Four

The Bleeding Tomb: a Lancastrian Inheritance

‘Many miracles were reported to have occurred at the tomb of Thomas Earl of Lancaster. Blood was said to have flowed from it’.

Collectio Rerum Ecclesiasticarum de Diœcesi Eboracensi

In 1361, thirteen years after the Black Death purged almost half of the population of England, another epidemic broke out. Although less severe, this second outbreak threatened, once again, to destabilise the social and economic infrastructure of England, claiming lives regardless of age, sex or status.

In the wake of the 1348 epidemic, labour was in high demand. The labouring classes had suffered the highest mortality rate; those who survived demanded higher wages, whilst some sought to rise up the ranks of an acutely hierarchical society. William Langland, author of the allegorical poem Piers Plowman, describes a situation where a man wanted to be hired ‘at a high rate, else he will chide and wail’, and that ‘no penny ale please them, nor no piece of bacon. Only fresh fish or fish fried, roast or baked’. This was a problem for landowners and merchants, for they could not – or would not – pay what the labourers now asked. In some parts of the country, landowners were forced to pay fifty percent more than before the plague hit. In response to the economic shock, the King promulgated the 1349 Ordinance of Labourers which stipulated that all healthy labourers should be forcibly put to work. Over ten years later and facing another deadly wave of plague, the issue of labour regulation and the enforcement of class status was still a high priority. The Commons pushed hard for further labour regulation and the Crown authorised a wage cap. It was agreed that those who flouted the law and left employment to seek better pay elsewhere would face imprisonment, or even branding on the forehead with the letter F denoting ‘falsity’.¹ A sumptuary law restricting personal expenditure was also introduced. Certain ranks of society were ordered to dress only according to their class. Labourers were forced to wear clothes provided for them by their employers, and the lower and middle classes were prohibited from buying cloth in certain colours – such as purple. Expensive fur was reserved for the nobility. It was agreed by the government that dressing above one’s station presented a danger to the prevailing social order in the wake of the Black Death. By the time the second plague arrived, it was clear that the government was in fact unable to enforce a countrywide cap on wages – they showed a gradual increase in defiance of the law. The attempt to create what was effectively a second level of serfdom on free labourers prompted anger and mistrust of government officials – it was a key causal factor in the Peasants’ Revolt twenty years later.

Henry, Duke of Lancaster, was present with John of Gaunt at the January 1361 Parliament as the societal problems thrown up by the plague were batted from Lords to Commons. Two months later he lay incapacitated at his castle, Leicester, anticipating imminent death as his body battled the violent effects of the plague itself. By the end of March, the Duke of Lancaster, the greatest magnate in the realm, was dead.²

The Duke made a detailed will dividing the vast Lancastrian inheritance between his two surviving daughters, Maude and Blanche. Maude was given most of the lands in France and in the south of England, and Blanche was granted lands north of the River Trent – including Lancaster – and in Yorkshire and Northumberland. Perhaps the knowledge that John of Gaunt was familiar with Anglo-Scottish issues influenced these decisions.

Henry, Duke of Lancaster, had been a pious man, and he planned his funeral in meticulous detail. It was modest, but elegant enough to reflect his wealth and position. A cortège dressed in blue and white, holding flaming torches, carried the coffin to Newarke, the perpendicular collegiate church he had erected in Leicester, where he wished to be buried.³ The King and his family attended the funeral and mourned the loss of their cousin and much-loved friend. The Black Prince ceremoniously draped the coffin with two cloths of gold before it was interred, and Lancaster the man was written into the chronicles as a ‘noble Duke . . . worthy of everlasting remembrance’.⁴

In January 1362 a violent tempest whipped through England. The chronicler Henry Knighton watched it blow from the confines of the Abbey of St Mary of the Meadows in Leicester, where he was based as a canon. He describes the storm having ‘flattened woods, orchards and all kinds of trees . . . and destroyed churches, mills, bell towers and houses’. It struck across the whole country, but in London ‘did incalculable damage’. As the ‘fearsome wind’ tore down churches and houses in the capital, the royal family were plunged into mourning. Mary, Duchess of Brittany and Margaret, Countess of Pembroke – both younger sisters of John of Gaunt – died of the plague. This second wave was spoken of as another ‘great mortality’ that raged through England, this time killing mostly young people. In April 1362, Blanche’s sister Maude of Lancaster also died suddenly, possibly from the same epidemic. Maude had suffered a miserable marriage to William, Count of Holland, Zeeland and Hainault. In 1357 he had begun to show signs of insanity; his illness grew so unmanageable that the following year he was incarcerated at Quesnoy Castle in Northern France. When Maude died with no surviving children, her portion of the Lancastrian estates went to her sister. John of Gaunt and Blanche of Lancaster found themselves extraordinarily rich.

The level of wealth they inherited was enviable, yet such extensive lands and titles came with an overwhelming feudal responsibility, which John of Gaunt – still relatively inexperienced – would now have to shoulder. Shortly after the death of Maude, Gaunt was given a sword, a fur cap and a gold and pearl circlet, and was by royal charter declared Duke of Lancaster. On St George’s Day, he was admitted into the Order of the Garter. The wealth and territorial power that came with his new title attracted suspicion, and a rumour circulated that John of Gaunt had orchestrated the murder of his sister-in-law. Henry Knighton suggests that by ‘vulgar repute’ this was to ‘re-unite the inheritance’ so it would fall entirely to him.⁵ This was almost certainly wild speculation; however, this stain on Gaunt’s reputation as early as 1362 set a precedent for years of near-continuous scandal, gossip and scorn.

The Lancastrian inheritance was second only to the crown’s, and the governing of its extensive lands presented a difficult and complex job. John of Gaunt had been educated in feudal responsibility, observing at first hand the Black Prince’s administration in Cheshire and Cornwall. He had also been prepared for political responsibility, witnessing peace talks, diplomatic negotiations and treaties. With his elder sons still abroad, Edward III had high expectations of John of Gaunt, even fostering a scheme to place him on the throne of Scotland. The King was confident of his son’s loyalty and capability, and hoped that a dynastic settlement that brought the two crowns so close would avoid further war between England and Scotland. Although the plan never came to fruition, it precipitated a diplomatic and seemingly amicable relationship between John of Gaunt and the Scots thereafter. With royalty, wealth, territorial power and the potential for kingship, the House of Lancaster was amassing yet more prominence and prestige.

The Houses of Plantagenet and Lancaster had not always been so united. The Duchy of Lancaster – as it was later called – had emerged in the thirteenth century at the end of the Second Barons’ War and the death of the rebel Lord Simon de Montfort at Evesham. The youngest son of Henry III, Edmund Crouchback, inherited de Montfort’s Earldom of Leicester and, later, Lancaster. By 1269, Edmund was on track to become an incredibly wealthy territorial magnate, like all who would succeed him. Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, was a popular prince: a capable and pious soldier – nicknamed ‘Crouchback’ due to the motif of the cross he bore on his shield and wore on his back whilst on crusade. He was fiercely loyal to his brother King Edward I (‘Longshanks’), fighting in his various wars across Scotland and France and overseeing extensive Plantagenet castle-building projects in Wales. Over time Edmund accumulated a series of dignities, land and property. By the end of his life he was extremely powerful, with land dotted throughout the realm.⁶

After Edmund’s death in Bayonne in 1296, he was interred at Westminster Abbey and his wealth distributed among his children: Thomas, Henry and John. Thomas inherited the title Earl of Lancaster. At the end of the thirteenth century, the relationship between the house of Lancaster and the Plantagenets was positive.

After Edward II ascended the throne, he immediately bestowed a royal title – Earl of Cornwall – on his favourite (and suspected lover) Piers Gaveston. This instantly sparked massive opposition from the nobility, and Thomas of Lancaster became a leading player in an uprising against the King and his favourite. In an unforgiving dispute, Gaveston was eventually caught and executed on Lancaster’s lands near Kenilworth, infuriating the King and leading him to call Thomas of Lancaster a rebel and a traitor. After Gaveston’s death, domestic politics was turned on its head: Thomas of Lancaster exercised his authority and undermined the King. He refused to serve in the war against the Scots, and went so far as to agree to a personal truce with the Scottish lords, working under the pseudonym ‘King Arthur’. After years of growing animosity between the cousins, an influential noble family – the Despensers – rose to prominence at court and helped Edward II seek retribution. Edward II had never forgiven his cousin for Gaveston’s murder and, in 1322, finally took his revenge. Thomas of Lancaster was arrested after the Battle of Boroughbridge and tried for treason – with the Despensers and the King as members of the tribunal. A week after his arrest, Thomas of Lancaster, dressed in an old surcoat, was carried on a donkey a mile from Pontefract Castle, where he was executed. The only mercy extended was that he was at least spared the prescribed fate of a convicted traitor, that of being hung, drawn and quartered. As he was of royal blood, he was granted death by beheading. After Thomas’s conviction and execution as a traitor, Lancastrian loyalty was called into question: that historical mistrust of the name of Lancaster would haunt John of Gaunt throughout his political and personal life. When Gaunt inherited the Lancastrian lands nearly forty years later, it was claimed that blood trickled from Thomas of Lancaster’s tomb – a grim omen of an uncertain dynastic future.

Thomas became a posthumous icon, which perhaps made the Lancastrian position all the more dangerous. Shortly after his death a cult began to emerge around his effigy, said to induce miracles – even his hat was believed to cure headaches. By the time Henry – his younger brother and heir to the Lancastrian lands – installed a memorial cross for the murdered Thomas, the dead Earl had achieved a significant following, with three attempts to have him canonised.

With Edward II pitted against his Queen, Isabella, and her lover Roger Mortimer, the dynastic future of England was precarious. The Lancastrian administration, however, remained constant. Whilst the royal family were embroiled in a bitter feud, Henry, Earl of Lancaster, invested in Leicester as the heart of Lancastrian affairs. He renovated Leicester Castle but his greatest project was in the south-west of the town, the Newarke – a hospital and church – that employed generations of local labourers. From 1330, Henry of Lancaster created a home for the Lancastrian dynasty in Leicestershire and brought the previously quiet town of Leicester to the forefront of English consciousness.

Henry was popular in Leicester; the citizens of the town respected him and he carefully considered their needs, even endowing funds for a public latrine, ‘for the ease of all the said community’.⁷ Yet it was his large building projects in Leicester that benefitted local people most significantly. This positive relationship with the town continued with his son, Henry of Grosmont, the future Earl of Derby, Duke of Lancaster and father-in-law of John of Gaunt. Over the course of his flowering career, and even after being raised to his Dukedom, Henry of Grosmont never shirked his feudal responsibility in Leicester, and the relationship between people and magnate remained steadfast. By the time Gaunt inherited the town, Leicester was unbendingly loyal to Lancaster.

 

In the summer of 1362, after John of Gaunt and Blanche took charge of the Duchy of Lancaster, they toured the extensive lands now in their possession. Leicester was part of their tour and welcomed the new Duke and Duchess with open arms, offering gifts on their arrival. Gaunt continued the commitment of his forefathers-in-law and treated the people of Leicester with respect and kindness. The goodwill between citizens and Lord endured, and during the Peasants’ Revolt in 1381 the people of Leicester flocked to defend Gaunt’s property in the town.

With extensive territory to manage, John of Gaunt spent time over its redistribution. He granted Bergerac and Champagne – which had been acquired by Henry during the war – to the Black Prince, who now lived in Bordeaux, Aquitaine. The lands in France were a generous gift, but also allowed John to consolidate Lancastrian territory within England, thereby creating a more manageable, localised administration. The Duchy of Lancaster was a palatinate, meaning it was ruled by Gaunt to a large extent independently from the Crown. With lands in Yorkshire, Cheshire, Hertfordshire, Leicestershire, Cambridgeshire and Sussex, he ruled a larger portion of the country than any other magnate and needed an administrative body that ran like clockwork: a Lancastrian affinity.

John of Gaunt’s retinue was abnormally large. The men and women surrounding Gaunt formed a well-oiled hierarchical machine, and they divided into three principal categories. The closest among Gaunt’s retinue were his household attendants, who served his daily needs. They were followed by indentured retainers, who would be called to serve under him on campaign, and his estate officials, who managed his lands.⁸ All of these members wore his collar of linked esses. It is unclear exactly when the linked esses were adopted as the Lancastrian livery collar, or exactly what they represent. In Gaunt’s will he refers to a collar of gold given to him by his mother Queen Philippa; perhaps he adopted the design of this treasured gift for his own purpose. Another interpretation suggests the letters allude to the Sanctus – a prayer from the Christian liturgy.⁹ It is also possible that it refers to a Lancastrian motto: souveignez vous de moi, meaning ‘remember me’.¹⁰ There’s no clear indication who exactly the Lancastrians are meant to remember, but as Gaunt’s son Henry IV adopted the collar throughout his life and reign, it is possible that this nods to his mother, the Duchess Blanche.

John of Gaunt treated his retainers well and in return they were faithful to him; and so, by proxy, to the Crown. The King needed the loyalty of the magnates and the county commonwealths they represented. With John of Gaunt owning land in almost every county in England, which generated an income of around £10,000 per annum – an unprecedented sum in medieval England for anybody other than a King – Lancastrian support was crucial to the Crown in cultivating and maintaining a strong and wealthy political nation.¹¹ Throughout John of Gaunt’s life, he interwove Crown politics with the Duchy of Lancaster. He mustered an army from his retainers at times of war – in 1367 he took 100 of his men to aid the Black Prince in Aquitaine – and members of his retinue enjoyed prominent positions at court; Lord Scrope, the future Chancellor of Richard II, was a loyal Lancastrian retainer.

 

Conventional practice for wealthy young knights in the fourteenth century – if the country was at peace – was to go on crusade. By travelling and fighting for a holy cause a young man was expected to embody knightly decorum, experience battle and practise piety. With the responsibility of the Lancastrian inheritance and his role at court, John of Gaunt bypassed this rite of passage and was plunged into the political power-play of European politics. In autumn 1364 Gaunt led an embassy to Bruges to broker a marriage agreement between his younger brother, Edmund of Langley, and Margaret, the daughter of the wealthy Count of Flanders. Margaret was set to inherit her father’s wealth and the counties of Artois and Brabant in the Low Countries.

Gaunt’s mission was important; through a Flanders marriage, Edward III hoped to extend English power in the Low Countries – contravening the terms stipulated at Brétigny and forging an alliance with a powerful principality in Europe. The initial negotiation was successful and an alliance was agreed. However, a formidable accord between England and Flanders threatened the position of the county of Burgundy, held by the French King’s brother, Philip, an adversary of the Count of Flanders. Resolutely set against the alliance, Charles V of France petitioned Pope Urban V to refuse the match. In a desperate attempt to finalise the agreement, John of Gaunt offered his retinue’s assistance against the Burgundians, to ‘aid in fulfilment of his father’s obligations’.¹² Despite Gaunt’s dutiful efforts to please his father and provide a good match for his brother, the marriage never materialised: French pressure and Pope Urban’s refusal to allow the union won out in the end. The broken alliance inflamed the rivalry between England and France and, with hopes of support from the Low Countries dashed, Edward III turned next to Spain, with his eldest son making the first move.

After the Black Prince arrived in Aquitaine in 1362, he inaugurated a glamorous court in the city of Bordeaux with his wife Joan and a close circle of knights. The couple’s extravagant lifestyle was funded by the King’s wealth, which was abundant thanks to John II’s (partial) ransom and the profits from the wool trade. The Black Prince was popular in Bordeaux. According to Chandos Herald, the nobility were ‘joyful and happy, generous and noble’ and ‘all his subjects loved him well, because he did so much good for them’.¹³ The Prince held jousts and elaborate feasts and hung vast, expensive, colourful tapestries from the walls of his banqueting hall: his favourite tapestry was black with silver ostrich plumes and many swans, depicted with women’s heads.¹⁴ The success of Crécy and Poitiers meant the Black Prince was known around Europe as a powerful, capable prince and warrior, ‘a worthy man, bold, and with such a force of men at arms no living man could do him wrong’.

While the Black Prince ruled a successful court in Aquitaine, Spain was at war with itself. In 1350, Alfonso XI, King of Castile, died of plague. Alfonso had been historically loyal to France – supporting it in sea-battles against the English at Sluys and Winchelsea. Despite this, he had exercised some diplomacy with England – the ill-fated marriage alliance that resulted in Princess Joan dying of plague en route to wed his son Pedro. Alfonso was a successful diplomat and popular King; he kept the peace in Castile by allying with neighbouring Aragon. He was also well-liked in Christendom after waging continual war against Muslims in the south of Spain – where he died whilst besieging the Moorish stronghold of Gibraltar.¹⁵ Upon Alfonso’s death, the crown passed to his son, Pedro I, who promptly began to unpick his father’s policies and jeopardise peace by antagonising Aragon. A jealous man, Pedro murdered his half-siblings and later executed their mother, Alfonso’s longstanding mistress. To posterity, he became known as Pedro the Cruel.¹⁶ His half-brother Enrique survived and fled to France, where he served as a loyal mercenary biding his time to return to Castile for revenge.

Over a decade later, Enrique managed to forge an alliance with Pere III, the King of Aragon. Pere had a contentious reputation. According to a chronicle he wrote about himself, he was a peace-loving monarch. Yet another story goes that, following a rebellion in Valencia, the Aragonese King forced the burghers of the town to drink the molten metal of the very bell that had rang out across the town to signal the uprising.¹⁷ Nonetheless, he was a natural ally for Enrique, and together they intended to usurp Pedro and restore the peace between neighbours, as enjoyed in the reign of Alfonso. Pedro soon discovered the plot against him and allied himself with the Muslim King in Granada and Charles of Navarre, fracturing Spain and also calling in foreign allies. In 1362, Pedro I signed a peace agreement with Edward III at St Paul’s Cathedral, officially switching Castile’s allegiance from France to England. However, this did nothing to prevent his own people closing in on him. To Pedro’s horror, the Castilian nobility flocked to the Aragonese – furious with Pedro’s alliance with Granada. By 1366, King Pedro I of Castile was deposed and his half-brother, Enrique Trastámara, was celebrated as the new King of Castile. Later that year, the despondent ex-monarch arrived in Aquitaine and threw himself on the mercy and protection of the Black Prince, expecting him to honour the alliance Pedro had agreed with Edward III. The complicated fraternal feud had spilled out of Spain and into France and England, drawing both sides into the argument and into another decisive battle.

Bertrand du Guesclin was the most famous soldier and hero in France. A Breton knight, du Guesclin inspired epic romantic literature, poetry and theatre. He was considered such an icon in France, the physical embodiment of French chivalry and valour, that, following his death, du Guesclin’s body was cut up, boiled and parts were dispatched to various churches and shrines.¹⁸ In 1365, he rode to Bordeaux to visit the court of the Black Prince. He hoped to persuade the Prince to permit an expedition into Spain, to rid France of the Companies. Although the English army had moved out of France in 1360, many rogue soldiers and mercenaries had remained and joined the feared Companies. These French, English and German freebooters – including Eustace d’Auberchicourt – lingered throughout the country, raiding, pillaging, raping and extorting towns and villages. After years of continuous harassment, France was more devastated by the Companies than it was by the Black Death. Jean Froissart emphasised the urgency of the situation, suggesting that if they were not removed from the country, ‘they would destroy the noble Kingdom of France’. To the French, the Companies were a nightmare, and brought with them destruction and terror akin to the Riders of the Apocalypse. Charles V was desperate to rid his country of their persistent atrocities – whatever the cost.

It was decided that the best method was to direct the Companies’ interest elsewhere. With funding from the Pope in Avignon and the King of France, they were effectively paid to leave the country. Bertrand du Guesclin was tasked with leading the Companies over the Pyrenees and into Spain, where they would ride south and fight the Moors in Granada. As some of soldiers within the Companies were pledged to the Black Prince, du Guesclin was forced to seek his approval at Bordeaux. Aware of the devastation the Companies were causing, the Black Prince sanctioned the planned exodus. Bertrand du Guesclin, however, had not informed the Prince that the Companies were intended for a crusade against the Moors in Granada. As Granada was an ally of Pedro, and Charles V supported Enrique, the Black Prince was incentivised to support Pedro in reclaiming his throne. By proxy, he resumed war against Charles V by opposing his sworn ally.

Charles V loathed Pedro I. In 1353, Pedro had married Blanche of Bourbon, the sister of Charles’s wife Joanna. Pedro treated her appallingly, publicly humiliating her as a form of entertainment, leaving her desperate and despairing in Spain. Pedro, in the face of warnings from the Pope, chose to live openly with his mistress, Maria de Padilla. The situation came to a head when Blanche died in suspicious circumstances in 1361, the year before Pedro signed his alliance with Edward III. Rumour circulated that Blanche of Bourbon had been murdered by her husband, prompting Charles V to support Enrique’s claim to the Castilian throne aided by the Companies. The payment for the Companies’ services – and removal from France – was split three ways: between the Pope in Avignon (Urban V), Charles V and Pere III of Aragon. With full pockets, the Companies, led by du Guesclin, marched out of France via the coastal Languedoc and towards Montpellier and Perpignan. Around 12,000 soldiers entered Spain at the end of the year and, by that spring, Pedro I had fled.

John of Gaunt was at the Savoy Palace, occupied with royal administration, around the time he was told of Pedro’s flight to Aquitaine.¹⁹ Pedro offered the Black Prince lands in Castile, jewels and money, along with payment for the cost of the campaign, in exchange for help in regaining his throne. Edward III granted the request and chose John of Gaunt to take troops and supplies to Aquitaine to support the Black Prince and Pedro I against Enrique and the Companies. Gaunt spent the summer preparing for the campaign. He borrowed from the Crown, pledging land and property as collateral for the loan. After six years of managing his estates and running diplomatic errands for the King, John of Gaunt was eager to set sail and join his brother on their own campaign. Around the end of November, he set sail from Plymouth into a rough, windswept sea.

Crossing the Channel was often a challenging journey. A strong current and changing winds pushed the English fleet back, delaying landing. Finally, John of Gaunt docked at St Mahé in the Duchy of Brittany – held by English ally Duke John IV – where he went ‘on his way commanding and maintaining a great company’.²⁰ The crossing to France and subsequent journey to Bordeaux was the first time Gaunt had independently led an army. He intended to meet his brother at Dax – south of Bordeaux – where the majority of the army had mustered. On the march south, Gaunt stopped at Bordeaux where he was met by Princess Joan and his brand-new nephew, Richard.

Richard – the second son of the Prince, his firstborn being named Edward – arrived on the Feast of Epiphany (Wednesday 6 January) and was christened two days later. According to Chandos Herald, the heavily pregnant Princess Joan did not want her husband to leave on campaign. He claims that she was so distressed at the Prince’s imminent departure that she went into labour and ‘grief delivered’ the future Richard II. The Black Prince was overjoyed at the birth of his son and saw it as a blessing for the campaign ahead. Shortly after Richard’s christening the Prince marched away with an army of 1,000 soldiers.

John of Gaunt did not stay long at Bordeaux. Eager to see his brother and bring the anticipated reinforcements, he left quickly for Dax where the Black Prince rode out to meet him. They embraced each other warmly, and with clasped hands spoke of home and their family.

Around the same time that Gaunt arrived in Bordeaux, Bertrand du Guesclin and Enrique Trastámara met Charles of Navarre at Santa Cruz de Compezo on the Castilian-Navarrese border. Charles switched his allegiance to Enrique and swore to block the path of the Black Prince, forbidding him to enter Spain through Navarre. Aware of the English intention to invade Castile, du Guesclin began to prepare for an attack; closing off the Prince’s most obvious point of entry – through the Pyrenees by the Roncesvalles pass and into Navarre – had been his first strategic move. This necessitated the support of the slippery Charles, for whoever had his co-operation enjoyed the fastest passage into Spain.

Archers, men at arms, horses and wagons filled the small town of Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port at the foot of the Pyrenees. This was normally occupied by pilgrims, travelling across the mountains to the holy city of Santiago de Compostela. The road through the mountains was notorious for thieves. Margery Kempe – a mystic from Bishop’s Lynn in East Anglia – even avoided the Roncevalles Pass on her way to Santiago, choosing to sail instead, for ‘she was very afraid then that they should rob her and take her gold’.²¹ Roncevalles, a hamlet along the pass, was the site of the famous defeat of Charlemagne and the death of Roland at the hands of a mighty Saracen army. The battle is remembered and romanticised in the Song of Roland, an eleventh-century epic poem. As the Black Prince needed to take the Roncevalles Pass into Spain he was forced to persuade Charles of Navarre to permit their passage across the Pyrenees. Whilst at Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port, John of Gaunt was sent by his brother to escort Charles of Navarre to a meeting with the Prince. It is unknown whether Charles revealed his previous agreement with the French, or whether the Black Prince already knew his path was blocked. Nonetheless, the Prince clearly offered agreeable terms; not only did Charles of Navarre grant the English army access, he even swore to fight on their side. With this endorsement, the journey across the Pyrenees could begin.

 

The misty, snow-covered mountaintops piercing the sky were a beautiful sight, but crossing in winter was not advised. For the army, thieves were less of a threat than the terrain, which during winter was icy, snow-bound, with bears and wolves prowling amongst the trees. The journey was almost impossible. With only nine hours of daylight to cross seventeen miles, they had to move fast and then remain still on the icy path when darkness fell. To reach the summit of the pass, the army had to stumble up an incline of over 1,000 metres, battling rain, wind and hail. The path was narrow, so the army was split into three formations that made the journey over seven days. John of Gaunt went first, leading the vanguard up the slippery path, alongside John Chandos. The Black Prince and Pedro, forced to wait after a turn of bad weather, followed five days later, followed by the last formation led by the Count of Armagnac. According to Chandos, ‘no one stopped for his companion, not even a father for his son, for there was such a great cold, snow and frost there that everyone was afraid. But by God’s mercy the crossing was made’. Memory of the terrifying journey across the icy Roncevalles Pass might have lingered with John of Gaunt, for he later supported three hospitals of Our Lady of Rouncivall in London. The hospitals were established under the same name as the ‘Saint Mary Monastery in the mountains’ and Gaunt donated to their cause, perhaps in gratitude for ‘God’s mercy’ and his safety on the journey.²² The army united, relieved and exhausted, and was permitted a week at Pamplona to recover from the arduous journey as the Prince dispatched spies to gather information on the terrain and Enrique’s movements.

The Black Prince had not forgotten the Gascons and Englishmen who rode with the Companies, and who had made their way to Spain with du Guesclin. Some had homes in Aquitaine and owed fealty to the Prince. Unwilling to let his own men fight for the opposing side, he sent John Chandos to track them down. They were faced with an ultimatum: non-compliance with the Prince’s terms would result in the loss of their personal property in England and Aquitaine, and the reward was more than Enrique could match. As mercenary soldiers – one of whom was the infamous freebooter Eustace d’Auberchicourt – these men would always follow the best deal, and so they happily trotted back to join the Black Prince’s coalition, leaving Enrique and Bertrand du Guesclin with a depleted force.

Charles of Navarre had honoured his latest change of allegiance and allowed the Black Prince to enter Spain. The English then rode west to Vittoria, where Enrique Trastámara held the Castle of Zaldiaran, an imposing fortress positioned on the crest of a mountain. Enrique waited for the Black Prince at Vittoria where he intended to block the Prince’s passage south into Castile by trapping him at the base of the mountain. However, despite the obvious advantage of higher ground, Enrique would not face the Black Prince in battle, even after the Prince challenged him to fight. Tempted though Enrique may have been to face his enemy, Bertrand du Guesclin – accustomed to English tactics – advised him to be patient and ignore the bait.

As dawn broke and sunlight crept up the mountain pass at Vittoria, riders stealthily slid down the valley wall. Horses then thundered down the pass towards the unsuspecting enemy. The horsemen were lightly armoured and the cavalry was fast. Clouds of dust billowed in the morning air as they picked off their first victims: English foraging parties looking for breakfast. As the camp woke, preparing for the day and awaiting the arrival of food, thousands of enemy cavalry burst into their camp and attacked. On agile horses, they weaved around tents, ‘launching javelins, spears and lances’, and cutting down soldiers who were struggling to arm.²³ Woken by the noise, John of Gaunt stumbled to his feet with his sword and armour and ran to the nearest hilltop, where he raised the standard of the Black Prince to summon his men. Panicked troops rallied around the banner and arrayed themselves for combat. The Black Prince then ordered his men to counter-attack, as the Spanish light cavalry, chosen for the ambush, were driven back up the pass; without the advantage of surprise they proved no match for heavy horses and armoured knights. The story of the English army’s bravery lived on in local folklore, and the place of the attack is still known as Inglesmendi: ‘the English hill’.

The army clung together, anticipating a resurgence of Spanish and French troops, but no further attackers appeared on the hill above. The sky began to spit and the Prince decided to retreat in order to take a better route into Castile. The new path took the army through the mountain to La Guardia over the River Ebro, where they emerged in the heart of Castile. Here, the Black Prince intended to meet Enrique Trastámara and Bertrand du Guesclin in pitched battle. Enrique anticipated the Prince’s change of plan and also moved south, crossing the Ebro close to the English army. The Black Prince, Pedro and John of Gaunt made camp in the green vineyards near Najéra, to the west of the River Najerilla, and waited.

There were two chroniclers present at the Battle of Najéra, on opposing sides. During the battle, Pero Ayala, a Spanish chronicler, carried the banner of the Order of the Sash – an elite faction of the Castilian army – and fought for Enrique. Chandos Herald was on the side of the English, witness to the Black Prince’s entire Spanish campaign. Both give an account of what followed.²⁴

The Spanish army was largely made up of the same Castilian and Aragonese light horsemen – known as ‘ginetes’ – who had ambushed the English at Vittoria.²⁵ As both armies prepared for combat, the Black Prince and Enrique exchanged letters carried by heralds moving between opposing lines in an attempt to come to some sort of agreement. The Prince wrote to Enrique, addressing him as the Count of Trastámara, and accusing him of unlawfully usurping the crown from the rightful heir. In a final diplomatic gesture to avoid battle, he urged Enrique to surrender his claim and even offered to reconcile Enrique’s lands should he submit. But Enrique was eager to fight. He rebuffed the Black Prince’s accusation, arguing that Pedro had been a poor King and that the people of Castile suffered under his rule. He emphasised Pedro’s immorality in a stark statement: ‘He killed his own Queen’.

According to Ayala, Enrique was an honourable man, and it is likely that the Prince did indeed want him restored to a favourable position, without compromising English gains. However, with Pedro and Enrique firmly at odds, a decisive battle remained the only option. Bertrand du Guesclin – who accompanied Enrique to Najéra – warned him about open combat with the English, but Enrique was determined to defend his crown. Antagonised by the Black Prince’s message, Enrique moved his men over the River Najerilla and prepared them for battle. The move was impulsive. By crossing the river, he lost a good defensive position: the river now stood behind his army rather than ahead of them. What followed was one of the famous English victories of the Hundred Years War, and John of Gaunt’s formative experience of pitched battle.

Shortly before dawn on 3 April 1367, the Black Prince ordered his army to take up position on a steep ridge overlooking the plain, in the middle of which ran a principal road between Najéra and Navarette. Enrique had expected the English to move up the main road, and with the Najerilla behind him, he positioned his army in the centre of the road, blocking the Prince’s path.

On the Spanish side, the remainder of the Companies was in the vanguard – the front and centre – commanded by Bertrand du Guesclin. On the wings were Enrique’s brother, Tello – notoriously unreliable – and an Aragonese nobleman named Don Alfonso, Count of Denia. Enrique commanded the division to the rear of du Guesclin’s mercenaries, and behind him stood Spanish infantrymen.

On the English side, John of Gaunt led the vanguard. He controlled the first line of the attack – men at arms from England and Gascony – and he was accompanied by John Chandos and two marshals of the English army, Steven Cusington and Guichard d’Angle. It was necessary to station an experienced warrior and commander on the front line to supervise John of Gaunt. Having fought with the Black Prince in every campaign, John Chandos was a natural choice. Prince Edward was in the formation behind Gaunt. At the wings were their Navarrese allies; Charles of Navarre, however, was nowhere to be seen. Earlier in the campaign, he had been – conveniently – captured by the French, and was content to be imprisoned in Aragon, safely awaiting the result of the battle. He would eventually make his escape and return to Navarre, shirking responsibility for his part in the war.

As was traditional chivalric practice before a battle, selected soldiers – usually young noblemen – were ceremoniously knighted on the battlefield. In addition, Sir John Chandos trotted forward and asked the Black Prince to bless his banner. The Prince, Pedro and John of Gaunt unfurled the banner and said, ‘God grant you honour thereby’, before Chandos went to take his position in the vanguard. The Prince turned to his army and made a speech. He implored his men – who were hungry after days of hard marching – to ‘conquer them with blow of lance and sword’, in order to reap the benefits of their ample food supplies. The army roared for ‘St George’, whose cross they bore on their surcoats, as the Prince turned to Pedro and said: ‘Sir King, today you will know if ever again you will have Castile’. Battle began as dawn broke and the sun rose over the horizon. As Enrique Trastámara looked out over the empty plain ahead, there was no English solider in sight, until cries emerged from the left flank of his army. The cross of St George appeared a few hundred yards away to the left – it became clear that the Prince had launched a surprise attack.

Chandos Herald claims that the vanguard of the English – led by John of Gaunt – initiated the battle. Pero Ayala credits the right wing of the Spanish with taking the opportunity to advance at great speed towards the English left flank. Whoever advanced first, it was not long before both vanguards collided, resulting in a dramatic mêlée of steel, blood and sweat. John of Gaunt was determined to prove himself on the field and Chandos describes him as fighting ‘full of valour . . . so nobly that everyone marvelled, looking at his great prowess . . . no creature, rich or poor, adventured himself so far forward as he did’. As soldiers shoved, hacked and stabbed at each other, Spanish slingers hurled rocks into the advancing English army, forcing men from their horses and delivering fatal blows to advancing soldiers. Still, the English longbows – the deadliest and most famous weapon of the Hundred Years War – could not be beaten. Chandos describes archers shooting ‘thicker than rain falls in winter’, wounding men and horses with more efficiency than the slingers or crossbows the Spanish brought to the battle. Castilian and Aragonese soldiers turned and fled, with many dispatched by longbowmen and infantry as they ran for their lives towards the River Najerilla. The river had once been seen by the Castilian forces as a defensive asset, but as the end of the battle closed in, it was overrun by men clamouring to escape, and the river transformed into a watery death-trap. By dusk, it ran ‘red with the blood that flowed from the bodies of dead men and horses’. Those who safely crossed ran towards the town of Najéra, but were soon plucked from their hiding places and killed. Both chroniclers believe around 400-500 men lost their lives in their flight from battle, by either sword, arrow or drowning. The Battle of Najéra was a victory for the Black Prince, Pedro and John of Gaunt. Enrique escaped to Aragon despite attempts to hunt him down, and Bertrand du Guesclin was captured and ransomed for a vast sum. The restored King of Castile, Pedro the Cruel, dropped to his knees before the Black Prince and John of Gaunt, blessing his victory and Castile.

Despite Pedro’s emphatic gratitude, he soon fell out with the English Princes over the treatment of prisoners. Both brothers were expected to uphold and defend the code of chivalry. As part of this code, prisoners were treated fairly and well until a ransom was received for their release, or they were lawfully tried for any crimes and dealt with accordingly. John of Gaunt upheld this code ardently during his lifetime – honour was priceless.

From a knight to a King, captives had significant ransom value. A prisoner taken in war could be a lucrative asset to his captor, depending on his rank and status. Pedro approached his English allies with an offer to pay the going ransom rate for the Castilian prisoners. But his intention was not to release them, but rather to butcher them. Both the Black Prince and John of Gaunt were horrified. The Prince made Pedro pledge his word that he would not touch the prisoners taken at Najéra.

One of the captives was Inigo Lopez de Orozco, who had previously favoured Pedro and supported his rule, before defecting to Enrique. He was now the prisoner of a Gascon soldier who would profit handsomely from his ransom. Pedro brutally attacked de Orozco and stabbed him to death. The Gascon knight was furious and took his frustrations to the Black Prince. Pedro defended himself but, to mitigate the Prince’s rage, suggested that he pay the asking price for more blood; it soon become clear that Pedro the Cruel was true to his sobriquet. The Black Prince denied Pedro ‘a thousand times what each prisoner was worth’ and suggested that instead he pardon them and seek their alliance.²⁶ Reluctantly, Pedro gave his pardon. The Spanish captives – rather than serve a murderer – managed to escape to Enrique, who was regrouping his army in southern France.

Relations with the newly restored Pedro then went from bad to worse. One month after the battle, the English Princes rode into the Cathedral of Santa Maria in Burgos, to witness Pedro reaffirm his promise to repay the cost of the expedition and grant the Black Prince territory on Spain’s northern coast near the Bay of Biscay. Despite this, the promised lands and wealth never materialised and the English army remained in Castile. As they waited, the weather grew hotter. The fierce Spanish sun beat down on the now demoralised army and the Black Prince fell sick, possibly inflicted with agonising dysentery – a common ailment for soldiers in cramped, unhygienic conditions with little access to clean drinking water. The Prince became so unwell he retreated to Aquitaine to await the promised funds from Pedro in the comfort of his own Duchy. Frustrated with Pedro’s lack of honour and the unfortunate turn of events, the Black Prince had even plotted to take Castile himself; a plan he likely discussed with John of Gaunt on the long march back to Aquitaine. However, the Prince’s sickness was worsening and his plans for Castile were sidelined – neither brother ever saw Pedro again.

After the Battle of Najéra, the ransomed Bertrand du Guesclin returned to Spain to continue the offensive against Pedro. The Constable joined forces again with Enrique Trastámara and led an army back into Castile to oust Pedro for the second time. In 1369, Enrique and du Guesclin trapped and captured Pedro near the Castle of Montiel, south of Madrid. Whilst held prisoner in the French camp, Pedro finally came face to face with Enrique in one of the most dramatic fraternal showdowns in history. They fought, man on man, until finally Enrique – and a band of his followers – stabbed Pedro to death in the same brutal manner that Pedro had used upon others. The reign of Pedro the Cruel was over and Castile was wholly Trastámaran. The death of Pedro I marked a temporary closure of Plantagenet interest in Iberia.

The initially successful campaign, and the Battle of Najéra, left a lasting impression on John of Gaunt. Under his patronage, Walter of Peterborough composed an epic rhyming poem about the battle: ‘the wars of high born brothers I declaim / few lines have bred a stock of greater fame’.²⁷ Gaunt was proud of the victory at Najéra. It conferred the sort of prestige, honour and chivalric glory that, so far in his life, he had witnessed only from the sidelines. Although the Black Prince’s suggestion of a further Castilian invasion was likely borne out of frustration and anger with Pedro, a seed was planted for John of Gaunt. Najéra was a victory for Gaunt equal to Poitiers for the Black Prince and Crécy for Edward III. The prospect of victories like Najéra, territorial expansion and perhaps even kingship, crystallised in an obsession with Castile – a desire to further the King’s wish of a ‘Plantagenet Empire’. John of Gaunt would cling to this idea, and, for the next twenty years, occupy himself with the conquest of Castile. He persistently laid out his ambition before Parliament, seeking support for another expedition to succeed the English victory in 1367.

That summer, though, Gaunt began the journey home, riding high on his success at Najéra. Yet this momentary glory would soon be overshadowed by a personal tragedy: the death of his beloved Duchess.