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Those accident-prone Stewarts

bloody-coronation-1024x683As this excellent article reminds us, there were eight pre-union Stewart monarchs, or nine if you exclude James VI, who had already reigned in Scotland for nearly forty years before inheriting the English throne. Of these, excepting the two Roberts, only two turned up for a pitched battle with against an English army and only one was actually killed by English troops and the other by accident. A third delegated his fighting duties, although he was quite ill and died within three weeks. Two of them managed to be killed by fellow Scots and another lived in exile in England for twenty years before being beheaded for frequent plotting.

The strangest thing is that, throughout this period, the Scots throne always passed that monarch’s heir, whether six days old or fifteen and no matter in what circumstances they died. One of them, James I, married Richard III’s apparent cousin, James IV married his great-niece and Mary died at his birthplace.

Yes, that Thomas of Lancaster

He lost his head at Pontefract so what was he doing on sale in Colchester?

thomasoflancasterThis Kathryn Warner post gives a lot of detail about Thomas Earl of Lancaster’s life, rebellion and execution six days after the Battle of Boroughbridge. Here we explained the circumstances in which John Ashdown-Hill is seeking his remains, to solve the York/ Beaufort Y-chromosome mystery.

Incidentally, the other Thomas of Lancaster you may encounter in a search engine was Henry V’s brother and Duke of Clarence but died at the siege of Bauge, a few months before his King and exactly 99 years after his namesake.

Was Richard of Conisburgh illegitimate?

https://mattlewisauthor.wordpress.com/2017/02/13/was-richard-of-conisburgh-illegitimate/

The Tomb of Edward, 2nd Duke of York

The Tomb of Edward, 2nd Duke of York

A fictional treason case

In real life, there wercrowncourte no high treason cases in the United Kingdom after 1946 and no peacetime cases after 1913. However, regular viewers of Crown Court, which was shown on ITV from 1972-84, will have seen an episode in which a Congolese man was convicted and sentenced to death during that time. The episode ended before we were appraised of the prisoner’s ultimate fate but, until 1973, had a reprieve not been forthcoming, he could have chosen beheading as his mode of execution.

Here is the evocative closing theme, Peter Reno’s Distant Hills, played by the Simon Park Orchestra. There is also a snatch of “Jeremy Parsons QC” (Richard Wilson, with hair) examining a young Zoe Wannamaker in a rather less serious case. Many of the episodes are on YouTube. Does one of our readers have a link to the Congo treason affair?

Medieval kings needed their queens emotionally and physically….

Royal 6.E.vi, f. 375 detail

We are always being told that medieval aristocratic marriages (and indeed most medieval marriages) were arranged and did not feature love. The object was to increase property and lands, enhance a family’s reputation and produce as many heirs as was humanly possible. I pity those women who had a child a year throughout their married life. No modern medicine should anything go wrong, just a sad demise and a husband immediately seeking a replacement.

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Was it like that? Looking at records you’d certainly think so, yet there are some very famous examples of kings and magnates who fell apart when they lost their queens. I have chosen three  such men, Richard II, George of Clarence and Henry VII . Their marriages were dynastic, or at least arranged for profit, yet the brides seemed to have won these men’s hearts and dependence.

richard-ii-and-anne

Anne of Bohemia wasn’t much of a catch as far as Richard II was concerned, but he chose her over a much wealthier Visconti bride who would have brought a huge dowry and a lot of influence in Italy. Anne, on the other hand, had to be purchased from her brother! She was not a popular choice in England, but by choosing her, it’s almost as if Richard sensed she was the one for him. Yes, a fanciful notion on my part, but the pair were happy together, seemingly from the outset, and when she died he tore down the palace where she had breathed her last. It’s said he would not go anywhere he had been with her, although I think that is probably a myth. He could hardly refuse to go into Westminster Abbey, for instance.

Richard’s interests were in the arts, not warfare, and throughout his life, from being a boy king, he was surrounded my warlike barons and grasping uncles. He was, as the old song goes, “a lonely little petunia in an onion patch”. And those onions were big and generally hostile.

petunia-onion-patch

English history would have been very different if Anne had given him heirs. He certainly crumbled when she died suddenly, descending into a state that is always referred to as a tyranny. The petunia grew gigantic and poisonous, developed thorns and began to weed out the onions, spreading itself swiftly into their vacated places. But Richard went too far. His word was never to be trusted and he made some unbelievably bad decisions, so that he eventually lost his kingdom to his cousin, who became the first Lancastrian king, Henry IV. Had Anne’s gentle influence kept Richard in check? I would guess so. Without her, he went haywire.

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I would also guess that Isabel Neville had the same soothing effect on George of Clarence, whose notoriously unpredictable and rash temperament eventually led to his death in the Tower, branded a traitor by his brother, Edward IV. The legend of George being drowned in a butt of malmsey may be just a legend, or it might be founded in truth. Did George have a drink problem?

He was certainly a very unhappy man, the middle brother, angry and resentful…and maybe possessed of the knowledge that his elder brother’s marriage was bigamous. That would make George the next trueborn heir to the throne. But the truth never came out, and although he’d misbehaved considerably before Isabel’s death in childbed, he certainly imploded when she was no longer there.

He had married her to get at the enormous inheritance of her father, the Earl of Warwick (whom he also hoped would help him to the throne) but Isabel proved to be good for him. Maybe you will not agree with my assessment of George, but the fact remains that he was never the same again after losing her.

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Finally there is Henry VII. He was obliged to marry Elizabeth of York. He’d made a vow before invading England that he would unite the warring houses of York and Lancaster through marriage, and once treachery had made him king, he resented the thought of having a Yorkist bride forced upon him. He delayed as long as he could, until he was told to get on with it. So they were married. What that wedding night was like we will never know, because he was a resentful groom, and she was probably an equally resentful bride. But a son and heir was born eight months later, so they didn’t lie back to back until the morning.

Like Richard II and George of Clarence before him, Henry came to rely on Elizabeth’s gentle influence, and their marriage was certainly successful. She wasn’t the first lady of his realm, his mother had that honour, but Elizabeth was the one who shared his bed…and perhaps his confidences. The one with whom he could relax and enjoy a little welcome privacy.

When she died, he went to pieces. He shut himself away for weeks on end, broken with grief. He was never an easy man, but she had won his heart and his trust, and now he had lost her. The Henry who emerged from hiding was not the same man. All the worst aspects of his character, seemingly held in check when Elizabeth was there for him, now came to the fore with a vengeance. He was cruel, rapacious, spiteful, grasping and hated, and the populace believed he had nothing more on his mind than planning how to screw more money out of them. The royal coffers bulged. The illustration below is probably not far from the truth. He and his notorious henchmen, Empson and Dudley, putting their heads together in some new royal skulduggery or other.

king-henry-vii-of-england-with-sir-richard-empson-and-edmund-dudley-from-the-national-and

Very few mourned Henry when he finally passed away, leaving England in the tender clutches of his son and heir, Henry VIII, from whom all women should have been immunised!

Now, I do not deny that there were love matches in the medieval period—of course there were—but I do not think they were the majority. Most marriages were a case of gradual respect, affection, and if they were lucky, of love itself. I believe Richard II, George of Clarence and Henry VII loved their wives, and once those ladies had gone, the inner demons took over.

 

SIR WILLIAM STANLEY – TURNCOAT OR LOYALIST

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It is well documented how, through the treasonable and treacherous actions of Sir William Stanley at Bosworth, Richard lost his crown and his life. He was hacked to death after Stanley, who brought 3000 men with him, intervened at the crucial point when Richard, with his household cavalry in a heroic charge, came within a hair’s breadth of reaching Tudor and despatching him.  There is a story that after Richard’s crown was found under a hawthorn bush, it was Stanley who crowned him.

Sir William seems to have been one of those people who can run with the hounds and play with the foxes, doing well under Edward IV, who made him Chamberlain of Chester and, interestingly, Steward of the Prince of Wales’ Household(1).  Later Richard made Stanley Chief Justice of North Wales and finally Tudor made him Lord Chamberlain and Knight of the Garter.  It is said that Stanley – step-uncle to Tudor and brother-in-law to Margaret Beaufort – was one of the richest men in England.  Bacon estimated his income at 3000 pounds a year.  Stanley was also step-father to Francis Lovell, having married Lovell’s mother, Joan Beaufort, widow of John Lovell, 8th Baron Lovell, but I digress!

Fast forward 10 years and it all ended ignominiously at Tower Hill, where Stanley was beheaded on 16 February 1495 for the treasonable act of communicating with Perkin Warbeck.  Stanley was accused of telling Robert Clifford, who informed on him, that if he was sure Perkin was indeed Edward’s son ‘he would never take up arms against him’.

The question I am raising here is not so much about Stanley’s interminable fence-sitting, which is common knowledge  – and a penchant he shared with his brother Thomas – but rather, did Sir William, an apparent dyed-in-the-wool turncoat, capable of the greatest untrustworthiness, actually possess a latent streak of honour, perhaps dating from the time when he was Steward to the Princes of Wales’ Household?  Did his time there give birth to a fierce loyalty to Edward’s sons, that later emerged with such a passion that he risked all, absolutely all,  when he joined the Perkin Warbeck plot?  Did he grow fond of young Edward, later focusing this affection on Edward’s brother, Richard of Shrewsbury, whom Warbeck purported to be?  OR, was he, as the historian Gairdner (2) suggested, merely attempting to secure his position in the event of an invasion?

(1)  Ramsay, Lancaster and York, ii 482

(2) W A J Archbold ‘Sir William Stanley and Perkin Warbeck’ English Historical Review 14( 1899) pp 529-534. ‘On 14 March (year unknown) Gairdner suggested in a note to Archbold that Stanley may ‘simply have wanted to secure his position with both sides in case of an invasion’.  I am grateful for this information which I have gleaned from Helen Maurer’s ‘Whodunit – The Suspects in the Case’.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bloody tales of the Tower….

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I have only just found the series Bloody Tales of the Tower, previously on National Geographic and now on Channel 5 (http://www.channel5.com/show/bloody-tales-of-the-tower and http://www.natgeotv.com/za/bloody-tales-of-the-tower), and have to say that I enjoyed it very much. The presenters, Suzannah Lipscomb and Joe Crowley, are at ease in their roles and with each other, and do not adopt a patronising, superior attitude, as some do. Suzannah is a Tudor historian, and very sensible with it.

There is a good format of setting the scene and then dividing the tasks in two, then going their separate ways until coming together again toward the end, to weave their discoveries together. Suzannah leads us effortlessly through the story itself and the sources, while Joe discovers how things worked, who did them, what they looked like and so on. It may sound as if it’s aimed at teenagers tops, but it isn’t. I’m no teenager, and it was fine by me.

The most innovative series/presenter at the moment has to be Lucy Worsley, who dresses in costume and blends effortlessly into the docudramas she talks about. She is marvellous. Although a Tudor historian, she didn’t gild the Tudors. There were no controversial remarks for the sake of it. She said it how it was. It was all very natural and flowing. Good informative entertainment. As for all the other presenters of television history documentaries, mostly posing males who think more of their own vanity than their subject matter, they would do well to learn a few lessons from Worsley, Lipscomb and Crowley.

Bloody Tales of the Tower told its stories in compelling docudramas, sometimes set in the very spots where it all happened. Sometimes rather grisly! There are three episodes, Royals on the Block, Death to Traitors and Deadly Love, and each contains three separate stories from various centuries.

In episode one, Royals on the Block, the royals in question are James, Duke of Monmouth, Simon of Sudbury, Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Chancellor, and Lady Jane Grey, who was, of course, Queen Jane. I’m not sure how the archbishop is included, unless it is the implication that Richard II’s life should have been forfeit, not Sudbury’s!

James, Duke of Monmouth, was something of a 17th-century superstar and the people’s favourite, but he rebelled against his uncle, James II, because he believed the throne should have been his, even though he was illegitimate. Such was his fame and popularity, that for the huge crowds gathered for his beheading on Tower Green (the programme drew a likeness between his execution and the Wembley Cup Final for crowd-pulling power). There followed a butchering by one Jack Ketch, who was a hangman but not a competent wielder of an axe. Monmouth’s head was finally severed with a knife! Ketch later blamed Monmouth for not presenting his head properly.

Simon of Sudbury was Richard II’s Archbishop of Canterbury and Chancellor, and when the Peasants’ Revolt began in 1381, he was the object of the mob’s hatred because of all the taxes and unfair laws over which he had presided. He, the king and the court took refuge in the Tower, which was impregnable. Nevertheless the mob got inside and Sudbury (whose head is still preserved) was torn to pieces. How did they get in? Well, Richard II gave the order to let them through all the gates. Richard consigned the old man to his death. A lamb to the slaughter.

The last story in Royals on the Block was that of Lady Jane Grey, another lamb to the slaughter. She was only sixteen, but her cousin, Bloody Mary, sent her to the block. Mary went on to earn the soubriquet Bloody Mary, so I imagined there were soon many in the realm who wished they hadn’t risen to support her against Jane. Oh, well, it’s always easy to be wise after the event. It was pointed out that Lady Jane should be referred to as Queen Jane, because although she did not have a coronation, she was, nevertheless, the queen. Just as was Edward V (cue picture of the urn) and, more recently, Edward VIII. They are always referred to as kings, so why not Jane as queen?

The second part of the trilogy is called Death to Traitors, and covered the tales of Father John Gerard, who survived secretly in Elizabeth I’s Protestant England. He escaped from the Tower and lived to his 70s on the Continent. He wrote his story, which is how we know so much about his escape. (One oddity I noticed during this story was the careful use of white gloves to examine an old copy of Gerard’s story, yet earlier I noticed there were no gloves at all for poking around in a beautifully illustrated copy of Walsingham! Isn’t there a rule on this sort of thing?)

Next we went to Guy Fawkes, whose story was related with overtones of modern terrorism. The blowing up of King James and Parliament was an intended spectacular which would see Catholics triumph over Protestants. We all know it failed—some nasty Protestant informer!—and Guy was sentenced to be hanged, drawn and quartered. Not a pleasant way to go, but he confounded everyone by managing to fling himself from a ladder and break his neck, so he was dead before they even hanged him, let alone the drawing and quartering. The senior member of the conspiracy were eventually cornered in a country house (they included one Catesby, a descendant of Richard III’s Catesby) and went out in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid style by rushing out into a hail of musket fire.

The third story in Death to Traitors was that of Josef Jacobs, a German spy in World War II. Yes, the last person to be executed in the Tower was in 1941. He was parachuted into England, injured and captured.  As he was a military officer, the sentence was death by shooting at the Tower. There he was duly despatched. There was part of this story that seemed to throw all sympathy on Jacobs, a family man who left a wife and children behind. His final letter to them was produced, and his Canadian granddaughter was there with the presenter at his graveside. Yes, the story had a very human side, but should it not have been said that if a British man had been captured in similar circumstances in Germany, he would have suffered the same fate? A spy in wartime is a spy in wartime.

Deadly Love, the final episode of this first series is entitled Deadly Love, and covers the deaths in the Tower of three famous women, Anne Boleyn, Catherine Howard and Arbella Stuart. The first two ladies are very well known, of course, and the only thing I would pick out particularly where Anne was concerned was the portrayal of her supposed lover, Mark Smeaton. It seems that he paid the price of arousing jealousy and resentment among his “betters”. He was lowborn, talented and handsome, and had risen very high very quickly. Anne’s fall from grace was a useful way to get rid of him too.

Catherine Howard was young, and yes she was probably a puppet, but she was also very silly. How could anyone think of trying to deceive a bloodthirsty old monster like Henry VIII? Had she never heard of Anne Boleyn? I am afraid she doesn’t earn my sympathy – I feel more for Lady Jane Grey than I do for Catherine.

The story of Arbella Stuart was the most interesting for me, and what a very sad tale it was, especially as although her marriage to William Seymour, 2nd Duke of Somerset, was dynastic at first, I think it soon became a matter of love. But any children would have presented a great threat to the security of James I, the first Stuart king, so Arbella and William were arrested. She was held under house arrest in Barnet, while he was imprisoned in the Tower. By means of an intricate but successful plot involving exchanging clothes with his barber, William managed to escape. Arbella, dressed as a man also escaped and they arranged to meet at Blackwall. They never did. She took to the sea alone, afraid he was not coming, and he arrived too late, two hours later. He escaped to Calais, but she was captured. No Barnet for her this time, it was the Tower, under much stricter conditions than had applied to William.

She gradually succumbed to ill health (maybe porphyria)—or perhaps lost the will to live—and died a few years later. Her death rendered William harmless to James, so he was permitted to return to England. He eventually married again and lived another fifty years. A tragic love story.

An excellent series, and I hope there is another. Bloody Tales of the Tower is well worth watching.

What goes around, comes around….

sir-john-holand-tournament

In January 1400, after the failure of the Epiphany Rising that was intended to remove Henry IV from the throne and restore Richard II, John Holand, Earl of Huntingdon, the younger of Richard’s half-brothers, fled from London. The weather was foul, and time and again his vessel was driven ashore. Eventually he gave up, and took to the land again in Essex. To shorten the story, he was captured and summarily beheaded by his enemies at Pleshey.

As I’ve said, Holand was Richard II’s half-brother, but he was also Henry IV’s brother-in-law. He chose to stand by his blood kinsman, and it cost him his life. Holand was not an angel, but he was a renowned tournament knight, a great showman in the lists, and always put on a star-quality performance. Other knights on the famous tournament ‘circuit’ knew he was a force to be reckoned with. He always delivered the goods as far as his audience was concerned, and must have been quite something to watch, so how very sad the shabby fate he was to meet that New Year in Essex.

The thing is…what is the January weather like in Essex today? Well, Holand might have recognised it, what with high winds, floods, storm surge warnings and the like. It seems that all these centuries later, when it comes to weather, nothing much has changed in that neck of the woods. It was vulnerable then, and still is.

Careless talk really does cost lives

axeandblockToday in 1461, at Hereford marketplace, Owen Tudor was executed and buried in the local Greyfriars. It appears that, although he had commanded Lancastrian troops at Mortimer’s Cross and been captured, he was not expecting this fate. He may well have foreseen himself being ransomed instead until he saw the block.

Perhaps he was executed because he was thought to have married the widowed Catherine de Valois and fathered some children by her, although there is no real evidence at the time and that such a marriage would have been precluded by the 1427 Act, as Ashdown-Hill reminded us in Royal Marriage Secrets. A royal stepmother could not remarry until her son came of age, which Henry VI did not during Catherine’s lifetime.

After her death in January 1436/7, it seems that rumours, including the legend of her watching a naked servant bathing, arose and were exploited for propaganda purposes so as to use him – and his “sons”, Edmund and Jasper – to bolster Henry’s fragile regime as a counterweight to the Duke of York and his cohort. Doubtless Owen played along and boasted about these rumours.

Eight years after his end, the words “This head that shall lie on the stock that was once wont to lie on Queen Catherine’s lap” were attributed to him, although the phraseology varies. Perhaps he should have kept quiet or restricted himself to the facts.

Haunted by the Headless Earl….!

headless-horseman-speedy-by-jonake920

This marvellous illustration is called Headless Horseman Speedy by Jonake920

I love a ghost story on New Year’s Eve, and so here is one to send some shivers down your back. No, it is not a sample of my fiction-writing—well, not quite—but is actually said to have happened back at the end of the 14th century.

It began on Friday, 21 September 1397, the Feast of St Matthew the Apostle and Evangelist, when Richard Fitzalan, 4th/11th Earl of Arundel, was executed at the Tower. At least, that’s when the eerie part of the tale commenced, but of course there had been events beforehand. Briefly, King Richard II was son and heir of Edward, the Black Prince, who died before his father, King Edward III. So, at the age of ten, Richard succeeded his grandfather. From the outset he was belittled and ruled by his uncles, especially John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. This was all very well when Richard was a child, but as he grew up, the reins were pulled remorselessly, and he was constantly constrained by tutors, guardians…and uncles!

He began to form friendships with the young men of his class, and their extravagance—plus the dazzling titles and honours he heaped upon them—caused resentful, disapproving rumbles among the older nobles, eventually resulting in the outright opposition of five aristocrats in particular.

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Arundel is on the left.

They were called the Lords Appellant, and included Richard Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, with whom Richard had never got on. They were chalk and cheese, and it has to be conceded that Arundel was tactless and could be unfeeling, such as when he arrived late at the funeral of Richard’s queen, and then asked to leave early. Much as I like Arundel, and I do, I’m on Richard’s side for thumping him one and drawing blood! Arundel was one of the wealthiest lords in the land, a gallant, hot-tempered, popular man, but he simply did not like Richard II.

The Appellants were ruthless with Richard’s friends and supporters, and much blood was shed. The shackles around Richard were tightened, and—not unreasonably—he resented it. He bore malice, and bided his time. Eventually the day came when he could reassert himself and take a bloody revenge.

The royal net closed around them, and they were eliminated one by one—including Richard’s own uncle, the Duke of Gloucester. Plus, of course, the Earl of Arundel, who did not go meekly or fearfully. He was not a man to take anything lying down. A successful admiral, whose exploits had gone down very well with the populace, Arundel was the one aristocrat the commons lauded, so when he was misled by Richard into coming to court, where he was immediately arrested for treason, the people did not like it. To them it was a shabby trick by a shabby king. An increasingly unbalanced king at that, for by this late period of his reign, Richard was undoubtedly ill in some way, mentally, not physically. Well, that is my opinion, anyway, and he has my sympathy.

But so does Arundel, who was brought before the king in a special hall that had been purpose-built at Westminster Palace. There Arundel was confronted by a court that included lords who had now formed a new set of Appellants, to appeal against the original Appellants. The charge was treason.

Richard, his long-awaited moment of revenge upon him at last, was seated in splendour on a throne, with a considerable number of his infamous Cheshire archers massed around him. Arundel was clad in scarlet robes, with a belt around his waist, and the first order from John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, who led the prosecution, was to have both his robe and belt removed, to signify his disgrace.

Arundel protested that he was not a traitor, and that the king had previously granted him a full pardon for all that had gone before, but Richard now revoked it. It was a shocking and shameful  move, and what followed was a grotesque parody of the earlier court that had condemned Richard II’s friends.

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But if the king thought he would intimidate Arundel, he was very much mistaken. Richard Fitzalan was the very personification of chivalrous courage, and he got the better of every verbal exchange with John of Gaunt and the king, much to their fury. I will not go into details. Suffice it that Arundel had been pardoned, and was therefore in the right. Richard, having wrongfully revoked that pardon, was in the wrong. Arundel was found guilty of treason and condemned to immediate execution.

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Richard II accompanied by his Cheshire archers

Treated cruelly by Richard’s Cheshire archers, the earl was trundled ignominiously through the streets of London toward the Tower, with crowds of people lining the way, cheering him and cursing his enemies. His hands had been bound, and he asked if they could be freed so that he could distribute the gold in his purse to the people. His bonds were loosened, but not freed. He maintained his dignified, courageous composure all the way, not showing any sign of weakness or fear. ‘…no more shrinking or changing colour than if he were going to a banquet…’

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“Sharpen well your axe,” he instructed the executioner, then knelt, ready for death. The executioner raised the axe, and….and this is when a strange and miraculous thing was said to have happened, because as the earl’s head was severed with one stroke, his body rose of its own accord and stood there. A great hush fell over the awe-struck gathering, the archers fell back, terrified, and a priest recited the Lord’s Prayer. Arundel’s blood-stained, headless body remained there, only falling when the last Amen was uttered.

“A miracle!” someone cried. Someone else shouted that Arundel was a true martyr, and the word was taken up. There was a great furore as the brutal archers scrambled to put the earl’s head and body in a rough coffin on a cart, and took it away to the Church of Augustinian Friars in Bread Street.

Arundel was laid to rest as hastily as possible, but if Richard thought that would be the end of it, he had another shock awaiting. The people began to flock to the tomb, and more miracles were said to have taken place. A cult came into being, and there were calls for the earl to be sanctified. Such were the crushes of pilgrims at the church that the friars could hardly keep control.

Then a new, even more astonishing story began to circulate…that Arundel’s head had re-attached itself to his body. This reached Richard, who was already unnerved by the public’s disapproval of what had been done to the earl. He was suffering terrifying nightmares, in which Arundel’s ghost came to berate him.

The tenth night after,  Richard woke again in a sweat, his heart pounding with dread, and could bear it no more. He had to know if the earl’s head was indeed attached again. He sent for his nephew, Thomas Holland, Duke of Surrey, and instructed him to go to the church and have the tomb opened. Holland obeyed, although with a sinking heart, because he too had heard of the miracles. He had no wish to anger the Almighty by tampering with the grave of a man who might soon be a saint.

 

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What Surrey found was that, yes, the earl’s head was re-attached to his body, but it had been sewn in place. Who would do such a thing? Who would dare? And how? For the tomb had not be tampered with. The wild claims were dashed, and Richard issued a proclamation that quashed the whole story. He hoped.

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The king was still afraid, and still beset by nightmares and visions. He ordered Arundel’s body to be removed from the tomb and buried elsewhere, anonymously, beneath paving. No one knew where Richard Fitzalan had been finally laid to rest. Gradually the adulation subsided, although no one forgot the gallant Earl of Arundel. Least of all Richard II, who remained haunted by him until the day he died. Which was sooner than his expected span, because two years later Richard’s throne was usurped by his Lancastrian cousin, son of the by then dead John of Gaunt. Richard himself died mysteriously at Pontefract Castle and his body was brought south to London.

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The usurping cousin, Henry Bolingbroke, the new Duke of Lancaster, had been one of the original five Appellants but survived to tell the tale. While Gaunt still lived, Richard did not dare to do too much to Gaunt’s son and heir, but the moment the old duke died, Richard banished Henry and seized the immense Lancastrian estates. Henry came back to England with an army, and Richard was captured without much trouble. Henry then “obliged” Richard to hand over the crown before being imprisoned at Pontefract. Henry then became became King Henry IV, the first monarch of the House of Lancaster.

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(viscountessw: No, I do not necessarily accept that anything supernatural really happened when Arundel was beheaded, but it was widely believed at the time. And if it did happen, what a heart-stopping sight it must have been. Small wonder that a cult grew around the miraculous and popular Richard Fitzalan, 4th/11th Earl of Arundel.)

 

 

 

 

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