England under the Angevin Kings, Volume II — Themes and Context

A Deathbed of Unspoken Accusations

The account of Henry II's death and burial at Fontevraud is one of the volume's most striking set-pieces. Norgate weaves together multiple chroniclers to reconstruct the scene: Richard's silent arrival, his motionless pause before the bier, and the detail—reported by some—of blood flowing from the corpse's nostrils, ceasing only when the son departed. The author does not endorse the supernatural reading but presents it as a contemporary interpretation, letting the tension between filial duty and rumored patricide hang unresolved. Richard's brief prayer, 'about as long as one would take to say the Lord's Prayer,' and his subsequent exchange with William the Marshal—'I only slew your horse. And of that I do not repent me yet'—underscore the brittle honor of the Angevin court.

The Machinery of Scholarly Argument

Norgate's apparatus is as revealing as her prose. The footnotes are not mere citations but miniature debates: she weighs the Gesta Henrici against the Historia de Guillielmo Mare on whether Richard met the funeral train en route or at Fontevraud, and dismisses the former as 'intrinsically most improbable' based on geography and timing. This constant interrogation of sources—Gerald of Wales, Roger of Howden, Matthew Paris—gives the reader a sense of history as contested ground. The maps and plans listed in the contents, such as those of Château-Gaillard and the Angevin dominions in 1194, further ground the narrative in physical space, reminding us that dynastic conflict unfolded across specific fortifications and borders.

The Angevin Empire as a Web of Personalities

From the opening chapter on Archbishop Thomas to the final section on 'The New England,' Norgate structures her history around individuals: Henry II, Richard, John, Becket, and the barons who served or opposed them. The chapter titles themselves—'Henry and Rome,' 'The Conquest of Ireland,' 'The Fall of the Angevins'—signal a focus on political and ecclesiastical maneuver rather than social or economic currents. Yet within this framework, she finds room for telling details: the chancellor's 'gay attire' contrasted with the 'holy seat' of Canterbury; Richard's 'kingly dignity' in pardoning the man who nearly killed him. These moments humanize the players without sentimentalizing them, and the dense citation of primary sources ensures that the narrative never drifts into speculation.

Readers approaching this volume should come prepared for a work that demands attention to its footnotes as much as its main text. Norgate's method is cumulative: she builds arguments through juxtaposition of chronicles, and her judgments are often implicit in the arrangement of evidence. Those interested in the mechanics of medieval historiography will find as much to study here as in the story of the Angevin kings themselves. The maps and genealogical tables are essential companions, not decorative afterthoughts.

The rain drummed on the roof while I traced John’s baronial betrayals through Norgate’s dense footnotes. That restless, courtly suspicion lingered even after I closed the book. Fingering the shelf later, I pulled down Pictures of the old French court — Background and Themes, and the same brittle elegance felt almost familiar, a quieter echo of those Angevin tensions.