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.
Late last year, we showed how James VI/I’s grandfathers, James V and Matthew Earl of Lennox, shared the same Y-chromosome. Now there is some facial reconstruction news about his father, Henry Lord Darnley:
A student at the University of Dundee, which reconstructed Richard’s face after his identification, has provided the same service for Darnley (above). In this case, however, Emma Price had to judge between two potential skulls for the short-serving Scottish consort, one of which no longer exists although a written description of it does. It is the latter, judging by known portraits, that correctly pertains to the husband and cousin of Queen Mary.
“ The scaffold was hung round with black, and the floor covered with black, and the axe and block (were) laid in the middle of the scaffold. There were divers companies of Foot and Horse on every side of the scaffold, and the multitude of people that came to be spectators were very great.” The soldiers and the civilian spectators were present in Whitehall on a bitterly cold 30 January 1649 to witness the execution for treason of Charles I their lawful king. It remains an event unparalleled in British history.
The execution was delayed whilst the Dutch envoy made a last minute effort to get Charles reprieved. It was a hopeless cause as the House of Commons were determined that the law should take its course. Eventually, at about 2pm, the king stepped out from the Banqueting Hall onto the scaffold in Whitehall. He was wearing two shirts so that he did not shiver in the cold, which might otherwise be taken by the multitude for fear. His bearing was dignified and calm, and after commenting on the low height of the block he addressed his last remarks to those on the scaffold, it being pointless to address the multitude since they would not hear him. He regretted nothing except the death of his friend and advisor Thomas Wentworth earl of Strafford at the hands of Parliament. “ I only say this” he said, “that an unjust sentence I suffered to take effect is punished by an unjust sentence on me”. He said he was blameless of wrongdoing and charged parliament with causing the civil wars. He also made reference to the law of the land and his efforts to uphold his subjects’ rights and privileges under the law. Finally, he forgave his enemies and made his peace with God. He showed no remorse for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people from all three of his kingdoms in the civil wars ; nor did he repent his own conduct: “Then the king took off his cloak and his George giving his George to Dr Juxon [sic] saying ‘remember’ (it is thought for the Prince) and some other small ceremonies [were] past. After which the king stooping down laid his head upon the block. And after a little pause, stretching forth his hands, the Executioner at one blow severed his head from his body.”
His grim task completed, the executioner picked-up the king’s head and showed it to the crowd. The silence was deafening. What is also remarkable is that the trial and the execution were uninterrupted by those whom it was subsequently claimed were utterly opposed to the proceedings. “It was as if the country had failed to catch-up with events at Westminster: they heard of them unfolding, in a sort of awe. When the shock wore off it would be different. But on Tuesday 30 January 1649 the shops remained open, the public went about its business, the king was not immediately missed.”
At first sight, this trial has little in common with my two previous articles about the law of medieval treason and the constitution . In the Merciless Parliament of 1388 (my first essay posted 19 May 2016) and the Parliament of Devils in 1459, (my second essay posted 20 May 2016) the law of treason was clear, as was the jurisdiction of the House of Lords to try traitors. Whilst I would not claim that either of those trials met modern standards of due process, the legal procedures complied with the law as it was known and understood at the time. The circumstances in 1649, however, were completely different. The law of treason as it applied to the king’s subjects did not apply to the king . He was the source of justice and could not be tried by his subjects for anything; nor was there a tribunal fit to try him. Magna Carta protected all freemen (and free women) from judgement except by their peers or the law of the land.  The king was peerless.
Despite these differences I have chosen this trial as the subject of my third (and last) essay on the theme of medieval treason for reasons, which I believe are compelling. First, notwithstanding their differences, there are also similarities between the events of 1388, 1459 and 1649, which are worth exploring. All the trials took place against a background of political and social unrest, and considerable criticism of the king’s performance. And they all had as an undercurrent to the proceedings a power struggle between the king and his parliament for constitutional sovereignty. The trial of 1649 and its consequence marked an important development in the ultimate resolution of that conflict. Second, this trial is legally significant because it marks the early evolution of the law from a medieval definition of treason as being purely against the monarchy, to a modern concept of treason (could be by a head of state) against a nation.
The Long Parliament
To understand what happened in England during January 1649 it is necessary to delve a little into the surrounding circumstances and into the nature of the king and the parliamentarians who opposed him. The Long Parliament is justly famous, not for its longevity, controversy or drama but because a ‘rump’ of its members instigated and oversaw the trial and the execution of king Charles I. It was summoned following a period of eleven years during which the king ruled by his royal prerogative, without parliament. He had little time for parliament; he summoned five during his reign, in 1625,1626,1628 and twice in1640, and he quarreled with them all He only summoned parliament when he needed money; it was to him nothing more than a useful revenue stream. He suffered, their debates about the conduct of state affairs and the administration of the realm because he was gracious, but he ignored the outcomes because, strictly speaking, such matters were none of parliament’s concern. In 1629, frustrated by parliament’s attempt to curtail his prerogative, Charles dissolved it, expressing the hope that he never had to summon another.
His personal rule was characterized by policies and actions his subjects bitterly resented. He imposed unlawful taxation and forced loans thereby undermining ancient laws of property and possessions. He imprisoned without trial and often without charge those who refused to pay, or objected to paying and he suborned the judiciary to find in his favour in litigation. Worst of all, he took money to assist catholic Spain in their war against the protestant Dutch, a policy that was anathema to the protestant English. On top of all that, he was at war with his Scottish protestant subjects; a war, which he wanted his English protestant subjects to pay for with their blood and their money.
By the spring of 1640, Charles’ impecuniosity compelled him to summon parliament for the purpose of voting him a subsidy sufficient for him to raise an English army to crush the Scots. The ‘Short Parliament’ (as it became known) lasted for three weeks. Charles dissolved it as soon as he realized the Commons would not vote him a farthing in subsidy until he addressed their grievances arising from his unparliamentarily practices. The peremptory dissolution of the Short Parliament did not solve Charles’ problem; the royal exchequer still lacked the means to pay for his war plans. By November 1640, Charles was compelled once more to ask parliament for money. It didn’t need a genius to foresee that parliament were unlikely to vote a subsidy until he satisfied their grievances on the two burning issues of the day: the demand for a new constitutional settlement, and religious reform.
On the constitutional issue, parliament was united in their resolve to bring the king to account for his despotic personal rule and to remedy its adverse consequences. First and foremost, they punished those whom they thought most culpable for the misgovernment of the previous eleven years. They also passed practical legislation to ensure that such misrule could not re-occur. For example, they passed an Act prohibiting the dissolution of parliament without its consent, and the Triennial Act, which made it obligatory for parliament to be summoned at least once every three years. The principle of no taxation without parliamentary consent (no taxation without representation) was established and the prerogative courts were abolished.  The king assented to these and other measures through gritted teeth; he had every intention of reneging on them as soon as he had restored his authority. Indeed he had already said that he would never consent to the curtailment of his prerogative. According to his version of English law, anything granted by the king under compulsion was null and void. 
The issue of religious reform was problematic because parliament was divided. Not only did the two Houses of parliament disagree with each other but the House of Commons was itself divided along sectarian lines. King Charles was the first English king to be born and raised in the traditional Anglican Church. Unlike his father James I, or his English cousin Elizabeth I both of whom managed to govern the church without being ‘of the church’, Charles was a lay member of its congregation.  Moreover, it suited his sense of orderliness and duty to bring the one true Church to all his subjects so that everybody could worship from the same prayer book and in the same way. It so happened that in William Laud, he had an archbishop of Canterbury whose vision for the Anglican Church exactly matched his own. Charles’ great mistake, however, was to believe that the protestant communion in England was settled. In point of fact, it was divided by its own deliberately vague doctrine. 
Laud reintroduced ornamental art into parish churches, stained glass windows, crosses and even crucifixes. He gloried in religious music and put back the church organs. He raised the holy table on a pedestal and called it an altar. And he used the bishops’ secular powers in the king’s prerogative courts to suppress puritanism and enforce conformity.  These were all reforms guaranteed to alienate the puritans in the House of Commons and which, together with the king’s friendly policy towards Spain and his toleration of the Mass at court (for love of his French wife it must be said), raised more widespread fears — whether rationale or irrational — of a return to the Roman Church.
However, it was the Commons’ motion to exclude bishops from the Lords and to remove their temporal powers that bought the dispute between the two Houses to the fore. Not unnaturally, the Lords being largely old-school Anglicans rejected this attack on the Episcopal Church. It was a dispute that was bound to occur sooner or later given the religious differences; however, the Lord’s rejection of the motion provoked the Commons to publish a declaration that the Church and the Holy service must comply with the law of the land. It was notice of a return to more austere puritan worship and a clear warning that the ‘elected’ House of Commons was not only ready willing and able to challenge the royal prerogative but was also prepared to encroach on the authority of the Lords.
The crisis came over the Christmas period 1641. The House of Commons published the ‘Grand Remonstrance’, which was a list of grievances against the king and a damning indictment of his misgovernment. Notwithstanding its constitutional importance, the Grand Remonstrance only succeeded in making things worse. The political and religious differences had become a struggle for power and increased the likelihood of war. A few days after Christmas, the balance of power tipped against the king. His puritan opponents gained a majority in the Common Council of London, which was followed by the Lord’s unexpected agreement to a petition allowing the Commons to impeach the bench of bishops en block. These, two incidents together with a supposed threat by the Commons to impeach the queen, so enraged Charles that he made a catastrophic mistake. He attempted a military coup d’état by forcing his way into the House of Commons with four hundred soldiers to arrest and impeach five of its members (Francis Pym, John Hampden, Denzil Holles, Sir Arthur Hesilrige and William Strode). The coup failed because the MPs were warned and had already left the building. The descent to war was now rapid. By the 10 January the king left his capital to prepare for what was to come. He did not to see London again until 1648, when the Army bought him thither as a prisoner to await his trial.
The king’s dictatorial rule, his feeble and unpopular foreign policy and his religious reforms, none of which matched the sentiments of the English people were all factors that triggered civil war; though they were not the basic cause of the wars. The civil wars were fought for the sovereignty of England. It was an ancient struggle between king and parliament that had afflicted England for centuries. I believe this is what Samuel Gardiner was referring to when the blamed the inevitability of the civil war on the “… inadequacy of the intellectual methods of the day to effect a reconciliation between opposing moral and social forces, which developed their strength from the past development of the nation”. Generally speaking, the Plantagenet and Tudor monarchs had managed their relationship with parliament pragmatically so as to avoid an open breach. But, by the last decade of the sixteenth century that relationship was breaking down as national and international political institutions evolved from medieval to modern paradigms. An open and a revolutionary conflict between king and parliament was inevitable: by 1640, it was probably overdue. Nevertheless, It would be wrong to think that Charles’ trial and execution were the inevitable outcome of the civil wars or that he was the victim of circumstances beyond his control. As Dame Veronica Wedgwood forcefully pointed out, he was directly responsible for his own downfall. Ultimately his deceitful behaviour, his wanton disregard for the lives of ordinary people and his false views on the nature of kingship so antagonized his subjects and threatened the peace that his destruction was probably unavoidable.
“The most high and sacred order of kings is of divine right, being the ordinance of God himself, founded in the prime laws of nature, and clearly established by express texts both of the Old and New Testaments. A supreme power is given to this most excellent order by God himself in the Scriptures, which is, that kings should rule and command in their several dominions all persons of what rank and state soever… For any person to bear arms against their kings, offensive or defensive, upon any pretence whatsoever, is at least to resist the powers that are ordained by God…”  This quote is from the first Canon of the Book Canons 1640. It represents the Anglican Church’s considered theory of kingship. The convocation of divines, which deliberated between April and May 1640, published this canon and directed that it must be read out quarterly to every congregation, at morning prayers. It was a view of kingship that coincided with Charles’ own. He genuinely believed that God ordained him to rule over his subjects and that he was empowered with an absolute prerogative to do as he thought best for his subjects regardless of their sentiments or the outcome. This much is borne out by his modification to the traditional coronation oath, whereby he swore only to preserve the liberties of his subjects insofar as they were consistent with this prerogative. Later, he would hold himself “blameless of all actions of whatever kind which aimed at restoring his power and saving his people from the consequences of their folly.”
Charles was also an inflexible man. He once said ‘he could not defend a bad nor yield a good cause’. Veronica Wedgewood explains: “ …when he thought a cause was good he would not yield, and by ‘not yielding’ he did not mean he would yield on sufficient persuasion, or the day after tomorrow, or the year after next; he meant he would not yield.” He had, what Wedgwood calls, a ‘total capacity for resistance’. This is seen clearly in a letter he wrote to Prince Rupert in 1645. After the battle of Naseby Charles faced certain defeat; his nephew Prince Rupert wrote advising him to treat for peace. His reply was unequivocal “ If I had any other quarrel but the defence of my religion, crown and friends, you had full reason for your advice. For I confess that speaking either as to mere soldier or statesman, I must say there is no probability but my ruin. But as to Christian, I must tell you that God will not suffer rebels to prosper, or His cause to be overthrown; and whatever personal punishment it shall please Him to inflict on me must not make me repine, much less to give over this quarrel…I must avow to all my friends, that he that will stay with me at this time must expect and resolve to either die for a good cause, or, which is worse, to live as miserable in the maintaining it as the violence of insulting rebels can make him.”.
We might admire Charles for having the courage of this convictions, were it not for the fact that his “extreme firmness of purpose (was) matched by an exceptional infirmity of judgement.”’ He was not just risking his own life, but also the lives of his subjects. His conduct of state affairs was lamentable and his failure to understand this did not inspire their love or even affection. It is true that after the war people pitied him; but that it is not to be confused with love and devotion. In truth, ordinary people did not know him. He was by nature reserved and formal: one might even say aloof. He did not have that easy relationship with people that his father and his son enjoyed. He knew little and seemed to care less about the lives of his subjects or the state of his realm. He travelled infrequently and then not very far. His knowledge of the outside world was limited to what he was told by his narrow circle of court favourites and sycophants. Not only that, but he was untrustworthy, as J P Kenyon writes, “…it was one of (Charles’) less endearing traits that in the execution of his public duties he did not consider himself bound by the rules of honour that governed his conduct as a private gentleman…this double standard made it impossible to trust him except when self-interest ensured his fidelity.”
The world turned upside-down
The civil wars changed everything, yet nothing actually changed; that is the paradox of these times. The fighting and the breakdown of normal government saw a drift towards anarchy and the founding of radical groups such as the Levellers, Diggers, Ranters and so on. These were groups of ordinary people who rejected the status quo ante bellum and held revolutionary ideas about democracy, republicanism and communism. The rise of these sectaries, though revolutionary at the time, changed nothing since the long-term beneficiaries of the civil wars were the royalists and the propertied classes, who in 1660 rejected almost all the social, constitutional and political ideas thrown-up in the previous eighteen years. Moreover, although these new ideas and their supporting groups caused a deep rift in the English Puritan ranks and tended to dominate the debate about what to do next, they did not themselves affect the king’s fate. Charles’ downfall was bought about by two factors outside his opponents control: one was old, the other new. His treachery was common knowledge; it is the reason why a constitutional settlement could not be agreed. This was not a new factor; it could have been anticipated. However, the emergence of the New Model Army as the most powerful military and political force in the three kingdoms was a new and decisive factor in the eventual outcome.
On the 5 May 1646, shortly after the defeat of his last field army, Charles arrived, not unexpectedly, at the Scottish bivouac in Southwell . The decision to give himself-up was not an acknowledgment of defeat but a calculated ploy to sow doubt and suspicion between the English and Scots . He hoped that at best he might be able to draw the Scots onto his side and at worst the English would suspect the Scots of concluding a separate peace. Charles was not of course negotiating genuinely with the Scots. He would never sign the covenant but thought there was no harm in pretending he might. “ For [Charles] politics was a matter of surface diplomacy and winning help from his fellow sovereigns abroad, of dividing Presbyterian and Independent, of Scots from English by bribes of power and favour.”
He knew that his best hope lay in exploiting the current and emerging rifts in the enemy camp. Meanwhile, he needed time for his other plans to mature. Charles never abandoned a project simply because a new one was to hand; he wanted to keep the military option in case there was an opportunity to renew the war.  Throughout this period he was in contact, sometimes separately often simultaneously, with the French, the Spanish and the Pope for military or financial aid in the civil war. In addition, he wrote to the royalist earl of Montrose, encouraging him continue the fight in Scotland and to James Butler marquis of Ormond about plans to bring an Irish army to mainland Britain.
On the 13 July 1646, the Committee of the Two Kingdoms put the first concrete proposals to Charles. The Newcastle Proposition was an attempt to reach a constitutional settlement that secured parliamentary sovereignty, imposed Presbyterianism on the English and the covenant on the king but preserved the monarchy and the existing social order. It was drafted on the premise that the king was beaten and that he knew it, and further that he would accept a compromise for his own good and the peace of the realm. The committee was wrong. Charles would have rejected their proposition outright were it not for the fact that he needed time for his dissembling to bear fruit; therefore, he prevaricated in the hope that something else would turn-up. He was also wrong; nothing turned up from the Continent or elsewhere.
On the 30 January 1647, the Scots, convinced at last that Charles would not sign the Covenant and desperate for cash to pay their army, handed him over to the English for £400,000. There is no disguising the fact that Charles was a captive, albeit a privileged one. He was housed in relative luxury with many servants to maintain his household. Although his freedom of movement was curtailed, he was not held incommunicado, which allowed him to continue sending coded letters and secret correspondence to his fellow conspirators, expressing his intention to renege on any agreement with the English and Scots, and his hope that a foreign army would yet invade his kingdom and restore his authority.
Meanwhile, the relationship between the English Parliament and the Army, already frosty, deteriorated further during the spring of 1647. The first civil war coupled with a poor harvest and a recession in trade had dislocated the civil government and almost ruined parliament. In an attempt to economize they voted to disband that part of the New Model Army not required for service in Ireland, without their arrears of pay. It was a foolish mistake since the Army, already suspicious that the negotiations with Charles might cost them the fruits of their military victory, became mutinous over the arrears of pay. The New Model Army was unique. It was the most effective fighting force in the three kingdoms but it had, in modern parlance, been radicalized by the Levellers and the other extreme groups among its ranks. Of particular concern to its commanders was the effect of the Leveller’s revolutionary ideas on the Army’s rank and file, who were no more prepared to accept religious despotism than royal tyranny. When ordered by parliament to disband, the soldiers refused. They would obey their officers but not parliament. The situation was dangerous. Fairfax and Cromwell did not agree with the Leveler’s left-wing views but they were faced with military anarchy at the precise moment that it seemed possible the civil war might resume.  Perforce, therefore, they backed their soldiers’ demands for restitution of their rights. The trick, which Cromwell carried through superbly, was to retain the trust and confidence of the loyal (but concerned) soldiers whilst weeding-out the Levellers and the mutineers. Thus was he able to return the Army to a condition of discipline and good order, which was just as well in view of what lay ahead.
Charles accepted a modified version of the Newcastle Proposition in May 1647, ten months after he first saw it. The Presbyterians in blissful ignorance of Charles’ true intent to renounce their accord as soon as he could  and fearful of the danger posed to them by a belligerent and confident Army declared immediately that the proposals were a ‘fitting basis for an accommodation’. Unfortunately for them, they were too late. On the 4 June 1647 Cornet George Joyce, on the pretext of securing the artillery train at Oxford and accompanied by five hundred soldiers, rode to Holmby House where the king was and took him into Army custody. It is not clear what Joyce’s orders were and who gave them to him but there is little doubt that both Fairfax and Cromwell realized the importance of securing possession and control of the king’s person . Ten days later the Army published a declaration asserting its right to oppose parliament in defence of its rights. Furthermore, the soldiers, who refused to disband without full satisfaction of their political and financial grievances, bought charges against eleven Members of Parliament, whom they alleged were overthrowing the peoples’ rights and obstructing justice. The soldiers claimed to speak for the people because they were not “…merely mercenary soldiers, brought together by the hopes of pay and the fortunes of war; the peace of our country, our freedom from tyranny, the preservation of due liberty, the administration of judgement and justice, the free course of the laws of the land, the preservation of the king, the privilege of parliament, and the liberty of the subject, were the main things that bought us together.“ Nonetheless, the Army’s occupation of London on the 6 August 1647 was an obviously dangerous and illegal interference in the government of the realm. The reasons for taking such drastic action were threefold. First, political necessity: there was a genuine fear (which as it turned out was justified) that the constitutional settlement accepted by parliament would lead to a renewal of the civil war. Second, the Army was probably more representative of the Commons’ constituencies than parliament. Third, London was already in the grip of Presbyterian rioters who had to be pacified.
After a futile attempt at reconciliation with parliament, the senior officers in the Army negotiated directly with the king. The ‘Heads of Proposals’ put forward by the Army were ahead of their time. They removed the Crown’s direct authority over parliament and substituted its ‘influence’; they bought the Commons under constituency control and widened the electoral franchise; they provided for biennial parliaments with a maximum length and put the Army directly under parliamentary control. It was entirely foreseeable that the king would reject these terms. In typical ostrich fashion, he convinced himself that the Heads of Proposals were the work of a few ambitious officers and were not supported by the Army at large.  By the end of September 1647 it was clear that the king had rejected the Army’s constitutional settlement. Cromwell was now in a difficult position since he still believed it was possible to do business with the king and continued to try and reach a settlement that preserved Charles’ honour but was consistent with a restriction of his prerogative. A rift was now developing between Cromwell and the Army over what to do next. The private soldiers had lost all faith in the king’s sincerity. In October Charles rejected any compromise and withdrew his parole. He had been in further secret negotiations with the Scots, who had changed sides. It was the revelation of the secret correspondence between Charles and the Scots concerning the possibility of a Scottish invasion of England to restore Charles’ throne that convinced Cromwell that the only course now was to deliver the English nation from oppression and slavery.  In November the Army proposed a vote of ‘no address’. There would be no more negotiations or even communication with the king . The king responded by trying to escape.
By the start of 1648 Charles was a prisoner in the real sense. The involvement of the Scots raised the spectre of civil war, which became reality in the summer. The royalists made common cause with the Scots and the English Presbyterians to invade England in an effort to restore Charles to his throne. It was as well that the New Model’s discipline had been restored because it was England’s only credible defence; fortunately it was enough. Cromwell with a large contingent of the New Model Army routed the duke of Hamilton’s royalist Scottish army at Preston on the 17 August 1648; whilst, Sir Thomas Fairfax with the remainder of the New Model Army defeated royalist risings in Kent and Essex. By the 27 August 1648 the second civil war was over. Thereafter, events moved relatively swiftly to their bloody conclusion
Even before hostilities had ended, the Presbyterian majority in parliament repealed the vote of no address and prepared to renew negotiations with Charles. Time was of the essence for them, since they realized that whilst the Army was busy fighting royalists they could not interfere with a Presbyterian settlement. It was the Treaty of Newport that bought the Presbyterians down and sealed the king’s fate.  Parliament ignored the Army’s remonstrance and continued ‘lenient’ negotiations with the king. On the 5 December they repudiated the actions of the Army and accepted Charles’ terms for his restoration. The next day (6 December), Colonel Pride with a regiment of soldiers cleared parliament of all Presbyterians, leaving only a ‘rump’ of supporting Independents. Within a week, the king was bought to Windsor under guard ‘ in order to bring him speedily to justice’.
A patient martyr
“The King” said Algernon Sidney “can be tried by no court, and this court can try no man”. Sidney, a parliamentarian war hero with republican leanings and one of the Commissioners selected to judge Charles Stuart, was in no doubt about the pretension of the High Court of Justice. Cromwell is reputed to have replied “ I tell you, we will cut off his head with the crown upon it.” It is perhaps an exchange we should take with a pinch of salt, since if killing the king was the object why bother with a trial? Assassination would do the trick just as well. A tragic accident, a sudden malady or fever, or he could be shot while trying to escape (Charles had tried a number of times). Those were possible options for disposing of an unwanted king. Indeed, historically, deposed monarchs could expect to meet an unnatural and lonely end in captivity, rather than to die peacefully in their bed. Court Martial followed by a summary execution was another option. The cavalier generals Lisle and Lucas had been so tried and executed after the siege of Colchester. As a captured enemy commander, Charles enjoyed no special immunity or privilege under the international law of arms. The summary execution of traitors and rebels on the battlefield or soon afterwards, was a feature of English internal wars since the time of Edward I. 
‘The purpose of victory was to enjoy peace; a captured enemy commander, especially if untrustworthy or in a position to renew the strife should be put to death’; that was the philosophy behind international martial law in the mid seventeenth century, as was the old maxim that a dead man cannot renew a war.  Had they wished, the Commons and the Army could have applied this logic and the law to their conflict with Charles. Yet they eschewed both these options in favour of a public trial with all its associated cost and risks. The soldiers of the New Model Army kept their discipline and risked their own lives to protect the man who had fought against them so bitterly. I will come to the legal impediments shortly, but I want to consider the trial of Charles in that context because, in my opinion, it refutes Clarendon’s allegation that despite its grandiose title and process, the trial was no more than a pretext for ‘king-killing’. The ‘great business’ was done openly and not ’in a corner’; moreover, there was a possibility of acquittal. The Commissioners were not unanimous in their resolve to bring the king to account, nor in their aversion to him. There was some wavering amongst their ranks which only irrefutable evidence of guilt could calm. I do not suggest that the chances of an acquittal were great since this was in reality a political trial; nonetheless, it was a risk that the Commons and the Army need not have taken.
Although the Army had earlier discussed bringing the king to trial on the basis of lex talionis (the law of retaliation), no serious thought was given to his trial before November 1648. It was, of course, impossible to try the king for treason, or for anything else under English law as it was applied for centuries past. The king being the fountain of all justice was immune from prosecution. The king himself noted the legal advice he had received from Sir Orlando Bridgeman “…by the letter of the law, all persons charged to offend against the law ought to be tried by their peers or equals. What is the law if the person questioned is without peer?”
Nonetheless and despite the seeming legal impossibility of bringing the king to trial, there was a mood within the House of Commons and in the Army that a way had to be found, in the broader interests of justice, to bring the king to account for the mischief, he had caused. The justification for such a trial is twofold. First, it is retribution for the innocent blood spilt in two civil wars: the second being more reprehensible that the first. Second, it would serve as a warning to would-be tyrants that the monarch was not above the law of Magna Carta. It is important to bear in mind that none of this implied the removal of hereditary monarchy; the aim was to reform the king, not ruin him. The idea that heads of government can be charged with war crimes for waging an ‘unjustified’ war has particular resonance for the UK today; not because such a prosecution is taking place, but because it isn’t. In the sixteenth century, however, it was a concept ahead of its time.
The House of Commons ignored the Lord’s opposition and passed an Act creating a ‘High Court of Justice for trying and judging Charles Stuart king of England’.  Lacking, as it did, the concurrence of the Lords and royal assent, it was not legitimate legislation within the strict, conventional construction of the law. However, it claimed a higher legality in that it sought to enforce the rule of law and in particular the ancient concept enshrined in Magna Cart, that the king was not above the law of the land. It is a principle that we take for granted today but in the sixteenth century was controversial. The preamble to the Act is worth quoting extensively since it illustrates this point quite well: “Whereas it is notorious that Charles Stuart the now king of England, not content with those many encroachments which his predecessors had made upon the people in their rights and freedoms, has had a wicked design totally to subvert the ancient and fundamental laws and liberties of this nation, and in their place to introduce an arbitrary and tyrannical government, and that besides all other evil ways and means to bring the design to pass, he has prosecuted it with fire and sword, levied and maintained a cruel war in the land, against the parliament and the kingdom, whereby the country has been miserably wasted, the public treasure exhausted, trade decayed, thousands of people murdered, and infinite other mischiefs committed…
The trial began before a packed courtroom at Westminster on Saturday the 20 January 1649 in the afternoon. The first order of business was to arraign the king; that is to say, to put the charges to him and take his plea. The charge as drafted by the prosecution accused the king of traitorously and maliciously levying war against parliament and ‘the people therein represented’. It was a broad charge embodying accusations of tyranny, treason and murder, and that Charles was responsible for all the “…rapines, burnings, spoils, desolations damages and mischiefs to this nation acted and committed in the said wars, or occasioned thereby.” The charge was made up of fourteen specific offences with dates and places, which the prosecution had to prove.
The Charge having been read, Charles was required to give his answer: was he guilty or not guilty? His response was entirely predictable; he challenged the jurisdiction of the Court (indeed of any human court) to judge his actions. Standing up, he said he would fain know ‘by what authority he had been bought hither’; until he knew this, he could not answer the charges. Charles, who claimed ‘to know as much law as any gentleman in England’, had put his finger on the nub of the problem as he saw it. The king was above the law. John Bradshaw, the Lord President of the High Court, replied that king was required to answer the charges by the authority of the Commons in Parliament on behalf of the people of England ‘by which people you were elected king’. It was a silly mistake, since, as Charles pointed out, ‘England had been a hereditary kingdom these thousand years’ and there were no Lords present to validate the trial.  What should have been an arraignment degenerated into a quarrel about jurisdiction, during which the king made some eloquent points and Bradshaw blustered. It continued in this vein for about an hour until Bradshaw adjourned the hearing. Thus it went on: for two more days Charles refused to plead to the charge. In truth, the jurisdiction point, though not improving with repetition, induced some wavering among the ranks of the Commissioners; Charles sounded so reasonable; whereas the court sounded so unreasonable. On the second day, Bradshaw was better prepared to deal with an argumentative king. He asserted the authority of the court; Charles was not allowed to challenge its authority or to give his reasons. The charge was put to Charles once more but again he refused to answer it. Bradshaw, frustrated ordered him to be taken away; his parting shot hit home ”Sir, you are not to have liberty to use this language. How good a friend you have been to the laws and liberties of the people, let all England and the world judge” The constitutional significance of the refusal to allow Charles to dispute the court’s authority is that it recognized the House of Commons as the source of legislative power in England. 
However, Charles’ refusal to plead had serious consequences for him and for the High Court . Bradshaw’s timely assertion of judicial authority had calmed some nerves on the bench but not all. Ideally, the court needed to hear the prosecution’s evidence of Charles’ guilt. There were thirty-three witness proving the specific offences set out in the charge; moreover, the prosecution possessed Charles’ correspondence detailing his attempts whilst still negotiating with his opponents to bring a foreign power to England and restore his absolute authority. This was ‘evidence of his violence and ill will’ towards his English subjects to contradict his oft-repeated claim to speak for their rights and liberties.
The prosecutor’s application that Charles should be convicted pro confesso unless he answered the charge was not meant seriously. The intention was to provoke Charles into answering the charge, so that the trial could proceed and the prosecution’s evidence presented in public. The reality was that Charles did not have a viable defence to the charges on their merits. His best, indeed his only, hope was to successfully challenge the court’s jurisdiction. He made one slip when he was almost drawn into defending his conduct during the civil wars on the grounds of self-defence, but otherwise he kept his guard up. The decision to convict him pro confesso (as though he had admitted the charge), whilst understandable (it was the common law), was a misjudgment; if instead, the court had treated Charles contumacy as a not guilty plea, the prosecution could have presented their evidence, which the king would have to refute or accept. He could defend himself, or stand mute while the prosecution proved his guilt. The ploy failed; Charles continued his defiance and was, perforce, condemned pro confesso
The Commissioners who tried Charles were sincere men but they were not professional judges and the trial exposed their limitations in that regard. They had correctly anticipated the king’s challenge to their authority and were unanimously resolved that he must not be allowed to do so. John Bradshaw did his loyal best to implement the agreed strategy; however, his repeated refusal to acknowledge that Charles’ had any grounds for challenging the court’s authority resulted in an unseemly disputation, which makes uncomfortable reading even today. Instead of proceeding as though there was nothing unusual in the court’s conduct when there plainly was, the Commissioners “…might have done better to assert, even to boast about the novelty of their procedure. In that case Bradshaw could have elucidated their intention in the most stirring language at his command, instead of trying to proceed correctly according to the common law, which was evidently not applicable.”
Having condemned the king, the Commissioners adjourned to consider the sentence. On the 24 January, John Cooke the Solicitor General took the depositions of thirty-three witnesses (many of whom were royalists) proving the king’s guilt of the specific crimes in the charge. The following day, those witnesses were called to court to prove their depositions on oath. These were then read aloud in public to the Commissioners After hearing this evidence and reading the kings incriminating correspondence, the Commissioners concluded that he had committed capital crimes. The death sentence was confirmed unanimously the next day; but in a concession, borne more of hope than expectation, the Commissioners agreed to reconsider their judgement if — even at such a late stage — if the king submitted to the courts jurisdiction . On Saturday 27 January 1649, Charles was produced to the High Court to hear sentence. It was Bradshaw’s duty to give the courts reasons for the sentence. However, Charles asked leave to speak to the Commissioners in the privacy of the Painted Chamber before sentence was passed. After a brief interchange with the king, Bradshaw concluded that in fact he was still being contumacious and rejected his request. In his reasons, Bradshaw made a number of points that attest to the justness of the proceedings. First, he pointed out that the king’s theory of kingship was erroneous and he had not ruled according to the law of the land. Furthermore, he was not above the law. Under the ancient laws of England lex was rex. Second, he reminded everybody that in the past, tyrannical kings were called to account by the barons (He was referring to king John in 1215 and the depositions of Edward II and Richard II.). Third, this is not new but ancient law and it is implied in the coronation oath, which is a contract and bargain ‘made by the people’. Fourth, where the people have no remedy against tyranny “the parliament were to do it”. Finally, he highlighted Charles intention to destroy parliament to the detriment of the law and liberties of the people. It was adjudged “…that the said Charles Stuart, as a tyrant, traitor, murderer and public enemy, shall be put to death, by the severing of his head from his body”. Hearing his doom, Charles protested but Bradshaw was implacable and ordered him to be taken down: the end was nigh. 
Bradshaw was making an important distinction between the person of the king, the office of king, and the kingdom of England. It was not a new concept in 1649, though it may have been a surprise to those who seemed to have forgotten it. The differential between king, crown and land is inherent in Magna Carta, which binds English monarchs to the rule of law. It was also a distinction made by the duke of York during his rebellion against the Lancastrian regime in the 1450’s. It was the rationale behind the appeal of the Lords Appellant in 1388 (The Merciless Parliament). In 1459 at the Parliament of Devils, Henry VI managed to reassert royal authority against Yorkists rebels who complained of Lancastrian misgovernment. However, it served only to convince York that Henry VI had to be removed from the throne, which was an act that would guarantee a dynastic civil war. Cromwell and the Commissioners of the High Court of Justice faced a similar dilemma in 1649. Charles’ intransigence and duplicity drove them to conclude, albeit reluctantly and in stages, that unless he was removed from the throne there would be no peace in the realm; moreover, if the king was successful, freeborn Englishmen would be no better off than slaves.
Unlike the dethroning of previous English kings, Charles I was not immediately followed by another king. His tyranny and character was such that the Army would not countenance another Stuart on the throne. The king’s execution was followed by an eleven-year hiatus in English monarchy, during which England was governed variously by a republican parliament, by the Army and by the Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell. His death in 1658 prompted the Stuart restoration, which followed in 1660. The restoration settlement was similar what had been proposed at Newcastle thirteen years before. Charles II was, like his father, an absolutist and the restoration saw a renewal of the conflict between the king and parliament for sovereignty. For a time it threatened the establishment of constitutional government. However, the achievement of the Long Parliament had demonstrated the power of parliament and given parliamentarians the resolve and the strength to challenge Stuart notions of absolutism. In 1688, Charles successor, the Roman Catholic James II was deposed by the ‘Glorious Revolution’ and replaced by the Protestant William of Orange, who co-reigned with Mary Stuart at the invitation of and by the consent of the English parliament. The idea of a constitutional monarchy in England was now unassailable. 
 Roger Lockyer (Ed) – The Trial of Charles I (The Folio Society 1959) p.133: this is a contemporary account of Charles I’s trial and execution taken from the memoirs of Sir Thomas Herbert (1606-1672) who was the groom to the Bedchamber of the king during his captivity; and also from the ‘Historical Collections’ of John Rushmore (1612-1690) who was variously a lawyer, clerk-assistant to the House of Commons, and secretary respectively to Lord Fairfax and Oliver Cromwell. Rushmore collected state papers of the period, which he published periodically from 1659 as ‘Historical Collections’. They are amongst the most important primary sources of the period. ’ The opening paragraph of this article is taken from Rushmore’s account of the king’s execution.
 Geoffrey Robertson- The Tyrannicide Brief (Vintage Books 2006) p.384, note1: Robertson refers to the figure of 800,000 dead in the British Isles (mostly in Ireland) citing Diane Purkiss – The English Civil Wars: a peoples history (Harper Press 2006).
 William Juxton (1582-1663) was bishop of London in 1649. He was appointed archbishop of Canterbury in 1660, on the restoration of Charles II.
 Lockyer, p.137
 JG Muddiman (Ed) – The Trial of Charles I (Wm Hodge & Co 1928) pp. 153-54. Muddiman draws attention to the fact that there is no evidence that the executioner said ’behold the head of a traitor’, which is usual on these occasions. It is also notable that nobody acclaimed the accession of the new king (‘the king is dead. Long live the king’). The explanation for this is that Parliament had that very morning passed a statute prohibiting such an acclamation and there were sufficient roundheads present to enforce it. The report of a ‘groan’ of anguish arising from the multitude as the axe fell is a restoration embellishment.
 Robertson, p.200
 See https://murreyandblue.wordpress.com/2016/05/page/2/ for both articles
 In 1388 and in 1459 House of Lords exercised their statutory discretion to declare whether or not doubtful cases were non-statutory treason and, in the particular circumstances of 1388 and 1459, to condemn and pass sentence on the accused.
 The Treason Act 1351 (25 Edw. 3 Stat. 5 c.2): the ‘Great Treason Act’ was still the law in 1649 (it is still the law today). Prior to Charles’ trial treason was defined exclusively as an offence against the king, not by the king.
 David Carpenter – Magna Carta (Penguin 2015), p.53
 The Long Parliament sat from 1640 until 1653, when Cromwell dispensed with parliament altogether. It actually passed primary legislation forbidding its dissolution without its consent; the Long Parliament was not, therefore, formally dissolved until 1660 when the monarchy was restored.
 EN Williams – A Documentary History of England (Pelican Original 1965) pp.36-48 reproduces the terms of the Petition of Right 1628 (ref 3 Cha.1, c.1), which set out non parliamentary grievances; it was intended to balance the royal prerogative with liberty of the subject. Although Charles claimed at the time that parliament ‘ had neither intention not power to hurt his prerogative’ and that the petition was merely a re-statement of his subject’s ancient liberties, it was a parliamentary defeat for him and a restriction on his prerogative.
 The measures passed by the Long Parliament formed the basis of the constitutional settlement in 1660.
 Godfrey Davies – The Early Stuarts (Oxford 1959, 2nd edition) p104
 JP Kenyon – The Stuarts (Fontana 1966) pp.75-80. Kenyon’s essay on Charles I provides a useful summary of the religious issues confronting the Long Parliament.
 CV Wedgwood – The King’s Peace (Fontana 1966) p.85
 Wedgwood – The King’s Peace p.89. When the Act of Supremacy 1558 (1 Eliz c 1) and the Act Uniformity 1559 (1 Eliz 1 c 2) established the unified Anglican Church in England, many points of doctrine were left deliberately vague. This was because Elizabeth I was not so much concerned with her subjects inner beliefs as their outward show; she wanted Protestant doctrine to be a ‘framework’ of beliefs that as many of her subjects as possible could conform to, without offending their consciences. It was a weakness in Charles I’s character that he lacked the maturity to realise that some flexibility in protestant doctrine was necessary to preserve unity and to keep the peace.
 Nevertheless, neither the king nor the archbishop of Canterbury was a papist. The Anglican Church was intolerant of Roman Catholicism.
 SR Gardiner – History of the Great Civil War (1894) (Windrush Edition 2002), four Volumes: Vol 1, p.1
 Lockyer, intro, p.5
 Davies p.94
 Wedgwood – The King’s Peace p.85
 Austin Woolrych- Battles of the English Civil War (Pan 1966), p.139
 Lockyer, intro, p.9.’
 Kenyon pp.75-80
 Gardiner, Vol 3, pp. 92-102. Charles had been negotiating with the Scots prior to surrendering to them. He offered nothing but a vague promise to give ‘full contentment’ to the Church question. In return the Scots gave verbal promises inter alia that they would secure his safety and honour, that they would not ask him to do anything against his conscience and that they would take his part in the event that the English refused to restore his authority. Their complicity in Charles escape from the encircling New Model Army is clear from intercepted correspondence.
 The English and the Scots made common cause in 1644, when they realised their joint interest in opposing Charles’ ambitions. The Scots sent an army to support parliament and a joint committee of the two kingdoms was formed to settle war strategy etc.
 CV Wedgwood – The King’s War (Fontana 1966) p.485
 Gardiner, Vol 3, pp.13-19.
 Gardiner, Vol 3, p. 259 note 3 and p.265, note 1; There were genuine fears that the English Presbyterians in parliament with the agreement of the Scots would attempt to move the king from England to Scotland and to ‘set him up as the head of an (invasion) army there’
 Cromwell disagreed with the Levellers. He supported his soldiers out of a natural loyalty to the men he had fought with and because he deemed it the best way to keep control of the situation. He did, however, punish mutiny ruthlessly. There were some in the army with extreme republican views who were suspicious that Cromwell would sell them out.
 Gardiner, Vol 3, p.166; citing correspondence between the king and bishop Juxton, in which Charles swore ‘as God is my witness’ to restore the Episcopal Church once his own authority was restored.
 Ironically, this agreement triggered the second civil war in which the English Presbyterians and the Scots joined forces with the cavaliers against the independents and the Army
 The balance of scholarly opinion is that Joyce was acting on the orders of the Agitators, since neither Fairfax nor Cromwell are likely to have put a junior cornet in command of five hundred men on a mission to abduct the king. Indeed, Fairfax sent a colonel down to take command as soon as he heard of the abduction. That doesn’t mean, of course, the two generals were not well pleased with the outcome.
 Peter Young and Richard Holmes – The English Civil War 1642-51 (BCA Ed1974) p.274; the brigadiers Young and Holmes are quoting from ‘an apologeticall Declaration concerning the army…TT E.401 (24)’. See also Gardiner Vol 3, p.293; who quotes that the Army “…was no mere mercenary army, hired to serve any arbitrary power of a State, but called forth and conjured by the several declarations of Parliament to the defence of their own and the peoples’ just rights and liberties.” They contended that an erring parliament must be corrected as much as an erring king.
 Christopher Hill – God’s Englishman (Penguin 1990) p.54. In 1644, the Long Parliament realised that to defeat the king they would have to arm and tax the ordinary people. They also realised the risk that this entailed, since it might encourage the common folk to think of themselves as the equal of gentlemen. Of course, many thousands of the ‘commons’ already considered themselves at least the equal of gentlemen; however, their opinions were suppressed. The civil war loosened the restraints placed on the expression of radical ideas and encouraged the creation of political movements to champion them; it had ‘turned the world upside down’. It is in this context that the New Model Army was recruited from the ranks of decent ordinary people. What is remarkable for the time is that that many of these men were volunteers (certainly the officers and the cavalry), which went against the grain at this time as most army recruits were pressed men from gaols and from the lowest sort of men. Moreover officers were appointed on merit and not on the basis of their wealth or family tree. In one of his most famous (and quotable) comments, Cromwell praised the ‘plain’ men of the New Model: “I had rather have a plain russet-coated captain that knows what he fights for and loves what he knows than what you call a gentleman and is nothing else. I honour a gentleman that is so indeed.” When a parliamentary grandee complained that the ‘officers were not men of estate but common men, poor and of mean parentage’, Cromwell enunciated his policy in no uncertain terms: “It may be that it provokes some spirits to see such plain men made captains of horse. It had been well that men of honour and birth had entered into the employment, but why do they not appear? Who would have hindered them? But since it is necessary the work must go on, better plain men than none at all.”
 Gardiner, Vol 3, pp. 330-33 and 341-42; contains a useful discussion of the negotiations between the king and the Army.
 Gardiner, Vol 4, p.6
 Gardiner, ibid
 Gardiner Vol 4, pp.210-223
 Summary justice administered under the authority of the Constable of England or the Provost Marshall was prevalent during the rebellion that deposed Edward II, the Revolution of 1399 that deposed Richard II, and during the Wars of the Roses.
 Robertson pp.133, 391 note 23-25 for a résumé of the law.
 Robertson, p.129: quoting from Robert Partridge – ‘O Horrible Murder’: the trial, execution and burial of Charles I (London 1998) p.49. Robertson makes the point that this argument, which is ‘legalistic to a fault’, was easily disposed of by the prosecutor “…on the basis that no man — not even the king — was above the law. Magna Carta — the law to whose letter Bridgeman referred — was John’s guarantee to the barons that they would be tried by peers (i.e. barons) and not by the king: if a king were charged with a crime, then it would not breach the spirit of the `Great Charter to try him before as distinguished and representative group of judges as parliament could put together.” Subsequent legislation interpreting Magna Carta has made it clear that ‘peers’ means social equals (i.e. a jury) and furthermore, ‘free man’ means a man or woman ‘of any estate or condition’ and ‘law of the land’ means treatment according to due process (see Carpenter pp. viii, 271 & 301.) I am not sure that the last part of Robertson’s last sentence necessarily applies to the Commissioners who tried Charles. See CV Wedgwood – The Trial of Charles I (Fontana 1966) pp.109-118, for a robust assessment of the judges. Although, they were not all lowborn, as royalist propaganda suggests, there were a fair number of known ‘rogues and knaves’ among their membership.
 Davies pp.160-161; Gardiner Vol 4 pp.287-291; the Lords opposed an ordinance for the trial of the king. Consequently on the 4 January 1649 the Commons passed three resolutions, described by Gardiner as ’strangely democratic’, asserting their supreme power to enact and make law as the representatives of the people and that anything they declare shall have the force of law notwithstanding that has neither the concurrence of the Lords nor the assent of the king. It was the first step in the establishment of the Commonwealth of England.
 John Phelps – A true copy of the Journal of the High Court of Justice for the trial of King Charles I as it was read in the House of Commons, and attested under the hands of Phelps, Clerk to the infamous Court 1683 (1684) pp.1-2. The Act was passed by the Rump on the authority of the resolutions voted on the 4 January 1649: see note 43 supra.
 Phelps pp. 29-32; Muddiman pp.26-29; Lockyer pp.81-86: see also Robertson, Chapter 8, pp.135-50 for a modern QC’s commentary on the charge against Charles.
 Nicholas Pronay and John Taylor – Parliamentary Texts in the Later Middle Ages (Oxford 1980) at pp.36-37; whilst acknowledging the lords’ judicial function, Pronay and Taylor note that parliament ‘as a whole’ was not predominately a court of law since the Commons had no judicial powers. The House of Commons was exclusively a political forum, which is the point Charles is making.
 See note 43 supra
 Wedgwood – The Trial of Charles I, p.153
 Gilbert Mabbott – A Perfect Narrative of the Whole Proceedings of the High Court Justice in the Trial of the King in Westminster Hall (anonymous 1649), pp.10-15; Muddiman pp.122-131: Muddiman is much criticised by Geoffrey Robertson for his bias, which may or may not be true. However, I found Muddiman to be a useful source for ‘Bradshaw’s Journal’, which is the official transcript and report of the proceedings produced for parliament in 1650 (Appendix A at pp.193-230); The kings reasons for challenging the courts jurisdiction (Appendix B pp.231-232). Although the king was stopped from giving these reasons at the trial, he wrote them down and they were published on the 5 Feb 1649; John Cook’s prosecution speech (Appendix C pp. 233-260). Cook never got the chance to make this speech, as the king was convicted pro confesso. It was published in Feb 1649; and Charles’ last speech from the scaffold (Appendix D pp.260).
 David Ogg – England in the Reign of Charles II (Oxford1956) in two volumes.
I wonder how many listened to this programme a week or two ago? It was about the late diminutive Scottish actress Molly Weir who, between 1978 and 1984, played “Hazel McWitch” in the children’s comedy Rentaghost – you could tell it was a children’s comedy because one of the main characters died in the first few minutes of the opening episode, after a motorcycle accident.
Had she existed, McWitch, being Scottish, is likely to have been a victim of the campaign against witchcraft begun by James VI and to have been one of about 1700 burned between 1590 and 1722. Most were strangled before being burned, although William Tyndale could testify that this was not always effective.
In England, where witches were hanged instead, the total is usually estimated at 500 of a population four times that of Scotland. Quite apart from being less painful, even short-drop hanging preserved the body for future identification. The two convicted at the St. Osyth trial of 1582 are still being investigated to determine which witch is which, although it is now thought that the remains do not relate to Ursula Kemp
The father of James Duke of Monmouth is usually assumed to be the future Charles II, who freely acknowledged his resonsibility. There exists a scientific proof, as published on p.36 of Beauclerk-Powell and Dewar’s Royal Bastards, through Y-chromosome tests comparing Monmouth’s male line descendants the Dukes of Buccleuch with the Dukes of Grafton, St. Albans and Richmond, from Charles’ other illegitimate sons.
Charles II was, of course, not unique in his Y-chromosome. In June-August 1648, when Monmouth was probably conceived in France, he was one of three brothers with a father still alive. Charles I was a prisoner in Carisbrooke Castle and Henry Duke of Gloucester was in England so they can be eliminated as Henry was also too young. Charles I was his father’s only surviving son and James VI/I had been his father’s only child.
From the attached document, you will observe that Henry Lord Darnley had one brother, who died without issue, and that his father (Matthew, Earl of Lennox) had two other sons but one was a childless Catholic Bishop. The other son was Jean Stuart, Seigneur d’Aubigny, whose French son Esme Duke of Lennox was known as James VI/I’s “favourite”. Esme’s male line grandsons all fought for the Royalist cause and three were killed between 1642-5.
There were two others, James and Ludovic, although they were more likely to have been in England than France in summer 1648. Together with the future Kings Charles II and James II, they share a common Y-chromosome with nobody except fourth or more distant cousins. Despite James II’s reputation for promiscuity, similar to that of Charles II in many ways, this more rigorous analysis tends to support the traditional view, for once.
The document also now shows the origin of the Stewarts and how Matthew of Lennox’s Y-chromosome should have matched that of James V, before his son married that King’s daughter:
Part 1 – Sir William Cornwallis the younger
“ His virtues I have sought to revive, his vices to excuse”
(The Encomium of Richard III, Sir William Cornwallis)
It is conceivable that historians do not take the early revisionist histories of king Richard III seriously owing to an assumption that the authors were not themselves serious. If so, they are probably mistaken about Sir William Cornwallis (1579-1614) the author of the ‘Encomium of Richard III’, the earliest extant defence of the last Plantagenet king and the subject of this post. And they are definitely wrong about Sir George Buck, the author of a second and more substantial defence of Richard entitled ‘The History of King Richard the Third’. My purpose in this post and a further one about Buck is to draw attention to these undervalued and misunderstood revisionists, whose pioneering works have provided the template for subsequent defences of king Richard.
Sir William Cornwallis the younger (so called, to distinguish him from his uncle) was probably born at Fincham, Norfolk. He was the eldest child of Sir Charles Cornwallis a diplomat and court official. The Cornwallis’ were well known recusants and too prominent during catholic Mary’s time to prosper much under protestant Elizabeth: they were always under suspicion. Within that parameter the young Cornwallis’ upbringing was gratifyingly orthodox. He studied at Queen’s College, Oxford. In 1595 he married Katherine Parker; they had thirteen children, eight of whom survived him. In 1599 he saw action in the earl of Essex’s Irish campaign, and was knighted by the earl for his service . On his return to England he lived quietly during the remainder of Elizabeth’s reign.
In 1603 on the accession of James I he was appointed a member of the king’s Privy Chamber. In 1604 he was elected MP for Orford in Suffolk in support of the union between England and Scotland, and in 1605 was sent on a minor diplomatic mission to Spain. His extravagant lifestyle resulted in considerable debt and despite a gift of £2000 from the king he died in penury in 1614, leaving his widow and eight children destitute.
Cornwallis’ literary career was that of a gentleman amateur writing ‘familiar’ paradoxical essays at the turn of seventeenth century. According to Kincaid “His style is fluent but incursive, his periods short but balanced. Illustrative examples are drawn from his own experience, though with evident modesty. He is concerned with self-improvement, particularly for statesman, stressing stoic virtues such as resolution, fortitude and endurance. His method is influenced by Montaigne, his ethics by Seneca . The paradoxes range from satirical praise of misfortune (e.g. ‘The French Pox’ and ‘Debt’) to what seem, at least partly, serious defences of historical figures (e.g. Julian the Apostate and Richard III).” Even though the contemporary essays of Sir Francis Bacon and John Donne overshadowed Cornwallis’ own literary achievement, the paradoxical essay tradition as it re-emerged in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries owes more to his method than to theirs.
The Encomium of King Richard III – Background
It was commonplace for the original manuscripts of familiar essays to circulate among groups of literary friends. It was also commonplace for the author and for others to copy the manuscript: sometimes adding further comments, sometimes correcting errors. The Encomium of Richard III was no exception to the rule; there are ten surviving manuscript copies of it, each being different from the earliest and from each other. Although many of the changes are minor and stylistic, there are some important ‘political’ interpolations in later versions.
Cornwallis’ original manuscript is a mixture of the serious and the paradoxical. It does not sit easily in the form of a paradox. However, later additions indicate crude attempts to formalize it as a conventional paradox. Efforts have also been made to de-personalize it; whereas Cornwallis attacks a single ‘corrupt chronicler’, later versions change that to ‘our corrupt chroniclers’. The most interesting additions are those that are politically motivated. These additions though ostensibly enhancing Richard’s defence are really political propaganda linked to the Essex plot of 1600, and have wrenched Cornwallis’ original Encomium out of context. It is not surprising, therefore, that so many literary scholars regard the Encomium as a rather poor paradoxical essay and so many historians disregard it as a serious defence of king Richard III. It is also unfortunate that the latest version was published in 1616, as it is the one most commonly known and it distorts Cornwallis’ own views. It is in this context that we should assess the worth of the ‘Encomium’. In this post I am concentrating on three aspects of the Encomium. First the questions of authorship and motive, second an overview of Cornwallis’ technique for defending king Richard’s reputation, and finally the influence of late Elizabethan and early Jacobean politics on later versions of the Encomium.
In the first half of the twentieth century, Professor W Gordon Zeeveld argued that ‘The Encomium of Richard III’ was in response to a manuscript account of king Richard’s reign written by Cardinal John Morton soon after Bosworth. This manuscript had been circulating amongst Tudor intellectuals for many years. According to Zeeveld it was copied by Sir Thomas More and published by his nephew John Rastell as More’s ‘History of King Richard III. Zeeveld argues that the traces of personal hatred towards Morton contained in early versions of the Encomium are evidence that it was inspired by Morton’s tract.
Zeeveld also believed that the Encomium was a palimpsest concealing an earlier defence of Richard, with Cornwallis as the continuator rather than the originator of that work. He postulates that an anonymous contemporary supporter of Richard took it upon himself to defend his dead master from Morton’s tract. Unfortunately there is no evidence that this earlier defence existed; neither does it follow that the personal bitterness evident in the Encomium places the author in the 1490’s. As Dr Kincaid points out, it could just as easily result from intellectual stimulus affecting somebody in the 1590’s.
Nobody knows why Cornwallis wrote this essay or why he chose to do so in a hybrid form. His animosity towards one Tudor chronicler suggests an emotional involvement that is at odds with his otherwise reasoned and intellectual approach. However, the editors of Kincaid’s excellent edition of the Encomium have conducted a careful and minute study of all ten original manuscripts and they are perfectly satisfied about two things: first, the Encomium is not a palimpsest, it is Cornwallis’ original work; second, Morton wrote a tract about Richard that was still extant in the 1590’s.Notwithstanding these conclusions, the evidence of a link between Cornwallis and Morton’s tract is circumstantial at best; it does no more than establish the possibility that Cornwallis had access to the tract.
Last on this aspect, the suggestion that Morton wrote a tract which was still in circulation well into Elizabeth I’s reign has wider significance, particularly regarding the authorship of More’s ‘History’ and its impact on Sir George Buck ‘History of King Richard the Third’. I hope to address both these issues in a future post.
The defence of king Richard
Cornwallis’ defence of Richard is unique in pro Ricardian literature in that generally he does not challenge the traditional Tudor version of the facts. The importance of the Encomium to the Ricardian narrative is simply that it is the first reasoned defence of Richard. The absence of an evidence base to accompany Cornwallis’ reasoning does not damage his contribution to that narrative, since Buck and others have been well able to supply that evidence. Although largely ignored by academics and historians, the Encomium has had a significant influence on future revisionists. For example, Buck structured his first three books around the Encomium (though he was working from a later manuscript) and Walpole adopted a similarly reasoned approach. The Encomium contains most, if not all, of the reasoned, logical defensive arguments that we see in modern Ricardian literature to this day.
Cornwallis makes four broad points. First, some of the accusations against Richard are so frivolous that they must have been prompted by malice (e.g. his physical appearance, born with teeth etc.). Second, there is no objective evidence that he committed many of the offences alleged against him (e.g. the murder of Henry VI and the allegation that he ‘commanded’ Dr Shaw’s sermon on the 22 June 1483, for which others are clearly implicated). Third, he is not guilty of usurpation or of regicide by reasons of state. It is only the third point that I want to explore in a little detail since the allegation of regicide is by far the most serious charge laid against king Richard III.
In 1601 Cornwallis (and not the later interpolators) wrote this about the disappearance of the two Princes: “In this time chanced the death of his two young nephews in the Tower, whose deaths promising quiet unto him, are wholly imposed upon him, how truly I have reason to doubt, because his accusers are so violent and impudent, that those virtues which in other men are embraced, for which they are esteemed as gods, they impute to him to be rather enablers of vices than really virtues. His humility they term pride, his liberality prodigality, his valour cruelty and bloodthirstiness and so through malice, not truth turn all things to their contrary. But if it were so that he contrived and consented to their deaths the offence was to God and not to the people, for the depriving of their lives freed them (the people) from dissention and how could he demonstrate his love more amply than to venture his soul for their quiet, But who knows whether it were not God’s secret judgement to punish the father’s transgressions on the children, and if so complain their fate, not his cruelty.”
Turning his attention to the grim realities of medieval power politics, Cornwallis continues: “…yet in policy princes never account competitors however young or innocent since the least colour of right provokes innovating humours to stir-up sedition, which once being kindled threatens both the subversion of princes and people. Therefore, the removing (of) such occasions of civil wars is well governed. (The) commonwealth is most profitable, most commendable, being no cruelty but pity a jealousy of their subjects and a regard for their own safety”. However, king Richard does not entirely escape Cornwallis’ censure: “If for this action he ought to be condemned, it is for indiscretion in the managing; for as safely might he have had the realms general consent in disposing of their lives, as in disposing them from the crown, and had he held a secret execution best he might have effected it more secretly…”
Cornwallis eschews a substantive defence of king Richard; instead, he emphasizes his personal virtues and his good works, and excuses his actions as being in the public interest and done from a high sense of public duty. Albeit we cannot establish a firm link between Cornwallis and Morton’s tract it seems that the Encomium was indeed a response to More/Morton account. For instance, when condoning Richard’s seizure of the crown, Cornwallis refers to Edward IV’s betrothal to ‘Elizabeth Lucy’. That is a name he can only have found in the work(s) of More/Morton.
Cornwallis had ‘ high views of the royal prerogative and his Encomium shows no exception.’ For example, he writes “…chroniclers should not criticise kings because kings are accountable only to a jury of kings and to God.” In Kincaid’s edition of the Encomium, the editors identify four distinct ways in which later additions of the British Museum manuscript turned this essentially pro-monarchist work into a revolutionary text.
The first change is subtle alteration to the notion of divine authority. The most obvious example of this occurs in the extract I have referred to above. At the point where Cornwallis suggests that the death of the Princes might be God’s judgement on the sins of their father we get this interpolation (highlighted): “…if so complain of their fate, not his cruelty (FOR IN THESE FATAL THINGS IT FALLS OUT THAT HIGH WORKING POWERS MAKE SECOND CAUSES, UNWITTINGLY ACCESSORY TO THEIR DETERMINATION) yet in policy princes…” This insertion introduces a controversial, political tone; though the point being made is hardly new or novel. The notion that temporal kings were subject to God’s law, which upholds truth and justice against deceit and injustice, was argued by the Yorkists in the 1450’s to justify their rebellion against the misuse of royal authority. It follows that if God’s law forbids tyranny it must be His will that subjects should resist and even overthrow tyrants, by force if necessary. This interpolation reflects the seventeenth century’s revolutionary agenda whereby the exponents of change rejected the divine right of king, in favour of the principle, enshrined in Magna Carta, that the king was subject to the common law of the land. Rex is not lex; lex is rex (The king is not law; the law is king.).
Second, the text was changed to show the Tudors in a much worse light than hitherto. For example, Cornwallis praises Richard for abolishing forced loans. However, this is altered slightly with the insertion “ THOUGH HE CAME TO MANAGE A STATE WHOSE TREASURE WAS EXCEEDINGLY EXHAUSTED.” It is a comment that would strike a cord with late Elizabethans struggling under an inequitable tax system. The costs of the continuing Spanish war and the troubles in Ireland had increased the parliamentary subsides granted to the Crown fourfold between 1589 and 1601, with a disproportionate burden falling on the poor. Indeed, the demand for increased subsidy in 1589 was so onerous for the rich that Sir Francis Bacon declared in parliament: “Gentlemen must sell their plate, farmers their brass pots ere this will be paid”. In desperation the Queen resorted to levying forced loans and benevolences on the wealthy through the privy seal. She also imposed ship money on inland towns; yet still the exchequer was in deficit. In 1601 parliament debated the plight of the poor. There were calls for the wealthy to pay more: “Some thought that three-pound men should be spared; others that four-pound men should pay double, with a corresponding increased charge on the rest upwards.” The tendency of Stuart monarchs to raise taxes without the consent of parliament through forced loans, increased custom duties and ship money was an issue (there were others) that eventually led the king to kill his subjects and his subjects to kill their king.
Third, Cornwallis defends Richard’s seizure of the throne on the basis that Edward V was too young to govern himself, much less the realm; anyhow, he would be too much under the bad influence of his mother and maternal uncles who were “…the duke’s mortal enemies such as through the lowness of their birth had never been inured to government, whose new nobility was more likely to ruinate than to fortify the Ancient, could not but draw a true discerning spirit to favour himself to maintain the ancient nobility to commiserate the people much wasted by dissensions…” This can certainly be interpreted as a veiled criticism of William and Robert Cecil, who between them controlled the queen and the government in the 1590’s. However, the later insertion of the words “ AND OPPRESSED” between ‘wasted and ‘by’ in the above extract is a much more explicit reproach of the Cecil’s. A reproach that becomes even more obvious in the interpolation at the point where Cornwallis justifies Richard’s execution of Rivers and Grey: “…jealous of his own preservation OF THE SAFETY OF THE COMMONWEALTH AND OF THE ANCIENT NOBILITY with great reason and justice he executed them.” The reference to the safety of the realm is an allusion to England’s Cecil-inspired foreign policy . The criticism is even more explicit in an insertion at the point when Cornwallis is defending the summary execution of William Lord Hastings, which he says was just because Hastings was in the pay of the French king; furthermore, it was he who persuaded Edward IV not to support Burgundy against the French: “WHEREAS NOW IN A FEW YEARS IT IS DEVOLVED TO A PROUD AND INSOLENT NATION (Spain) WHO HAVE GRIEVOUSLY OPPRESSED THOSE NETHERLANDS WITH EXECRABLE CRUELTIES AND ARE AT THIS DATE CAPITAL ENEMIES OF OUR STATE…”
At the turn of the seventeenth century England was in turmoil; people were uncertain about the future, confused and frightened. The queen was ageing and various political factions were jockeying for power and influence in preparation for her demise. Poor harvests had brought famine, the war with Spain dragged on accompanied by genuine war weariness and the economy was a shambles. Militarily and diplomatically England was weaker in 1600 than it had been in1588, whilst Spain was stronger.The Spanish army occupying Holland was a direct threat to England’s flank and her independence. On top of all this the protestant reformation was not secured, nor the succession settled. Of the two foreign candidates, one was a Roman Catholic and the other a protestant flirting with Catholicism . The Cecil clique, pacific by inclination, wanted peace with Spain, which was abhorrent to the protestants. In 1601 Robert Devereux the earl of Essex accused Robert Cecil of favouring the succession of the Spanish Infanta to the English throne. It was dismissed as nonsense at the time. However, with the benefit of five hundred years of hindsight and official correspondence we can see that at best, Cecil’s behaviour was disingenuous.
Fourth, and perhaps most significantly, is the insertion of an unambiguous appeal to force against legitimacy. Cornwallis is writing of the necessity for Richard to assume the crown for the common good and in particular to prevent another civil war, then this paragraph is inserted into Cornwallis’ narrative: “…THE DUTY WE OWE OUR COUNTRY EXCEEDS ALL OTHER DUTIES, SINCE IN ITSELF IT CONTAINS THEM ALL. THAT FOR RESPECT THEREOF NOT ONLY ALL TENDER RESPECTS OF KINDRED, OR WHATSOEVER OTHER RESPECTS OF FRIENDSHIP ARE TO BE LAID ASIDE, BUT THAT EVEN LONG HELD OPINIONS (RATHER GROUNDED ON SECRET GOVERNMENT THAN ANY GROUNDS OF TRUTH) ARE TO BE FORSAKEN SINCE THE END WHERETO ANYTHING IS DIRECTED IS EVER TO BE OF MORE NOBLE RECKONING THAN THE THING THERETO DIRECTED, THAT THEREFORE THE PUBLIC WEAL IS MORE TO BE REGARDED THAN A PERSON OR MAGISTRATE THAT THEREUNTO IS ORDERED…IF ANY MAN SHOULD OBJECT TO THIS COURSE LET HIM KNOW THAT NECESSITIES REQUIRE NEW REMEDIES AND FOR HIM (Richard) THERE WAS NO REMEDY BUT THIS ONE.” It is a sentiment that needs no explanation.
Kincaid and Ramsden argue that this insertion was probably aimed at Sir Henry Neville who had an ambiguous role in Essex’s attempted coup of 1600 and who was related to Robert Cecil. They postulate that Henry Wriothesley, earl of Southampton sent this amended copy of the Encomium to Neville to reassure him that he could disregard ties of kinship since it was God’s will that the Cecil’s should be overthrown. It is, they say, the only explanation for this insertion, which is so contrary to Cornwallis’ own philosophy.
 Elizabeth I was furious with Essex for personally knighting so many of his officers in the wake of his shameful truce with the Irish rebels; the queen called these officers ‘idle knights’ and there is no suggestion that Cornwallis’ preferment suggested a softening of attitude towards him. The Cornwallis’ – we are told – ‘were always under suspicion’.
 Michel Eyquem Montaigne (1533-1592) was an influential French renaissance philosopher who wrote anecdotally on the human condition. His stated objective was to describe humanity and especially himself ‘with utter frankness’.
 Seneca the Younger (BC1-AD65) was a Roman stoic philosopher. He was forced to commit suicide after being implicated in a plot to assassinate the Emperor Nero.
 Arthur Kincaid – Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (online edition, ref:odnb/6345) (DNB)
 Arthur Noel Kincaid- The History of King Richard the Third by Sir George Buck (Alan Sutton 1979) at pp.civ-cv: Kincaid writes: ‘Rosalie L Colie in her study of paradox’s gives Cornwallis’ Encomium as an example that fails because it does not surprise of dazzle by its incongruities, for it strikes the reader as an all but serious defence. Instead of appearing skillful many of its arguments give the impression of being sincere but lame…” (See Rosalie L Collie – Paradoxia Epidemica (Princeton 1966) at p8)
 Arthur Kincaid and J A Ramsden – The Encomium of Richard III by Sir William Cornwallis the Younger (Turner and Devereux 1977) at p.5 (Kincaid)
 Kincaid at pv
 Kincaid at p20: interestingly, this was Charles I’s grounds for refusing to recognize the jurisdiction of the court appointed by Parliament to try him for crimes against the State in 1649. In 2001 Slobodan Milosevic also pleaded sovereign immunity when arraigned for war crimes (See Geoffrey Robertson – The Tyrannicide Brief (Vintage 2006) for an illuminating discussion on the powers of the law to bring tyrants to book for their crimes.)
 Kincaid at p17
 Kincaid p14
 Professor J B Black – The Reign of Elizabeth I (Oxford 1987) pp. 228-234.
 Black at p231
 Kincaid p9
 Kincaid p8
 Kincaid p10
 It was Philip II’s ambition to launch an invasion of England from the Netherlands
 Christopher Hill – God’s Englishman (Penguin 1972) at pp.20-25: Dr Hill suggests that the Elizabethan golden age was long past: if it ever existed. The legend of a time “…when parliament and crown worked in harmony, in which the Church was resolutely protestant, in which bishops were subordinated to secular power and protestant sea dogs brought gold and glory back from the Spanish Main…owed more to a criticism of what was happening (or not happening) under Stuarts than anything that had really existed under Elizabeth.”
 James VI was a Protestant and his apparent willingness to convert to Roman Catholicism was only a diplomatic/political ploy to unsettle Elizabeth and the English: it worked.
 Black at pp.445-451: Professor Black refers to correspondence, which suggests that Robert Cecil sounded out the feasibility of the Infanta and her husband the Archduke Albert succeeding Elizabeth. He certainly seems to have considered the ditching James VI of Scotland as heir to the throne.
William Catesby, a Northamptonshire lawyer, was one of only three people executed in the aftermath of Bosworth, the others being a West Country father and son. From this and other circumstantial evidence, we are inexorably drawn to the conclusion that this happened because he was the only surviving layman who knew the details of Edward IV’s bigamy. In this respect at least, by not executing members of the clergy, Henry VII conducted himself as had his Yorkist and Plantagenet predecessors but not as his descendents were to act.
A hundred and twenty years later, his descendant Robert (Robin) Catesby was one of the ringleaders of the “Gunpowder Plot” and was shot dead, resisting arrest, at Holbeche House in Staffordshire, just three days after the Plot had been discovered. An ardent Catholic recusant, he had already survived participating in the Essex Rebellion of 1601.
As you can see here (Catesbys2), the family’s ancestors can be traced back to another William, who died in 1383. From 1375 until 1605, with a short interruption, they lived at the Manor House, Ashby St. Ledgers.
To what extent were the actions of the younger Catesby influenced by his ancestor’s fate?
Something happened to the British kingdoms just half a century after Bosworth. From 1536, the second “Tudor” (and his like-minded nephew James V) began to execute women for political offences, a practice unknown hitherto. There had been exceptions such as the St. Brice’s Day Massacre in 1002, although Ethelred had neither judged nor attainted his Viking population as individuals. Margery Jourdemayne had been burned in 1441 because her practice of witchcraft had encompassed treason against Henry VI, potentially in favour of his uncle.
1536 saw Anne Boleyn beheaded. In 1537 Lady Bulmer (Pilgrimage of Grace) and Lady Glamis* were both executed. Margaret, the aged Countess of Salisbury, went to the block in 1541, followed by Katherine Howard and Lady Rochford the following year. Lady Jane Grey (1554), Mary Stuart (1587), Lady Warriston* (1600, husband murder) and Lady Alice Lisle (1685, Sedgemoor) complete the set. There is a definite pattern emerging here in that there was a sudden outbreak, reflecting that the “Tudor” mindset was much less chivalric than that of their predecessors. Evidence for this is that “King Lear”, written in late Elizabethan or early Jacobean years, which included the eventual execution of Cordelia.
* Scottish cases