Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, became  infamous in the 13th century for leading a rebellion against his brother-in-law,  King Henry III of England.

In this episode of Footnoting History, we look at Simon’s  tumultuous story and his complicated legacy.

Hey everyone, Christine here, to talk to you about  Simon de Montfort, 6th earl of Leicester.

If that sounds familiar to you, it could be because I  covered Simon all the way back in 2013.

Since then, we’ve released over 300 episodes on other  topics.

I was thinking recently about something new we could do and my wonderful work friends  suggested revisiting a very early topic.

I loved this idea because, in 2013, we were so new that,  when I look back, I wish my audio and content were significantly better.

So, here we are, with more  nuance, incorporating scholarship released in the decade since that episode, and adding explicit  discussion about his legacy.

If you like hearing us revisit an old topic, definitely let us know  at FootnotingHistory@gmail.com.

This is how we decide what features to continue.

And, as always,  if you want captioned versions of this episode, we have those on our website and the Footnoting  History YouTube channel, plus some podcast apps are starting to integrate them as well.

So, who was Simon de Montfort?

Yes, Simon was the 6th Earl of Leicester, who became famous  when he rebelled against King Henry III of England in the mid-13th century.

But, his earliest period  of life wouldn’t necessarily suggest any of that was in his future.

Simon was born in the early  1200s, sometime around 1208, to a father who was also named Simon de Montfort and a mother named  Alice.

His childhood, while not much documented, was highly likely to have been entirely focused  on France and not at all focused on England.

Both of Simon’s parents were extremely religious.

Historians use terms like “fervent” or even “zealot” when they describe them and their  relationship with Christianity.

In fact, Simon’s father, the Other Simon, was a major  figure in the Albigensian Crusade.

While this Crusade did not involve going to the Holy Land to  take on the Muslim population, it had a similar impetus–it sought to rid what is now the south of  France of groups considered to be heretical.

When Other Simon died in 1218, our Simon was a child,  but the religious and warring influence of his father’s life would be reflected in his own.

His grandmother had been the sister of the Earl of Leicester, and when he passed away  without children, Simon’s father became the 5th Earl…though he never went to England and  acted on it.

When the 5th Earl passed away, the claim to the earldom went to our Simon’s elder  brother.

However, Simon’s brother’s life situation did not allow him to have ties to both France and  England, so he and Simon reached an agreement: Simon would take the English inheritance and his  elder brother, the French.

It was a sweet deal.

As the 1230s began, Simon first went to  Leicester to get the lay of the land and establish his control.

It was during this period  that he undertook one of his most controversial actions.

Simon expelled the Jewish population  from Leicester.

Thankfully, the displaced Jewish people were able to settle again nearby, on the  lands held by his relative, Margaret de Quincy, but that doesn’t make the action any nicer.

John Maddicott, who has written extensively on Simon’s life, said in 2015 that, “This act of  zealotry, presented as one for the salvation of Montfort’s soul and for the relief of Leicester  townspeople from the burden of Jewish usury, was very much in line with contemporary values”  and argued that it is important to note that the local archdeacon approved of the action and that  Simon’s declaration moved, but did not harm them.

Meanwhile, in Sophie Therese Ambler’s biography of  Simon, she asserts that this action was “inspired by a growing sense amongst those in authority  that Jewish people ought to be segregated from Christian–or, at the least marked out.” She  further explains that there is some evidence that Simon’s mother had once imprisoned Jewish people  in Toulouse in order to force them to convert to Christianity.

Regardless of whether Simon was  moved to this by religious beliefs that were spreading at the time, we know from Margaret’s  response that there was still plenty of room for rejecting that ideology.

Simon’s actions  here would come to the forefront in the 2020s, in relation to how to deal with his legacy so many  centuries later, so keep that in mind for later.

To continue on though, as is often the case with  noblemen, Simon soon found himself in the orbit of the king, who was at this point Henry III,  son of King John of Magna Carta fame.

King John had not been popular and the Magna Carta, which  sought to curtail his power, was not forgotten, causing Henry III to be in a position where he  had to manage his subjects with care.

Simon was certainly aware of all things court-related  and did his best to become close to the King, with success.

As the 1230s came to an end, though,  Simon became, um, we’ll say intimately close with someone else…the King’s sister, Eleanor.

Eleanor was Henry III’s younger sister, and in her early 20s while Simon was in his late  20s.

She had been married as a child to William Marshal, earl of Pembroke, who was the son of  the William Marshal known as the Greatest Knight, who we once covered on this very podcast.

Anyway,  Eleanor’s marriage to the younger William didn’t get her very far, because he died, leaving her  a widow in her mid-teens.

Not long after this, Eleanor took a vow of chastity, removing  herself from being used as a marriage pawn again.

This vow did not last, as Eleanor decided  to forgo it in order to marry Simon.

The match appears to have been as much based on love (or at  least attraction) as it was political gain.

Not only was Eleanor as close to the king as someone  could get, but she also had a substantial amount of wealth from her first marriage, with more to  still be negotiated.

They married in early 1238, with Henry III’s blessing, and remained devoted  to each other and had seven children together.

Of those seven, five will be mentioned later in this  episode: Henry, Simon, Amaury, Guy, and Eleanor.

So, if Simon’s star was in the ascendent and  everything looked so sunny and rosy, how did we get to the point where he was leading a rebellion  against his royal brother-in-law?

Well, as it turned out, the honeymoon phase between Simon and  Henry ended.

I know, you’re surprised.

Similarly, any honeymoon phase that existed between Henry and  his subjects didn’t last either.

As much as Henry was for his sister marrying Simon, the barons  of the realm were not.

Simon and Eleanor had married in secret and that meant no one who was  supposed to have influence over important court matters got to have a say.

As many saw it, Henry  allowed Simon to marry the one person he probably shouldn’t have, because a King’s sister is a  highly sought-after marriage prize and, if she was going to remarry, it should’ve been for political  gain for the Crown.

But this isn’t what caused the love affair to end between Simon and Henry III.

Not long after Simon and Eleanor married, Henry formally recognized Simon as Earl of Leicester.

All should have been right with the world, but it wasn’t…because money began to be a big source of  conflict.

Simon and Henry, each in their own ways, regularly had money issues.

Simon always seemed  to be fighting to get more of what he believed was owed to him while also owing others and Henry had  issues with paying his debts and later would be seen as leaning too heavily on his subjects  for money.

Initially, it appears that Simon got himself into some trouble with creditors and  named Henry as a guarantor…but he neglected to ask him first.

This presumed a level of comfort with  the Crown that certainly was not okay.

Henry’s anger was Very Real and Simon and Eleanor were  thoroughly chastised until they took their leave.

Simon soon made sure that the physical distance  between him and Henry was almost as big as possible–he went east as a Crusader.

This had  already been in motion for some time and isn’t much of a surprise given his family history, but  unlike his father’s time in the south of France, Simon went to the Holy Land.

Many of the details  of Simon’s crusade experience are lost.

But, we do know that on some level he made a good impression.

At this time, the Kingdom of Jerusalem–that’s the name given to the Crusader state of the era–was  in need of someone to govern while its future leader was still a child.

Simon’s name was  put forward for the role of regent/temporary governor.

It didn’t come to pass, but we can tell  ourselves that whatever Simon did out there made him a viable selection for a powerful position.

The England that Simon returned to after his brief stint as a crusader, was not one where Henry  forgot their issues.

Henry sent Simon to Gascony, in modern-day France, to take control of  things there.

It did not help.

Tensions escalated between the earl and the King when Henry  believed that Simon was too free with his money and the people of Gascony claimed that Simon was  too harsh on them.

Simon had gripes with Henry, too.

He and Eleanor were upset by the fact that  Henry failed to pay Eleanor the money he’d agreed to as part of her settlement from her first  husband’s death.

Money, folks, it makes things ugly.

Money, that is, and favoritism… Although Simon had once been high in the king’s favor, there were new chosen ones–Henry’s  half-siblings.

Following the death of Henry’s father, Henry’s mother Isabelle had remarried.

With her new husband, Hugh de Lusignan, she had other children.

Henry saw fit to elevate  his Lusignan siblings who, like Simon, were rooted in France and not in England.

This  rubbed Henry’s barons wrong, including Simon, and caused a serious increase in discontent.

As the 1250s progressed, Henry III was in an increasingly precarious position, owing people  money while engaging in a lot of spending

(side note: you have him to thank for the version  of Westminster Abbey that probably comes to mind when you hear the name).

He was listening to  his relatives over established advisors and high-positioned nobility, and there was a grossly  unpopular misstep when he attempted (and failed) to put one of his sons on the throne of Sicily.

As  grievances piled up against the king, a coalition of seven barons–with Simon included–decided to  take matters into their own hands.

So, in 1258, they confronted Henry III in spectacular  and intimidating fashion.

They arrived in Westminster Hall, in full war regalia with their  personal emblems visible.

They purposely removed their swords, leaving them near the Hall’s  doorway, and approached the king in a united (but intentionally unarmed) show of force.

Their purpose, which they quickly made plain, was to redress all the issues of Henry’s rule.

The outcome of this confrontation was that Henry was soon forced into an agreement with the  coalition that became known as the Provisions of Oxford, and Henry, the participating barons,  and other involved persons all had to take oaths vowing to uphold them.

Simon, as doggedly devoted  to this cause as he was to any other he espoused, took the vow arguably more seriously than anyone  else.

Essentially, the king’s powers became limited and instead the majority of control would  be in the hands of a council of 15 men who would be chosen by 24 men–12 representing the king  and 12 representing the demanding reformers.

Naturally, Simon ended up on the council.

The  reforms that the council wanted to make were sweeping and included limiting the Lusignans’  influence, improving avenues for fair treatment at pretty much all levels of society, and changing  one aspect of government routine: they called for three regularly-scheduled parliaments annually as  opposed to a parliament only occurring when the king called for one.

Usually, the king would  call for a parliament when he wanted money, or some other important thing was happening.

But  now?

Now they would be a matter of course.

It was a shift for sure.

However, the need for  change up and down the board was so widely agreed upon that barons and peasants and R  eligious and everyone in between seemed to have a vested interest in making things better.

But, alas, time goes on and excitement fades away.

Although things started out well, the revved  up excitement for Reforming All The Things didn’t last.

Simon was called away from England  on personal matters.

He returned in time to watch the coalition crumble as enthusiasm waned in  favor of the (arguably much easier) status quo.

As the reformers began to peel away, Simon  was locked in.

He took control of the movement, rallying the remaining reform-wanters, and refused  to bend.

When, in 1262, Henry took the matter of that pesky oath to uphold the Provisions of  Oxford to the Pope, who released him from the vow, Simon saw the writing on the wall.

But he was stubborn–and a little obsessed with the cause.

He threw himself into it with  extreme dedication and was totally okay with this meaning starting a war against the king.

If  Simon could get the king to return to accepting the reform movement, and continue to settle his  own grievances with him, that would have been ideal.

In 1264, Simon and his followers achieved  their grand victory at the Battle of Lewes, a conflict that saw Simon take possession of not  only King Henry III but also his son and heir, Prince Edward (who would one day become King  Edward I).

Many viewed the victory as an act of divine intervention, though it was surely  also due to Simon’s leadership.

The result was Simon controlling the government himself.

Simon stayed in charge long enough to oversee two parliaments, the more famous of which took  place in early 1265.

The modern UK Parliament website marks it as “the first parliament at  which representatives of the cities and boroughs were present alongside knights representing their  counties to discuss matters of national concern as opposed to granting taxation.” The importance  of the incorporation of wider groups of people

should not be lost: Simon had no right to be  ruling.

He wasn’t the king (and King Henry III was still very much around) so he needed all the  support he could get.

Including people who likely otherwise felt like their concerns weren’t taken  seriously or they weren’t valued was a method of gaining their trust and he hoped they would spread  support for him when they returned to their homes.

Plus, having it not just be about taxing, but also  about general realm government?

That was exciting.

Simon’s other successes included that he  successfully avoided allowing Henry’s Queen to launch an invasion from France and  he reminded people of the importance of the Provisions of Oxford.

However, just like how  the reform movement died, so too did some of the support for Simon’s control of the government.

Simon fell prey to that greedy way of behaving that so many in power did.

He used his position  to make sure his family benefitted handsomely and his children appeared to be way better set up for  the future than they had been prior.

I don’t know, maybe he hoped that as long as he kept reforming,  that would be considered not a big deal.

But it was a big deal.

Eventually, he began to lose  support, and when the earl of Gloucester–arguably his highest-ranking supporter-turned  away from him, it wasn’t a good sign.

The biggest blow to Simon’s security, though,  was when Prince Edward escaped from where he was being held in Hereford.

The Prince gave Simon’s  opponents a rallying point and when he linked up with forces from the Welsh Marches who were  already rebelling against Simon, it empowered Edward and made a battlefield clash inevitable.

On August 4, 1265, Edward surprised Simon, forcing him into battle in a supremely difficult  spot at Evesham by traveling through the night and catching him unawares.

Evesham is a beautiful  place, or at least it was when I visited it, but it is in a bad location if you’re going  to be surprised by opposing forces.

The River Avon moves in a U-shaped curve through it, meaning  that it was entirely possible for soldiers to be stuck between advancing enemies and the river.

Understanding the gravity of the situation, it is often attributed to Simon that he said to  his supporters that they should accept that their souls are God’s but their bodies would belong  to the enemy.

He wasn’t wrong.

To call Evesham a bloodbath is a remarkable understatement.

Simon de Montfort’s death at Evesham has been recorded in great detail many times, with  the amount of variation that one would expect from medieval sources.

Still, no matter what  version you read, it is shockingly brutal.

It is believed that he was fighting on horseback  until his horse was killed from beneath him, then he continued to fight on foot until  someone stabbed him through the neck.

Reinforcements that Simon had hoped for from  his son, also Simon, did not arrive anywhere near in time.

While Simon’s other son, Henry, who  was already with him, was killed.

So, too, were so many others that it became a source of dismay  and even disgust for chroniclers.

One called what occurred, “The murder of Evesham for battle it  was none.” Modern historians continue to look at the sources and consider reasons for why Evesham  was so much worse than previous battles.

David Carpenter, in his recent biography of Henry III  observed, “What made the battle so bloody was not new theory but new practice, the key difference  being that surrenders were not accepted.

While it is possible, likely even, that Montfort and  his closest friends refused to capitulate, that cannot have been true for all the others.”  He notes that there was no general command to kill the Montfortians and, “much of the killing  seems to have been indiscriminate and haphazard”, pointing out that while Simon’s son Henry was  killed, his other son Guy was only wounded.

There was, though, nothing indiscriminate  and haphazard about the treatment of Simon de Montfort’s body.

Again, there are multiple  accounts of what was done to Simon’s body, but I chose one to share.

This one is from the  contemporary chronicle attributed to Arnald FitzThedmar.

It said, and I apologize but this  is gruesome, “The head of the Earl of Leicester, it is said, was severed from his body, and his  testicles cut off and hung on either side of his nose.

In this state, the head was sent to the  wife of Roger de Mortimer, at Wigmore Castle.

Simon de Montfort’s hands and feet were also  cut off, and sent to many of his enemies as a great mark of dishonour to the deceased.

The  trunk of his body, however, and that alone, was given for burial in the church of Evesham.”  If you’ve seen the image I chose for this episode, it is of a plaque placed for the 700th anniversary  of his death, commemorating that burial.

In the immediate aftermath of Simon’s death, those  who still supported his cause or who were moved by the way in which he died, viewed him as a hero  and martyr.

They even moved to have him sainted, though that would never come to pass.

It’s not hard to see then that Simon’s death was a stroke of luck for Henry III.

He’d been a more than capable adversary, but so bloody was Evesham that the death of  Simon and many of his followers allowed Henry III to restore power.

Simon’s widow, Eleanor,  who you’ll remember was also Henry III’s sister, was inconsolable and went into exile in France.

She lived in a convent there until her death.

Their children did not have easy lives.

Of course,  we know Henry died with his father at Evesham.

Simon and Guy became infamous in their own  right when they murdered their cousin in 1271 as retribution for turning his back on their father  and benefitting from a close relationship with the English crown.

The backlash against that was as  intense as you’d imagine.

Simon died soon after and Guy’s life was never happy nor restful.

In  fact, Guy ended up as one of the people suffering in the circles of hell in Dante’s Inferno.

Once,  I did an episode unsurprisingly called “Guy de Montfort and Dante’s Inferno” on that very topic.

It’s worth checking out if you want to learn more.

Amaury, who had entered religious life,  suffered a period of imprisonment when he helped his sister Eleanor solidify a marriage  match that the English crown didn’t agree with.

Eleanor’s marriage was to Welsh prince Llywelyn  ap Gruffudd.

Regular listeners will be interested to know that Llywelyn ap Gruffudd’s father  was the same Gruffudd whose ugly death was featured in our Tales from the Tower of London  series.

Sadly, Eleanor died in childbirth.

Legacy, though, is so much more than just the  actions of literal blood relatives carrying on your name.

As an American, one aspect of  his legacy surprised me significantly–that we honor him in our Capitol.

That’s right, Simon’s  memory is enshrined in the House Chamber at the US Capitol in Washington, DC.

During a renovation  of the Chamber at the tail end of the 1940s, it was decided that marble reliefs of historical  figures collectively called “The Lawgivers” would be incorporated, ostensibly showing the evolution  of democracy through past law movers and shakers.

Representatives from the University  of Pennsylvania, Columbia Historical Society of Washington, DC, and the Library  of Congress decided on 23 historical figures, and their selections were approved by the  Architect of the Capitol and a special committee of House members.

The Architect of  the Capitol’s official webpage showing Simon’s relief describes his contribution as “Advocated  representative government; established an early form of representative government in England.”  He is included alongside people like Napoleon, Hammurabi, Pope Innocent III, Justinian, and  King Edward I of England.

Yes, King Edward I of England is the same Edward as the Prince Edward  who took part in facilitating Simon’s demise.

I’m not sure how Simon and Edward would have felt  about each other being included, but it probably wouldn’t have been great.

Regardless, there  they are, each for their own accomplishments.

In 2015, the UK’s Parliament celebrated both the  800th anniversary of the Magna Carta and the 750th anniversary of Simon’s Parliament.

They recognized  these two events as significant contributors to the formation of the House of Commons and  democracy.

Also, if you’re a re-enactment fan, each August there is a Battle of Evesham  Medieval Festival and Re-enactment, dedicated to 13th-century history and the battle itself.

On the other hand, as I mentioned early on, Simon’s actions against the Jewish population have  remained understandably controversial.

In 2020, students at Leicester’s De Montfort University  campaigned to change the school’s name, citing that his treatment of Jewish people  was against “core values and beliefs.” The University responded in a statement saying, “DMU  absolutely stands against racism in all its forms, including anti-Semitism.

As an educational  and research institution, we welcome honest and critical debate and accept that this  will involve difficult discussions around historical figures such as Simon de Montfort.”  As of the recording of this episode in 2025, the University still bears the De Montfort name,  with the University website declaring that it has no plans to change the name in the near future  but remains dedicated to equality, diversity, and inclusion, and plans to “explore ways in  which we can continue to acknowledge, discuss and learn from the legacy of Simon de Montfort.” We know that Simon was controversial in his own day so it should not be surprising that he is  still being discussed, assessed, considered, honored, and criticized.

Certainly, my own  understanding of who he was has changed over time and grown more nuanced and grounded–that  is one of the reasons I wanted to revisit him for Footnoting History.

There is always  more to learn and more to understand and more context to give.

I hope this new look at  Simon has interested you as much as it does me, and I thank you for joining me for our first  ever Revisited episode.

Please make sure to check FootnotingHistory.com for my seriously  extended further reading selection.

Finally, of course, I hope you’ll remember that the  best stories are always in the footnotes.