The Kingmakers

On 14^th July 1471, Richard Neville, 16^th Earl of Warwick, was killed at the Battle of Barnet. It brought to an end the career of a man who was, in his day, the most powerful non-royal noble in the kingdom. Initially loyal to King Henry VI, Warwick began to support the Duke of York following a dispute with the Duke of Somerset. He had control of the garrison at Calais which made him a formidable force. The Calais force was the only standing army in England at the time, the only retained force of trained soldiers in the country. And they were Warwick’s men. When the Duke of York was killed at the Battle of Wakefield, Warwick continued to support his house and was instrumental in seeing Edward IV take the throne from the hapless Henry VI.

Warwick was now the king’s right hand man. Power and offices flowed to him. He began to negotiate a French alliance to be sealed by Edward’s marriage to a French princess. At Council on day, Warwick’s world began to crumble. Imagine the scene as he proudly reported the progress of his negotiations and the almost concluded wedding arrangements, only for Edward to casually announce, in his “Oh, did I forget to mention…” way, that he was already married. He had married a widow considered below him who brought with her children and relatives who were later to prove divisive at Edward’s court. By the standards of his day, the slight upon Warwick’s honour was considerable and he did not take it well. He had lost face before the Council and before the French and he was not the kind of man to allow this to pass.

As tension between the king and his greatest subject grew the threat of a return to civil war gripped the country. Warwick sought out Margaret of Anjou, Henry VI’s wife and, after over half an hour on his knees before her, she agreed to allow him to help place Henry back upon the throne. No doubt Warwick saw an opportunity to control Henry in a way he could never control Edward. Warwick recruited Edward’s brother George, Duke of Clarence to his cause, but his other brother Richard, Duke of Gloucester, who had been raised in Warwick’s household, refused to betray his king. Warwick had two daughters. The eldest he married to George in spite of Edward’s prohibition. The youngest he wed to Henry VI’s son and heir. One way or another, Warwick would have his grandchild upon the throne.

Henry VI emerged from the Tower of London, blinking, bewildered and suddenly king again. Eighteen months later, Edward had regrouped and retook his throne. Barnet was the first engagement in the process and Warwick met his end there aged 42. He was later referred to as The Kingmaker for the way in which he appeared to pick and choose who would be king. This perhaps overstates his achievements on this front. He aided Edward in seizing he throne and then helped Henry regain it, but could not help him retain it, a fact that cost Henry his life when Edward returned to London.

This made me wonder: Who were the other Kingmakers and is there one I would consider The Kingmaker ahead of Warwick? There is, and I fear that I may have to apologise to some for my conclusion, so I shall put it off for a while.

Kingmakers go back a fair way, a most had one thing in common. The first that strikes me is the Empress Matilda, who was deprived of the throne that her father Henry I left to her only to fight for years and years until she saw her son, Henry II on the throne. Without a doubt Matilda’s drive and commitment made her son king. Perhaps she accepted that England was not ready for a female king but she had a son for whom she won a kingdom. Henry’s own wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, would also try to select the next king, encouraging Richard to seek power sooner rather than later as Henry preferred their youngest son, John. Eleanor assisted Richard’s revolts and was imprisoned for long periods by her husband. In the end, though, she got her way and Richard  I followed Henry as king.

Isabella of France was wife to one king, Edward II, but saw to it that her son became King Edward III before his father was dead. She led the rebellion that saw her husband abdicate in favour of their son and is rumoured to have arranged her husband’s death to ensure that he stayed out of the way.

There is also Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI. With her husband weak and frequently unstable, even descending into prolonged periods of catatonia, she was left to fight to keep him on the throne. She opposed York when he was made Protector of the Realm, perhaps fearing that his eye may be caught by the glinting gold of the Crown. She denied the need for a Protector and when Henry agreed to make York his heir in preference to his own son, she was outraged. It was Margaret that championed the Lancastrian cause throughout the Wars of the Roses as she sought to preserve her son’s inheritance. When Warwick dismayed, it was to Margaret that he turned, it was to Margaret that he paid homage in order to secure her support to return her husband to the throne and her son to his inheritance. After Warwick’s death, Margaret continued until, shortly after Barnet, she lost her son at the Battle of Tewkesbury and her husband when Edward regained his grip. She had played a part in Henry’s re-adaption every bit as much as Warwick.

In each of these cases, the Kingmaker was a woman, a wife and mother. They have each been viewed somewhat harshly, dubbed the She Wolves of history because although English law did not forbid female succession as French Salic Law did, the exercise of power by a woman was considered unseemly and was not something the great men of the time could easily come to terms with. However, Warwick’s achievement was in switching kings at his will. Can anyone match that? I think so.

Thomas, Lord Stanley, as I have discussed in previous posts, made a career during the Wars of the Roses of backing the winner. And he got very rich doing it. At various times he used the immense retinue that he could call upon to support Lancaster or York depending upon how the wind blew. He got rich under Edward IV and then Richard III. At Bosworth, he was presented with two options as he looked down upon the field of battle. His king demanded that he do his duty. His step-son begged his assistance to win the throne. He eventually came down on the side of his step-son. The legend goes that it was Lord Stanley who placed the crown upon Henry’s head after it had been knocked from Richard’s. He certainly prospered under the new regime. His family still hold the title Earl of Derby that he gained for his part in Henry’s victory. He had played the game under Henry VI, Edward IV, Richard III and Henry VII and won, often appearing to turn the tide and always wooed for his apparent ability to do so. Yet this was probably done more in the interest of self preservation and family gain than a real concern for who was upon the throne. Stanley though is a definite contender for Kingmaker.

And so I can put it off no longer. There is one I would consider the ultimate Kingmaker. There is one whose dedication saw a dynastic change that shaped England. I doubt any Ricardian will thank me for this, but the accolade must go to Lady Margaret Beaufort. As the other She Wolves had done she fought for her son. Margaret was married to the half-brother of King Henry VI and bore a son to Edmund Tudor, who died before the child was born. Margaret was only thirteen when her son was born at Pembroke Castle on a cold, stormy night. She married twice more but bore no more children. Physicians believed that the birth of Henry caused irreparable damage that prevented her from carrying more children. Protected by Edmund’s brother Jasper, she weathered the beginnings of the Wars of the Roses until the Lancastrian cause was lost. When Henry was fourteen, his uncle Jasper whisked him away to Brittany and into exile where he remained for a further fourteen years. Margaret sought tirelessly to see Henry returned but Edward IV was happy to keep the vague Lancastrian blood in Henry’s veins at arm’s length. Richard III appeared to think likewise until Henry tried to invade in autumn 1483. It was named Buckingham’s rebellion, but its intention was clearly stated. To put Henry Tudor on the throne. That invasion failed and Margaret was attainted for her conspiracy, placed in the custody of her current husband, who happened to be Lord Stanley. She does not appear to have ceased working. Tudor swore to marry Elizabeth of York, daughter of Edward IV, to unite Lancaster and York and heal the old wounds.

In 1485 he invaded in earnest at met Richard at Bosworth. When his mother’s husband finally joined the battle on his side, Henry won the day, against all expectations. A twenty eight year old Welshman who had been in exile for half his life and whose only slim royal claim was based upon his mother’s descent from John of Gaunt, son of Edward III (a branch specifically precluded from succession when they were legitimised after John married the mother of his illegitimate children), was now king of England. The Plantagenets had reigned for over three hundred years but this was the beginning of Tudor England. There can be little doubt who Henry owed his throne to. Margaret Beaufort had dedicated her life to the son that the House of York had kept her separate from. She took her revenge and her son took the throne. Margaret, then, was not just Kingmaker, but the maker of a dynasty. The mother of Tudor England, grandmother to Henry VIII and great-grandmother to Edward VI, Mary and Elizabeth I. The Stuarts traced their lineage back through Henry VII to Margaret. Her Kingmaking was not fit of pique. It was the culmination of her life’s work. She may not have placed and replaced monarchs at will, but she unseated a dynasty and founded the most famous one in English history.

So, who is your Kingmaker?

Matthew Lewis is the author of a brief biography of Richard III, A Glimpse of King Richard III along with a brief overview of the Wars of the Roses, A Glimpse of the Wars of the Roses.

Matt’s has two novels available too; Loyalty, the story of King Richard III’s life, and Honour, which follows Francis, Lord Lovell in the aftermath of Bosworth.

Matt can also be found on Twitter @mattlewisauthor.

King Henry II and Excalibur

Henry II was King of England from 1154 until his death in 1189. He ruled a vast empire and laid the foundations for the Common Law in England but also struggled with rebellions led by his own children and his wife and was, in his own time, despised by the country. There is a little known story about Henry, though, which is as surprising for what it didn’t come to mean as what it did come to mean.

It is reported by several sources, including Gerald of Wales (c1146-c1223) that King Henry brought about the discovery of the tomb of King Arthur, the legendary Once and Future King. The first problem with the story is that reports place the discovery between 1191 and 1193. If these were correct, it would have been after Henry’s death and therefore it would be odd to attribute it to him. Gerald of Wales asserts that “King Henry II of England disclosed to the monks some evidence from his own books of where the body was to be found”, so either Henry searched for it but it was not found until after his death, the discovery attributed to the knowledge he had provided, or the dating of the discovery is a little out.

Either way, the grave was discovered at Glastonbury, a place in Arthur’s time called the Isle of Avalon. Gerald tells us that in the old English, this means Apple Tree Island, for “truly that place abounded in apples”. The monks discovered the grave between two stone pyramids, fully 16 feet into the ground as many of Henry’s sources had suggested it would be. Inside that grave was a large stone cross, which Gerald tells us “I have seen”, upon which was carved; “Here lies buried the famous King Arthur with Guinevere, his second wife, in the isle of Avalon”. The male skeleton was said to be of enormous proportions and a lock of golden hair identified the other body as a female. There was also a sword within the grave. The sword of King Arthur. The legendary Excalibur. Legend said that it had been returned to the Lady in the Lake, yet here it was, buried with Arthur and his wife.

Henry II suffered many rebellions and Wales was amongst those areas that he struggled to control. Welsh princes supported English uprisings and resisted Henry’s rule, clinging to the notion of the Once and Future King, who would return to avenge them against the English oppressors. Henry’s ‘discovery’ of Arthur’s grave, then, served to put beyond doubt the myth of Wales’ immortal hero. He had been a man, and he was dead. There was proof. Arthur was not going to return to save Wales. The message from Henry was clear enough.

Why did the monks of Glastonbury agree to the almost doubtless sham? Well, a couple of years before the discovery the Abbey church had been destroyed by fire and funds were required to rebuild it. What better way to raise funds than pilgrimages? What better find to draw pilgrims that the most revered king in English legend? It is worth noting that around this time Glastonbury also saw the discovery of the remains of, amongst others, St Patrick, St Indract, Saint Brigit, St Gildas and St Dunstan. So the monastery’s motive is also easy to fathom.

I can’t help wondering, though, whether King Henry missed an immense PR opportunity. He used the discovery to quash Welsh rebellion but could he have used it to make his own reputation? Henry was the son of Empress Matilda and grandson of King Henry I. When Henry died he had named Matilda his heir but her cousin Stephen had swooped to have himself crowned king and firmly dug in his heels. After years of simmering civil war known as The Anarchy because of the vacuum of power and justice that flourished while the greatest men and the greatest woman in the land squabbled over the crown, Henry became king at the age of 21. Stephen had been forced to submit that following his own death, Matilda’s son would become king and all hoped that the festering wounds afflicting the country might begin to heal. Henry reigned for almost 35 years and his legacy now is much more respected than it was at the time.

Henry’s wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, egged on her favourite son, Richard, who wanted power sooner rather than later. Henry favoured his youngest son John. Eleanor spent long periods imprisoned by Henry and Richard rebelled more than once. Henry, then, had plenty of problems within his own family as well as in the country. He was the first Plantagenet king, son of Matilda’s second husband Geoffrey of Anjou, who was named for the sprig of plant he always wore, his planta genet. England had been at war for years and Henry was far from English as he tried to unite his new kingdom.

I would imagine that the discovery of King Arthur and Excalibur could have served a far greater purpose for Henry. He was attempting to bring together an empire under one banner, as Arthur had done. He was a great law maker, as Arthur had been. I wonder whether Henry might have been better served by embracing the discovery as a defining marker of his kingship, by comparing himself to Arthur and seeking to inspire those opposed to his rule rather than simply crushing Welsh hope. If Henry had been blessed by the discovery of Arthur’s grave and the mystical sword Excalibur had come to him, would this not mark him as an heir to Arthur’s legacy and the power that Excalibur represented? Could it have provided an inspiring new start for the new dynasty?

Yet there is no evidence that Henry sought to use the discovery in that way. Possibly this is because he did not survive to see it or perhaps he simply did not choose to view it that way. To me, this seems like a wasted opportunity.

What of the remains of Arthur and Guinevere? Gerald of Wales asserts that the lock of blond hair, “when a certain monk snatched it greedily with his hand and raised it up, at once all of it crumbled into dust”. The monks at Glastonbury kept the bones in an ornate wooden chest and pilgrims flocked to see it. Later, during the reign of Edward I, a black stone sarcophagus was placed next to the High Altar and the bones re-interred. The monastery was dissolved by Henry VIII, the last Abbot hung drawn and quartered for treason. There is no record of the fate of the bones. Perhaps the brothers managed to move them to a secret location before Cromwell’s men descended. Perhaps King Arthur now rests in some other location, safe until he is needed again by his nation.

The stone cross which was found in the grave and identified its occupants was preserved and better documented. That does not mean that it was not a forgery, but it is fairly well recorded by many chronicles over the following centuries. It was last recorded in the possession of William Hughes, Chancellor of Wells in the early 18^th century. Then, it disappeared.

And the mighty Excalibur? The story goes that Henry’s son, Richard I gave the sword as a gift to Tancred of Sicily in 1191 (which again throws doubt upon the dates of the find). It would be an odd fate for the most powerful sword in English history and all that it represented to be given away to a foreign ruler. Of course, if the grave had been found in 1191 and King Richard made aware, he seems to have been less than interested. Perhaps that reflects his lack of attachment to the country that called him Lionheart but where he spent almost no time.

So it is that King Henry II found a Welsh legend to destroy his myth but passed up the opportunity to attach his own reputation to the most enduring story in English history. The Plantagenets ruled for over 300 years and remain the longest ruling family in England’s history. Perhaps they did not need Arthur to bolster them, or perhaps they did not want to attach themselves to him, preferring to stand proud as Plantagenets.

It is interesting too that when Henry Tudor ended Plantagenet kingship in 1485, he named his first son, born the following year, Arthur. The promise was clear. The Plantagenets had crushed Arthur’s memory. The Tudors were returning it. There was to be a new King Arthur to save England.

Matthew Lewis is the author of a brief biography of Richard III, A Glimpse of King Richard III along with a brief overview of the Wars of the Roses, A Glimpse of the Wars of the Roses.

Matt’s has two novels available too; Loyalty, the story of King Richard III’s life, and Honour, which follows Francis, Lord Lovell in the aftermath of Bosworth.

Matt can also be found on Twitter @mattlewisauthor.

Hornby Castle – The Price of Power?

King Richard III lost his crown and his life at the Battle of Bosworth Field on 22nd August 1485. He was the last English king to die on the battlefield and the last Plantagenet king. Treachery has long been cried as Richard was not supported by men he legitimately expected to fight for him. Foremost amongst this shadowy clique was Thomas, Lord Stanley, a name guaranteed to bring boos and hisses from any Ricardian.

The reason for Lord Stanley’s betrayal of his king is not hard to fathom; he was step-father to Henry Tudor and so had a right to expect a great deal of power in compensation for his actions, or rather, lack of action.

Yet there is more to this story. Stretching back over two decades lies a dispute in which Richard, as Duke of Gloucester and then as king, took sides. I suspect that perhaps even more than becoming step-father to a king, this matter may have played on Lord Stanley’s mind as he watched from the sidelines as the two armies prepared to fight to the death for the crown of England. No doubt he also enjoyed being courted by both parties.

The dispute in question was between the Stanley family and the Harrington family. Both were gentry families in the north west, with the Stanley’s increasing their wealth and influence under Thomas’s grandfather, Sir John, and father, Sir Thomas, the first Baron Stanley. By the mid 15th century they owned great swathes of north west England and held many offices of power in the region. During the Wars of the Roses, Lord Stanley developed a reputation for staying out of battles until the result was clear and then joining, usually by sending his younger brother Sir William’s forces into the fray, on the winning side,  thus reaping the rewards of seeming to decide the battle. He fought variously for Lancaster and York and just as often failed to arrive at battles. Thus the Stanley’s position had been won carefully, by ensuring that whether York or Lancaster might prevail, the Stanleys always stood to gain. For these reasons Lord Stanley is often seen as a fickle, conniving, self-serving man. If one were to seek to give him the benefit of the doubt, we may allow that he headed a family on the cusp of real greatness after several generations of hard work. One wrong move at this time could cost the entire family everything that they had. Perhaps he did not feel willing or able to take that risk.

The Harrington family are perhaps the very antithesis of the Stanleys. James Harrington was a friend and supporter of Richard as Lord of the North. His grandfather had carried Henry V’s banner at the battle of Agincourt where Richard’s own grandfather had been slain. The two men were soaked in the chivalric memories of English glory on French soil. Throughout the Wars of the Roses, the Harringtons fought for York and never wavered. Not once. Sir James is one of the candidates for having carried Richard’s banner at Bosworth, a fitting repeat of Agincourt as the king led a charge of his cavalry across the shuddering field. Certainly, Sir James died at the king’s side that day.

The beginnings of the Stanley feud with the Harringtons was the Battle of Wakefield on 30th December 1460. Not because they fought on opposing sides; Stanley managed to miss this battle. Richard’s father, the Duke of York and brother Edmund, Earl of Rutland were killed at the battle when the Yorkist army was destroyed. Also killed was James’s father Thomas and James’s eldest brother John. Initial reports stated that Thomas died in the fighting and John of his wounds shortly after the battle. This meant that Thomas Harrington’s possessions passed on his death to John and on John’s death to his heirs. Anne and Elizabeth Harrington were about four and five years old and the law stated that the inheritance would pass to whoever they married.

James Harrington and his brother Robert argued that John had in fact died before Thomas, making James the rightful heir. Lord Stanley immediately set about making the two girls his wards and marrying them to his son and nephew. The jewel in the Harrington family crown was Hornby Castle. A stunning property, it sat above the valley of the River Lune, firmly in Stanley country. Obtaining it would allow them to join territories together and thoroughly dominate the area.

Edward IV, measuring Stanley’s might, feared upsetting him and granted him control of the Harrington girls and therefore possession of Hornby. James Harrington, who had been amongst those who captured Henry VI in 1465 and delivered him to Edward, must have felt somewhat betrayed after his loyal service. Anyway, he and his brother refused to surrender their nieces or the castle and dug their heels in behind the mighty walls of Hornby.

When the Earl of Warwick rebelled and Henry VI was temporarily reinstated as king, Stanley seized the opportunity to try and drive the Harringtons out for good. He brought up a giant cannon named ‘Mile Ende’ from Bristol with the intention of blasting the troublesome Harringtons out of Hornby. Not a shot was fired however, and it is intriguing to find a warrant issued by Richard on 26th March 1470, signed ‘at Hornby’. The seventeen year old Duke had chosen his side, and it was the loyal Harringtons that he backed, perhaps perceiving an injustice they suffered at his brother’s hands that their service did not merit, in contrast to Stanley. In Richard, the north found ‘good lordship’ to check the advance of Stanley power. Lord Stanley found himself blocked by the king’s own brother.

In 1483, when Richard became king, evidence suggests that he intended to re-open the issue of ownership of Hornby, no doubt to the joy of the loyal Sir James, but to the dismay and disgust of Lord Stanley, whose son and daughter in law now lived at the castle. Add to this the appointments of Richard Ratcliffe, the new king’s friend and uncle of Robert Harrington’s wife, as king’s deputy in the West Marches and Sherriff of Westmorland, Robert’s brother-in-law John Pilkington as Steward of Rochdale and Richard III’s chamberlain and another Harrington family member, John Huddlestone, as Warden of the West Marches, Sheriff of Cumberland and Steward of Penrith and we see Stanley influence being strangled in the region.

No doubt this restriction of Lord Stanley’s expansionism was intentional on Richard’s part, but as Thomas Stanley surveyed Bosworth Field, this must have been playing on his mind. Should he maintain upon the throne the man who was seeking to destroy him, or replace him with a step-son full of gratitude with power to dispense accordingly? Richard III had appointed Stanley Steward of his Household and made him a Knight of the Garter, perhaps not entirely able to escape his brother’s recognition of Stanley as a necessary evil given the huge force of armed men that he was able to call upon. But was this enough to compensate Stanley for the dismantling of his north western empire, or did he see an opportunity for more? Henry VII made him Earl of Derby, a title his family still hold today. Measured dispassionately, it was a good decision that has made the family in a way Thomas’s father and grandfather could only have dreamed of. The Harringtons, for all of their unswerving loyalty, were wiped out, destroyed, along with the House of York they had fought alongside for so long.

I cannot help but wonder whether in this respect, Lord Stanley’s betrayal of his king at Bosworth was foreseeable and even understandable. Hornby Castle, he must have mused, was finally his. The mighty Richard had stood against him, but Stanley had won in the end.

Was Richard the architect of his own demise? He failed to play the game of thrones well and his commitment to loyalty and chivalric values left him open to opportunism and betrayal, even making them appealing to some.

Then again, I am a card carrying Ricardian, so boo, hiss!

Matthew Lewis is the author of a brief biography of Richard III, A Glimpse of King Richard III along with a brief overview of the Wars of the Roses, A Glimpse of the Wars of the Roses.

Matt’s has two novels available too; Loyalty, the story of King Richard III’s life, and Honour, which follows Francis, Lord Lovell in the aftermath of Bosworth.

Matt can also be found on Twitter @mattlewisauthor.

King Richard III – Who Said He Killed The Princes In The Tower?

This isn’t just meant as posturing. It’s a legitimate question, and an interesting one. The far, far more interesting question, however, is who didn’t say that he did it. This has been called the negative evidence – the conspicuous lack of positive evidence – and it is compelling.

It is often reported that the boys disappeared from public view late in the summer of 1483. This appears to be one of the few accepted, undisputed facts in the case. Even at this early stage, their fate was a matter of much gossip and it was, in the main, reported as just that – rumour and gossip. King Richard attracted attention, but so too did the Duke of Buckingham, as the below chronicle shows.

The eldest Prince, Edward, was also under the care of his physician, Dr John Argentine. The final glimpse of the boys within the historical record is the doctor’s assertion that “the young king, like a victim prepared for sacrifice, made daily confession because he thought that death was facing him.” This is often taken to mean that Edward feared his uncle was planning to do away with him, but could equally mean that he feared the medical condition he was receiving treatment for may claim his life. It is telling that Edward fears for his life, but makes no mention of his younger brother, Richard.

This, for me, is where the historical record becomes most interesting precisely because it is silent. It may be understandable that during the reign of King Richard III he would prefer to have them forgotten, whatever their fate, but he held on to the throne for only two years. After the Battle of Bosworth, King Henry VII ushered in a new, tentative Tudor regime. Had Henry found the boys alive and well, he would have uncovered a real problem. He had sworn to marry their sister, Elizabeth of York, to unite the Houses of York and Lancaster. In order to do this, he had to re-legitimise all of the children of King Edward IV. In doing so, he would hand the strongest claim to the throne in the kingdom to Edward if he were alive. Much of Edward IV’s loyal support, which Henry had co-opted against Richard III, would most likely return their might their former master’s heir. It would therefore be in Henry’s interest for them not to be found alive.

Upon taking the throne, Henry VII never once laid the blame for the death of the Princes at King Richard’s feet. In fact, he never laid the blame at anyone’s feet. He never said an official word about them. It would have been so easy for him to state that they were dead, King Richard had done it and now Henry had avenged the evil deed. Odd, then, that he should choose to remain silent about their fate, even during the Perkin Warbeck affair when the spectre of Prince Richard reared its head to threaten him.

Fascinating too is the failure of Elizabeth of York during her nearly twenty years as queen consort to put her brother’s fate to bed. She had been in sanctuary in 1483 but the following year rejoined the court of King Richard. If she felt constrained from speaking out at that time, why not condemn her uncle for the murders of her brothers after he was gone and she was free from his control? Surely her new husband would have welcomed any attempt she may have made to blame Richard.

Perhaps the most unlikely keeper of the secret was Elizabeth Woodville, queen to King Edward IV and mother to the two lost boys. She too spent over a year in sanctuary with her daughters when Richard stole the throne from her son. She too rejoined his court in 1484, under his protection. In itself, it is strange that she would hand not only herself but all of her remaining children over to a man who had allegedly killed her sons. Yet after 1485, she too would have been free from any threat Richard held over her and who would have had more cause to berate the dead king for his murdering ways? She too said nothing. Eventually she was sent to Bermondsey Abbey in 1487 where she died five years later still never having accused Richard of anything. As an aside, is it possible Henry stripped her of her lands and sent her to Bermondsey because she threatened to produce the boys and oust Henry?

Sir James Tyrell is the man most often held to have had the deed done for King Richard, allegedly confessing and offering names when he was arrested for treason in 1502. Examination of the historical record shows that Sir James, in fact, never confessed to the murder, nor was he apparently questioned about it. I have found a reference to Henry VII touting the suggestion of blaming Sir James to an ambassador once, but when it was not well received, he dropped the matter.

This account of the boy’s death seems to have firs been formulated by Sir Thomas More in his infamous History of King Richard III. He may have picked up the negative image of Richard during his time in the household of John Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury and perennial thorn in Richard III’s side, yet he too reports only rumour, gossip and that ‘people said’ Richard killed the boys. Even the architect of Richard’s evil reputation could not bring himself to categorically say that he did it. It is interesting too that More never published the work. His nephew completed and published it after Sir Thomas’s death. Did More never mean to condemn Richard? That is a whole other story!

The first definite, unequivocal, explicit, unambiguous finger pointing is contained in Shakespeare’s play about the hunchbacked study in evil. Even this, though, presents issues. If we consider the play’s meaning to a contemporary audience, new light is shed upon the bard’s willingness to vilify the last Plantagenet king. Elizabeth I was ageing and had no heir. She was also refusing to name her successor. The play was written around the early 1590’s, when the Queen’s long serving advisor Sir William Cecil was also ageing. His son, Robert Cecil, was being fashioned to take his father’s place. The Cecils were not popular. They were trying to convince Elizabeth to name James VI of Scotland as her heir and this was not a popular policy. The fascinating fact here is that Robert Cecil was, without doubt, a hunchback. Not a man with of scoliosis, a hunchback. Was Shakespeare, then, less concerned with telling his audience exactly who Richard III was and what he did than with providing a moral tale for the country, perhaps even for the Queen, about the perils of relying on a scheming, unpopular hunchback and of failing to secure the succession? It was precisely that uncertainty that had put the Tudor’s on the throne and it now threatened to end their time in power too, sending the country into uncertainty.

The joy of writing about this kind of history is that we may never know the entire truth. I may have made wild assumptions, adding two and two together to make ten. Or I may have just hit the nail on the head. It’s interesting though, isn’t it?

Matthew has recently released The Wars of the Roses: The Key Players in the Struggle for Supremacy which details the course of the civil wars that made and broke families and can be found at http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wars-Roses-Players-Struggle-Supremacy-ebook/dp/B0155CR1BS

Matthew is also the author of a brief biography of Richard III, A Glimpse of King Richard III along with a brief overview of the Wars of the Roses, A Glimpse of the Wars of the Roses.

Matt’s has two novels available too; Loyalty, the story of King Richard III’s life, and Honour, which follows Francis, Lord Lovell in the aftermath of Bosworth.

Matt can also be found on Twitter @mattlewisauthor.