Well, OK, I admit it, the picture right above is NOT Edmund. It’s just an image of a young knight, which is what Edmund was at the time of his death. The trouble is, what did Edmund of Rutland actually look like? Another giant like his elder brother Edward IV? Or…smaller and more delicate, like his younger brothers, George of Clarence and Richard III? Well, certainly as Richard III was, and it is now suggested that George was the same. (To read more about this, click here.)
Back to Edmund. First, a little background to his life and premature death. Edmund Plantagenet, Earl of Rutland, Lord Chancellor of Ireland, descended paternally from Edmund of Langley, youngest-but-one son of King Edward III. He was born at Rouen on 17th May, 1443 (574 years ago this month), and besides his English title, had an Irish one, Earl of Cork. His father was Richard Duke of York, Protector of England and supposed heir to the English throne. His mother, Cecily Neville, was a daughter of Ralph Neville, Earl of Westmorland.
I will not go into the details of York’s claim to the throne, suffice it that the House of Lancaster was seated there but King Henry VI was weak-minded and ineffectual, and York (rightly) disagreed with his right to the crown. Henry’s fierce queen, Margaret of Anjou, was certainly not weak-minded, and she had a seven-year-old son to protect, Edward, Prince of Wales. She had no intention of endangering his eventual succession, and in 1449 York was appointed Viceroy of Ireland, and thus was (for the time being) safely out of the Lancastrian way. York’s second son, Edmund, Earl of Rutland, was appointed Lord Chancellor of Ireland and went with his father.
In July 1449, York and Edmund, together with York’s pregnant duchess (on 12th October she would give birth to George, Duke of Clarence), set sail for Howth, then the chief port of Dublin. They landed on 14th of the month. York soon gained the appreciation of the Irish, as well as the resident English, and the House of York was to retain that land’s support.
Not all York’s children went with him to Ireland, for his eldest son and heir, Edward, Earl of March, was holding Calais with York’s brother-in-law, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick. The great Kingmaker. At that time Warwick supported York’s claims. It would not always be thus, of course.
Edward and Warwick raised an army and invaded England to defeat the Lancastrians at the Battle of Northampton.
King Henry was captured, and London fell into Yorkist possession. York returned from Ireland with Edmund, and was reaffirmed as heir to the throne. The Yorkist ascendancy was soon imperilled, however, and York and Edmund found themselves trapped in Sandal Castle, near Wakefield.
They and a mere 5,000 men were besieged by the Lancastrians with 20,000 men. Help was on the way from Edward, but although York was urged to stay tight, he insisted on going out to give battle. There are varying reasons given for his decision to fight, one being that he was convinced he had enough friends in the opposing army who would come over to him. If this reason is true, he was wrong. If he’d held back, we might have had a different Richard III! And our Richard III would have been Richard IV.
The following is taken from The Lives of the Lord Chancellors and Keepers of the Great Seal of Ireland: From the Earliest Times to the Reign of Queen Victoria, Volume 1, by James Roderick O’Flanagan. The illustrations are my insertions. O’Flanagan (1814-1900) wrote a great deal about Irish history, and may have had access to a source that gives the description of Edmund. Or it might be his own invention, of course. One cannot always tell with writers of the 19th century.:-
“…On the eve of Christmas, December 24, 1460, the Duke’s army marched out of the castle and offered the Lancastrians battle. By the side of the Duke fought his second son, the young Chancellor of Ireland, whose years had not past their teens, but who, under a fair and almost effeminate appearance, carried a brave and intrepid spirit. The forces of the Queen resolved to annihilate their audacious foes, and soon the duke found how little reason he had to hope of finding friends in the camp of Queen Margaret. The historian Hume says,1 ‘the great inequality of numbers was sufficient alone to decide the victory, but the queen, by sending a detachment, who fell on the back of the Duke’s army, rendered her advantage still more certain and undisputed. The duke himself was killed in the action; and when his body was found among the slain the head was cut off by Margaret’s orders and fixed on the gates of York, with a paper crown upon it, in derision of his pretended title.’
“…The fate of the young Chancellor was soon over. Urged by his tutor, a priest named Robert Aspell, he was no sooner aware that the field was lost than he sought safety by flight. Their movements were intercepted by the Lancastrians, and Lord Clifford made him prisoner, but did not then know his rank. Struck by the richness of his armour and equipment, Lord Clifford demanded his name. ‘Save him,’ implored the Chaplain; ‘for he is the Prince’s son, and peradventure may do you good hereafter.’
“….This was an impolitic appeal, for it denoted hopes of the House of York being again in the ascendant, which the Lancastrians, flushed with recent victory, regarded as impossible. The ruthless noble swore a solemn oath:— ‘Thy father,’ said he, ‘slew mine; and so will I do thee and all thy kin;’ and with these words he rushed on the hapless youth, and drove his dagger to the hilt in his heart. Thus fell, at the early age of seventeen, Edmund Plantagenet, Earl of Rutland, Lord Chancellor of Ireland…”
1Hume’s History of England, vol iii, page 304.
The above, in a nutshell, is the life and death of Edmund Plantagenet, the York brother who is mostly forgotten.
I am intrigued by the description of Edmund as being of a fair and almost effeminate appearance. Given the similar description of Richard III as being delicate with gracile bones, and the fact that he was certainly handsome without being rugged, I am forced to wonder if Richard wasn’t the only brother with those attributes. I know ‘fair’ doesn’t necessarily mean blond—more likely ‘good-looking’—but ‘effeminate’ (rightly or wrongly) presents us with a definite type of appearance. Edward IV may have been 6’ 4”, but was he the only tall brother? Richard would have been 5’ 8” if it were not for his scoliosis, and that was a good height for the 15th century.
We’ve had speculation about the height of George of Clarence when compared with Richard (George may have been smaller), but what about Edmund of Rutland? Yes, he could have been 6’ 4” and still be effeminate, but I’m inclined to doubt it. Comment was made about Edward’s height. If Edmund had been like that, surely he too would get a mention? I had never seen a description of Edmund before, apart from Edward Hall’s Union of the Two Noble and Illustre Famelies of Lancastre & Yorke: ‘While this battaill was in fightyng, a prieste called sir Robert Aspall, chappelain and schole master to the yong erle of Rutland ii. sonne to the aboue named duke of Yorke, scace of y age of. xii. yeres, a faire getlema, and a maydenlike person….’ Just what might ‘maydenlike’ actually mean? Young? Virginal? Like a girl? All three?
In 1476, the bodies of both York and Edmund were moved to Fotheringhay, and the magnificent church that honours so many members of the House of York.
And now a curiosity, which may or may not be actually connected with Edmund, beyond his name and title. On the other hand, perhaps it’s another indication of his physical appearance.:—
Medieval silver vervel / Circa 1440-1460 |/ A silver hawking leg ring or vervel inscribed ‘+Earle of Rutland’ in derivative black letter script, for a female merlin or sparrowhawk (due to the youth of Edmund Plantagenet who died aged 17). Silver, 0.56g, 8.81mm.
Might a female merlin or sparrowhawk be a reference of Edmund’s looks, not simply his youth? Equally, it might not indicate any such thing, of course, but if the ring is dated to circa 1440-60 (and if the inscription is contemporary), the maker could certainly have known/seen him. But the inscription does not look 15th century to me. I’m no expert, though.
And finally, the novelty of a ‘conspiracy theory’ about Edmund’s death (or survival!) go to https://doublehistory.com/tag/edmund-earl-of-rutland/.
Once upon a time, I had a history teacher who asked his class, “What do you believe about [X]?”
We wrote down our answers. He collected them.
And then he asked, “Why do you believe what you believe?”
We discussed. In only a few minutes we had reached a conclusion: “Our parents, our religious leaders, or our teachers taught us what to believe.”
And then my teacher said, “Don’t believe what others tell you, because they often don’t know what’s true. You have a mind: use it and don’t assume. Go and see for yourself. Research [x]. Look at it from all angles. Think about things, and reach your own, independent conclusions. You will then own your knowledge and your conclusions. You will no longer merely regurgitate what someone else has told you.”
Lately I’ve been thinking about Tudor history. Specifically, what we should call it when Tudor history is presented as accurate in schoolrooms, on the telly, in books, on the Web, and in the media…yet it’s anything but accurate.
POSSIBILITY #1: It’s ironic; or,
POSSIBILITY #2: It contains lies; or,
POSSIBILITY #3: Both #1 and #2 might apply, depending on the motives of the source; or,
POSSIBILITY #4: It’s sloppy reporting, and the originator should receive a failing grade and be sent back to do his or her work over again.
POSSIBILITY #5: It might be a lazy form of “whisper down the alley,” where the author used traditional sources, but didn’t bother to go back and verify the accuracy or truthfulness of those sources.
POSSIBILITY #6: It’s another form of Tudor propaganda, which has never ended and likely never will because those who have a horse in the race (e.g., advertising dollars to lure, a degree or tenure to get, an academic reputation to preserve, an ego that admits no possibility for wrong, etc.) pick their team (Plantagenet or Tudor), hunker down, and refuse to reassess their position or any portion thereof. Ever.
ADDITIONAL POSSIBILITIES: There are others. One is the age-old rule for producers of documentaries: always cast three experts. Expert #1 should be “for” whatever the focus of the show is. Expert #2 should be “against” whatever the focus of the show is. Expert #3 should be “neutral” regarding the focus of the show. This, so the project appeals to everyone in the audience and offends no one. In theory, anyway.
In this series of articles, I will present and examine a few historical Tudor truths for your consideration. If you care to look for yourself, there are hundreds of others I won’t have space to mention – details most Tudor historians flick aside as if they don’t matter. Or perhaps the truth is closer to this:
EARNEST STUDENT OF HISTORY: Do you swear you’re in an honest, honorable relationship with Henry, Henry, Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth, so help you God, and that you’ll tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about ’em?
TUDOR HISTORIAN: [hesitates] It’s complicated.
EARNEST STUDENT OF HISTORY: Um… okay. Do you at least swear you’ll teach me as truthfully as you can about the Tudor dynasty?
TUDOR HISTORIAN: [hesitates] That’s also complicated.
Diving into the actual, factual details of Tudor history are like diving headlong into a twisty, messy maze. Of course the maze is whitewashed (was any other woman as pure and pious as Margaret Beaufort? Maybe Joan of Arc, but that’s a whole other story. Was any other queen as magnificent as Elizabeth I?). In all fairness, the Tudor Maze is far from the only historically whitewashed maze out there.(1)
There are times I wish there was somewhere a definitive table I could consult regarding specific points of Tudor history – sort of an official Akashic Record of Historical Tudor Truths. The headings would go something like this:
Alas, there is no such table. If you want the truth about the events of the soap opera that is the Tudor Dynasty, you have to dig. A lot.
If you don’t want to dig, if you’re happy skimming and listening to surface-skimming telly presentations and media quickies, then don’t ever think you know the historical truth. All you know is what someone else with a specific agenda has told you, 500 years beyond the events themselves.
I’m not someone who’s happy skimming the surface. I like to dig. So if you’re still with me, let’s begin with a basic assumption about “The House of Tudor” and see where we can go from there.
ASSUMED HISTORIC FACT: The House of Tudor proclaimed itself The House of Tudor
“Once upon a time, Henry Tydder won the Battle of Bosworth and the English crown. Because his last name was Tydder, he and his contemporaries called his new dynasty the House of Tudor.”
(Right out of the box, my Muse asks, “Hey, who first called the Battle of Bosworth the Battle of Bosworth?” I shove Ms. Muse back inside her box because we’re not talking about how battles were named. Yet ‘Battle of Bosworth’ is another one of those taken-for-granted-Tudor things you might want to research if you feel so inclined.)
So. Where, exactly, did the phrase “The House of Tudor” originate?
ACTUAL HISTORIC FACT: “The House of Tudor” was invented by an 18th-century Scottish writer
We humans like to categorize. We like to stuff things into separate boxes for the ease of our own use.
So who conveniently invented the phrase “The House of Tudor” and inserted it into history, so that it was picked up and used by others, until this, our present day?
If “The House of Tudor” isn’t historical fact…what else isn’t historical fact when it comes to the Tudors?
I’ll bet you thought “The House of Tudor” was a proud, happy phrase invented by Henry VII and his saintly mother to celebrate their new dynasty. Or perhaps you thought it was a thing that evolved organically and naturally, like the Tudor rose that triumphantly merged the Plantagenet with the Lancastrian, after Henry Tydder saved England from…whatever he’s supposed to have saved England from.
(Remember that rose. It’ll come up in a future discussion.)
(Remember the myth of Henry Tydder saving England from…something or other. It’ll also come up in a future discussion.)
In the meantime, you might also want to ask yourself what you believe about the Tudors, and where you learned to believe it.
You might also want to question everything your history teachers or documentary hosts and anyone else has told you about that dynasty and its blessed rulers. Because if the “experts” are wrong about something so basic as the contemporary name bestowed on a dynastic house, what else are they wrong about?
Don’t take things for granted: go and see and learn for yourself. You just might be surprised at what we think we know…but we really don’t.
And look for Part Two of “Tudor History: Fact or Fiction?” coming soon.
(1) A good example to begin with is here: “6 Ridiculous Lies You Believe About the Founding of America” (http://www.cracked.com/article_19864_6-ridiculous-lies-you-believe-about-founding-america.html). Regardless it’s a Cracked article and not published in some scholarly journal, it is historically accurate; sometimes you find truth in the most unlikely of places.
(2) John Ashdown-Hill, Royal Marriage Secrets: Consorts and Concubines, Bigamists and Bastards (2013). Bibliography online here: http://tinyurl.com/lu37gu3 .
(3) You can get your own copy of volume 2 for free, here:
…or all six volumes of Hume’s The History of England are available here in multiple formats: