A “just browsing” feminist could turn to the chapter on female sovereigns to find out about how some countries, at some times, were ruled by women. I counted 27 examples. Or they could turn to the chapter called “Choosing a Bride” to see the way high-born females were inspected, traded and, if necessary, discarded. There is no doubt that medieval Europe was a patriarchal society.A “just browsing” nerd might want to start with the section on the numbering of monarchs, the most nerdish thing I have ever written. We usually take this practice for granted—Henry VIII, Louis XIV, Napoleon III, and so forth—but the custom had to start somewhere and decisions had to be made about which number to apply. In 1198 there was a German king numbered Phillip II. He was “the second” because the German king also claimed the right to become Holy Roman Emperor and there had been a Roman emperor called Phillip in 244-9, almost a thousand years earlier. So that “second” was a political assertion of continuity: that the Roman empire was not dead. In 1330 the English king Edward adopted the style “the third since the conquest”, meaning the Norman Conquest of 1066. Kings of England called Edward before 1066 (there were several) thus did not count—literally. English history restarted in 1066. So that is a view of national history encapsulated in the numbering of a monarch.A dutiful “just browsing” reader could start at the beginning, since that is where I set out what the book is about and how I intend to organize it, but the chapters can be read independently. And, of course, since part one is called “The Life Cycle”, and a cycle can be entered at any point, a reader fascinated by mistresses, wicked uncles, or death could go straight to the relevant section. I must confess that I do not always read a book from cover to cover, and this is one reason I take extra care over the index, since that will be the key to the book for many readers. Mine runs from “Aachen, Rhineland” to “Zoe Zaoutzaina (d. 899), wife of Leo VI”.If I were asked “why read about the Middle Ages?”, I think I would give three reasons. First, that we can see there the roots of some things that are important in the modern world: representative government, universities, corporate towns, reading glasses, clocks, for example. To look for origins is a natural impulse. Second, that we there encounter a world quite different from our own, sometimes dramatically so. In trial by ordeal, an accused person might be required to carry a red-hot iron three paces, then have their hand bound and inspected after three days. If it was healing cleanly, the accused was innocent, if not, not. This is not a current practice but in the early Middle Ages it was and demands some kind of explanation—both of why it was and why it is no longer. To try to understand societies different from our own is a basic form of human inquiry. The social science of anthropology was born from that impulse, but it applies equally well as a description of the historian’s task. The third reason for reading about the Middle Ages is that it is a period full of wonderful stories and fascinating people.I would hope that Blood Royal would be of interest under all these three headings. It does explain features of modern Europe, such as why France and Germany are separate countries and why Spain and Portugal are separate countries. In both cases the explanation lies in family disputes: between brothers in the ninth century, between sisters in the twelfth. And the whole book is premised on the idea that the dynastic system is alien to modern western democracies and needs to be explained to audiences in those countries. In the few surviving European monarchies, the royal family is sometimes a subject of interest or gossip, but in the dynastic world it was central to the whole political system. And, of course, I do think the book is full of stories and characters of intrinsic interest.Before doing research for the book, I had never come across the document issued by Petronilla, queen of Aragon, in 1152. It begins, “I, Petronilla, queen of Aragon, lying and labouring in childbirth at Barcelona...”, and then makes provision for the child that was imminently expected, whether it is a boy that “is to proceed from my womb, by God’s will”, or “if a daughter should proceed from my womb”, and giving 2,000 gold coins to the churches of Aragon and Barcelona to pray for her. She gave birth to a healthy boy who become king after her, and “the royal seed” of Aragon was thus preserved. She was fifteen years old. It demonstrates very well the way that the political system of medieval Europe was founded on the female body. “Dynasty—where kinship and politics meet”, as the kind author of one of the blurbs on the book jacket puts it.