1066 – The Year of the Conquest by David Howarth

Whether it is Hollywood drama or scholarly accuracy, historical retellings are all we can use to satisfy the “What happened?” question. In 1066-The Year of the Conquest, David Howarth manages to provide the best of both worlds.

Howarth skillfully depicts the intrigue and suspense of every event of the conquest. He highlights the fateful decisions made by Harold Godwinson, William of Normandy, King Edward the Confessor, and all the other key players. He stresses the incredible timing of the events, which cascaded down on poor Harold like a waterfall of bad luck. He even delves into Harold’s and William’s relationships with women, which adds a powerful sentimental pang to this otherwise grim, masculine tale.

For the stingy scholars, his descriptions are drawn straight from a plethora of original sources. The research is not only complete, but even-handed as well. Both the Norman and Saxon points of view are presented (no small feat since most of the Saxon points of view died with Harold at Hastings or soon thereafter). Howarth even goes so far as to draw from original Norse sources, so the Norwegian element of the story is as strong as the others.

By linking high drama with solid facts, Howarth’s readers not only learn “what happened” during that amazing time in history, but gain a real sense of the players and their motives. Harold, William, Tostig, Harald, and many more historical figures become real people with real problems and ambitions. The end result is an enjoyable, educational read for all.

The Illuminator by Brenda Rickman Vantrease

Viewed through the lenses of history, the 1300s appear especially vivid and colorful. The velvet crimsons, brooding cobalts, and brilliant golds of heraldry juxtapose against a backdrop of black, be it the prince or the plague. The shining light of chivalry collides head-on with the painful darkness brought on by the western schism and the Hundred Year’s War. With so many colors flying around, it is no surprise that novelists find ample opportunity to reach out and capture some of it for their own story-telling purposes.

In her first novel, Brenda Vantrease does not shy away from filling her book with 14^th century color. The book is set in England in the latter portions of the time period, during the state of flux that followed the death of King Edward III. The book covers many of the old stand-by themes readers have come to expect from pre-renaissance historical fiction: the church’s extortionist practices, the struggles of the peasant class, and the race for power between the church and the state. Yet it also explores the relatively nubile soil of the Lollard uprising; a content and emotion-rich topic that sets this book apart from the standard 14^th century yarn.

In order to cover all these bases, Vantrease weaves fictional characters into an all-star cast of real historical figures. John Wycliffe, the “Morningstar of the Reformation,” Henry Despenser, the “Warrior Bishop,” and John of Gaunt loom large in this novel, creating an anchor of authority and potency around which all the action revolves. Speaking of anchors, Vantrease also includes the anchoress Julian of Norwich in the book. Her character adds a heavy dose of 14^th century religion from the unique perspective of a literate, canonically-progressive woman.

To tie these real people together, the author employs the fictional main characters of an illuminator named Finn and a newly-widowed noblewoman named Kathryn. The meat of the book begins when Finn becomes a lodger at Kathryn’s estate so he can paint illuminations for a nearby abbey. While working for the abbey to support his daughter on the surface, Finn also works secretly to support Wycliffe’s radical anti-church teachings. Meanwhile, Kathryn tries to maintain her estates amidst ruinous taxes from the state and the church, thieving workers, and her two no-good sons.

As both characters develop, their true colors for religion and for each other take center stage. Several plot twists, involving the murder of a corrupt priest, the adolescent lust between Finn’s daughter and Kathryn’s sons, and the meddling sheriff of Norwich, serve to aid the development of Finn’s and Kathryn’s relationship. Also, Vantrease gives Despenser a direct hand in her book, as the warrior bishop plays the role of Finn’s arch nemesis.

Several supporting characters add the color of the 14^th century peasant class. Using the point of view of Agnes - the long-time cook for Lady Kathryn - Vantrease shows off her thorough knowledge of medieval recipes and culinary customs. Through the eyes of Half-Tom the dwarf, she shows readers the squalid state of the low peasant. And through Colin – Lady Kathryn’s second son – readers get to experience the passion with which the peasants reviled the ruling class of church and state.

The end result is that The Illuminator achieves what it set out to do: light up the 14th century. While the religiousness gets overbearing at points (the anchoress revelations are especially God-heavy), the Finn-Kathryn relationship is ensnarling right up to the last page. While the book has little to no martial action, the intrigue surrounding the characters keeps the pages turning and gives the reader a good idea as to where all the 14^th century colors come from.

Catherine de Medici Renaissance Queen of France by Leonie Frieda

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Since the case of History v. Catherine de Medici opened more than 400 years ago, the prosecution has battered the French queen’s reputation to the brink of damnation. She has been labeled as "the Black Queen" or "the evil Italian sorceress," and her role in the French monarchy has been cast as that of a manipulator, liar, and despot. In 2003 however, Catherine's defense team unleashed its star attorney, and her name is Leonie Frieda. Throughout her 392-page biography, Frieda protects and champions the queen's actions with power and precision. As a result, this book may posthumously do to Catherine what “the glove” did for O.J.

The queen’s life is traced from the crib to the grave, and not much is left out in between. Intertwined with Catherine’s life are the kings of the Valois dynasty. Catherine played a remarkable role in the lives of five kings, and Frieda spins the queen as the one true constant in a tumultuous Valois storm. The most emotional writing is saved for Catherine’s relationship with her husband, Henri II. Married when they both were 14, Catherine and Henri were supposed to be the beacon of the French Renaissance. They did their best to play the part, but underneath the façade lurked a dark and tense state of affairs (in the literal sense). Henri may have married Catherine, but his heart belonged to Diane de Poitiers, a beautiful courtesan 19 years older than the king. Despite giving birth to 10 children (6 of whom survived childhood) and loving him with her whole heart, Catherine could never tear Henri’s eyes (or the rest of his body) away from Diane. In the end, Henri’s eyes were torn away, but not by Catherine. In a gruesome jousting accident, Henri’s eyes and brain were lacerated by the shards of a broken lance. Frieda thrives in the retelling of these events, including Nostradamus’ foreshadowing of the King’s death.

After mourning Henri almost to the point of killing herself, Catherine is thrust into the Queen Dowager role and forced to protect her children from disease, religious wars, and each other. According to Frieda, she succeeds in all of these endeavors except for disease. Of her 10 children, only two live longer than their mother thanks to vile afflictions that will make all readers thankful for modern medicine. At the end of her days, Catherine is depicted by Frieda as a tired, overweight old woman ravaged by years of hard work protecting her family. Despite all of Catherine’s efforts, the Valois are extinguished anyway, thanks to the incompetence of her sole remaining son, Henri III, and the religious zealot who stabbed him just a few short months after Catherine’s death.

Frieda not only reports the episodes of Catherine’s life, but she explains how the episodes shaped the queen’s personality. Whether it was her abandonment after her parents’ death, or the questionable decisions leading to the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, Catherine’s life is retold with an architect’s skill, so that every piece is connected to create one masterful work. By the last page, Catherine’s portrait is so complete, it’s more of a 3-D animation than an oil painting. Through Frieda’s writing, Catherine comes alive as a compassionate woman who did everything possible to keep her family on the throne of France.

Now, was this a good thing or no? Did Catherine help or hurt the Valois, or more importantly, France? That is what the case of History v. Catherine de Medici will decide. With a writer as skilled as Leoni Frieda on her side, however, Catherine may start to like her chances.

Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Four Kings by Amy Kelly

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In this book, the author rehashes the amazing story of Eleanor of Aquitaine with a special focus on the four kings who played dominant roles in her life: Louis of France, Henry II, Richard I, and John I of England. 

It does not take a historian to write a book about this woman; anyone with the determination to sit and write a catalog of Eleanor’s activity could fill a book. It does take someone with special ability, however, to make the situations and people in the book come alive. Judging by this standard, Kelly is truly special indeed. Her characters not only come alive, they leap off the page. Her prose is so rich, so celebratory, and so regal, the book sometimes reads more like wistful science fiction than actual medieval reality.

For instance, the story of the Plantagenet kings drips of George R. R. Martin. Eleanor and Henry II had four sons who reached a mature age: Henry (the young king), Richard, Geoffrey, and John. The young king is a man who seemingly has the world in the palm of his hand: he’s brave, attractive, young, rich, and aware of it all. He excels in jousting tournaments and is beloved by small folk everywhere from Winchester to Marseille. The only thing young Henry doesn’t have is the one thing he wants most: power. His father, the immortal Henry II, flatly refuses to release any of his hard-earned land to his eldest son. Instead, the old king raises his first-born to “sub-king” status and indentures him to a secondary position of watching, waiting, and - in old Henry’s hopes - learning. To add further insult, Henry’s younger brother Richard is made Count of Poitou and entrusted to subdue the rebel magnates in his newly-acquired area. Richard excels in this militaristically tangible endeavor while the young king excels in fake boyhood games. Old Henry dedicates his life to placating his strong-willed sons; he even removes Eleanor from the scene by throwing her into civil prison because she favors Richard too much. But despite all his efforts, Henry II cannot stop his eldest son from attacking his most able son. At the situation’s climax, the young king takes the flower of Angevin nobility to aid the same rebels Richard is trying to subdue. He begins preparations to prove that he, not Richard, is the most fearsome Angevin eaglet when daddy shows up in support of Richard with an army of grizzled veterans. After days of vacillation, young and old seem destined to collide when tragedy strikes and the young king is felled by a fever. On his deathbed, young Henry begs forgiveness from his lord and father, but dies before the old king can reach his bedside. In an instant, the paragon of Henry II’s hopes is dashed and the sole hope for the incarcerated Queen moves one step closer to imperial power.

As it turns out, the young Henry happened to be the most loyal eaglet to his father. Richard and Geoffrey fall in league with the archenemy king of France and chase their beleaguered patriarch across the empire. When the chief Plantagenet holes up in Chinon, the end-game plays out. With his sons and the French king at his gates, Henry II relinquishes all power to the over-aggressive Richard; his only request is a list of those who conspired against him. When the list arrives, the name at the top pushes the old king into his grave. John Plantagenet, Henry’s last son and hope, helped chase his father down as well.

Who needs science fiction when nobody could make up better drama than the real thing? In Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire series, similar – if not directly identical – themes develop. Peasant villages tremble at the whims of their overlords as disease, famine, flood, and war take their destructive turns. Magnates shift allegiance at the drop of a hat. Second sons rise to great heights as first-borns suffer ignominious death. Marriage alliances are set, violated, reset, broken, and set once more. Incest becomes a matter of opinion. Families are cast into exile and the remnants flee to exotic eastern lands for safety. Dowager queens clash with younger, racier princesses. And all the while, the specter of zealous religiosity looms over the entire enterprise.

But it’s not just the themes that draw comparisons to the seven kingdoms; it’s also the drama and the pageantry. In both the Plantagenet realm and Martins seven kingdoms, pavilion tents of a thousand colors signify a ferocious army at camp. Banners bearing proud family sigils stream from lances during a wedding tournament. Singers lambaste feasting halls with tales of heroic deeds, unholy indiscretions, and prototypical chivalry.

Amy Kelly’s book is a holy grail for young writers, for it provides them with a most significant sign. Masters of the genre did not pluck their ideas out of thin air; they based their work off of research into actual history. This research covers both plot ideas (what happens) and detail (how it happens). It even can provide invaluable insight into character. For instance, the Angevin rage Kelly describes as “possessed by all Plantagenets” is most assuredly a characteristic easily translatable to any fictional royal family. These types of insights make historical biography, especially one as well done as Kelly’s, interesting to read and extremely helpful as well.