Shakespeare's Kings

by John Julius Norwich

  Now, and only now, did Richard begin to see the Earl of Richmond as a force to be reckoned with. Henry's supporters were increasing fast. Dorset was not the only powerful magnate to have joined him; by this time there were also his uncle Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke; Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon; Richard Lord Rivers, eager to avenge his brother's execution the previous year; the Bishop of Exeter and the future Bishop of Winchester Richard Fox; and a large number of less distinguished knights and gendemen—perhaps as many as 500 altogether. Morton, though remaining in Flanders, was in constant touch. It was probably some time in April that the King first approached Duke Francis of Brittany to suggest some arrangement whereby the Earl of Richmond might be prevented from making any more trouble; we know that in May 1484 the agents of the Duke's chief minister, the deeply corrupt Pierre Landois, came to England to negotiate. The result was a treaty with several secret clauses, signed on 8 June at Pontefract, by the terms of which the King agreed to pay a very considerable sum - including all the revenues of the earldom of Richmond - in return for an undertaking that Henry Tudor would be kept in strict confinement until further notice.

  Since Duke Francis was by now suffering periodic fits of insanity, we can be fairly sure that the money paid went into Landois's own pocket; for a small additional sum the minister might even have agreed to surrender Henry into Richard's hands. Fortunately, however, he never had a chance to do so. According to Polydore Vergil, Bishop Morton - who had spies everywhere - got wind of the treaty and warned Henry in the nick of time, simultaneously arranging for him to be received in France. Some time in the late summer Henry succeeded in escaping across the border into Anjou, just an hour ahead of the troops sent by Landois to arrest him.

  He was lucky, too, in that relations between France and Brittany were at that moment particularly strained. Duke Francis had no son to succeed him, and it was generally believed (with good reason) that on his death the French King would attempt to annex his duchy - a move which the King of England in his turn would do his best to prevent. In such circumstances Henry of Richmond might be a useful ally; the thirteen-year-old Charles VIII and his elder sister Anne de Beaujeu — who effectively ruled in her brother's place - accordingly gave him a warm reception, promising to help him financially when the need arose. By yet another stroke of good fortune, Henry was joined soon after his arrival in France by one of the doughtiest champions of the Lancastrian cause, John de Vere, Earl of Oxford. With his friend Lord Beaumont,

  Oxford had captured St Michael's Mount in Cornwall in 14731 and held it for over four months; but it had been a quixotic enterprise at best, and he had spent the next ten years a prisoner in the castle of Hammes near Calais until, a week or two before Henry's escape from Brittany, he had persuaded the captain, James Blount, to release him and accompany him to join the exiles at the French court. A former Lord High Constable of England, he was a fine commander who had shown outstanding courage in battle. Not surprisingly, Henry welcomed him and Blount with open arms, the more so when he heard that the latter had left his wife in command of the garrison of Hammes, with orders to hold it against Richard. She did so, magnificently, throughout an ensuing siege by royalist troops, surrendering at the end of January 1485 only after the promise of free pardons for herself, her husband and the entire garrison.

  The turn of events at Hammes added considerably to Richard's now rapidly increasing alarm. On 7 December he issued his first proclamation against 'Henry Tydder', who by reason of his 'insatiable covetousness' intended to perpetrate 'the most cruel murders, slaughters and robberies and disinheritances that ever were seen in any Christian realm'. The next day he dispatched commissions of array to most of the counties of England, and on the 18th he ordered his commissioners to report immediately on how many nobles, gentry and men-at-arms could be raised at half a day's notice. He kept Christmas at Westminster with characteristic pomp and splendour, but the festivities must have had a hollow ring: no one present could have forgotten the imminent danger of invasion and a renewal of the civil war, or could have ceased for a moment to ponder the all-important question of which side offered the best chances of survival.

  There was further concern over the Queen, who was obviously dying. She had never recovered from the death of her son eight months before; but her pallor and skeletal thinness could not be accounted for by bereavement alone. Inevitably, there were rumours that she was being slowly poisoned by her husband, who - although he now treated her with studied callousness and refused, on what he claimed were doctors' orders, to share her bed — had been frequently heard to complain of her inability to give him another child. It was also common knowledge that he was eager to marry his niece, Elizabeth of York; he

  1. See Chapter 16, p. 316.

  had recently introduced her into his court where, although officially proclaimed a bastard, she had played a leading role that winter. The most charitable explanation of his attentions was that he wished simply to frustrate the designs of the Earl of Richmond;1 but the Croyland chronicler refers darkly to 'many other matters as well, which are not written down here for shame', and it cannot be ruled out that his relations with Elizabeth — who was by now an unusually attractive girl of nineteen — may have gone somewhat beyond the avuncular.

  Queen Anne died, aged twenty-eight, on 16 March 1485. Despite her husband's barely concealed hostility and although on that same day, to the consternation of all who witnessed it, the sun went into eclipse, her death is less likely to have been due to poison than to pulmonary tuberculosis. Richard, however, did not marry Elizabeth. Once again according to the Croyland chronicler, he gave up the idea on the advice of his two closest counsellors, William Catesby and Sir Richard Ratcliff, who told him bluntly that his subjects would never stand for it. If, they warned him, he did not make a public denial of any such intention, even the people of the north would rise against him, accusing him of killing the Queen — the daughter of their hero the Earl of Warwick -merely in order to satisfy his own incestuous lust. And so, on 30 March 1485 - barely a fortnight after his wife's death - Richard made a public statement at the Priory of the Knights of St John at Clerkenwell, declaring that 'it never came into his mind to marry [his niece], nor willing or glad of the death of the Queen, but as sorry and in heart as heavy as man might be.' Elizabeth was packed off to his castle at Sheriff Hutton, where she remained - with the young Earl of Warwick, Clarence's son - until after the Battle of Bosworth.

  The same chronicler also tells us that during the celebrations of Twelfth Night in Westminster Hall an urgent dispatch was brought to the King by 'his spies from beyond sea', informing him that his enemies would, beyond all doubt, invade the realm in the course of the summer following. Richard is said to have replied that 'nothing could have been more pleasing to him than this news'. He probably meant it. His nerves must have been at breaking point, but in a few months the agony of waiting would be over.

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  1. Polydore Vergil tells us that Henry was 'pinched to the very stomach' when he heard of Richard's rumoured intentions.

  Henry of Richmond spent the spring and early summer of 1485 bringing together his army and the ships that were to carry it to England. It was not a large force: between two and three thousand at the most, perhaps half of it made up of trained professionals - mostly Welshmen - and the remainder what Commynes describes as 'the most unruly men that could be found and enlisted in Normandy'. By July all was ready; on 1 August the expedition set sail; and six days later, shortly before sunset on Sunday the 7th, the little fleet dropped anchor at Milford Haven in South Wales. Since the early spring Richard had had two flotillas patrolling the Channel; but somehow Henry had managed to give them both the slip, and his landing was unopposed. On the other hand there was no sign of the immensely influential Welsh nobleman Rhys ap Thomas, nor of Sir John Savage, a kinsman of the Stanleys, nor of Sir Gilbert Talbot, uncle of the young Earl of Shrewsbury, all three of whom Henry had expected to find awaiting him; and rumours of the imminent a
pproach of Richard's army were already having their effect on the French soldiers' morale. Clearly, delay would be dangerous: early the following morning Henry led his army north-east, intending to cross the Severn at Shrewsbury.

  And there, suddenly, his luck turned. The gates of the town were immediately opened to him; to Buckingham, they had remained closed. At Newport, on the Staffordshire border, Rhys ap Thomas joined him with 1,000 men; a day or two later there appeared Sir Gilbert Talbot with another 500. The arrival of this latter force was particularly significant for Henry. Apart from the Norman contingent, the vast majority of his army had been composed of Welshmen; here, for the first time, was a substantial body of local Shropshire yeomen. If they were ready to rally to his banner of the red dragon, how many of their compatriots might not be prepared to follow? On he marched, to Lichfield and thence to Tamworth, where his numbers swelled still further. The first new arrivals were Sir Walter Hungerford and Sir Thomas Bourchier, two former members of Edward IV's household who had been implicated in Buckingham's rebellion. Richard had formally pardoned them, but had not yet returned to them their confiscated estates; their positions, if he continued to reign, would remain uncertain to say the least. Soon afterwards arrived the long-awaited Sir John Savage of Cheshire -formerly one of Richard's closest henchmen - with another sizeable retinue.

  The King was now at Nottingham. Though concerned at the speed of Henry's advance, he still seems to have found it difficult to see this unknown Welshman as a serious threat to his throne. The forces against him were growing rapidly; but they were still only a fraction of what he, as England's legitimate King, could surely summon at will. The first defection to bring him to his senses was that of Thomas, Lord Stanley. As Henry's stepfather Stanley might have been an obvious suspect; but Richard had loaded him with honours and his son, Lord Strange, who was being kept at court as an unofficial hostage for his father's good behaviour, never ceased to assure the King of his family's loyalty. Then, one day at about this time, Stanley sent word to Richard that he was sick of a fever and unable to join the royal army as he had promised; and a day or two later Strange was caught trying to escape. Under torture, he quickly admitted that he, his uncle Sir William Stanley and several other lords had indeed been planning to transfer their allegiance to Richmond, but insisted that this group did not include his father. Richard did not believe him for a moment. To his ever-devious mind it was plain that Strange was out to save his own skin: as the son of a rebel he would be worthless, but while his father's position remained ambiguous he would continue to be a valuable security. Stanley had refused to join him; that, to him, was treason enough.

  And now, as he marched south from Nottingham to Leicester where the bulk of his army was being mustered, he realized that Stanley's example was being all too widely followed. The peers, knights and landed gentry of England might not be going over to the Earl of Richmond; but neither were they rallying to the colours of their King. They were, quite simply, staying at home. Thirty-three noblemen had attended his coronation, only two years before. Now, apart from Norfolk, Northumberland and the obviously unreliable Strange, the only others in his army were Norfolk's son the Earl of Surrey and the Lords Lovell, Ferrers and Zouch - though one or two more would be waiting for him at Leicester. With the knights and gentry it was much the same story. Emotionally, most of them sided with Henry Tudor. Even though Richard remained their King, crowned and anointed, they were terrified of him: of his ruthlessness, his cruelty and his vengeance.

  Early in the morning of Sunday 21 August, King Richard III marched out of Leicester at the head of an army of about 12,000 men, with as much pomp and ceremony as he could muster. On his head, as so often, was a slim gold crown. It was a symbol not only of his royalty but of his constant insecurity; no other English ruler has ever felt the need to wear the badge of kingship so insistently. In the late afternoon, hearing that Richmond was near, he chose his Battlefield - on rising ground, some two miles south of the present town of Market Bosworth.1 Henry was in fact about three miles away to the south-east, with an army of perhaps 5,000. He knew that he could not avoid the coming encounter; overwhelmingly outnumbered as he was, however, he cannot have been looking forward to what was to be the first battle of his life. His only hope lay in Lord Stanley and his brother Sir William, with whom he had had long discussions at nearby Atherstone a day or two before. They had been cordial enough, but had still not declared themselves. (Their son and nephew Lord Strange was, it must be remembered, still a royal hostage.) Now that they had arrived at Bosworth with about 8,000 men, they might easily tip the scale — if he could only persuade them to join him.

  The sun rose on the 22nd to reveal the two armies already drawn up in line of battle. The King's vanguard occupied the top of the hill. Commanded by the Duke of Norfolk, it contained both cavalry and infantry, both archers and gunners. Behind this was Richard, his helmet ringed by a golden circlet, surrounded by a corps of picked men-at-arms and another detachment of cavalry. In the rear were the troops of the Duke of Northumberland, 3,000 strong. The army of Henry Tudor was in a much inferior position at the foot of the slope. Commanding his centre was the Earl of Oxford, with Sir John Savage on the left wing and Sir Gilbert Talbot on the right. Henry himself was behind Oxford, with a small troop of horsemen and a few men-at-arms on foot. He had already dispatched an urgent appeal to the Stanleys for assistance, but had received a characteristically evasive answer. As it happens, Richard had sent them a similar message at about the same time, threatening to kill Strange if his father did not rally at once to the royal standard; Henry would have been considerably cheered had he known

  1. We know little, if anything, more of the battle of Bosworth than we do of its predecessors in the Wars of the Roses. Apart from a very brief mention in the Croyland chronicle, our only source is Polydore Vergil - who did not arrive in England till 1502, although he certainly seems to have talked to a number of eyewitnesses. The present 'Battlefield Centre' on what is believed to be the site gives a vivid picture of the encounter, but its historical accuracy must be open to doubt. that Stanley had still refused to be drawn, replying ominously that Strange was not his only son: he had others.

  It was clear that the Stanleys would not move until they saw the turn the Battle was taking; and also that the beginning of that battle could no longer be delayed. Oxford, fully aware of his disadvantage, knew that he must not wait for the enemy's downhill charge; he must seize the initiative while there was still time. He gave the order to advance up the slope - and immediately Norfolk attacked. With his numerical superiority, he might have carried the day with a single charge; but Oxford, drawing on his long experience, ordered his men to group themselves into a tight wedge, so that not one of them was more than ten feet away from the standards. The very density of their mass split the charge in two, breaking its momentum. Norfolk was obliged to regroup his men; and the hand-to-hand fighting began.

  From this point onwards the picture becomes impossibly confused. An early casualty seems to have been Norfolk himself, shot through the throat by an arrow after Oxford had smashed his gorget. It seems too that Henry, determined to make one last appeal to the Stanleys, suddenly rode off towards them; and that Richard, recognizing his banner, led his men against him in a direct attack. As the two households struggled with each other in the fearful slogging match that constituted so much of medieval warfare, Henry found himself, for the first time, fighting for his life. He fought, we are told, with considerable courage; but his men were heavily outnumbered, and before long it looked as though he — and the whole Tudor cause - was doomed.

  He was saved by Sir William Stanley. His elder brother still refused to move; but Sir William, who had been closely following the progress of the fighting from his own position perhaps half a mile away, finally made up his mind. He gave his men the order they had so long been awaiting, spurred his horse and galloped to Henry's rescue. This sudden arrival of 3,000 men, fresh and ready for the fray, changed the entire co
urse of the Battle. Richard, whose white charger had been shot from under him, was still fighting desperately on foot. Seeing that their cause was lost, his men urged him to flee; but he refused to listen to them, continuing to swing his heavy mace with manic energy until he was finally himself struck down. It was his army that took to its heels. He himself, shouting 'Treason! Treason!' with his last breath, died as he was determined to die, King of England to the end.

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  Bosworth was a small battle as battles go. It lasted only two hours - it was probably over by eight o'clock in the morning. If we include the fleeing remnants of the royal army, pursued by the Earl of Oxford and hacked down as they ran, it saw the death of well under 1,000 men. None the less, it was a turning-point of English history. It marked the end not only of the Plantagenets and the Wars of the Roses, but also of the Middle Ages. The England of Henry Tudor and his successors would be a very different — and happier - place.

  Tradition tells us that Henry VII was first crowned on the battlefield, when Stanley removed his predecessor's gold coronet from his helmet and placed it on his head. One of his first acts as King was to order the arrest of the Duke of Northumberland. In fact, he had good cause to be grateful to him: Northumberland, despite having shown Richard every sign of loyalty beforehand, when the fighting began had refused the King's order to advance and had remained with his men motionless at the top of the hill while the battle raged below him. Now he knelt before Henry and did him homage; but the King was not satisfied. The Duke, he probably felt, had betrayed both sides. He had sat too long on the fence. He was taken prisoner for a time, but was soon restored to all his old offices.