The Empress Matilda: England's First 'She-Wolf'?

Above: Empress Matilda could, perhaps, have been England's first queen regnant.

Medieval England experienced some spectacular rulers, both male and female. This was an age, in particular, of extraordinary and resourceful women: consider Eleanor of Aquitaine, queen of Henry II, who continued shaping government policy, escorting brides across Europe, and leading armies well into her seventies. Isabella of France, wife of Edward II, launched an invasion against her ineffectual husband alongside her lover, deposed the king, and was possibly involved in his later murder. Then there was Margaret of Anjou, who courageously took hold of the reins of government when her saintly if unassuming husband Henry VI fell into madness, and took a spirited and energetic role of leadership in the conflict known as the Wars of the Roses, so vividly depicted in the works of Shakespeare. Elizabeth Woodville was another courageous and strong-willed queen who fought for the Yorkist inheritance during the Wars of the Roses and was every bit as formidable as her adversary Margaret. All of these women have, to differing degrees, been remembered as 'she-wolves': powerful, determined women who seized the reins of power seen as correctly belonging to their husbands, defying contemporary expectations of females as weak, gentle and submissive beings.

But none of these women, with the exception, perhaps, of Margaret, has endured so negative a reputation as that of the Empress Matilda, daughter and heir of Henry I of England, and 'Lady of England'. Indeed, this spirited and determined woman could have, had circumstances gone her way, been England's first queen regnant, rather than the teenaged Lady Jane Grey enjoying that honour over four hundred years later, in 1553. Contemporary chroniclers and modern historians alike have remembered Matilda as a feisty, 'haughty' and arrogant woman who alienated her followers and provoked loathing in the citizens of London when she attempted to claim the crown she viewed as rightfully hers following her father's death. Yet, as historian Helen Castor compellingly suggests, such negative characterisations of Matilda 'were never used to describe any male member of her fearsomely domineering family; and they do not fit well with what we know of Matilda in the decades before and after that brief moment in 1141'. So who, then, was this fascinating and complex woman, a daughter, mother and wife of kings, who fought tenaciously but ill-fatedly to become the first queen regnant of England in the twelfth century?

 
Above: Twelfth-century portrayal of the wedding feast of Matilda and her first husband, Emperor Heinrich V of Germany.

Matilda was born in February 1102 at Sutton Courtenay in Oxfordshire as the eldest child, to Henry I, king of England and duke of Normandy, and his pious, beautiful wife Matilda of Scotland. Later, a son was born, William Adelin, who died in 1120 aged seventeen in a tragic incident involving the White Ship. Her brother's premature end was to have momentous consequences for Matilda's subsequent career. Her father also had twenty-two illegitimate children by other women. In 1108/9, when Matilda was around six years old, the German emperor sued for her hand in marriage, an attractive prospect to King Henry because it would bolster the prestige of the crown as well as strengthening England's links with the most preeminent European power. In a sense, it was the most successful marriage he could have achieved for his young daughter. Aged only eight years old, Matilda left England for Germany in February 1110.

The couple met at Liege before voyaging to Utrecht in the Netherlands where they were formally betrothed in April 1110. Three months later, Matilda was crowned Queen of the Romans at Mainz, and became known thereafter as the 'Empress Matilda', a lavish and supremely regal title and position that represented a considerable achievement for an eight-year old girl. Although she was some sixteen years younger than her twenty-four year old husband, it was to prove a successful and prosperous marriage. Matilda was educated in the customs, manners and culture of her new domains. In 1114, she was actually married to her husband, for twelve was the minimum age at which a female could marry. 

Matilda was widely praised in these years, with no hint of the later abuse and hostility that would be directed toward her by her future English subjects. An anonymous chronicler at the German court described his Empress thus: 'a girl of noble character', 'distinguished and beautiful, who was held to bring glory and honour to both the Roman Empire and the English realm'. Orderic Vitalis tells us that Emperor Heinrich loved his new wife dearly, and so graceful, gentle and dignified in her queenly duties would Matilda be that her German subjects immortalised her as 'the good Matilda'. In these early years, she was hardly the 'she-wolf' later disparaged by hostile chroniclers. 

It cannot be doubted that Matilda was both a dedicated wife and a successful queen. In 1118-9, for example, she sat in judgement at a court at Castrocaro near Ravenna, over the competing claims between a bishop and an abbey from Forli and Faenza over a local church. The Empress eventually decided in favour of the abbey. Shortly afterwards, Matilda's younger brother and heir to the English throne, William, died in the White Ship tragedy in November 1120. At eighteen years old, Matilda was now her father's heir.


Above: A fourteenth-century presentation of the White Ship disaster in the winter of 1120.

While Matilda's marriage to the Emperor was in many ways a success, she failed to fulfil the vital requirement of her position by bearing her husband sons. Why no children were born to the royal couple remains something of a mystery. Neither were considered by contemporaries to be infertile, although it has been speculated that those at the time believed that the Emperor's sins against the Church were to account for the couple's childlessness. Heinrich eventually died of cancer in 1125, leaving his wife, still only twenty-three years of age, a widow. Matilda was now transformed into the most glittering of prizes, heiress as she was to the crown of England. Although Matilda was later besieged with offers of marriage from numerous German princes, she refused all of them, before departing for her homeland, England.

In the meantime, Matilda's father Henry I had remarried, following the death of the revered Matilda of Scotland in 1118. His new bride was Adeliza of Louvain, a year younger than her new stepdaughter the Empress. However, the royal couple did not have any children; meaning that, theoretically, Matilda remained her father's heir and successor to the English crown. If she succeeded, she would be England's first queen regnant. Henry formally acknowledged his daughter's unique position. At Christmas 1126, he ordered his barons to publicly recognise his daughter as heir to the throne, which they did the following January. 


Above: A man Matilda did not wish to marry: her second husband, Geoffrey of Anjou.

Although Henry I was, apparently, determined that his daughter Matilda should become England's next ruler in the wake of his death, this did not prevent him seeking a new husband for his twenty-five year old heir. In order to secure the southern borders of Normandy, he eventually arranged for her to marry the teenaged Geoffrey of Anjou, son and heir of Count Foulques. Nicknamed le Bel ('the Fair'), Matilda's prospective spouse was gorgeous, beautifully costumed and only fifteen years old. His face was said to glow 'like the flower of a lily, with rosy flush'. Despite his elegant charm and striking appearance, Matilda was decidedly unimpressed. This strong-willed, energetic and intelligent woman was not to be swayed by mere good looks and charm, and may have found the idea of a younger husband distinctly unappealing. Certainly, her reaction suggests this. Matilda was proud, and believed that marrying the son of a mere count served to diminish, even disparage, her status. The Archbishop of Tours, Hildebert, admonished her in letters and begged her to forgo her disobedience. Eventually, she reluctantly and unhappily agreed. So began a turbulent marriage.

Further difficulties were caused when Matilda's dowry was disputed. It was not specified when she would be able to inhabit the castles granted her in Normandy. It is perhaps instructive that soon after her marriage, the Empress returned to Normandy. In 1131, after a separation, the couple were finally reconciled, and if it had not been earlier, the marriage was consummated. Matilda proved a fertile bride (after her childless years with Emperor Heinrich); bearing her second husband three sons: Henry (who later became Henry II of England); Geoffrey (later Count of Nantes), and William (later Count of Poitou).


Above: A twelfth-century image of Matilda's eldest son, Henry, and his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine, as king and queen of England.

Everything changed in December 1135 when the king of England died. Matilda, now thirty-three, was set to become England's first female ruler, by virtue of her position as Henry's legal heir. Yet there had been difficulties in the previous years. She had experienced strained relations with her father, who perhaps feared her husband's desire to acquire more power in Normandy. Controversy surrounds Henry's plans for the succession on his deathbed. Sources favourable to the Empress confirmed that Henry reaffirmed his intent that she should succeed him, but hostile texts alleged that he had retracted his promise and had apologised to his barons for forcing them unwillingly to swear an oath of allegiance to his daughter.

Matilda's position gravely weakened her cause even before it had begun, for she was residing in Anjou with her husband when news reached her that her father had died. Matilda was by now pregnant for the third time, and it has been credibly suggested that her condition could have prevented her returning to England considerably sooner than she did. Stephen of Blois, Matilda's cousin, reacted in exactly the opposite manner. Dwelling in Boulogne, the count immediately left for England, determined to claim the crown. He had been close to the dead king, and it has been argued that his sex and proximity made him a more appealing monarch than his female cousin, who was not even in the country. On 26 December 1135, Stephen was crowned King of England. He had taken his opportunities, whereas Matilda had not.


Above: Stephen of Blois, king of England.

In July 1136, Matilda delivered her third son, William, at Argentan. How she reacted with news of Stephen's accession is unknown, but she must have been shocked and appalled, at the very least. She may have beseeched the Bishop of Angers to garner support for her claim to the throne with the Pope but if she did, the Bishop was unsuccessful in doing so. Disputes and conflict continued in Normandy between the English king and Matilda, although a truce was later agreed between Stephen and Geoffrey.

Matilda's cause was immeasurably strengthened when her half-brother, Robert of Gloucester, decided to support her, promising her forces. In 1138, he had rebelled against the English king, thus instigating a civil war that was set to last for years. Geoffrey of Anjou took advantage of unrest and rebellion in England by reinvading Normandy. At the same time, King David of Scotland invaded the north of England, and promised support to the Empress simultaneously. Although Stephen travelled both north and west to quell disorder, and to some extent was successful in doing so, Matilda invaded in the summer of 1139, determined to attain the throne she believed was rightfully hers. So began what historians term 'the Anarchy'.

The former queen and stepmother to Matilda, Adeliza, in some ways instigated the rebellion by inviting her stepdaughter to land at Arundel Castle, on the south coast. In September, Matilda arrived with Robert with a force of 140 knights, and Matilda promptly departed for Arundel Castle while Robert headed northwest to Wallingford and Bristol, where he met Miles of Gloucester, the Constable of England who now supported the Empress. Stephen besieged the castle, trapping Matilda inside. Later, she was released, for unknown reasons.

Helen Castor has suggested that Matilda's sex strengthened her cause in that Stephen refused to face her in battle. The next few years saw protracted truces, armed rebellions, and heavy conflict, most notably the Battle of Lincoln in February 1141 which saw the defeat of King Stephen. He was later taken into custody by Robert of Gloucester. Matilda faced him triumphantly in person and incarcerated him in Bristol Castle. She then took steps to crown herself Queen of England, until now having been known as the 'Lady of England'. Stephen's brother and former enemy of the Empress, Bishop Henry, now renounced his support for his brother and defected to Matilda's side, in exchange for her promise that she would allow him control over Church affairs. 

In Winchester at Easter 1141, Matilda was declared 'Lady of England and Normandy' by the assembled clergy, in what seems to have been a precursor to her coronation as queen regnant. The Empress then headed to London, but her position quickly became notably precarious. Forces loyal to Stephen and his wife remained close, and the citizens were visibly fearful about letting Matilda into the city. On 24 June, the city rose up against her. Matilda fled to Oxford just in the nick of time.

Most historians have suggested that it was Matilda's 'haughty', 'arrogant' temperament that so alienated the Londoners, that accounts for her ultimate failure to seize the crown. Henry of Huntingdon wrote that 'she was lifted up into an insufferable arrogance' and 'she alienated the hearts of almost everyone'. Yet, Helen Castor offers a more credible explanation of Matilda's difficulties given the uniqueness of her position and the difficulties she faced:

The truth of the matter was that Matilda found herself trapped. She urgently needed to show that she was a credible ruler... But when she sought to emulate her formidable father and her first husband, the two great kings whose rule she knew best, she encountered not awestruck obedience, but resentment of a 'haughtiness and insolence' that was deemed unnatural and unfeminine.

In a sense, then, it was Matilda's sex rather than necessarily her personal qualities which defeated her and rendered her unacceptable to her subjects. A female ruler was simply not an attractive prospect for the English. Like later queens Isabella of France and Margaret of Anjou, when Matilda tried to take the initiative and proactively shape policy, she was condemned and vilified for being 'manly', unfeminine, cruel, avaricious, arrogant and disdainful - all qualities viewed as the exact opposite of what a woman should be.


Above: Matilda's eldest son, Henry II of England.

Because of this, Matilda never did become queen of England. Her initiative and determined attempts to take the crown were ultimately unsuccessful, in no small part influenced by the deaths of her most notable supporters, including Robert of Gloucester, in the late 1140s. However, her ambition was realised when Stephen accepted her eldest son, Henry, as his successor. He had taken a leading role in the later years of the civil war, reaching England in 1142 from the continent, before returning to Anjou two years later. The English Church supported Henry's claims to the English throne, as did Stephen's nobles and Louis VII of France, for the nobles were weary and disillusioned after years of bloody civil war, disorder and unrest. They wanted peace, and this was promised in the figure of the charismatic, resourceful and determined Henry. 

Matilda lived to see Henry's succession and supported him energetically and faithfully, often acting as her son's representative in Normandy, where she now resided, and presiding over the Duchy's government. Like her daughter-in-law Eleanor of Aquitaine, Matilda remained fully involved well into old age. She was later involved in attempts at mediation between the king and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Becket. Matilda became increasingly pious during her later years, although one chronicler of Mont St. Jacques described her in her old age as 'of the stock of tyrants'. On 10 September 1167, aged sixty-five, the former Empress and 'Lady of England' died, and she was buried at the abbey of Bec-Hellouin under the high altar. Her tomb's epitaph included the lines: 'Great by birth, greater by marriage, greatest in her offspring: here lies Matilda, the daughter, wife, and mother of Henry'. Clearly, as were all women during this period in a patriarchal world, Matilda's life was remembered according to the role she had played in the lives of her male relatives. She was remembered for being a daughter, mother, and wife, rather than for being herself.

Or so it seemed. Most commentators, beginning in her lifetime and extending well into the present day, have instead focused on her apparently haughty, arrogant, even tyrannical nature, which supposedly doomed her attempts to take the crown of England and become its first ruling queen regnant. Yet scholars such as Helen Castor and Fiona Tolhurst have convincingly drawn attention to the fact that Matilda was criticised and disparaged for qualities that were revered and admired in men but found shocking and unacceptable in women: bravery, resourcefulness, determination, courage, ambition and drive. Had Matilda been a man, she would have been admired and celebrated, but her status as a woman condemned her as an 'unnatural' and 'unfeminine' virago who caused misery, discord and conflict in England, alienating all who met her. It is time for her reputation to be amended. She was ultimately extremely successful, not in becoming the first queen regnant of England in her own right, but by ensuring that, by virtue of who she was, her son Henry would become England's king following the death of her great rival and cousin, Stephen.


Above: Matilda.

9 April 1483: The Death of Edward IV

Above: Edward IV, king of England (1442-1483).

On this day in history, 9 April 1483, King Edward IV of England died. He had been king of England for twenty-two years, barring a six month period when his predecessor, Henry VI, briefly resumed his kingship. The first Yorkist king of England, Edward's first reign (1461-70) was marred by violence and continuing political and dynastic tensions as a result of Edward's unpopular marriage to Elizabeth Woodville, his fallout with the 'Kingmaker' earl of Warwick, and the continuing threat from the Lancastrians. But his second period of kingship, 1471-83, was comparatively more successful and can be termed a period of peace as the threat from the Lancastrians fell away following the death of Henry, the defeat of his controversial queen Margaret of Anjou and the death of their prince Edward of Westminster in battle.

Edward had been born in 1442 in Rouen, France; the second child of the third Duke of York, Richard Plantagenet, and his resourceful wife Cecily Neville. Edward was the eldest of four sons who survived to adulthood. The fifteenth century was a turbulent and violent period as English dynastic politics became increasingly uncertain and faction-driven as a result of the Lancastrian king Henry VI's ineptitude. The loss of English possessions in France, so hard-won by his much-famed father Henry V, were viewed with consternation and outrage in England, and the nobles, led by York, became increasingly vocal in their demands for the king's unpopular advisers, including the earl of Suffolk and later the duke of Somerset, whom they blamed for England's mounting crises, to be removed from power.


Above: Edward IV's coat of arms.

Edward was a handsome and energetic young man, famed for his good looks and personality. He was 6'4 and as a result was England's tallest king. In the 1450s, he came to play an increasingly important role in his family's dynastic conflict with the Lancastrians. His father, the duke of York, asserted his claim to the English throne in 1460, but he died at the Battle of Wakefield later that year. As a result, his claim passed to his teenage son, Edward. Edward's position in the mounting conflicts therefore became increasingly pivotal. In alliance with his kinsman the Earl of Warwick, Edward defeated the Lancastrians in several battles, including the bloodiest battle fought on English soil, Towton, in March 1461. Edward, at the age of nineteen, became king shortly afterwards.


Above: Edward's queen, Elizabeth Woodville.

However, Edward's reign did not begin particularly well due to the development of conflict with his former erstwhile ally, the Earl of Warwick. Following Edward's accession to the throne, the Earl had negotiated with the French king for Edward to marry his daughter, Anne of France, in an alliance that would enhance England's prestige and allow it to play a major role in European politics. However, Edward disrupted these plans by marrying the commoner Elizabeth Woodville, a Lancastrian widow in her late twenties. This misalliance outraged the earl and caused some consternation at court. It is possible that the king's mother, the formidable Cecily Neville, disapproved of the match. Most historians believe that the King was infatuated with Elizabeth, whose beauty was legendary, although there were, unsurprisingly, rumours that she had ensnared him by use of the black arts.

The new marriage caused hostility amongst the nobility, who resented the Woodville's lowborn origins. Worst of all, Elizabeth had numerous siblings, who were quickly married off to the most powerful nobles in attempts to bolster their power and enhance their prestige. This further alienated the earl of Warwick, who had hoped to marry his two daughters and heiresses Isabel and Anne to nobles. Warwick eventually turned against the king, acting in alliance with Edward's younger brother George duke of Clarence, who had come to resent his brother's policies. Warwick eventually captured the king following the Yorkist defeat at the Battle of Edgecote Moor in July 1469, but because he did not attain the support he had hoped for, the earl was forced to release Edward in September. The king sought reconciliation with his brother and Warwick, rather than executing or imprisoning them as traitors. Warwick, however, sailed to France and allied himself with his former enemy Margaret of Anjou, acting together with the support of the French king. The alliance was cemented by the marriage of Warwick's second daughter, Anne, to Margaret's son, the Lancastrian heir Edward of Westminster.


Above: Richard III, younger brother of Edward IV.

Following Edward's defeat in 1470, the Lancastrian king Henry VI, who had briefly fell into insanity in the late 1450s, was restored to the throne. Edward, however, managed to attain support from the duke of Burgundy, who was married to his younger sister Margaret. Edward returned to England and obtained the support of his people as he steadily moved through the country unopposed. His brother George returned to his side, having been alienated by his unfavourable fortunes following Henry's readeption. The Yorkist king entered London unchallenged, taking Henry VI prisoner. Warwick was defeated at the battle of Barnet in 1471, and the Lancastrian prince was killed at the battle of Tewkesbury that same year. Henry VI was almost certainly murdered at the Tower of London in May 1471, and his shamed and humiliated wife Margaret was forced to seek sanctuary in France. No longer were the Lancastrians, in the persons of Henry and Margaret, a threat to the victorious Yorkist dynasty.

Edward's second half of his reign, comprising twelve years, were peaceful. He faced no more rebellions and sired ten children by his wife Elizabeth, whom he enjoyed a loving and affectionate relationship with, although like many men in this age he took mistresses, including the beautiful Jane (or Elizabeth) Shore. Edward became increasingly gluttonous, however, and his weight expanded during the later years of his reign. Dynastic tragedy did occur, for George was executed in 1478 on grounds of treason. On 9 April 1483, less than three weeks before his forty-first birthday, he died. He had named his younger brother Richard (whom he seems to have trusted more than the disgraced George) as Lord Protector during the reign of his successor Edward V, who was a minor. There is uncertainty surrounding the exact cause of Edward's death, although both pneumonia and typhoid have been suggested.

Edward was an extremely popular and successful king. He outshone his predecessor, the saintly if ineffectual Henry VI, and appeared similar to the glorious Henry V. Later, similarities would be drawn between the first Yorkist king and his grandson Henry VIII. He was a spectacular military commander - he was never defeated in battle. His reign saw the restoration of law and order in England that had been notably absent in the conflict-riven reign of his predecessor. Edward managed his finances well and ensured stability in his household. His court was praised as "the most splendid in all Christendom", as the reports of contemporary ambassadors attest. He was interested in fashion and architecture, and knew how to project images of himself as a godly monarch. He was also interested in literature and education - more than forty of his books survive today. To all intents and purposes, Edward enjoyed a successful and prosperous reign. The Yorkist dynasty would, however, be marred by the haunting disappearance of his two sons Edward and Richard. To this day, no-one knows for certain what happened to those two little boys.


Above: the Princes in the Tower. What happened to Edward IV's sons?

The Death of Anne Neville, Queen of England

On this day in history, 16 March 1485, Queen Anne Neville of England died aged twenty-eight at Westminster Palace. According to legend, the day she died saw an eclipse which was viewed by the superstitious as an evil omen of her husband Richard III's imminent fall from grace. Although rumours credited the king with poisoning his consort as part of his schemes to marry his niece Elizabeth of York, reports indicated that he had wept at her funeral. She was buried at Westminster Abbey, having reigned as queen for only two years.

Anne was the second daughter of Richard Neville, earl of Warwick, and Anne Beauchamp, the daughter of the thirteenth earl of Warwick. She was born at Warwick Castle and most likely spent her formative years growing up in Warwick. Her family fortunes were splendid: the Nevilles exercised considerable influence in the northern parts of England and later became loyal adherents to the House of York. At Middleham Castle in Yorkshire, Anne and her sister Isabel became acquainted with the two younger brothers of Edward IV: George (later duke of Clarence) and Richard (later duke of Gloucester). 


Above: Middleham Castle.

In 1469, Isabel Neville married George, thus integrating the Nevilles into the royal family, for George was the younger brother of the Yorkist king Edward IV. The following year, aged fourteen, Anne herself was married but to the Lancastrian heir, Edward of Westminster, rather than to a Yorkist prince. This occurred as a result of her father's schemes, for the disaffected Warwick, resentful of the Woodville family (a Woodville was married to the king) had decided to switch sides and support the defeated Lancastrians in an attempt to attain financial and political power. Anne perhaps resided in the household of the vanquished English queen Margaret of Anjou in the immediate aftermath of her marriage, but at the Battle of Tewkesbury in 1471 the Lancastrian prince was defeated and killed and Anne left a widow aged fifteen.

Because Clarence was married to Anne's sister, he took it upon himself to take custody of both Anne and her mother and attained possession of the dead Warwick's possessions in the north. Anne was deprived of her inheritance as part of these greedy endeavours, and it is possible that he even sought to prevent her remarrying. Sometime between 1472 and 1474, however, Anne took it upon herself to seek marriage with Clarence's younger brother, Richard duke of Gloucester, who has traditionally been regarded as both more loyal and closer to King Edward than the ambitious Clarence. Whether Anne directed these plans as an ambitious attempt to regain her inheritance, or whether the alliance with Richard was based on love, is impossible to say.

The newly married couple resided chiefly in the north, where loyalty to the Nevilles was strong. Perhaps in 1473, and by 1476, Anne delivered a son, Edward, who became heir to the dukedom of Gloucester and a potential claimant to the throne; although the birth of two sons to King Edward meant that it looked virtually uncertain that either Edward or his father or uncle would acquire the throne.

Having been a Princess of Wales and later a Duchess of Gloucester, in 1483 Anne became a queen. Gloucester usurped the throne in the summer of 1483 and Anne was crowned alongside her husband at Westminster Abbey. Whether she had any knowledge of matters pertaining to the Princes in the Tower is uncertain, although novels such as The Kingmaker's Daughter explore such issues imaginatively. Anne's queenship, however, was not to prove happy. In 1484 her only son died and it is perhaps significant that she seems to have had no other pregnancies, although she may have experienced miscarriages or stillbirths. As Michael Hicks remarks: "Anne seems to have been a particularly insignificant queen, perhaps because she suffered from ill health". Certainly, in contrast to the active and auspicious queenships of the charismatic Margaret of Anjou and Elizabeth Woodville, Anne appears a shadowy and perhaps ineffectual consort.

At Christmas 1484 court rumours credited that Richard was engaging in an affair with his eighteen-year old niece Elizabeth, daughter of Edward IV and later, wife of Henry VII. Rumours that the king would set aside Queen Anne in favour of the younger and more attractive Elizabeth were rampant. Following Anne's death, Richard publicly denied any intention of marrying his niece.

The Birth and Death of Elizabeth of York

Above: Elizabeth of York (1466-1503).

11 February was the most important day for Elizabeth of York, for she was born on this day in 1466 and died on this day, on her thirty-seventh birthday, in 1503. Elizabeth was the eldest daughter of the renowned first Yorkist king, Edward IV, and his beautiful if controversial queen Elizabeth Woodville. She was born at Westminster Palace and baptised in St Stephen's Chapel in Westminster Abbey.

Until 1470, aged four, Elizabeth was heir to the throne of England, but that year Queen Elizabeth bore her first son, the ill-fated Prince Edward who was - almost certainly - to die aged thirteen in 1483 as the imprisoned Edward V. In 1469 Elizabeth was betrothed to George Neville, son of the Marquess Montagu, as part of her father King Edward's attempts to build a strong relationship with the disaffected Nevilles, headed by the 'Kingmaker' Earl of Warwick.


Above: Elizabeth was the eldest daughter of King Edward of York (left) and Queen Elizabeth Woodville (right).

In 1475, however, as part of the Treaty of Picquigny, it was agreed that Princess Elizabeth would marry the Dauphin Charles, with a jointure of £60,000 provided by the French king Louis XI. In 1483, when Elizabeth was aged seventeen, her father died, aged only forty-one. As Rosemary Horrox comments, Edward's death "transformed" the situation of his daughters. At  the end of April Elizabeth's uncle Richard Duke of Gloucester took control of her twelve-year old brother and king Edward; leading the queen alongside her daughters and her younger son Richard to seek sanctuary in Westminster. In June 1483, Gloucester crowned himself as Richard III alongside his consort Anne Neville. He declared Edward's marriage to Elizabeth Woodville invalid, making their children, including Elizabeth, bastards and unfit to inherit the throne.

During the early months of Richard's reign, Elizabeth remained in sanctuary alongside her mother and siblings. Chroniclers suggested that there were attempts made to remove them from sanctuary and sail them from overseas, for "they were an obvious focus for political disaffection". The new King was unpopular amongst the majority of his English subjects, who viewed him as the likely culprit for the murder of the Princes in the Tower - although, of course, no-one knows to this day what happened to the two young boys. On Christmas Day 1483, the twenty-six year old pretender to the throne Henry Tudor swore an oath at Rennes Cathedral, promising to marry Elizabeth of York should he successfully attain the throne of England. Marriage to Elizabeth would provide him with a legitimate claim to the throne, for his own pretensions were somewhat dubious.



Above: Henry VIII was the son of Elizabeth of York by Henry VII. His mother's death, when Henry was aged eleven, appears to have profoundly affected him.

Alison Weir rightfully argues that, but for her gender, Elizabeth of York would have ruled England on the death of her uncle in battle at Bosworth in 1485, for she was the eldest child of Edward IV. Many believed, despite Richard's claims to the contrary, that he had entered into marriage with Elizabeth Woodville in good faith. However, rumours abounded that Elizabeth planned to marry not Henry Tudor, but her uncle King Richard. At Christmas 1484 - the girls had left sanctuary and had been welcomed at court - chroniclers were scandalised to see that Elizabeth was dressed in the same finery as Queen Anne, perhaps setting herself up as the queen's rival for the king's affections. Three months later, Anne died and rumours abounded that Richard had poisoned her in order to marry his nineteen-year old niece. Certainly, these rumours put paid to any hopes Richard may have had of marrying Elizabeth, and he realised that marriage to her would be a reckless, perhaps life-threatening, move. Weir, however, suspects that Elizabeth had schemed to marry Richard, perhaps encouraged by her mother. Thus she can be termed an "enigma".

Richard was killed at Bosworth in August 1485 and the victor, Henry Tudor, crowned king, thus establishing the new Tudor dynasty. In January of the following year, the king selected Elizabeth as his consort and she was crowned late in 1487. In September 1486, she delivered her eldest son, the ill-fated Arthur who died aged fifteen. Elizabeth bore several children: Margaret (1489; becoming Queen of Scotland in 1503 and eventually grandmother to Mary Queen of Scots); Henry (1491; later Henry VIII); Elizabeth (1492; died aged three in 1495); Mary (1496; became Queen of France in 1514 but later married Charles Brandon and was thus ancestress to Lady Jane Grey); Edmund (1499; died 1500); and Katherine (born and died 1503). Like her mother, Elizabeth Woodville, the new Queen was extremely fertile.



Horrox comments that Elizabeth's political role as queen is uncertain, although Weir asserts that it was influential, remarking furthermore that her "role in history was crucial". She may have been overshadowed by her notorious mother-in-law Margaret Beaufort, but historians have disputed this more recently. But Elizabeth's crucial role as head of the Yorkist line, in a sense, alongside her position as first Tudor queen meant that her position was exceptionally important. It strengthened Henry VII's dubious claim to the throne, and meant that the Yorkists supported him when it might well have been in their interests not to do so.

Numerous myths and legends abound about the first Tudor queen. The popularity of Philippa Gregory's bestselling novels The Cousins' War, including most pertinently The White Queen and The White Princess, mean that many people believe that Elizabeth, like her mother Elizabeth Woodville, engaged in witchcraft and supernatural actions to achieve her own desires; but this is almost certainly false. It is also suggested in these novels that Elizabeth's marriage to Henry was unhappy, that he raped her, for one thing, and she never loved him for another. But perhaps most spectacularly, it is suggested that Elizabeth's brother Richard survived, and she continued to support him, thus disobeying her husband. It should be borne in mind that, while it can never be known what exactly happened to Elizabeth's brothers, they did disappear sometime in the autumn of 1483. Whose orders they were murdered on - if they were, of course - cannot now be known, but traditional historians favour Richard III. I am very sceptical of Gregory's imaginative reworking of "history" and I believe that Elizabeth's marriage to Henry VII was strong, loving, and affectionate - as demonstrated by the death of their eldest son Arthur in 1502. Both parents were devastated, but both attempted to conceal their feelings in order to comfort the other. Eventually, both broke down in each other's arms. Clearly, the death of their heir devastated them. Instances such as this call into doubt Gregory's interpretation.


Above: Elizabeth of York as played by Freya Mavor in the BBC TV series The White Queen. In it, she is a witch and seductress who schemes to marry her uncle Richard III ... but the truth is probably less fantastical. 

Elizabeth's reign as queen was successful in many respects, for she was a loyal consort and fertile bride who supported her husband faithfully. In the summer of 1502, she fell pregnant for the last time and entered confinement at the Tower of London in the winter. On 2 February, she bore a daughter, Katherine, who was sickly and sadly died soon afterwards. Nine days later, on 11 February, her thirty-seventh birthday, the queen died. She was mourned sincerely by her subjects and her husband King Henry appears to have been devastated. He did initiate marriage negotiations later in his reign, but these came to nothing and it is clear that he sincerely mourned the loss of his wife. The impact of her death on her children appears to have been monumental. Her 11-year old son, Henry, was particularly distraught, for he had been extremely close to his mother. Perhaps this accounts for his infamous attempts to find a successful marriage - trying to find the perfect woman who, perhaps consciously or unconsciously, resembled his mother as a dutiful wife, caring mother, and fertile bride.


Above: The last Tudor queen, Elizabeth I, was the granddaughter of her namesake and the first Tudor queen, Elizabeth of York.

The Princes in the Tower

The fate of the two Princes in the Tower, the eldest sons of Edward IV and his queen Elizabeth Woodville, is one of the greatest mysteries in history. Shrouded in controversy and mystery, historians and researchers fiercely disagree as to who was responsible for their deaths; debating as to whether both princes died; whether one, or both, in fact survived; and, unsurprisingly, this scandal has impacted profoundly on those associated with it, including two English kings, Richard III and Henry VII.

This article will examine the events which led to Richard III's accession and will explore the fate of the two Princes, considering the main suspects for their murders - if, that is, they were even murdered at all. The surviving evidence is intriguing, but entirely contradictory, and one has to take into account the political, social and dynastic bias of the writer, whether it was a Tudor apologist bent on demonising Richard, or a contemporary observer writing in a foreign country, detached from English events.

It was a shock for everyone when Edward IV died aged forty-one in April 1483, allegedly of a fever. This Yorkist king's reign had seen comparative peace and tranquillity in England following the dynastic troubles which had plagued the 1460s and 1470s, known by the later name Wars of the Roses. Edward had fathered at least 8 children with his queen Elizabeth, of whom his eldest son, Edward, aged twelve, had been heir and now England's king. However, the fact that the new king was a minor spelt trouble for contemporaries, for the rule of minor kings led inevitably to greater factional conflict and fierce rivalry over control of the child king. This, perhaps, may have greatly influenced the actions of both Edward's mother and his uncle, Richard duke of Gloucester.

In May 1483 the new king arrived in London for his coronation, weeks after the death of his father, and was accommodated in the royal residence of the Tower of London, while his younger brother Richard resided in sanctuary with his mother the queen and several of his sisters. They had journeyed there after hearing alarming news which suggested that Elizabeth's brother-in-law, Richard of Gloucester, had intercepted the king's journey from Ludlow in Wales and had seized the king's uncle Anthony Woodville and the queen's youngest son by her first marriage Richard Grey.

It seems certain that Richard of Gloucester feared for his own future, for the Woodvilles were powerful, greedy and notoriously intolerant. He may also have genuinely believed that his brother Edward's marriage to Elizabeth was invalid, for he claimed that it had been brought about by witchcraft and sorcery, and also suggested that Edward had in fact been previously precontracted to one Eleanor Butler, which meant that Elizabeth Woodville was never his lawful wife. Consequently, their children were illegitimate and not fit to inherit the throne of England. By this thinking, then, Richard of Gloucester was England's rightful king.

It is essential to critically examine later Tudor propaganda, which alleged that Richard III was a monster and a murderer. I, personally, do not believe that the moment King Edward died, Richard, as a scheming and essentially evil character, decided to seize the throne of England and murder his nephews. I believe that he genuinely feared the Woodvilles and, consequently, was scared for his own future, and it is entirely possible that he did believe that his brother's marriage to Elizabeth was invalid by reason of his earlier pre-contract. If this was true, then Richard was entitled to be king of England, as shocking as it may seem.

As Sarah Gristwood writes in her book Blood Sisters (2012):

"The majority of historians from Vergil and More onwards have believed that Richard III murdered his nephews; and thanks largely to Shakespeare, it has become the accepted view among many who care nothing for history. A vocal minority are utterly convinced he was not guilty, while propounding various alternative versions of the boys' fate. Others again believe it is virtually impossible to be certain, which makes it wrong to declare Richard guilty. In that uncertainty the writer's most honourable option is simply to present both the few known facts, and the relevant theories".

Contemporary historians fiercely and angrily dispute who killed the Princes in the Tower - as Gristwood says, most continue to believe, subscribing to persuasive Tudor propaganda, that it was their evil uncle, the hunchbacked and deformed Richard III (although the recent excavation at Leicester somewhat disproves this). Others, however, suggest it was someone entirely different. So what is the 'truth', if that can even ever be recovered?

One needs to put the events in context. Having seized the throne, Richard ordered it to be preached by a Dr Shaa at St Paul's Cross that Edward IV's marriage was invalid, rendering all his children (including his daughters living in sanctuary) illegitimate. By all accounts, what we know is that the Princes were last seen, for certain, playing in the grounds of the Tower in the summer of 1483 (the younger prince, Richard, having been sent out of sanctuary by a very reluctant Queen Elizabeth to join his brother in the Tower). Dominic Mancini stated that both princes 'were withdrawn in the inner apartments of the Tower proper, and day by day began to be seen more rarely behind the bars and windows, till at length they ceased to appear altogether'. In 1674, ominously, two skeletons were discovered under the staircase leading to the chapel within the Tower of London, and in 1933 the grave was opened (the two bodies having been buried, on the orders of Charles II, in Westminster Abbey), and the skeletons were determined to be those of two young children, aged about seven to eleven and eleven to thirteen. The two princes, if they died in 1483, would have been aged 12 and 10. Moreover, the fact that they were buried in Westminster Abbey, where royals were traditionally buried, indicates that, at least in the seventeenth century, the king and others believed the bodies to be of the princes.

So, firstly, it would be wise to consider the main suspect: Richard III. Some have argued that he had no need to kill his nephews, for he had already had them declared illegitimate - since they were bastards, neither could inherit the throne, so why should he need to have them dead when they were safely imprisoned? But, as historian Amy Licence notes: '... the princes' royal blood made them dangerous claimants to the throne, to whom many of their father's former staff would prove unfailingly loyal... Richard may have hoped that the problem of the two little boys may simply have disappeared. They did, but the problem didn't.'

Those who believe that Richard had no need to kill his nephews are somewhat misguided, for one needs only to consider the bloodshed of the Wars of the Roses to understand just why he may have felt he would only be secure with both boys dead. While they were alive and imprisoned, they would always be the focus for future rebellions which aimed to restore either boy to the throne as the rightful king, and one only needs to look at the example of Richard's brother Edward, who had had King Henry VI killed on his orders, obviously not feeling secure enough about his own claim to the throne. Edward had also had his own brother George duke of Clarence executed for treason - family connections did not prevent execution. It is possible that Richard ordered a loyal servant to dispose of his two princes, as suggested in Shakespeare's play. The suspect, for a long time, has been Sir James Tyrell, for he is known to have made a confession in 1502 which admitted that he had killed the two princes. This Tyrell was actually in London in the late summer and early autumn of 1483, when the boys were last seen alive for certain. Moreover, Licence suggests that, when Richard discovered that a loyal servant, perhaps Tyrell, had murdered both boys, he may have visited Canterbury Cathedral soon afterwards to make his peace with God, as a highly religious man.

There is evidence to suggest that Tyrell was the murderer of the princes, although since it was produced much later by observers writing in the Tudor age and thus hostile to Richard, it must be regarded as suspect. Polydore Vergil, who loathed Richard, claimed that Tyrell 'rode sorrowfully to London' to commit the deed on the orders of King Richard, while Richard himself later spread rumours of his nephews' deaths in the hope that it would discourage future rebellion. Thomas More, who vilified Richard to a shocking degree, also claimed that Tyrell had murdered the boys on Richard's orders, before confessing to his crime in the reign of Henry VII.

It seems that the most compelling reason to believe Richard was guilty of his nephews' deaths was the simple fact that he never publicly produced them, to prove that they were still alive, and to counter rumours which spoke of their murders. Furthermore, Richard promised the safety and security of the princes' sisters, but he gave no such assurances for their brothers, which suggests that they had been done away with by this time. Henry VII, when he acceded to the throne, accused the former king of "shedding of Infants blood" in a Bill of Attainder brought against the dead Richard, which probably directly accuses him of the Princes' murders. The Danzig Chronicle of 1483 alleged that 'Later this summer [1483] Richard the king's brother seized power and had his brother's children killed, and the queen secretly put away'. The French chancellor Guillame de Rochefort, in a speech on 15 January 1484, recounted how Edward IV's sons 'have been put to death with impunity, and the royal crown transferred to their murderer by the favour of the people'.

Many modern historians, including Alison Weir, Michael Hicks, and David Starkey, agree that Richard was the culprit. Further rumours alleged: Richard 'put to death the children of King Edward, for which cause he lost the hearts of the people. And thereupon many gentlemen intended his destruction'. The major problem is, however, that much of the surviving evidence which suggests Richard was the culprit was produced in the Tudor age, when Richard was vilified as a tyrant and a monster, and was therefore hardly objective. For instance, the historian Bernard Andre, writing in the sixteenth century, claimed: 'the entire land was convulsed with sobbing and anguish. The nobles of the kingdom, fearful of their lives, wondered what might be done against the danger. Faithful to the tyrant [Richard] in word, they remained distant in heart'. Philippe de Commines categorically confirmed that Richard III was responsible for the princes' deaths.

The fifteenth century was a troubled age, comprised of dynastic conflict, murder, treason and betrayal. Richard III would not have been unusual had he put to death his own relatives. Let us consider the fact that there were at least 5 other monarchs around this time who did the same thing:

Edward IV - put to death his own brother, George duke of Clarence, and probably ordered Henry VI's murder.
Henry VII - put to death his wife's relatives Edward earl of Warwick and Edmund earl of Suffolk.
Henry VIII - executed the 'White Rose' faction (members of the Pole family); also executed 2 of his queens.
Mary I - executed her own cousin, Lady Jane Grey.
Elizabeth I - executed her cousin and rival Mary Queen of Scots.

It would not have been unusual if Richard had ordered the murder of his 2 nephews. I do not subscribe to the Tudor propaganda which presents Richard as evil, deformed, corrupt and ungodly. But I do think that, in this period, a person did not have to be evil to commit an act of murder.

However, there might be other evidence which intriguingly suggests that Richard was not, in fact, the culprit for the murders of his nephews. Some have suggested that it was, in fact, Margaret Beaufort, mother of Henry VII. She would clearly have had a motive, for if the two princes were to die, then her son would have an even stronger claim to the English throne. He was betrothed to their sister Elizabeth of York, yet if they remained alive, they would both have a greater claim to be king than he would, even if he were to marry their sister. The seventeenth-century antiquary George Buck apparently read 'in an old manuscript book' how it was believed that Margaret and her friend Bishop Morton 'conspiring the deaths of the sons of King Edward and some others, resolved that  these treacheries should be executed by poison and by sorcery'. Helen Maurer, a historian, also favours Margaret as the culprit.

However, Buck was one of Richard III's earliest and most vocal defenders, and so would have claimed that it was someone from the enemy camp who had committed such a shocking deed. It is also noteworthy, as Weir notes, that Richard's own relatives never accused Margaret of murdering the princes - Margaret of York, his elder sister and former Duchess of Burgundy, who loathed Henry VII, never accused Margaret, while she was not even named by other contemporaries. Furthermore, we do not even know Margaret's whereabouts during the summer of 1483 for certain - she may not have been in London at the time. Margaret also, at this time, was probably in a secret alliance with Queen Elizabeth, plotting to marry her son Henry to Elizabeth's daughter, and if Margaret was simultaneously planning to murder Elizabeth's sons, it is inconceivable that the Queen would have co-operated and worked together with Margaret.

Was the murderer in fact Henry Tudor, future king of England? He was not actually residing in England in the summer and autumn of 1483, instead being a fugitive in Brittany as he plotted to usurp the throne from Richard with the aid of his mother. Gristwood seems to believe that he may possibly be responsible:

'If Henry were to bolster his own genealogically weak claim with that of Elizabeth of York, he needed the princes dead. If the whole family were declared illegitimate, then Elizabeth had no claim. If they were legitimate, her brothers' claim would take precedence over hers for as long as they lived. What is more, while the assumption of Richard's guilt depends on a posthumous reputation for savagery it was Henry VII (and later Henry VIII) who would, one by one, eliminate all the rival Yorkist line with chilling efficiency'.

Gristwood certainly had a point, for Henry VII would later order the executions of the nephew of Richard, Edward earl of Warwick, and also had executed Perkin Warbeck, a pretender (but whom, some believe, may actually have been the younger of the two Princes). Henry VIII was similarly ruthless in the 1530s. However, no surviving source material from the time actually suggests that Henry was believed to be the culprit. True, Tudor historians would hardly have dared to have challenged their king and accused him of murder, but no foreign sources written on the Continent connected Henry Tudor with the Princes' murders. Even Margaret of Burgundy, who continually plotted against him, never accused him of her nephews' deaths.
Some actually believed that Henry avenged the princes' deaths. The Crowland Chronicler, for instance, wrote how 'the children of King Edward' had been 'avenged' at Bosworth in 1485 through Henry's victory and Richard's death.

Furthermore, Henry's only real opportunity to murder the two Princes would have been on his accession in 1485, for he had been dwelling in Europe prior to that. By all accounts, however, the two boys were last seen in the autumn of 1483 - almost 2 years previously. It is, admittedly, possible that Henry ordered one of his servants or a loyal supporter to travel to England and commit the deed, but there is no evidence of this.

Others suspect that it was Richard's former supporter, the Duke of Buckingham, who had the Princes murdered. The contemporary Historical notes of a London citizen stated that 'King Edward the Vth, late called Prince of Wales and Richard Duke of York, his brother... were put to death in the Tower of London by the vise [advice] of the Duke of Buckingham' (although this does not actually mean that Buckingham himself killed the princes). The private secretary to the king of Portugal, Alfonso V, recounted how '...after the passing away of king Edward in the year of 83, another one of his brothers, the Duke of Gloucester, had in his power the Prince of Wales and the Duke of York, the young sons of the said king his brother, and turned them to the Duke of Buckingham, under whose custody the said Princes were starved to death'. Yet Buckingham had left the court on progress at Gloucester in early August, travelling to his residence, before leading a rebellion in Wales - there is no evidence that he was in London at the time.

Buckingham had become increasingly disaffected with Richard and had rebelled against him in the autumn of 1483, before being executed on 2 November. However, the rebellion may have been aimed at actually freeing the princes - so why would he then have killed them? But this becomes murkier when one considers that Buckingham himself had royal blood (he had also been the husband of one of Elizabeth Woodville's younger sisters, who he resented). Yet, as Weir notes, Richard never accused Buckingham of murdering his nephews before his execution for treason, which would have been a crime, and which he surely would have done if evidence had come forth suggesting Buckingham was responsible, thus deflecting from the rumours which linked Richard with their deaths. Moreover, The Great Chronicle suggested that rumours of the Princes' deaths did not circulate in London until Easter 1484, which if true, meaning that the Princes were still alive at the end of 1483, removes the possibility of Buckingham's culpability, for he had been executed in November 1483.

Overall, the evidence thus far seems to indicate that the traditional assumption that Richard was the culprit is probably correct. However, some revisionist historians believe that one, or both, of the Princes actually survived. A visitor from Silesia in 1484, Nicolaus von Popplau, recorded: 'many people say - and I agree with them - that they are still alive and kept in a very dark cellar', but of course, they might have been killed shortly afterwards. One might question, furthermore, how Poppau and 'many people' knew specifically that the princes were alive and kept in a cellar. Vergil reported rumours which suggested that they had been exiled to 'some secret land'. Historians such as David Baldwin believe that the younger prince, Richard Duke of York, actually survived, and became a bricklayer in Essex. Yet his evidence has not proved compelling.

Audrey Williamson, author of The Mystery of the Princes, suggested that Elizabeth Woodville left sanctuary because she was promised by Richard that both, or her younger son, would be allowed to join her and live with her. Williamson believes that the younger Prince may have later dwelt at Gipping Hall in Suffolk, along with other royal children. More intriguingly, this was the seat of the Tyrell family, whom Tudor historians believed was responsible for their deaths. But as has been stated, if either, or both of, the princes was sent to Gipping Hall, 'someone would surely have got to know about it... It is likely that several of those who served the Queen could have recognised her sons. Thus it would have been virtually impossible to keep the existence of the Princes a secret, especially in the face of rumours of their deaths'.

Other historians have suggested that one of the pretenders in the reign of Henry VII, Perkin Warbeck, may actually have been the younger prince, Richard. Throughout the 1490s, Warbeck invaded England, hoping to gain support for 'his' crown, supported by many European powers including Margaret of Burgundy, the Scottish king, and King Maximilian I. Margaret personally tutored Warbeck in the ways of the Yorkist court - of course, if this was actually her nephew, it explains her actions; but it is more likely that she knew he was an imposter but supported his venture against her sworn enemy Henry VII. Warbeck was reported to resemble Richard of York in his appearance (although one might question when anyone had last seen Richard alive, especially since he had only been a child of 10, whereas Warbeck was somewhat older). However, Warbeck later confessed to being an imposter, being of Flemish origin. This is somewhat confirmed by the fact that many of the family ties he recounted in his later confession have been backed up by the municipal archives of Tournai.

Certainly, by the autumn of 1483, it is likely that the elder prince was dead. Evidence suggests that he had been gravely ill, possibly suffering osteomyelitis, a bone disease. More seems to suggest that he may have suffered depression. Possibly, then, he died of natural causes, but his murder cannot be ruled out. It is significant that no pretenders ever claimed to be him - instead, it was his younger brother they chose to represent.

The evidence put forward here indicates that it is impossible to be certain what happened. Rumours are often untrustworthy, the evidence is contradictory, and much of it was compiled significantly later, in the age of the Tudors, by those hostile to Richard III and his legacy. However, it seems likely that both Princes died in the Tower by the end of 1483. Theories of one Prince's survival, or indeed both, are not convincing and do not put forward compelling evidence. For me, the most convincing evidence which suggests that both died within the Tower was the discovery of two corpses in 1674, clearly of children, who were about the same age as the Princes would have been. The only problem, of course, is the sex - they were not definitively known to be male. But then, who else could they be?

We will never know for certain just what happened to the Princes. But, taking everything into account, I would still tentatively put Richard as the culprit, believing that both boys were dead by the end of 1483. At least five other monarchs put to death people who they feared would take the succession from them. His own brother, Edward, ordered his brother George's execution. Henry VIII executed 2 of his wives, and several maternal relatives. His two daughters, Mary and Elizabeth, each executed a fellow queen and cousin. I do not think Richard was evil or corrupt, as Shakespeare presents him. But I think that he strongly wanted to be King of England. He was aware of his brother's popularity, and knew that, as long as his 2 nephews lived, they would always have the stronger claims to the throne, and would always be the focus for rebellion and dissent against his regime. Their deaths were necessary, even if he regretted them.

Jacquetta of Luxembourg

Above: Janet McTeer as Jacquetta Woodville in The White Queen (2013).
Portrait of Queen Elizabeth Woodville.

The BBC television series The White Queen, based on three of bestselling fictional novelist Philippa Gregory's novels set in the times of the Wars of the Roses, has sparked much greater interest in the extraordinary lives of royal English women who lived in context of ferocious battles, murder, bloodshed, and treachery. The TV series, of course, is horrendously inaccurate, with critics noting the appearance of zips on dresses, modern stair-rails, and quick to rage against the very modern language. I personally cannot understand why these medieval women do not wear headdresses and instead walk around dressed like prostitutes!

Queen Elizabeth Woodville, of course, was a notorious woman who was adored by her husband, Edward IV, much praised for her beauty, fairness and other qualities, but loathed by English nobles who perceived her to be arrogant, cold, ruthless, and vain. However, the life of Elizabeth's mother, Jacquetta of Luxembourg, is perhaps even more astounding than that of her eldest daughter.

Portrayed by Janet McTeer in the television series, Jacquetta had lived a life of almost unimaginable luxury and privilege before she married into the Woodville family. Perhaps born around 1416, Jacquetta was the eldest of nine children born to Pierre of Luxembourg, count of St. Pol, Conversano and Brienne and vicomte of Lille, and his wife Marguerite, daughter of the duke of Andrea. In 1433, aged seventeen, she married John duke of Bedford, who was uncle to the infant king of England, Henry VI. Thus, having been born into the European aristocracy, Jacquetta married essentially into the English royal family, cementing further her family's illustrious prestige and lineage. This marriage was not a love match, for the duke was aged around 27 years older than his new bride and had previously been married already. Instead, it was a marriage made by politics, to suit prevailing English interests in French lands at the time.

However, Jacquetta's husband John died only two years after the marriage, leaving her a widow aged 19, without children. She was, however, left extremely rich, for she was entitled to a third of her husband's lands and annuities. Just two years later, in 1437, Jacquetta married again, to her social inferior Sir Richard Woodville, who was not at all wealthy or highly ranked. Since she had, a year previously, agreed that she could not marry again without the consent of King Henry VI, she was forced to pay £1000 as a royal pardon for her transgression. This marriage clearly seems to have been a love match, for Jacquetta was willing to sacrifice her wealth, her lineage and royal connections in marrying a humble squire. Further evidence of the passionate love between them can be seen in the fact that she bore Richard at least 14 children.


Above: Were Jacquetta and her daughter Elizabeth witches, as The White Queen so controversially suggests?

Jacquetta and her new husband spent the first few years of their marriage in France, for Jacquetta was negotiating there to secure her dower lands, while Richard served there. They dwelled at Grafton, Northamptonshire, as their main English residence following their return. Their first daughter, Elizabeth Woodville, was born around 1437, and was followed by a further seven girls and seven boys, including Anthony and John. Elizabeth would prove like her mother to be extremely fertile.

In 1444, Jacquetta participated in the retinue which brought the new queen, Margaret of Anjou, to England, and it seems that the two became close friends. Jacquetta and her Woodville family were, initially, Lancastrians who supported Henry VI's regime, for the Woodvilles had been connected with the duke of Bedford, uncle to the king. However, several years later, the political and dynastic troubles which came to be known as The Wars of the Roses transformed Jacquetta's life forever. At the Battle of Towton, her husband and eldest son were arrested and imprisoned in the Tower of London, although they were later released. At this point, the Woodville family probably transferred their allegiance to the Yorkists.

Most infamously, Elizabeth, Jacquetta's eldest daughter, allegedly seduced the new Yorkist king, Edward IV, in 1464, leading him to marry her since she had, apparently, refused to become his concubine. Later stories dramatically suggested that she had held a dagger to her throat and promised to kill herself were he to attempt to use force on her. Regardless of the circumstances, Edward married Elizabeth at the Woodville's family home at Grafton on 1 May 1464, with only Jacquetta, a priest, and two gentlewomen present. This, of course, transformed the Woodville's fortunes. Jacquetta's husband became Earl Rivers and treasurer of England, while her children were married into the English nobility, causing much resentment and anger among other nobles. For instance, her 20-year old son John was, shockingly, married to Katherine Neville, the elderly dowager duchess of Norfolk, who was at least in her late 60s. Katherine Woodville married the young Duke of Buckingham, who was apparently furious, believing his new wife to be grossly inferior to himself.

Jacquetta and Elizabeth have often been linked in the public consciousness with witchcraft and sorcery. The White Queen supports these allegations, in both the TV series and in the book, by suggesting that both women engage in witchcraft to fulfil their ambitions - thus sorcery is practised to make Edward fall in love with and marry Elizabeth; to change the outcomes of battles; to wreak vengeance on enemies. Certainly, at the time rumours of witchcraft were linked to the new queen and her family. Contemporaries found it scarcely credible that their Yorkist king had married a woman so far beneath him, who had no royal blood and was, in fact, from a Lancastrian family. Richard III, brother-in-law to Elizabeth, and the Earl of Warwick both insinuated that Jacquetta and Elizabeth had inflicted sorcery on the king, rendering his marriage invalid. Thomas Wake, a Northamptonshire esquire, claimed in 1469 that Jacquetta had brought about the marriage of Edward and Elizabeth by witchcraft, having found two lead figures, one for the king and one for the queen. Jacquetta, however, when brought to trial proved her innocence and the case against her collapsed.

As with earlier medieval women such as Joan of Navarre and Eleanor duchess of Gloucester, witchcraft was often used to irrevocably damage the reputations of powerful women. There is no evidence to suggest that Elizabeth and Jacquetta were witches. Jacquetta's family was linked to Melusina, a water goddess or 'serpent woman'. However, there is no conclusive evidence to show that Elizabeth or Jacquetta strongly celebrated their links with such a legend, despite Philippa Gregory's claims to the contrary. While Jacquetta did own a copy of the ancestral romance Melusine, other fifteenth-century ladies did too, which hardly suggests that she was unique.

The main reason why Elizabeth was believed to be a witch was because other nobles could not believe that she, a mere gentlewoman of no social standing, was genuinely worthy of the king of England and had caused him to fall in love with her by natural means. Certainly, Edward's cousin and former supporter the earl of Warwick was furious, for he had been negotiating for Edward to marry a foreign princess, who was believed to be far worthier of Edward. Warwick personally resented and hated the Woodvilles, mainly because, by virtue of their relatives marrying almost all the other nobles, there were no suitable nobles left for his two daughters Isabel and Anne to marry.

The marriage between Edward and Elizabeth culminated in Warwick's defection to the Lancastrian cause, resentful of his loss of influence and power with the rise of the queen's family. He married his eldest daughter Isabel to the king's younger brother George duke of Clarence, who had become similarly angered and hostile towards his brother. Matters came to a head when Warwick left England, accompanied by his wife, his two daughters and his new son-in-law, and journeyed to visit the former queen Margaret of Anjou, promising his support of her and allegiance to the Lancastrian cause. Agreeing that his younger daughter Anne should marry Margaret's son Edward of Lancaster, a new alliance was struck up by which it was agreed that the Lancastrian king, Henry VI, should be returned to the English throne, and Edward IV forcibly removed from it.

Meanwhile, Jacquetta's personal influence with Queen Elizabeth remained firmly entrenched. She participated in her daughter's coronation, and in 1466 took part in Elizabeth's churching following the birth of her first child, the future Elizabeth of York. Misfortune overtook her, when her husband Richard and her son John were executed in 1470 on the orders of Warwick, who had returned to England in an attempt to restore Henry VI to the throne. Edward IV escaped to Europe, leaving his young wife to seek sanctuary in Westminster Abbey where, accompanied by her mother, she gave birth to the future Edward V in November 1470.

Jacquetta did not long survive the brutal deaths of her husband and son, dying on 30 May 1472, aged around 56. Where she was buried is unknown. She was an immensely powerful and wealthy woman who had been born into European royalty, marrying into the English royalty in her teens before becoming, by virtue of her second marriage, the mother of England's queen and thus grandmother of a later queen, Elizabeth of York, and great-grandmother of Henry VIII.

Rather than being a scheming and ambitious woman who only relied on witchcraft and sorcery to bring about her triumphs, it is likely that Jacquetta was, as Lucia Diaz Pascual intriguingly writes: 'a formidable woman who understood how to navigate the corridors of power and was capable of great resilience, strength, and determination to achieve her objectives'.

Richard III: Life and Legacy

ANNE: Never hung poison on a fouler toad.
Out of my sight. Thou dost infect mine eyes.
RICHARD: Thine eyes, sweet lady, have infected mine.

William Shakespeare, Richard III (1592)

This month, the BBC announced that relatives of Richard III, England's last medieval king, are launching a legal challenge over plans to bury him in Leicester Cathedral. The mooted burial place of England's most controversial king have inspired furious debate amongst devoted Ricardians, academics, and the general public as a whole, following the sensational news that the body unearthed in a Leicester priory was really that of the defamed king, killed at the Battle of Bosworth in August 1485. The Plantagenet monarch's supporters commonly believe that Richard should instead be buried at York Minster, due to Richard's strong associations with the North - where he was much esteemed - during his lifetime.

In an article I wrote earlier this year for my university newspaper, which can be accessed here (http://xmedia.ex.ac.uk/wp/wordpress/?p=6591), I explored the brief outline of Richard's controversial life and the sensational legacy he continues to exert today in modern Britain. How controversial Richard's life and legacy really are can be glimpsed in the March 2013 issue of BBC History Magazine, where academics differed wildly from one another in their judgements of Richard. Chris Skidmore, MP and historian, insists that Richard deserves a state funeral, in order for people to 'reassess' this maligned monarch. Nigel Saul, respected medieval scholar, suggests that the bones of the two sons found in the Tower should be DNA-tested in order to see if they really are those of Richard's nephews. Nigel Jones is especially vehement in wishing 'that the strange cult of this murderous little tyrant would also lie down and die', and insists that he should remained buried in a Leicester car park due to his status as 'a serial-killing child murderer', while Alison Weir agrees somewhat, noting that 'his bad press was probably well deserved'. Yet Phil Stone, chairman of the Richard III Society, strongly disagreed, instead hoping that 'people will start to read about this monarch who did much for this country'.

The sensational nature of Richard III's reign and comparatively short life have meant that he has left a long-lasting legacy in Britain today comprised of controversy and mystery, which ferociously divide those who believe he is a victim of cruel Tudor propaganda and those who, like Nigel Jones, view him as the epitome of evil. This conflict was witnessed during Richard's own lifetime. John Rous, a medieval English historian writing in the fifteenth century, praised Richard as a 'good lord' who punished 'oppressors of the commons', and insisted that he had 'a great heart'. Certainly, Richard's excellent reforms of the English legal system and his desire to provide aid for the poor are well recognised by medieval historians. But the bloody death of Richard at Bosworth Field, and the subsequent triumph of the Tudors, blackened Richard's name beyond redemption. Notoriously, Shakespeare depicted him as deformed, cruel, scheming and evil, stopping at nothing - not even poison and murder - to achieve his ambitions. Thomas More condemned Richard, portraying him as 'little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook-backed... hard-favoured of visage', while Polydore Vergil opined that he was 'deformed of body... one shoulder higher than the right'. For years, devoted Ricardians insisted that this was all nonsense, designed to tarnish the king's reputation beyond redemption, but the unearthing of Richard's body at Leicester goes some way to proving that these writers were truthful in their claims.

However, praise remained for Richard in the early modern period. The late Elizabethan historian William Camden praised his 'good laws', although remarking that he had 'lived wickedly'. Francis Bacon concurred, suggesting that he was 'a good lawmaker for the ease and solace of the common people'. Again, therefore, we can see that while Richard may have alienated nobles and the elites at court, he was popular among the common people for his successful reforms and desire to improve their lot. During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, contrastingly, the depiction of Richard as evil and corrupt became the dominant description. David Hume castigated his 'fierce and savage nature'; he had 'abandoned all principles of honour and humanity'. Respected historian James Gairdner believed that Shakespeare and More's views of the king, while exaggerated, were essentially correct. Twentieth century historians have arguably become fairer in their assessments, focusing less on Richard's moral qualities, with Charles Ross believing that 'like most men, he was conditioned by the standards of his age'. Yet other writers, such as Weir, believe that he was highly corrupt and believe that he was responsible for the murder of his nephews, the 'Princes in the Tower', in 1483.

As proof of the controversy and passionate emotions Richard inspires today, I received several comments on my article insisting that Richard could not have been responsible for that heinous crime, the murder of his nephews - the disturbing event which has overshadowed all other events of his short but bitter reign. This has been disputed ferociously by historians, scholars, playwrights, novelists, film-makers, and a host of other professionals to this day. Katherine Emery, fellow student at Exeter, explored who may have been responsible for the murder of the Princes in the March 2013 issue of The Historian, sifting through a variety of evidence which could point towards the murderers being either Richard, Henry VII, the Duke of Buckingham, or Margaret Beaufort. But she concluded that evidence overwhelmingly suggested that Richard was indeed responsible for his nephews' deaths.

On a balance of probabilities, I agree that Richard is the most likely culprit for his nephews' deaths (but that is not to say that he physically killed them himself!) One of the most commonly raised arguments, but one that I wholeheartedly agree with, is that if the Princes were still alive after 1483, why did the King never produce them in London publicly to counter harsh criticism and increasing suspicion that he had murdered them? Henry VII was to do a similar thing during his reign with a pretender who challenged his throne. Rumours swirled in London during Richard's reign that he had 'put to death the children of King Edward, for which cause he lost the hearts of the people.' In Danzig, Caspar Weinreich's contemporary chronicle recorded that 'Later this summer, Richard, the King's brother, had himself put in power... and he had his brother's children killed'. The Croyland Chronicler, who was in fact a royal councillor at court, later wrote that 'the children of King Edward', were 'avenged' at Bosworth through Richard's death. The evidence is convincing.

Richard's reputation was blackened, it would seem, almost beyond repair by other disturbing allegations about him during his own lifetime. Following his queen Anne Neville's premature death in March 1485, it was believed that Richard had murdered her, perhaps by poisoning her, in order to marry his own niece Elizabeth of York. Richard was also condemned for his savage treatment of Hastings, executing him before his coup in 1483, and later ordered the execution of his most erstwhile supporter the duke of Buckingham for rebelling against him. While the rumours about Anne are almost certainly scurrilous, the other charges are correct. If Richard was not the poisonous, cruel, murderous tyrant immortalised in Tudor propaganda, he was certainly scheming, ruthless, and desperate to retain his power at all costs.

Richard's controversial life and sensational legacy will mean that he will always provoke fierce debates and bitter beliefs. But where should the king be buried? Since he was extremely popular in the North, and enjoyed considerable success there, perhaps it is only right that he should be buried at York Minster. The Queen has made it discreetly clear that she will not tolerate a state funeral in Westminster Abbey, which many people seem to agree with. But, although he remains tainted with the crime of murder (including of children), it seems clear that York Minster is the most fitting place for this king to be buried - particularly if it, finally, ends the tiring debates as to where his final resting place should be.