I was recently given a copy of Cry God for Harry, the 1971 novel by Martha Rofheart. Unsurprisingly, given its title, it centres on Henry V of England.
The early chapters are narrated by a young Hal, long before he becomes king. What I had not expected, and what genuinely delighted me, was the appearance of Katherine Swynford as “Kat”, Hal’s step-grandmother.
She is warm, capable and beautiful. Entirely unthreatening. Loved by Hal and respected by his formidable father, Henry IV.
In short, she is sympathetic, human and entirely engaging.
Reading this portrayal prompted a simple question. Where else does Katherine Swynford walk quietly through fiction, sometimes almost unnoticed?
A Note on Historical Liberties
Before I am accused of romantic indulgence, a small corrective is necessary.
Cry God for Harry is highly readable, but it is not always historically precise.
In the novel, John of Gaunt dies at Monmouth. In reality he died at Leicester Castle in 1399. Monmouth is associated with Henry’s birth, not Gaunt’s death, making this a curious relocation.
More puzzling still is the suggestion that Katherine enters a convent after Gaunt’s death. There is no historical evidence for this. After 1399 she lived quietly, managing her estates, including Kettlethorpe, until her death in 1403. The convent episode feels narratively convenient but historically unfounded.
The book also refers to the Black Prince as “king”. He never reigned, having predeceased his father, Edward III.
None of these issues render the novel unreadable. Far from it. The book remains vivid and engaging, and its portrayal of “Kat” is genuinely touching. It simply reminds us that historical fiction, particularly that written in the 1970s, often favoured atmosphere over archival precision.
In that sense the novel is very much a product of its time, and that too has its own fascination.
The Obvious Katherine
Any exploration of Katherine in fiction must begin with the novel that defined her for generations of readers: Katherine by Anya Seton. Few works of historical fiction have shaped popular understanding of a medieval figure so profoundly.
More recently, Anne O’Brien has placed Katherine firmly at centre stage in The Scandalous Duchess, portraying her as a politically aware and determined woman navigating the complex world of the Lancastrian court.
Katherine also appears in O’Brien’s The King’s Sister and in her novel about Alice Perrers, The King’s Concubine, where she forms part of the wider domestic and political landscape surrounding John of Gaunt.
Elizabeth Chadwick is also preparing a novel centred on Katherine, which promises to place her once again within the broader political realities of the Plantagenet world.
Not every fictional portrayal convinces. Carol Sargent’s Katherine and the self-published The Mistress, the Matriarch and the Virgin Queen are earnest attempts, but Katherine is not an easy woman to capture. She requires subtlety, intelligence and a certain steel beneath the surface.
Katherine at the Edges of the Story
What has begun to interest me most are the novels where Katherine appears not as the central figure but as part of the background fabric of the period.
In My Lord John by Georgette Heyer she appears within the orbit of John of Gaunt’s household. She is not the focus of the narrative, but her presence is unmistakable.
In Emma Campion’s The King’s Mistress, a novel centred on Alice Perrers, Katherine appears as part of Gaunt’s domestic world. Again she is not the protagonist, but she is clearly there.
Bruce Holsinger’s A Burnable Book, a darker political thriller set in the 1380s, places Katherine within the tense atmosphere of Richard II’s court. Here she is less romantic heroine and more a figure within the machinery of power.
Even in the medieval mystery world of The Bishop’s Tale by Margaret Frazer she appears indirectly through the Chaucer and Beaufort family connections.
And then there is Katherine’s House by Sarah Hogg, which I very much enjoyed. In this novel Katherine becomes part of the memory of place itself, with Kettlethorpe emerging almost as a character in its own right.
A Persistent Presence
What becomes clear when looking across these works is that Katherine Swynford is remarkably difficult to avoid.
She may not always be the protagonist, but she remains central to the historical landscape of the late fourteenth century.
Any story involving John of Gaunt inevitably encounters her. Any exploration of the Beaufort line must acknowledge her. Even narratives centred on Henry IV are shaped by the altered domestic and dynastic context she helped create.
Sometimes she occupies only a page or a passing reference. Yet even then she changes the context of the story around her.
That may explain why she continues to surface in fiction in so many different ways. Not always as heroine, but as a necessary presence within the narrative structure of the period.
An Open Investigation
Which brings me to a confession.
This list is almost certainly incomplete.
There must be novels sitting on forgotten shelves, long out of print, perhaps even in translation, where Katherine appears quietly as a supporting figure. She may be called Kat, the Duchess of Lancaster, Philippa Chaucer’s sister, or simply the mother of the Beauforts.
If you have encountered her in an unexpected place in fiction, I would be very interested to hear about it.
Consider this an open investigation.
The heritage detective in me strongly suspects that Katherine Swynford is hiding in far more novels than we might imagine.
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