The Uncrowned Kings of England: The Black Legend of the Dudleys

by Derek Wilson

  Dudley arrived back at Berwick at a crucial moment. When he was still on the road news reached him of the Battle of Solway Moss. James V had been provoked into launching a large but inadequately prepared force across the border. On 25 November 1542 it was challenged by a smaller English army north of Carlisle and comprehensively routed. A large number of Scottish noblemen were captured and sent to London to become sources of information and valuable bargaining pieces in Henry’s diplomacy. Even more significant was the death of James V. The disaster of Solway Moss helped to undermine a weak constitution and the thirty-year-old king died on 14 December. He left a bevy of illegitimate children and one heiress only a few days old, Mary, Queen of Scots.

  In Edinburgh all was now confusion. The rival factions were far too busy jockeying for position among themselves to give a great deal of thought to relations with England. The situation was scarcely less difficult for Henry and his representatives on the border. They did not know whom to deal with and whether to proceed by diplomacy or force. For Dudley the immediate problem was what to do with the thousands of men he had under arms. If there was to be no immediate military campaign he would have to pay many of them off as quickly as possible. He was seriously short of money (a not-unusual situation for Tudor commanders) and had no desire to feed and quarter through the winter more men than was absolutely necessary. Logistical problems will have been uppermost in his mind when he offered the king seemingly charitable advice: ‘seeing God hath thus disposed his will of the said King of Scots, I thought it should not be to your Majesty’s honour that we your soldiers should make war or invade upon a dead body or upon a widow or upon a young suckling, his daughter.’10 Henry seems to have agreed – for the time being. He needed to gather information about the state of the parties and to consider his options. Whereas he had been thinking about bullying his nephew into neutrality and quiescence, now a greater prize lay within his grasp; nothing less than the union of the crowns. He bent all his efforts towards securing an alliance cemented by the marriage of the infants Edward and Mary.

  8

  Tempestuous Seas

  In January 1543 John Dudley received the appointment that of all the positions he ever held he found the most congenial. Hardly had he begun to stamp his personality on the administration of the north when he was instructed to take up the post of Lord Admiral. Again, there seems to have been some suggestion that Hertford should assume this role but, in the reshuffle, he managed to secure the more influential position of Lord Chamberlain, which, being the chief office of the royal household, ensured him regular access to the king. Dudley’s promotion was an enormous step up the ladder, for the position was a political one and carried with it membership of the Council, and to enhance his new dignity he was admitted to the Order of the Garter. He had arrived at the ‘high table’. His appointment was to prove of vital significance in the history of the royal navy.

  The Lord Admiral was one of the great officers of state. Hitherto, the position had not necessarily demanded any great knowledge of naval matters. It was often bestowed as a reward for service and usually involved some mix of military, diplomatic and ceremonial activities. The previous holder, Lord John Russell, who had only occupied the post since 1540, was typical in that he was an intimate of the king with access to the chamber, had served on several foreign embassies, had attended the king on campaign and had been, since 1538, a member of the Council. Henry was fascinated by ships. The proud man-o’-war with gleaming paintwork, bulging sails and streaming pennants was a brave and powerful status symbol and a potent demonstration to brother monarchs. However the construction and maintenance of new vessels was an extremely costly undertaking and even the self-aggrandizing Henry could only justify it in time of war. The traditional custom followed by his government was to sponsor a modest shipbuilding programme and augment the fleet by hiring merchantmen when a national crisis demanded extra expenditure.

  It was when England became caught up in (or plunged headlong into) an arms race that this cautious policy was threatened. A mix of strategic needs and royal pride led to the rapid build up of a permanent navy. It began early in the reign. James IV of Scotland astonished everyone by launching, in 1511, the Great Michael, the biggest and best equipped ship in northern waters. Henry took this as a challenge, almost a personal affront, and responded by ordering the massive, 1,000 ton Henri Grace à Dieu, which left the dockyard in 1514. At the same time the government became alarmed by the appearance of French galleys in the Channel. These oared vessels had been brought from the Mediterranean in the belief that their speed and manoeuvrability would give them an advantage in a stretch of water where wind force and direction were notoriously unreliable. The experiment, in the event, was unsuccessful but it did prompt shipbuilders to explore methods of dealing with this perceived threat. One way of preventing galleys from getting close enough to grapple was to provide naval vessels with effective firepower. The age of naval artillery had begun. Within three decades the emphasis changed from relatively small bow chasers to large cannon housed in the stern and amidships, firing through ports which could be closed when not in use. This involved using new construction techniques to create ships that were strong enough and stable enough to carry heavy armament.

  Throughout the 1530s, when Henry was not involved in foreign adventures, construction was very limited. Many vessels were sold or laid up. It was the last years of the king’s reign that witnessed a virtual frenzy of rearmament. Almost half of the new vessels added to the national fleet were acquired between 1540 and 1546 and fifteen of them were in excess of 300 tons. This involved building or extending the royal dockyards at Deptford and Woolwich and the creation of a massive naval base at Portsmouth. Nor was this the only kind of construction that the southern sea-facing counties witnessed. As part of an overall offensive–defensive strategy Henry studded the coast from Kent to Cornwall with castles to guard principal havens. All this was part of a well-conceived plan which was to enable Henry to launch his major attack on France. But, of course the king did not personally draw up all the blueprints, keep the books and scrutinize every major item of expenditure. There had to be an effective central administration. Clearly, the old, makeshift organization for the navy would no longer serve. Throughout 1545 a series of discussions took place which eventually led to the establishment of the Council for Marine Causes, the direct forerunner of the Navy Board and the Board of Admiralty. Its establishment marked – if the pun may be forgiven – a sea change in the nature of the royal navy. And the man who presided over this transformation was John Dudley.

  It is no accident that the single most important institutional reform in the whole history of the navy occurred as soon as John Dudley had settled into his role as naval chief. He was a new kind of Lord Admiral, a hands-on leader with experience of command by land and sea, but also a permanent official, rather than a ‘sea general’ only active in wartime. He might not have notched up any dramatic victories in the field by 1543 but he had shown himself an effective general. Furthermore, his long service at the Tower armoury had provided him with a detailed working knowledge of artillery which was playing an increasingly diverse role in warfare by land and sea. But was he in any way gifted as an administrator? If we took his own protestations at face value we should have to assume that he was not. Dudley was always aware of his shortcomings. A couple of years earlier, when reporting as Warden in the North, he had claimed to be a simple soldier, out of his depth in matters of high politics and administration.

  Your Lordships doth know my bringing up. I have never been practised nor experimented in no matters of council before this time. At my first coming hither it was open war; it was then more easier to conduce those affairs than these which be presently in hand. Therefore, knowing mine own infirmity and the fear that it puts me in day and night, lest anything should pass through my negligence contrary to the King’s majesty’s pleasure, I can no less of my bounden duty and for mine own discharge but still to trouble your lordships he
rewith.1

  Had he been as utterly lacking in self-belief as such letters suggest he would have been a poor commander, which clearly he was not, and he would not have enjoyed the king’s confidence, which manifestly he did. What we have to make allowance for is that both convention and prudence demanded humility in official correspondence. A certain obsequiousness was expected of all royal servants, from the lowest to the highest and all those who were about the king’s business were ever at pains to be seen to be carrying out the king’s will and not their own, to the best of their ability and to make sure that Henry appreciated this. Working for tyrants always has an inhibiting effect on the exercise of individual initiative and Dudley had the fate of his father and stepfather to remind him of what happened to men who could be represented as having gone beyond their instructions. It is scarcely surprising, therefore, to find him writing from his flagship to the Council for clarification of orders and insisting, ‘it shall be most requisite that the King’s majesty’s instructions . . . be devised by your lordships and to be signed by the King’s majesty and to be sent hither with speed.’2

  The reality behind this almost painful prudence was that John Dudley had arrived in a job he loved and to which he now devoted enthusiasm, industry and creative thought. He played a central role in the shaping of the new Council for Marine Causes, which was modelled on the Ordnance Office. It comprised six officials directly answerable to the Lord Admiral, each with clearly defined responsibilities and a salary commensurate to the considerable volume of work he had to undertake. But, busy as he was in overseeing the administration of the navy, he remained first and foremost a man of action, never happier than when on campaign.

  The new Lord Admiral’s mettle was put to the test in 1544. Henry was determined to launch his invasion of France as soon as the campaigning season was open but first he decided to make sure of Scotland by means of a rapid strike against Edinburgh. Seymour was given overall command and Dudley was charged with conveying the bulk of the 16,000 strong army to Newcastle. Dudley embarked the troops on sixty-eight ships at Harwich and reached Tynemouth on 18 April. Joined by the commander-in-chief and the force that he had assembled in the north, Dudley now conveyed the entire army to the Firth of Forth. As soon as the complex task of landing men, horses and equipment had been completed Seymour set his battle plan in motion. He gave command of the vanguard to Dudley and followed with the main force. It was Dudley’s men who had the only military encounter of the campaign, though it was one scarcely worthy of the name ‘skirmish’: ‘at first the Scots made towards the Englishmen as though they would have set on the vanguard but when they perceived the Englishmen so willing to encounter with them . . . they made a sudden retreat and, leaving their artillery behind them, fled towards Edinburgh.’3 Dudley’s men occupied Leith, where ‘they found such riches as they thought not to have found in any town of Scotland.’4 The most exciting loot took the form of two modern ships, the Unicorn and the Salamander (the latter a present from Francis I to the Scottish king). The army moved on to invest Edinburgh and, Seymour having refused terms, Dudley positioned his culverin and blasted open the Canongate. The invaders surged through determined ‘utterly to ruinate and destroy the said town by fire.’5 According to Hall, the conflagration raged for three days, although most citizens were safe within Edinburgh’s virtually impregnable castle. Seymour then went on to harry his way through the Lowlands as a vivid expression of his master’s indignation and to ensure that the border region would be safe as Henry turned his attention towards France. Meanwhile, Dudley was ordered to embark 5,000 men immediately for the forthcoming trans-Channel campaign. He hurried back to London preceded by Seymour’s well-deserved commendation:

  Pleaseth your Highness to be advertised that, forasmuch as my Lord Admiral repaireth unto your Majesty, I can do no less to recommend him unto your Highness as one that hath served you hardly, wisely, diligently, painfully and as obediently as any that I have seen, most [humbly] beseeching your Majesty that he may perceive by your Highness that I have not forgotten him.6

  By mid-June Dudley had seen the king and his army of 30,000 safely across to Calais and he then took his place as second in command to the Duke of Suffolk in the siege of Boulogne. As a member of the headquarters staff he was constantly in the royal presence, and Henry was in buoyant mood. He quickly abandoned the strategy agreed with the emperor and directed all his attention to besieging Boulogne and Montreuil. It was 1513 all over again and Henry was dazzled by the prospect of adding significant mainland towns to his empire. The Duke of Norfolk failed in his attempt to invest Montreuil but the main thrust of the English attack was reserved for Boulogne and, on 18 September, Henry VIII was able to make a triumphal entrance to his new Channel port. Dudley basked in the king’s favour but for him the glory of conquest was soon to be overshadowed. He had been accompanied from England by his eighteen-year-old son and heir, Henry, who was having his first taste of military action. It was also to be his last. A proud father saw him knighted by the king but shortly afterwards the young man died, either from wounds sustained in battle or from camp fever.

  There was little time for his father to grieve. His military duties kept him very busy. Then, when the fighting was over, he was ordered to stay behind as Captain of Boulogne. This was a dubious honour. For one thing, the town’s defences had taken a heavy battering. If the French attempted to recapture it, as they most assuredly would, Dudley and his garrison would be hard put to hang onto Henry’s proud possession. Furthermore, Dudley feared that he had been manoeuvred into this position by more powerful men who were determined to avoid the poisoned chalice themselves. They returned home with the king, leaving Dudley far from the centre of influence in what could rapidly become a backwater (his stepfather’s fate cannot have been far from his mind). Specifically, he was worried that the Admiralty might be taken away from him and bestowed upon some importunate courtier with ready access to the king. He put his anxieties in writing, probably in a memo for the Council:

  My trust is that I shall have the King’s majesty’s favour to enjoy the office of High Admiralty of England, for it is an office of honour, of estimation and of profit and within the realm; and, having his gracious favour thereunto I may occupy it with a deputy and serve this [post] notwithstanding, which I beseech your lordships to consider.7

  ‘Honour’, ‘estimation’, ‘profit’ and ‘within the realm’ – Dudley was quite up front about why he wanted to retain the Lord Admiral’s office. It was a position which he genuinely valued for itself and in which he believed he could serve effectively. It was certainly profitable; the head of the navy received a major share of all prizes taken in war and of all pirate vessels apprehended. He had the placing of contracts for supplies and equipment and also the granting of commissions, all of which had financial strings attached. And it involved frequent attendance at court, close to the centre of power. Dudley had, it seems, overcome his nervousness about the turbulent waters which eddied around the throne. Now he was concerned about being kept away from the place where reputations and fortunes were made: he had passed the point of no return. It was becoming increasingly likely that Henry would not achieve his aim of staying alive until his son had come of age, and that meant that there would be a regency. Therefore the rival groups in court and Council manoeuvred with a vigorous and ruthless sense of urgency. Colours had to be nailed to the mast. Anyone who wished to stay at the centre of power could not afford to wait and see which way the wind blew.

  Dudley was fully committed to the radical, progressive platform of the evangelical ‘party’. Those in diplomatic circles were quite clear about government realities. It was almost in despair that, in 1546, the imperial ambassador reported,

  If the king favours these stirrers of heresy, the Earl of Hertford and the Lord Admiral, which is to be feared, both for the reasons I have already given and because the queen [Catherine Parr], instigated by the Duchess of Suffolk, the Countess of Hertford and the Lord Admiral’s wife, sh
ows herself infected, words and exhortations, even in the name of your Majesty, would only make the King more obstinate.8

  However, we are ahead of ourselves. Part of the reason for Dudley’s position of influence as the reign drew to its close lay in his conduct during the crisis of 1545. He had remained at Boulogne, working under great difficulties (not least of which were the lack of money and victuals for his men) to repair the fortifications as rapidly as possible. He was obviously successful, for in February the garrison beat off a large amphibious attempt to recapture the town and inflicted heavy losses on the French. By then Dudley had already been recalled. The government was fully expecting Francis I to launch an invasion attempt now that he was at peace with the Emperor and could direct his undivided attention against England. Dudley was needed to take charge of his country’s first line of defence. He assumed this enormous responsibility under the grand title of ‘Lieutenant General of the Army and Armada upon the Sea in Outward Parts against the French’.

  For the first time since 1485 the English government was, in a state of great agitation, facing the prospect of a seaborne invasion. Their agents reported impressive movements of French ships and men, and rumour added frightening details to what could be deduced from intelligence sources. Thanks to the building works that had been progressing since 1539 the coast was fairly well defended and local authorities raised levies for the manning of the garrisons. What was in short supply was money. Henry had run through his monastic windfall and was already heavily in debt. He now had to resort to the debasement of the coinage in order to put his realm into a state of readiness, leaving his heir an appalling legacy. Yet, somehow, Dudley and his Council for Marine Causes managed to get together the largest royal fleet England had ever seen. By June they were able to muster 160 ships and sufficient crews to man them. This involved having the shipyards working at maximum capacity, hiring and commandeering merchant vessels, sending out agents on a frenzied recruiting drive and paying the highest seamen’s wages ever offered. So many mariners were added to the government payroll that along the Devon coast only women were left to take the fishing boats out.