“The order of ceremonies that would confirm the sacred purpose for which God had chosen [Richard] began with mass in his chambers. Then he was dressed and brought in state to Westminster’s hall, where he was met by the archbishop of Canterbury and other prelates in their rich vestments, come to escort him to the abbey along the striped red cloth that had been newly laid to cushion the royal feet across the flagstones. When the time approached, the procession assembled: at its head, the gaggle of clerics in their jewel-colored silks; then the bishops of Worcester and St. David’s in their offices as treasurer and chancellor of England. Next came [John of] Gaunt bearing Curtana, the square-tipped sword of justice, and behind him the earls of March and Warwick with the second and third ceremonial swords of the realm, before Edmund of Langley and Thomas of Woodstock, each holding a rod with a dove at its tip. As Richard followed them into the open air where his people could see him, there was a flare of sunlight and a sudden wall of sound, and soon the cool of the abbey, its walls of vermillion and gold and painted saints under vaulted arches that reached toward heaven itself…”
- Helen Castor, The Eagle and the Hart: The Tragedy of Richard II and Henry IV
The conflict between Richard II, the King of England, and Henry IV, the man who usurped his crown, is exceptionally high drama. It pits two seemingly different men – with very different leadership styles – directly against each other. At stake: wealth, supreme authority, and a really fancy chair to sit upon. The winner get it all, the loser has to die.
The contours of this true story – a man-boy king distracted by baubles overthrown by his butt-kicking, name-taking cousin – feel like a novel. Unsurprisingly, it has been the subject of numerous books and plays. None other than William Shakespeare immortalized this tale of power and its limits in his Henriad tetralogy.
Given that the Bard himself has tilled this field, one might hesitate in the attempt to offer anything more. Not Helen Castor. In The Eagle and the Hart, she provides a fresh and beautifully-written take on this saga, one that makes long-ago events feel like they are happening now. Whether you absolutely love Shakespeare’s take, or if you’ve entirely forgotten it like me, this is still a darn good read.
***
The first thing worth saying is that The Eagle and the Hart is straightforward narrative history. There is no analysis or weighing of evidence; there are no in-text discussions of citations, or footnotes regarding competing claims. Instead, Castor generally presents this as a seamless story, one that is as riveting as any television series.
Of course, this does not mean that Castor is making things up. She is a well-respected historian, who wrote a doctoral thesis on the Lancastrians. Beyond that, this is deeply sourced, with numerous annotated endnotes for those who want to dive into the inevitable disputes.
In terms of coverage, the book opens in 1367, with the births of our protagonists, and ends in 1415, with Henry IV’s death, and his son’s assumption of the crown. Between those two signposts, there is near-constant turmoil: wars, rebellions, conspiracies, premature deaths, arranged marriages, and a lot of arguments over taxation. Thankfully, The Eagle and the Hart is nicely structured, with each chapter covering a discrete, time-stamped period. There are also helpful navigational aids, such as a family tree, and a cast of characters. I found these important, as not only are there a lot of players in the game, but certain names were much loved; many individuals also went by their titles; and people tended to switch teams a lot.
***
At around 450 pages of text, The Eagle and the Hart approaches an epic length. Nevertheless, this is an intimate epic, one that sticks close to its two main characters: Richard of Bordeaux and Henry of Bolingbroke. There’s a good reason for this tight focus, as these are interesting dudes, and Castor is a master portraitist.
Richard is a classic case of the spoiled kid to whom everything is given, and nothing is earned. Convinced of his divine right to rule, he showed disdain for such things as the constitution. Surrounded by various yes-men, he nurtured an intense narcissism. For Richard, leadership meant giving orders, without ever actually leading.
To Castor, Henry was Richard’s perfect counterpoint, a chivalric knight who earned his esteemed reputation through great acts. Son of the famed and wealthy John of Gaunt, Henry was obviously born into privilege no less than Richard. Nevertheless, he risked life and limb as a crusader, traveled around Europe meeting interesting people, and inspired a passionate following.
Frankly, I don’t know enough about the Middle Ages to judge Castor’s characterizations. All I know is that they are compelling, and that she brought both men – along with those in their orbits – to wonderful life. Though Castor clearly likes Henry over Richard, she acknowledges that both had flaws and virtues. She treats them with the sympathy that is due by virtue of their humanity, and the condemnation required by their faults.
***
When I read history, I want to be enfolded. I want to be a witness to the action. I want to be transported by a time-machine, without the attendant danger of accidentally changing the course of history. The Eagle and the Hart satisfies these urges.
Castor’s storytelling abilities are remarkable. Despite the many webs being spun, she manages to keep things straight, while also maintaining a propulsive momentum. Aside from her rich biographical sketches, Castor is incredible at set pieces, including the pomp of Richard’s coronation, the lethal chaos of the Peasant’s Rebellion, and the savagery of the Battle of Shrewsbury. There were times when I wanted a bit more context, especially with regard to the legal relationship between King and Parliament, and the background of the Hundred Years War. But for the most part, Castor manages that exquisite balance between conveying information and keeping me entertained.
***
Stood side-by-side, Henry seems a better fellow than Richard in just about every way. Still, as Castor makes clear, Henry’s reign was not exactly smooth. Indeed, he spent much of his time putting down revolts, trying not to get assassinated, and arguing with Parliament about raising taxes. I can’t stress this enough: taxes play a huge role in The Eagle and the Hart.
The striking thing about both King Richard II and King Henry IV is their unquestioned assumption about the role of government. They were not on the throne to ensure the public good, but to protect their own prerogatives, enlarge their powers, and reward their loyal followers. They spent an inordinate amount of time attempting to maintain their grasp on people who didn’t want to be grasped – including the Irish, the Scots, the Welsh, and the French – and very little time worrying about things such as roads, or bridges, or schools.
Despite all their differences, Richard and Henry were ultimately more alike than different, ambitious and entitled men who found themselves among the few who ruled over the many, and who – not surprisingly – decided this was the natural order of things.