The Black Prince, eldest son of Edward III and heir to the English throne until his death in 1376, was known to have been particularly devoted to the Trinity. As well as commissioning Trinitarian images in his lifetime, the art and material objects made to memorialise the Black Prince after his death, notably the tester above his tomb in Canterbury Cathedral and an illumination in a manuscript copy of a poem celebrating his life and military victories, continued to emphasise his connection to the Trinity. Drawing on evidence for the prince’s personal devotional practices in life, as well as the commemorative projects commissioned after his death, this article argues that Trinitarian imagery was employed to construct a distinctive memory of the Black Prince, one that served to bolster the claims of his son Richard II. A reconsideration of the dating of the tester and other Trinitarian images associated with the prince’s memorialisation repositions Richard’s agency over the shaping of his father’s material legacy, suggesting these grand commissions formed part of a wider strategy to emphasise Plantagenet sanctity and authority at a time of increasing instability in the Ricardian court. The article concludes by considering the impact of the Black Prince’s memorialisation on funerary culture more broadly, arguing that it played a key role in introducing the Trinity as a devotional subject on the brasses and monuments of the English nobility.

Edward of Woodstock (1330–1376), also known as the Black Prince, was heir to the English throne until his untimely death in 1376 at the age of 45.¹ He left behind an elderly Edward III (1312–1377) and his nine-year-old son Richard (1367–1400), who on Edward III’s death a year later became Richard II. In his youth, the Black Prince had been a fierce and sometimes merciless soldier, leading decisive battles that earned him a reputation as a fearless and capable military leader.² His later years were marred by an illness contracted in Spain, but his death was still fairly unexpected and felt keenly by those who had expected a smooth transition of power to an experienced military leader.³ This article explores how his material legacy, both in terms of the art and objects commissioned during his time as Prince of Wales and in the wake of his death, offer a compelling insight into Edward’s personal life and subsequent commemoration. They reveal a common and prominent theme: devotion to the Trinity. In his lifetime, the Black Prince was known for the Trinitarian nature of his piety. The poem La vie du Prince Noir, or The Life of the Black Prince, written around ten years after his death, records that the prince: “loved so well the holy Church with all his heart, and, above all, the most lofty Trinity; its festival and solemnity he began to celebrate from the first days of his youth and upheld it all his life with his whole heart, without evil thought.⁴

While Trinitarian imagery associated with the Black Prince can certainly be seen as representing these devotional attitudes, situated within the wider context of Plantagenet devotion and iconography, they can also be read as part of a continued visual tradition in which the Trinity was shown blessing the heir to the English throne. For those images made after the Black Prince’s death, when succession to the throne was no longer a possibility, their Trinitarian themes take on a more commemorative function. Focusing particularly on the tester above his tomb in Canterbury Cathedral and a full-page illumination in a copy of the poem La vie du Prince Noir, I will suggest that the Black Prince continues to be remembered in relation to images of the Trinity for two primary reasons: first, they reflect something of his personal devotional character in life; and, second, they reinforce God’s blessing of the Plantagenet line despite the death of a much anticipated heir, thereby reiterating Richard’s own claims to the throne.

DOI Trinitarian imagery had long been used to show God’s sanction of the Plantagenet heirs.⁵ Images from manuscripts made for both Edward I (1239–1307) and Edward III (1312–1377) before their succession to the throne show the Trinity blessing the princes in recognition of their future reign. The Douce Apocalypse, one of the masterpieces of late thirteenth-century English illumination, is introduced by a decorated initial showing Prince Edward, the future Edward I, and his wife Eleanor of Castile (1241–1290) kneeling to either side of an image of the Trinity, holding their arms aloft and gazing in adoration into the face of the Trinitarian God (fig. 1).⁶ This introductory initial was probably completed around 1270, in the last phase of the manuscript’s production, by an artist working in a considerably different style to that of the main Apocalypse illustrations.⁷ Edward’s arms are barred, indicating the initial was certainly completed before his coronation in 1272. The Trinity is shown in a form known as the Throne of Grace, with God the Father seated on a throne holding the crucified Son in his lap and the dove of the Holy Spirit flying between them.⁸ Unusually, the Father raises a hand in a gesture of blessing towards Edward, a sign of the Trinity’s consecration and sanctification of the prince’s future reign.

A similar visual message is conveyed in a spectacular illumination in the Walter of Milemete Treatise, a book on the art of kingship made for Edward III while he was still a prince and gifted to him at the very beginning of his reign in 1327 (fig. 2).⁹ Set against a background of brilliant gold leaf, the Throne of Grace is shown enthroned in heaven, surrounded by angels carrying Edward’s arms. Edward himself kneels before the Trinity, his hands raised in supplication but, instead of receiving a blessing in the form of the Father’s raised hand, the prince’s holy anointing is conferred via the dove of the Holy Spirit, shown flying from the Father and Son towards Edward’s upturned face. This iconography visually echoes one of the most sacred parts of the coronation ceremony, in which the future monarch was anointed with holy oil, a symbol of their spiritual blessing by God.¹⁰ In both images, the alteration of the Throne of Grace to show one of the members of the Trinity blessing the kneeling prince suggests an emerging visual tradition in which the Trinitarian God was shown to sanctify the future reign of Plantagenet heirs. Such imagery would have been appealing to the Plantagenets for several reasons: not only does it underscore the family’s proximity to God, but it also reiterates their spiritual right to rule and suggests a divine foretelling of the dynasty’s future governance of England.

No other surviving images from the reigns of Edward I or Edward III depict such an explicit and intimate relationship between the Trinity and the monarch. Though evidence from royal testamentary giving and dedications does suggest that the Trinity, along with St. George, St. Edward the Confessor and the Virgin, formed part of a distinctly Plantagenet devotional schema, the images in the Douce Apocalypse and Walter of Milemete Treatise show that an important part of this Trinitarian devotion was its association with succession to the English throne.¹¹ As both a Plantagenet and an heir to the throne, the Black Prince’s allegiance to the Trinity can certainly be understood as a continuation of these devotional ideas and practices. However, documentary evidence and contemporary accounts of the prince’s life suggest that his relationship to the Trinity had a more individualised character than that of his predecessors. The Black Prince is also distinct from his father and great-grandfather in one important respect: even after his death, when there was no longer the possibility of his succession to the throne, he was still remembered in conjunction with the Trinitarian God. Images made in the wake of the prince’s death continued to show him blessed by the Trinity as a way of celebrating his devotional pursuits in life and reiterating his Plantagenet status in death. Commissioned during the political upheaval of the later 1380s and 1390s, when threats to Richard II’s authority prompted a wave of artistic activity aimed at defending his divine right to rule, both the tester above the prince’s tomb and the illumination in the copy of his La vie du Prince Noir utilise a distinctive form of royal iconography that emphasised Plantagenet sovereignty and thus supported Richard’s own claim to the throne.

In some ways, The Black Prince's devotion to the Trinity mirrors contemporary developments in religious culture more broadly. By the fourteenth century, the Trinity was firmly established as a central tenet of Christian faith, and several cathedrals, churches, and guilds were dedicated in its honour.¹² It was customary to commit one’s soul to the Trinity in wills, and the myriad of hymns, carols, and masses attest to the popularity of Trinitarian religious practice at a parish church level.¹³ In response to this growing liturgical witness, the Feast of the Trinity, first introduced in Liège in the tenth century, became a formal part of the Roman liturgy in 1334.¹⁴ At the same time, theological enquiry into the intricacies of Trinitarian doctrine was intensifying. In the previous century, scholars such as Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) and Duns Scotus (circa 1265–1308) had written in considerable length on the relationship between the Trinity and Aristotelian logic, a cause taken up by William Ockham (circa 1287–1347) in his Summa logicae, completed sometime after 1323.¹⁵ Unlike his predecessors, however, Ockham was condemned for heresy at a series of public inquiries in Oxford, Bristol, and Avignon in the 1320s, revealing the church’s increasingly uncompromising approaches to Christian doctrine that in many ways anticipated their approach to Lollardy later in the century.¹⁶ Alongside these university-centred disputes, mystics such as Julian of Norwich (1343–after 1416) and Margery Kempe (circa 1373–after 1438), were developing their own distinctive forms of theology characterised by intense devotional experiences: both recorded visions in which they encountered the three persons of the Trinity as anthropomorphic beings.¹⁷

It is perhaps unsurprising that Trinitarian imagery flourished against this backdrop of theological activity. The Throne of Grace in particular found expression in increasingly diverse contexts, including wall paintings and stained glass, as well as more personal items such as finger rings, seals, manuscript illuminations, and sculpture in ivory and alabaster.¹⁸ Trinitarian themes were also becoming intermingled with other popular devotional subjects. Versions of the vierge ouvrante, in which the movable sculpture of the Virgin and Child opens to reveal the Throne of Grace, as well as images of the Holy Family and the Coronation of the Virgin by the Trinity, all of which appear in northern Europe in the late thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, attest to the distinctively Marian flavour of these transformations.¹⁹ The Trinity was occasionally employed in commemorative contexts too. A semi-effigial tomb slab, possibly commissioned by Nicholas de Mitton in the early fourteenth century for St. Giles’ Church, Bredon, Worcestershire, takes an unusual approach to this subject matter, showing the heads of the deceased to either side of the crucifixion from which two doves emerge, a possible reference to role of the Father and Spirit in the sacrifice of the Son (fig. 3).²⁰ This idiosyncratic imagery does not, however, appear on any other surviving tomb slabs or brasses, nor does the Trinity feature prominently in funerary contexts until the fifteenth century. As is argued below, there is considerable evidence to suggest that it is the distinctive imagery employed in the Black Prince’s memorialisation that introduces the Trinity as a commemorative image in England, prompting a wave of aristocratic funerary monuments depicting the deceased below an image of the Throne of Grace.

Growing up amid these changes, it is possible to see how the Black Prince developed a particular interest in the Trinity. Though, to some extent, these devotional attitudes reflected societal beliefs more broadly, certain aspects of Edward’s life nevertheless suggest his devotion to the Trinity became an intensely intimate pursuit, cultivated by him personally via religious benefactions, artistic commissions, and, later in life, testamentary giving. Coincidentally, the prince was born within the quindene (within fifteen days) of Trinity Sunday and died on the day of the feast itself. This fact is recorded on the west end of the prince’s tomb in an inscription which reads: “Here lies the noble Prince Monsieur Edward, the eldest son of thrice noble King Edward the third … who died on the feast of the Trinity which was the eighth day of June, in the year of grace 1376.”²¹ The Chandos Herald (fl. 1360–1380), author of La vie du Prince Noir, also describes how the prince “passed from this world … on the festival of the Trinity, of which he kept the feast all his life, gladly, with melody”.²² Interestingly, the Chandos Herald’s claim that Edward was particularly faithful in his celebration of Trinity Sunday is supported by evidence from the prince’s register. The Feast of the Trinity took place on the first Sunday after Pentecost, which generally fell in late May or early June.²³ In an entry dated 28 May 1357, the steward and treasurer of the household gives an order to: “Simon son of Simon son of Simon de Biflete, keeper of the prince’s swans in the water of the Thames, to send to the Bishop of Ely’s inn in London, where the prince intends to hold the coming feast of the Trinity, 16 of the stagges swans in his keeping, so that they reach the said inn on the eve of the said feast at the latest”.²⁴ It is likely that these “stagge” or male swans were intended as the prize meats to adorn the table for Edward’s Trinity Sunday feast. Though not as specific as the request for swans, the previous entry, dated 18 May, lists a large order of food to be delivered to the prince that may also have been intended for the feast. This order includes “4lbs of royal sweetmeat [dragee], 4lbs of white sweetmeat, 4lbs of ‘mandrean’, 4lbs of white sugar in flat cakes [en plat], 2lbs of red sugar in flat cakes, 4lbs of white aniseed comfits and 4lbs of great sweetmeat”.²⁵ Edward’s feast for Trinity Sunday took place only a month after he had returned to London in 1357, following his military success in Poitiers and the signing of a peace treaty with the French.²⁶ The weeks after his return were reportedly marked by a great number of tournaments and festivities in honour of the victory, and it seems probable that the Trinity Sunday feast formed part of these celebrations.²⁷ Edward may have celebrated other feasts with similar splendour, but this is the only entry in his register that specifically details such elaborate preparations for a religious feast day. Coupled with the Chandos Herald’s comments and other evidence for his special attention to the Trinity, it is likely that the Trinity Sunday feast was a grand and important event for the prince. His devotional preference for this feast day seems also to have been known more widely. On hearing of his success in Poitiers, John Grandisson (1292–1367), bishop of Exeter, preached a sermon in 1356 praising the Black Prince’s victory, declaring that he was acting “on account of the Supreme Trinity” (ob Summe Trinitatis) and ordering masses and celebrations to be sung on Trinity Sunday.²⁸

That the Black Prince was particularly devoted to the Trinity from early on in his life is also evident from his benefaction of religious foundations. At Restormel Castle in Cornwall, which was extensively repaired by the Black Prince and occupied by him on several occasions from the age of sixteen, there was a hermitage known as the “Trinity”.²⁹ Though earlier records show there to have been one or even several hermitages in the castle grounds since at least the early thirteenth century, a hermitage specifically dedicated to the Trinity is mentioned only from 1346 on, suggesting that it was either rededicated or established under this dedication during the beginning of the prince’s involvement in the repair of the castle. An entry from the prince’s register dated 15 October 1346 shows the prince to have granted alms worth 50 shillings to “Friar Eustace, hermit of the Trinity in the prince’s park of Restormel”.³⁰ Edward continues to make payments to the chaplain serving at the hermitage throughout his life, as well as making repairs to the chapel in 1362.³¹ Another religious foundation financially supported by the Black Prince was the fraternity of the Blessed Trinity, the Assumption of Our Lady and the St. Anne in Chester. The fraternity petitioned the prince on 22 February 1361 for licence to establish a new chantry “for the praise and honour of the Holy Trinity, the Assumption of the Blessed Mary and Anne Her mother”, and asked for the perpetual support of incumbents and chaplains for the chapel.³² Edward granted their request a year later, on 26 July 1362.³³

Canterbury Cathedral played an important role in the Black Prince’s life. Like generations before him, Edward made numerous pilgrimages to Becket’s tomb in the Trinity Chapel, but his testamentary giving and decision to be buried in the building itself demonstrates a special devotion to the institution. In 1363, along with his wife Joan of Kent (circa 1328–1385), he established two chantry chapels in the south transept of the crypt, one of which was dedicated to the Trinity and the other to the Virgin.³⁴ Each had a high altar also named after these respective dedications and, on 24 October 1363, a Sir John Stiward was appointed as a perpetual chaplain for the “chantry of the Holy Trinity”.³⁵ In a revealing passage in the ordinance for the chantry, dated 4 August 1363, the prince states that his reason for establishing these chapels is “to honour the Holy Trinity, which we [the Black Prince and Joan of Kent] have always revered with a special devotion [‘ad honorem Sancte Trinitatis, quam peculiari devocione semper colimus’]”.³⁶ It is rare to have such a specific motivation recorded as part of a formal ordinance, and this statement further underscores the character of the Black Prince’s piety.

Edward’s lengthy will, dated 4 July 1376, four days before his death on 8 July, also offers a revealing and personal insight into his devotional life.³⁷ In the opening passage, the prince dedicates his soul to God our creator, the blessed Holy Trinity, the glorious Virgin Mary, and all the saints.³⁸ He asks for his body to be buried in the “Cathedral Church of the Trinity at Canterbury”, though his specific request is for burial in the crypt rather than his eventual resting place in the Trinity Chapel.³⁹ The will also asks for a set of textile hangings to be hung in the choir to remember the prince on the feast of the Trinity, the principle feast days of the year, the feast day of St. Thomas, and all the feasts of Our Lady.⁴⁰ Among the lengthy list of bequests, which includes vestments of green velvet embroidered with gold, a chalice of gold with his arms engraved on the foot, and an enamelled and silver-gilt cross, Edward also gives an “image of the Trinity” (“un ymage de la Trinite”) to be placed on the high altar.⁴¹ The will itself does not specify what type of “image” this was, but the sixteenth-century Cathedral Obits, which lists items donated by the Black Prince, includes an “image of silver and gold-plate of the Holy Trinity” (“ymaginem argenteam et deauratam de sancta Trinitate”), which must surely have been the Trinity image mentioned in the prince’s will.⁴² Surviving gold and silver sculptures of the Trinity are extremely rare, but contemporary sculptures of other subjects, such as a gold-plate Virgin and Child made in Paris around 1407, now in the Musée de Cluny, Paris, give an idea of the sumptuous form that the Black Prince’s Trinity sculpture may have taken (fig. 4). It is also likely that the Trinity sculpture was a Throne of Grace. As noted earlier, by the fourteenth century, this image type had become immensely popular across media, including in sculpture. Interestingly, as the rest of this article will show, this was also the iconography chosen for other Trinitarian images connected to the Black Prince.

The Black Prince’s will presents a final confirmation of what had been an enduring dedication to the Trinity. Edward’s wishes, along with the other documentary evidence from throughout his life, reveal the Trinity to have been the principal subject around whom he centred his patronage, devotion, and religious giving. Though devotion to the Trinity was certainly not unusual in England in the fourteenth century, the distinctive character of the prince’s religious life suggests a heightened attention towards this aspect of his Christian faith. It also provides an important context for understanding the art and material objects that continue to associate him with the Trinitarian God. As the second part of this article now explores, for those images made after the prince’s death, the Trinity must have served as a reminder of one of the most fundamental and personal aspects of Edward’s life. At the same time, these images move beyond a simple reflection of Edward’s personal piety by simultaneously presenting a statement on Plantagenet attitudes towards the death of a capable and much anticipated heir to the throne.

Shortly after the Black Prince’s death, Thomas Brinton (d. 1389), bishop of Rochester, preached a sermon in which he paralleled Edward’s life and earthly qualities with the threefold nature of the Trinity.⁴³ Brinton states: “Any prince should excel his subjects in power, wisdom and goodness, just as the image of the Holy Trinity represents these, the Father being power, the Son wisdom and the Holy Spirit goodness. But this lord prince had all three qualities in the highest degree”.⁴⁴ He goes on to list the characteristics of the Black Prince that accorded with these three respective Trinitarian qualities: Edward’s power appeared “in his glorious victories … above all [in] his victory at Poitiers”, where “God favoured the just cause”⁴⁵; his wisdom “in his manner of acting and habit of speaking prudently”; and his goodness in his honest treatment of his tenants and his devout service to God.⁴⁶ Brinton concludes:

This lord is most praiseworthy because he excelled in power, wisdom and goodness, which is contained in the image of the Trinity. And that same Trinity he worshipped above all. He is said to have been born on the Feast of the Trinity; on that same feast he paid Nature’s debt; and in the church of the Holy Trinity he chose to be buried.⁴⁷ 

Brinton’s sermon was possibly delivered during the prince’s funeral procession from London to Canterbury in October 1376.⁴⁸ As the prince’s will attests, the plans for his funeral were elaborate, involving a procession of banners decorated with ostrich feathers and his arms of war and peace through the streets of Canterbury, carried by people in elaborate costumes.⁴⁹

One group of objects traditionally associated with this event are the series of lead-alloy badges decorated with imagery used by Edward and his retinue in his lifetime.⁵⁰ These include several ostrich feather badges with the prince's motto "Ich dene" (I serve) inscribed on an unfurling scroll. The other and more elaborate of this group of badges depicts Edward kneeling before an image of the Throne of Grace Trinity, his gauntlets thrown at his feet. In one variant of this badge, now in the British Museum, the scene is encircled by a garter containing the inscription “hony soyt ke mal y pense”, the motto of the Order of the Garter, of which the Black Prince was a founding member (fig. 5).⁵¹ In the other variant of this badge, now in the Museum of London, much of the upper scene has been lost, but the surviving part depicts the prince’s ostrich feather rather than an angel, while his arms fly from an upright banner (fig. 6). The garter is inscribed “the trynyty … g be at oure ending”. The missing portion of the garter may have contained the name “georg” (George), in reflection of another devotional figure connected to the Order of the Garter.⁵²

The feather and Trinity badges are often described as the Black Prince’s funerary badges, designed to be worn by members of the Garter or other important individuals attending his funeral.⁵³ The spectacular theatrics of this affair, rich with royal paraphernalia designed specifically around imagery used by the Black Prince in his lifetime, would certainly provide a fitting event for the prominent wearing and display of badges. The mention of the Trinity being “at oure ending” on the Museum of London badge could also suggest a funerary context for its creation. There are, however, no diagnostic features on the badges to date them to around the Black Prince’s death in 1376, and it is equally possible that they could have been created to be worn by the prince and his retinue during his lifetime, for the celebration of the Order of the Garter events or as identifiers of an individual’s acceptance into this prestigious order.

The uncertainty surrounding their dating means the significance of the Trinitarian iconography on the two larger badges remains elusive. If these badges were created during the prince’s lifetime, then their imagery would certainly have functioned in a similar way to the illuminated images of Edward I and Edward III, as a visual indicator of the Trinity’s blessing of the Black Prince’s future reign as king of England. Indeed, on both badges, God the Father is shown reaching out a hand in blessing towards the kneeling prince, in a striking reflection of the Douce Apocalypse initial (see fig. 1). If these badges were intended for Edward’s funeral, then the continued use of Trinitarian imagery is intriguing. Within the context of art made for the Plantagenet dynasty, an image of the Trinity blessing, whether through a raised hand or the flying dove of the Holy Spirit, had until this point been specifically reserved for the future monarch. When conferred to a prince who is no longer alive, this image takes on a new meaning, presenting a statement on the Trinitarian God’s blessing of this royal line, rather than the individual depicted. Brinton’s sermon of 1376 shows that, even shortly following his death, Edward’s commemoration had taken on a Trinitarian flavour. Though the Black Prince’s badges cannot be said with certainty to have been made for his funeral, their similar potential as commemorative objects is compelling. Their imagery is also reminiscent of two Trinitarian images undoubtedly made after the prince’s death. Both the tester above the Black Prince’s tomb in Canterbury Cathedral and an illumination in a copy of the Chandos Herald’s La vie du Prince Noir continue the tradition of showing the heir to the Plantagenet throne in relation to the Trinitarian God. In the final part of this article, I argue that these images reflect the sensitivities of the Ricardian court at the time of their commissioning, when Plantagenet visual culture was employed to reinforce Richard’s reign and regal image at a time of increasing political instability.

DOI The tester positioned above the Black Prince’s tomb in the Trinity Chapel of Canterbury Cathedral is painted with an imposing image of the Trinity reigning powerfully in judgement at the end of time (figs. 7 and 8). God the Father, shown enveloped in swathes of bejewelled drapery, is the most visible figure, but both Christ and the area normally reserved for the depiction of the dove of the Holy Spirit have been severely damaged, likely by iconoclasts during the Civil War. Enough polychromy remains for us to be sure of the presence of Christ, hanging limply from a tau cross, but whether the dove was ever shown flying above is unclear.⁵⁴ The tester’s eschatological setting is underscored by the triple-lobed mandorla surrounding the Father and the four beasts of the Apocalypse positioned in the four corners, an arrangement reminiscent of scenes of Christ in Judgement. Beneath the Father’s feet is a globe-like object with swirling wave-like formations, positioned to reveal a dark centre from which Christ’s cross grows upwards. Intriguingly, this iconographic detail is also included on the prince’s Trinity badges, where swirling waves are shown surrounding a semicircular globe positioned just below the Father’s outstretched feet.

No commissioning documents for the tester survive. This means that establishing the place and date of its production, as well as those involved in shaping its distinctive imagery, is somewhat difficult.⁵⁵ The instructions in Edward’s will for the construction of his tomb are lengthy and detailed and refer to his effigy and the inscription on the marble base, but at no point does the document contain reference to a tester.⁵⁶ Furthermore, the size and positioning of this part of the tomb structure would suggest that it was almost certainly commissioned after the decision was taken to place the prince in the Trinity Chapel, as it would be highly unlikely for a tester to have been commissioned for the much smaller space originally designated for the prince in the Cathedral crypt.⁵⁷ It thus appears that the commissioning of the tester was linked to the decision to construct the tomb in the Trinity Chapel, in contradiction of the Black Prince’s testamentary request and therefore after his death. As has been pointed out, such major alterations to both the prince’s will and the fabric of the cathedral must have required royal intervention, as well as permission from the monks at Canterbury.⁵⁸ A recent redating of the prince’s effigy to the mid-1380s points to Richard II as one of the potentially pivotal figures behind these changes, offering a new perspective not only on the date of the tester but also on the possible motivations for including an image of the Trinity reigning powerfully over the Black Prince’s tomb.⁵⁹

The Black Prince’s effigy lying beneath the tester is an impressive work of copper alloy that accords closely with Edward’s instructions that it should show him in full armour with his helmet placed under his head (fig. 9).⁶⁰ Technical analysis recently conducted at Canterbury Cathedral by Jessica Barker, Graeme McArthur, and Emily Pegues has revealed that it was assembled from several expertly cast pieces using mechanical joints often employed in contemporary armour manufacture, suggesting its makers—likely brass-casters, goldsmiths, and perhaps even an armourer—were highly skilled artisans familiar with grand, royal commissions.⁶¹ Previous scholarship had situated the construction of the effigy and wider tomb in the mid-1370s during Richard’s minority, when it was members of his council who were likely to have been the most heavily involved in the business of government and commemorative ventures like that undertaken at Canterbury.⁶² X-ray fluorescence data has, nevertheless, revealed that the group of artisans involved in the construction of the effigy also worked on Edward III’s effigy for his tomb in Westminster Abbey: the close correspondence between the types of metals employed may even suggest the copper was sourced from the same location.⁶³ Detailed accounts show that the marble for Edward III’s tomb arrived in England in April 1386, a decade after his death.⁶⁴ Although it is possible that his copper effigy was cast a considerable time before the marble tomb, it is far more likely that the date of its construction aligns with the making of the chest and wider tomb structure.⁶⁵ This implies that Edward III’s effigy was completed in the mid-1380s, and lends considerable weight to the suggestion that the Black Prince’s effigy was also cast and assembled around this time. Although we lack the same documentary evidence for the materials associated with the prince’s marble tomb, its features, notably the style of the heraldic shields, and its high quality, point to additional connections with Edward III’s tomb chest and might suggest both are the work of Henry Yevele, master mason at Westminster Abbey, who went on to work at Canterbury Cathedral.⁶⁶

Stylistic evidence also connects the tester with prestigious projects executed in and around Westminster in the later fourteenth century. Though damage has obscured some of its final design, the polychromy that remains, particularly on the top half of the tester bearing the figures of the angel and eagle, show the painting to be of a superb quality, likely completed by some of the finest artists of the period (fig. 10). The angel bears comparison to figures in the series of Last Judgement and Apocalypse paintings in the chapter house at Westminster Abbey, completed between 1375 and 1404, whose heavy-set, round faces are similarly delineated with dark shadows around the chin, nose, and eyes, drawing attention to the whites of the eyes and prominent pupils (fig. 11).⁶⁷ The angel’s wings, which curve in a wide sweep around the back of the body and finish in two well-defined, narrow points, are close in shape to those of the angels in the Last Judgement paintings as well as the figure of St. Michael in the wall painting in Byward Tower in the Tower of London, dating from around 1390–95 (fig. 12).⁶⁸ The fine painterly style of the Byward Tower paintings, where sweeping drapery is gathered at the waist and falls in wide folds towards the hem, is similar to the heavy execution of fabric on the tester, particularly God the Father’s white cloak, richly decorated with golden diamonds.⁶⁹ There are also stylistic affinities with less monumental schemes: Pamela Tudor-Craig has pointed to a connection with the armorial panels on the reverse of the Wilton Diptych, dating to around 1395–99, suggesting both were completed by the artist Gilbert Prince (d. 1396), who was known to have been employed both by the Black Prince and by Richard II after his father’s death.⁷⁰

In addition to its stylistic associations to painted work connected to the court at Westminster, the very decision to include a tester above the prince’s marble tomb may also support the idea that there was royal involvement in its commissioning. The late fourteenth century saw a rise in the fashion for testers above the tombs of the English aristocracy. The earliest surviving of these was made for Sir John Harington and Joan Dacre for their double tomb in Cartmel Priory, Cumbria, dating to around 1350.⁷¹ Their tester has suffered from significant damage and alteration of panels, but enough remains to show it is decorated with an image of Christ in Judgement in a style connected to artists working in York in this period. Around forty years later, Richard II commissioned an elaborate tester for his own double tomb with Anne of Bohemia (1366–1394) in Westminster Abbey, completed in 1395–97 (fig. 13).⁷² Now badly damaged, the tester is decorated with four separate scenes against a gilt gesso background, the central two showing the Coronation of the Virgin and Christ enthroned and the endmost scenes depicting angels bearing Richard and Anne’s arms. Although the cult of the Virgin was a strong and widespread phenomenon in this period, documentary evidence suggests Richard—as well as Anne—held a particular devotion to the Virgin, something that is also supported by the iconography of other royal commissions, notably the Wilton Diptych.⁷³ The inclusion of the Virgin on the tester might reflect these devotional inclinations; the couple’s arms certainly point to the personal and individualised nature of the tester’s imagery. Though at this point funerary testers were still very much in their infancy, their commemorative function was clearly emerging: like the effigy and sculptural elements of the tomb below, these monumental canopies acted as a visible, visual sign of the personal and devotional qualities of the individuals that lay beneath.

There are several compelling reasons to suggest Richard II was involved with the funerary plans for his father’s commemoration. The recent re-evaluation of the dating of the effigy to the mid-1380s, and the confirmation of the close relationship between this tomb and that of Edward III’s, likely completed around the same time, allow for a rethinking of Richard’s age and thus agency over the commissioning of familial monuments. If both tombs were constructed when Richard had reached the age of eighteen and was more involved in the business of government, then it is reasonable to presume he took far more responsibility for shaping the programme of royal memorialisation.⁷⁴ Further evidence that Richard was actively involved in this process of commemoration is provided by funerary commissions he directed for his wider family and court circle: in 1391 he had a marble tomb-chest placed over the burial place of his elder brother Edward, who had died in 1371, and arranged for Robert de Vere’s body to be brought back to England after he had died in exile.⁷⁵ Detailed instructions left later in Richard’s life for his own double tomb also suggest a familiarity not only with the more traditional aspects of these types of monuments, such as the marble chest and effigy, but also with the newly fashionable painted tester.

Royal as well as familial involvement in the creation of the tester would also explain its distinctive iconography. The Black Prince’s dedication to the Trinity was likely known and appreciated by Richard, and to show his father lying beneath this image in death would have reflected an important and individualised aspect of his devotional life. At the same time, the tester reiterates Edward’s status as a Plantagenet heir, continuing themes alluded to in his garter badges. The tester thus presents a bold claim to Plantagenet rule that would have likewise supported Richard’s own relationship to the throne he had inherited. Its commissioning corresponds to a period in which Richard was asserting his authority as a monarch no longer in his minority, but also when he was facing considerable threat to his jurisdiction, particularly in regards to his spending and the influence of figures close to him at court.⁷⁶ Over the period 1386–88, a group known as the Lords Appellant—among them, the Black Prince’s brother Thomas of Woodstock and Henry Bolingbroke, the future Henry IV—implemented measures to restrict the power of the king’s favourites, events that would lead ultimately to the Merciless Parliament of 1388 in which several of Richard’s allies, including Michael de la Pole, the king’s former chancellor and his friend Robert de Vere, were sentenced to death.⁷⁷ After the crisis of 1388, the influence of the Lords Appellant waned and Richard was on the whole able to recover governance of the realm.⁷⁸ This newly acquired power was nevertheless a fragile one, which required bolstering through claims to his ancestral right to rule. As Nigel Saul, Philip Lindley, and Christopher Wilson have argued, one of the ways in which Richard reasserted his political influence in the late 1380s and early 1390s was to commission grand architectural projects and works of art that enhanced the prestige of his office.⁷⁹ The remodelling of Westminster Hall from 1393, the principal site for grand royal events, for example, demonstrates a particular desire to enrich the ceremonial aspects of Richard’s kingship.⁸⁰ Similarly, the Wilton Diptych (fig. 14) and portrait of Richard in Westminster Abbey (fig. 15) both serve as forceful representations of regal authority, the former in its emphasis on Richard’s piety, the latter in its allusions to his Christ-like majesty and sovereignty.⁸¹ If, as recent analysis suggests, the tombs of the Black Prince and Edward III were in construction from around 1386 onwards, then they too would belong to this period of increased instability in Richard’s rule, when royal visual and material culture were used to reassert political authority. As well as utilising his own image in visual expressions of regal power, it is perhaps unsurprising that Richard would also choose to enhance those of his father and grandfather: not only do these grand monuments reiterate his own claim to the throne, but they also emphasise Richard’s close familial relationship to two respected and authoritative rulers who reflected a form of kingship Richard was eager to emulate. That an image of the Trinity, long used to show God’s sanction of the English royal line, was chosen to commemorate the Black Prince further underscores the Plantagenet sentiments employed in the memorialisation of these royal figures.

It is significant that the construction of both Edward and the Black Prince’s tombs took place nearly a decade after they had died and presumably had been buried in Westminster and Canterbury. Though several factors may have led to a delay in the creation of these memorials—not least the ongoing war with France and unrest at home—the latter half of the 1380s presented an apt time to initiate two grand commemorative projects celebrating royal authority.⁸² Richard may well have had considerable influence over the direction of these schemes: the imagery employed in both contexts certainly serves to promote his own Plantagenet lineage. Direction may also have come from other influential figures in the royal court in the last decades of the 1380s. The actions of the Lords Appellant during the Merciless Parliament had mostly destroyed Richard’s close circle of lords and friends from the earlier part of his life, but he was quick to draw together a new group of influential courtiers. This group included his uncle, John of Gaunt, newly reunited with the king after some years of hostility, as well as his half-brother John Holland; his cousin Edward of Rutland; Thomas Percy, brother of the earl of Northumberland; and William Scrope, son of Lord Scrope, the king’s former chancellor.⁸³ These figures also had much to gain from promoting a strong and cohesive message about Richard’s right to rule. As the final part of this article explores, it is from among this group of courtiers that another commemorative image of the Black Prince emerges. The miniature preceding a copy of the poem La vie du Prince Noir now in the collection of Senate House Library, London, shows the Black Prince kneeling before an image of the Trinity in striking resemblance of the tester and effigy on his tomb (fig. 16). Likely commissioned by a member of Richard’s court in the late 1380s or early 1390s, this image belongs to a period of commemorative activity around the Black Prince legacy—one which served to bolster not only Richard’s own legitimacy but that of his wider court.

The poem La vie du Prince Noir survives in two copies, one now in Senate House Library and the other in Worcester College, Oxford.⁸⁴ The text was probably composed between 1380 and 1385 in England by the Chandos Herald, who was from the region of Hainault and was probably born in or around Valenciennes.⁸⁵ While a valuable historical source for various episodes in the Hundred Years' War and the Black Prince’s campaigns in France and Spain, the Chandos Herald’s effusive praise of the prince’s piety, personal qualities, and prowess also imbue the poem with a eulogistic quality that, in a similar way to Thomas Brinton’s sermon, appears to have been part of an effort to memorialise this important royal figure. Aside from his nationality, we know little about the poet other than that he was herald to Sir John Chandos (d. 1370), a close friend of the Black Prince and a founding member of the Order of the Garter.⁸⁶ Chandos fought alongside the Black Prince at many of his major battles, including Sluys, Crécy, and the expeditions to Aquitaine and Spain, and his herald was thus well positioned to compose a history of the prince’s life and campaigns.⁸⁷ After the death of John Chandos in 1370, the herald entered the service of the Crown, first as Ireland King of Arms and then as English King of Arms in 1377, roles that would also have granted him access to the inner workings of the royal court.⁸⁸ The circumstances that brought about the composition of the Vie are unclear, but the poem is rich in information about courtly life, with numerous mentions of figures and knights in the prince’s retinue, so it seems likely a commission would have come from someone connected to this prestigious and elite circle of courtiers.⁸⁹ Diana B. Tyson has suggested the poem may have been commissioned by Richard II, an appropriate patron for a work that celebrated the life and successes of his famous father.⁹⁰ Christopher Given-Wilson has argued that another candidate for the poem’s patron may be John of Gaunt, the prince’s brother, whose prowess at Nájera is given centre stage in the poet’s description of this battle.⁹¹ The Vie is certainly designed as a celebration of Plantagenet military strength and political success, themes appropriate for a courtly patron in the latter half of the 1380s.

Like the eulogistic aspects of the poem, the illumination preceding the text in the Senate House copy of the Vie presents an idealised, memorialised vision of the Black Prince. In the lower compartment, a young-looking Prince Edward is shown kneeling on a cushion between two feathers with his motto “Ich dene”.⁹² Fully clad in armour, a nod to his military victories, he wears a surcoat decorated with the arms of England and France, a garment closely resembling the prince’s own surcoat, which he instructed to be hung above his tomb in Canterbury Cathedral.⁹³ Bringing his hands together at his chest in prayer, Edward tilts his head upwards to gaze at an image of the Throne of Grace Trinity seated on an elaborate throne in the compartment above. The words “et hic tres unum sunt” (“and these three are one”), a statement on the unity of the Godhead from 1 John 5:7, issue from his mouth on an unfurling scroll.

The style of the full-page miniature is similar to work produced in London towards the end of the fourteenth century, particularly in manuscript artwork connected to the royal court.⁹⁴ The illumination is comparable, for example, to the decoration in the copy of the Nova Statuta for Edward III and Richard II, made around 1392 and the illuminations in a copy of the Libellus geomancie, a text compiled for Richard II in the last decade of the fourteenth century, though the Senate House manuscript is perhaps not quite as finely executed as these prestigious royal commissions.⁹⁵ The script's anglicana form, which is neatly executed, with no marginal corrections and only two superscript corrections and two erasures, point to its execution by an accomplished English scribe in the late fourteenth century.⁹⁶ Though no evidence survives to connect this particular copy of the Vie to a specific owner, all of these elements would suggest the manuscript was made shortly after the poem’s composition, in the second half of the 1380s or early 1390s, for someone of considerable wealth with close connections to the royal court.

The decision to show the prince beneath an image of the Trinity with a statement on Trinitarian doctrine issuing from his mouth presents a distinctive introduction to a poem on the Black Prince’s life. As we have seen, more than once the Chandos Herald stresses the prince’s personal devotion to the Trinity, and the miniature can certainly be seen as a response to these sentiments in the text. At the same time, it reflects an established visual tradition in which the heir to the Plantagenet throne was shown to be divinely anointed by the Trinity, a courtly image the manuscript’s owner may well have understood. As such, the miniature alludes to Edward’s life as a first-born Plantagenet son and heir to the throne, reflecting a similar commemorative sentiment to his tester. Indeed, the miniature preceding the Vie in the Senate House manuscript is reminiscent of the prince’s tomb: both show Edward in his armour and surcoat gazing up towards imposing image of the Trinity enthroned in the heavens above.⁹⁷ In both the courtly circles of the Ricardian court and the more semi-public spaces of royal display and ritual, then, one of the key visual messages associated with the Black Prince was that of Plantagenet authority and sovereignty, with the Trinity acting as the sanctifying force behind this ancestral claim to the throne of England. At a time when Richard was facing considerable challenges to his own right to rule, visual references to the power and might of his family, and especially of his father, would have served to underscore not only his own authority but also that of his close circle of courtiers.

Several prestigious commissions made in the wake of the Black Prince’s death demonstrate that, within the elite circle of the royal court, one of the ways in which he was commemorated was through the visual invocation of the Trinitarian God. This imagery, employed in monumental form above his tomb and on more intimate objects such as in the illuminated copy of his Vie and badges worn by members of his retinue, not only recalled something of the prince’s devotional character in life but also served as a reminder of his status in death as an heir to the throne of England. They thus perform a dual function, as objects that spoke to both the personal and royal identities of the Black Prince.

The individuals behind the shaping of these objects of memorialisation seem to come from the royal court. They centre around one figure in particular: the Black Prince’s own son, Richard II. Though no documentation survives to tie Richard firmly to the production of the tester, his involvement in similar artistic projects and connections to some of the finest artists and artisans of the period position him as someone likely to have been involved in shaping his father’s material legacy. The distinctive visual language of these commemorative works, which emphasised ancient claims to a Plantagenet lineage, would also have contributed to Richard’s attempts in the late 1380s and 1390s to bolster his political authority through the commissioning of prestigious artistic and architectural projects. Reflecting on Richard’s involvement in the commissioning of royal tombs in the late fourteenth century, Paul Binski suggests that, in respect of the tombs of Edward III and the Black Prince, “something like a commemorative policy” begins to emerge, one that may reflect a desire on behalf of Richard II to memorialise his father and grandfather through grand and expensive commissions.⁹⁸ This article has shown that his patronage may have stretched to, or influenced, the iconographic content of these legacies. Trinitarian imagery, previously used as a visual sanction of a future Plantagenet heir, became in the commemoration of the Black Prince a reflection on his personal devotional life and one of the most important things he had represented: a strong and capable future monarch. With the hopes for his succession to the English throne lost, the Trinity’s blessing in this context functions not as a promise of the prince’s personal reign, as it had for his father and his great-grandfather before him, but as a way of celebrating Plantagenet might and success. As such, the commemoration of the Black Prince belongs to a visual strategy employed by the Ricardian court in the late 1380s and 1390s, in which the king’s image as a divinely anointed ruler was bolstered by that of his predecessors. The utilisation of Trinitarian themes in the Black Prince’s memorialisation certainly speaks to a deeply personal aspect of his life, but so too does it reflect anxieties at the heart of his son’s court, when attempts to secure a fragile Plantagenet future became intertwined with a distinctive art of commemoration.

Royal patronage of the Trinity in the late fourteenth century seems also to have shaped commemorative practices more broadly. As noted, prior to this point, the Trinity was employed only rarely in funerary contexts in England. From the turn of the fifteenth century on, however, the Throne of Grace begins to appear frequently on the tombs of the English nobility.⁹⁹ Two of the earliest examples occur on the brasses of prominent knights connected to the royal court, those of Reginald Braybrooke (d. 1405) and Nicholas Hawberke (d. 1407) in the church of St. Mary Magdalene in Cobham, Kent (figs. 17 and 18). Braybrooke and Hawberke were the second and third husbands respectively of Lady Joan Cobham (d. 1433) and both served in the households of Richard II and Henry IV, managing to negotiate the upheavals of Richard’s deposition.¹⁰⁰ Their brasses, likely commissioned by Lady Joan as a pair shortly after the death of Nicholas in 1407, show the knights in full armour under a gabled canopy surmounted by an image of the Throne of Grace.¹⁰¹ Though not as grand as the Black Prince’s tomb, this imagery nevertheless recalls the spatial arrangement of his memorial, with the Trinity shown reigning over the effigy below. The knights’ jousting helms, now in the Royal Armouries in Leeds, were once displayed over each tomb, another innovative commemorative feature likely inspired by the location of the prince’s achievements—which included his battle-scarred helm—above his tomb in Canterbury.¹⁰² Other early fifteenth-century brasses featuring the Trinity include that of Robert Parys (d. 1408), chamberlain of Chester and North Wales under both Richard and Henry, who is commemorated with his wife Eleanor Busteler in their parish church in Hildersham, Cambridgeshire, and Thomas Stokes (d. 1416) and his wife Elena in the church at Ashby St. Legers, Northamptonshire.¹⁰³ Brasses with the Throne of Grace survive in even greater numbers from the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, and around sixty survive in total from later medieval England.¹⁰⁴

The relative rapidity with which the Throne of Grace was adopted by the English aristocracy for use on funerary monuments reveals the dynamism of Trinitarian imagery in this period, as well as the power of royal patronage in transforming visual culture beyond the court. The decision to include an image of the Throne of Grace on the prince’s tester and in the miniature preceding a copy of La vie du Prince Noir, though certainly emphasising his devotional allegiance and Plantagenet legacy, served also to redefine the Trinity as a commemorative image, providing a new visual expression of God’s blessing after death that could be readily emulated by noble patrons for their own funerary commissions.¹⁰⁵ That imagery associated with the Black Prince was able to transcend the political turbulence of the late fourteenth and fifteenth centuries to appear on the brasses of courtiers who served under both Richard II and Henry IV is perhaps not altogether surprising: like Richard, Henry was also keen to emphasise his ancient Plantagenet lineage to support his claim to the throne and traditional royal imagery continued to feature prominently at court.¹⁰⁶ His artistic patronage and religious giving may also suggest a particular devotion to the Trinity.¹⁰⁷ For noble patrons like Joan Cobham, then, emulation of royal funerary iconography would have visually reinforced the family’s societal ties to the monarchy, as well as demonstrating an awareness of fashionable artistic trends. Images of the Trinity may also have conveyed similar notions to those associated with the memorialisation of the Black Prince, representing a divine blessing not only of the deceased but also of their family and heirs. The grand funerary projects initiated under Richard in the mid-1380s thus had a long and transformative effect on the visual landscape of late medieval England, forging new images of commemoration that brought the Trinity into dialogue with concepts of death, memory, and identity.

I would like to thank Jeremy Ashbee, Christopher Given-Wilson, John Jenkins, and David Lepine for generously sharing their work on this topic with me and pointing me towards archival material referenced in the article. This research grew out of a paper presented at the 2017 conference “The Black Prince: Man, Mortality, and Myth” at Canterbury Cathedral, and my thanks also go to the team at Canterbury for their continued support of research on topics related to their collections. I am very grateful to the reviewers of this article and the editorial team at British Art Studies for their helpful feedback.