#lioncel

Unlike usual, I’m gonna actually tag some folks. Don’t feel obligated, but I would love to see your playlists. @gotankgo @spinningininfinity @thatsnotyourpurse @heatherannchristie @millerflintstone @lioncel @alwaysdearie @foldback @justbeneath-thesurface2 @dociflamingo @mtman1 @roofrabbit

The arms are apparently those of the counts of Périgord, a peerage created in 845 by Pépin I. Impressively, the same family kept the title until 1399, when it returned to the royal house of Orleans. It was granted to a few different houses after that, before the title finally became defunct in 1604. A seal dating to probably the mid-thirteenth century shows a very similar coat of arms (minus the tinctures, of course). Dordogne contains essentially all of the former region of Périgord, so it makes sense that the arms would transfer as well.

I’m not entirely clear on the official status of these arms, but I really can’t resist the history they contain. Each of the quarters belongs (or belonged) to four viscounts who held the territory of Corrèze (or Bas-Limousin) during the Middle Ages. I can’t necessarily vouch for the antiquity of the quartered coat, but each of its component coats go back to at least the Middle Ages. The four viscounties were formally incorporated into a single entity in 1790 as part of the National Assembly’s administrative reforms.

Again, I’m unsure of the official status of these arms, but they are a reincarnation of the arms of the county/province of La Marche. The boundaries of the former county and the current department are nearly identical, so it’s understandable the two would end up conflated. La Marche kept ending up in the hands of the French crown and/or the Bourbons, so I’m guessing that’s where both the fleurs-de-lis and the bend gules come from; compare the arms of the Dukes of Bourbon. The lioncels were probably added for difference.

Unfortunately, there is not much reliable information in re. the existence of an actual person with this name. Most of what does exist cites the Burkes as the initial source, which is Not Helpful. The name does show up in several lists of “fifteen noble tribes” from the fifteenth century and earlier, but independent historical confirmation is hard to come by. (I’ve talked previously about the tenuous historical basis for the “noble tribes” anyway). These arms are shared by Anglesey, but it does seem like the attribution of the lioncels and chevron to a Hwfa or Awfa ap Cynddellw came before the county started using the arms. 

The other possible source is that Henry’s three lions are a modified version of the arms borne by his father, Geoffrey Plantagenet. Geoffrey’s funeral effigy is one of the oldest examples of European heraldry in existence, dating to around 1160. It depicts him bearing azure (probably) six lioncels or. It’s certainly possible that Henry swapped out the tinctures and continued using his father’s well-known gold lion. This could be a bit circular; a late 12th-century writer whom the Burkes identify as “John, the Monk of Harmonstier, in Tourain” recounts that Henry I gifted Geoffrey with “an image of golden lioncels hung around his neck” (very rough translation). The Burkes do reproduce this quote in the original Latin, but don’t necessarily draw the connection between Geoffrey and Henry II. Not that I’m necessarily surprised; it’s not uncommon for English heraldic writers of this period to just kind of ignore the whole “Anarchy” business.

Ferne seems to be giving Lacy his grandfather’s arms, but there is ample evidence, including from contemporary sources, that Lacy actually used the arms or a lion rampant purpre.

Longspée was an illegitimate son of Henry II, who came into his title by marrying Ela, only child and heir to the second Earl of Salisbury, William FitzPatrick. Ferne somewhat disapproves of these arms; he is adamant in his position that illegitimate children may never bear the arms of their father. He sees even the baton sinister mark of bastardy as a grudging concession to popular consensus.