Episode 26: Beautiful Burgundian Bureaucracy and the Salty Citizens of Ghent

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Philip the Good may have dreamed of wearing a single crown, but while that was not the case he was just a man wearing many different hats, and if you’ve ever seen someone wearing more than one hat at a time, you’d know how difficult and awkward that can be. Philip brought in administrative and economic changes to try and fuse the many different bureaucracies of his lands into one. This led to early meetings between representatives from all of Philip’s lowland domains which signify the emergence of an early parliamentary body, the Estates General, which will play a major role in the Low Countries in the years to come. However, although Philip was somewhat flexible when it came to handling his various provinces, it cost him a fortune to do so. This was most risky in his wealthiest territory, Flanders and the stability he had sought since the Bruges revolt was shattered when Ghent, his largest city, took its turn to go into open and violent revolt. Once more Philip would have to temporarily abandon his role as loving and fatherly prince, put on his hat of vengeful lord and once more crush thousands of his subjects. He would then make another Joyous Entry, exactly as he had fifteen year prior in Bruges and force the subdued people of Ghent to recognise his headpiece of haughty, honourable homage; the loving, benevolent prince, once more. 

The Bureaucracy is Expanding to Meet the Needs of the Expanding Bureaucracy

Map made by David Cenzer

As we spoke about in the last episode, after the Treaty of Arras in 1435 Philip the Good was busy attempting to win himself a promotion and be elevated to the status of King within the Holy Roman Empire. But he wasn’t content with being merely the king of Friesland, or King of Brabant. He wanted a title which covered all of his lands. Philip may have been one flesh and blood man, but he was a man with many different jobs. He was the Duke of Burgundy, the Count of Imperial Burgundy, Duke of Brabant, Count of Flanders, Count of Hainault, Holland and Zeeland, Count of Namur, governor of Luxembourg etc etc. Although the lands he ruled were, with the exception of the two Burgundies, mostly geographically connected, there was no single, unified “Burgundian” state… just many different entities, each with their own particular, and sometimes competing, laws, customs, languages, economies and institutions, all of which happened to have the same person at the top of them. The challenge the Duke of Burgundy faced was to try to break the local power structures which had developed in these individual regions and bring them under a single, ducal administration, under his control.

One way Philip dealt with this was to send his wife Isabella to represent him in his stead. Another tactic was what we saw him do in Holland, where he appointed a stadhouder, or “place holder”, a person who would act as his representative in exchange for a handsome salary who would, in theory at least, promote his interests there. Given the power of this position, it was necessary for Philip to send somebody trustworthy and loyal to him to act as his stadhouder. As such, it was common for the duke to appoint administrators from one part of his domains to act as a stadhouder in another. We saw this in Holland and Zeeland, where Philip appointed Hugo van Lannoy, a Fleming, to act as his stadhouder there, and where people from Flanders or Hainaut would almost continuously be appointed to that position through to the end of the century. The duke also interfered at the provincial level by restructuring the provincial councils and the Chambers of Accounts, the administrative bodies responsible for auditing and keeping track of finances. Chambers of Accounts already existed in Dijon, responsible for the two Burgundies, in Lille for Flanders, Artois, Hainaut and Picardy, in Brussels for Brabant, Limburg and Luxembourg, and in 1445 an extra one was created in the Hague to take care of Holland and Zeeland. Many of the positions within these institutions were filled with administrators from Burgundy proper; often people who had served his family the longest. The idea was to try to stamp out the factionalism within the individual territories which had led to so much violence and destruction during the many civil wars and uprisings we have seen. From now on, the only loyalty which mattered was that towards Philip himself. 

Another change Philip made was to establish a new ducal council, which would become known as the grand conseil, the groote raad, or the Great Council. The Great Council was to act as the highest legal court within the Burgundian lands and would deal with ducal laws and administration. But perhaps more importantly, and more worryingly if you were, say, a stubborn city alderman who enjoyed the great power your position gave you, the Great Council would also act as the final court of appeals over local and regional councils. In this respect, the Great Council would replace the Parlement of Paris, which had previously acted as court of appeals for Philip’s French subjects. Its creation would thus also strengthen his separation from France. Throughout the low countries there was a mishmash of various local and regional laws which had developed over the centuries, and we have seen how much trouble could be caused when local administrations were taken over by one partisan group - say, the Hooks in Holland - who would then make things very difficult for their Cod rivals. But now, if there was a dispute between parties in Holland, or Zeeland, or wherever, they could appeal to the Great Council to make a final judgement in the matter. In this way, the Great Council was able to interfere in local matters which cities and their urban magistrates had fought long and hard for the right to control. This led to sporadic outbreaks of violence, such as what we saw in the Bruges revolt from 1436-38 when the ducally appointed sheriff was murdered. This would continue to lead to a lot of resentment further down the road. The creation of this new central body and the appointment of all of these “Burgundian” administrators created a whole new professional bureaucracy. No longer were people simply appointed to top positions because of their noble birth; rather they were chosen because of their “competence” and, significantly, their loyalty. Having said that, it took training, education and study to be able to pursue this administrative career path. By 1463, the Council of Holland would be half comprised of noblemen and half of university trained bureaucrats. Even though most of Philip’s lands were now Dutch speaking, French was the language of the Burgundian administration and the provincial councils would correspond with the central authorities in French. This led to a bureaucracy which was somewhat detached from what was going on at ground level.

At the top of this bureaucracy stood a man we met last episode, Nicolas Rolin, the duke’s chancellor, who would serve in that role for 40 years. It is important to remember that this was still arguably a mafia-style state, with a culture of trying to get ahead on an extremely hierarchical social ladder built on family and personal relationships. Nicolas Rolin had come from a bourgeois family, but as he moved further up the ranks and showed his ability he was given a lordship by Philip as a reward. Other members of the duke’s innercircle, such as his chamberlain Antoine de Croy, whose family had a long line of noble blood and were still very much believers that this made them better than everybody elser, did not particularly like people from such common backgrounds as Rolin being allowed into their ranks. Jealousies and rivalries therefore abounded in the context of this clash of classes. 

The duke’s administrators weren’t always paid particularly well, leaving the whole system open to all kinds of corruption. If you were able to get into a nice position, well, there were plenty of opportunities and incentives to pocket cash here and there. For example, when a bunch of people were banished from Rotterdam after a revolt there in 1439, a local official, who also happened to be the treasurer of Holland, allowed them to return to the city in exchange for a cash payment directly into his own pockets. Nicolas Rolin himself became fabulously wealthy throughout his career by taking all sorts of bribes, like the one we saw him take last week from the French king. There were rules and laws and systems, like we’ve seen all over the Burgundian state, money had a tendency to overrule the rest and although there were fantastic amounts of cash going around, lots of it mysteriously disappeared and the state itself always somehow ended up close to broke.

As a result, Philip often found himself needing to borrow money from his subjects. It is estimated that during the 1440’s almost half of the Duke’s income in Flanders came from subsidies paid to the Duke by the people of Flanders. This was an important way in which the local representative bodies, the Estates, were able to keep a check on their lord, because if they were displeased they could still deny his requests for aid. So despite Philip’s attempts to counter this by having loyalists in those provincial positions, and to strangle the regional power blocs in favour of a more centralised regime, there was a continual balancing act going on between the interests of the provincial Estates and those of the Duke and his council.

Indeed, some of the centralisation policies taken to bring the territories of the Low Countries closer together were done so at the behest of those Estates themselves, such as the introduction of a common currency, the Vierlander. Vierlander means fourlander, in reference to the big four lands which Philip ruled; Flanders, Holland, Hainaut and Brabant. One of the big issues facing the provinces, and which impacted their ability to trade with each other, was the many different currencies in circulation. There were often wild fluctuations in the value of currencies when rulers would manipulate the value by minting new coins with lower quantities of precious metals with the aim of enriching themselves, something which John the Fearless and Philip the Good had both done to great effect. The most important currency in the Low Countries was that of Flanders, the groat. Before agreeing to accept Philip the Good as their ruler, the big towns of Holland and Brabant demanded that they would share a currency with Flanders. The Estates of Holland and Brabant then got together in 1431 to discuss how this single currency might work. When it was introduced, Philip had to promise that he would not debase the value of the coin for the next 20 years, which would bring in a period of monetary stability. 

The ordonnance to bring in the vierlander, published in late 1433 states: “We, considering that one of the principal needs of all good polities, on which the public welfare of both prince and people is based, is to have a sound and stable gold and silver coinage; having a genuine desire to provide for the welfare and profit of our said lord [the duke] and his lands; and wishing to do all in our power to increase trade, attract and retain merchants and defend and preserve the common people from grief and harm…” The needs of the common people themselves was thus at least stated as a factor in bringing about this closer union and it had been made possible by the coming together of the representatives of the Estates of the different provinces. 

Since they were now all using the same money, any attempt to change that money would have to be approved by all of them. It is in these early meetings that the beginnings of what would become the Estates General, a single body representing the people across all of the Low Countries, can be found. Most textbooks will say that the Estates General first came together a bit later, in 1464, in dramatic circumstances which we will get to soon enough. However, as written by Peter Spufford in Monetary Problems and Policies in the Burgundian Netherlands, “it was obviously more convenient for the duke to deal with representatives from the estates of each territory gathered together in one place and at one time, than to attempt to reach identical bargains about the coinage by chaffering individually with the particular estates of the different provinces.” Arguably, the early days of the Estates General, which in the next century will become a revolutionary government structure, can therefore be found in these first meetings about the vierlander, when representatives from the separate entities which made up Philip’s lands got together to talk about these more mundane economic issues which nevertheless had large repercussions for all of them. The sharing of these common interests would also make it more difficult in the future for foreign powers to try and play the individual provinces against each other.

Salt Tax

In 1445, Philip needed money, and so he went to his cash cow, Flanders, to get some. We know that Philip was holding pretensions to kingship, and that he personally equated himself with the other kings in western Europe. When it came to the levying of taxes, the English king was buoyed by an overall sales tax on wool, and the French throne had indulged in the so-called gabelle since the mid 13th century, which was an overall sales tax on salt, one of the most in-demand products in Europe. Not only was salt important for its preservation qualities but this was still the 1400s and there simply wasn’t much else besides salt to give food any kind of taste.

In mid 1447, Philip called the General Council of Ghent to assemble, having already softened up some powerful players over the course of the previous few years. The government of Ghent as you may remember was a combination of delegates from the three main different groups being powerful workers, artisan guilds and land-owning bourgeoisie. Philip laid it on thick and fast, and then gave it even a little more of the thick:

“My good and faithful friends, you know how I have been brought up among you from my infancy. That is why I have always loved you more than the inhabitants of all my other cities, and I have proved this by acceding to all your requests. I believe then that I am justified in hoping that you will not abandon me to-day when I have need of your support. Doubtless you are not ignorant of the condition of my father's treasury at the period of his death. The majority of his possessions had been sold. His jewels were in pawn. Nevertheless, the demands of a legitimate vengeance compelled me to undertake a long and bloody war, during which the defence of my fortresses and of my cities, and the pay of my army have necessitated outlays so large that it is impossible to estimate them. You know, too, that at the very moment when the war on France was at its height, I was obliged, in order to assure the protection of my country of Flanders, to take arms against the English in Hainaut, in Zealand, and in Friesland, a proceeding costing me more than 10,000 saluts d'or, which I raised with difficulty”

Philip was still playing the benevolent and loving prince, beseeching the aid of his loyal subjects. Philip was reminding them of all the duties he had undertaken on their behalf; that, in regard to the three pillars of their relationship: justice, equity and common good, he had upheld his obligation of maintaining the common good and protecting his subjects. Had he not even forgiven his father’s killer for their benefit? After all, doing so had ended a conflict which had been hoisting a heavy tax burden on them. But, he argued, despite having made peace in the Treaty of Arras, the menace from France had continued. The subsequent need to defend Luxembourg, in order to defend Flanders and Brabant, of course, had also taken its toll. So that way and those measures, as far as Philip saw it, involved levying a sales tax on salt. He told them he was going to get the consent of all other low country power-brokers concerned and, if any of them did not give it, he would scrap the whole thing. Yea, right. Anyway, the ball was now in the court of the Ghent magistracy. The Council of Ghent surprised him by refusing to entertain the idea at all. 

As mentioned last episode, Philip put a premium on maintaining stability in Ghent, which was largely achieved by ensuring that, while there were more actual voices among the working class members (they held the majority),  the urban bourgeoisie had an overrepresentation in the city’s government. Since the unrest of Artevelde take-two in the 1380s this had somehow forged a reasonable pacification of the unruliness that was, it seems, a part of Ghent’s fabric. When Philip left Ghent in 1447, having been denied the approval for a salt tax, it was a bitter departure. He left the city behind having discovered that his benevolent approach was not working, but had rather tugged at Ghent’s thread of violent-revolt. Over the ensuing two and a bit years, that thread would keep unravelling. To continue our marvellous run of random metaphors, Philip at this point took off his hat of princely love and benevolence, and donned the one he reserved for violent military suppression.

Revolt in Ghent

Philip the Good determined that three particular deans of the guilds in Ghent had provoked and inflamed the resistance to his request among the wider magistracy. So he went to work trying to amend the political situation there to his favour. This consisted of haranguing and putting pressure on Ghent, as well as Bruges and people from the Franc of Bruges, all of whom showed a similar contempt for the proposed salt-tax. In Ghent itself he had his deputies harass citizens and openly tried to meddle in city appointments of the aldermen. The people of Ghent experienced the appearance of Burgundian soldiers prior to the municipal elections in 1449 and this really got up their goats. Everything culminated in 1450 at a meeting of the Estates of Flanders. At this meeting Philip ranted against Ghent and then defied one of its fiercely guarded privileges and withdrew his bailiff, meaning that Ghent was left with no recourse for any judicial action. This was a massive slap in the face of the city’s sense of independent rights. We all know what happens when you slap a Flemish city in the face. By early 1451, everything had wound up so much that the guilds called a strike, the militia banners were raised, and the workers of Ghent armed themselves.

The Estates of Flanders tried to mediate between the Duke and the people of Ghent, but within the city there was no going back. The election was popularly proclaimed null and void, due to the Duke’s manipulations. Any one who studies political science will appreciate the next move that Ghent made, which was to relax their conditions for citizenry and, therefore, suffrage. Soon, one only needed to show lodging in a room to become a citizen, and this meant that the voter base for the more radical factions could grow. The re-held elections reflected this. The new government, which appointed three captains of the city (oof- rebellious captains of Ghent is a definite red-flag). They also made stipulations that encouraged democratic participation. Every citizen must assemble at the Vrijdagmarkt whenever the bells from the belfort summoned them, to discuss and decide on matters. The embassies that came forth from Ghent to negotiate with Philip were also pretty extreme in their approach. It was not long before they were threatening Philip with something which must have irked him greatly. If he did not stand down on the salt-tax and maintain Ghent’s privileges, they would go over his head. Philip may well have been removed from personal vassalage to Charles VII since 1435, but that didn’t make the people of Ghent afraid to entreat the French king to come to their aid against him. 

At around this time Philip’s entire focus came on to Ghent. Leaving aside all the other issues he had, some of which we covered last week such as in Luxembourg, Philip appreciated how volatile a prospect it was that the Flemish people might encourage French intervention in Flanders. Historian Ruth Putnam, writing in the first decade of the twentieth century, said of this: “No act of rebellion, overt or covert, exasperated Philip more than this suggestion”, Philip set about raising troops from all over his domains. He sought the explicit support of the other Flemish cities, wary of how quickly the revolt could spread. We all know that the relationships between the big Flemish cities were wrought with complicated emotional and economic baggage. On the one hand most people in Flanders would have supported Ghent’s stance against the loathed proposed salt tax, which at some stage Philip floated as possibly becoming a flour tax instead. However, if Ghent was to stand up against ducal power they might win and achieve more rights and strength for themselves, which would be bad for the other cities. The other Flemish cities also didn’t want to join in against the Duke given how he had quashed the earlier Bruges revolt and his success in Luxembourg. The rest of Flanders largely sent Philip their nominal support and some sent troops. 

By the end of May, 1452 the Duke of Burgundy was once more preparing a siege on one of his Flemish cities. The Ghentenaars had not just been hanging around, however, but had sallied forth to take some castles at Poeke and Gravere, and had laid siege to Oudenaarde bringing forth some absolutely massive pieces of artillery, including a cannon which apparently weighed 16 tons. Philip the Good had put Simon de Lalaing in charge of Oudenaarde, and the town was well prepared with heavy artillery pieces themselves. The resulting exchanges of gunfire were apparently some of the heaviest Europe had seen up until that point. Belgium and heavy artillery battles are going to become a classic combination in the future. We can only imagine what it must have been like for the townsfolk stuck inside the beleaguered city. Philip’s army arrived on the scene to try and break the siege and save the town. True to the founder of the most heralded chivalric order of the time, it was loaded with fancy knights. Jacques de Lalaing, whom we mentioned previously for his fame and who had openly sought to fight thirty men before his thirtieth birthday, was there, now aged 33 and having indeed ticked that one off his bucket list. One of Philip’s bastard sons, and arguably his favourite, Cornelius, was there. So, too, was another son; his only legitimate one, Charles, the Count of Charolais. 

Charles the Bold

Charles was 17 years old when the fight took place. He will be the final of our four Burgundian dukes and he will oversee the disintegration of their dynasty in the years to come. Although we’ve spoken about him a little, we’ve never given him a proper introduction, so here goes. Charles was born in Dijon in 1433 and would be the only surviving child that Isabella and Philip had together. As the true heir to Philip’s vast dominion he was a golden child from the beginning. The first big day of his life was just his twentieth, when his baptism included admission to the Order of the Golden Fleece. As Ruth Putnam pointed out, at this first-ever session of the order in Burgundy proper, Charles would not have even been able to hold his rattle, which one could assume might be the closest he could get to displaying his martial abilities. He definitely couldn’t make any use of the golden collar presented to him. Nonetheless, as the history of the Order recorded:

“...he was carried into the same room. There the sovereign, his father, and the duchess, his mother, took the oath on his behalf. Afterwards the duke put the collars upon all.”

Clearly, Charles was brought up in a world where he knew he was a prince; quite possibly the greatest prince of all time. A knight of the Golden Fleece at just twenty days old, who else could claim such dignity? This, by the way, has been argued as marking a change in eras of medieval chivalric knighthood. At this point, proper fighting and noble knights were becoming fewer and fewer; giving such an honour as knighthood to a helpless baby was part of a shift from it being something that one had to personally achieve, usually attained through deeds, to something one could achieve simply by being born. Philip was showing that knighthood could just be handed out willy-nilly to any high-prince infant seen as exceptional enough. He himself had not become a knight until he was twenty-five years old.

Charles spent much of his childhood wherever his mother was; she was extremely protective of him, due to his high status and the fact that two siblings that preceded him had not survived infancy. Isabella played an important role in the governing affairs of Holland, which meant that Charles was raised a lot in The Hague and other northern Dutch cities. He grew into a robust, dark-featured and intelligent boy; proficient in latin and music. Also, as a literate and doted upon prince, he had access to many of the stories of the past which glorified the deeds of earlier great princes, such as Alexander the Great and Charlemagne. The point of all this is that, in our run through the Burgundian Dukes, Charles was the one born into the absolute peak of Burgundian power, and he would have felt it as naturally as the air that he breathed. One of the things, however, about being a high-born prince in the 1400s, is that your first duty was as a political pawn. When he was two years old his father signed the Treaty of Arras with the French king Charles VII, and one stipulation therein was that their children should be wed to seal the deal. At five years old, therefore, Charles was engaged to the second daughter of his royal namesake, a ten year old girl called Catherine. She was duly whisked off to be brought up alongside her chosen husband, to whom she was formally betrothed a year later. 

Charles was just seven years old in 1440 when his father made his triumphant yet joyous entry into Bruges, following that city’s failed uprising. Although his son was not present for the ridiculous display of demure yet celebratory esteem for the Burgundian Duke, Philip was so enamoured by the performance put on for him that he decided to call for his heir and daughter-in-law to be brought from Ghent. The next Sunday the people of Bruges held many of the performances again, this time for their benefit. Witnessing this, Charles was old enough to know that the people of Bruges had been very naughty, that his father had punished them, and that now they were bathing him, as his father’s heir, in adoration and recognition of his family’s supremacy over them all. In 1446 Catherine died from an acute case of living in the 1400s. Charles, now thirteen, became an eligible bachelor for the first time since he was five. By this point he was very involved in many ceremonial functions, and often accompanied his mother on political missions.

Charles had been a baby when he was made a knight and as he grew older he did it service by displaying a keen interest in and inclination towards the military things for which knights are well known. As we know, Philip often hosted tournaments for his court’s pleasure. Charles grew up idolising the men he saw tilting against one another. He loved training, horseback riding, jousting and, as he reached his teen years, dreamed of participating in them. When he was seventeen, he was finally allowed to participate in one himself. However, it was decided that his mettle should first be tested privately a few days prior to the public event. A knight of renown should be chosen against whom Charles could be pitted. There was no knight of greater renown than our old mate Jacques de Lalaing. Arrangements were made for some joustin’ sticks and a date was set for the two to clash.

When they met to tilt in a park in Brussels, it was observed by a select group that included Charles’ parents. On the first attempt young Charles shattered his lance on de Lalaing’s shield, which is pretty good jousting. Philip was apparently displeased that de Lalaing was going easy on his son, and ordered that he desist from doing so. The next round both jousters smashed their lances upon each other, and this was enough for Philip to be convinced that his son was ready and would not dishonour the family name. As for Charles’ mother, who had spent most of the boy’s life with him and was pretty protective, she thought de Lalaing had gone too hard. This seems to have been a pattern. The 19th century historian Gachard first pointed out that between Charles’ parents, “the one desired him to prove his manhood, the other was preoccupied with his safety.”

Having qualified himself, at least in his father’s eyes, for participation in the tournament, Charles did not let the opportunity slip. Apparently he broke ten lances, won awards from two princesses and had the heralds proclaiming ‘Montjoye’ in his honour. I don’t know much about jousting, but that sounds like a pretty good day out. It was shortly after this tournament that the main battles in the Ghent uprising began in 1452. When it became clear that there would be a violent confrontation, Charles was ready to fight. However, he was informed that his armour was not ready and, as such, he would not be a part of it. Instead, the young prince was to stay in the safety of the Brussels court. As de la Marche put it in his usual adulation laden manner, however: 

“He whose ambitions waxed (talking about the young Charles)...swore by St. George, the greatest oath he ever used, that he would rather go in his shirt than not accompany his father to punish his impudent rebel subjects.”

Final battle and Joyous Entry

When the Burgundian army came within the limits of Ghent around six thousand of the city’s armed and aggrieved militiamen came streaming out on the attack. For several hours brutal combat took place around Oudenaarde and outside of Ghent. Thousands perished, mainly from the Ghentenaar side. There were some pretty serious hits on Philip’s side too, however, including the death of his favourite son, Cornelius. Young Charles, however, survived, and was given accolades for his bravery and abilities. Despite this, Philip greatly mourned the loss of his Cornelius and the bitterness of it meant that his stance towards Ghent grew ever less conciliatory. 

This battle was one of several that were waged during that year until negotiations for peace were embarked upon. These quickly fell apart, as the people of Ghent could not accept Philip’s harsh terms. The war continued.

Many beesechements were made that young Charles be removed from any more of the fighting. Charles had been raised as a prince and a knight of the Golden Fleece; loved tournaments; was educated; and was pretty close to his mum. Isabella had often sought to protect him, whereas Philip had encouraged his toughening up. According to Monstrelet and Chastellaine, however, when it came to this Flemish uprising, Isabella insisted that this was a battle for his birthright and that he must continue to fight. 

The revolt and the war ended in July 1453. By now, Ghent had three garrisons on the approach of the Burgundian army, castled in the towns of Schendelbeke, Poeke and Gaveren. Before moving on to Ghent itself, Philip had determined to take these places first. The first two were bombarded, taking two and four days to surrender, respectively. During the fight at Poeke castle, Jacques de Lalaing, Philip the Good’s favourite knight, was killed by cannon fire. When describing his death, Chastellain says “At that time there was a cannoneer placed in one of the towers of the said fortress who had aimed a veuglaire at the mantlet of the bombard, which was discharged at this evil time, so that once fired, the stone from this veuglaire hit the pavise behind which was Sir Jacques de Lalaing. And a splintered piece of wood which had come from the right side of the pavise was carried into his head, just under the ear, so that a corner of his head and a part of his brain was blown away. And he fell to the ground without any movement of his feet or arms.” It’s not exactly the most glorious end for the man who was arguably the most famous knight in the low countries, if not Europe. But hey, at least he died doing what he loved best - fighting. Philip was apparently so distraught when he discovered that Jacques de Lalaing had died, that when Poeke castle was finally taken, he had everybody found inside hung from the walls, except for a couple of priests, a leper and some kids.

The Burgundian army started cannonading Gaveren on the 18th but, unlike the previous two garrisons, the one stationed here responded with heavy bombardment of their own. An artillery exchange resumed, the difficulty of taking Gaveren was increased by the approach of a relief army marching from Ghent itself. Everybody prepared for a pitched battle, however at some point the gunners in Gaveren suddenly abandoned their work and their posts, which ignited a fear and flight mentality amongst the whole rebel army. Many on that side began trying to flee, but with no artillery cover and fewer numbers than their opponents they became easy pickings for Philip’s army, who chased and slaughtered them in their hundreds.

The reason for the gunners in Gaveren suddenly fleeing their posts must have been mysterious to those on the Burgundian side. Sources from Ghent solve the mystery, telling us that a spark flew towards one of their stocks of gunpowder and, well, that’s just poor gunpowder management. They pretty much blew themselves and their town’s rebellious dreams sky high. 

Philip had developed his strategy for dealing with rebellious towns, using the same Joyous Entry blueprint created after the Bruges revolt. Ghent surrendered immediately following the self-exploding disaster and rout at Gaveren. The next year a similar Joyous Entry of triumph was organised in which he could once again wear his hat of princely benevolence. In this ceremony he, his son and heir Charles and wife the Duchess Isabella were once more able to be paraded through the city’s penance and pageantry; to lap up their family’s dominance over the disruptive violence of Flemish workers’ guilds. The fine levied on Ghent of 840,000 pounds equalled the entire sum of money paid to the ducal coffers by the rest of Flanders combined... over a total of three years. Further punishment included the stripping of judicial power from Ghent’s aldermen and that their sentences could be taken to appeal before a ducal court; essentially the removal of the craft guilds’ powerbrokers from the governing apparatus of the city. Symbolically as well as embarrassingly, the banners of the guilds which called for the assembly of their militias were required to be given to Philip. They were to be presented by the repentant alderman and deans of the guilds publicly, barefoot and with shaved heads and on their knees before their forgiving but conquering Duke. 

This was a humiliating defeat for Ghent, but it could have been much worse. Philip had been advised to burn it to the ground, to finally rid himself of this most recalcitrant town which so routinely went into revolt. However, he chose not to, asking if he was to destroy it, apparently saying “if I was to destroy this city, who is going to build me one like it?”. So, Ghent was spared the full wrath of Burgundian revenge, which other places in the Low Countries most definitely won’t be in the upcoming two decades. But also, due to the enormity of the fines, the gabelle was never imposed. Sure, it cost them probably way more than they would have had to pay, but still, you need to take little moral victories.

Sources:

The Promised Lands by Wim Blockmans and Walter Prevenier

A Brief History of the Netherlands by Paul F. State

A Concise History of the Netherlands by James C. Kennedy

Magnanimous Dukes and Rising States by Robert Stein

Philip the Good (Apogee of burgundy) by Richard Vaughan

Monetary Problems and Policies in the Burgundian Netherlands by Peter Spufford

The Career of a Knight-Errant by Charles Morris

The Artillery of the Dukes of Burgundy, 1363-1477 by Kay Douglas Smith, Robert Douglas Smith, Kelly DeVries.