The Last Plantagenet

by Thomas B. Costain

  CHAPTER V

  Richard Takes the Throne

  1

  IT BECOMES necessary to quote again from the History at this point to make clear what happened on June 13. Many lords had assembled in the Tower and the protector joined them in a mood of great amiability. First he said to the Bishop of Ely (Morton himself), “My lord, you have very good strawberries at your garden in Holborn. I request you let me have a mess of them.”

  “Gladly, my lord.” And in all haste the bishop sent his servant for a mess of the strawberries.

  The protector in the meantime had retired from the meeting, not to return for more than an hour. When seen again, he had “a wonderful sour, angry countenance, knitting the brows, frowning and frotting, and gnawing at his lips.” Finally he broke into words, accusing two women, “that sorceress” the queen and “that other witch of her counsel, Shore’s wife” of wasting his body by witchcraft. As Richard talked, he plucked up the sleeve of his doublet on the left arm and showed them “a weerish, withered arm, and small, as it was never other.” All in attendance knew, declares the History, that his arm had been withered from his birth, but they agreed that the two women were worthy of “heinous punishment.” At this, Richard rapped loudly on the board and immediately men in harness came rushing in, crying, “Treason!”, so many of them that the chamber was filled. There was scuffling and brandishing of arms. Lord Stanley, who was among those present, received a wound on the head. Richard said to the chamberlain, Hastings, to the astonishment of all, “I arrest thee, traitor!” Several of the others, including Morton himself, were also named as guilty and were quickly bestowed in divers chambers. Hastings was taken from the chamber without trial and beheaded on a long log of timber. Richard then proclaimed that the lord chamberlain had been in a plot to do away with him. His next step was to send Jane Shore to prison and later have her walk across London in bare feet with a taper in her hand, as a sign of penitence. It is stated that he pursued this alleged sorceress with great malignancy.

  There are two points of truth only in all of this. A meeting was held that morning in the Tower and Lord Stanley did acquire a broken head in the fracas. Or, perhaps, the strawberries should be exempt. All historians have used this bit with glee, as a shining example of reality in historical narrative. Shakespeare has used it: so let it be.

  Everything else can be thrown aside as glaring mistakes, inventions, embroideries, or plain downright falsehoods, whichever one desires to call them. Let us take them up in order.

  Richard did not have a withered arm, and perhaps this is a good place to deal once and for all with the question of his physical make-up and appearance. He was not a hunchback, but one shoulder was higher than the other. If a poll could be taken of all the tailors of all time, summoning them from the shades with their cushions in hand and pins in their lapels, it would be found that a man with shoulders of perfect evenness is rather rare indeed. The difference in Richard’s shoulders was noticeable and, being sensitive, as the youngest and least attractive in a family of eleven, he sought to cover up by having his clothes padded and by draping cloaks over the lower shoulder.

  As for his arm, could a man with a withered arm fight so manfully in many battles, particularly at Bosworth where he went down to his death so bravely?

  All the evidence needed with reference to his face can be found in the portraits still in existence. He lacked the remarkable good looks of his brothers but his features were strong, if not beguiling. It seems a tragic face, with a saddened expression which might come from ill health in youth or the lessons he learned in a tragic life. It was a face, moreover, which one commentator asserts might be found on the judge’s bench but never in the prisoner’s dock.

  A final and decisive piece of evidence comes to light from an unexpected quarter. In his Historical Memorials of Westminster, Dean A. P. Stanley tells of Richard’s brilliant coronation and refers to “the strange appearance of king and queen as they sate stripped from the waist up to be anointed.” This was a French custom and it was being employed at Westminster for the first time. Is it conceivable that Richard would have agreed to an innovation which made it necessary for him to appear with bare torso in the full sight of his most powerful subjects if he had a great hump on his back and a withered arm? No, he would have insisted on following the old ritual which would spare him this humiliation.

  References such as this often lead to the truth more surely than any amount of argument and surmise. And so from this moment in the most important day of Richard’s life comes the truth about his physical condition and out goes the story of his deformities through the stained glass of the Abbey windows!

  The story of his deformities, in fact, is a part of the concerted campaign to make him out a man of despicable parts, a campaign begun in the reign of Henry VII and continued ever since, perhaps through an unwillingness to discard a theory so long accepted and so unrelentingly taught in history book and classroom.

  And now for the charge of sorcery against the two women, the queen and Jane Shore.

  Jane Shore was a beautiful young woman who had been married at an early age to one William Shore, a prosperous goldsmith in London. She was petite, trim, vivacious. The History describes her at great length: “Proper she was and fair; nothing in her body that you would have changed—a proper wit had she—merry in company, ready and quick of answer, neither mute nor full of babble—in whom the king took therefore the greatest pleasure—for many he had but her he loved.” Her beauty made such an impression on the prowling king that he proceeded to make her his mistress. The relationship between them continued until Edward’s death.

  She seemed to captivate all men. Thomas of Dorset, the queen’s oldest son, who became in the last years Edward’s boon companion in revelry and also in lechery, had a warm eye for her and was quick to take her as soon as the king died. Standing off to the side was Hastings, who, it was said, “doted” on her and to whose arms she went when Dorset had to rush to the continent with smoking coattails after the Woodville plot miscarried. Richard would hear of her, of course, but it is not certain that he ever saw her, for it must be remembered that he paid only two visits to London during the last eight years of Edward’s reign. To him she would be only one of the many mistresses that the king took and he would have no reason to single her out for enmity.

  It is not known what arrangements the philandering Edward made when he stole the affections of the goldsmith’s wife. She was seen a great deal at court and made many friends there, but had no place in the household. Nor did she remain with her husband, for one sentence creeps into the records about him—and a sad one it is—“he went away, or died.” Poor Will Shore had been made very unhappy. Queen Elizabeth did not object to her royal spouse’s errant ways but it is reasonable to assume that she conceived no liking for this gay little interloper with her pleasing manners. A definite antagonism must have developed between the two women when the queen’s son became Jane’s protector. To believe they formed an alliance at this stage and began to employ witchcraft to such good effect that Richard’s arm withered is to run counter to all the laws which govern feminine behavior. Neither of them, from what is known of their characters, would turn to the ugliness of sorcery, the punishment for which was burning at the stake. Certainly they would not assume this grisly risk together! To believe in addition that Richard, who was proceeding to his ultimate decision with deep thought and care and whose judgment had earned his late brother’s strongest praise, would blurt out in public such an astonishing charge is fully as absurd. Moreover he did not have a withered arm to display.

  That Jane Shore was compelled to do penance for her loose morals may have been due to clerical influence. At any rate, when Richard decided to pardon her, he addressed himself to the Bishop of London. His letter is worth quoting, for it provides an intimate glimpse of the inner man, of his dry humor and real kindliness.

  It seems that Richard’s solicitor, one Thomas Lynom, had been sent to see the lady when
she was in prison and had fallen head over heels in love with her. So badly was he smitten that he proposed marriage. The king’s letter to the bishop reads as follows:

  “Signifying unto you,” wrote Richard in his own hand, “that our servant and solicitor, Thomas Lynom, marvellously blinded and abused with the late wife of Wm. Shore, now being in Ludgate by our commandment, hath made contract of matrimony with her, as it is said, and intendeth to our full great marvel to proceed to effect the same. We, for many causes, would be very sorry that he should be so disposed; and pray you therefore to send for him, in that ye may exhort and stir him to the contrary. And if ye find him utter set for to marry her, and none otherwise would be content, then, if it may stand with the law of the church, we be content (the time of marriage being deferred to our coming next year to London) that, upon sufficient surety being found of her good a-bearing, ye do send for her keeper, and discharge him of our commandment by warrant of these; committing her to the rule and guidance of her father or any other, by your discretion.”

  There is no evidence here of any feeling about Dame Shore other than disapproval of her immorality, no hint of an intention to charge her with witchcraft, of punishing her to the extreme. Her pardon is arranged, with certain sensible restrictions, and that is that; an amiable decision in an almost routine case. The silly fellow Lynom was brought to his senses, apparently, for he did not marry the pretty lady of light heart and light morals.

  Unfortunately it must be told that she came upon evil days finally; but that was long after Richard’s death.

  Finally there is the matter of the execution of Hastings. He was not dragged out that morning to the Tower court and beheaded on a log which was found there. He was tried, convicted, and executed five days later in the manner prescribed by law.

  In the earlier passages of the History, Bishop Morton speaks, or writes, from hearsay and so falls into many serious errors. But he was a participant in the scene which is dealt with above. He was detained in custody and even stood in danger of losing his head for his part in the Hastings conspiracy. Every bit of action, every word spoken, would be indelibly etched on his memory. The version he gives, therefore, cannot be brushed aside lightly. He has been guilty of a series of deliberate falsehoods.

  2

  What motives were behind Richard’s assumption of power? Was it personal ambition as practically all historians have said? This is a point which must be considered before approaching the main point of the enquiry which is, of course, the death of the two princes.

  Edward IV had made one effort to resume the wars with France. On June 22, 1475, he landed at Calais with a well-equipped army of 16,000 men but found the French king more disposed to negotiate than fight. Expecting help from his Burgundian allies, the English king had waited for nearly two months at Peronne. During this long inactivity, Louis XI sent to Edward 300 wagons loaded with the best wines. Finally an agreement was made between the two monarchs. Edward was to withdraw his army to England on receipt of 75,000 crowns and an annual pension of 50,000 crowns. The truce was to be for seven years and the eldest son of Louis was to marry Edward’s daughter Elizabeth as soon as the children reached marriageable age. To expedite the proceedings, Louis offered large sums to the men about Edward. The pensions and bribes paid to the English nobles are listed in the French Chamber of Accounts, still in existence. Most of these fine noblemen accepted their shares openly and gladly. However, Lord Hastings refused to sign a receipt for the 2000 crowns which constituted his share. He said, rather glumly, “This gift comes not at my request. If you would have me take it, slip it here inside my sleeve.”

  The younger brother of the English king, Richard, was the only one who refused to accept a share. He even absented himself from the meeting at Picquigny where the two monarchs met on a bridge and signed the treaty. What, he asked, would the world think of the wisdom and courage of England after this? For the first time in his life he openly disagreed with his brother.

  It has always been acknowledged that Richard behaved like an honorable man. Even Lord Bacon, who was ready to accept all the ugly stories about Richard a century later, because of his reliance on the statements in the History, had this to say about the young brother who stood so manfully aloof: “As upon all other occasions, Richard, the duke of Gloucester, stood upon the side of honor.”

  The story of Picquigny is told here because it establishes one fact about Richard, that he was honorable. It makes it equally clear that he had deep patriotic instincts. His desire to act in the best interests of the English people was to be demonstrated in the brief span of his reign. In the one Parliament he summoned, he had provisions put into the statutes which proved his desire to rule with fairness and justice.

  What would an honorable and patriotic man do when he stood in Richard’s shoes?

  It was clear to him that the length of time in which he could make his authority felt as protector was a short one at best. As soon as his term ceased, the Woodvilles would close in again about the throne. The young prince had already shown a definite disposition in favor of his mother and his handsome and debonair uncles. The inevitable result would be another civil war, because most of the nobility were determined to prevent the “upstarts” from acquiring more wealth and from taking over the highest offices in the kingdom.

  There were many precedents for Richard to follow. In English history, Henry I stepped in to displace his older brother Robert; Stephen had brushed Matilda aside; John became king instead of Arthur, the rightful heir, and then saw to it that the boy was murdered; Edward II was deposed and killed; the same fate was meted out to Richard II, when Henry IV seized the royal power.

  Richard may well have felt that the unpleasant duty of setting aside the sons of his beloved brother was imposed upon him by patriotic necessity. This viewpoint is one which can be accepted even while believing that Richard was actuated by ambitious designs as well. Jealousy has always been the most apparent trait in the brothers of kings. While Edward lived, Richard felt none of the green-eyed desires which ate so deeply into the bowels of the other brother, Clarence. But with Edward in his new-made grave, the situation was different. Richard, the youngest, the one drab-feathered member in a family of brilliant plumage, was finding himself now in a position of power. In addition, because of his very great success in the northern counties, he knew himself capable of ruling well.

  It would be natural for him to desire the best of everything for his not overly strong son at Middleham. He had been watching the growth of the one child with an anxiety fully shared by the boy’s mother. Anne had lost her sister, Isabel, to a disease which is supposed to have been consumption, and her own cheeks had turned to an almost transparent and waxlike whiteness with occasionally a telltale flush. Richard undoubtedly hoped that his son would outgrow his frailty as he himself had done. But with Anne the case was different. He must have seen that she had not long to live. It would be gratifying for her to wear the golden circlet if for only a few brief months and to see him, the once little-considered younger son, the ruler of England. It may be more in keeping with the facts to say outright that Richard shared the ambitions of all the determined Yorkists. Should he be blamed for that more than the other members of his family, or their dynastic opponents who were equally possessed of the urge for power?

  Without attempting to deny, therefore, that he felt such ambitious impulses, and with no will to absolve him from blame on that score, it still remains easy to believe his impelling motive was a conviction that he was needed at the head of the state.

  Richard took a long time to make up his mind. This was to be expected. A man of honor, and one who had loved his tall and masterful brother, he could not take the step with an easy mind. One can imagine him standing on the walls of Baynard’s Castle and looking with knitted brows in the direction of Westminster. Why, he must have asked himself many times, could not Edward have lived long enough for his son to come to man’s estate? For then this responsibility, and this temptation,
would not have been thrust upon him.

  Definite conclusions are out of the question. But to anyone who has studied the character of Richard Plantagenet, and such facts as there are, without accepting the History blindly, as the Tudor historians and Shakespeare did, the conviction seems reasonable that he was actuated first of all by the dictates of patriotism.

  Richard decided finally to place the crown on his own head. When Parliament accepted Bishop Stillington’s story and proclaimed the children of Edward illegitimate, a statute was issued declaring Richard king. This was called Titulus Regius.

  It is probable that Richard grasped at the bishop’s belated exposure as a means of easing his conscience. If this were so, his usual sound judgment was at fault. He did not need to mask his intentions under so frail an excuse. The reasons Henry IV had given when he made himself king were still good enough. He was the best man to rule at a time when a strong hand was needed at the helm.

  CHAPTER VI

  A Short and Unhappy Reign

  1

  ALTHOUGH most men saw good reason for the change in kings, many still held reservations. They did not want another boy king, especially one backed and influenced by the dowager queen’s greedy relatives, but they looked askance at what seemed the injustice of it. In their eyes the son of Edward was “the Lord’s anointed.” A discordant note was heard on men’s tongues. What would happen to the two boys now? No one had forgotten how Edward II was barbarously murdered after his deposition and they recalled how Richard II had been cut down by the swords of assassins as he sat at supper in the castle of Pontefract. Would the princes suffer the same fate?

  The relationship between Richard and his most powerful and active supporter, Buckingham, began to show signs of fraying. It has never been made clear how the seeds of discord began to grow. Was Buckingham dissatisfied with the rewards he had received? Did he nourish a secret feeling that he would make a better king himself, as some historians have suggested? Under the circumstances, it was a great mistake for the new king to release Morton into Buckingham’s custody at his castle in Breconshire. Morton lost no time in spreading his nets before the feet of the already disgruntled duke.