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.