When the Duke of Northumberland set out from London op July 14, 1553, to play the role of kingmaker and usurp the throne from Mary Tudor in favor of his daughter-in-law, Lady Jane Grey, he remarked prophetically, “the people press to see us, but not one sayeth God speed us.” Yet even without the vocal support of the London mob, his position seemed invincible to informed observers; and so unlikely did the prospect of Mary's accession appear to her supporters, that the four Imperial ambassadors estimated that her desperate resistance would last no more than a few days and that everything for which they and their master had labored would be ruined.

The sudden reversal of Northumberland's fortunes has led historians to conclude that his army was not as powerful as the ambassadors feared: hatred for the upstart and loyalty to the house of Tudor combined to make the upper classes forget their recently-acquired church land and flock to Mary's banner. In their opinion Northumberland had to make do with whatever rabble he could muster from the streets of London, and thus his army was no match in size or quality to that which thronged to Mary at Framlingham. With the weight of informed opinion behind him, Professor Bindoff could confidently conclude: “But this time there was not even a battle. Northumberland's puny force was no match for the thousands who, in the greatest mass-demonstration of loyalty ever accorded to a Tudor, flocked to Mary's camp, and he fell back before them to Cambridge.”

Tales of the maritime exploits of Elizabethan captains and favorable accounts of their part in shaping England's history are commonplace. For example, the actions of William Wynter's squadron against a French fleet in the Firth of Forth in 1560 led J. E. Neale to remark that “The Elizabethan navy had done its task in its first enterprise with complete efficiency and no fuss.…” Few can dispute the positive evaluation Neale and other historians have made of the navy as an effective arm of defense and foreign policy. An emphasis on the military and diplomatic role, however, has obscured another important aspect of the Elizabethan navy. William Wynter and other Elizabethan seamen also served the navy, and thus the nation, in capacities which have received less attention than their maritime exploits.

In addition to active duty at sea, Wynter served as Master of Naval Ordnance. Although the activities of a bureaucrat were not as glamorous as those of a fleet commander, the valor of the Elizabethan captains would have been of little consequence if the ships in which they sailed had not been properly equipped. It was essential that some sort of administrative network be operative in order to coordinate the needs of the navy with the sources of supply. If the ships were not well equipped and in good repair, neither courage nor skill would have enabled the Elizabethan navy to complete its enterprises efficiently. One of these indispensable functions, that of providing common but essential materials and services, was performed by the Office of Naval Ordnance.

In 1079, a few months after his consecration as abbot of Bec, St. Anselm set off for England to look after the abbey's lands there. In the course of his journey he stopped to visit Lanfranc, his predecessor as prior of Bec and now archbishop of Canterbury. Milo Crispin reports that when Anselm was returning to bed one night after Matins he found a gold ring in his possession. Crossing himself to determine whether it was some kind of vision sent by the devil to tempt him, he found that the ring was no illusion. After showing it to all the officials of Christ Church, Canterbury, and failing to find the owner, he sold it, giving the proceeds to the Christ Church monks. Lanfranc, hearing the story, interpreted it as a sign that Anselm would one day succeed him as archbishop just as Anselm had earlier succeeded him as prior of Bec.

Some years later, when the archbishopric was offered to Anselm, he pubicly opposed the appointment, repeatedly denying that he desired the office, and writing numerous letters refuting allegations that he was guilty of cupidity. Modern scholars, taking Anselm's protestations at face value, have cast him as a reluctant archbishop who would have preferred the quiet life at Bec to the storm at Canterbury. But is their conclusion necessarily true? Reluctance to assume important prelacies was an old medieval tradition, and one that Anselm evidently followed. An Anglo-Norman bishopric was a high and lucrative political position, often given as a reward for service to the king or duke. It was eagerly sought by careerists who desired to enrich themselves with the substantial lands and incomes that accompanied the episcopal office. The archbishopric of Canberbury was not only the highest prelacy in England, but one of the kingdom's three richest fiefs, lay or ecclesiastical. For Anselm to express a desire for such an office would be to compromise his saintly reputation and to cast himself in the mold of an ambitious courtier rather than as a servant of the Church. But certain of An-selm's actions suggest that in fact he aspired to the archbishopric, expecting to fulfil Lanfranc's prophecy and, as Milo Crispin implies, to follow in his footsteps.

The American democratic model was utilized by Scottish reformers and conservatives who saw in American events a confirmation of their own ideas and hopes. The ideals articulated by the American Revolution and the political institutions created in the new nation were analyzed as matters that impinged on the deepest commitments of Scottish intellectuals. Conservatives perceived America as a threat to the stability and continuance of British political tradition, which they saw as dependent upon the preservation of Scotland's distinctive national past. The American experience was significant to reformers of all persuasions because it invested their discursive thought with a reality it had not known before. Yet American principles and precepts were not determinative, but rather were used to convey certain carefully selected ideas. As Adam Ferguson, one of Scotland's brightest enlightenment minds, noted, “If nations actually borrow from their neighbors, they probably borrow only what they are nearly in a condition to have invented themselves.” America was useful to Scottish political thinkers because Britain was ready to “invent” her own political forms.

The differences that divided Scotland's most articulate political writers were fundamental. The conservatives firmly believed that man's brutish nature required restraints, an established church, a balanced hierarchical social-political order, and stability. Radical Scots argued that with freedom and democratic institutions society would be humane and prosperous. Reformers spoke out against the worst social evils: they advocated Catholic emancipation, abolition of the slave trade, an end to flogging in the army and navy, prison reform and, in 1832, the extension of the franchise to the middle class.

William of Malmesbury's Historia Novella is an apologia for his pro-Angevin patron, Robert Earl of Gloucester, the premier supporter of the Empress Maud in the civil war with king Stephen (1135-1154). Stephen's failure to secure Robert of Gloucester's full backing weakened the reign from the outset. Robert, one of the two or three greatest landholders in the Anglo-Norman world, was among the last and most reluctant magnates to render Stephen homage, and among the first to turn openly against him. The earl of Gloucester became the model for the lay and ecclesiastical pro-Angevin nobility, and William of Malmesbury's panegyric of him guarantees the Historia Novella its place of importance among the sources for Stephen's reign.

Professor Robert B. Patterson has recently argued that the Historia Novella is inaccurate, mendacious, and unreliable, and that its author is unworthy of being called an historian. But a close analysis of Patterson's allegations shows that William's account of earl Robert's actions is consistent with evidence from charters and other chronicles. William of Malmesbury's bias lends interest to his account without seriously compromising its accuracy. The Historia Novella, William of Malmesbury's final work, is a characteristic product of his careful research and scholarship.

Patterson maintains that Robert of Gloucester did not support Maud until 1138, after the earl formally renounced his allegiance to Stephen. In fact, however, Robert was active in his half-sister's service as early as 1126.

Count Geoffrey Plantagenet's sudden death in September 1151 came at a most inopportune time for his eighteen-year-old son, Henry. Having just concluded a peace with their French overlord in which Henry's recent investiture with Normandy was formally recognized by Louis VII, father and son were about to launch a combined Angevin-Norman invasion of England. This invasion, it was hoped, would finally settle the issue of the English succession, reuniting the Anglo-Norman state under Henry l's intended heir. When this long-awaited goal was achieved, the young king/duke would rule over England and Normandy, while his father continued in the governance of Anjou. But the Count's illness and impending death brought forth a more immediate and unexpected issue: the Angevin succession.