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The Bedingfield turncoat of Oxburgh Hall….

Oxburgh Hall - picture by Art Fund

Oxburgh Hall – picture by Art Fund

In this 2014 post mention was made of Sir Edmund Bedingfield of Oxburgh Hall, near King’s Lynn in Norfolk. He was a Yorkist-turned-Tudor supporter who, like the Stanleys and others, failed Richard III at Bosworth.

Sir Edmund was a Yorkist who benefited under Edward IV and Richard III (at the coronation of the latter, he was created a Knight of the Bath), but the ingrate signally withheld support at Bosworth. By 1487 Bedingfield was very cosy indeed with Henry Tudor, playing host to him—and Elizabeth of York, Margaret Beaufort and the Earl of Oxford—at Oxburgh Hall at Easter 1487. I trust it stretched the Bedingfield finances to breaking point! The traitorous fellow then turned out for Henry at the Battle of Stoke Field, fighting under John de Vere, Earl of Oxford. After the battle, Bedingfield was made a knight banneret.

A rather handsome Henry VII

A rather handsome Henry VII from the Oxburgh Hall National Trust website

So, what conclusion are we to draw from all this? That Bedingfield was a staunch supporter of Edward IV, but did not agree with Richard III’s claim to the throne? He probably believed the rumours that Richard had done away with Edward IV’s two sons, and so went over the wall into the Tudor camp. One imagines he would subsequently have been very much under Henry’s eye, because that suspicious king very sensibly did not trust anyone who changed sides. Nevertheless Bedingfield prospered under the Tudors, as did his descendants, until their Catholicism got in the way under Elizabeth. Although that queen did honour Oxburgh with her presence in 1578.

Let us return to Easter 1487 (in April that year) and the royal visit to Oxburgh, which house, incidentally had been built after Edward IV granted Bedingfield a licence in 1482. Unusually, the chosen material was red brick, a very costly option at that time. Bedingfield’s gratitude can be seen in the numerous Yorkist falcon-and-fetterlock badges throughout the house, where Edward’s licence is on display. No doubt Bedingfield was especially honoured to have Elizabeth of York beneath his roof, because (in the absence of her brothers) he undoubtedly regarded her as the true heir of Edward IV.

falcon and fetterlock

According to Bedingfield family tradition, the king and queen did not lodge in the main house, but in the noble gatehouse, which has remained virtually unchanged since it was first built. Henry and his Yorkist queen would recognized everything about it were they to return now, and so would Elizabeth I.

Oxburgh Hall - 1482

According to a very detailed description in Greater Medieval Houses of England and Wales, 1300-1500 by Anthony Emery:

“The gatehouse is a tall, three-storeyed block with dominating half octagonal frontal towers. The latter are divided by seven tiers of sunk panels decorated with triplets of cusped arches surmounted by a battlemented head on blind machiolations. The four-centred entry arch with double relieving arches is closed by the original pair of oak doors. The four-light window above has a stepped transom with a three-light transomed window at second-floor level. The whole is spanned by an open-machiolated arch supporting a line of blind cusped arcading and crow-stepped parapet.

“The gatehouse is a subtly modulated composition. Ashlar stonework was chosen for the central windows but brick for those in the towers with open cinquefoil lights in the stair tower and uncusped single lights with brick labels to the closets in the east tower. Contrasting chevron brickwork is used over the principal window but a single line of yellow brick surmounts that above. Though blind arcading was a common enough tower decoration at the time—as at Buckden, Gainsborough Old Hall and Hadleigh Deanery—the height of the Oxburgh towers is emphasized by the diminishing elevation of the embracing panels of brickwork. The east tower has loopholes at ground level with two quatrefoils above set in blind recesses withy two-centred heads, whereas the side faces of the stair tower at all stages have quatrefoils set in square frames. The entrance position is curious, for its hood is cut by the west tower and the head stop has had to be turned as though it was purposed to be in line with the hall porch on the opposite side of the courtyard, though this still lay a little to the right as the gatehouse does to the whole north frontage.”

Yes, a very detailed description, and (to the likes of me) somewhat confusing, so here are two photographs of the gatehouse, which will perhaps make Emery’s words easier to follow. The first one is of the external approach, while the one below it is a view of the gatehouse from within the courtyard.

Gatehouse at Oxburgh - approach from outside

Gatehouse at Oxburgh from courtyard - from Tour Norfolk

In the illustration below, of the gatehouse chamber known as the King’s Room, I fear that according to the National Trust, it is something of a misnomer. It is not the room in which Henry slept, nor is it the bed, which is 1675. I have not been able to find anything to identify the actual room. All we know is that the bed in which Henry rested his head was described in the 1533 will of Edmund’s son and heir, another Edmund, as being covered with “…a fustian [wool or cotton fabric] covering or red and green sarsnet [silk] unicorns and scallop shells.”

The King's Room at Oxburgh Hall

The illustration below is of the Queen’s Room, which does appear to be the one in which Elizabeth of York slept. The two figures represent Henry and Elizabeth. Not sure about the accuracy if the 15th-century television.

Queen's Room - with Henry and Elizabeth

Oxburgh Hall is a very beautiful old house set in a moat, and is a great testament to the taste of Sir Edmund Bedingfield. But for those who believe Richard III was rightly the King of England, it is necessary to overlook the fellow’s Judas tendencies.

Bedingfield arms

Bedingfield

 

 

 

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Witchcraft (3): Matthew Hopkins

matthew_hopkins_witch-finder-_wellcome_l0000812If the witchcraft trials at North Berwick in the 1590s and later in England, of which Pendle in 1610 is an example, happened because James VI/I fervently believed in witchcraft, as shown by the three characters in Macbeth, it can be argued that the subsequent decline in such cases came because judges and Charles I took a more sceptical approach, Charles being a more Anglican King than his father. There was, however, a significant case in his reign at Lancaster in 1634.

This trend was reversed in the early 1640s when the start of the First English Civil War saw Charles lose his authority over several parts of his largest kingdom but particularly Puritan-inclined counties such as Suffolk and Essex. To fill this vacuum, various individuals assumed some Parliamentary aut240px-st-_johns_church_great_wenham_suffolk_-_geograph-org-uk_-_213446hority in finding witches. Matthew Hopkins, born in about 1620, was the son of a Puritan vicar who had held the living of Great Wenham and land in Framlingham. By 1643, Matthew was an innkeeper near Manningtree but could also rely on an inheritance from his father and appointed himself Witchfinder General. With John Stearne and four followers, he began hunting witches the following year across the whole of East Anglia, subjecting them to the “swimming” ordeal, psychological torture and sending them for trial. By 1647, when his The Discovery of Witches was published, about three hundred people from Bury St. Edmunds to Chelmsford had been hanged, out of the five hundred such executions throughout England between 1400 and 1700.

Early that year, magistrates in Hopkins’ own region began to demand more evidence and the convictions stopped. Hopkins died that August, probably from tuberculosis. Stearne, a decade older, lived on in Bury St. Edmunds until 1670. Their methods had already spread to the New World Colonies, where there was a hanging in Connecticut in May 1647. The first American witch-hunt continued until 1663 but it wasn’t to be the last …

Witchcraft (2): The Pendle Trials

Lancashire, in the early 17th Century, was one of the poorest and least populated counties of England, where even many gentry families had an income of less than £100 a year. The Forest of Pendle, which lies between Burnley, Colne, Clitheroe and Whalley in a remote corner of the county close to the Yorkshire border, has been described as ‘wild, bleak and backward.’ (1)

Pendle was not a forest in the normal sense of the word, but a former royal hunting preserve with particular customs of its own. Much of it was moorland, and most of the rest pasture of moderate quality, with little in the way of arable farming, the climate and the quality of the soil imposing severe limitations. Although in the 21st Century it is a relatively prosperous area, few of its 17th Century inhabitants were well-off. Most survived as farm labourers or servants, and many were close to destitution, particularly those who were aged or infirm. Because of the customs of the area, it was however possible to enjoy a cottage with ‘squatter’s rights’, even though that cottage might be a miserable hovel.

There was also the matter of religion. It is commonly said that Lancashire at this time was one third Catholic, but this is probably an understatement, particularly in rural areas such as Pendle. The Puritan element in Lancashire tended to be clustered in towns such as Manchester and Bolton, where many of the inhabitants were independent cloth workers. Of course, it must be understood that not all Catholics were recusants; some attended the Church of England services from time to time in order to avoid fines, and the exact religious sympathies of many families is hard to discern with assurance. It is certain that some at least nominally Protestant families had a more benign attitude to their Catholic neighbours than did others. Equally it should be understood that practically all so-called ‘Puritans’ remained full, observant members of the Church of England and were not, at this time, a separate denomination. Indeed, the Jacobean Church of England was firmly Calvinist in outlook – something which is not always recognised – and the Armenian innovations of Charles I and Archbishop Laud were still some years in the future.

King James I saw witches as his enemies, not least because of the alleged attempt of the so-called North Berwick witches to drown him and his wife on their way back from Denmark. His obsession with witchcraft led him to write a book on the subject.  After the Gunpowder Plot, he had a similar view of Roman Catholics. Any magistrate who wanted to win the King’s approval could do no better than to crack down on supposed witches and Catholics. As far as witches were concerned, a great deal of firm evidence was not necessarily required. After all, a sovereign capable of believing that witches were able to sail the sea in sieves (as the North Berwick witches were supposed to have done) was not short of credulity in this matter. The best “evidence” (if it could be procured) was the confessions of the alleged witches themselves. The techniques for obtaining such confessions were not necessarily fair or pretty. The Police and Criminal Evidence Act was still far away in the future.

In Pendle there were two rival families of alleged witches, each headed by an elderly grandmother. In the red corner, so to speak, were Anne Whittle (alias Chattox) and her daughter, Anne Redfearn. In the blue corner, Elizabeth Southerns (alias Demdike) with her daughter, Elizabeth Device, and grandchildren, Alison Device, James Device, and Jennet Device. These people somehow eked out a living by a combination of begging (sometimes with threats), casual labour on farms, possible “outwork” for the local textile trade based in Colne and, doubtless, “healing services” for local animals and people. In an age before vets, farmers often relied on the local wise woman to heal their sick animals. Also, such doctors as existed were well beyond the pockets of the poor, who could only make use of herbal remedies or prayer if they fell ill.

It is quite possible that some of the alleged “incantations” of the “witches” were nothing more sinister than mangled versions of Latin prayers. In The Stripping of the Altars, Eamon Duffy describes the use of such prayers in Chapter 8, Charms, Pardons, and Promises. What was once seen as a harmless request for God’s assistance, was now seen as, at best, a form of superstitious magic and at worst an appeal to the Devil. The fact that Catholic belief still had a grip in rural Lancashire, and that “official” Christian ministry was rather thin on the ground in the area may also have contributed to the continuation of ancient traditions.

Matters came to a head in March 1612. Alison Device, who was visiting the Trawden area, either begging or procuring supplies from farms, or both. On the edges of Colne she met a pedlar, one John Lawe of Halifax, and asked him for pins. (It appears these were of the type used to fasten cloth “pieces” onto wooden frames, which demonstrates that the family were probably involved in the textile trade.) Unfortunately Mr Lawe, after a long journey with his pack on his back, was more interested in getting into the pub for a drink than making a small sale. Some sort of argument developed – possibly Alison set her dog on him – and a few moments later Lawe collapsed in the road. In all probability from a stroke. Locals carried him into the nearby Greyhound Inn. Alison took a last look at him and then departed in some haste.

There, had all things been equal, the matter might have ended. Unfortunately for Alison her reputation as a “witch” went before her, and when Lawe’s son arrived in Colne to see his father (who was paralysed on one side) the locals let him know of her history. Abraham Lawe went at once to the “Malkin Tower” (the Device family’s grandly-named residence) to confront Alison and take her to Colne to face his father, who accused the girl of bewitching him. Alison (who may genuinely have believed in her own power) admitted that she had, and begged John Lawe to forgive her, which he did.

Despite John Lawe’s generosity of spirit, Alison was hauled off to Read Hall (several miles away) and put in front of the local J.P., Roger Nowell. Her mother and brother were also brought there.

Somehow, and by whatever means, Nowell extracted a string of confessions from these people that involved Alison, her grandmother and the rival “Chattox” and her daughter and made up a juicy case of alleged witchcraft.

Alison’s grandmother “Demdike”, along with “Chattox” and the latter’s daughter, Anne Redfearn, were brought before Nowell on the basis of Alison’s evidence. Surprisingly (you might think) both “Demdike” and “Chattox”, both elderly and more or less blind, made full confessions, both admitting they had sold their souls to the devil. Anne was more reticent, but was accused by “Demdike” of making clay images of people with intent to injure them by witchcraft. All three, plus Alison, were committed for trial at Lancaster Assizes.

Even this was not the end of it. On Good Friday 1612 there was an alleged gathering of witches at the Malkin Tower, and a conspiracy was hatched to blow up Lancaster Castle and rescue the prisoners. The main evidence for this came from Alison Device’s brother and sister, the latter a girl of about eight. No one seems to have asked the obvious question – how on earth were a group of poor people supposed to obtain and transport sufficient gunpowder to blow up a castle?

On 27th April Nowell and his fellow J.P. Nicholas Bannister, on the basis of reports of this meeting, committed a further eight persons for trial: Elizabeth Device, James Device, Alice Nutter, Katherine Hewitt, John Bulcock, Jane Bulcock, Alice Grey and Jennet Preston. The “odd one out” among this group was Alice Nutter, a woman of some local consequence.

In fairness to the “legal system” of the time, such as it was, it must be said that not all witches sent for trial were convicted. Indeed, the three so-called Salmesbury witches, before the court at the same time as those from Pendle, were acquitted. Even Anne Redfearn was acquitted of the first  murder charge brought against her, but was immediately brought back and found guilty of another murder.

The star witness for the prosecution was the young child, Jennet Device. As for the rest of the accused, apart from Alison, found guilty of harming John Lawe by witchcraft, nearly all were found guilty of murdering one person or another by witchcraft. The exceptions were “Demdike” who died in prison awaiting trial, and Alice Grey, who was acquitted.

All were hanged; though Jennet Preston, a resident of Yorkshire, was both tried and executed at York.

It is strange to record that in later years James I began to have doubts about “witchcraft”. This was because his own examinations of sundry “witches” and their accusers had revealed examples of fraud that were obvious even to him. However, this change in his attitude came far too late to help the “Pendle Witches”.

(1) Bull, S., The Civil Wars in Lancashire, p.15.

Sources:

The Lancashire Witch Conspiracy, John A. Clayton.

The Encyclopedia of Witchcraft and Demonology, Rossell H Robbins.

Website: http://www.pendlewitches.co.uk/  (This contains several of the alleged confessions and much detailed information about the case that cannot be included in so short a post as this.)

North Berwick Witch Trials: http://www.witchcraftandwitches.com/trials_north_berwick.html

Are we still ruled by superstition….?

Above are the Venerable Bede and King Cnut, who are concerned in the following extract from Medieval Man by Frederick Harrison:-

“…Only Bede wrote about such subjects as astronomy and geography; and his knowledge of these was conditioned by the teaching of the Church. As time went on, as much reliance was placed on charms as on prayer and the skill of the leech. The need was met by the creation of the order of exorcists, which, in the third century A.D., was added to the other orders conferred by the Church. At certain periods of the year, evil spirits that were regarded as the cause of bodily or mental disorders were exorcised by the appointed ministers of the Church. The ministry was no sinecure, for the demand for it was great. Using his book of exorcisms, the exorcist would bid the evil spirit depart by invoking the Name of the Trinity.

“Side by side with the exorcist there lived and worked in Anglo-Saxon England the wizard, the witch and the “medicine man”, all of whom were ready to sell their skill in even such obscure and troublesome problems as unrequited love, to which end drugged beer and ale could work wonders.”

“…With the belief in witchcraft went a belief in elves, who were supposed to live on high land, in woods or near water. Anyone who suffered from the disease of the water-elf, one symptom of which was manifested by livid finger-nails and watery eyes, could be cured only by the used of certain herbs and incantations. There was a kind of hiccup known as the elf-hiccup. Dwarfs were shunned as workers of evil and as being in league with the devil. Their fabled power to make themselves invisible by wearing the “hell-cap” or “hell-clothing” made them specially fearsome. Storms and tempests and even death were caused by witches and wizards. An attempt was made by King Cnut to put a stop to these superstitious practices; his actual words are worth quoting as revealing his enlightened nature:

“…and we forbid earnestly every heathenship, that a man reverence idols, that is, that a man reverence heathen gods, the sun or the moon, fire or flood, waterwylls or stones, trees of the wood of any sort, or love witchcraft, or perform underhand work in any wise, either by way of sacrifice or divining, or perform any act of such delusions…

“Yet even Bede believed that storms could be raised by witches. He records that the ship in which Germanus, Bishop of Auxerre, and Lupus, Bishop of Troyes, were voyaging home was driven out of its coursed by demons, who, however, dispersed when the two holy men bade them, in the Name of the Trinity, depart. Then the storm ceased.” Extract ends.

Cnut was indeed enlightened by the standards of his day, and although we smile when we hear the story of how he ordered the sea to retreat, he was actually teaching those around him a very wise lesson. Not that many were prepared to learn from it. And Bede not only believed in witches, but accepted that issuing orders in the Name of the Trinity would send demons packing. Why did it never occur to him that if that was all it took, how come the demons kept coming back for more?

For Christians, the Lord’s Prayer protects against evil, and is uttered in the Name of the Trinity, yet through the centuries, right until now, a great many continue to believe in witches, the black arts and Satanism.

In The Time Traveller’s Guide to Medieval England, Ian Mortimer writes:

“…The word which best sums up the medieval attitude to the Devil, miracles and everything in between, is superstition.” How true. There were all sorts of stories, such as so-and-so saw the Devil enter the local church, or in the dairy, souring the milk. Yet, a national disaster, which you might expect to be laid at Beelzebub’s door, would be taken as a sign of the Almighty’s displeasure with, say, wicked Londoners, or even humankind in general. One cannot help but wonder what Cnut might have had to say about the giant hailstones that fell during a terrible storm in 1360, killing many men and horses. How enlightened might he have been then?

Yet for all belief in witches, there were, apparently, no more than a dozen cases of supposed witches being executed for the whole period between the Norman Conquest and the Reformation, and most of these had been involved in plots against the monarch or his friends. (See Hibbert, The English – a Social History – 1066-1945, p.261) Witch-hunts and all that vile hysteria came to England in the Seventeenth Century.

So, what conclusion can be drawn from the above? Perhaps that for all their superstition and general gullibility, the people of Anglo-Saxon and Medieval England were more tolerant than those of Seventeenth Century. Witches appear to have mingled with the general populace, and been treated with a reasonably healthy respect. And yet, in 1487, came the Malleus Maleficarum. http://www.malleusmaleficarum.org/ Hardly a friendly treatise on witchcraft! Yet we are told there were only twelve executions of witches.

I don’t know what Cnut would have made or it all, because I’m darned if I know what even I think! Was witchcraft dreaded? Is it still dreaded? Does that uncertainty mean that beneath my modern veneer, I’m just as superstitious as my forebears?

Excuse me while I cross my fingers behind my back….

 

 

More blinkered traditionalist mumbling about Richard….

religious-life-of-riii

I quote” “This controversial study argues that although Richard was indeed guilty of, or implicated in, most, if not all of the crimes of which he has been accused, this ruthless, inscrutable man was also very religious, an austere practitioner of a chivalrous code of ethics, a public benefactor and protector of the Church, a founder of chantries and a follower of a strict, puritanical code of sexual morality. He emerges in part a conventional figure of his time, but also, in part, a very unusual, little-understood man, as compelling and yet more complex than Shakespeare’s mythical anti-hero…”

The quote above, by the author Jonathan Hughes, appears to tell you all you need to know about the book in question. “The Religious Life of Richard III”, published 2000, is yet another wearisome and unsuccessful attempt to meld the myth with the truth. The author wants to believe all the bad things about Richard, but then comes up against the quandary of what to make of the few actual facts he’s prepared to face. The two viewpoints just will not meld, I fear.

The facts point to Richard being the very opposite of the remorseless, conscienceless tyrant the traditionalists insist upon. So Hughes concludes, conveniently, that Richard was an even more complex man than Shakespeare’s monster. Why not just concede that Richard III was an honest man who was forced into a situation that eventually cost him his life. He adhered to the law and did everything that was right, and if he chopped off a few heads, their owners well deserved it! He was a good king who would have been great. Instead his memory has been ‘got at’ relentlessly for centuries. Until now!

We’re on to these numbnuts! One day, they will be seen for the utter fools they are, digging a hole that is slowly getting deeper. One day it will collapse upon them. And serves them right.

So, Mr Hughes, you’ll have to forget all the gruesome murders and other lies cooked up by the Tudors, More, Morton and Shakespeare, and just accept what your own research has clearly indicated. Take off that blindfold! Richard III was a far better man than Henry VII, but was hideously murdered through treachery.

Whilst researching my new biography of Henry III, a tantalising thought began to emerge from bits of evidence.

Was Henry III autistic?

https://mattlewisauthor.wordpress.com/2016/10/17/was-henry-iii-autistic/

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Henry-III-Son-Magna-Carta/dp/1445653575

Julian of Norwich

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b07l6bd0

I would highly recommend this documentary by Janina Ramirez, whose book on the subject will soon be available

. She showed how Julian, who was female by the way, was born during the fourteenth century. She may well have had a husband and children but lost both to the Black Death before becoming an anchoress at St. Julian’s, Norwich.

Ramirez spoke about Julian’s magnum opus: Revelations of Divine Love, the first known book in English by a female author, quite revolutionary in tone and probably composed during the reign of Richard II and prominence of John of Gaunt. On the deaths of these two men, the religious atmosphere changed dramatically. Under the Lancastrians, Lollards were regularly burned and already being dead, as Wycliffe could testify, did not ensure safety. Julian would have been in great danger if her manuscript had been read more widely at this time.

She died early in Henry V’s reign of natural causes and was probably in her seventies at the time but the story does not end here. Her manuscript was taken to France to avoid the Reformation only for the French Revolution to strike. The nuns caring for the document saw some of their French sisters mount a tumbril and return in two pieces for their burial. The manuscript re-emerged during the last century, to be viewed as a feminist tract.

A medical dictionary for Richard’s time as well…

Shakespeare's Medical Language

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Shakespeares-Medical-Language-Shakespeare-Dictionaries/dp/1472520408/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1458901507&sr=1-1&keywords=shakespeare%27s+medical+language

As a writer of historical fiction, I use many publications to search for information, even just snippets. This book by Sujata Iyengar is a dictionary of the Bard’s medical references, and is superb. Each entry is described in with regard to the general period use of the item, then indicates its appearance in actual works by Shakespeare, and further mentions of other, generally later works that provide extra information.

The book is so packed full of interest that it is one to browse through at an idle moment, or indeed to read through intently, page by page. Easy to use and beautifully written (nothing boring here!) it is one I thoroughly recommend.

I do not doubt that its contents are equally applicable to the 15th century.

Oh, and it is also one of a series, e.g. Shakespeare’s Religious Language, and Shakespeare’s Political and Economic Language. I have not read them and so cannot comment on them, but I trust they are up to Sujata Iyengar’s standard.

What really motivated medieval minds?

Giaconda's Blog

Love, ambition, fame, self-interest, fear, religious conviction, physical desire for something or someone, patriotism, duty, compassion, self-sacrifice, revenge or bitter hatred.

Historians make a case for the various motivations of historical figures in order to try and understand these people themselves and then persuade their readership through their analysis as to why a particular figure acted in certain ways as borne out in the evidence of their deeds and the eye witness accounts of their contemporaries. These motivations tend to fall within a core range of basic drivers; well-known to psychologists and literary writers which most of us tend to believe control why humans do what they do.

Depending on which drivers you apply to the historical facts, a very divergent picture of the figure emerges and a very different set of emotional responses are engendered in the reader so these motivations are hugely important and often controversial in their application.

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The contemporaries of Henry VIII

Genealogy

HenryVIII220px-Francis1-1 ivan the terrible

Francois I of France died in the first quarter of 1547, after a reign of over thirty years, leaving only one legitimate son, Henri II. Whilst thought of as a cultured monarch, a patron of the arts and a linguistic reformer, he took an ambiguous approach to religious reform, (in which his sister Marguerite de Navarre took an interest). He organised several heresy executions (at the Place Maubert in 1523, in Paris in 1540 and at Merindol in 1545). The male line of the House of Valois became extinct in 1589, after his three grandsons had reigned.

Ivan IV of Russia was born in 1530 and is thus more a contemporary of Henry’s children. He succeeded his father as Grand Duke of Moscow in infancy and was made the first Tsar in January 1547, weeks before Henry VIII’s death and months before Francois I’s. He is also recorded as a patron of the arts but was increasingly mentally afflicted as his life progressed and was thus responsible for many deaths, including that of his elder son. Ivan, thereby known as “the Terrible”, is thought to have contracted seven marriages although he annulled three as the Russian Orthodox Church had a lifetime limit of four spouses. Like Henry and Francois, he died in his fifties and was succeeded by his son, Feodor I. In fact Ivan left two sons but Feodor was predeceased both by his daughter and his half-brother, ending the Rurik dynasty proper in 1598.

Although Henry VIII and Francois I were both descended from Charles V (and may have shared a mistress (Mary Boleyn), Ivan IV was not as closely related to either.

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