Now may the housband in the south dwell in his own place
His wif and eke his faire doughter and all the goode he has
Suche menys hath the rose made by vertu and grace.1
This book has traced the interfaces of two narratives, those of the red rose and the white swan, symbols of the masculine and feminine experiences of history. Traditionally, the dominant version of events comprises the lives and works of great men, the story of possession of the throne, which follows the transfer of political, religious and military power. Thus only a small percentage of the lives of the people of the past find representation, those of the kings and bishops, generals and traitors, whose births and deaths have been inscribed in school curricula along with the names of the battles they fought at Poitiers, Agincourt, St Albans, Towton, Tewkesbury, Bosworth and Stoke. Even so, the names most of the thousands of casualties who gave their lives in the cause of England, or Lancaster, or York, or just in the course of survival, have now been lost. The story of the red rose of Lancaster is one of victory and defeat, of unexpected reversals of fortune and the consequences of character and circumstance. Yet, all the while, this dominating metanarrative has been underscored by swathes of alternative accounts, overlapping, colliding and separating, sometimes merging; each a function of the other, sometimes breaking through and derailing another historical path, and each just as valid as the first.
When it comes to the story of the white swan, the narrative tracing the contributions of women to the Lancastrian dynasty, the surviving evidence is more limited, more transient. The lives of women in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries are often illuminated by history only where they come into contact with men, when the light of the red rose casts them into relief or draws out a long shadow behind them. Although many of these women were fortunate enough to be literate, they did not keep diaries and few of the letters they wrote have survived. They were perceived as daughters, wives and mothers, and their challenges to these labels came at a cost. The limitations of women’s lives in a personal and legal sense has also meant that the narrative of the white swan has suffered as a result of the dominance of the red rose, being distorted or curtailed by louder historical voices. Their contributions to dynastic success have been less measurable beyond the traditional yardstick of fertility, and more confined to the personal sphere of private human relations. Yet they have also been guides, confidantes, educators, queens, regents, role models and much more.
The narrative of the white swan falls into four distinct phases. Firstly, there were the women who helped build the dynasty, who were close to the throne but never saw it as within reach; the beloved wives Blanche of Lancaster, Mary de Bohun and Katherine Swynford of the late fourteenth century whose fertility established the family line. They were English-born or, in the case of Katherine, spent the majority of their life in England as members of the nobility, with close family ties to the court. Secondly, there were the women of the early fifteenth century who rode the crest of Lancaster’s new-found success as queens to strong men at the height of dynastic good fortune, such as Joan of Navarre and Catherine of Valois. From around the middle of the century though, the family’s luck went into decline, starting with the charges against Eleanor Cobham, through to the circumstances of Margaret of Anjou’s queenship and the Lancastrian nadir of Tewkesbury. The final phase was heralded in 1485, with the final radiant victory of Lancastrian patience and determination that was Margaret Beaufort. Yet they were not the only ones. Many other women contributed, whose lives reflect the complexities of the era and whose allegiances may have changed as a result of marriage, which frequently proved to be a far more determining factor than their birth.
It is difficult to determine an ideal Lancastrian woman. So far as the models of the time go, the medieval definition of feminine perfection could be contradictory, but was largely focused on submission and fertility, piety and duty. Certainly many of them conformed to this ideal, as far as was possible, while questions of marital harmony and fecundity left others falling short of the popular standard by circumstances beyond their control. By understanding the expectations of the age, it may be possible to approach the feelings of the women involved when they fell short of those standards, as at the time it would take an exceptional individual to reject conformity and the security it conferred. Clearly motherhood mattered and around it turned the opportunities of the Lancastrian dynasty. Had Anne of Bohemia borne a live child in the 1380s, the future may have been very different for Henry Bolingbroke. Equally different could have been the path taken towards civil war if Eleanor Cobham had succeeded in falling pregnant instead of Margaret of Anjou. On such questions of biology have the narratives of red roses and white swans turned.
There were certain specific qualities shared by the wives, mothers and daughters of Lancaster: loyalty and dedication to their cause. However, this was not always straightforward as allegiances were challenged by new bonds, causing women such as Jacquetta and Elizabeth Wydeville and Cecily Neville to follow the fortunes of their men when they were led into conflict with the dynasty of the red rose. All were Lancastrians early on, by marriage, such as Jacquetta’s to John, Duke of Bedford and Elizabeth’s to John Grey, or by birth in Cecily’s case. Loyalty and determination remained their key qualities but marriage witnessed their transfer to the house of York, although they would have perceived this as a duty to the continuance of their bloodline and no disloyalty at all. Certainly ambition was a frequent part of the make-up of the Lancastrian woman, perhaps more so after the dynasty’s crowning success of 1399. It may have played a part in convincing Joan of Navarre to act on her preference for Henry IV and independently arrange her own marriage. However, when it came to marriages like that of Joan Beaufort to the King of Scots or her cousin Joan Beaufort to Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmorland, it is impossible to establish just where the impetus of ambition lay, divided as it was among the bride and her relatives. On the verge of making their matches, these young women were likely to have been just as keen to marry well as the families whose values had shaped their social outlook.
What resonates through many of these women’s stories is the theme of love. In an era when marriages among the aristocracy were arranged for mutual advancement, a surprising number of love stories emerge. Mistresses became wives in the cases of Katherine Swynford and Eleanor Cobham, while the majority of those marrying into the dynasty became cherished companions. It is possible to see the warmth between Edward III and Philippa of Hainault replicated down the years in the marriages of their descendants, resulting in the remarkable matches of the Black Prince and Joan of Kent, Henry IV and Joan of Navarre, Richard II and Anne of Bohemia. Then there was the unusual match borne of out affection between Catherine of Valois and Owen Tudor, forbidden and scandalous as it was, but which created the bloodline that allowed the Lancastrians their final comeback in 1485. Romantic love certainly played its part in the story, but it was perhaps not as decisive as the maternal love that drove Margaret of Anjou and Margaret Beaufort, with very different results.
The theme of witchcraft also appears with surprising consistency through the narrative as part of the social and sexual history of violence against women. The close connection between John, Duke of Bedford and the fate of Joan of Arc in Rouen in 1431 established a theme for the middle years of the century that was adopted by these women’s allies and enemies alike, with the imprisonment of Joan of Navarre, the condemnation of Eleanor Cobham and the accusations made against Jacquetta Wydeville. One of the most powerful weapons available against a woman of any rank, the accusation of witchcraft, exposes just how fragile their positions were, and how dependent upon the goodwill of men for their survival.
This book is an attempt to trace an alternative narrative of English history during the period 1345–1509, to complement the dominant male version of events with one of female experience and influence. Of course, the two are inseparable in terms of understanding the era and at times they collide and merge, but the lives of women of the period are rarely highlighted at the expense of accepted masculine truths, of well-trodden paths that may present their world as a continuous series of dates. Instead, this female history is fragmentary; a mosaic or jigsaw of overlapping lives, some of which only appear in the spotlight briefly, before their trails go cold in the margins. I have attempted to look beyond the continuum to where these women came from and where they went. This has involved a degree of necessary diversion that has only made their stories the richer, by helping uncover the many similarities between their situations and the interconnectedness of their key moments. The span has been vast. From Blanche of Lancaster’s brief life and exhaustive maternity to Margaret Beaufort’s spell as regent, the women of the dynasty have undergone an arc of redefinition, as part of the constant struggle that has been the universal truth of women’s lives throughout history.
Just as the narratives of male and female experience were closely woven, the blood of the combative red and white roses was mingled upon the wedding of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, and embodied in their surviving son, Henry VIII. It seems fitting to end this study with a song dating from the early years of their marriage, perhaps to celebrate the arrival of Arthur in 1486, using the symbolism of the roses to anticipate peace:
I love the rose both red and white
Is that your pure perfite appetite?
To here talke of them is my delite
Joyed may we be
Our Prince to see
And Roses three.
1 Anon.