Royal marriages were designed to create alliances—bonds of blood which were meant to create connections to promote unity and peace. Joan herself was a product of generations of dynastic marriages, which meant she was closely related to many of the greatest families of Western Europe, and her marriages, along with those of her children, stepchildren, and grandchildren, only increased these connections over the years. Not only was Joan herself an active participant in creating peace between her family members through intercession and diplomacy, the connections created by her marriages and maternity were repeatedly cited in peace treaties as a pretext for familial relationships which should preclude unity. While the use of the terms used in diplomatic documents like “brother”, “father”, “mother”, “cousin”, “uncle”, and “carissimus consanguineous noster” or “our most beloved close relative” could be seen as formulaic; they were employed to reinforce family bonds—bonds which had been created through Joan.
Yet these connections did not prevent war and conflict, which were near constant during the entirety of Joan's life through both the Hundred Years War and the internal rifts in Brittany between the Penthièvres and Montforts, the Valois internecine strife between the Orleans/Armagnacs and Burgundy, and in England, with rebellions, plots, and tensions between the Lancastrians themselves. Ultimately it seems that there was never a point in Joan's long life when she could claim that all of the various branches of her family in Navarre, Brittany, France, and England were in harmony—her life witnessed conflict after conflict both between and within the branches. The decisions that Joan herself made—to marry Henry IV, to involve herself in brokering peace, to intercede with her relatives to incline them to a side or encourage them to back down from warfare—always alienated at least one group within her family and made her loyalties suspect both to them and her subjects.
This suspicion has led to a negative perception of Joan, particularly in English history, where she barely features in the contemporary chronicles. This scant mention by chronicles has in turn informed both later historiography and popular culture, where Joan is largely missing from the memory of the Lancastrian era. Henry IV has generally been given less focus than his heroic son Henry V, the victor of Agincourt—many generations have only been acquainted with his reign via the history or so-called “Hollow Crown” plays of William Shakespeare. Joan is completely absent from Henry IV, parts I and II, as well as those on the later Lancastrian kings—yet we cannot fault Shakespeare entirely for this as she was largely missing in the chronicles that he himself was using to construct his own work.1 And so it goes on—this pattern of omission continues through to Jane Austen, who claimed in her potted history of England that “it is supposed that Henry [IV] was married, since he had certainly four sons, but it is not in my power to inform the Reader who was his wife”.2 Today, as noted in the introduction, she remains one of England's least known queens—another royal woman with a fascinating life whose existence is a mystery to many.
Although Joan has not resonated strongly in the written record or in popular culture, there are still some tangible reminders in terms of material culture and architectural remains which give the modern world evidence of her existence in the present day. Sadly, many of the residences where Joan spent most of her time are lost to us now, such as Kings Langley, Havering-atte-Bower, and the monasteries of Stratford and Chertsey. A few locations which were becoming ruinous in Joan's time, such as Odiham Castle, are even more of a ruin now. However, others such as Suscinio in Brittany have been the focus of major restoration efforts to try to recapture the way they might have been in Joan's lifetime. In a more extreme sense, Eltham Palace has been subject to so much work by later kings and owners that the building as Joan would have known it has been nearly erased. Still, three surviving castles deliberately highlight their connection to her, even if briefly, in the story they tell of the sites’ history: Nottingham, Pevensey, and Leeds. Pevensey and Leeds include Joan in relation to the charge of treason and her detention there—an interesting tale which makes an exciting anecdote for visitors by highlighting that she was suspected, in some sources at least, of witchcraft. While Joan gets only a brief mention on the website for Leeds Castle and the guidebook, her household account from the castle's archives has featured in their displays, providing some physical link to her presence there.3 English Heritage has written up a reasonable overview of Joan's life in their website for Pevensey, which explains her detention there and gives some context of her life before and after the accusation of treason or witchcraft.4 Nottingham Castle also includes a mention of Joan in their online literature, particularly in the context of the mills in Brewhouse Yard and has used the idea of Joan as a potential witch for Halloween-inspired tie-ins for their blog.5 Joan also physically featured in an event for the reopening of the castle during a set of performances from Theatre Design students at Nottingham Trent University in 2021, titled “Ghosts” which “brought to life six forgotten, denied, and unexpressed stories from Nottingham Castle's history”.6
Objects connected to Joan, such as the Trinity Reliquary she gifted to Jean V or books that she once possessed, are kept safe in collections around the world, from the Louvre in Paris to the special collections of libraries such as the University of Manchester and Harvard University. Perhaps the best place to encounter Joan or where her presence is most physically evident is at her shared tomb with Henry IV in Canterbury Cathedral—here we can see the power of Diane Booton's notion of Joan being a “shaper of memory”. While Joan was not able to shape popular memory in the way she might have wished to ensure that she would have a lasting legacy as one of the most renowned queens of the Middle Ages, her tomb forever represents the image that she wanted to endure—not as a “royal witch” but as an infanta of Navarre, duchess of Brittany, and queen of England.
While it is impossible to do complete justice to a life as long and complex as Joan of Navarre's in this short space, it is hoped that this biography—the first full-length scholarly treatment of her life—will start to raise awareness of this important yet overlooked royal woman. By reconsidering the intense political landscape of the Hundred Years War with Joan at the centre, instead of on the sidelines or in the footnotes, a new perspective has been offered which demonstrates Joan's deep connection to and involvement in the events of the period. By moving beyond what happened during her lifetime to consider her agency as an able and engaged administrator of a vast portfolio of lands on both sides of the Channel, which made her one of the most significant landholders in both England and Brittany, we can see not only Joan's economic acumen but her fierce defence of her rights and position—perhaps one of her most defining character traits. Through an examination of her networks of service, we can understand her relationships with those around her—who she trusted and the loyalty of those who served her, even when that meant following her to foreign lands or sharing her exile from court life. Finally, by thinking about the spaces she inhabited, the people and institutions she patronised, and the possessions she possessed and gifted to others, we have gained a greater understanding of her day-to-day life and what was important to her. Taken together, it is hoped that this work has begun to draw Joan of Navarre out from the shadows of history and back into the light where she belongs, and in so doing, encourage others not only to learn more about her but to seek out and bring to light the many other royal women like Joan whose stories also desperately need to be told.