Eleanor of Castile: The Shadow Queen

by Sara Cockerill

  Stony Stratford was built by the same builder as the Hardingstone cross and obviously featured images of Eleanor, but has otherwise disappeared. Of the Woburn cross no trace or description remains, but given that it was made by the same builder as the other Watling Street crosses, it is likely to have been stylistically consistent. The Dunstable cross, also from the same stable, is described as ‘having engraven on it arms of England, Castile and Ponthieu and adorned with statues’. Likewise, the St Albans cross (the original long lost – the cross in existence is a modern copy) was made by the same builder, who supplied the rings, rods and hoods which indicate the presence of statues. Overall, therefore, it seems clear that all the crosses shared the theme of repeated statues of Eleanor, and repeated iterations of her arms.26

  As for the lost London crosses, the first of these was the cross known as ‘the Cheapside cross’, which stood outside St Peter’s, Cheapside, opposite the entrance to Wood Street. It appears to have been made under the direction of one man, Master Michael of Canterbury. Over the period early 1291 to late 1292, he charged £226 13s 4d for this cross – nearly twice the traceable cost of the Waltham cross. Other than that Walter of Guisborough considered the cross (and that at Charing) to be ‘most beautiful’ and described them as being made of marble, very little clue remains as to what the Cheapside cross looked like. If its shape remained consistent after its first renovation it would seem likely to have been hexagonal, but an octagonal shape has also been suggested. However, consistent with the theme thus far, the fragments which remain in the Museum of London bear Eleanor’s arms – the shields of England and Castile quartered with those of Leòn, apparently displayed in gables as were those in Northampton and Waltham.

  The final cross, at Charing, is perhaps appropriately controversial. The first point to make is that, contrary to popular tradition and a sense of romantic fitness, Charing was not so called after Eleanor as chère reine. Charing had existed for some time before Eleanor’s bier rested there. Its name probably derives from the Saxon cierre, which means to turn, as it fronted on to a bend in the River Thames. There is, consistent with this, another ‘Charing’ at a bend in the Pilgrim’s Way to Canterbury. The second point to note is that the cross did not stand where the modern version stands, but where the equestrian statue of Charles I is located, on the south side of Trafalgar Square. One may ask why a cross was needed here, so close to Westminster. The answer again emphasises the very personal element in the tribute: Charing was the site of Eleanor’s beloved royal mews, which she had beautified with a remarkable fountain in the Spanish style and where she will have spent many happy times with the like-minded Edward.

  This cross, made under the supervision of Richard and then Roger of Crundale, seems to have taken an implausibly long time to create, with the payments preceding and outlasting the payments for all the other crosses – indeed, Eleanor’s executors accounts are liberally littered with entries simply entitled ‘Charing’. The total construction cost exceeded £700, of which the majority was labour cost. It was said to be constructed of marble, and certainly some payments for Purbeck marble can be identified, but was probably actually constructed in part at least of Caen stone, polished to look like marble and only part faced with marble. The cross is reputed to have been based on an octagonal design with eight images of the queen, though the later sketches of it which survive suggest six as the more likely number.

  One possibility, which does not seem to have been much canvassed to date, is that the crosses formed a progression, with the simplest at the start of the journey, and the most ornate nearest her grave. On this hypothesis it may be that the ‘puzzling’ Geddington memorial is actually the last in a lost set running from Lincoln to Geddington and that Lincoln, Grantham and Stamford were also all hexagonal with three images, like Geddington. This would be consistent with one description of the top part of the Stamford cross as being ‘pyramidal’, and with the substantial absence of any records of the construction of all these crosses from the surviving records. The fact that the Charing cross is reported to have been the most magnificent of the series would be consistent with this, as would the fact that Waltham cross, which effectively bridges the move from country to town, is considerably more ornate than either of the preceding surviving crosses (though possessing one fewer image than Hardingstone).27

  Most of the crosses were worked on by the same teams, with pedigrees on royal sites. So John of Battle, a mason and undermaster at Vale Royal, worked on the Hardingstone and St Albans crosses, including lifting into place the images of the queen, and also worked on the crosses of Stony Stratford and Dunstable. The images of the queen for the later crosses were mass produced by Alexander of Abingdon (also known as ‘the image maker’) and William of Ireland, at a cost of £3 6s 8d each. Both of these artists have been identified as working at Westminster. Meanwhile, Dymenge de Leger and Roger Crundale, who worked also at Westminster and the Tower, worked on Waltham cross before being transferred to work on the Lincoln tomb. Work appears to have commenced in 1291 and to have been substantially completed by 1293. There is no conclusive evidence for the process by which the designs were arrived at, but there seems reason to suppose that an overall plan of the shape of each cross and its significance in the procession were agreed, as were authorised types of pose for images of the queen. The workmen for each cross were then given a limited amount of scope in which to express their artistic instincts and produce a cross which was coherent with the plan, but at the same time unique.28

  However, while the crosses are indubitably glorious, perhaps the depth of Edward’s mourning may be best judged not in those politically charged memorials but in his ongoing commemoration of Eleanor. For the first year after her death, he made a special distribution of alms each Tuesday to as many as might approach him. There seems to have been a wide understanding that Edward encouraged commemorations of the queen: less than six months after her death, the Archbishop of York reported that over 47,000 Masses had already been said for her and a forty-day exemption from penance had already been granted there for anyone who said the paternoster and Ave Maria for the queen. A similar indulgence was granted at Lincoln in 1291.

  On the first anniversary of her death, there were very glorious memorial services in both the abbey and the London Dominican priory. Each featured a special Mass and an elaborate hearse, and in total 3,000 pounds of wax was used for candles. So elaborate were these memorials that the clergy were reported to be exhausted by the ritual. The memorial service seems to have been a national talking point, being picked up by almost all of the annalists. Judging by one of the later celebrations, the abbey would have been ablaze with light, with each member of the congregation holding a candle, large candles round Eleanor’s tomb and smaller ones round those of Henry III and the Confessor, and a framework constructed above the shrine on which candles were placed at regular intervals. At the same time, services were held at the manors which were the hubs of Eleanor’s estates: Market Harborough, Burgh, Somerton, Lyndhurst, Leeds, Langley and Haverfordwest.

  Thereafter, Edward endowed a yearly observance at Westminster for Eleanor’s soul, granting the abbey seven of Eleanor’s properties to fund the service. The extent of the grant itself shows how magnificent the remembrance was to be, but the terms of the grant, which survives, make matters even clearer. Eleanor’s tomb was to be surrounded by thirty large candles at all times. All were to be lit on great feasts, and two were to be kept burning at all times. Every Monday, the eve of the day on which she died, the entire convent was to gather in the abbey and sing Placebo and Dirige with nine lessons and a tolling of bells. On the Tuesday, the convent would celebrate Mass with the tolling of bells, and 140 paupers (or such lesser number as appeared) were to receive a silver penny – but each was to recite the paternoster, credo and Ave Maria before and after receiving the coin, for Eleanor’s soul. It is interesting to note that, by this provision, two of Eleanor’s own interests, the recitation of prayers and alms for the poorest
in society, were thoughtfully combined.

  As for the annual memorial, it began on the vigil of St Andrew, and one hundred candles, each weighing twelve pounds, were to be lit. The weight of the candles was calculated to allow them to burn without interruption from that time until after High Mass the next day. Bells were to be rung incessantly throughout this period and divine office chanted hourly with Placebo, Dirige and nine lessons. At the end of the commemoration, alms were to be given to the poor, the mendicant friars and the London hospitals. To ensure proper observance of all the details, the entire letter patent was to be read out annually in chapter and all the goods of the abbot, prior and convent of Westminster were pledged to compliance. It would appear that this was complied with until the Dissolution: in around 1500, a visitor to the abbey was told that candles had never ceased to burn on Eleanor’s tomb since her burial there.29

  In addition to all these more ceremonial and politically resonant memorials, Edward also endowed a chantry chapel in the church at Harby. Lands were made over to Lincoln Cathedral to provide 10 marks paid annually to a chantry priest to pray for Eleanor’s soul. Edward also founded chantries at Maidenheath, the London Dominicans priory and at Leeds Castle. Nor did he rely on these donations to keep Eleanor in mind: in 1300, when in York, he specially arranged with the sacristan of York for the ringing of a knell on the anniversary of her death.

  And Edward was not alone in remembering Eleanor; it was apparent to all that the commemoration of Eleanor was likely to be well received by the king, and thus from 1291 we find records of other people endowing chantries or chaplains in her memory. A move to Peterborough by one of Edward’s clerks was granted on condition that two chaplains celebrated Mass daily forever for her soul. Three celebrated her anniversary in the controversial manor of Southorpe, and two hundred paupers were fed. Henry Sampson, who had sold Eleanor another rather controversial piece of land in Rutland in 1285, endowed a chapel there for her soul and that of his parents.

  Less seemingly charged dedications followed: St Albans founded a yearly service in 1294 and the Archbishop of York provided a chaplain for the Harby chantry. In the same year, William and Juliana de Copstone arranged for a celebration at the altar of St Edward the Confessor in Coventry Cathedral. In 1305, Edward II asked the Abbot of St Albans to take in John le Parker, a servant of Eleanor’s from her manor of Langley, who wished to spend his last days in prayer for the queen’s soul. A chantry was founded by the Friars of the Sack in London in 1305 for the king and both his queens and their children, and in 1315 a chaplain was provided for at Lincoln Cathedral to pray for Edward II, his family and his parents. There is also some evidence of alienations of land by religious houses to support chantries in honour of Eleanor as late as 1323. Finally, and rather touchingly, the William Somerfeld for whom one of Eleanor’s earliest acts of patronage took place as far back as 1269 gave several vestments to St Paul’s, London, in her memory; and Alice Wisman, Eleanor’s laundress, petitioned Edward to be allowed to give fifty-two acres of land in Elm to a chaplain to chant for Eleanor’s soul.30

  Eleanor, then, was not just mourned by her nearest and dearest – she was also remembered fondly among those who had known her across the spectrum of society.

  17

  Afterlives

  Actual memory of Eleanor died in the 1340s, over fifty years after her death. By then, Edward too was long dead: he lived on until 1307. Still celebrated as England’s greatest medieval monarch, Eleanor’s death is seen as a turning point in his reign by many scholars. It was, of course, after 1290 that the issue of Scotland, which was to occupy so much of his time, came to the fore. So too did new problems with France, whose young monarch, Philip IV, bitterly resented the fact that Edward was seen as a greater statesman and knight than he was. The combination of these troubles was essentially to force Edward into his second marriage, to Philip of France’s sister Margaret in 1299; proof, if proof were needed, of his devotion to Eleanor, particularly when the succession hung only on the life of young Edward of Caernarfon.

  Aside from these major political issues, some have seen in Edward’s latter reign a loss of the deftness of political touch which marked the years before Eleanor’s death and, given the closeness between the two throughout their marriage, it is hardly too much to see a causative relationship there. The advice of Eleanor, for so long an integral part of Edward’s inner circle, was bound to be felt. In her, more, perhaps, than any of his other advisers, was the voice he knew he could trust – and hers was also the one voice he could not escape. Morris suggests that it is hard to imagine the disastrous 1294 treaty with France – which was negotiated by Edmund of Lancaster, his wife Blanche and her daughter the French queen and resulted in the forfeiture of Gascony to the French Crown – being allowed to proceed if Robert Burnell had been there to stop it. Equally, it is hard to imagine that Eleanor, so exigent in relation to her own administration, would have contemplated a situation where such a treaty was agreed – or even where such a diplomatic team was put forward.

  But Edward was gradually deprived of many of his key advisers in this period, and it would be wrong to say that it was Eleanor’s loss alone which caused the change of approach. Since their early years together, Edward and Eleanor had been surrounded by three other key players: Robert Burnell and, when diplomatic duties allowed, John de Vescy and Otho de Grandison. Interestingly, the latter had in fact been sent to help Edmund of Lancaster on the previous occasion when he had been entrusted with solo diplomatic work – and found it too much for his abilities. John de Vescy, of course, had died in Gascony. Otho de Grandison was to head off to the Holy Land to make preparations for the Crusade and was not to return for six years. Robert Burnell in turn died in 1292. Edward was, therefore, left very much alone within a short period of Eleanor’s death, and deprived of most of the wise voices who had earned the right to influence him.1

  There was some consolation to be found in his family. While Eleanor of Provence outlived her daughter-in-law by only a few months, dying in autumn 1291, Edward continued to have the company of a number of his daughters. The unfortunate Eleanora was not long among them. She was never united with her notional husband, Alphonso of Aragon. He died in mid-1291, and in 1293 she married Henry, Comte de Bar, to whom she gave two children before her death in 1297, thereby creating the line which would in due course produce Elizabeth Woodville. She is often credited with a daughter, Eleanor, who was claimed as an ancestor by the Tudor dynasty to thicken their royal blood; sadly, she is entirely mythical.

  Joan, of course, was settled in England with Gilbert of Gloucester, though spending much of her time in Gloucester’s Marcher lands. She gave birth to her first child, Gilbert, the future earl of Gloucester and Hertford, the May after Eleanor’s death. In the short years before her widowhood in 1295 she also produced three daughters: Eleanor (later Lady Despenser) Margaret (later Lady Gaveston) and Elizabeth (later Countess de Burgh). Edward’s affection for her and them can be seen in some lavish grants of land to Joan, and arrangements for the children. Characteristically, and one might suggest showing her true descent from the Ponthevin countesses, Joan succeeded in scandalising society by her secret second marriage to the handsome young squire Ralph de Monthermer in 1297. Thereafter, although she succeeded in reconciling Edward to the match, assisted by Monthermer’s very solid abilities, she kept prudently close to him. This was an expensive proximity for Edward, because, although richly dowered, she seems forever to have been in need of loans from her father. She predeceased Edward by a few months.

  Mary, too, despite her conventual vows, managed to be frequently at court throughout her father’s life. As with Joan, she appears to have possessed a talent for spending money and a taste for gambling – generally paid for by her father. The scandal of her alleged affair with Earl Warenne was, thankfully, not to arise until after Edward’s death.

  Elizabeth, only eight years old on her mother’s death, was reputedly her father’s favourite and was so attached to h
im that, after her first marriage in 1297 to the Count of Holland, she refused to accompany him to the Netherlands for some time – despite written pleas from her husband to her father. In the circumstances, her husband’s early death in 1299 (fairly shortly after she was finally prevailed on to take up residence with him) provided her with a welcome opportunity to return to England, which she quickly took. In 1302 she married Humphrey de Bohun, the Earl of Hereford, her cousin through the marriage of Mathilde de Fiennes. She bore him ten children, dying aged thirty-four in 1316 while bringing the tenth into the world. Her granddaughter Mary married Henry of Bolingbroke, later Henry IV.2

  Otho de Grandison’s story still had forty years to run at the time of Eleanor’s death, but he spent little of that time in England. He led the English forces in Acre at the time of the fall of that city in 1291, and saved the life of Jean de Grailly. After making a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, he returned to England briefly in 1296–7 and was present with Edward at the Battle of Dunbar. Thereafter, he campaigned with the Templars and the Hospitallers before returning for the final years of Edward’s reign. He left England after the accession of Edward II, but continued to do some diplomatic work for the Crown. Towards the end of his life he finally settled in his ancestral lands of Grandson, where he died in 1328.3

  Enrique of Castile was finally released from prison by Charles of Salerno in 1291 – one would like to think in recognition of the kindness shown him by Eleanor and Edward. Ironically, he did in fact come to exercise power in Castile, some fifty years after he had first challenged Alfonso. In the turbulent minority of King Ferdinand IV, Enrique became regent along with the king’s mother, until his own death in 1204.4

  The longest survivors among those who had known Eleanor well were among Eleanor’s ladies. Eleanor’s faithful waiting woman Margerie de Haustede was one of the last to die, in 1338, outliving her own sons. She herself was outlived by one of the younger ladies-in-waiting, Clemence de Vescy, who died in 1343.