The Dublin King: The True Story of Lambert Simnel and the Princes in the Tower

by John Ashdown-Hill

  Unlike his elder brother, Richard, Duke of York found himself at the centre of things when their father died, on 9 April 1483, for he was living at the Palace of Westminster with his family. At the end of April, when the news reached London that the Duke of Gloucester now had control of Edward V, it became apparent that the attempted Woodville coup had failed and, for the second time in her life, Elizabeth Woodville claimed sanctuary at Westminster Abbey. The young Richard, Duke of York accompanied his mother and sisters into sanctuary. He remained with his family at Westminster Abbey for more than six weeks. During that time his uncle the Duke of Gloucester established himself as Lord Protector of the Realm. Meanwhile plans were going ahead for Edward V’s coronation.

  On Monday, 9 June, an important council meeting was held from 10 a.m. until 2 p.m., at which plans for the coronation were due to be discussed. In the event, however, the council meeting appears to have found itself side-tracked by a serious question as to whether the coronation could go ahead, which had been raised by the Bishop of Bath and Wells. The bishop had declared that Edward IV’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville had been illegal, and that the new king was therefore technically illegitimate. Bishop Stillington’s evidence was quite specific. He revealed that he himself had secretly married Edward IV to Eleanor Talbot, the former Lady Butler, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and sister of the Duchess of Norfolk, approximately three years prior to the same king’s second secret marriage to Elizabeth Woodville.10

  Since the late Duke of Clarence may have raised this issue earlier (in 1477), the question of the validity of Edward IV’s Woodville marriage was probably not a complete surprise to all members of the royal council.11 However, Clarence’s evidence for Edward IV’s Talbot marriage had probably been slight. That, together with Clarence’s subsequent execution, may have persuaded most people to give the illegitimacy of Edward IV’s children as little credit as the French legend of Edward IV’s own illegitimacy.

  Now, however, the situation was rather different. For the person now recounting the story of Edward IV’s Talbot marriage was none other than a priest who claimed that he himself had officiated at the marriage of Edward and Eleanor. This priest was now not only a bishop, but also an expert in marriage law. Thus, when he told the council that Edward IV’s Woodville marriage was bigamous and that the children born of it were illegitimate, he had to be taken seriously.

  Even if some of the council members had heard this story before, Bishop Stillington’s new and authoritative announcement probably shocked them – and also the Duke of Gloucester. Initially, opinions differed as to how the new situation should be handled. The Duke of Buckingham and others argued strongly that Edward V must now be set aside and the throne offered to the Duke of Gloucester as the senior surviving prince of the blood royal. Other noblemen, led apparently by Lord Hastings, felt more inclined to hush up Stillington’s revelation and allow the plans for Edward V’s coronation to go ahead.

  Unbeknown to Richard, Buckingham may have had his own axe to grind in this dispute. Although, as a young orphan of royal descent, he had been brought up by Elizabeth Woodville and her family, and had been married off to one of the younger Woodville sisters, the Duke of Buckingham by no means favoured the Woodvilles and their cause. As we have seen, he had already firmly supported Richard, Duke of Gloucester for the role of protector. Now he was pushing for the setting aside of Edward IV’s bastard children by Elizabeth Woodville, and for the throne to be offered to Richard of Gloucester.

  The next scheduled session of the council seems to have been split into two separate meetings, reflecting the two rival factions, so that Hastings and his contingent met at the Tower of London whereas Buckingham’s supporters assembled at the Palace of Westminster. The Duke of Gloucester, Protector of the Realm, apparently visited both groups. Mancini states that Hastings entered the council meeting bearing concealed arms in an attempt to launch an attack on Richard, and that he was therefore executed for treason. Apparently Gloucester had been convinced by his cousin, Buckingham, that decisive action on his part was now called for. The execution of Hastings effectively silenced – at least temporarily – those council members who had been supporting his views.

  Incidentally, the fact that Buckingham had opposed Lord Hastings over the succession issue was probably no accident. Earlier, Edward IV had allowed – and indeed encouraged – Lord Hastings to establish himself as the leading magnate in Staffordshire. But that was a role which, in Buckingham’s eyes, should rightfully have belonged to his family – the Staffords. Although Hastings had certainly taken the wrong side, politically, over the question of whether or not Edward V should be set aside, for Buckingham the execution of Hastings also had a definite personal advantage. It meant that he was then able to re-establish his own position in Staffordshire.

  The decisive action taken at the council meeting logically required that the alternative Woodville heir – young Richard, Duke of York – should be removed from the control of his mother as urgently as possible. Probably the fear was that once she learned that her marriage had been set aside – and her children, bastardised – the queen mother and her family would step up their opposition by using the young Richard as another rallying point for rebellion.

  The Duke of Buckingham – who had been the first to propose that Edward V should be lodged at the Tower – was also a leading member of the delegation which was now sent to persuade Elizabeth Woodville to allow her younger son to join his brother there. Interestingly, Buckingham is regarded by contemporary Continental sources as the person responsible for the subsequent fate of the two ‘princes’ (whatever that fate really was).

  On 16 June the queen mother was persuaded by the delegation – including the Duke of Buckingham, but actually led by another royal cousin, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Cardinal Bourchier – to allow the Duke of York to join his brother at the Tower of London. Ironically, their period of residence at the Tower was probably the first time that the two boys, Edward and Richard, had ever spent any significant amount of time together.

  Edward’s coronation, scheduled for 22 June, had now been postponed, and on 26 June the crown was formally offered by the Three Estates of the Realm (no actual Parliament having as yet been opened) to Richard, Duke of Gloucester. However, in spite of Hastings’ execution, his view of things had not been totally quashed. There is even evidence to show that – curiously – his former opponent the Duke of Buckingham may have taken over the cause of his two nephews, the sons of Edward IV, after Hastings’ death. At all events, as we shall see, towards the end of July 1483 an attempt was made to break into the Tower of London and seize the two boys.12

  What subsequently became of Edward IV’s sons is one of the great historical mysteries, and more will be said about this in the next chapter. Even at the time, very few people knew their fate for certain. However, this uncertainty constitutes one of the strongest reasons for doubting those later accounts which suggest that they were murdered by – or at least on the orders of – their uncle, the new king, Richard III. If Richard had any motive for killing them, it would presumably have been to ensure that they could no longer be used to challenge his right to the throne. But to achieve that it would have been essential for everyone to know for certain that the two boys were dead. Mystery about their fate would not have been helpful.

  Whatever became of them, it would have been in Richard III’s best interests to ensure that what had happened to his nephews (or, at least, an official version thereof) became public knowledge. Thus, he would have been best advised to make a public statement of some kind regarding what had occurred. Even if the boys were really dead, a risk would have remained that substitute claimants might subsequently be brought forward to impersonate them. Indeed, this may possibly have happened later, in the case of Perkin Warbeck. If Bernard André’s account of Lambert Simnel were to prove correct, the situation might even have arisen twice.

  The fact is that, if he was truly in control of the fate of his two n
ephews, Richard III’s conduct is completely mysterious. Consequently the most obvious and logical explanation of Richard III’s silence seems to be that the fate of the two boys was somehow taken out of his hands. As a result, he no longer knew whether they were alive or dead, or, if they were living, where they were located. How this may have been done, and by whom, will be reviewed in the next chapter.

  Another significant point is the fact that when Henry VII took the crown he initially levelled no accusation against Richard III of having had his nephews killed. A specific accusation to that effect only surfaced many years later, after Henry had been been forced to deal with the second Yorkist pretender – who was a rather convincing claimant for the role of the younger of the two sons of Edward IV. Henry then allowed it to be rumoured that Sir James Tyrell (who was executed in 1502 for other activities) had confessed to having killed the boys on Richard III’s instructions. No text of James Tyrell’s confession was ever published, and no such document appears to survive. Probably none ever existed. Nevertheless, the enormous practical value of the story of the murder and of the executed Tyrell’s confession was that they would hopefully help to make it impossible for any future Yorkist pretender to claim to be a son of Edward IV.

  The detailed circumstantial account of Thomas More, penned long after the events to which it claimed to refer, was written specifically in the light of the alleged (but probably mythical) confession of Sir James Tyrell. More’s account is not worthy of serious attention. As for the earlier accounts referring to the murder of the two boys, both in England and abroad, all of them are hearsay, nothing more than reports of contemporary gossip. They lack detail, they lack witnesses, and they were based partly on the fact that no one knew where the sons of Edward IV were, and partly upon the personal objectives of those who produced the stories.

  A nineteenth-century depiction of the alleged murder of the ‘Princes in the Tower’. There is no surviving contemporary representation of Richard of Shrewsbury, Duke of York and Norfolk, the second of these so-called princes.

  However, it is surely significant that at least one pretender certainly appeared, claiming to be Richard of Shrewsbury, and was quite widely accepted and believed, and that on the basis of the surviving fifteenth-century evidence (as we shall see), that no pretender ever claimed to be Edward V.

  These two key facts appear to indicate that in the last decade and a half of the fifteenth century the most widespread belief was that Edward V may have been dead, but that his younger brother, Richard, Duke of York, could well be still alive. Against this, of course, one must set the allegation of some modern writers that the Dublin King either was, or claimed to be, Edward V. That case, together with the rather limited evidence relating to it, will be examined in the next chapter.

  Here, the focus of our attention is upon the case of Edward IV’s younger son, Richard, Duke of York. According to Bernard André, that was who the Dublin King claimed to be. One key point in respect of the young Richard is that there is absolutely no clear evidence that he died – or was believed to have died – in 1483. This assertion is offered here in spite of the existence of a document known as the ‘Cely note’, which some modern historians have sought to interpret as proving the death of Richard, Duke of York. In my view, such interpretations are incorrect. They are highly subjective, and are based upon a misunderstanding of the document in question, coupled with an incorrect assessment of its dating. Nevertheless, the claims made for the Cely note cannot simply be ignored. Let us briefly examine this example of the many theories surrounding the alleged murder of the so-called ‘princes’.

  The Cely family were middle-class Londoners. A selection of their family papers, covering the years 1472–88 was presented as evidence in the Court of Chancery in 1489, during the course of a family dispute. As a result, the papers are now preserved in The National Archives. The undated ‘Cely note’ which concerns us here was written by George Cely.13 Armstrong dates it tentatively to 13–26 June 1483 and characterises it as possibly expressing fears for the life of Edward V.14 Alison Hanham likewise assumes that George Cely’s reference to ‘the king’ is to Edward V, on the basis that mention in the note of the death of the ‘chamberlain’ must relate to the execution of Lord Hastings.15

  In fact, however, it is impossible to date the Cely note with any degree of certainty. Indeed, some earlier historians assigned it to August 1478, based on its reference to the death of an unnamed Bishop of Ely.16 In reality, though, it is extremely unlikely to have such an early date, since the text is inscribed upon the reverse of a document which seems to have been written in late 1481 or early 1482. The note, which is reproduced below, following as closely as possible the layout and format of the original manuscript text, includes a number of strange symbols, the meaning of which is not clear. Earlier publications of the ‘Cely note’ seem simply to have ignored these symbols:

  Ther ys grett romber in the Reme/ the scottys has done grett

  yn ynglond/ schamberlayne ys dessesset in trobell the chavnse

  +

  ler ys dyssprowett and nott content/ the boshop of Ely is dede

  ++

  yff the Kyng god ssaffe his lyffe were dessett/ the dewke of Glo

  lll

  sett[er] wher in any parell/ yffe my lorde prynsse, wher God

  ooo

  defend, wher trobellett/ yf my lord of northehombyrlond

  ll

  wher dede or grettly trobellytt/ yf my lorde haward wher

  o

  slayne

  De movnsewr Sent Jonys.

  This note is more than a little mysterious. Since its text is quite difficult to read in the original form, a second version is offered here, the spelling and punctuation of which have been modernised:

  There is great rumour in the realm. The Scots has done great [sic] in England. Chamberlain is deceased in trouble. The chancellor is disproved [? dyssprowett] and not content. The bishop of Ely is dead.

  If the King, God save his life, were deceased, the Duke of Gloucester were in any peril, if my Lord Prince wh[ich] God defend were troubled, if my lord of Northumberland were dead or greatly troubled, if my lord Howard were slain.

  De Monsieur Saint John.

  The note falls naturally into two parts. The first part states what purport to be facts, while the second contains obvious speculations, introduced by the word ‘If’. However, the opening sentence should warn us that we are dealing with rumour and gossip throughout the note. The meaning of some of the supposed ‘facts’ is far from clear, and one of the note’s clearest statements appears to be false.

  In terms of dating, the ‘facts’ are mutually incompatible. Only by selecting one ‘fact’ and ignoring others can any date be assigned to the note. Early attempts to date the note selected the ‘Bishop of Ely’ statement, thus producing the date of August 1478. Subsequently Armstrong and Hanham selected the ‘Chamberlain’ statement and dated the note to June 1483. However, it would be equally valid to select the ‘Chancellor’ statement, and this would suggest a date earlier in 1483. Obviously any dating arrived at in this way can only be subjective and must remain potentially contentious.

  Neither Edward IV nor Edward V is referred to by name. The same applies to Lord Hastings. The ‘Chancellor’ statement (the precise meaning of which has itself been debated) may refer to Archbishop Thomas Rotherham. He, however, was dismissed at the beginning of May 1483. If the ‘Bishop of Ely’ statement refers to John Morton, it was certainly false. Far from being dead, John Morton survived to plot against Richard III, ultimately becoming Henry VII’s chancellor and cardinal archbishop of Canterbury. As for the speculations in the second part of the note, some, such as the one relating to the possible death of Lord Howard, are also demonstrably in error. Lord Howard was about to become Duke of Norfolk and he was subsequently killed with Richard III at Bosworth. In short, there is absolutely no guarantee that any part of the note is accurate.17

  This evidence is in one way very significant, sin
ce it demonstrates clearly that the fact that something was written down by a contemporary cannot, by itself, guarantee that the writer knew what (s)he was talking about. A modern comparison would be if I were to write a statement about the death of Diana, Princess of Wales. I count as a contemporary, since I was living in England at the time of her death. However, I possess no specific, first-hand knowledge of what occurred. Thus anything I wrote would reflect nothing more than my own opinion. Unfortunately the writer of the Cely note seems to have been equally ill-informed.

  The fact remains that the note could well have been written earlier than Armstrong and Hanham suggest. In that case, the king to whom it refers would have been Edward IV, who died in April 1483. If so, the note must certainly have been written before the public proclamation of his death, since it mentions the king’s decease only as a speculation, not as a fact. Moreover, if the ‘king’ of the note is indeed Edward IV, then it follows that ‘my lord prince’ refers to the Prince of Wales (the future Edward V), who was then very much alive.