by Day, Malcolm
Salt was further rubbed into the wound when, on the death of Henry’s father in February of 1399, Richard commuted this ten-year sentence to life and promptly confiscated all his inheritance in the duchy of Lancaster. The landless, exiled duke could only plot his revenge – which he did with ruthless determination.
Gaining the upper hand
The right moment to make his move came a few months later when Richard was away in Ireland sorting out the conflict of rule. His enemy landed at Ravenspur in Yorkshire, claiming he merely wished to retireve his rightful inheritance. Though initially having a force of only 300 men, Henry quickly gathered more support in the north as one discontented baron after another joined him, including one Henry Percy, earl of Northumberland.
The king, knowing his position in the realm to be vulnerable, was anxious to return but was delayed by storms. When he did finally land at Conwy Castle in July, he discovered his support had ebbed away. Tricked into believing he could remain as king if he accepted terms offered by Percy, now in the pay of Henry Bolingbroke, he was captured as he left the castle and thrown in prison.
Arms of Richard II with the fleurs-de-lys of France and lions of England
The next item of royal news came in September, namely that Richard II had abdicated in the face of 33 charges brought against him by parliament. Having ‘legitimately’ disposed of Richard’s right to rule, Henry Bolingbroke claimed the throne ‘by right line of blood’, and more persuasively because the country was in chaos.
The following February brought further news of the abdicated king, this time of his death while in custody at Pontefract Castle. Rumours were rife as to the manner of his demise. Some say he died violently, others that he was slowly starved to death.
Whichever way, it amounted to murder and was committed under orders from his bitter enemy, Henry IV. Thus began the rule of the House of Lancaster, and with it the bitter struggle for power against the rival House of York, who of course always maintained its crown was usurped. The struggle would culminate in the Wars of the Roses half a century later.
French Crown Slips from Henry V’s Grasp
Hard graft ends in twist of fate
There were two iconic kings that Henry VIII wished to emulate: Arthur and Henry V. The latter, an ambitious Lancastrian whose military genius made him a legend in his own lifetime, came to within an ace of achieving what had eluded all his ancestors: winning the French throne for England.
It was the Battle of Agincourt, of course, that has gone down in English history as the great landmark in patriotic aspiration. The spirit of Agincourt is invoked whenever morale needs lifting up, and especially when our backs are to the wall. Shakespeare has immortalised the event with his stirring words put into the mouth of Henry V:
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
And so it was, on October 25, 1415, some 20 miles inland of Boulogne, that this warrior king urged on his 6,000 foot soldiers in the face of a French army numbering in excess of 20,000 – some accounts say as many as 50,000 – including the flower of their cavalry. One might question the king’s wisdom in subjecting so many of his ‘dear friends’ – husbands and fathers among them – to what must have appeared to be an early bloodbath, had it not been for one weapon: the longbow, the fear of the French.
Indeed, Henry himself was by all accounts surprised at the ease of his progress. On landing in Normandy he was expecting a quick raid. Instead the apparent disarray of the French allowed him a fantastic victory against all odds, through clever tactics, clever use of his prize weapon, and ‘clever’ rain that bogged down the enemy cavalry.
AGE OF ARMOUR
By the beginning of the 15th century, old-fashioned chain mail had been replaced by plate armour. This protective wear was difficult to forge; great centres existed at Milan, in Italy; Augsburg and Nuremburg in Germany. But at Agincourt, even the new armour was found to be vulnerable to the deadly power and accuracy of the longbow. Armour continued to be worn in battle until guns and gunpowder finally made it redundant in the 16th century.
Quickening the chase
The French lost 7,000 men, among them the finest of their nobility. Their country was left defenceless and leaderless in the face of England’s determined 28 year-old king. By contrast the English had lost less than 100, and only one lord.
Pressing home his advantage, Henry continued the onslaught for another four years, capitalising on a France divided by civil war between the great families of Armagnac and Burgundy. Finally, in 1419, the influential duke of Burgundy capitulated and recognised Henry as unofficial king of France. Within months the whole country was under English control.
The following year Henry married Catherine, daughter of Charles VI of France, on the understanding he was heir to the French throne. The old king was ailing. It was surely only a matter of time before Henry could lay his hands on the crown. Alas a bout dysentery was to cruelly deny him – and just a month later the French king followed Henry to the grave. His baby son would succeed him, as Henry VI, but lose all that his illustrious father had gained.
Architect of Eton Not Interested in Ruling
Henry VI more monk than king
Henry was just eight months old when he inherited the crown on the death of his father, Henry V, in 1422. His uncles governed as regents for the next 15 years. He had to wait until he was old enough to be able to support a crown before he could undergo such a demanding ceremony as the coronation.
This he did when eight. Even then, the crown was too heavy for the boy to wear unaided, so it was held aloft while litanies were sung. To ease the burden of such an ordeal, a sumptuous feast was laid on with all the young royal’s favourites, including ‘roast meat fritters’ and jelly. Little did Henry know that a few hundred miles south a young French maid, nine years his senior, would in the same year lead an army of 4000 soldiers to champion the rights of French freedom from the English yoke. He might also not have been aware that the following year this girl, Joan of Arc, was burnt at the stake on the ground of being a witch. The French surely lost just the sort of mascot they needed to unite them.
Just nine months later Henry, now eleven, took part in a second elaborate coronation, this time in Paris, to crown him king of France. The prize for which his father devoted so much of his hard-fought life to win came effortlessly to his son. Perhaps it is not surprising that Henry VI lacked interest in keeping a grip on the French throne, for he had been handed it on a plate at a tender age. When the tide turned against the English and their crucial alliance with Burgundy broke down, Henry is said to have burst into tears.
Henry VI was the only sovereign to be crowned in both England and Wales
While the kingdom of France gradually slipped from English hands, the finer sensibilities of Henry’s character fed a different sort of ambition, in the direction of architecture, learning and Christian piety. Meanwhile his mother Catherine, widow to Henry V, formed a new liaison with a Welshman, Owen Tudor, a union destined to have a lasting impact on the English throne.
Gothic wonders
In the 50 years of what turned out to be a disastrous reign, Henry VI left behind one tangible legacy: the buildings that express his own qualities of faith and devotion to learning. The chapels he commissioned at King’s College Cambridge and at Eton are considered to reach a high point in the Gothic style that dominated European architecture for four centuries. One hundred metres of soaring columns and delicate fan vaulting in the Chapel of King’s College lead the eye to a mesmerizing stained glass window above the high altar.
Henry’s idea in founding Eton in 1440 was to provide free instruction ‘in the rudiments of grammar’ to anyone except ‘bastards’ and ‘the unfree’, as a preparation for higher learning at King’s College Cambridge.
Yorkist Star Rises
Edward IV flies in the face of ‘Kingmaker’
For 30 years in the 15th century England was torn by the vi
cious struggle between rival pretenders to the throne. The source of the conflict lay in the deep bitterness of dynastic rivalry. From the sons of Edward III had sprung two great families, the houses of York and Lancaster, each believing it had the legitimate claim to the throne.
Open conflict did not break out until the 1450s when the Hundred Years War with France came to an end. Military minds could then focus on the reign of Lancaster’s Henry VI, whose weakness and increasing insanity seemed to invite an opportunist to grab the reins. Into this apparent power vacuum strode the impressive Edward IV, tall handsome and warrior-like – quite unlike his Lancastrian counterpart.
Grey lady
The woman Edward chose to be his wife, Elizabeth Woodville, was young and beautiful, but of low birth and, more important, Lancastrian. Edward kept the marriage under wraps. When at last he was asked in public whom he should marry, after a moment of embarrassment he confessed his secret. His wife was also a widow; her married name being Grey, of the same family that would produce the hapless Lady Jane of the next century.
Kingmaker
The intrigues of the ensuing Wars of the Roses are too complex to cover here but it is curious that such a militaristic name for three decades of conflict involved scarcely half a dozen battles. The clashes tended to go over the heads of the ordinary people – taking place as they did in the palaces of the south and dour castles of the north. In that sense the conflict didn’t constitute a civil war either.
Despite Edward’s military prowess and popularity, he did not bargain for the power of the ‘Kingmaker’, as Richard Neville, earl of Warwick, came to be known. Owner of vast wealth across the Midlands his will, more than any other’s, carried the day.
When half way through the long struggle Warwick switched allegiance to the exiled Henry, King Edward was forced to flee, coming close to drowning in The Wash as he dashed across the North Sea for refuge. Thereupon, the now mad Henry was reinstated on the throne, albeit briefly.
When Edward returned a year later, in 1471, to avenge himself, the Yorkist king was triumphant on the battlefields of Barnet and Tewkesbury. The Lancastrian armies were shattered and, as important, the earl of Warwick was dead. The way was clear for Edward to resume his kingship. Henry was dispatched to the Tower where he lost his head, literally, and Edward ruled for another 12 years, quite a feat in wartime.
THE PRINTING PRESS
England’s first ever printed book was made in Edward IV’s reign. The book, entitled Dictes and Sayenges of the Phylosophers, may not have made for easy bedtime reading but it did allow a proud moment for its maker William Caxton when he presented it on bended knee to the king. Using revolutionary technology from Germany, this wealthy wool merchant set up the first printing press in England. Previously, manuscripts had to be laboriously copied longhand. Now they could be reproduced in their hundreds, and they included the first printed copy of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales.
Wicked Uncle or Cornered Rat?
Did Richard III really deserve his evil image?
Too often Richard III’s career is judged by his murder of the Princes in the Tower. The bad press that blackened his character came from two main sources, both posthumous: the biased biographer of Henry VII, who defeated Richard III on the field of Bosworth, and William Shakespeare, who may have read this biography for his information and from it created the caricature of the king we see as a monstrous hunchback.
It is on record that the two Princes were held in the Tower, never to be seen again, and that Richard was responsible for their deaths. Even by 15th century standards the double murder of two innocent children was horrific, and no doubt contributed to Richard’s downfall.
But many wonder if history has yet judged him unfairly. For 30 of the 33 years of his life, Richard was a conscientious administrator and general, deeply loyal to his brother Edward IV, and a faithful husband. Indeed, were he to have died in 1483 instead of his brother, he would have gone down in history as a decent chap. So why did everything go horribly wrong?
Background intrigue
The political intrigues that constantly fuelled the Wars of the Roses came to a precipitate conclusion in the events that led to that decisive Battle of Bosworth. The nub of the matter, as always, was to do with dynastic succession. Once the ruling monarch – in this case Edward IV – was dead rival claimants would scurry for supremacy.
Now, Edward IV’s queen, Elizabeth Woodville, was set on promoting her son and heir apparent, Edward, to be the next king. But this was complicated by the fact that his uncle Richard, who had so ably supported Edward IV in his affairs of state had been nominated in his will as Protector of the young prince. At this stage, did Richard have designs on the throne or was he content to usher his nephew to it?
Once Edward IV was dead, Elizabeth, being born of lowly stock, was nervous of her position and feared that Richard might gather the aristocracy to support his bid for the crown. Furthermore, many nobles, perhaps including Richard, blamed the queen and her advisors for the death of Richard’s other brother Clarence, who had been sentenced to death for treason. Richard was said to be ‘overcome with grief’, and duly set up two religious foundations to pray for his dead brother and other members of the royal family. A court chronicler of the time wrote that the Woodvilles ‘were afraid that if Richard took the crown, they who bore the blame of Clarence’s death would suffer death or at least be ejected from their high estate’.
Dog eat dog
Therefore, after her royal husband’s death in April 1483, the queen arranged for her son Edward to be brought from Ludlow to London as quickly as possible for safety sake. The trouble was, too many lords of the land supported Richard in preference to the queen, and through them Richard got wind of her plans. At this point it has to be asked, what was his best course of action?
Queen Elizabeth’s intentions were clear. She was going to get her young son crowned as soon as possible. Indeed preparations were being made for a coronation on 24 June, just weeks away. Once Richard’s responsibility as Protector was dissolved, he would be vulnerable. For Edward, aged twelve, was considered in those days to be nearly an adult. On becoming king, he was not going to favour Richard over his own mother. The solution was simple: to survive, Richard had to rule, and to rule he had to be king. It was a dog-eat-dog situation.
Kidnap
So, on hearing the news that the young prince was travelling to London, Richard and his men headed south, kidnapped the prince and took him to the Tower. The rest, as they say, is history. Richard had also to kidnap the second of Elizabeth’s sons to eliminate his possible accession.
A rumour was circulated that the princes were bastards in any case. With power to his elbow, Richard had little difficulty in persuading parliament to present him with the crown in the absence of legitimate contenders.
Though he won this round, Richard was still up against it. For Elizabeth would not lie down easily. Though she had given up hope of ever seeing her two sons again, she could wrest the crown from this Yorkist usurper by presenting one Henry Tudor, sole surviving Lancastrian claimant, with the hand of her daughter in marriage. She being the daughter of Edward IV would help Tudor’s cause to rule. And so it was, when Richard fell on the field at Bosworth in 1485 – the last English king to die in battle – that the Plantagenet dynasty came to an end, to be replaced by the Tudors. It was a milestone in English history. From now on, the country was no longer beset by medieval struggles in arms but bloomed in the growing prosperity of the modern era.
Patron of Expansion
Henry VII commissions Cabot to set sail
Under the guidance of Henry VII the country laid the foundation of future Tudor strength. Efficient and continuous government, without the enervating preoccupation with war that beset every Plantagenet administration, enabled the nation’s energies to create wealth. The wool and cloth industries expanded bringing more sterling than ever before into the nation’s coffers.
Henry VII was probably the first busine
ssman to be king of England. Not only did he quietly set about building up the country, he was astute enough to seize an opportunity when it came his way.
That opportunity came in the form of an Italian navigator named John Cabot. Having pondered the news of Columbus’s discovery of America five years earlier, Henry had thought of commissioning the Spanish explorer to search out new sources of wealth overseas for British commercial interests. When Cabot turned up with his own promises to find new ocean routes to Japan and China – which were thought to be accessible by sailing west across the Atlantic – Henry was delighted to fund him.
The king made available all that Bristol had to offer, with its long heritage in shipping. Accompanied by 20 English mariners, Cabot set sail from Bristol quay aboard the Matthew in 1497 and crossed the Atlantic in 35 days – the first seafarer to cross the northern Atlantic since the Vikings. Unsure of where he had made landfall, Cabot simply named the place New-Found Land, and planted the Tudor flag and standard of St Mark, the symbol of Venice.
Returning to England amid much confusion about where or what he had discovered, most agreed it must be northern Asia, and that the highly valued spice islands would be but a short sail away. The king rewarded the captain’s daring deed with the sum of £10, plus a pension of £20 a year, and, perhaps of greater importance, the promise of a second venture, this time with a larger fleet.
