's claim to the throne was tainted — twice over. In fact, one may say it was tainted thrice over, for it was tainted in respect to France too.
When Henry IV had claimed to be king of England as the male heir of Henry III he had claimed the throne of France also, even though Henry III had never been king of France. The English claim to the French crown had been inherited in 1328 by Edward III through his mother, Isabella, last surviving child of Philip the Fair. It was thus demonstrably the case that it could be inherited through a female, and so legally it should have passed to the heir general of Edward III (not the heir male). This was Edmund Mortimer again. Regardless of the merits of Edmund's claim on the throne of England, his claim on that of France was immeasurably stronger than Henry's. In reality there would have been little or no value in the Mortimer family laying claim to the throne of France — they could not have enforced it — but the right of inheritance should have passed from Edward III to his second son, Lionel; and then to Lionel's only child, Philippa; and then to her children, the Mortimers. It was a double embarrassment that many men saw Henry's claim to the throne of England as based on a half-truth, and his claim to that of France as based on an outright lie.
On such things did men brood, and think, and whisper darkly, even at Christmas, with holly around the hall and the bright chandeliers burning above them.
* * *
If you could have been there that day, standing before Henry V as he ate, what would you have seen? A thoughtful-looking man of twenty-eight, seated at a linen-covered table, with his brothers, other great lords, and bishops dining on either side of him. He had a long face, a straight nose, and a broad forehead. The scar of an old arrow wound disfigured his right cheek. Despite this, there was a certain innocence about his expression, a vestige of the earnestness of boyhood. He had thick brown hair, cut short at the sides and the back, and hazel eyes. His ears were small, his neck thick and manly, his lips full and red, and his chin modest with a slight cleft. As for his physique, he was above average height, slim and athletic. He loved hunting and was an excellent shot with a crossbow. To his contemporaries he was tireless, his energy and determination being sufficient to power his lithe figure longer than his fellow huntsmen.
He was conscious of his appearance. In his household you would have found several mirrors, as well as golden musk balls and a pomander — the former to hold perfume and the latter to sweeten the air and help prevent him breathing in noxious vapours. Unlike most of his royal predecessors he was clean-shaven, like a priest. In this he took after the king whom his father had deposed — Richard II — who had knighted him at the age of thirteen. He wore several rings, and a Lancastrian livery collar over his shoulders, and a golden crown. His clothing was, of course, every bit as splendid as you would expect: kings had to dress the part in rich velvet cloth and ermine-trimmed robes. Whether wearing a high-collared, loose-sleeved long gown, or a gold-embroidered hanseline (very short tunic), his clothes were elegant and rich. Sleeves were slashed to reveal golden linings, or hugely extended to show elaborate embroideries within the cuffs.
As you continued to look at Henry, you would have seen that this careful outward display had nothing to do with boyish showing-off. The man was not a fop. He spoke very little, although always paying close attention to the speaker. There was nothing about him that was easy-going or even particularly joyful; there was no frivolity in his personality. When he did say something, his words were succinct and well chosen, and he tended to deliver them in 'a low tone of voice'. A monk of Westminster Abbey described him as 'devout, abstemious, liberal to the poor, sparing of promises — but true to his word, once given; a quick, wide-awake man, though at times reserved and moody, intolerant of laxity in priests, chivalrous towards women and rigid in repressing riot and crime'. His closest friends claimed that he never took a mistress or slept with a woman after becoming king. According to a chronicler who was personally acquainted with his youngest brother, Humphrey, Henry's youthful experimentation with the fair sex was renounced as sinful upon his accession. The chronicler Thomas Walsingham, who attended court at this time, wrote that Henry was suddenly transformed at his coronation into a new man in gravity, honesty and moderation. Adam Usk described him as 'upright ... full of wisdom and virtue'. Indeed, the words that most accurately reflect the man's character are 'circumspect', 'fastidious', 'solemn', 'conscientious', 'firm' and — apart from a deep pride — 'virtuous'.
His pride was probably his greatest weakness. When his honour was impinged he could suddenly become very angry. He allowed no one to look him in the eye — even though it was normal behaviour for men to look at their lords directly — and he could be roused to anger by anyone who dared to do so, even to the point of sacking an officer for looking at him in a manner that he found disrespectful. Such pride inevitably affected his judgment. Pride had contributed to the volatility of his relationship with his father, especially after his father had overlooked him for the command of the expedition to France in 1412. Another example of pride getting the better of him was his determination to obtain a French bride. In 1400 the French royal family had refused to allow Henry's father to arrange a marriage between Henry and Isabella of France, the young widow of Richard II. Henry himself never seriously entertained any marriage other than with a French princess. After being rebuffed with regard to Isabella's hand, he sent ambassadors to negotiate his marriage with first one of her sisters, and then another. When he declared he would marry no one but Katherine of France, in June 1414, she was twelve, less than half his age, and he had never seen her or spoken to her. In all his negotiations, union with a daughter of the king of France — any daughter, it did not matter which — was a key objective. It was as if he was determined to reverse that original slight to his dignity. To him, marriage was not a matter of love. It was a matter of pride.
Henry was a sophisticated, educated man. He had had only a limited opportunity to benefit from his highly educated mother, Mary Bohun, who had died when he was not quite eight. But his father, who could read and write in English, Latin and French, intended that all his children should be similarly literate. So young Henry had been brought up to be a polymath, and taught grammar, logic and rhetoric — perhaps under the tutelage of his uncle, Henry Beaufort, chancellor of the University of Oxford. He also learnt music, just as his father and mother had done, playing the harp and singing. From the age of seven or eight he had a military tutor, and learnt to emulate his progenitors in jousting, horsemanship and wielding a sword. He was keen to use English as well as French in daily conversation, writing letters in English and commissioning translations of French and Latin books. Although it is often said that Henry was not born to be king, by the time of his birth — on 16 September 1386 — his father deemed his chances of succession very good indeed, and gave him an education fitting for a prince.
The older men at that feast would have left you in no doubt that Henry V was every inch his father's son — intellectually, linguistically and musically. Father and son had much in common spiritually, too. Both were fervent in their beliefs and sufficiently confident in their personal religion that they could challenge church leaders when necessary. Both men were ardent supporters of the Trinity: the mystical union of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost that bound many of the senior members of European nobility into a spiritual compact. In this they followed the by-now legendary eldest son of Edward III — Edward of Woodstock, known today as the Black Prince — who had died on Trinity Sunday 1376 and had been buried in the Trinity Chapel in Canterbury Cathedral. Henry IV had been buried alongside him. Henry V was keen also to publicise his devotion to the English saints, St Edmund and St Edward the Confessor, as well as St George and the Virgin Mary — all of whom had been the subjects of Edward III's devotion in his wars against the Scots. He was also inspired by St Bridget, St John of Bridlington (his special patron), and St John of Beverley, under whose banner English kings had often marched against the Scots. It was said that he heard Mass three times a day, and conducted no other business when in his oratory. One could say that Henry's religion was traditional and nationalistic, but, if so, then the tradition in question was that of the most serious personal commitment to the Catholic saints, and the nationalistic aspect was not just a means to a secular end but a spiritual one, too.
The scar on Henry's face was a legacy from the battle of Shrewsbury twelve years earlier. That was arguably Henry's true education — armed campaigning and military leadership. From 1400, when he was just fourteen, the responsibility of putting down the revolt of the Welshman, Owen Glendower, was partly delegated to him. In this he was assisted by Henry Percy, known as 'Hotspur'. But in 1403, Hotspur and his uncle, the earl of Worcester, rebelled. They raised an army in the hope of joining forces with Glendower, and marched to Shrewsbury. Young Henry held the town while his father led a hastily gathered army to relieve him and to attack the rebels on the English side of the River Severn. It was the first time on English soil that two armies of English longbowmen had faced each other. The battle was terrifying. Three thousand men ran away at the start. Many others were torn to pieces by the clouds of arrows in the first few minutes. The king's vanguard was destroyed, the earl of Stafford was killed. Henry and his father both put themselves into the thick of the fighting, and Henry himself was struck by an arrow in the face. It penetrated to a depth of six inches below his right eye, but he refused to leave the field of battle. His father eventually prevailed, leading his army to victory, killing Hotspur in the course of the battle, and capturing and beheading Worcester.
After his recovery from his arrow wound, Henry increasingly assumed responsibility for the defence of Wales. It was a testing period. Glendower's successes meant that more men deserted the English cause. Henry's own chamberlain at Chester, John Trevor, bishop of St Asaph, joined the revolt. Although the king led annual expeditions into Wales, normally in conjunction with Prince Henry, the Welsh were too manoeuvrable, and evaded battle each time by retreating into the mountains. After the English had withdrawn, they would emerge again and devastate the borders and lands of English loyalists. Thus fewer and fewer Welshmen contributed to Henry's income and more and more Englishmen were in need of protection. There was a financial strain as well as a military one; and this led to a shortage of men to garrison the Welsh castles as well as a lack of soldiers in the field. The castles of Harlech and Aberystwyth fell to the Welsh in 1404. Henry's first victory at Grosmont, in March 1405, was a rare English success. Only with the battle of Usk later that year did the tide turn: Glendower's brother was killed and one of his sons was captured. By 1407, when Henry laid siege to Aberystwyth, the Welsh revolt was losing strength. The following year Aberystwyth was recaptured, and the year after that Harlech was retaken.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Henry V: The Warrior King of 1415"
by .
Copyright © 2013 Ian Mortimer.
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Table of Contents
Author's Note,
Map of Northern France,
List of Illustrations,
Acknowledgements,
Prologue,
Introduction,
Christmas Day 1414,
January,
February,
March,
April,
May,
June,
July,
August,
September,
October,
November,
December,
Epilogue,
Conclusion,
Appendices,
1 Edward, Duke of York,
2 The Great Council, 15–l,
3 Casualties at the Siege of Harfleur,
4 Numbers at the Battle of Agincourt,
Notes,
Select Bibliography and List of Abbreviations,
Genealogical Tables,
1 The English Royal Family before 1399,
2 The French Royal Family,
3 The English Royal Family after 1399,
