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“The untrue contriving eftsoons of another feigned lad”







Edgar the &Aelig;theling
Edgar the Ætheling was one busy beaver.
Timeline mission No. 5 takes us to the Kingdom of England.

First of all, William the Conqueror did not directly succeed his former ally and dinner companion Harold Godwinson. Edmund Ironside’s teenaged grandson Edgar the Ætheling (“throne-worthy”) actually held the strongest genealogical claim to the English throne back when Edward the Confessor died childless in January of 1066. But the committee of Anglo-Saxon nobles known as the Witan adjudged him too young and instead crowned Harold, Edward’s brother-in-law.

It took 71 days for William to kill Harold at the Battle of Hastings on 14 October; subdue Dover, Canterbury, and Winchester; and then hack his way to London to take the crown on Christmas. During that interval the Witan — albeit with waning enthusiasm — recognized Edgar as King.

&Aelig;thelred Unready to Rufus
William took Edgar back with him to Normandy in 1067. Edgar wouldn’t reign over much of anything for the remaining sixty years of his life — though scarcely for lack of trying. Alternating between throne-seeking and running for cover, pledging fealty and then reneging, his peregrinations continued roughly as follows: to Scotland in 1068; England, 1069; Scotland, 1070; Flanders, 1072; Scotland again, 1074; later, back to England; to Sicily and Italy in 1086; Scotland again, 1091; back to Normandy, then England, and finally back to Scotland by 1093; England again, then Scotland in 1097; Jerusalem (Why not?) in 1102; Normandy, 1106; and finally back to Scotland in 1120 to die peacefully around 1126.
Rufus to Henry III
England came very close to crowning its first female sovereign upon the death of Henry I. Henry’s eldest legitimate son, William, had drowned in 1120 when his vessel foundered in the English Channel. Daughter Matilda consequently moved to the front of the line. But when Henry succumbed to his legendary “surfeit of lampreys” in late 1135 Matilda was busy in France and his nephew Stephen of Blois stepped in before her supporters could stop him.

Matilda of
England
Fanciful portrait of Queen Matilda, whose résumé also includes Holy Roman Empress as she was Henry V of Germany’s widow
Stephen was a usurper, granted, but otherwise a pushover. “When traitors saw that Stephen was a good-humored, kindly, and easygoing man who inflicted no punishment,” the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle tells us, “they committed all manner of horrible crimes.” Stephen had his hands full putting down one rebellion after another, and during a six-month gap you can see in the circle above Matilda’s forces imprisoned him and proclaimed her as Queen. Moneyers of Stephen’s era muddled the legends on their coins to avoid the personal risk of taking sides.

Stephen declared his son Eustace co-regent but outlived him. A similar situation played out with Henry II and his son Henry, Jr., remembered as The Young King. Louis the Lion (later Louis VIII of France) claimed the throne in 1216 while King John still had four months to live; but 10,000 silver marks and other fabulous prizes persuaded him to renounce it in favor of Henry III.
Henry V to Elizabeth I
Skipping forward a couple of centuries we can spot the musical chairs between Henry VI and Edward IV and then the brief showing of Edward V, the elder of the two princes in the Tower of London widely believed to have been murdered by order of usurper Richard III.

In the second circled area we find Henry VII fending off his own insurrectionists. Intrigues against Henry tended to involve pre-Tudor holdovers who hoped to reverse his victory over Richard III at Bosworth Field. Rationales grew out of revisionist scenarios featuring the Tower Princes and/or the Earl of Warwick and other second-stringers. The two standout pretenders were Lambert Simnel and the “feigned lad” of Henry’s description in our title, Perkin Warbeck.

Henry VII
Henry VII
Simnel’s supporters crowned him “Edward VI” in Dublin on 24 May 1487 and passed him off as the 17th Earl of Warwick, whom Richard III had supposedly anointed as his rightful successor. All this was news to Henry who, last he checked, was holding the real 17th Earl of Warwick in the Tower. Henry’s forces trounced Simnel’s on 16 June at the Battle of Stoke Field. Realizing the ten-year-old Simnel was little more than a Yorkist puppet, he pardoned him and gave him a job in the royal kitchen.

Perkin Warbeck fared less well. In 1491 word reached Henry that Richard Duke of York, the younger of the Tower Princes, had somehow survived and vowed to overthrow him. The Royal Army captured Warbeck in Cornwall in 1497. Henry put him and his wife under a kind of honorary house arrest on the palace grounds; but when Warbeck abused that leniency by dusting off his old plot and scheming with the [genuine] Earl of Warwick, Henry hanged them both.
Charles I to George II
The lilac bar highlights the singular moment in English history — late October 1683 to early February 1685 — when eight past, present, and future autocrats lived simultaneously.

Richard Cromwell succeeded his father Oliver as Lord Protector and held the post for almost nine months, but his heart wasn’t in it and he yielded to what ultimately resulted in the Restoration. Since Richard lived to the age of 85, his “career ratio” (time in office divided by total lifespan) hits the lowest of any undisputed English autocrat at 0.008. Henry III, who ascended the throne aged 9 years and 18 days, still holds the highest at 0.861.



“I am but a simple priest.”







Benedict IX
A cool-looking but totally imaginary portrait of Benedict IX
Our fourth timeline machine installment will examine the Roman Catholic popes — also known as bishops of Rome.

Since these chronologies lack any real precision up until the year 1000 or so, I won’t graph anything before that. Where records show no birth year, I’ll approximate a pope’s pre-accession interval by assuming the average age of an electee (about 64 years) and shade it in green stripes. Again, pretenders — within this genre known as antipopes — will show blue-striped terms.

Let’s first zoom in to the very prince of pontifical chaos and mayhem, Theophylactus. He was a scion of the Tusculuns, the richest and most powerful family in Rome at the time. Popes Benedict VII and VIII; John XI, XII, and XIX; and Sergius III were paternal uncles. His father installed him as Pope Benedict IX in October 1032.

Benedict IX Graph
In 1036 an opposing faction drove Benedict out of Rome for the short time approximated by the green gap. John, Bishop of Sabina, ousted him unequivocally in a bloody coup in September 1044 and reigned as Sylvester III. But Benedict was just warming up. He raised an army, and by the following April retook the papacy. Come May, though, he had second thoughts and sold it — for around 20,000 troy ounces of gold, according to some sources — to his godfather John Gratian who became Gregory VI.

But Benedict returned later that same year. The record doesn’t say whether or not Gregory got his money back, but in either case Benedict considered himself Pope again. (I’m giving him antipope stripes for this period because Gregory continued to be recognized.) In December 1046 the Council of Sutri ejected both Gregory and Benedict and installed Clement II. When Clement died from lead poisoning a year later, back came Benedict. He enjoyed another eight months until he was deposed for good, in favor of Damasus II, on 17 July 1048.
Pope streak circa 1240
The interval highlighted by the thin lilac bar to the left is unique as it saw one sitting and 16 future pontiffs living simultaneously. You can also see that among them Celestine IV served only 17 days before he died in November 1241.

This graph also shows two major vacancies. The first, between the death of Clement IV on 29 November 1268 and the election of Gregory X on 1 September 1271, remains the longest on record at 1006 days.

Up until this era the cardinals would deliberate intermittently on papal candidates but otherwise go about their daily lives. But by late 1269 the French/Italian deadlock had dragged on for almost a year, so officials of the host city of Viterbo sequestered them. Further along they snatched the roof from the building to let in the rain and cut the occupants’ menu choices to bread and water. Two of the cardinals present during this ordeal died and a third cited health problems and resigned.
Western Schism
The celebrated Western Schism opened in 1378 when the Catholic church split into two factions, that of Rome and of Avignon, and each recognized its own pope. In June 1409 Pisa got into the act and three popes coexisted during the time shown by the darker highlight. Though the Schism is generally recognized to have ended with the election of Martin V toward the end of 1417, Avignon-based Benedict XIII flipped the Council the bird and kept up his pretense until he died at 95.

Further antipope shuffles continued until almost 1450, which included two Benedict XIVs in succession. Both were Antipope Benedict XIII partisans. The first, born Bernard Garnier, operated from a lair and died sometime in 1430, at which point the four cardinals he had created elected a successor who awarded himself the same name and Roman numeral. Some accounts have this Antipope Benedict XIVb captured by [at that point former] Antipope Clement VIII in 1433 and spending his last days imprisoned in the Château Foix.
Celestine V
Celestine V: Ordered never to retire, but did it anyway
As we’ve learned from recent news stories concerning Benedict XVI, papal retirements are rare — some 3.5% of the total — and usually involuntary. Excluding antipopes, the timeline machine reports the following: Benedict IX’s nemesis Sylvester III (~6534 days), Benedict IX himself (~2907 days), Gregory XII (837 days), Martin I (821 days), Benedict IX’s godfather Gregory VI (~560 days), Celestine V (523 days), Benedict V (376 days), John XVIII (a few months or less), Silverius (~3 months), and Pontian (~2 weeks).



They made me... Tsar! (Yeah, that’s it.)







Ivan Susanin
Where would Russian art, literature, and opera be without the Time of Troubles (1598-1613)?

England’s Henry VIII had nothing on Ivan the Terrible, whose own family values ran, as far as his wives were concerned, as follows.

Anastasia: Believed poisoned by Boyars
Maria #1: Believed poisoned by Ivan
Marfa: Accidentally poisoned by her mother
Anna #1: Infertile, and so banished to the nunnery
Anna #2: Banished to the nunnery, later tortured to death
Vasilisa: Forced to watch her paramour impaled, then off to the cloisters
Maria #2: Drowned by Ivan
Maria #3: Survived (but wound up in a nunnery anyway)

Three of those valiant souls produced eight children, but out of that brood only Feodor and Dmitri survived their dad. The elder Feodor acceded, but though adored by his subjects he was incapacitated in vaguely documented ways and entirely ineffectual.

Time of Troubles
His brother-in-law Boris Godunov graciously filled that power vacuum and, upon Feodor’s death at 40, seized the throne officially.

Ivan IV’s younger son Dmitri most likely met his end through Godunov’s henchmen in May 1591, but once Godunov himself was out of the picture three Dmitri Ivanovich impostors emerged in rapid succession to exploit that ambiguity. Among them False Dmitri I was by all accounts the most convincing, but ten months into his pretense a mob shot him, cremated him, then combined his ashes with gunpowder and fired him out of a cannon.

For the record, Russia also saw its largest royal crowd-sourcing during this era with ten simultaneously living emperors and emperors-to-be between 12 July 1596 and 7 January 1598. (I’m generously including Irina Godunova, Feodor I’s widow, who in principle served as empress for about a week before checking in — by her own volition, in this case — to another nunnery.)
Last Russian Emperors
Here’s a chart extending from 1755 to the present, showing the last six Russian emperors and arguably a few more. Again, pretenders — more fairly referred to in this case as claimants, since all carry authentic pedigrees — are indicated by stripes on their styled reigns.

Michael II
In a parallel universe, Russia had a democratically elected Emperor: Michael II
Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich Romanov, who would have been Michael II, was the youngest son of Alexander III. When Nicholas II abdicated on 15 March 1917 at the Pskov railway station he signed the throne over to his son Alexei. The next morning he had second thoughts in light of Alexei’s hemophilia, though, and shifted that onus to brother Michael. The latter immediately made it known he would only accede on the condition that the Russian people agree “by universal, direct, equal and secret suffrage.”

Last Russian Emperors
Divine Right royalist to the bitter end, Nicholas called that hogwash. In any event Michael found himself under several variations of house arrest and imprisonment over the next few months. Finally, despite his wife Natalia Brasova’s repeated personal appeals to Lenin, Trotsky, and other Bolshevik officials, four secret police agents rousted him from his hotel room and shot him on 12 June 1918. Natalia lived, first in London and then Paris, until 1952.

Next: The Vatican



Too many Carolingians







Homage to Clovis II
I couldn’t resist the temptation to run my graphic timeline machine (which you’ll recognize from the previous blog entry) on chronological listings of autocrats in past centuries to see what kinds of patterns pop out.

US presidents past, present, and prospective can play hardball but unless they’ve had a very bad day tend to draw the line at intramural murder and kidnapping. Royalty and nobility haven’t always been quite so circumspect — or until the last century have have stood such a fighting chance against serious injury or disease — so let the fun begin. For educational purposes only, of course.

Let’s start with France.

Early French King Streak
Carolingian France shows a logjam of seven simultaneously living kings and future kings between 867 and approximately 882. For reference, you’re seeing the last half of Charlemagne’s 46-year tenure at the top.

From 867 through most of 877 there was Charles II and kings-to-be Louis II and III, Carloman II, Charles the Fat, Odo, and Robert I. By 882 Charles II and Louis II were gone but Charles III the Simple and (possibly — his birth year is a wild guess) Rudolph had come aboard.

Having weathered this entire period, Robert would finally get his chance but reign a scant 352 days before being killed by the forces of his predecessor Charles III. Charles himself lost that battle, though, and spent the rest of his days in a dungeon.
Later French King Streak
Jumping forward eight and a half centuries, here are the last hundred years of the French autocracy. Its other two periods of seven-stacking occurred at that time: 1785-1793 (Louis XVI, the theoretical Louis XVII, Napoleon, Louis XVIII, Charles X, Louis XIX, Louis-Philippe) and 1811-1821 (losing Louis XVI and XVII and gaining Napoleons II and III).

Louis XVI and his family made a break for the Austrian border in June 1791 (Marie Antoinette was a sister of Holy Roman Emperor Leopold II) but he was recognized from his portrait on all the coins and hauled back to Paris. He remained king, at least officially, until 21 September 1792; so his “retirement” from that point until his date with the guillotine lasted 122 days.

Louis XVII
Royalists recognized his sole surviving son as Louis XVII. The boy succumbed in captivity to tuberculosis on 8 June, 1795 and chief surgeon Philippe-Jean Pelletan preserved his heart the following day; but for the next couple of generations dozens of claimants came forward as Le dauphin perdu. Some of them spun some pretty good yarns. Over the holiday season of 1999-2000 mitochondrial DNA from Marie Antoinette’s hair and from that heart was compared by two independent laboratories and the samples matched as closely as one would expect between mother and child.

In the second lavender area you can spot the musical chairs between Napoleon, Louis XVIII, and Napoleon II (“King of Rome”). It’s interesting to note that Napoleon’s cumulative exile (2487 days) ran fully two thirds the length of his career as emperor (3709 days). The second Napoleon, twice emperor but both times probably unaware of it, spent the balance of his life in Austria and died at 21 of tuberculosis.

Henry V
Duke of Bordeaux
Count of Chambord
“Henry V”
The gray ellipse indicates the singular moment during the July Revolution of 1830 when, with the encouragement of angry mobs, Charles X abdicated and Louis-Philippe and his supporters took to the throne. Some recognized Charles’s son Louis Antoine as Charles’s successor Louis XIX. In any event the son abdicated some twenty minutes into his own supposed reign in favor of his nephew the Duke of Bordeaux who, until his death in 1883, stood by as pretender Henry V.

Next: The Russian Empire

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