The old Blue Boar, Leicester
The following rather flowery but decidedly pro-Richard account of Bosworth is taken from an 1838 publication called ‘Legends of Leicester, in the olden time’, by Thomas Featherstone. London: Whittaker & Co., Ave Maria Lane. C. Tilt, Fleet Street. J.G. Brown, Leicester. You will find it here
I have copied the text as faithfully as I can, omitting passages that do not belong in the main description of the battle, and do not anyway concern Richard. The spelling is dodgy at times, and I have left most of it alone. There is also the question of some optical recognition software bloopers. I have corrected those which I feel certain are wrong (and for which I could easily guess what was meant) but there are a few that defied me. If I have blundered, I apologise, and can only say that my sins will be corrected by a visit to the website. The illustrations are my decorations.
Anyway, here is the section of the book that deals with Richard’s final battle. It commences at the Blue Boar inn, Leicester.
. . .On the following morning, as early as day-break, the streets rung with the preparations for an hasty march. The braying of trumpets, the hoarse shouting of the military leaders, the jingle of equipments, and the fierce trampling of caparisoned steeds, startled sleep from the pillows of those, whom the dissolute soldiery, overcome with intoxication, had eventually left to the enjoyment of a brief repose.
Richard leaving the Blue Boar
His highness appeared in unusual health and spirits, and mounted on his gallant charger, rode swiftly up and down the lines, inspiriting his army and animating his chieftains with uncontrollable enthusiasm. A bright sun and a smart, lively, breeze contributed in no small degree to the hilarity of every one present, and among that vast and glittering assemblage who were shortly to embark in stern and deadly strife, it would have been perhaps impossible to have detected one lugubrious or even thoughtful aspect. The ancient street of the High Cross, so far as the eye could stretch, bristled with staves, bows, and the various implements of ancient warfare, which with the morions and breast-plates of their bearers, glittered fiercely in the sun, while every window, roof and balustrade of the huge picturesque buildings, swarmed with spectators, and oft, as the cavalcade moved slowly along, a fair white hand, bearing a floral wreath, a silken scarf or some gentle love-token, was protruded from a crowd of gazers and reverently received on the lifted lance of the devoted Cavalier.
Richard leaves Leicester
A company of Knights, gorgeously apparelled, rode forward down the narrow Lane, now called Simons’ street, and past Saint Nicholas Church towards the West Bridge. Among them was his Highness, distinguished no less by his kingly bearing, than his costly attire, which so blazed with gems, that it dazzled the eye of the spectator almost as much as looking on the sun. Their hot impetuous steeds champed eagerly on the bit, and curvetted along in the utmost impatience of activity and vigour. The monarch relaxed from his usual austerity, and his aspect, which was at all times noble, and was capable of assuming an expression even of the most endearing tenderness, wreathed itself in smiles, and fired the hearts of those around him with the most enthusiastic devotion, and adherence to his cause.
On approaching Bow bridge which spans with five arches another arm of the river Soar. . . a. . .decrepid old woman stood conspicuous among the dense crowd which everywhere lined the path, and was shaking. . .violently with palsy. Her eye, which seemed to fix itself upon the king, gleamed with. . .apparent malignity. . .The Monarch appeared to regard all alike with smiles, but in crossing the bridge, partly perhaps from an exuberance of feeling no less than from the impatience natural to an impetuous spirit in being compelled to brook a temporary obstruction, created by the compact multitude and the narrowness of the path, struck his spur against the coping thereof. His horse swerving aside, pressed so closely upon the spectators, among whom crouched the old prophetess, that a volley of shrieks arose, and the afrighted crowd rushed tumultuously into the middle of the path, threatening every moment to be trampled under the hoofs of the horses.
The old Sibyl, however, stood daringly forth and stretching her withered arm in the face of the Monarch, screamed out in a startling treble which seemed incredible for her years, the following terrible prediction.
Bow Bridge in the 1790s
“Brave as ye now seem; tricked out daintily as ye are; the hour is at hand when ye shall be fain to change that joyous face for mourning and repentance! That gay attire for sack-cloth! Ye have spurned that stone with your heel—against it, ere three days be past, shall your head be beaten. Vain king, beware!” The toothless hag, overcome with her unwonted exertion, fell back among the crowd; and the monarch struck spurs into his horse, and rode on.
Bosworth Field is situate on the western border of Leicestershire, and derives its name from the market town, from which it is one mile distant. Its proper name is Redmoor plain, from the colour of the soil; as the meadows on the west, are called Whitemoors, for the same reason. It belongs to Sutton Cheney, an adjacent village on the east, is of an oval form, about two miles long and one broad, and runs nearly in a line between Bosworth and Atherstone. The south end, where the Earl (Tudor is called Earl of Richmond throughout) approached, is three miles from Bosworth, and is now covered with a wood of some extent, and bounded by a narrow rivulet called the Tweed.
King Richard’s Well
About thirty yards above this wood, is a spring which bears the name of ‘King Richard’s well,’ at the present day. A small stream of water flows from it in the direction of the Tweed; but, having no regular channel cut for its passage, it penetrates into the soil and forms a morass, which Henry is said to have left on his right. Amyon Hill, the scene of action, is nearly in the centre of the field, and has a steep descent on every side; but is steepest towards the north, or Bosworth side; and terminates with a rill, a bog, and a flat, called Amyon-leys. The country, however, at the period of the battle, presented an appearance widely different to that which it wears at the present time. The adjacent Lordships were then uninclosed, and Bosworth Field was one extent of rough uncultivated land.
Towards evening the King’s forces advanced upon Bosworth, where the Earl of Richmond’s army was also beheld approaching in gallant style: onward they came, flashing the red light of the descending sun from their steel equipments, and frowning mutual defiance at each other. Phalanx after phalanx of compact lances hove in sight, diversified with the vari-coloured plumes and pennons of the knights, until the country around presented no other aspect.
Richard galloped into the plain, and looking frowningly around, his penetration immediately led him to suspect that treachery was meditated. Lord Stanley, whose sincerity he had long had occasion to doubt, remained stationed, with an army of five thousand men, on an eminence termed Gamble’s close, about six furlongs behind the royal camp, from which it was separated by the little rivulet above mentioned. Sir William Stanley, approached the field on the west, opposite to the King and Lord Stanley, and pitched his camp at the foot of Amyon hill. It was the policy of the two brothers, to preserve every appearance of faith towards Richard, while they were both at heart devoted to the cause of his antagonist; and, as the wily monarch detained Lord Strange, as hostage for his father’s fidelity, the appearance on the part of Lord Stanley, was more strictly preserved.
King despatched Sir Robert Brackenbury, with a brief, but terrible message, to Lord Stanley, commanding him to join him forthwith, if he desired to preserve his son’s life; to which he returned a prevaricating reply: and the King was only withheld by the firmness of Lord Ferrers, of Chartley, from putting his threat into immediate execution; that nobleman having represented to him the evil, which might ensue to his own cause, by so doing.
The Earl of Richmond, meanwhile was not slow to gain over to his party all such, as were accessible either to adulation or bribery; and, observing the indecision of Lord Stanley, whose services he earnestly wished to secure from a dread of disappointment, immediately turned it to his advantage. A message was despatched to that nobleman forthwith, requesting his assistance, in the most flattering terms ; to which, however, he returned a doubtful reply; but intimated, that he should, probably, be found when needed. With this answer, the Earl, though much displeased was, notwithstanding, compelled to be satisfied, and left it to chance, to operate in his favour.
Meanwhile, as the shadows of twilight were rapidly closing around, the armies prepared to encamp; Richard, taking up his position at Stapleton, on some elevated grounds, called the Bradshaws, situate about a mile and a half east of Bosworth Field, and two from the top of Amyon hill—while Richmond stationed himself on the Whitemoors, one mile from the top of Amyon hill, and close beside the rivulet, whose semi-circular course skirted the camps of the rival chiefs, and passed near to those of the Stanleys, which fronted each other. . .
. . .The morning broke heavily over the plains of Bosworth, as if it mourned the carnage, that was about to ensue. The distance was veiled in a drizzling mist, through which, the adjacent trees, presented all manner of fantastic forms. The tents looked moist and chill, and the silken banners which surmounted them, rich with the gorgeous blazonry of their respective owners, hung heavily around their staffs, saturated with the prevailing vapour; while the steel equipments of horses and riders, shone dimly through the haze. With the first peep of dawn, however, the adverse camps were alive with preparation for the approaching conflict, and long ere the sun looked out from the watery east, the rival chieftains, had each drawn out his army.
The king’s troops were commanded to rendezvous in Sutton field, about midway to Amyon hill, where they were drawn up in order of battle, to the amount of about twelve thousand, horse and foot; thus nearly doubling the force of the enemy. His right extended to a declivity on the Bosworth side, called Cornhni furze, or Amyon leys; and his left towards the well which bears his name. Richmond took up his position with less advantage, having the hill against him, up which he must march, before he could commence the attack. Sir William Stanley advanced to the north of the hill, and stationed himself near Amyon leys, and Lord Stanley flanked either army on the opposite side.
In order to strike the more terror into his foes, the King marshalled his soldiers in two extended lines, placing the archers in front, and the bill-men in the rear, while his horse were divided upon the right and left wing. The King’s chief commanders were, John, Duke of Norfolk, and his son, Thomas, Earl of Surrey, who were appointed to lead the van, the Lord Northumberland, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, Sir Robert Brackenbury, and others. Hungerford and Boucher, two knights who had been ordered to attend, deserted Brackenbury their leader, a little beyond Stony Stratford, and joined Richmond’s army near Tamworth. Sir John Savage, Sir Bryan Sandford, Sir Simon Digby, also deserted to Richmond on the following day.
His forces being thus arrayed, the King, attired in a suit of armour of polished steel, and wearing on his head a helmet, of costly workmanship, surmounted with the crown, according to the ancient practice of knighthood, addressed them in a hasty speech against Richmond, whom he plentifully loaded with opprobrium.
The Earl’s forces, consisting of about seven thousand, horse and foot, were arrayed in similar order; and were led by the Earls of Pembroke and Oxford, Sir Gilbert Talbot, and Sir John Savage, commanding the right and left wing of horse; and not to be behind hand with his antagonist, the Earl galloped up and down the line, encouraging his followers and vituperating the King, whom he denounced as a tyrant and homicide.
The trumpets rang forth tumultuously—and the rival armies rushed at once to the onset. A cloud of arrows for a moment darkened the air; and immediately a grove of spears came splintering upon cuirass and morion, some transfixing, and overturning others, who in a moment were trampled out of existence, beneath the hoofs of the raging steeds. Fiercer every moment grew the affray, and for a length of time, the fortunes of the day hung wavering in the balance. The King rushed through the fight, with the impetuosity of an enraged lion, hewing a purple path through the thickest of the enemy, who fell before him, with scarcely an effort at resistance, so utterly reckless and terrible, was his daring.
by Graham Turner
During the heat of the conflict, the Earl of Oxford, observing his line scattered, ordered every man to close upon the standard, a step which seemed imprudent at the time, but had for its object a deep laid scheme, which had been previously planned. Thus having shortened his ranks by condensing his men, the Earl was approached by the Duke of Norfolk, who extended his left to surround him; in which critical moment. Lord Stanley, from flanking both armies, joined Richmond on the right and faced Richard’s left; thus preventing the meditated destruction, and striking terror into the hearts of the Royalists.
Norfolk, beheld the starry ensign of Oxford, waving above the bristling phalanx, and rushed to attack him, spear in rest: the ties of relationship were in a moment forgotten, and they strove against each other, with the fury and desperation of long engendered hate Their spears were quickly shivered to pieces, when each drew his mighty two-hand sword, and Norfolk, aiming the first blow, smote furiously at the helmet of his adversary, from which the weapon glanced obliquely, and wounded him severely, in the left arm. Oxford clove the beaver from the casque of his antagonist, and honourably declining to follow up his advantage, abandoned the combat. He had not retired many paces, however, when, the Duke was struck in the face, by an arrow, which pierced his brain. . .
. . .”Stand to it Gentlemen!” shouted a noble leader, coming up with a small detachment of cavalry, in time to check their retreat. ” Beat back the rebel scoundrels or perish! Ho, there! Forward men! Surrey to the rescue! Surrey! Surrey!”
“Talbot! Saint George, for England! Down with the friends of the usurper!” echoed among the belligerents, who fought against each other with the desperation of wolves. . .
. . .Sword and dagger were speedily shivered in the melée , when they fastened on each other by the throat, or wherever else they could lay their hands, and tumbling from their saddles, were trampled beneath the hoofs of their own steeds. The Earl, intent on revenging the death of his father the Duke of Norfolk, fought with reckless courage, and approaching the veteran Sir Gilbert Talbot, engaged with him hand to hand. Overpowered, however by numbers, his strength was beginning to fail, when Sir Richard Clarendon, and Sir William Conyers, raised the war cry of the Earl, and spurred in to his rescue—which was again cut off by Sir John Savage, who waving his sword around him, already drenched with blood, encompassed them with a party of his followers, when they were immediately cut to pieces, and the Earl taken prisoner. . .
. . .The battle had now lasted above an hour. The advantage was on the side of Richmond, Richard having lost his two principal officers; when a scout came upon the full run, and informed the King, that Richmond was at hand with a slight attendance. It was the opportunity for which the Monarch had thirsted throughout the day, and bidding those, who accounted themselves true knights, to attend him, he waited not for reply, but striking spurs, into the flanks of his gallant steed, rushed to the spot, and threw himself with irresistible force, upon his detested enemy. Sir William Brandon, the Earl’s standard bearer, was the first whom he approached, and tearing the lordly ensign of Cadwallador from his grasp, he hurled it beneath the hoofs of his steed, and with one stroke of his sword, clove the head of the unfortunate knight in twain.
Sir John Cheney, a powerful warrior, and several others were unhorsed, after a feeble resistance; and the Earl, himself, quailed before the sword of the avenger, while his army stood paralyzed at the extraordinary daring. At this juncture. Sir William Stanley, who had hitherto remained neutral, joined the Earl, with an army of three thousand men, which immediately turned the fortunes of the day.
The King’s chief commanders had already fallen. Most of his forces composing the rear, amounting to nearly three thousand men, placed under the command of the Earl of Northumberland, grounded their arms, and nearly all his followers, now abandoned his cause, leaving him to terminate his career of matchless valour. His intrepid spirit, notwithstanding the terrifying odds, still sought, through the thickest of his foes, the contender for his crown; and plunging recklessly forward, madly contending against a whole army, was brutally hacked to pieces by the Earl’s followers; who, whilst he was expiring on the ground, plunged their swords and daggers into his body.
Thus perished Richard the third, than whom a braver warrior and more politic king, perhaps, never existed. Prompted by ambition, his ruling passion, his Machiavelian subtlety led him through a terrible career of crime, to achieve and maintain his title to the crown. Thus his character, though it presents nothing absolutely despicable, will ever be contemplated with terror and abhorrence.
In this battle, which lasted little better than two hours, it is estimated that upwards of one thousand persons were slain on the side of Richard; and about one hundred, on that of Richmond. But, the chief part of Richard’s army, it appears, never struck a blow; the foulest treachery was employed by his officers, more especially by the Earl of Northumberland; and the Stanleys having joined his enemy with their important additions, sufficiently accounts for the loss of the battle. At the end of the conflict, the loss of Richard, did not greatly exceed that of his enemy—the frightful havoc took place in the after pursuit, in which the Earl and Lord Stanley joined, while Sir William remained to pillage the field.
Richard III’s body is brought back to Leicester. Artwork by Victor Ambrus
It is not our purpose or desire, nor can we think it would be at all acceptable to the reader, to follow the earthly remains of the vanquished king, through the savage and unexampled degradation to which they were subjected, by a cruel and barbarian rabble—promoted, there is little reason to doubt, by his base and unprincipled successor. We therefore gladly close the scene. . .
Postscript: There is another, much shorter story touching upon Richard in the book, called ‘A Night at the Blue Boar Inn’. The gist of it is that a man wishes to have a room at the Blue Boar, but there is only one chamber left, and the innkeeper will only supply it if the man is aware of the rumours that abound concerning it. “Simpletons believe the room to be haunted, and declare that they have heard certain noises in the night, like the chinking of coins and voices in angry altercation.”
The traveller replies that he’s not afraid. “His Majesty’s couch shall be mine for the night, and doubtless will yield me sound repose.”
Another customer nearby explains more. “King Dick prized his gold, and probably left some behind which he is in the habit of watching. . .”