Noble Blood - The Queen Caught Between Kingdoms

Episode Date: December 12, 2023

When her husband, King John of England died, the widowed Isabelle of Angouleme sailed back to France to fight for her own independent kingdom. But over decades of trying to pit England and France against each other, sacrificing her reputation and her relationships with her children, Isabelle's efforts would have a greater cost than she could afford.Support Noble Blood:— Bonus episodes, stickers, and scripts on Patreon— Merch— Order Dana's book, 'Anatomy: A Love Story' and its sequel 'Immortality: A Love Story'See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is an I-heart podcast. Guaranteed Human. Hey, I'm Dr. Maya Shunker, a cognitive scientist and hosts of the podcast, a slight change of plans, a show about who we are and who we become when life makes other plans. I wish that I hadn't resisted for so long the need to change. We have to be willing to live with a kind of uncertainty that none of us likes. You can have opinions. You can have like a strong,

dance. And then there's your body having its own program. Listen to a slight change of plans on the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Welcome to Noble Blood, a production of IHeart Radio and Grim and Mild from Aaron Manky. Listener discretion advised. One night in 1242, Louis the 9th, King of France, was settling in for an ordinary dinner. when the Royal Food Taster began doing the thing you never want to see the Royal Food Taster do. After taking a bite of food, he began hacking and coughing. It seemed that food taster earned his paycheck with that meal. Somebody had poisoned the king's meat and wine.

The guards sprang into action and began searching the royal grounds. By chance they stumbled upon two suspicious peasants who happened to be lurking near the kitchens. The two peasants were tortured until they delivered a confession, and it was a startling one. Not only had the would-be assassins poisoned the king's meal, they also confessed that they had been hired to do so by a former Queen of England, who had promised them riches and status. in return for their services. The entire botched poisoning was a massive success for the French on all counts.

The French king had avoided death, they had caught the villains, and as a bonus, an English queen was implicated. That, at least, was the story that passed around the French court in the summer of 1242. The truth of the events probably looked more like this. One night in 1242, two peasants were found rummaging through King Louis' supplies while the king was out campaigning against some rebellious barons. These two peasants were most likely caught trying to take some food and drink, and they were hanged according to martial law.

News of local thieves somehow transformed through rumor and storytelling into news about local assassins. Rummaging in the royal stores of mead and meat turned into an attempted poisoning and in otherwise ordinary crime turned into a geopolitical plot of the highest order. So who was this Queen of England who was so reviled

that what may very well have just been the honest crime of two poor souls evolved into her elaborate conspiracies, conspiracy against the French king. If it wasn't already clear, Isabelle of Angolam, Dowager Queen of England, was not exactly beloved by King Louis X, or his court. She was, rather, as powerful women often are, the perfect candidate for the rumor mill.

After the supposed assassination attempt, some believed that Isabel attempted suicide as the culmination for her life's sins. Others believed that she fled to a nearby abbey for sanctuary from Louis' reprisals. All agreed that she would do whatever it took to avoid losing a trial, to hold on to whatever crumbs of power she had left

after decades of losing ground to an aggressive French kingdom. The history of the rumor of the attempted poisoning is, frankly, a minuscule part of Isabel's life story, but it illustrates the problem with uncovering the historical Isabel quite well. Whatever the medieval chronicles say about her is distorted by dynastic drama and political biases. They paint her as a scandal-inducing affair-having Jezebel, who drove two kingdoms into turmoil,

first England and then Western France. But if we cut through the gossip, what would we actually find? A heartless mother or exactly the type of ruthless parent that medieval politics rewarded, a cunning and deceitful sorceress, or a dowager queen so relentless in her pursuit of freedom, from both the English and the French,

that she earned a bad reputation in both. kingdoms. Isabel tried, but ultimately, failed to establish a dynasty of her own. But if she hadn't rocked the foundations of England and France, why would she ever have been worth the elaborate smear campaign in the first place? This is the story of a queen-turned-none who, in trying to play both sides, ended up playing herself. A rogue royal who, even when stripped of her titles, lands, and reputation, refused to stop signing her name as Dowager Queen of England. I'm Dana Schwartz, and this is

Noble Blood. In the month of October, 1216, Isabel of Angulem learned that her husband, the King of England and Patriarch of the House of Plantagenet, had died. King John had spent the past year embroiled in a war against his barons, who raised demands in a little treaty called the Magna Carta, which John had absolutely no intention of accepting. The Vane King marched from county to county, pillaging as he went along, all the while his wife remained confined to a castle. in the city of Bristol. When she heard the news that dysentery took John, she probably felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

For context, this is the King John, who was the younger brother of Richard the Lionheart, the guy who's the villainous Prince John in several adaptations of Robin Hood. Upon the death of his brother Richard, John inherited not only the kingdom of England, but also a vast swath of territory, in western France, encompassing Normandy, Brittany, and Aquitaine, together called the Angevin Empire.

John's queen, Isabel, was originally from the French city of Angoulin, part of the land that she was technically supposed to inherit from her father account. But Isabel never spent much time with her inheritance, owing to the fact that she married John when she was only 12. By all accounts, their marriage was considered scandalous from the start. In 1200, Isabel was already betrothed to a French count. The union of their lands in central and western France would have cut off the northern part of John's empire in Normandy from the southern part in Aquitaine.

As any conniving king would do, John made a backroom deal to cut off Isabel's betrothal to that count, and he promptly married the girl himself. From 1,200 to 1216, Isabel reigned as the Queen of England, but in fact she resided in what amounted to a golden cage, let out at the whims of her husband. According to the terms of their marriage, Isabel was entitled to rents from royal estates, but her husband frequently intercepted these funds to spend on his own lavish wardrobe. Instead of lodging Isabel in her own household, as was customary,

John thought it fit to put her up in the apartments of his former wife, the Countess of Gloucester, and then in the household of his mistress, the Lady de Neville. Most disturbingly, after Isabel bore her first child, Henry, in 1207, the Canterbury Chronicles refer to her as being quote, in custody. A few historians have speculated that Isabel was under some kind of

house arrest, and this seems corroborated by the relative absence of her name among contemporary letters and court records. Either way, what's certain is that Isabel's husband humiliated her, stole her

income, and confined her to a handful of castles. At some point in the 16 years of her English captivity, Isabelle decided she would no longer take being a pawn in other people's politics. When her husband died, she may have mourned. He was, after all, the father of her four children. We know that she made three offerings for the salvation of her husband's soul in the month that followed. But she never again mentioned her husband in any of her course.

for the remaining 30 years of her life. This feeling of indifference was probably reciprocal, considering that John invested the care of his heir, Henry, in the hands of an esteemed Earl and not the boy's own mother. Isabel had little to no chance of assuming any power in England. She was pushed out of the Regency Council and the very men that made up that council, seemed to have purchased a well-chartered ship for Isabel to be on her merry way off of English shores and back to France. Isabel left behind her young son, Henry and Richard, and took only her daughter, Joan, with her as she set sail for the continent.

Was it ruthless for a mother to have abandoned her children upon the death of their father? The medieval chronicles certainly say so, and while they certainly owe them, over-exaggerate Isabel's egomania and irresponsibility, her actions suggest that she was, if anything, opportunistic, and her husband's death just so happened to present an opportunity to reclaim her inheritance and establish her own little kingdom in Western France. In the year 1217, Isabel entered the French city of Angoulin to great fanfare by the local populace,

so much fanfare that the mayor of Angoulam even bestowed upon Isabel the keys to the city. Only a few years before Isabel's arrival, King John had assigned a group of administrators and barons to oversee the county of Angoulin, oversee its principal estates, revenues, and defense. Isabel planned to rest political control back from her late husband's group. But there would be serious obstacles in her path. From 1217 to 1219, those barons launched rebellious campaigns against Isabel's rule. She used every ruthless strategy in her playbook to subdue her vassals. In one case, she took the two sons of one baron hostage until he capitulated,

a tactic considered so extreme that a bishop in a nearby city threatened Isabel with excommunication. Isabel, leveraging her prestige as a dowager queen of England, sent a letter to the Pope about her discontent with the local bishop, sort of the equivalent of going directly to the manager. By 1218, the Pope wrote back and proclaimed that Isabel could not be excommunicated except by a direct order from Rome. Isabel used every tool in her arsenal to exert control over her inheritance, brute force against the barons, rye diplomacy among the bishops, even deceit occasionally to win the favor of her powerful children.

Isabel needed deeper pockets to continue her war against the barons, so she sent pleas for financial help to her son, in England, King Henry III. the third. Technically, Isabel owned a variety of dower estates in England, but Henry's Regency Council withheld the income from those estates out of fear that Isabel would use them to create her own base of power, which was, in fact, exactly what she was doing. In her letters to her son, Henry, Isabel persuasively explained that her takeover of Western France wasn't about personal interest, but instead it was about maintaining the Angevin Empire. She blamed the barons for collaborating with the King of France, and so she needed additional resources to squash their resistance

before it turned into a crisis. Wouldn't Henry help his poor mother as she defended his empire? The letters worked, but even with the additional coin, Isabel had to face the fact that she was in a, pretty weak position. She was sandwiched in between the two massive kingdoms of England and France, operating on a paltry budget, and she had even failed to fully establish her claim over Angoulin. Her cousin Matilda was also claiming those ancestral lands. Isabel needed an ally, or alternatively, a new husband. Back in 1214, Isabelle,

had betrothed her baby daughter Joan to a count named Hughes of Lucignon, a 24-year-old who ruled over the lands just north of Angoulin. The countess had originally intended for the powerful Lusinian family to act as allies of the English crown. But in 1220, with John, King of England dead and Isabel desperately needing support for her own government, she began to see Hughes, her would-be future son-in-law in a new light. This now-30-year-old count was dashing, a bachelor, and most important of all, in control of large and wealthy estates in some of the most hotly contested French territories. Isabel broke off her daughter's engagement to Hughes and took the count for herself.

It's also highly likely that the two had an affair, leading up to the actual exchanging of vows. To make matters even more complicated, before Isabel had married King John of England 20 years earlier, she had originally been betrothed to Hugh's father. So, in effect, the countess ended up marrying the son of her former fiancé and the former fiancé of her daughter. Messi is an understatement.

You can imagine what the thanksgivings would have been like. Even before this messy second marriage, the chroniclers of the day already despised Isabel. They believed her wicked, adulterous, and manipulative, the very source of England's instability during her husband, John's reign. In fact, this character portrait has no real basis in reality. We have no evidence to suggest that Isabel had any say in matters of her husband's government. nor evidence that she had an affair while her husband was alive. The chroniclers did not take too kindly to her second marriage, seeing it as further proof of her depravity. One contemporary historian wrote that news of the marriage, quote, really stimulated conversation.

Indeed, rumor got around that Isabel not only stole away her own daughter Jones' future prospects, but also that she was keeping her daughter captive in order to extract a ransom from her son, King Henry III in England. These accusations eventually made their way to Rome, where the Pope furiously wrote to Isabel in 1221 that her son had ultimate authority over his sister Joan. This in no way deterred Isabel from refusing to send her daughter to England.

The Regency Council in England retaliated by confiscating Isabel's English estates. But when Isabel threatened to ally with the French king, the council relented. Of course, in letters to King Henry, her son, Isabel pretended all of this was in his best interest. Her marriage to Hughes was in service of the English crown. As she wrote in one letter, God knows we did this more for your sake than for ours. It was clear to all passers-by that Isabel seemed willing to do almost anything in her pursuit of dynastic power, or at least control over her own lands.

Many accounts describe her as vain-glorious or megalomaniacal. She demanded a court befitting a queen, but operated on the income of three counties. She always expected to be taken seriously as a political actor, even when her power waned. At the same time, she learned to try her best, and she often succeeded, in switching sides between the English Plantagenets and the French Capetians when it was convenient for the growth of her own territory. For example, when the French king Louis VIII died prematurely in 1226, Isabel saw an opportunity to win broader privileges from the fragile French kingdom, despite the fact that she technically owed full fealty to her son, Henry, in England. The King of England was sent into a spiral at this betrayal.

He refused to send any more of the income from his mother's dower lands, and no more imploring letters from Isabel would ever change his mind. This, of course, would pose quite the challenge for Angoulin, as it depended so much on English coin. This, then, would have been the perfect time for Isabel to deepen her relationship with the new French king, now that she had all but ruined her relationship with her son, Henry, in England. The new king in France, Louis V. 9th,

was just a 12-year-old boy when he took the throne, meaning most of the kingdom's affairs were vested in the hands of his mother and regent, Blanche of Castile, granddaughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine and sister to Isabel's late husband, King John. Unfortunately for Isabel and her grand designs at her own independent kingdom, Blanche, her previous sister-in-law, would prove to be more of a thorn in her backside than a step-eastern. stone to power. To begin with, Blanche was everything that Isabel was not. Where Isabel's husband, King John, had refused to invest the future of his heir in the hands of his wife, Isabel. The old French king had entrusted Blanche with the full stewardship of young Louis. Where Isabel had needed to

remarry under scandalous circumstances in order to expand and hold her reach, Blanche had been able to preserve her widowhood and her reputation, all while commanding France's ruling Capitian dynasty. Contemporary accounts usually frame Isabel as selfish and promiscuous, and Blanche as sage and chaste, though we should be wary about those subjective and highly political and totalizing characterizations. Either way, Issafe, Undoubtedly agonized over the queen consort and, what Isabel considered, Blanche's wicked brood of French princes. Isabel was by no means impervious to jealousy, and it's exactly when she attempted to hurl down Blanche that the Countess of Angoulin sealed her own fate. Well into the 1230s, Isabel continued signing her letters as the Queen of England.

despite the fact that she hadn't stepped onto English soil for over a decade, and also despite the fact that she was taking every measure to actively ingratiate herself with France, the full enemies of the English crown. In 1230, when Blanche fomented unrest among King Henry of England's vassals in Brittany, Isabel agreed to support Blanche's insurrection on the condition that one of her new born children that she had with her second husband would be betrothed to one of Blanche's children. In other words, she was siding against her own oldest son, Henry. But there would be no better way of securing Isabel's dynasty than by using her newest

children to mix in with the Capetians. In classic Isabel fashion, though, her tactics changed as the winds of opportunity blew from one direction to the other. The agreement fell through, and by 1236, Isabelle was convincing the king of Navarre to wage war against the French King Louis on a promise of military aid. It took no time at all for the French to repel that attack,

win the Pope to their side, and disgrace Isabel and Hughes for their treachery. The following years saw Isabel and Hughes begin to lose their grip on the lands of Angoulin and Lusinian in the face of a prosperous and well-governed French kingdom edging them out. Isabel and her second husband simply didn't have the revenue, the military might, or the allies to compete with King Louis and his mother Blanche one-on-one. Isabel's worst fears culminated in a nighting ceremony that would go on to haunt Isabel for the rest of her life.

Before he died, the late King Louis VIII had dictated a comprehensive will. Among his stipulations was a decree that his and Blanche's son, Alphonse, would receive the title to the county of Poitiers when he came of age. Poitiers overlapped with much of the territory that was formally controlled by Isabel and Hughes. At the time of the late king's decree, that wasn't much of a problem. The French king was distracted with too many other things to really focus on consolidating his power in the West. Not to mention those western lands were also at the time occupied by barons loyal to the English crown. But by 1241, the political landscape was looking a lot worse for Isabel. Prince Alphonse was angling to marry a princess from the county of Toulouse,

which would threaten to create a block of southern territories that could easily all but absorb the lands that Isabel had worked so tirelessly to make independence, a nighting ceremony where she would be excited. expected to show fealty to Alphonse would only solidify that horrible state of affairs. Needless to say, Isabel went into that ceremony looking for trouble. The account we have of Alfonza's oath-swearing ceremony was told by a baron to Queen Blanche, who already hated jealous Isabel. So, with that disclaimer, take the following events as I describe them with a grain of salt.

There was a great feast in Poitia to celebrate the ceremony, and nobles from all over France streamed into the city for a cornucopia of savory meats, courtly games, and joyous camaraderie. King Louis, his younger brother Alphonse, and their entourage, brought all of these festivities into the city, where Hughes was obligated to host and entertain his honored guests in preparation for the oath-swearing. But during the actual ceremony, there must have been some sort of mistake. Isabel arrived to the oath-swearing, finding that Queen Blanche and several French countesses all

had seats, while Isabel, the Countess of Angoulin, and must she remind you, Dowager Queen of England, was somehow expected to stand? The indecency outraged Isabel so much. much that she, apparently, tore down the tapestries hanging over Hugh's throne, packed up the fine dinnerware, and even removed, quote, image of the Blessed Mary, along with the altar cloth and all the ornaments from the chapel. Isabel took everything 50 miles away to her own castle in Angoulin, in a fit of rage that could only have been meant to signal her anger at her husband Hughes, who she blamed for failing to stand his ground in the face of their combined enemy. Hughes, understandably embarrassed, finished up the oath swearing and then rushed off to confront Isabel,

at which point she immediately scolded him. Get away, get out of my sight, you are viler and baser than anybody else and a reproach to everyone. You've honored the very people who disinherit you. I'll never look at you again. Isabel refused to see her husband Hughes for three days, and according to the writer of the letter that gives us that quote, what finally spurred Hughes to action was his wife's insistence that she wouldn't bed him until he rebelled against Queen Blanche. That most certainly is apocryphal, and it's worth noting that this detail both confirmed popular perceptions of Hughes as meek and Isabel as manipulative, exactly the sort of gossip that Blanche and the French court would have relished.

What isn't apocryphal is that Isabel played a major role in convincing Hughes to organize a rebellion against the French crown. It may have been symbolically sparked by Blanche's disrespect at court, but it was actually Isabel's last-ditch effort, to exert control over her inheritance. Hughes and Isabel managed to recruit the Count of Toulouse as an ally, and they mustered every noble in the north that already resented Louis. In a familiar turn of events, Isabel reached out to the only person who wanted to see the ruin of the French more than she did, her son, Henry. The King of England looked past his rocky relationship with his mother in the face of this opportunity, and he gathered funding in late 1241 and early 1242 for an army. One chronicle relates the encounter between King Henry and his mother

Isabel when they finally met in France after decades of mutual vitriol apart. Isabel tenderly kissed her firstborn and in the sweetest tone said to him, Dear son, you have such a good character, to help your mother and your brothers, whom the sons of Blanche of Spain, wants so wickedly to crush and keep under their feet. Tender maternal words notwithstanding, the invasion fell apart as soon as it began.

The Count of Toulouse pulled his support. Henry wasn't able to raise a force large enough to compete with King Louis, and even Hughes only half-heartedly went about the whole rebellion thing, maybe hoping for an escape plan just in case. When the French and English armies met at Talberg in July 1242, a French cavalry charge decimated the English forces. King Louis handed Henry a defeat so horrendous that the English king would have been captured had it not been for the diplomatic intervention of Henry's brother Richard. Hughes switched sides to the chagrin of his wife in less than a week of fighting. According to a popular myth, one that we can't verify or completely disprove, Isabel made a last stand by hiring out two serfs to poison the French king.

Promised vast estates and noble titles, the two paupers managed to poison the meat and drink of Louis and Alphonse, but as we know, they were caught in the act and hanged for their treason. One rumor circulating claimed that Isabel tried and failed to commit suicide, suicide when she heard the news of the serf's hangings. Another source says that she broke down beyond consolation. As punishment for their betrayal, King Louis forced Isabel and Hughes to finance three French garrisons in their own territories.

He also took Isabel's titles and cut her off from any pensions the French crown may have allotted her in the past. Isabel and Hughes signed a joint charter to dissolve and disseminate their holdings across their nine children, in medieval royal customs that effectively amounted to a divorce. Twenty years of scheming, building, maneuvering, and fighting, all gone to waste. Isabel, at 53 years old, was almost exactly where she had started when she left England, as a widow at 25, cut off from the royal family and without a state of her own. Contemporary chronicles regularly depict Isabel as a heartless mother and an unfaithful wife. Many of these chronicles

were themselves written from the perspective of the French monarchy, so we'd be right to question their characterizations. Certainly, Isabel is the villain of the story from that perspective. There's no doubt that Isabel had grand ambitions and took extreme measures, going so far as to side against her children to get what she wanted. But at the end of the day, she was a fairly intelligent political schemer and a competent administrator who, like all members of the aristocracy, angled to conserve her estates and increase her own lavish income.

She may have flown too close to the sun by the end, but 20 years of playing the English and French off one another was no simple task. One cannot tell a full story of the Countess von Gouloglame without at least giving her that. Hughes was the laughing stock of the French nobility for the rest of his life. In time, his reputation improved a little, especially as he died on a crusade to the Holy Lands in an act of political and spiritual penance. Isabel also found her own way to God in the final years of her life.

Disgraced and despairing, she retreated to the Abbey of Fontravoix and took holy orders in 1243. Right before her death in 1246, Isabel wrote a final plea, this time to the French king, begging him to look after her children that she had with Hughes to ensure that they would receive their fair share of her inheritance. This letter was completely unlike every other that she wrote in her lifetime. The parchment is of inferior quality. It frays at the edges.

in it she begs not from a position of high court, but from the lowly chambers of a nun's scriptorium. Yet still, at the bottom of the page, her same old signature, Isabel, Queen of England. That's the complicated story of Isabel of Angoulin, but keep listening after a sponsor break to hear a little bit more about her family legacy. You can have opinions, you can have like a strong stance.

And then there's your body having its own program. I'm Dr. Maya Shunker, a cognitive scientist and hosts of the podcast, a slight change of plans, a show about who we are and who we become when life makes other plans. We share stories and scientific insights to help us all better navigate these periods of turbulence and transformation. There is one finding that is consistent, and that is that our resilience rests on our relationships. I wish that I hadn't resisted for so long the need to change. We have to be willing to live with a kind of uncertainty that none of us likes. Listen to a slight change of plans on the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

You can have opinions. You can have like a strong stance. and then there's your body having its own program. I'm Dr. Maya Shunker, a cognitive scientist and hosts of the podcast, a slight change of plans, a show about who we are and who we become when life makes other plans. We share stories and scientific insights to help us all better navigate these periods of turbulence and transformation. There is one finding that is consistent, and that is that our resilience rests on our relationships. I wish that I hadn't resisted for so long the need to change. We have to be willing to

live with a kind of uncertainty that none of us likes. Listen to a slight change of plans on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Isabel ordered that she'd be buried in the common plots outside the Abbey of Fontreville when she died. These plots were reserved for the brothers and sisters of the order, never, ever for a noble, let alone a member of the Plantagenet royal family. The Abbey itself had deep ancestral ties to the Duchy of Aquitaine and the English royal family. Eleanor of Aquitaine, who was Isabel's mother-in-law, had patronized the Abbey for over 60 years, funding a massive octagonal kitchen with multiple fireplaces. The Abbey would also serve as Eleanor's base of power for the latter half of her life, and it was an ideal accommodation

for anyone loosely affiliated with the royal family. While Isabel carried out penance by taking the veil, she most definitely lived with some degree of luxury at the end of her life. Being buried in the common plots, however, was too extreme an act of penance. When Isabel's son Henry visited the Abbey in 1254 and learned about his mother's unceremonious burial, he ordered her reinterment in the Abbey itself next to the remains of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. In another act of grace towards the memory of his mother, Henry III invited the five sons of Isabel's second marriage to England, understanding that their options in France were limited by the the poor reputation of their parents.

If you went to the abbey today, located near the French city of Chinon, you'd find a bust of Isabel situated atop what looks like a tomb, but her remains aren't there. During the French Revolution, after the nascent government of the Third Estate declared all monasteries' property of the nation, radicals exhumed Isabel's bones. in addition to the bones of Henry and Eleanor, and scattered them across the fields outside, never to be recovered. Noble Blood is a production of I-Heart Radio,

and Grimm and Mild from Aaron Manky. Noble Blood is created and hosted by me, Dana Schwartz, with additional writing and researching by Hannah Johnston, Hannah Zwick, Mira Hayward, Courtney Sender, and Lori Goodman. The show is edited and produced by Noemi Griffin and Rima Il K. Ali with supervising producer Josh Thane and executive producers Aaron Manke, Alex Williams, and Matt Frederick. For more podcasts from IHeartRadio, visit the IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to your favorite shows. Hey, I'm Dr. Maya Shunker, a cognitive scientist and hosts of the podcast, a slight change of plans, a show about who we are and who we become when life makes other plans. I wish that I hadn't resisted for so long the need to change. We have to be willing to live with a kind of uncertainty that none of us likes.

You can have opinions. You can have like a strong stance. And then there's your body. having its own program. Listen to a slight change of plans on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This is an IHeart podcast, Guaranteed Human.