by Mike Voyce
There are something like seventeen ‘towers’ in the Tower of London, in which the Princes could have been housed, the Wakefield Tower, the Lanthorn Tower, and the White Tower being the most likely, but it could have been anywhere in the Inner Ward. I am indebted to Donald MacLachlan’s presentation to the Richard III Society for making this confusion clear.
Many people will confuse the Bloody Tower, which is a real building, with the White Tower, which is the great keep at the centre of the Tower of London complex. Those who are confused are right by mistake.
This chapter is a warning against believing historians. The point about Younghusband is this; all he had to do was take a short walk from his office and compare what he saw with what Sir Thomas More wrote, if he’d done that he would have known what he stated categorically was categorically wrong; perhaps he didn’t read More. While there undoubtedly have been people who deliberately and knowingly stated untruths, More might well have been one of them, I cannot think the majority of historians set out to tell lies, though some of them are negligent and many are far too trusting of earlier writers; the simple fact is it is terribly easy for historians to get their facts wrong.
Many people will continue to believe that which has been disproven, simply because it was written in a well-respected book. It cannot be helped. Whether there be consensus or not, were I on a jury my verdict on the historical fact alone would be the Princes disappeared from the White Tower.
What presents a more difficult problem is the staircase. Deep in my memory might well be reports of the discovery of two skeletons under a staircase at the Tower, during the reign of King Charles II. The discovery and later investigations of it are hardly secret, and I might have known and forgotten. For all that, I unearthed the details, with much debate about the discovery and about the skeletons, only after hearing the story from Thomas Nandyke.
At least there is agreement here. The staircase in question was within a building which no longer exists but which, at the time of the Princes was on the outside of the South face of the White Tower, below St. John’s Chapel. However, there is a most definite problem about these stairs, the staircase was, as I gathered from Thomas, made of stone.
It’s one thing to bury bodies under a wooden staircase, once the stairs are opened all that is needed is to dig into the floor. A labour, I grant you, but a possible one. To bury bodies under a stone staircase would involve moving as many tons of stone and rubble as King Charles’ labourers, and then replacing them without the appearance of any disturbance. The stairs long pre-dated the disappearance of the Princes, a good cause to doubt the bodies were interred in 1483. On the other hand, the reason the workmen who demolished the staircase dug down below the floor was that the ground was already disturbed, why and how should that be?
I’ve already given you one Ricardian source, let me give you another. One fact makes members of the Richard III Society so much better than mainstream professional historians; the Ricardians are more willing to question: here is Helen Maurer.
What is remarkable is that no historian can offer any explanation of what happened which is not fatally flawed. What happened to the Princes, and how two bodies were secretly interred in solid ground ten feet beneath a stone-built staircase in one of the strongest fortresses ever devised remains the greatest ‘locked-room’ mystery of all time – unless you believe Thomas’ story.
***
A detail from Richard III: His Life & Character Reviewed in the light of recent research [in the 1890s], by Sir Clements E. Markham; showing the standard image of Richard III
Chapter 29 – Magic and Other Issues
Modern historians will not discuss magic. They mostly don’t even want to write about its history, let alone its practice. They will absolutely deny that it worked, and they will totally disregard whatever the evidence might be to the contrary. This closed mindedness makes it as impossible to argue with historians, as it makes it impossible for them to know the truth. By the way, historians would apply the same mental processes they apply to their subject as well to the contents of the New Testament as they would to any historical story of magic, Richard III’s, Thomas Nandyke’s or anyone else’s. What would historians make of the book of Revelations, credited to St. John the evangelist, to whom the Chapel in the White Tower is dedicated?
From Classical Times through the annals of Christianity and in folklore there are any number of stories of levitation, people (often saints) appearing and disappearing and of people travelling to other worlds, or other parts of their own worlds. What is missing is any good explanation of how these things happened.
In England we think of the 1600s, with magic and witchcraft being the superstition of the poor; we find King James I presiding over the prosecution of wrongdoers. On the continent of Europe there was the hysterical Malleus Maleficarum, written as early as 1486, by the German Heinrich Kramer. Always witchcraft is associated with the ignorant, resentful poor. At the very best Magic is brought down to fortune telling and Queen Elizabeth I’s ludicrous astrologer, Dr. John Dee. It would be wrong to dismiss so much so lightly.
Behind this trivialization serious and powerful people were at work. One of them was King Louis XI, the architect of modern France.
What brought me to Louis was his reputation for collecting religious relics; he is almost more famous for this than he is for creating the French nation. He always seems to have believed he could bribe his way into Heaven, with the most extravagant gifts to religious houses and shrines. It also seems he believed he could use relics in working magic. However, at least, where it came to saving his own life, he failed. Funnily enough this is explained by a story dating to 1430, recounted in Johannes Nider’s Formicarius; it seems you can appeal to self-willed magic or to God, but not both at the same time. You will find Nider’s story on screen 6, page 389, of The Disenchantment of Magic if that link is broken you will find it here.
As to Louis’ personal character, let me start with Wikipedia:
“Shrewd and often vicious, he spun webs of plot and conspiracy which earned him the nicknames the Cunning (Middle French: le rusé) and the Universal Spider (Middle French: l'universelle aragne ). His love for scheming and intrigue made him many enemies, including his father, his brother Charles de Valois, Duc de Berry, as well as his cousins Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy and Edward IV of England.”
John Morton met King Louis not later than August 1475 when Thomas Bourchier brought him, with King Edward IV, to the negotiations at Picquigny, for a peace treaty between England and France. King Edward, with many of his ministers, was bribed into withdrawing the English army, Richard, then Duke of Gloucester, was reportedly disgusted. Morton may have met Louis as early as 1470 or 1471, as a supporter of Margaret of Anjou and Warwick, seeking aid for their rebellion against King Edward.
He met Louis again in February 1477, when he was appointed ambassador to the French court. In England Morton might have felt handicapped by his lack of nobility; this would not have mattered to Louis, who looked only to how useful people might be to him. Morton might have been flattered. What seemed to others as ugliness in Louis, his underhandedness as well as his appearance, may have appealed to Morton. It seems he was played like a fish, by a man more cunning than he, possibly over years, before he became a fully committed traitor to England, as well as God, the Church and King Edward.
It is said Louis was a master of poisons and potions, even that he poisoned his own father. He played the same games of suggestion and intrigue as Morton, but it is difficult to see what attraction there could be to supporting the blood-line of the de Valois rulers of France and betraying the royal house of Plantagenet; yet certainly this is what came about.
Pondering all this I wandered round the garden, smoking far too many cigarettes; I raided the fridge, played windows games and argued with myself. ‘Walking’ meditations are sometimes the most effective. Something told me Louis XI was Morton’s puppet master, but there were many questions; principally, who p
layed the strings for the King to control his English ambassador, and who gave Morton his interest in and knowledge of magic? I searched the Internet, having in my library plenty of English history but few books of French history. That evening, again in the garden, a conversation came to me:
“Come my English friend, you will eat with me.”
Morton was taken aback.
“Not here, we eat in the palace.”
Louis set off and Morton followed. The two of them ate well and alone, Louis insisting on sampling several fine wines. He sprawled casually, complaining of this nobleman and that, the stupidity of town councils, the burdens of government. It sounded indiscrete, and it was entirely of no consequence. Suddenly the King lent forward, placing his fist on the table for emphasis.
“In England you still have a great grand-daughter of John, Duke of Lancaster. There was a man, no? She has a husband with royal French blood. Morton’s mind snapped back to alert. It took a moment or two, the King waited.
“You mean Lady Margaret Beaufort; she’s married to Thomas Stanley.”
“Not he, her true husband was Edmund, the father of her child.”
This time it took longer.
“Henry Tudor?”
“That is the man!
He has the de Valois blood! And the English eh?”
Such a man could be King; not, pardon me John, like your troublesome King Edward.”
Morton could see no likelihood of that coming about.
Louis put his finger to his nose, he spoke confidentially, leaning closer still to Morton,
“I wager you a cardinal’s hat, in England or in France, if you put ‘Enry Tudor on the throne of England; it shall be yours.”
In the jocular conviviality of the dinner, could the offer be taken seriously? How could it be accomplished? For all that, the seed was sown.
I was wrong to think Louis needed an intermediary, or Morton a tutor of magic. The magic Morton made by modelling himself on his idol, ‘the Universal Spider.’
Even so, Louis needed to keep the idea alive; he mentioned it more than once. The last time he saw Morton he did not neglect to say,
“Remember me to the lady, Margaret Beaufort. We must all attend to the lady.”
And he put his finger to his nose and winked at Morton.
***
The ‘Universal Spider,’ King Louis of France
Chapter 30 – Morton’s Final Coupe
When King Richard left London, with Buckingham, he left as a hero. He had saved England from a queen’s faction, which would inevitably have followed the crowning of a boy king. How easily most people are led; as Morton was about to prove.
When I saw Louis so easily manipulating the man who was now a bishop I knew for sure how much Morton was hooked. He set about destroying Richard exactly as Louis set about destroying Charles the Bold of Burgundy, and most of his other enemies. The king of France might even have given lessons in it.
True, Morton could not bribe the malcontents, of Church and nobility, or the soldiers of Switzerland, as Louis did; though money was found when it was needed. To start with Morton’s agents were street urchins and minor officials, with a smattering of the following of the queen he’d so comprehensively defeated. Queen Elizabeth started to realise what a false friend she had in Margaret Beaufort, but she never quite realised the extent of Morton’s skill or enmity.
Now the Bishop focused on raising rumours and everywhere raising contention against every possible action the new king might take. Who knew what might become of any minor fear; like Louis, Morton became a ‘snapper up of trifles.’ What was needed was rapid action, and that meant splitting Richard and Buckingham. Always Morton aimed at influencing Buckingham’s agents, retainers and officials. They never suspected a thing.
The big story was that Richard killed his nephews; they disappeared because the King killed them. How easily people were diverted from asking how or why. Richard’s honour was never questioned, that was a lie too far. His love and duty for his nephews could not be denied and was always evaded. That England would not have a boy king was always turned by “Brave Prince Edward is glorious King Edward’s son.”
England did not like the murder of any child, let alone ‘Good King Edward’s sons.’ The ground that no-one could deny or explain, and Morton’s agents constantly put, was the Princes had in fact disappeared. It was denied or forgot the Princes were withdrawn because of the threat of Beaufort violence. “Let the King answer me this, how did the boys disappear from the strongest castle in Europe?!”
The mood of the commoners of London moved to thinking it neglect and a wrong that shamed King Richard. It moved from there to “Maybe the rumours are right, maybe the King killed the Princes.” The former open and joyous support changed to sullen resentment.
Foreign diplomats and merchants, where they could be reached, were given even more exaggerated stories, about ‘wicked’ King Richard under whom England ‘groans.’
Those loyal to Richard, those who knew him, did not understand what was happening. They did the worst thing they could have done, they ignored it; some even came to wonder if the rumours were true. It was a long time before anyone told Richard what was being said; out on his royal progress round the country he was still received as a hero.
Time came when Richard and Buckingham parted, still in high spirits and still the best of friends. Henry, duke of Buckingham, would return to his castle of Brecon, not yet knowing it had become the lair of the new ‘universal spider.’
It is not often I quote myself. This part of Morton’s dealings I already knew, from my first psychic investigation of history. The best way to tell you what happened next is to give you a passage from my book about it, Edward – Interactive.
‘When he arrived home he was greeted by John Morton.
“How fare the Princes your Grace? I have been concerned for young Prince Edward. Tell me, did he seem pale when his coronation was cancelled?”
“Why yes. As well he might, it was an astonishment to all of us.”
“I have concerns for him, for other causes, since his brother was torn from the sanctuary of Holy Church.”
Bishop Morton pursued it no further, but he came back to it the next day and the next.
There came a feast day when the Bishop was asked to bless the family meal. Almost as soon as he sat down he asked the Duke,
“Your Grace, have you received news of her ladyship’s nephews?”
Lady Katherine looked to her husband, he was by now annoyed at this pestering.
“Why, should I?”
“My agents report they are no longer to be seen in the Tower; that is all.”
“Henry.”
Lady Katherine caught hold of her husband’s arm. It was the tone Morton used, rather than his words, which made her fearful.
“You had better tell me what you know.”
“It may be nothing but it has almost been my second profession to know the minds of men even before they know themselves. For my former master I had ears everywhere. Those ears still inform me quicker than the ears of any man in England.”
Duke Henry would have made a joke of it.
“Your agents have fast horses then.”
Bishop Morton would allow no joke. He looked at the Duke for a moment in solemn silence.
“Yes my lord.”
The Duke and Duchess were about to take the bait.
There had been a Tudor attempt to take the Princes from the Tower by force. King Richard had feared it was an attempt at assassination and had ordered his nephews to stay more securely indoors. Morton painted the Tudor attack as a rescue attempt; the Princes withdrawal into hiding was painted as imprisonment. He claimed to have reports that made him believe the King would murder the Princes on his return to London.
Lady Katherine gasped in horror but Duke Henry was less credulous.
“Why should he.”
“King Richard sits on the throne by the decision of my brother, the bish
op of Bath and Wells. If my other brothers in the Church persuade the Pope he was wrong what will then become of King Richard’s coronation?”
“They won’t do that!”
Morton looked at the Duke with just the right measure of condescension and confidence.
“Your Grace may know the will of the Holy See better than I.”
“Oh! Henry.”
Lady Katherine was hooked.
It took many days more to convince the Duke. Morton resorted to instructing Tudor agents to inflame certain of the Duke’s retainers and minor officials. Fighting even broke out and there were protests at the Princes’ murder. Reports reached the Duke from his own agents. When they did Morton expressed further concern.
“These are black days your Grace. It is reported to the King, by your instruction your men are stirring up feeling for the Princes. Even I cannot say the sources of these rumours but if Richard believes them he may think you a traitor.
It may be others have heard what my agents have told me. Those loyal to your household would cry out for the Princes, for they know how close you stand to the throne yourself.”
Reports were coming in daily, made up reports from Morton and genuine reports from the Duke’s own men.
Morton reminded the Duke of every hasty or violent act Richard had ever committed. He reminded Henry of Lord Hastings. He even invented,
“I cannot remember, your Grace, was the King at Tewkesbury? It is said that he killed there Edward, Prince of Wales [son of Henry VI], after the battle was finished.”
In fact Richard had fought at Tewkesbury but left before the Prince was killed, Duke Henry hadn’t been there and it’s unlikely he would have known. Strangely, Morton’s lie is still told today, in Shakespeare’s play.
What finally decided it was that the Princes had indeed disappeared. The population of London became increasingly anxious about it, but Duke Henry was never to know by what contrivance they were whisked out of sight, or how close to his own home lay the cause of it. It was enough.