by Mike Voyce
concourse of the heavens, according to their proper
qualities and influences, in each degree, for the which
you may work as in the chapters before written.”
You’ll understand, if you want to learn to talk to the dead, I suggest it’s a good deal easier to attend an open circle at any Spiritualist church where, after a few sessions, you will be shown how: without the need for any whale, lapwing or phase of the Moon. The seeing of visions is optional.
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Chapter 9 – King Edward
It would have been easy to think, in the first years of the 1480s, that Bishop Morton’s magic school was going nowhere; but two things took it beyond the farce of ritual and the powerful charisma of Morton himself. The second thing can wait till the next chapter; the first thing was the sudden and unexpected death of Edward IV, on April 9, 1483, just short of his 41st birthday. Had the conjuration I saw, using Thomas Nandyke’s spell, caused the King’s death? The modern mind would deny it, but I have found, over many years, all ‘coincidence’ is just a relationship where the cause is not known or is denied.
Edward’s older son and heir was only 12 years old at the time of this premature death, and in his will the King had named his own younger brother Richard, duke of Gloucester, as protector of the realm.
Without further magic, this was enough to throw the realm into consternation. Henry, duke of Buckingham and Richard, duke of Gloucester, hastily set aside what they were doing in their separate domains and rushed to Stony Stratford, to intercept the late king’s sons Prince Edward and his younger brother Prince Richard, who were being brought to London by their uncle, Anthony, Earl Rivers.
Buckingham and Richard represented the old nobility, whose prime concerns were order and stability. After the long years of war in France and then the Wars of the Roses in England; these were anybody’s reasonable concerns. The first problem was not Prince Edward’s age, it was his legitimacy.
It was known in a very close circle, some members of the royal family and senior bishops, that Edward IV was not a legitimate heir to the throne but the product of an adulterous affair between the wife of Richard, duke of York, and a common archer in the Duke’s army. Edward’s mother, Duchess Cecily, freely admitted it; but the Duke declared Edward his lawful son anyway. This was enough for most purposes under Common Law, but not enough for a claim to the throne. When Edward went on to avenge the unlawful killing of Duke Richard, killed at the battle of Wakefield, by men serving the wife of Lancastrian king Henry VI; when his victories at the battles of Mortimer’s Cross and Towton were so unexpected and devastating, no-one, certainly not Parliament, was going to argue against his right to be king.
It wasn’t just that Edward IV’s actions, no matter how decisive, could not legitimate his own heirs, there’s something more. When Edward became king, in 1461, he was unmarried. The powerful Earl of Warwick, called ‘King Maker’ for the way he supressed continuing Lancastrian opposition, took time out for negotiations to give Edward a royal bride, in the usual way of the Middle Ages. As he was doing so, it came out that Edward was already secretly married, to a widow, a woman outside the royal nobility, and a woman it was said who practised witchcraft to ensnare the King. Further, the marriage was clandestine and therefore illegal; it was also illegal because Edward was already betrothed, married in the eyes of the Church, to Eleanor Butler, daughter of the earl of Shrewsbury. Even without witchcraft, the betrothal was enough to make the King’s marriage illegal. The woman the King purported to marry was Elizabeth Woodville, the mother of princes Edward and Richard. The Pope would have set the betrothal aside for marriage to a princess, but for marriage to Elizabeth? It wasn’t even worth asking, even when it all came out.
When the marriage became public Duchess Cecily was so furious she threatened to reveal Edward’s bastardy. Warwick the King Maker went so far as to remove Edward from the throne, briefly restoring the weak-minded King Henry VI. Unfortunately for Warwick he had done too good a job supressing the Lancastrians, Warwick and Henry VI’s son were killed at the battle of Tewkesbury and Henry VI was killed in the Tower of London.
So matters stood between 1471 and 1483, but that is not quite all, Richard and Henry had a second concern.
At a time before Edward became king he, his brothers and William Lord Hastings, later head of Edward’s civil service, berated Elizabeth’s family as ‘popinjays,’ light weight and of no consequence. Nevertheless, Edward gave Elizabeth’s family, including the children by her previous marriage, preferment; her brother becoming Earl Rivers. In 1483 they had so much power it might have seemed possible the popinjays would take over England; it may have seemed essential to take the Princes out of their hands. Earl Rivers was arrested together with Richard Grey, the Queen’s son by her first marriage, and Thomas Vaughan, all on a trumped up charges, and so matters stood on 30th April 1483.
On this date there is no evidence the future Richard III had any intention but to protect the Princes, keep them out of the hands of their family, and protect his own position as duke of Gloucester.
On this date in Cambridge there was great activity and more of that later. The death of Edward IV set light the fuse of a bomb which had been waiting to explode for many years.
The truth of Edward’s birth was finally made public, in a sermon to a huge multitude, in London, on Sunday, 22nd June 1843, by Dr Ralph Shaa; a priest of the Church and brother of the Lord Mayor of London. It would be nice to think Bishop Morton was responsible, but he wasn’t, he merely knew what would happen. The true author of Dr Shaa’s sermon was Robert Stillington, an expert in Church law, former Lord Chancellor of England, and the priest present at Edward IV’s first ‘marriage.’ Stillington was also bishop of Bath and Wells, the bishop whose duty it would be to crown Prince Edward as King Edward V.
Stillington’s position should have been obvious, not only to Morton (generally historians overlook it, they are very easily deceived). He had been charged with treason against Edward IV for supporting the rebelliousness of Edward’s brother, George, duke of Clarence; precisely because Edward’s bastardy made George the lawful king. George was eventually executed while Stillington was returned to favour. The text of Dr Shaa’s sermon exactly gave the reasons why the Bishop of Bath and Wells would not crown Prince Edward.
It is very difficult to know how confident Morton was about what would happen next. He was joyous over Edward’s death, but this was only the first step in his plan.
It may be the Shrewsbury family would bring pressure on Stillington, to honour the memory of the now dead Eleanor, but Morton could not rely on it; Richard, the Prince’s uncle, might bring still greater pressure to see his nephew crowned. The former Lord Chancellor, having dared treason for a principle, was unlikely to be moved by pressure but, if Richard wanted Edward crowned, he had one strong argument. If he, Richard, as the next heir in line, was content for the crown to go to Edward, so should the bishop be. For what it’s worth, in my opinion, it was an argument which would move some men, but not a bishop like Stillington.
Also, Edward’s children had one other powerful friend, William Lord Hastings. How Morton dealt with Hastings, and how he persuaded Richard to withdraw support for his nephew, will appear in a further chapter.
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Chapter 10 – Hatfield Palace
I would like to think I bring insight to the facts of the last chapter; the historical record is open to all – at least, for those with eyes to see. When, in 2004, the B.B.C. broadcast a serious documentary confirming Edward IVs illegitimacy, and showing how the crown of England should have passed, the academic community ignored it. You could say, even today, the careers of too many professional historians are bound up in peddling Tudor lies; whatever acrobatics they have to jump through to explain the behaviour of historical figures. In fairness to these historians, there is another reason they cannot believe the obvious, a reason I will reveal at the conclusion of the book, after the end of Part III, and after deali
ng with other loose ends.
Much less has been written about John Morton’s palace at Hatfield, either at the time or since. The best you may find is that at some point between 1480, when he was installed as bishop of Ely, and 1486, when he became arch-bishop of Canterbury, John Morton carried out great building works.
Let’s go much further back.
Around 970 King Edgar gave 5,000 acres of land at Hatfield to the monastery of Ely. Ely being then an island surrounded by marsh, the reason given for the gift was, “because, since the country is wooded, the brethren can find timber for the fabric of their Church and wood sufficient for their other purposes”. Even 500 years later, more than a third of England was oak forest; surely wood could have been found closer than the 58 miles distant Hatfield.
Hatfield lay on the Great North Road, between York and London, and not far from the abbey of St. Albans, commemorating the site of the martyrdom of England’s first saint, a useful site; but by the late 1300s the monks’ house had fallen into disrepair. It was repaired and supported by a large timber frame, covered by shingles, and this is the building Morton would have found when he inspected his See.
I searched for something special in Hatfield, having caught Morton’s excitement about it. Whatever there was, I didn’t find it. Perhaps its importance always was that it was ‘away from prying eyes.’ Yet, for all the ritual and corruption in the Church, it was normal for church buildings to be sited in places of power; even today you will find relics of power in high church alters. From Hatfield I turned to Ely and the sainted princess Etheldreda who founded its abbey. Whatever was there was also too distant for me to catch, and I turned to Morton’s building work.
Only one range of what he built still stands, but this is enough to suggest a massive scale and richness. From the beginning there had been great ambition in the Bishop’s mind, and one detail caused me to catch my breath.
Scrying or distant viewing, if you can master it, is wonderful; you can go to any place, at any time, without physical limitations. I walked round Morton’s new palace, I even visited as it was being built; looking for secret places and any explanation of what the building was for.
What caused me to catch my breath? In an inside angle, between the ranges, was a stair tower. It could not be exactly like anything at the Tower of London but, in some sense, it was an echo of what was there. Was Morton modelling the Tower? If so there could only be one reason, the scrying of the students of his school.
At times it’s possible to eavesdrop conversations, I’ve done it in this book, on this occasion it was easy. Morton was at the new palace, close to completion, he was talking to the builder, Wilfred,
“I told you it is scaled!”
And the Bishop tapped the drawing in his hand for emphasis.
“Under each architrave we must have 4 points, not 3.”
Wilfred, who in modern times would have been the architect not the builder, looked grave. He thought better of arguing.
“Yes my lord Bishop.”
You will strip out all you have done and do it properly. Your men will work double time for no more pay. I require it complete and correct when next I visit in 4 days.”
The word ‘require’ had been stretched out to encompass all the terrible consequences of the work not being made right. It left Wilfred speechless, and me wondering what exactly were Morton’s plans for distant seeing.
I went back to see how the work was completed; there was something else to check also, and for this I had to find a different time. You remember Thomas had told Morton to build a well, had it been done?
At first I couldn’t find it. I looked outside, in the courtyard, then around the outside of the entire building. It wasn’t there. Then I looked in the main great hall. There it was; the floor, already laid, was dug up. In the middle of the room a well was sunk, it was somewhere between 6 and 8 feet across and I guessed it went down more than 20 feet. It was dry, of course, and to ensure it stayed so I saw it dressed with cut stones, mortared together.
I saw another builder; this one was called Nathaniel Buttery, a man of slow and careful deliberation. He always pronounced his name in full, and would suffer no man, not even the Bishop, to call him ‘Nat.’ He was a master stone-mason, and proud of his craft. Nathaniel supervised the building of the well; he was proud of his understanding, but he never questioned the building of a dry well in the hall. He was not one of the brothers, but stood close to them; a man to watch.
One other thing, which I’m sure you guessed. As I wandered round the Bishop’s new palace; the building itself and the landscape in which it was set, I recognised many scenes. I recognised them from watching the scrying of the brothers, the place at some miles distance, of which Thomas spoke, was none other than this.
Seeing all this gave me a new insight into the Bishop. He had started these building works as soon as he held the See of Ely. He had made Hatfield almost more important than control of Cambridge University or the politics of Court. The Bishop was a driven and busy man.
For myself, as I was doing this, I still picked at the siting of Hatfield. The people of the Middle Ages are not to be despised because they didn’t have cell phones or motor cars; they had faith, and it sometimes gave them perceptions lost to our age.
You may think it strange that I looked at reports of ghost sightings, maps of ley-lines, and records of witchcraft in Hatfield and in Hertfordshire generally. Certainly nothing spectacular affects our story, for my conclusions you will have to wait, if I give them at all.
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All that’s left of Morton’s great palace at Hatfield.
Chapter 11 – A Little More of the School
News of Edward IV’s death galvanised Morton. He needed to be both at Court and supervising the school at the same time, he tried to do both, but his absence from Cambridge and Hatfield brought to light another of the brothers.
By April 1483 the school had been established at Hatfield for nearly a year, but some of the brothers still remained at the old house in Cambridge. These remaining brothers packed up, bringing all the school’s possessions, carrying them in carts along the long road. They came in ones and twos so they should not draw attention to their departure, but they left the old house bare and empty. It seemed as if the Bishop wanted no evidence they’d ever been there.
It was in the last eighteen months Brother Gilbert became more and more active and assured. He was to the school’s distant seeing what Thomas was in talking to the dead. The brothers respected his skill; they came to believe, if he said a thing was so it was so.
Gilbert was a lean man, above medium height, perhaps five foot four inches, despite his saturnine looks he wasn’t gaunt, as Thomas had become. What disturbed you when you looked at him was his eyes; deep-sunken eyes that seemed always to be looking into other worlds.
Brother Gilbert had regularly visited Hatfield even from before the building was finished, and Morton would consult him often. He had been the first brother to move there permanently and, in the Bishop’s absence, he took charge.
I remembered, in the early days of the brothers’ scrying, it had been fun, almost a joke. I remember Thomas seeing it as a game. Under Brother Gilbert it became earnest; his waspish tongue would tolerate no laziness, inaccuracy or inattention. He fell into the habit of speaking, at least partly, in Latin; it reminded the brothers that this work was the most serious part of their devotions.
The Bishop’s palace was a different world from the cramped streets of Cambridge. None of the brothers had known such luxury. Each had his own room and there were hangings on the walls; the great hall was a cavern, rising high above their heads. As they craned their necks to look up at the great beams which carried the roof, I wondered, did any of them remembered the day the Bishop got them to stand on the table? Perhaps it was the beams of this hall at which he was looking.
There were servants, a cook and kitchen staff, against the need to entertain, but no-one believed that need would ever arise. T
he local people taken into service looked no further than their own villages. Their learning went no further than the sermons of their priest, given in the monks’ church of Saint Etheldreda which stood nearby. The brothers never delivered a sermon in that church, it wasn’t their office.
Amongst the craftsmen and tradesmen round about, one man stood out. He was a blacksmith, by the name of Jacob, and he was a mute. A surprising number of people around Hatfield were dumb, and not from vows of silence as could be found around an abbey. Jacob was squat; it seemed as if all his growth had gone outwards rather than up, a mark of deprivation in childhood. His living as a man must have been healthy enough, his torso and arms rippled with muscle; but for all that, his large hands had a delicacy of work fit for the finest of jobs. There was enough work for a smith round the palace, but his services were much in demand, as far away as Hertford, and he travelled regularly. He would not question, but followed direct orders diligently, I marked him as someone of whom there might be need one day.
The brothers would practise, under the direction of Gilbert, according to the instructions left by Morton. They knew great change was coming, there was a rising sense of expectation, but they didn’t know what, at this stage the brothers had no idea what plans were stirring. All they knew was that they should be part of it.
Maybe it was this which made the brothers restless and disturbed their sleep; perhaps it turned their minds to superstition. Could it have been the landscape, full of woods and empty fields, which unsettled them?
Light winds would arise from nowhere; stronger winds would keen through the woods, catching at the brothers’ robes, almost as if there were voices and hands alive in the trees; then to be replaced by still air and bright sun-light, as if nothing should ever stir. The strangest place was the ground around the church. None of the brothers would linger there, and some started to wonder if their work displeased Saint Etheldreda.
Some of the brothers spoke of that distant Saxon princess, who knew and turned her back on the world of politics.