Our primary source of gossip about Edward IV’s mistresses is attributable to the pen of Thomas More (1478–1535), knight and latterly saint. While writing about Richard III, More found space for a lengthy diversion into the career of ‘Mistress Shore’, perhaps Edward’s most notorious extra-marital concubine, about whose present and past conditions the writer claimed much knowledge. Unfortunately it appears he never thought to consult the lady on the accuracy of what he wrote, strewn as it is with avoidable errors of fact.1 This article will refer to her by her proper name, Elizabeth Lambert. Her brief marriage to the London mercer William Shore was annulled in 1476 on grounds of non-consummation. And although she is almost always referred to as ‘Jane’, this forename was given her arbitrarily in the two-part True Tragedy of Edward IV (written around 1600 by Thomas Heywood), the writer being clearly ignorant of her proper Christian name and being concerned, like More, only with her notoriety. The prominence of his ‘Jane’ character may have led to the play afterwards being referred to as Jane Shore.2
Despite the high esteem in which More is held by historians, he was clearly too young to have had personal knowledge of reigns earlier than the Tudor period, and his family’s history reveals no intimacy with fifteenth-century royalty; whatever he wrote about them can only have been hearsay. Moreover, in the opinions of leading literary scholars Thomas More’s dissertation on Richard III was conceived and executed as a bravura exercise in satirical drama to which the facts of history had no particular relevance. Nevertheless, More’s reference to Edward and his ‘three mistresses’ is continually retold as if he had a direct line to the full facts. The relevant passage occurs after he has devoted several pages to Elizabeth Lambert:
“The king would say that he had three concubines, which in three diverse properties diversely excelled: one the merriest, another the wiliest, the third the holiest harlot in his realm, as one whom no man could get out of church lightly to any place but it were to his bed. The other two were somewhat greater personages, and nevertheless of their humility content to be nameless and to forbear the praise of those properties. But the merriest was this Shore’s wife, in whom the king therefore took special pleasure. For many he had, but her he loved …” (etc.).
That the king had three concubines is almost certainly an understatement, but More helpfully gives the name of one other as ‘Dame Lucy’. She appears in More’s questionable version of an incident from as far back as 1464 which seems to have become an urban myth. The original surviving record of this incident was related by the Italian Dominic Mancini in 1483 after visiting England for a few months: even so, nearly twenty years after the event itself.
Mancini’s story tells of how Edward IV’s mother Cecily, Duchess of York, was so scandalized by the king’s secret marriage to the widowed commoner Elizabeth Woodville, who became his queen, that she vowed the Duke of York was not the father of this disgraceful son. As the story ran in Mancini’s day, the duchess insisted she would voluntarily testify that Edward IV was no son of York.3 Mancini had been asked to write down, for the benefit of the French royal court, all that he had discovered about Richard III’s dramatic accession to the throne – which he admitted was little enough – so he was given to embellishing his narrative with extraneous details which we now know contained inaccuracies. Although we can accept it was probably based on a kernel of truth, we need to bear two things in mind: first, he may have been given a highly coloured account of some considerably less dramatic reality; and second, it suited him to disparage English royalty for his French readers and hence, like many writers of history before and since, he tended to exaggerate for effect. We have no idea how many tongues had embroidered the story between 1464 and 1483, so the wisest course is to reduce it to its essence: the duchess flew into a fury and went so far as to threaten some kind of legal challenge.
Edward IV’s affairs with women subsequently embroiled all England in a crisis, when it was discovered after his death and later confirmed by Parliament that his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was not his first such secret wedding. Some years earlier he had secretly married Lady Eleanor Talbot, daughter of the Earl of Shrewsbury. Briefly summarized, under the laws of the Church this meant that Lady Eleanor was still his wife when he secretly and bigamously married Elizabeth, and this combination of illicit actions rendered the children of his Woodville marriage illegitimate. The government of the day elected to offer the crown to Richard III as the senior qualified heir.4
Such high matters of state, of Parliament and of canon law were scarcely understood by the majority of Englishmen, and moreover they impugned the honour and dignity of the late king and his abandoned first wife; doubtless they were spoken of in hushed tones by those in the know. Thus the name of the long-deceased Lady Eleanor became consigned to obscurity. England soon had greater concerns when the pretender Henry Tudor revealed his designs on the English crown, eventually mounting a successful invasion under the patronage of France in 1485 when against all probability King Richard was killed. Since the new king had to devise some believable grounds for his invasion and some legitimate reason for aspiring to the throne, he declared Richard’s accession unlawful. He repealed the Act of Parliament which had set out Richard’s right to succeed, insisting it be repealed unread and every copy destroyed. His aim was to remove from history what was probably the only official government document that articulated Richard’s legitimacy as king, together with the grounds for setting aside Edward IV’s offspring owing to their father’s prior marriage (in legal terminology ‘precontract’) to Eleanor Talbot.5 Since Henry planned to appease Yorkist partisans by marrying Edward IV’s eldest daughter, this process was vital to removing public knowledge of her illegitimacy.
A century would pass before records began to be found which revealed the truth, but by then Richard III was indelibly cast as a usurper in the national consciousness. It was with this certainty that Thomas More embarked upon his literary polemic for which he chose Richard III as his exemplar of tyranny. This was more than fifty years after the Woodville marriage that caused Cecily so much wrath, and more than thirty years after Mancini wrote his tale of her angry outburst. Incidentally, we need not believe she ever volunteered to swear publicly to her own adultery! It is not difficult to conceive of at least one possible legal challenge she might have considered bringing against the match … but in all probability her real grounds of objection never formed part of the story picked up by Mancini. Nevertheless he would have been aware of a certain malicious calumny Louis XI delighted in putting about, that Edward IV was the bastard son of an archer named Blaybourne, so maybe it was Mancini who supplied this extra flourish knowing it would appeal to his readers.
If we turn to what More says about the same incident, we find that after three decades of Tudor rule the story has vastly changed. It is still recognizably a version of Mancini’s tale of the duchess raging and threatening to resort to law. But what makes this new version interesting is that it conflates some vestige of recollection that a precontract to an earlier wife was involved. Perhaps it had been thought politically advisable to incorporate this persistent memory into the well-known tale of ‘Proud Cis’ and her rage against her son, at the same time using it to repudiate that there ever was anything untoward about his Woodville marriage. It takes up a lot of space in More’s Richard III, with plenty of dialogue to and fro between mother and son debating her objections. At last, and as a ‘pretext’ says More, plainly undermining the integrity of the duchess’s final argument, she protests that Edward ought instead to marry ‘one Dame Elizabeth Lucy, whom the king had also not long before gotten with child’ making him in consequence ‘her husband before God’. So this ‘Elizabeth Lucy’ is duly called and ‘solemnly sworn’, says More. This portion of his tale obviously echoes the ‘public enquiry’ mentioned in the earlier Mancini version, only this time it is Dame Lucy who is subjected to examination and denies the precontract which Cecily is trying to foist on her son.6 With our current knowledge we can see this as a transparent ruse to discredit the existence of Edward’s genuine precontract with Eleanor Talbot. But thanks to More its effect is fully achieved: he declares it proves the falsity of the charges made in 1483 against Edward’s marriage.
There is another feature that also shows this to be a manufactured story: the incident supposedly occurs before Edward’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville, with Cecily trying to prevent it. The Mancini version correctly places Cecily’s outburst after their marriage, which famously took place in secret and remained totally unknown for several months. More is so much deceived as to write that the king’s marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was celebrated ‘with great feast and honourable solemnity’!
It has been important to emphasize how very little Thomas More really knew about the women in Edward IV’s life, because our next step demonstrates how thoroughly his stories have misled historians and commentators.7 Dispensations to marry granted by the Church are extremely helpful in establishing genealogies, and a recent article by Marie Barnfield and Stephen Lark cites one that adds new information to what was previously known, deduced or assumed about some of Edward IV’s mistresses and children.8
One of the king’s most well-known bastards was Arthur, later Viscount Lisle, hitherto almost universally believed to have been fathered on ‘Elizabeth Lucy’. However, references to Dame Lucy place her and her child in Edward’s life prior to his Woodville marriage. Whereas what is known of Arthur Plantagenet’s life and career is scarcely compatible with a birth date before mid-1464.9
If we seek an alternative identity for Dame Lucy’s child we find a much better candidate in a bastard daughter attributed to Edward hitherto known as Elizabeth, later Lady Lumley, thought to have been born in the 1460s. It has now been established that this child’s Christian name was not Elizabeth (as erroneously claimed in a herald’s visitation of 1530) but Margaret (in a grant dated 1479 where she is identified as the wife of Thomas, later Lord Lumley). Further genealogical research supports this identification.
These indications about the daughter have opened up more opportunities to identify her putative mother. The problems in pinning down information about Dame Lucy have always been compounded by assumptions about her. Copious evidence exists that Arthur, Lord Lisle, was certainly connected with the Wayte family, therefore he was known as a Wayte and it was assumed his mother was too. On the general presumption that his mother was Dame Lucy, she was automatically assigned the maiden name of Wayte. For example, this was propounded by Sir George Buck who described her as ‘the daughter of one Wayte of Southampton, a mean gentleman, if he were one. And she was the wife of one Lucy, as mean a man as Wayte. … And she was the mother of the bastard Arturus.’10 Arthur Plantagenet had verifiable links with the Waytes of Segenworth, near Southampton, but genealogical records cannot reconcile Dame Lucy as a member of the Wayte family at all, nor is there any evidence of any Wayte family member having links with a family named Lucy or even mentioning the name Lucy in correspondence. Which again strongly suggests that Arthur was not born to a mother surnamed Lucy.
It now appears that Dame Lucy may ALSO have been a Margaret misnamed Elizabeth! Her correct maiden name, if so, was Margaret FitzLewis, and she was the young widow of Sir William Lucy of Dallington and Richards Castle (d. 1460). This would fit with the child she bore Edward being not his bastard son Arthur but his bastard daughter Margaret, later Lady Lumley, born in the 1460s some time before Margaret FitzLewis’s own death in 1466. Contrary to Buck, the title ‘Dame’ Lucy suggests her husband was a knight or baronet, not a mean man.11 Other than Sir William Lucy of Dallington there existed one other knighted Lucy at that time, viz. Sir William Lucy of Charlcote (d. 1466). This Sir William Lucy certainly did marry an Elizabeth, but she was Elizabeth Percy who died in 1455; he remarried and was survived by a widow, but her name was Agnes.
It is impossible to be certain, of course, but the result of all this would suggest two distinct ladies who were erroneously conflated:
* Edward IV’s early mistress before his Woodville marriage. Dame Lucy, née Margaret FitzLewis (misnamed Elizabeth), daughter of Sir Lewis John (or John Lewis) of Welsh parentage, and widow of Sir William Lucy. Her probable liaison with Edward would have occurred after her husband’s death in 1460, resulting in a daughter Margaret Plantagenet in the early 1460s (also misnamed Elizabeth) who married Sir Thomas Lumley (c. 1458–1487).
* Edward’s later mistress during his Woodville marriage. She was a Wayte, probably a Wayte of Segenworth, and gave birth to Edward’s bastard son Arthur Plantagenet (who jousted with the young Henry VIII in 1510, married for the first time in 1511, was created Viscount Lisle in 1523, and died in 1542). It has been suggested that her father was a Thomas Wayte of Hampshire (d. 1482), but as far as we know Thomas died without legitimate issue (he left one bastard daughter, Alice); if he had any other children they must have predeceased him without legitimate issue of their own. Several other factors in the research by Barnfield and Lark also militate against Thomas as her father, including the obscurity of his family and its extreme southern location.
This leaves just one more mistress of whose existence we know, namely Elizabeth Lambert, married name Shore, misnamed Jane. She was current at the time of the king’s death but no offspring have been directly attributed to her. It is not impossible that Thomas More, sufficiently taken with this lady to devote several pages to her, may well have superimposed her name of Elizabeth on the ‘Dame Lucy’ of his false precontract story. Misled by his reputation as some kind of authority on fifteenth-century royalty, writers of history duly copied him unthinkingly.
Doubtless other mistresses existed, and indeed other bastards. But the purpose of this essay is not to rehearse the tedious details of Edward IV’s amours – nor yet to claim knowledge of precisely who they were – it is simply to demonstrate how easy it was (and is) for history to be misrepresented by placing uncritical faith in false prophets.
1. He failed even to verify the full name of her later lover William Hastings, whose gifts to her became the subject of a court case reported by The Great Chronicle.
2. Appreciation to Dr A.N. Kincaid for this information.
3. Mancini, ed. C.A.J. Armstrong, De Occupatione Regni Anglie per Riccardum Tercium, Gloucester 1989, pp. 60–62: ‘Even his mother fell into such a frenzy that she offered to submit to a public enquiry, asserting that Edward was not the offspring of her husband the Duke of York but was conceived in adultery and therefore in no wise worthy of the honour of kingship.’
4. This matter is fully covered in Carson, Richard III: The Maligned King, Stroud, 2013, pp. 75–88.
5. Nor (perhaps unsurprisingly) has any official record survived of the deliberations of the King’s Council during that crucial succession crisis of 1483 when Edward IV’s bigamy and the illegitimacy of his children were debated.
6. More pp. 63–67.
7. Clearly More knew nothing of Lady Eleanor Talbot (married name Butler), pace R.S. Sylvester who supposed Eleanor was one of the ‘three mistresses’ More referred to; we now see Sylvester was also probably wrong in stating definitively that Dame Lucy was the mother of Arthur Plantagenet: The History of King Richard III, Yale University Press 1976, p. 57 fn. 3 and p. 65 fn. 2.
8. ‘The Paternity of Lady Lumley: Some New Evidence’, The Ricardian, Vol. XXVI, June 2016, pp. 113–20. Readers are referred to that article and its footnotes for sources of the information summarized here.
9. David Grummitt’ (ODNB) offers a birth date ‘before 1472’ but this is based on a reference in royal household accounts to ‘my Lord the Bastard’, unidentified, which may refer to some other person; a suggested birth date of 1462-1464 is rightly discounted as too early to be compatible with the known events of his life and career. Grummitt states without comment that ‘most authorities’ identify his mother as Elizabeth Lucy, ‘probably the daughter of Thomas Waite of Hampshire’.
10. Buck did know the truth that the lady of the precontract was Eleanor Talbot and realized that the alleged precontract with Dame Lucy was false; but he accepted Thomas More’s claim that Dame Lucy was Arthur’s mother: Sir George Buck, The History of King Richard the Third, ed. A.N. Kincaid, Gloucester, 1979, pp. 181–2. It is not correct that he named her as Lady Lumley’s mother.
11. And More in his Latin text states that she came from a noble family.
Today in 1461, at Hereford marketplace, Owen Tudor was executed and buried in the local Greyfriars. It appears that, although he had commanded Lancastrian troops at Mortimer’s Cross and been captured, he was not expecting this fate. He may well have foreseen himself being ransomed instead until he saw the block.
Perhaps he was executed because he was thought to have married the widowed Catherine de Valois and fathered some children by her, although there is no real evidence at the time and that such a marriage would have been precluded by the 1427 Act, as Ashdown-Hill reminded us in Royal Marriage Secrets. A royal stepmother could not remarry until her son came of age, which Henry VI did not during Catherine’s lifetime.
After her death in January 1436/7, it seems that rumours, including the legend of her watching a naked servant bathing, arose and were exploited for propaganda purposes so as to use him – and his “sons”, Edmund and Jasper – to bolster Henry’s fragile regime as a counterweight to the Duke of York and his cohort. Doubtless Owen played along and boasted about these rumours.
Eight years after his end, the words “This head that shall lie on the stock that was once wont to lie on Queen Catherine’s lap” were attributed to him, although the phraseology varies. Perhaps he should have kept quiet or restricted himself to the facts.
When I saw this headline about Royal Dukedoms, I’m afraid I’m so steeped in all things Richard that I leapt to the conclusion that it would be about one of the boys in the Tower. Then up popped the present Duke of York! I thought, that’s traditionalist propaganda gone mad – are they going to say Richard came back to try to smother Andrew in his bed…..?
(Of course, if the article DID say that, there are those who would believe it!)
Benedict Cumberbatch as Shakespeare’s Richard III
I am currently watching the second instalment of Shakespeare’s history plays, concerning ‘The Wars of the Roses’ as interpreted by the BBC’s condensed and somewhat, contorted adaptation.
The first part of ‘The Hollow Crown’ covered Shakespeare’s history plays: Richard II, Henry IV, Part I and II and Henry Vth. It was, for the most part, an excellent production. A combination of strong casting, brilliant original material and interesting sets made it a joy to watch. Simon Russell Beale’s Falstaff was a triumph. He gave a mesmerizing performance which managed to capture all the facets of Falstaff’s complex character in little more than a look or a gesture.
The overwhelming sense of these plays was the great burden which kingship brought for the poor unfortunate who wore the crown. In another blog post I have written about this in detail, taking specific lines from each of…
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“ 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.
Surely I can’t be the only one to look at this famous likeness of Richard’s father, the Duke of York, and see two goofy front teeth….? <g> Yes, yes, I know it’s his lower lip, but I’m afraid that since the thought struck me, those two ‘front teeth’ are all I see. Can you imagine him issuing orders on the battlefield? Would he whistle through the gap? OK, OK, too much flippancy and irreverence. I’ll shut up.
Lady on Horseback, mid-15th c., British Museum
For me, being a “Ricardian traveler” doesn’t necessarily mean that you only visit places where Richard III — as a child, the Duke of Gloucester or the King — lived. It means exploring towns, castles, battlefields, and churches which have some association to his family or to the Wars of the Roses. I would call Conisbrough in South Yorkshire a “Ricardian” site because it does have connections to Richard’s ancestors, including a rather infamous one! And, to my surprise, I discovered that Richard did give its castle some attention during his life, consistent with his reputation as being a Duke who made extensive investments in architecture and his estates’ infrastructure.
From the 11th to the 14th century, Conisbrough Castle was in the possession of the de Warenne Earls of Surrey. Construction began in the late 11th century, with the unique great…
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This is the second of two articles I have written about treason. In the first article, I wrote about the Merciless Parliament of 1388 at which eighteen of king Richard II’s closest advisors and friends were tried by parliament and condemned as traitors, against the king’s wishes. In this article I am writing about the ‘Parliament of Devils’ (1459) at which twenty-nine of the kings subjects were attainted and condemned as traitors at the king’s command. Although both parliaments took place against a background of agitation for political reform, there is an important difference between them. In 1388 there was an identifiable judicial process to determine guilt before sentence was passed; whereas in 1459, the Yorkists were condemned as traitors without any previous judicial procedure. The judgement of the parliamentary lords had been replaced by the act of attainder.
Parliament had been the venue and the tribunal for hearing state trials since the reign of Edward I. In cases of high treason it was necessary to try the accused and obtain the judicial judgement of parliament as the kings high court. However, the deposition of Richard II changed all that. From the beginning of the fifteenth century, the judicial procedure all but disappeared.
An act of attainder is a pronouncement of sentence without a judicial determination of guilt. Although attainders have political connotations and were frequently, if not exclusively, used for political ends, the concept is not political in origin. The attainder has its provenance in the common law doctrine of ‘notoriety’. For example, the offence of levying war against the king would be considered notorious if many people had seen it in a battle. In such a case, notoriety acted as an instant conviction. However, by the second half of the fourteenth century, notoriety no longer acted as an instant conviction. It was now considered to be the crown’s indictment, setting out the basis for a prosecution. By the turn of the fifteenth century, the use of notoriety had ceased altogether; the procedure having further changed into the act of attainder. It was the Treason Act of 1351 that drove this process by changing the legal framework. In particular, it had given parliament the power to declare non-statutory offences as treason. That is what happened in 1388, where the grounds for conviction were basically ‘notoriety’. Parliament used its power to ‘declare’ treason as a prelude to a trial and the seizure of the traitors’ estates. Even though this was an unintentional consequence of the act, it set a precedent for others to follow
The sophistication and use of attainders developed by degrees during the first half of the fifteenth century. The act of attainder made against the rebel Jack Cade after his death is a landmark since it was felt necessary to extinguish his civil rights after his death. His offences of ‘imagining the king’s death’ and ‘traitorously levying men’ were not declared treason in 1451; it was simply asserted that they were treason. In 1453, this breach of procedure was remedied by a formal declaration in parliament.
The attainder of the deceased duke of Suffolk was another important case since it was bought by the lords and then by the commons, and resisted on both occasions by the king. Originally, the lord’s attempted to commit Suffolk for misprision in public office. However, this was defeated because the charges were too vague. The commons took on the case by bringing specific allegations of treason, which the king refused to accept on the basis that “treason was neither declared nor charged”. Eventually, the king was forced to accept Suffolk’s impeachment on charges of misprision, but he used his prerogative to save Suffolk’s life. Notwithstanding Suffolk’s subsequent murder at sea, parliament further petitioned for a declaration of treason and forfeiture on the grounds that he had failed to make sufficient response to the impeachment. Although the king refused the petition, he took note of parliament’s formula and showed his own willingness to adapt and use it in 1459. From that date we see a distinct change in the nature and process of attainder. The context for that change was the disaffection caused by the king’s government during the 1450’s.
When the duke York and the earls of Warwick and Salisbury fought the king’s army at St Albans in 1455 they committed treason. Only victory saved them from the consequences of their actions that day. However, the battle left a legacy of bitterness and hatred between the queen, the sons of the Lancastrian lords killed in the battle, and the duke York and his faction. It was a vendetta that neither Lancastrian nor Yorkist ideology was capable of settling for sixteen years.
Six months after St Albans the king had a mental breakdown. Owing to Henry’s incapacity, York was appointed Lord Protector. It was a short appointment as the king recovered his wits within three months. York resigned his position and retired to his northern stronghold. Meanwhile, Queen Margaret took the king, the court and the government administration to Coventry in the Lancastrian heartland. Given the enmity between the queen and York, the task of restoring effective government and preserving a workable balance of power fell on the unaligned nobility. They did their best to preserve loyalty to the king’s royal authority, whilst compromising wherever they could in the interests of unity. However, this became increasingly difficult as the queen’s grip on the king tightened. Gradually, the feeling grew that the queen’s governance, no matter how partisan, was preferable to re-fighting St Alban’s: or worse.
Queen Margaret saw York as a threat to the throne, and an incorrigible rebel and traitor whom she was determined to crush. Eschewing any attempt to heal the wounds created by the rift, she prompted the Lancastrian regime to take an increasingly aggressive stance against York and his supporters. The loss of the protectorship had left York politically isolated, a situation that deteriorated further during 1456-57. First, the queen replaced the Chancellor, the Treasurer and the Lord Privy Seal with her own men. Next, she moved quickly to re-assert royal authority in South Wales at York’s expense. By 1458, York’s exclusion from mainstream English politics was almost complete. His standing as the senior royal duke and second in line to the throne was unsustainable unless he could curb the queen’s power. In March 1458, Henry returned to Westminster from Coventry, ostensibly to address the dissention and division in the realm. Unfortunately, his attempt to arbitrate the differences between Yorkists and Lancastrians was biased. It succeeded only in making matters worse. The subsequent ‘loveday’ at which York and Margaret walked from St Paul’s hand-in-hand was a futile sham. The queen was determined to destroy the Yorkists and they were determined to confront the king with their grievances
On the 24 June 1459, the king held a great council at Coventry. York, Warwick and Salisbury were summoned but did not attend. Such was their mistrust that they would not attend in the absence proper guarantees of their safety. This mutual mistrust was at the heart of the country’s problem leading to war. When the Council did meet, the three Yorkists were indicted for their absence at the instigation of the queen; however, the implication that they had committed treason is obvious.
Queen Margaret had been preparing for outright war in the king’s name for some time. By September 1459 the preparations were almost complete. The king was at Kenilworth with the main body of his army. The queen was recruiting in Cheshire with the Prince of Wales. The military advantage was undoubtedly with the king’s forces. They were strong in numbers and concentrated in a central position; whereas, their opponents were weak in numbers and widely dispersed. York was at Ludlow on the Welsh Marches. Salisbury was two hundred miles away at Middleham in the Yorkshire Dales. Warwick was even further away across the English Channel in Calais. In theory at any rate, the royal army was well placed to manoeuvre on interior lines and defeat the Yorkists in detail. Sensing their peril, the Yorkist arranged to unite their retinues in the west midlands and to put their case directly to the king from a position of relative security, if not strength.
Blore heath and Ludford Bridge
The earl of Warwick landed at Kent in September. He was in a hurry with no time for recruiting sympathetic Kentishmen. Consequently he entered London on the 20 September with only ‘a few hundred’ professional soldiers from the Calais garrison. The next day he left for Warwick and a rendezvous with his father and uncle. Meanwhile; the earl of Salisbury with about five thousand men was on his way from Middleham. York was at Ludlow, nearest to the rendezvous. It is possible that Warwick’s march was ‘shadowed’ by the duke of Somerset’s retinue coming from the southwest and he (Warwick) was ‘forced north of the town and onto Ludlow’ having narrowly avoided a clash of arms with Somerset in the streets of Colehill near Coventry. It may be, as Johnson insinuates, that Somerset was afraid to engage Warwick’s veterans.
While Warwick was in London, or soon after, Salisbury’s contingent was approaching Nottingham. Warned of his approach, the king re-deployed his army to cover the Trent crossing, thereby, forcing Salisbury to change course westward towards Ludlow. The proximity of the king’s army and the enforced change of direction had put Salisbury in a tight spot since he was now between the queen/Prince of Wales with the Cheshire levies in front, and the main body of the royal army to his left rear. On the 23 September, Salisbury’s scouts spotted a large Lancastrian force marching to towards them. The queen had detached Lord Audley with ten thousand men to block the Yorkist’s path. Salisbury tried to negotiate a peaceful way out of his difficulty but was unsuccessful. Battle was joined at 1pm and lasted for four hours. It was bitterly fought: however, many of Audley’s troops were green and no match for Salisbury’s northerners, hardened by years of skirmishing on the Anglo-Scottish border. Audley was tricked into leaving his strong defensive position to attack the Yorkists. He mounted two cavalry assaults and one infantry assault, all of which were repulsed. In the last infantry melee, Audley was cut down and the battle lost. Two thousand Lancastrians died in the battle and the close pursuit. Despite his victory, Salisbury was still in danger of being trapped; the king was closing in behind and the Prince of Wales’ remaining levies were nearby. Instead of pressing on to Ludlow immediately, Salisbury dallied on the battlefield. Luckily, the king’s tardiness enabled the Yorkists to slip away under cover of their artillery, which was fired by a lone friar.
Although there was no fighting or politicking for the next fortnight, it would wrong to suggest, as Johnson does, that nothing much was happening. Both side were manoeuvring for an advantage. We can follow the royal army’s southward movements from the king’s itinerary for this period. After combining his forces near Market Drayton (probably on the 25 or 26 September), the king marched it south towards Worcester via Walsall and Coleshill. According to the Parliamentary Roll this was arduous campaigning for Henry. He spent thirty days ‘in the field “…not resting two nights in the same place, except on Sundays’, and sometimes ‘resting in a bare field two nights in a row…in the cold season of the year”.
For their part, the Yorkists lords joined forces at Ludlow as soon as possible after Blore Heath: possibly on the 26 or 27 September. What they did next is certain. Their first joint action was to march the army from Ludlow to ‘the neighbourhood of Worcester’. Why they did this, is not so certain. They may have intended to block the king’s advance southward, which threatened their communication with the Southeast, where the most of their sympathisers were. Professor Goodman speculates that they took up a blocking position between Kidderminster and Worcester.  However, as soon as the king appeared at the head of his army and ’in guise of war’ (with his banner displayed), the three lords withdrew to Worcester. It wasn’t simply that they were outnumbered; the Yorkists were loath to fight the king’s army, as that would be treason. As if to emphasise their dilemma of whether to fight or not, York and his Neville relatives swore an oath of fellowship in Worcester Cathedral that — saving only their allegiance to the king — they would come to each other’s aid in time of need. They also took the opportunity to further reaffirm their loyalty and to compose an indenture of their grievances. The indenture was sent to the king through Garter King-At-Arms. Whether, the king saw the indenture we cannot say; however, his next action was unequivocal. He ordered the royal army to resume its advance on Worcester
York had no choice now but to retreat southwards. He still baulked at fighting the king and it was necessary to maintain some distances between the two armies. However, York’s decision to cross the river Severn at Ledbury was the defining moment in this campaign since it meant abandoning any hope of escape to the south and the acceptance that he may have to fight for his life. The increasingly fragile Yorkist morale may have forced him to take refuge in the more defensible terrain around Ludlow and the Welsh border. If he had to fight the king then it would be on ground of his own choosing. By the 9 October the Yorkists were at Ludlow and the king was at Leominster, a few miles away. The next day, the Yorkist wrote an open letter to the king protesting their innocence and setting out their case in detail It was a last desperate plea to reason, but it was useless. By now, the fighting spirit in York’s army was non-existent. The king had offered pardon to those who surrendered to his grace within six days; nobody wanted to fight the king. It was the defection of Andrew Trollope who commanded the Calais garrison troops together with most, if not all, of his men (and with valuable intelligence about York’s battle plan) that decided the outcome at Ludford Bridge. York and Rutland fled to Ireland, Warwick, Salisbury and March fled to Calais. Their soldiers and the remainder of York’s family were left to the mercy of the king and queen.
From a military point of view it was a miserable campaign, notable only for the fact that neither side achieved their objective. Despite their numerical superiority and central position, the king’s army failed to defeat the Yorkists in detail, or to prevent the concentration of their retinues. Worse still, they allowed the Yorkist leaders to escape abroad. For their part, the Yorkists failed to convince the king — or anybody else — of their loyalty and good intentions, and were forced to flee ignominiously. However, from professor Bellamy’s point of view ’this pattern of events is of more than antiquarian interest’, since it explains the legal aspects of war. According to the international usages of war, the presence of a king at the forefront of his army with his banner displayed is tantamount to a declaration of war. The Lancastrian keenness to get the monk-like Henry into harness, mounted on a warhorse at the front of his army, with the royal banner displayed was probably inspired by their knowledge of the law. Once these things were in place on the battlefield any attempt by the Yorkists to engage the royal army in battle would be treason (levying war against the king). It would enable the Yorkists’ possessions to be forfeit to the crown without the need for legal process. The sentence of attainder and forfeiture would extend to the Yorkists’ heirs in perpetuity. York’s refusal to stand and fight at Worcester and at Tewkesbury may also have been prompted by his knowledge of the law; it was consistent with his personal position throughout the 1450’s.
The Parliament of Devils
Parliament was summoned to meet at Coventry on the 20 November in anticipation of completing the annihilation of the House of York and the Yorkist cause. Queen Margaret must have thought that after three years of military and political preparations, her plans were about to bear fruit. York and his confederates were within her grasp; their capture or death in battle would ensure Lancastrian hegemony. Even though her enemies had escaped to fight another day, there was still much to play for. The parliamentary attainder of the Yorkists and the forfeiture of their estates would bring unprecedented wealth and power into the royal coffers, which could be exploited for the king’s benefit.
The Coventry Parliament was packed with loyal Lancastrians to ensure royal success. Nothing had been left to chance. The petition for attainder, which was presented to the king, was a carefully worded document in two parts. In all probability, it was drafted by the king’s own lawyers. The first part contained an indictment of Yorkist disloyalty dating back to the beginning of the decade. First, York was accused of stirring Jack Cade to defy the king’s will and to incite rebellion in the realm, and of accroaching royal authority (1450). Second, York was forsworn; he broke his most solemn oath of loyalty and obedience to the king sworn at St Paul’s in 1452. Third, York conspired with the earls of Warwick and Salisbury to levy war on the king at St Albans and despite the king’s clemency he persisted with his wrongdoings. Fourth, the earl of Salisbury with several (named) confederates levied war on the king at Blore Heath. Finally, York and his (named) confederates levied war on the king at Ludford (1459).
On the face of it, the government’s case seems a good one, which Johnson thinks has never been successfully refuted. In truth, the facts are largely against York; he did break his oath of 1452 and he did fight a battle against the king’s army at St Alban’s. It is unlikely that he was behind Cade’s rebellion, but he exploited it to further his own political agenda. Furthermore, his constant criticism of the Henry’s advisors and of their appointment was a direct challenge to the royal prerogative, which possibly amounted to accroachment. Even so, the crown’s case was very far from being irresistible. First, the decision to proceed against the Yorkists by way of parliamentary attainder rather than using the king’s other proscriptive powers, suggests that the government had doubts about the strength of their case. It is a common misconception that the king needed a parliamentary attainder in order to seize the rebels’ possession. As professor Bellamy points out “ It was not the act [of attainder] that supplied the crown with its rights to the rebels’ possessions but the ancient royal prerogative which operated in time of open war.” Bellamy is referring to the king’s power to convict the rebels in a state trial ‘on the king’s record’. That is to say, on the king’s testimony, without the need for corroborative evidence. Under this power, forfeiture would follow as part of the court judgement. The fact that the government did not follow this process raises questions about whether in law, a state of open war existed in 1459. The king was not present at Blore Heath, nor was the royal army engaged in battle at Worcester, Shrewsbury or Ludford. Moreover, the courts of justice remained open during September and October (In the past, the closing of the courts was taken as a sign of open war.). The Yorkist persistent declarations of their loyalty to the king were also problematic, since they struck a cord with those (and there were many) who were sympathetic to the York’s call for political reform but nonetheless demurred at using armed force against the king. These doubts raised the possibility in Lancastrian minds that at some point in the future any judgement obtained ‘by the kings record’ may be challenged, with concomitant wrangling and litigation over the disposal of forfeited estates. This risk would be avoided by a parliamentary declaration of treason and an act of attainder. This particular attainder was actually a clever legal document, which was not open to legal challenge and provided comprehensive provisions for the forfeiture of the Yorkists’ estates.
Another indication of Lancastrian anxiety is found in a contemporary manuscript entitled Somnium vigilantis. The Somnium is a highly stylized narrative of a fictitious court case at which a Yorkist and a Lancastrian argue about justice and mercy. It was written prior to the Coventry parliament by a Lancastrian sympathiser and is partisan. And yet, it provides an insight into the issues exercising the minds of the good and the great at this time. The Yorkist is characterised as arrogant and boorish, bursting into court and demanding clemency. The Lancastrian, who is ‘courteous and just’, allows him a hearing. The Yorkists’ defence is put forward on several grounds. First, mercy is a necessary attribute in a king. That is true and probably explains why there is a subtext of justice and mercy in the Parliamentary Roll account of proceedings and why Henry saw fir to preserve his prerogative to deal with the rebels mercifully, as he saw fit. Second, the realm needed the nobility. I presume that this point is allied to the Yorkist’s third point, that the cause of reform was honourable. These two points together could be construed as arguing the necessity for nobility as a check to a tyrannical monarch. Of course, in the fifteenth century such a view was political dissent. Fourth, there were no specific charges against the Yorkists. This is a good point and may have been legally embarrassing for the crown: but it was not a case winner. Fifth, in view of the threat of a foreign invasion, this was not a good time to destroy those nobles favoured by the people to defend them. These grounds do scant justice to the actual Yorkist position and, predictably, the Lancastrian representative has no trouble crushing them to his own satisfaction. However, the amount of time and ink expended by the author in arguing that the cause of reform, whilst honourable, was an inadequate defence to insurrection suggests Lancastrian nervousness about the strength of their case.
Although the Yorkists were unable to defend the charges against them in parliament, their defence is well known to posterity, having been argued in extant correspondence, bills and indentures produced by them over the course of a decade. The bill published by Warwick on his way over from Calais and the open letter sent by the Yorkists to the king on the 10 October were simply the latest iterations of Yorkist complaints that hadn’t changed in substance since 1450 and which were always carefully drafted to avoid any imputation of treason. Their defence was simple and had the benefit of consistency. The problems of the realm were caused by the king’s evil councillors and not by the king. He was innocent, and was being prevented from ruling, as he would have wished, by these same evil councillors. Ultimately, the Yorkists were compelled to act in the way they did by the intransigence and aggression of the king’s evil councillors. Kendall’s implication that the Yorkists approach had not changed since 1455 does scant justice to the longevity of their argument, which, in fact hadn’t actually changed since 1450. Kendall’s other point, that the repetition of the same narrow pattern of factional armed protest was not enthusing the general population to flock to the Yorkists’ banner, is more substantial. As John Watts has pointed out, it was not that York and the Nevilles lacked imagination so much as the fact that the old arguments still seemed valid. The dispute had not changed in nine years. York continued to blame the ministers and not the king, and the government continued to regard any discussion of its performance as treason. Furthermore, the queen could no more exercise royal authority on behalf of an ineffective king than could York during two protectorships. The underlying problem that the king in his innocence was unfit to rule, was rising to the surface with dangerous consequences for everyone. It would be irrational for York to suppose that he could change the outcome by using the same argument and the same method of protest, He must eventually realise that his problem was insoluble while Henry remained on the throne.
The second part of the attainder contained the provision for forfeiture of the Yorkists’ estates. It was the nub of the document, which in the words of York’s biographer “… bought all of York’s property into the king’s hands”. That is not to mention all the property belonging to the earls of March, Warwick, Salisbury and Rutland, and all the property belonging to the twenty-four other Yorkists who were attainted, all of which fell into the king’s hands. This included property held in fee simple (which was usual) and property held in fee tail (which was unusual). The severity of the forfeiture is an indication of the government’s determination to destroy the Yorkists and their cause. Insofar as the king was merciful, he extended his prerogative to Lord Powis, Walter Devereux and Sir Henry Radford by rejecting the claim for their lands and pardoning them. He also refused a request to attaint Thomas, Lord Stanley for his betrayal at Blore Heath. However, he had no intention of pardoning York or the four earls. They had not submitted to the king’s grace and their destruction was to be permanent.
Little was granted away in fee simple or in fee tail; neither were many leasehold grants made and then only for short periods. The vast bulk of the forfeited estates were put in the charge of royal stewards who were given lifetime appointments and expected to produce a high income for the royal coffers (That is a clear indication of the permanence of the arrangements.). The estates of York and the Nevilles were absorbed into the royal demesne along with, in a few cases, their existing servants. Generally, established administration procedures were respected; although, some rationalization was necessary. For example, the estates of York and Salisbury in Essex and Suffolk were put in the charge of a single royal steward. Despite the care of these arrangements the changes of ownership did not always go smoothly. There was some natural resentment of the new Lancastrian overlords, and the stewards did not all receive a warm welcome when they arrived at the forfeited estates. Johnson believes that, generally, the arrangements for the takeover were honourable; the ducal estate was not dismembered and in theory could be resurrected in the future. Moreover, whilst a pardon for York was unthinkable, Duchess Cicely did receive a maintenance grant from the king for her and her younger children. It was unfortunate for the royal party that the effectiveness of these arrangements was undermined by the fact that the Yorkist leaders were at large and expected to return to England.
The events of the summer and autumn of 1459 changed the course of English history. The Yorkist notion that the king was an innocent victim of his evil councillors was no longer tenable. Regardless of whether he was prevented from reforming the government or was simply unwilling to do so, Henry’s incapacity was obvious; he was unfit to rule. With the benefit of hindsight we can see that this was probably the moment when the duke of York became convinced that he must claim the throne to survive and to bring good governance to the realm. It was a course of action that involved the deposition of an anointed king and the disinheritance of his heir. A protest for political reform was about to become a dynastic civil war.
The Parliament of Devils also had a constitutional importance in its own right. It provided a template for the destruction of the king’s political enemies that upset the balance of power between the king and the three estates of parliament. Since the twelfth century, the cohesion of the English lords had been a relatively effective counter to any royal tendency towards tyranny. Nevertheless, the lords had not themselves succeeded in transforming the government into an oligarchy, though they had tried to do so. And the commons were incapable of creating a democracy; although neither the king nor the lords could ignore them. In the words of professor Bellamy: “The late medieval law of treason was both a cause and a result of this balance and when it was tampered with there was a serious danger to constitutional government.” 
Acts of attainder were a method for popular participation in the ‘legal’ process. The lords or the commons could sponsor them, or the king could introduce them. Those bills put forward by the lords and by the commons were not always successful (e.g. the impeachment of Suffolk, 1450) those introduced by the king were never unsuccessful. The Parliament of Devils confirmed that royal power was paramount. The attainted Yorkists’ protest that they had not been allowed to answer the charges against them was unique. There is no evidence that either the lords or the commons opposed a bill of attainder by the king. From 1459, the attainder process was dominated by the royal prerogative: “It was openly acknowledged as a much surer way of getting a conviction for treason than by [the] common law and for this reason was used as often as possible. It is a form of treason in which the magnates and people play no part except when they were the victims.”
 JG Bellamy –The Law of Treason in England in the Later Middle Ages (Cambridge 1970) pp.177-179.
 Bellamy p.180
 Bellamy p.187; see also James Gairdner (Editor) -The Paston Letters 1422-1509 (Constable 1900) Vol 2, p.99 and EF Jacob – The Fifteenth Century 1399-1485 (Oxford1987) p.493
 JS Davies (Editor) – An English Chronicle of the Reigns of Richard II, Henry IV, Henry V and Henry VI (Camden LXIV 1856) p.79 http://quod.lib.umich.edu/c/cme/acv5981.0001.001 Bertram Wolffe – Henry VI (Yale 2001 edition) pp.302-318. Wolffe disputes the conventional view that Henry was a saint-like innocent in the hands of his vengeful queen and her Lancastrian ‘gallants’. Facets of his character identified by Wolffe are: unforgiving, vindictive credulous, divisive, vacillating but stubborn and lacking political acumen. He argues that Henry was simply a bad king, who knew what he was doing: “if he was manipulated by the queen…he was manipulated willingly” (318). For a contrary opinion see RA Griffiths – The Reign of Henry VI (Sutton 1980): “ The [Yorkist] lords accurately divined that whatever his personal inclinations were…[Henry] was powerless in the hands of the queen and her advisors and it was they who were pursuing the vendetta against York and his Neville allies.” (819).
 Alison Hanham – John Benet’s Chronicle 1399-1462: an English translation (Palgrave Macmillan 2016) p.44: according to Benet, in addition to the absent Yorkist lords, the archbishop of Canterbury, the bishops of Ely and of Exeter, the earl of Arundel, Lord Bourchier and others failed to attend. All were indicted ‘ as a result of the advice of the queen’.
 Wolffe, p.317; Griffiths p.817
 Anthony Goodman – The Wars of the Roses: military activity and English society 1452-97 (Routledge and Kegan Paul 1981) pp.30, 237 note 57. Goodman cites Dr Colin Richmond (The Nobility and the Wars of the Roses 1459-61; Nottingham Medieval Studies, 21 ). The following were rewarded for their service against the Yorkists: the dukes of Buckingham and Exeter, the earls of Arundel, Devon, Northumberland, Shrewsbury and Wiltshire, Viscount Beaumont and ‘at least ten barons of parliament’. In addition, the king had Somerset’s retinue arriving from the south-west, plus the remainder of Northumberland’s northern contingent (Thomas Percy, Lord Egremont and the earl of Westmorland). The queen was recruiting troops in Cheshire and Lancashire with the Prince of Wales (nominally commanded by the infant Prince but actually commanded by the queen.).
 PA Johnson – Duke Richard of York 1411-1460 (Oxford 1991 edition) p.186 and Goodman p.26.
 Wollfe pp.316-319; Griffiths p. 817 and Johnson p.188
 Griffiths (pp. 817, 847 note 275) puts the figure as ‘variously 300-500 men’; Johnson (p186) says he had a significant force’. It is difficult to know what Johnson means by ‘significant’ but with the benefit of hindsight we can see that Warwick’s retinue was probably counted in three figures. However, their significance may have been their military quality and not their numbers. Goodman (p.26) credits Warwick with ‘a few hundred men’.
 Goodman (p26). This is plausible; nevertheless, it is only conjecture.
 ‘Gregory’s Chronicle: 1451-1460’, in The Historical Collections of A Citizen of London in the Fifteenth Century, ed. James Gairdner (London, 1876), pp. 196-210. British History Online http://www.british-history.ac.uk/camden-record-soc/vol17/pp196-210 [accessed 19 March 2016].
 Johnson p.187 and Goodman p.236 note 35. Goodman finds it difficult to account for Warwick’s presence in Coleshill. He might have been acting independently against the king as Goodman suggests; though, it seems unlikely since he was weak in numbers and in the midst of the king’s army. It is also possible (I put it no higher) that he was looking for the quickest way out of a trap, with the intention of making his way across country to Ludlow. By now he would have realised the impossibility of the Yorkists’ meeting at Warwick.
 Goodman p.236, note 40, provides a useful summary of the contemporary estimates of Salisbury’s numbers, which I need not repeat. I personally think he had between 3000 and 5000 men, with an artillery train. His contingent was probably the most effective fighting force at the Yorkists disposal.
 Goodman p.236, note 40 lists the various chronicle estimates of the comparative size of the respective armies. Suffice to say that Salisbury was outnumbered, perhaps by 2:1
 Gregory’s Chronicle, ibid: see also David Smurthwaite – The complete Guide to the Battlefields of Britain (Michael Joseph Ltd 1984) p.101.
 Wolffe, p.371: Wolffe’s biography has been much criticised; however, the royal itinerary he has constructed from the kings signet correspondence, household accounts, privy seal documents and royal warrants was invaluable in helping me to understand these events.
 Chris Given-Wilson (Gen Ed) – The Parliamentary Rolls of Medieval England (Boydell Press 2005): Rosemary Horrox (Ed) Volume 12 p.459
 English Chronicle pp.80-81; Benet p.44 and Goodman p.29: for a different interpretation see Trevor Royle- The Wars of the Roses (Abacus 2010) pp. 242-243. Royle reverses the roles: he suggests that it was the king who intercepted the Yorkists on their march to London. Once York saw the king’s army in position and the way blocked, he retreated to Worcester. It is not an impossible scenario, but it is unlikely. I can think of no good reason why York would march his army north towards the king’s host, if he was actually trying to escape to the southeast. Goodman’s analysis seems far more plausible to me.
 Johnson p.188 thinks it is ‘odd’ that York retreated to Ludlow via Tewkesbury since it implied he was trying to escape to the south, a manoeuvre that Henry successfully blocked. My interpretation of Yorks reasoning is slightly different. First, Henry was obviously not in close pursuit of York; we have no record of skirmishing between the forces; moreover, Henry’s whole command had been ‘sluggish’. His failure to concentrate his forces quickly had allowed Salisbury to escape the trap at Blore Heath. Second, York may well have been trying to escape southwards, but changed his mind in light of his army’s fragile morale (The Yorkist soldiers were wary of fighting their anointed king and the offer of a pardon was tempting.). Ludlow offered a good position if the Yorkists had to fight.
 English Chronicle pp. 81,82; this sets out Yorks letter in full, which I would not repeat here, as the Chronicle is freely available on line for anybody interested to read.
 Bellamy p.201
 Griffiths pp. 825-826 It was never a realistic prospect that this wealth would be used to support the public exchequer or frittered away on injudicious grants to royal friends. Given royal impecuniosity this vast wealth was more likely to find its way into the king’s purse.
 Griffiths p.823; “ Among the 169 members whose identity is reasonably certain (out of 260), one has to search long and hard to find a single servant of either York or Neville”. In Griffiths’ opinion the election was engineered in favour of known loyalists (an opinion echoed by Bellamy (p.147). Nevertheless, Rosemary Horrox doesn’t believe it was an aggressively partisan assembly. She ‘deduces this from the care taken to justify the severe measures taken’ (PROME p.448).
 See Bellamy at p.197 and Griffiths at p.824; the authorities disagree as to who precisely drafted the act of attainder.
 Even though, York and the other leaders fled, the Yorkists ‘fired their guns at the king’.
 Johnson p. 189
 Bellamy p.204
 Johnson p.190; PROME p.450 both citing JP Gilson – A defence of the proscription of Yorkists in 1459 (H.E.R 26, 1911)
 Margaret Kekewich and others (Eds) – The Politics of 15th Century England: John Vale’s Book (Sutton Publishing and the Richard III & Yorkist History Trust 1995) P.27. The Articles if the earl of Warwick on his way from Calais to Ludlow, 1459 (British Library Manuscript Additional 48031A ff. 137-138) is published for the first time at pp. 208-209. See also, Gregory’s Chronicle, ibid: Johnson p.188, and Griffiths p. 817
 Paul Murray Kendall – Warwick the Kingmaker (George Allen & Unwin 1957) p.53
 Kekewich and others;ibid
 Johnson p.192
 The SOED, 5th edition (2005); Fee simple’ is defined as the ‘Tenure of a heritable estate in land etc. forever and without restriction to any particular class of heirs. Fee tail is defined as ‘Tenure of a heritable estate entailed or restricted to some particular class of heirs of the person to whom it is granted’.
. The king ordered Thomas Lord Stanley with his northern retinue to join the queen/Prince of Wales’ levies in Cheshire; but Stanley, who was in secret correspondence with Salisbury, prevaricated and did not arrive in time to fight at Blore Heath. His northern troopers were sorely missed by the green Lancastrians and it is clear that feeling against Stanley ran high in royal circles. However, in typical fashion he managed to rehabilitate himself with the king so that he was not included in the attainder. The king refused to grant a separate petition for Stanley’s attainder; probably, because his support in the northwest was essential after York escaped to Ireland. William Stanley who fought with Salisbury at Blore Heath was attainted. The Stanley’s did not just ‘sit on the fence’; they straddled both sides of it.
 Almost all of this section is taken from Griffiths (p.826) and Johnson (pp.192-194).
 My opinion about York’s intention is conjecture; though his subsequent attempt to claim the throne suggests it is plausible. Unfortunately, as the events of 1460 were to show, York had misjudged the mood of the country. Even though there was dissatisfaction with the government’s performance, there was little appetite for Henry’s deposition.
 Bellamy p.206
 Bellamy p.212