Medieval Succession: When Henry II’s Empire Imploded
If you think the Roy family had issues, meet the Plantagenets
The Road to the Great Rebellion, Part 9
When Succession first aired, audiences were transfixed by its portrait of a modern dynasty at war with itself: scheming heirs, a manipulative patriarch, and a fortune vast enough to make loyalty negotiable. But centuries before Logan Roy was terrifying his children in glass-walled boardrooms, another ruthless family feud was playing out across medieval Europe.
In 1173, the most powerful man in Christendom—King Henry II of England—faced a rebellion led not by rivals or barons, but by his own wife and sons. Chroniclers called it the Great Rebellion; historians often dub it the Revolt of the Eaglets, after the young “eagles” who turned on the parent bird.
And just like in Succession, the real question was: who inherits the empire?
The Empire Henry Built
Henry II of England
Henry II was the founder of what we now call the Angevin Empire: a vast, stitched-together dominion stretching from the Scottish borders to the Pyrenees. Through marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine, arguably the most formidable woman of the 12th century, Henry gained not only vast territories in France but also a wife as politically astute as any CEO.
Together, they ruled more than half of France. Their “empire” was a collection of duchies and counties bound by feudal allegiance and family marriages, not boardrooms and subsidiaries—but the principle was the same.
Henry II was a control freak. He micromanaged his vassals, appointed loyal administrators, and expected obedience from his sons. He was also a master strategist who refused to delegate real authority. His eldest surviving son, known simply as the Young King Henry, was technically crowned as co-king in 1170, but he was a king in name only. His father controlled the purse strings, the castles, and the army.
It’s not hard to imagine the scene in HBO terms: a gilded ceremony full of empty promises, a son seething with resentment, and a father who smirks, “You’re not ready yet.”
The Roys of the 12th Century
Let’s meet the medieval Roy family:
Henry II and his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine together in death even if she rebelled against him in life
Henry II – The patriarch. Brilliant, ruthless, and addicted to power. Obsessed with consolidating his legacy, yet incapable of trusting anyone—including his heirs.
Eleanor of Aquitaine – His queen and former Duchess of Aquitaine in her own right. Charismatic, calculating, and used to ruling. Imagine a blend of Shiv Roy’s sharp political instincts and Lady Macbeth’s quiet fury.
Henry the Young King – The golden boy. Handsome, popular, and hungry for recognition. Everyone assumes he’ll inherit the empire, but his father refuses to let go.
Coronation Feast of Henry the Young King
Richard (the Lionheart) – The warrior. Loyal until crossed. Fierce, ambitious, and determined to secure his mother’s duchy of Aquitaine for himself.
Richard the Lionheart at the Siege of Acre
Geoffrey of Brittany – The middle son. Charming and slippery; always playing both sides. Think of him as Roman Roy with a talent for alliances.
John (later “Lackland”) – The baby of the family. Spoilt, or overlooked, definitely underestimated, and yet ultimately the last one standing.
Add to this a cast of powerful nobles, scheming kings of France, and papal emissaries, and you’ve got a medieval Succession—complete with betrayals, double-crosses, and PR disasters that would make even Kendall Roy blush.
The Trigger: “Who Gets What?”
At the heart of both stories lies the same question: how do you divide an empire without destroying it?
Henry II tried to plan his succession in advance—a medieval version of estate planning gone wrong. He granted his sons titles and lands while keeping ultimate authority for himself. But the more he promised, the less he delivered.
When the Young King married Louis VII’s daughter, Marguerite of France, Henry held back her dowry (the castle of Gisors). When the boy asked for real power, Henry ignored him. And when Richard and Geoffrey began ruling their duchies, Henry meddled constantly, sowing resentment among them all.
The Young King’s frustration boiled over when he realised his younger brothers were being rewarded while he remained a figurehead. His rebellion began not from ideology, but humiliation—the same emotional fuel that drives the Roy siblings.
In Succession, Logan toys with his heirs, promising each a turn at the throne, then yanking it away. Henry II did the same. And like Logan, he discovered too late that constant manipulation breeds only chaos.
The Revolt of the Eaglets
Henry II’s Children rebelled against him in the ‘Revolt of the Eaglets’
In 1173, the Young King fled to the court of Louis VII of France—his father’s lifelong rival. From there, he issued a declaration accusing Henry II of injustice and demanding the power due to him as co-ruler. Soon, Richard and Geoffrey joined the cause.
And the queen?
Eleanor of Aquitaine backed her sons.
After years of being sidelined and perhaps emotionally brutalised by her husband, she threw her support behind rebellion. Chroniclers hinted she encouraged her sons to fight their father—perhaps even masterminding the revolt. She was arrested while trying to flee to her duchy and spent the next 16 years under house arrest.
The rebellion spread from Normandy to Scotland, with Henry II fighting on multiple fronts. His response was swift and brutal: castles were razed, rebels executed, and the royal sons were forced to submit. By 1174, the empire was back under his iron control.
But the cost was irreparable. The family bond was shattered. Henry could no longer trust his wife or his sons, and they, in turn, despised him.
The dynasty had survived the coup—but the empire would never be the same again.
Legacy and Lessons
Henry II’s greatest achievement—his vast, unified realm—was also his undoing. He built an empire so large that no single heir could inherit it without sparking conflict.
By the time of his death in 1189, Henry was broken—betrayed once more by his sons and dying in the knowledge that Richard, his favourite, had sided with the French against him. His youngest son John, once his pet project, would later lose almost everything his father built.
In the end, the Plantagenets’ story is not just about power, it’s about control, and the tragedy of men who cannot share it.
That’s what makes Succession feel so medieval at heart. Strip away the helicopters and Manhattan penthouses, and you’re left with the same brutal game: a patriarch terrified of mortality, heirs desperate for validation, and a family empire too big to divide peacefully.
Eleanor’s Perspective
Eleanor of Aquitaine encouraged her sons to rebel against her husband Henry II
Amid this male melodrama, Eleanor of Aquitaine stands apart. She had ruled Aquitaine before she married Henry and would rule again after his death. Even in captivity, she continued to influence events—arranging truces, advising her sons, and, eventually, serving as regent for Richard the Lionheart.
If Logan Roy is the central gravity of Succession, Eleanor is the hidden axis of the Plantagenet story—the woman who understood that legacy isn’t about possession, but continuity. She survived them all, outlived her husband and sons, and ensured that the next generation of Plantagenets still carried her bloodline and her name.
In that sense, she succeeded where Henry failed. She turned chaos into endurance.
History Always Repeats Itself
Whether in twelfth-century castles or twenty-first-century skyscrapers, the lesson is the same: dynasties built on ego eventually devour themselves.
Henry II’s sons may have been medieval princes, but their motives—recognition, resentment, the craving to be seen—are timeless.
And when historians call 1173–74 the Revolt of the Eaglets, it’s worth remembering the image behind the name: young birds testing their wings against the parent that raised them, determined to rule the skies for themselves.
Logan Roy would have understood that perfectly.
Next in the series: Richard the Lionheart at Sixteen: the Making of a Warrior Duke