Leaps of logic and forced conclusions: my take on Langley’s missing Princes

Posted on December 21, 2023December 22, 2023 By Gareth - Editor

Introduction

Edward V, and his younger brother Richard, Duke of York were taken into the Tower of London by June 1483. Whether they ever left the indomitable fortress remains an issue of great debate. It is unlikely that this mystery will ever be solved to satisfaction.

Like many students of the late fifteenth century, I believe that the most likely explanation for their disappearance is that they were killed on the orders of their uncle, Richard III. Nevertheless, I am the first to admit that this cannot be proven. I am open to changing my mind and have long been excited about the possibility of new evidence.

So it was with eager anticipation that I poured through the pages of “The Princes in the Tower” by Philippa Langley. The book is incredibly readable. Through a combination of its accessible style and my own interest in the subject, I powered through its 300 pages of narrative and argument in just a few days.

It is a work with real value. The amount of source material that “the Missing Princes Project” (the movement that gave birth to the book) has gathered is beyond impressive. To present it so succinctly is a masterful achievement.

But it is also a work that could have been so much more valuable. The scholarly contribution it could have made is placed in peril by the author’s tendency to force explanations onto sources and require the reader to make epic leaps of logic. Too often, the book’s pages betray its unspoken motive: to prove the innocence of Richard III at any cost.

This review seeks to highlight the book’s virtues. But I have not been shy in drawing attention to the many ways in which it lets itself down.

The Missing Princes Project has attracted global media attention thanks, in part, to a Channel 4 documentary that accompanied the book’s launch. I have long been sceptical about TV’s usefulness as a medium when deep analysis is required. I’m also mindful of its power to stir emotion and create lasting impressions. As such, I decided to read the book and complete the first draft of this review before watching the documentary.

Given the length of this post, I have split it into three bite-sized sections – the positives, the problems and the possibilities. Throughout each section, I have assumed reasonable knowledge around the events of the fall of the house of York and the rise of the Tudors. If you are newer to the topic and find that something doesn’t make sense, please feel free to email me: royalhistorygeeks@gmail.com

Gareth Streeter December 2023
Plymouth, Devon

The fate of the Princes in the Tower remains one of history’s greatest mysteries

The positives

I make no secret from the outset that this book has given me more to criticise than praise. That does not mean that it or the Missing Princes Project are without merit.

The positives include:

Successfully challenging assumptions – the events of 1483 are not as clear as any of us would like them to be. Nor are the motivations of the key players. What the book refers to as “the traditional narrative” does contain assumptions and it is right that these are regularly challenged and robustly tested. The work does a good job of reminding us how little we know about many of the key events. Good questions emerge from the project’s efforts to challenge received wisdom.
Well crafted and easy to read – the book is compelling and accessible in its presentation. It’s a long book and I was able to read it in days, despite being a slow reader and having only recently checked out of hospital. Given the density of information and arguments it contains, this is a real achievement.
Based on a interesting and innovative approach – Langley’s attempts to mobilise people to head to their local records office to dig up any relevant records is commendable. In this case, it does not seem that much strictly new material has been discovered, but were such a strategy pursued more broadly, it could help unlock a plethora of the past’s secrets.
A useful compendium – the team of researchers has gathered countless sources, and the book provides an incredibly useful appendix. This makes it easier to assess the source information and encourages informed debate. For those interested in the fate of the Princes, the appendix alone justifies the cover price.

Too often, the book tries to fit the sources into pre-existing theories

The problems

The problems with the book do not take away from the positives. However, they do risk undermining the overall credibility of the “Missing Princes Project”.

I have broken down my major criticisms into five areas.

1) Source criticism

This is the biggest area of weakness throughout the book’s pages. I’ve created a spin-off blog post delving into this area specifically for those who would like to read more. But examples of the book’s weak handling of sources include:

The book justifies its claim that the princes were widely regarded to have lived through Richard III’s reign by pointing to fragmented sources that have far more logical explanations than those the author settles on.
For example, Langley points to two payment records (one in late 1484 and one in early 1485) that refer to “the Lord Bastard”. While most historians (given the context of those records) take these to be a reference to John of Gloucester, Richard III’s illegitimate son, Langley claims this is not possible. John was not a peer. And as such, Langley claims, would not have been referred to as “Lord”. Instead, she argues, they are more likely to be a reference to Edward V who (she believes) was still regarded as Earl of March and Pembroke.
But household records show that an illegitimate and untitled son of Edward IV was referred to as “My Lord, the bastard” in 1472. So there’s no reason why John of Gloucester could not have been similarly styled.
Langley offers the discovery of a payment record, which indicates Margaret of York (Dowager Duchess of Burgundy) was championing “a son of King Edward” in 1487, as irrefutable proof that at least one of the boys survived the tower. But those familiar with such receipts will know that details peripheral to the document’s core purpose (of acknowledging receipt of goods and payment) are often incorrect. And even if it was believed in Burgundy that Margaret was championing a surviving Edward V, that hardly makes it true.
The unfinished and confused writings of Bernard André are used to further justify the theory of Edward V’s survival. The poet claims that someone masquerading as a son of Edward IV was lurking in Ireland in 1487 (ahead of the Battle of Stoke later this year). But the poet seemed to believe that it was the younger son of Edward IV that was being impersonated making it far more likely that he was confusing events with the later Perkin Warbeck campaign.
These are just three examples of times that the book fails to scrutinise sources in order to fit them into a preexisting narrative. It makes it hard to trust any of the later treatment of material in the book.

2) Sweeping assumptions and shaky foundations

As the chapters progress, the author proceeds to make sweeping assumptions based on forced interpretations from fragmented evidence.

As stated above, Langley – at odds with most historians – claims that two references to “the Lord Bastard” in Richard III’s reign refer to Edward V. Based on this and a couple of other fragments of similarly distorted evidence, she concludes that the survival of the Princes was well known in England. It is not presented as a question, a possibility or even a likelihood. For Langley it is a fact and for the rest of the book it is treated as such. As the pages progress, it forms a shaky foundation for other theories.

She follows the same approach with the discovered receipt in from the Lille record, the only genuinely new piece of evidence unearthed from the Missing Princes Project. This intriguing find could have been used to question assumptions about Lambert Simnel, the Earl of Warwick and the Battle of Stoke. Instead, it is treated as irrefutable evidence that Edward V survived to 1487. Again, this is accepted as fact for the remainder of the book leading to hugely circular arguments in later chapters.

Such sweeping assumptions continue throughout the book. Langley spends much of Chapter 10 analysing details of Henry VII’s travel itinerary after the battle of Bosworth. The fact he delayed his entry to London, she seems to suggest, shows that he must have deliberately lingered so as to investigate the fate of Edward IV’s sons. (Yet, she does also concede that he needed to ensure a display of victory across the North and the Midlands.)

Without any real explanation, she proceeds to detail the people that “we may assume” were high on the King’s list to interrogate. The author ultimately judges that he either (a) found nothing; or (b) discovered information that he quickly suppressed. Quite extraordinarily, she takes all of this as evidence that the Princes must have been alive.

3) A persistent naivety to the realpolitik of medieval society

The book persistently presumes that fifteenth-century power brokers were simplistically legalistic. The Princes were no threat the Richard III, it argues, because Parliament had stripped both boys of their inheritance rights. But they became a threat to Henry VII because the Tudor King reversed Richard’s Act of Parliament.

This simply does not stack up. Even the most basic review of fifteenth-century history shows how easily such Parliamentary decrees were disregarded. To name just a handful:

Henry IV’s Parliament left the throne exclusively to his descendants. This did not prevent the house of York from ultimately toppling them from power.
Edward IV had been declared legally devoid of inheritance rights by Parliament. But “might made right” when he won the crown in battle.
Henry VII’s Parliament declared that the throne belonged exclusively to himself and his descendants. This did not prevent him from living in fear of pretenders for much of his reign.

An Act of Parliament did not convey the certainty that Langley’s book suggests. The author also makes the puzzling assumption that, by acquiescing to Richard III’s assumption of the throne, the political class must have accepted the intellectual basis for it, including the illegitimacy of the Princes. If this was the case, why, just two years later, were they prepared to accept precisely the opposite?

4) Inconsistent methodology

Throughout the book, Langley admirably encourages the reader to challenge all their assumptions. Yet, in going to an extreme in some situations, she risks entirely ignoring the context of events. Elizabeth Woodville’s decision to flee to sanctuary in 1483, the book argues, should not be taken as a sign that she believed she had anything to fear from Richard. Sources that claim such motivation were written after Richard was King. As such, they are inferring from hindsight.

This is fine as far as it goes. But to suggest that we should ignore “what happened next” when it may provide clues as to people’s motivations is fatally flawed.

Interestingly, Langley seems more prepared to interpret people’s actions in light of future events when doing so supports her theories. For example, she uses events from later in the 1480s to assume a distrust between Henry VII and Sir Edward Woodville after the battle of Bosworth.

The book also only factors in past behaviour when such an analysis supports her theory. Let’s look again at the example of Elizabeth Woodville’s escape to sanctuary in 1483. We can speculate intelligently about the widowed Queen’s motivation by reflecting on the only past occasion where she sought sanctuary. Previously, she had taken to the safety of the abbey when the government had been seized by men hostile to her family. As historians, we have to at least entertain the possibility that her behaviour in 1483 was motivated by similar concerns.

While reflections from the past are ignored in this case, Langley is happy to pluck examples from history when they support the book’s premise. She revisits the reign of Henry IV to highlight the treatment of that King’s rival child claimants, the Earl of March and his brother. This, Langley argues, provides a template for the survival of rival claimants, despite the huge difference in circumstances to the 1480s. She also fails to mention a crucial difference between the March boys and Edward IV’s sons: the survival of the former is well documented. The continuing existence of the latter is not.

But the biggest methodological inconsistency is the different treatment that specific sources receive. Those that support the book’s theories are hardly questioned. Those that challenge the author’s theories are routinely dismissed. As we have seen, the book records that Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy believed she was championing Edward V in 1487 (which is possible though not probable). The duchess later supported a man claiming to be Richard, Duke of York in the 1490s (which is unarguable). Both claims are taken at face value. If Margaret said it, it must be true.

There is an almost dramatic irony about this. Langley and fellow Ricardian researchers are usually the first to call the motives and biases of all figures of power into question. They rightly ensure that every word uttered by supporters of the Tudors is treated with suspicion. But they take a much more trusting approach with the Tudor’s enemies.

5) The methodology itself is flawed

The Missing Princes Project claims to be based on a “cold case” police investigation. This is certainly an intriguing premise. Its PR potential is magnificent and it has drawn more attention to the question of the Princes in the Tower than anything in the last decade.

But does it lead to good history?

In the early pages of the book, Langley draws the available fragments of what we know of both boys together. She then creates a “profile” of each of the Princes. Evidence, claims and theories are later weighed against these profiles.

There’s a problem with this approach. We simply don’t know enough about either boy to construct a meaningful profile. Recently, I spent a year researching and writing a book about Prince Arthur. Yet I still would not be comfortable creating a profile of the boy that could serve the robust needs of a police investigation. However hard historians of this era work, and whatever new evidence emerges, we will never have the opportunity to interview people who knew our subjects personally. Nor can we entirely trust accounts of their personality, gifts or intelligence.

The investigation also places a great emphasis on dismissing hindsight. There’s real value in this. It encourages us to think about what we can really glean from the events themselves. However, taken to its extreme, it causes Langley to entirely dismiss a number of contemporary and near-contemporary accounts. She makes the assumption that these writers were all influenced by later situations, when they could well have formed their views as events were unfolding.

If presented differently, the book could help us think again about elements of the Battle of Stoke

The possibilities

The team behind the Missing Princes Project has devoted endless hours to trawling the archives of Europe for any hints about the boy’s fate. From what I can see, only one of the sources is strictly new. However, their efforts to compile information and expose sources to scrutiny has the potential to make the project an activity of scholarly significance.

If the project was able to present its findings dispassionately and release itself from the unspoken pressure of proving Richard’s innocence, their work could make the following meaningful contributions to the debate:

The fate of the Princes was a mystery from day one – a variety of sources show that during Richard III’s reign and the early years of Tudor rule, there was no clear consensus around what had befallen the Princes. Sources suggest that opinion differed in England as to whether they had perished, were being kept alive within the realm or had escaped custody and possibly the country. We can’t say how popular or widespread any of these viewpoints were, but each seems to have existed.
The acceptance of a Tudor “propaganda campaign” must be seriously questioned – defending the Tudors may not be high on the team’s priority list but it could emerge as a valid conclusion. The book effectively shows that there was no clear consensus among supporters of Henry VII as to the Princes’ fate. While many assumed their death, there was no agreement around the means of their demise. This argues against an orchestrated, government-sponsored narrative.
Much of what we know about the Battle of Stoke is based on government sources – building on the work of Matthew Lewis, Langley draws attention to the fact that much of our understanding of the “Yorkist rebellion” of 1487 comes from government sources or chroniclers that enjoyed Tudor patronage. This does not deprive those sources of all value. It does require us to handle them with caution.
There may have been some ambiguity around who the Irish and Burgundians believed they were fighting for at Stoke (and who Henry believed he was fighting against) – the uncovered receipt from the Lille archives does not, as the book claims, prove that Edward V still lived in 1487. But, when combined with the curiousness of Henry VII’s treatment of Elizabeth Woodville and her son, the Marquess of Dorset, it could lead to a credible suggestion that there was some confusion, at least at some stage in the campaign, as to who Henry VII thought his enemy was claiming to be. There is a great deal of evidence that he and other commentators believed the young boy in Ireland was claiming to be Warwick. That does not mean that this was a view they held with total clarity. It could also be the case that Margaret of Burgundy encouraged a degree of ambiguity in order to keep her options open. And of course, we should not discount the possibility that some confusion arose simply because Edward V and the Earl of Warwick shared the same name.

Such insights may appear modest. They are not. They deserve further investigation and have the potential to change the way that history books are written. The continual quest to vindicate Richard, however, it likely to distract from the project’s positive potential.

It’s time to rethink the Missing Princes Project

Conclusion

I have been captivated by the last decades of the fifteenth century for many years. I am far from alone in that passion. Anyone who shares my obsession will benefit from buying this book.

The appendix alone boasts a wealth of information. The successful and clear compiling of such a collection of documents is a remarkable achievement.

Sadly, that evidence is not well handled across the book’s pages. The author and her contributors fail to scrutinise sources. The wider retelling of events betrays a lack of understanding of late medieval record keeping and the political realities of survival. Far too often, the book makes sweeping assumptions and leaps of logic to justify preconceived ideas.

It is abundantly clear that the Missing Princes Project is pouring endless energy into gathering sources from every corner of the continent. We should commend them for their efforts. They are enjoying even greater success in raising awareness of this perennial mystery. Without a shadow of a doubt, Langley and her team are challenging widespread assumptions about the character and actions of the last Plantagenet King.

But this project, and the book that has emanated from it, could have been about so much more. The people presenting the project’s findings are proving either unable or unwilling to review the evidence objectively and form cohesive theories that are true to the sources. This risks robbing the project of any real scholarly merit.

Maybe this doesn’t matter. Richard III has a global army of supporters. This book will add a little more fuel to the fire of their arguments. If that’s the purpose of this book, then congratulations! Mission accomplished. And if there are people who are 100% convinced that Richard did away with nephews, and that the bones found in the tower must be the princes (which in my experience, few are) then perhaps this work will give them pause for thought.

But given the huge and (often) high-quality work that has been invested into this project, shouldn’t its aims be higher? Should it not be seeking to make a significant scholarly contribution? One that challenges our perception of the 1480s and causes us to rethink our assumptions? Some of the evidence is this book has the potential to do just that. But that potential remains buried under confirmation bias and an unspoken quest to exonerate a long-dead King.

Philippa Langley is a courageous campaigner. I once (not entirely insincerely) described her as my history hero. She has the spirit of a revolutionary and the charisma of a warlord. But having appeared on TV screens declaring that the reconstructed face of Richard III is not one of a tyrant, she is hardly well placed to be the public face of an independent investigation. After all, the whole premise of the project is that it is based on a police-style cold-case investigation. What law enforcement agency in the democratic world would consent to hand over control of such an investigation to one who has expressed such a partisan interest in the outcome?

Langley has achieved more for her cause than could possibly have been fathomed 20 years ago. The unearthing of Richard III’s remains is the greatest historical discovery of my lifetime. I doubt it will ever be bettered.

But it is now time for Langley to recognise, as so many pioneers before her have accepted, that the passion and determination that has driven efforts this far have now become part of the problem. For the good of the project she has birthed, she should stand aside from its leadership. The torch should be passed to a historian (and not necessarily one with an academic background) that is dispassionate about the outcome and genuinely open minded.

I appreciate that this reads like a devastating criticism of Philippa Langley. It is not intended to be. If anything, it’s a compliment to her charisma and style. Now it is time for her to let the bird she loves fly free from the cage. Only then will she, and the rest of us, discover if it returns to her with the answers she seeks.

Sourcing the truth: the fatal flaws of Langley’s quest

Posted on December 21, 2023December 22, 2023 By Gareth - Editor

“The Princes in the Tower” by Philippa Langley is a book with merits. But with its handling of sources, the work lets itself down and risks betraying a hidden motive. This post explores three examples of how the book uses sources unsatisfactory.

This post is a spin-off from my review/critique of the book. Please read the full review for my take on the positive aspects of the book as well as other criticisms.

Sources, particularly primary sources, are a historian’s building blocks. No, scholar, however accomplished or experienced has authority. Instead, they have authorities: the sources they bring to the table to support their arguments.

To uncover the secrets of the past, simply citing sources is not enough. We must apply due scrutiny and criticism to the evidence in our possession. Philippa Langley’s “Missing Prince’s Project” has done a first-rate job of gathering evidence. But its scrutiny of that evidence is, in my opinion, the biggest flaw in the “Princes in the Tower” book.

Here’s just three examples from the work’s earlier chapters.

Richard III’s bastard son rose to prominence during his father’s reign

1) The Lord Bastard

In Chapter 5, the author draws attention to two payment records. The first is from November 1484. The second, from March 1485. Both reference “the Lord bastard”.

The first, mentions “the Lord Bastard” travelling to Calais. Richard III’s bastard son, John of Gloucester would be made Captain of Calais a few months later. So most historians conclude that the “bastard” in question was Richard’s own, perhaps travelling to the province a few months prior to his official appointment.

The second record acknowledges payments of fine clothes to “the Lord Bastard” and takes place just a couple of days before John was formerly declared Captain of Calais. Such an occasion would warrant him being kitted out in style. It’s this likely that this record too, refers to John.

Langley rejects this view. John, she argues, was not a peer. As such he would not have been named “Lord Bastard”. Instead, she concludes that these records more likely refer to the former Edward V, labelled “Edward the bastard” in other documents. Langley states that though deprived of his throne, the boy was still regarded as Earl of March and Pembroke (possible but improbable), making the title of “Lord” appropriate.

This is an early example of the book’s source criticism falling flat on its face.

We can quickly put paid to the notion that John of Gloucester, as a non-peer, would never have been called “Lord” in administrative records. In 1472, an illegitimate son of Edward IV was described in the household accounts as “my Lord the Bastard”. It’s clearly possible that Richard’s illegitimate son was described likewise.

But even more worryingly, this approach betrays a simplistic understanding of styles of address by assuming that the title of “Lord” was used exclusively for the peerage. Greater familiarity with such records reveals that children of Royals and high-ranking noblemen were often referred to as “Lord” despite having no peerage to speak of. “Lord” and “Lady” were often the chosen forms when referring to someone of high birth who lacked any other accolade.

Such analysis puts too much pressure on the record keepers of the day. They were not heralds. Their job was to record payments and other clerical decisions. The specifics of styles and titles were not their primary concern and it’s typical to find a high degree of title variance among such sources. Royal and noble titles simply weren’t used as consistently in the 1400s as they are today. The child of a King might be referred to as a Prince/Princess or Lord/Lady depending on the author’s preference.

The Battle of Stoke was waged in the name of a Yorkist prince. But was he genuine?

2) The Lille receipt

The biggest single piece of new evidence offered in the book is a receipt for payment issued by a Burgundian administrator to a ‘maker of wooden objects’ in Malines. Dated to December 1487 (the year of the Battle of Stoke) it records payment for 400 long pikes for “lord Martin de Zwarte, a knight from Germany, to take and lead across the sea, Madam the Dowager sent at the time, together with several captains of war from England, to serve her nephew – son of King Edward, late her brother.”

This is clearly a reference to resources for the army, led by Martin Zwarte, that would ultimately combat Henry VII’s forces at Stoke Field. Earlier in 1487, the nobility of Ireland had crowned a Yorkist “King Edward”, which most sources claim was either Edward, Earl of Warwick (son of Edward IV’s brother, the Duke of Clarence) or a pretender posing as him. It was on behalf of this boy that the army marched.

The mention of the son of King Edward, suggests that the writer of the receipt believed that the boy in question was actually one of the “princes in the tower.” Langley takes this as firm evidence that at least one of the Princes survived into 1487. Given that the boy crowned in Ireland (“the Dublin King”) was frequently referred to as “King Edward”, the former Edward V is deemed the most likely candidate.

Earlier in the book, Langley notes that such administrative records are valuable. Unlike the utterings of chroniclers, they are not typically trying to make a political point. They are simply recording facts. As such, they are more likely to be free of bias and agenda.

This is certainly true. But Langley fails to mention the flip side of dealing with such sources: they are recording information for a specific, administrative purpose. They are naturally less interested in any information that is peripheral to that purpose.

In the case of this receipt, the document’s purpose is to record that the wooden pikes have been successfully shipped from A to B and that payment had been rendered. Because of the need to distinguish it from other, potentially similar shipments, such records typically contain enough detail for the context to be clear.

We need to be pragmatic with this kind of information. Were the author and witnesses of this receipts fundamentally concerned about the affairs of England? Was the finer detail of the Yorkist rebellion 1487 of pressing concern to administrators and craftsmen in Burgundy who perhaps viewed the whole affair as a side project of the dowager Duchess? Several paragraphs of the book are spent noting that “high-ranking” officials signed the receipt and would surely not have allowed such an error to pass. Once again, Langley over-estimates the interest of busy officers in such detail. After all, such errors would not have prevented a solitary receipt from serving its purpose.

Nevertheless, the source is interesting. Could it suggest that, at least in some quarters, there was an ambiguity over which Prince or nephew it was that Margaret was championing? But there’s too much to the contrary that the book fails to grapple with. Why, if it was believed in Burgundy that Margaret was championing Edward V, did the rest of Europe – all free from the influence of Henry VII – seem to believe that the boy in question was claiming to be the son of the Duke of Clarence? And, even if it does offer evidence that Margaret claimed or believed the boy to be Edward V, should we really just take it as read that she was correct or telling the truth? Given Margaret’s obvious bias in this situation such a claim should surely be subject to scrutiny.

That this reference to the “son of Edward IV” represents a simple misunderstanding by an administrator not much interested in the affairs of England, is at least as likely an explanation as any other. I also concede that it’s possible that there was some ambiguity around who Margaret was claiming to support. But this source most certainly does not “confirm that at least one of the sons of Edward IV was alive in 1487” as the book so boldly claims.

Bernard André was the tutor of Arthur, Prince of Wales

3) Bernard André

In a bid to bolster the claim that Edward V was “the Dublin King” that faced Henry VII at the Battle of Stoke, the book draws attention to an argument from Matthew Lewis. Bernard André, court poet and biographer of Henry VII notes in his account that the pretender in Ireland in 1487 was claiming to be “the son of Edward the Fourth”. Recognising that Edward V would attract more support than his cousin Warwick, the government must have twisted the story. But in a moment of madness, André let the truth slip into his work.

What this book fails to mention, however, (though Lewis does) is that Andre’s confused account claims the boy to be Richard, the younger son rather than Edward, the elder. This dilutes its usefulness as evidence of Edward V’s survival.

There are at least two possible explanations as to this mention of Edward IV’s son in Andre’s account:

Langley and Lewis are correct, and André believed that a son of Edward IV, or someone posing as one, was lurking in Ireland. But for this to be the case, the theorists are asking a lot of André. All at the same time, he has to have been trusted enough to be told the “real” story of the Battle of Stoke, but sufficiently unreliable to later forget that it was a state secret. It requires the poet to have been sharp enough to remember that a son of Edward IV was on the scene, but scatty enough to forget which son it was.
André was confusing the events of 1487 with the later campaign by Perkin Warbeck/Richard, Duke of York. After all, both campaigns began in Ireland. And in the 1490s, it certainly was the name of the younger son of Edward IV that was being bandied about.

Bernard André had served as a tutor to Arthur, Prince of Wales, Henry VII’s eldest son. When I was writing my biography of Arthur, I naturally spent a lot of time with Andre’s works. It’s important that we understand what kind of source we’re dealing with.

What survives of the poet’s biography of Henry VII (which is the source in question) is highly disorganised and clearly a draft in its early stages. He was a blind man dictating to a scribe. Frequently throughout the document, he leaves blank spaces where he can’t remember the detail, making a plan to check information and return to it later.

If André had finished his account, perhaps it would serve as a useful source. Sadly, while fascinating and bursting with potential, the version we have can rarely be relied upon. With all this in mind, isn’t it more likely that his reference to a son of Edward IV represents a confusion of the mind rather than a casual betrayal of a closely-guarded secret?

To its credit, Langley’s book references a rich range of sources. I am not as familiar with many of them as I am with André’s work or late medieval/early Tudor record keeping. But having seen the unsatisfactory treatment of the sources that I do know well, I find it difficult to put my faith in her handling of the remainder.

If this book is designed to do little more than put fuel in the fire of those who already believe in Richard III’s innocence, then it will serve its purpose. What’s such a shame, is that it has the potential to make a meaningful contribution to the scholarly debate. But with such partisan source criticism serving as a characteristic of the book, such an opportunity will quickly evaporate.

The singular wit of the Queen Mother: Gareth Russell speaks to RHG

Posted on March 6, 2023March 6, 2023 By Gareth - Editor

Gareth’s new book reveals the common charm and extraordinary wit of the Queen Mother

It’s always a pleasure to catch up with RHG fan-favourite, Gareth Russell.

We had the chance to chat about Elizabeth Bowes Lyon, better known to millions as Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother. It’s a close call, but I think she was the greatest Royal consort in history.

In some accounts, the Queen Mother emerges as a figure of warmth and fun. In others, she steps forth as a stringent defender of tradition. More hostile descriptions portray her as an unyielding enemy to those that crossed her. In Gareth’s new book, it is clear that she was all three and far more besides.

If you enjoy the interview, do check out the book: “Do Let’s Have Another Drink: The Singular Wit and Double Measures of Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother”. You can get it on Amazon UK, Amazon US, Waterstones, direct from Harper Collins, or from anywhere that sells good books.

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RHG creator releases new book on Arthur, the forgotten Tudor Prince

Posted on February 20, 2023February 20, 2023 By Gareth - Editor

Henry VIII is the most recognised King in the annals of England. But had it not been for the early death of his brother Arthur, the infamous Tudor ruler would have been little more than a footnote in history.

A new book, available for pre-order today, explores the short life of Arthur, Prince of Wales and eldest son of Henry VII, the first Tudor King. Though his life was tragically cut short by a mysterious illness at the age of 15, the book shows how Arthur was raised at the centre of one of the most tumultuous period of England’s history. Young though he was, he came tantalising close to forging his own future.

The book is penned by Royal History Geeks creator Gareth Streeter and published by Pen & Sword history.

Gareth says, “For too long, Arthur Tudor has been remembered only for what he never became. The boy who died prematurely and paved the way for the revolutionary reign of his younger brother, Henry VIII.

“Yet, during his short life, Arthur was at the centre of one of the most tumultuous periods of England’s history. At the time of his birth, he represented his father’s hopes for a dynasty and England’s greatest chance of peace. As he grew, he witnessed feuds, survived rebellion and became the focal point of an international alliance.

“From the threat of pretenders to West Country rebellions, the dramatic twists and turns of early Tudor England preoccupied Arthur’s thoughts. At a young age, he was dispatched to the Welsh border, becoming a figurehead for a robust regional government. While never old enough to exercise full power in his dominion, he emerged as a figure of influence, beseeched by petitioners and consulted by courtiers. While the extent of his personal influence can only be guessed at, the sources that survive reveal a determined prince that came tantalisingly close to forging his future.”

‘Arthur, Prince of Wales: Henry VIII’s lost brother’ shows that Arthur Tudor was more than a prince who died. He was a boy that really lived. It is available for pre-order from today from the P&S website, Amazon, Waterstones and other online bookstores. It will be available in book shops from 30 May 2023.

A good day for art, and not a bad one for history: a review of Channel 5’s “Anne Boleyn”

Posted on June 2, 2021June 2, 2021 By Gareth - Editor

For a moment, let’s pretend we live in a relaxed world. A world where no one is too worried that a black actress is playing a Tudor Queen. And one where even those that are, manage to keep a cool head.

I say “for a moment” because I’m a realist. No review of Channel 5’s “Anne Boleyn” is going to gloss over it. And I’m not naïve enough to try.

But given the tone of the debate that’s flooded social media since the casting was announced, if that’s where we start, that’s where we’ll finish. And if that’s where we finish, there’s a lot we will miss.

We will miss the fact that the show’s interpretation of the main characters was almost too traditional. Jodie Turner-Smith’s Anne is a temptress who enthrals a weak-willed Henry VIII into doing her bidding, only losing her hold on the King when she failed to deliver the longed-for son. A Victorian could have written that.

We will miss the fact that the writers have done their homework. The show depicts Anne Boleyn as miscarrying her much-needed child minutes after she walks in on love-rival Jane Seymour perched on Henry’s lap. It didn’t happen like that. But Anne did later blame her miscarriage on her husband’s cavorting with his mistress. Clever and creative.

And it will miss the fact that real effort was made to set the scene. The show was filmed at authentic Tudor locations. It casts a realistic light on the limited space, grandeur and privacy that sixteenth-century royalty existed in.

And what kind of reviewer would I be if I let such things pass without comment?

The entire episode is shown from Anne’s perspective. The viewer is drawn into the uncomfortable sense of vulnerability and uncertainty that almost certainly dominated the Queen’s final months.

Henry VIII is practically a non-character. It is Cromwell, rather than her husband, who serves as Anne’s primary antagonist. A clever nod to the complicated reality that Anne’s downfall was at least as much to do with her fall out with the King’s chief minister as it was her failure to bear a Tudor prince.

Naturally, the production took its fair share of dramatic liberties. The suggestion that Henry’s personality changed after a fall from a horse owes more to sensationalism than source material. But much of the relational interplay is rooted in reality. Brother George is Anne’s primary ally, and Paapa Essiedu’s sympathetic portrayal of the often-maligned character is both convincing and refreshing.

The show’s Anne is aggressive. She dominates and she bullies. This was part of who Anne was but it’s not the full picture. Toward the end of the episode, the vulnerable Anne emerges and we will almost certainly see more of her in the two remaining instalments. Yet, the captivating, charismatic Anne was missing. Or, it not missing, diminished. This has more to do with the creator’s decision to begin the plot toward the end of Anne’s career rather than showcase her courtly debut. It is not a criticism of Turner-Smith’s performance which was consistently strong.

Mercifully, I don’t have space to explore in depth the fallout from the decision to cast a black actress as the lead character. Frankly, nor do I have the willpower. What I will say is this: it worked.

The casting of the show was colour blind. It isn’t that they decided to make Anne’s racial background different to her husband and cast accordingly. They just chose not to make skin colour an issue and select the best actress for the part. Anne was more than her skin colour. She lived in an almost entirely white society. Race just wasn’t an issue in her story. It doesn’t necessarily need to be in casting.

Jodie Turner-Smith’s portrayal effectively captures multiple aspects of Anne’s character. It leaves viewers with an understanding of why this controversial Queen has torn-apart opinion for almost five centuries. Can that really be said for all recent depictions of the contentious Tudor Queen?

Overall, “Anne Boleyn” is a better day for art than it is for history. The acting is strong, the location sets the scene and the production tells a story. But it wasn’t a bad day for history either. Will it distort understanding of the era? Like all fiction, almost certainly. But its negative impact on popular perceptions of the early Tudors is likely to be less than Starz’s “Spanish Princess” and predecessor series.

“Anne Boleyn” continues on Channel 5 tonight (2nd June) and concludes on Wednesday, both at 9PM. I’m afraid I don’t know when it might air internationally.

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Who is now the Duke of Edinburgh?

Posted on April 19, 2021April 19, 2021 By Gareth - Editor

Just a quick clarification on the future of the title “the Duke of Edinburgh” because a few folk have been asking.

Philip was created Duke of Edinburgh at the time of his marriage to the then Princess Elizabeth in 1947. He held it for so long and with such distinction, that it’s difficult to envisage anyone else using it.

Nevertheless it is a title with a past and with a future.

When Philip’s youngest son, Prince Edward was married in 1999, it was announced that he would one day receive his father’s title. Edward took on many of his father’s duties including responsibility for the iconic Duke of Edinburgh scheme. Charles may be his mother’s heir. Edward was being lined up to be their father’s.

But Edward cannot really receive the title until Charles is King.

Almost all hereditary peerages (titles like “duke”, “earl” and “baron”) are created for the holder and their “heirs male, lawfully begotten.” Charles, as the eldest son, inherits the dukedom of Edinburgh. To change this would require an act of Parliament. It’s highly unlikely that Parliament will priorities sorting out a royal title over a bill on schools, budgets, hospital or Covid.

Charles could disclaim the title. But it would still be held in reserve for his heirs and could not be easily given to Edward.

So Charles is the duke of Edinburgh. However, it is unlikely that he will ever use the title. He has many titles that most people know nothing of.

When Charles becomes King all his other titles will “merge with the crown.” He can then choose to recreate the dukedom of Edinburgh for Prince Edward, which he has publicly committed to doing.

If – God forbid – something happened to Charles before he became King, the Edinburgh title would be inherited by William.

In theory, the Queen could choose to create a new dukedom of Edinburgh for Edward now. So there would be two dukes of Edinburgh at the same time. It is highly unlikely that she will. It would seem very irregular but as far as I know, there is no law against it. In the 1900s there were two dukedoms of Fife in existence at the same time. Though both were held by the same person.

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Did Margaret Beaufort “fight all her life to make her son King?”

Posted on April 11, 2021April 11, 2021 By Gareth - Editor

“This baby must be a son – this is what my vision is telling me. My son will inherit the throne of England. The horror of war with France will be ended by the rule of my son. The unrest in our country will be turned into peace by my son. I shall bring him into the world, and I shall put him on the throne, and I shall guide him in the ways of God that I shall teach him. This is my destiny: to put my son on the throne of England, and those who laughed at my vision and doubted my vocation will call me My Lady, the King’s Mother. I shall sign myself Margaret Regina: Margaret the queen.”

– Margaret Beaufort in the “Red Queen” by Philippa Gregory

It’s a brilliant book. If you haven’t read it, I strongly recommend you do.

It’s also a book that reminds us how powerful fiction is. Since this book, and the “White Queen” TV series that is partially based on it, public perceptions of Margaret have shifted starkly.

Margaret is no longer the shrewd elder stateswoman who sensed an opportunity for her son. No longer is she the sage advisor who gently guided her boy and his wife in the early years of their fragile reign.

Instead, she is the fanatic. The woman that fought her whole life to put her son on the throne. And in doing so, she was fuelled by a belief that she was in partnership with the almighty himself.

Popular fiction has changed perceptions of Margaret

It’s the basis of a great storybook. But it’s a questionable way of doing history.

Henry VII, Margaret Beaufort’s son, owed his mother a great debt. It was she who sensed an opportunity for him as Richard III’s rule quickly crumbled. It was she who negotiated Henry’s marriage to Elizabeth, the Yorkist heiress. And it was she who attracted early supporters to the Tudor banner.

But if she really believed from birth that he was destined for the throne, she had a funny way of showing it.

Here are just three reasons why it’s unlikely Margaret had such hopes for her son before 1483.

If anyone ever thought Margaret had a claim to the throne, it was dismissed in 1449

During her childhood, Margaret’s guardian was the Duke of Suffolk, a powerful minister and a man with enemies.

No doubt with an eye on Margaret’s fortune, Suffolk “married” his charge to his own son, John. The Duke’s enemies deliberately misconstrued this. Among other charges, Suffolk was accused in Parliament of plotting:

“to destroy your most royal person [Henry VI] and your true subjects of the same realm; with the intention of making John, son of the same duke [of Suffolk], king of this your said realm, and to depose you from your high regality of the same; the same duke of Suffolk then having of your grant the wardship and marriage of Margaret, daughter and heir of John, late duke of Somerset, proposing to marry her to his said son, claiming and pretending her to be the next to inherit the crown of this your realm.”

The claim was clearly bogus. Suffolk had no interest in putting his own lad on the throne. But it has given rise to speculation that Margaret, who was possibly the primogeniture heiress to the then childless Henry VI, was considered a claimant to the crown.

This seems unlikely. By Suffolk’s critics claiming he was “pretending her to the next to inherit the crown”, Parliament was effectively rubbishing the notion that Margaret was close to the royal dignity. They were trying to present Suffolk as a grubby little upstart who would grasp at whatever straws were in reach.

And Suffolk was equally quick to dismiss Margaret’s claim. When defending himself he was clear that suggesting Margaret was next in line was “contrary to law and reason.”

Given Margaret’s own claim had been so publicly rejected less than a decade before, it would be very odd indeed if she held hopes for her newborn son. Especially as by this stage Henry VI had produced a boy of his own.

2. Margaret was loyal to Henry VI and his son. She didn’t consider her boy a rival to them.

We will never know Margaret’s inner feelings during the wars of the roses. But we can have a pretty good guess.

The Beaufort cause was intrinsically tied up with that of the house of Lancaster. They were close kin and the Beauforts had been the most stringent supporters of their mainline cousins. Margaret’s sympathies almost certainly lay with her Beaufort cousins and Lancastrian kin.

When Margaret did rise to power, as the mother of the King, she celebrated the memory of Henry VI and campaigned for him to be recognised as a saint. This might, in part, have been an attempt to emphasise her Lancastrian heritage and build credibility for the new Tudor regime. But it was more than that. Margaret had likely always been a great supporter of the pious King. She would have extended that loyalty to his son. Not seen her own boy as a rival.

Margaret always celebrated the memory of Henry VI

3. She campaigned for her son to be reconciled to the house of York, not an opponent to it

After the Lancastrian defeat of 1471, Margaret made her peace with Edward IV. He too was her cousin. And now undisputedly King of England. Margaret got closer to his court and seems to have achieved a degree of prominence. She quietly worked behind the scenes to see her son restored to his title and returned to England. It nearly worked. Had Edward not suddenly died in 1483, Henry would almost certainly have been restored to the title “Earl of Richmond” and welcomed home. Albeit without a major landed settlement.

If Margaret was secretly preparing the way for her son’s Kingship, she did a good job of hiding it.

There is not a shred of evidence that Margaret ever thought her son could be King of England until it was obvious that the Princes in the Tower were dead and that Richard III’s regime was unstable.

True, she would later claim that a vision from God prompted her to marry Edmund Tudor. This way of making sense of the world was more common then and no doubt Margaret did look back at her life and detect the hand of destiny in her family’s ultimate success. Everyone in the fifteenth century believed in the will of God.

Margaret didn’t want Kingship for her son. Why would she? In a “wars of the roses” world, being King was a risky business. It’s a myth that most nobleman secretly sought the job. What she wanted for her son, and for herself, was safety and prosperity. Unexpectedly in 1483, the crown suddenly became their best chance for both.

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New research reveals the true age of Catherine Howard, says Gareth Russell

Posted on March 31, 2021March 31, 2021 By Gareth - Editor

In recent years, historians have feared that Catherine Howard was just 15 years old when she married the aged Henry VIII. But according to the Tudor Queen’s most recent biographer, robust evidence places her year of birth earlier than has recently been assumed.

In 1527, Isabel Worsley left a modest bequest of 20 shillings to her young granddaughter, Catherine Howard. She could never have fathomed that this little gift would form the basis of an academic debate 500 years’ later.

Like all of Henry VIII’s English wives, the year of Catherine Howard’s birth is shrouded in mystery.

Baptismal records were not systematically kept. Though Catherine was born into a great family, she was firmly on its fringes. Few could have predicted that her date of birth would ever be a source of interest to future generations.

Mercifully, a handful of clues survive. In the will of John Leigh, Catherine’s step-grandfather, the future Queen is not mentioned. Scholars have traditionally dated this document to 1524. Yet, just three years later, Isabel’s will gave due mention to both Catherine and a little sister.

Many have assumed that Catherine must have made her debut between the drafting of these two documents. Given that she had to arrive with time to spare for a baby sister, 1525 leaps out as the most logical choice.

This conclusion matters. It makes Catherine just 15 when she married the 49-year-old Henry and became Queen of England. Phrases like “child bride” or “abusive marriage” may be anachronistic. But they would not be entirely inaccurate.

It’s a horrifying conclusion. But is it the right one?

According to historian Gareth Russell, Catherine’s most recent biographer, there is more to this debate than meets the eye.

“The idea that Catherine was born in 1525 is based on a misreading of her grandparents’ wills,” Gareth explains. “It’s an understandable mistake. But it is unambiguously a mistake.”

The ambassador’s reception

“The most compelling evidence for Catherine’s year of birth comes from Charles de Marillac, French ambassador to Henry VIII’s court. He knew Catherine well. They went on long hunting trips in the summers of 1540 and 1541. And he was paid to make these kinds of things his business.

“de Marillac reported that Catherine was 18 when she debuted at court at the tail end of 1539. While he may have been basing this on her appearance, four years is too big a mistake to make.

“Some argue that de Marillac had poor form when it came to age guessing. They point out that he estimated 24-year-old Anne of Cleves’s age at 30. But this is a misunderstanding. He doesn’t get Anne’s age wrong. He says that if you saw her, you would guess her age at 30, meaning that she looked older than she was. He’s making an unchivalrous comment, not – at least from a biographical point of view – an inaccurate one.

“There’s also a widely-held view that 14 was deemed an acceptable age to marry in Tudor England. But it’s a bit more nuanced than that. Many believed that a 14-year-old would struggle to bring a child to term. Given the primary role of a Queen was to bear heirs, if Henry had taken a wife as young as that, it would have been more widely remarked upon.

“Given this evidence, a birthdate of circa 1521/22 emerges as the most likely.”

A will-full misreading?

On the face of it, the case seems closed. But what about Catherine’s absence from John Leigh’s will of 1524? True, he was her step-grandfather rather than a blood relative. Yet, all Catherine’s Howard brothers prove worthy of a mention.

“When researching my biography of Catherine, I spent more time with these wills than an executor,” Gareth continues. “While John Leigh did add to his will in 1524, it was actually written a year earlier. “Girls were not excluded from Leigh’s will in general. But, if we accept a birthdate of 1521/22, Catherine would have been incredibly young. This probably explains her absence.”

In good company

Gareth’s research also revealed that, if Catherine had been born either significantly before, or significantly after 1522, that would put her at odds with the ages of the other young women who joined Anne of Cleves’s household in 1539.

“In as much as we can date the births of Catherine’s contemporaries when she debuted at court, they were all born in the early-to-mid 1520s. Some argue that Catherine was born before 1520, but this research rules that out. Similarly, a birthdate of 1525 seems a little too late.”

As a result of this extensive research, Gareth argues that 1521/22 is the most likely year of birth for Henry VIII’s fifth wife. This would make her about 18 when she debuted at court, 19 when she became Queen and 21 when she died.

“Ultimately, this is still very young,” Gareth concludes. “While it avoids the horror of the child bride scenario, it still left Catherine suspectable to make the sorts of mistakes we all make at 20 and 21. Mistakes which, even by the standards of the day, should not have warranted death.”

WATCH: the full Royal History Geeks interview with Gareth Russell

BUY: Gareth’s excellent biography of Catherine Howard, “Young, damned and fair”.

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RHG speaks to fan-favourite, Gareth Russell

Posted on March 22, 2021March 22, 2021 By Gareth - Editor

Gareth Russell is emerging as one of the strongest narrative historians of a generation. He has penned books on Catherine Howard, the history of English Kings and the sinking of the Titanic.

In this interview, Royal History Geeks asked Gareth about his research on Catherine Howard, his thoughts on the Crown season four and his obsession with Anne Boleyn. Buy Gareth’s excellent books at Amazon

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The woman in the ring

Posted on March 15, 2021March 15, 2021 By Gareth - Editor

Royal History Geeks caught up with Hever historian, Dr Owen Emmerson, for his analysis on the identity of the mysterious sitter in Elizabeth I’s “Chequer’s ring” portrait

Elizabeth I famously declared that she had no desire to create windows into men’s souls. So perhaps it’s only fair that those of us so fascinated by the iconic ruler, rarely catch a glimpse into hers.

Despite the amount of ink spilt on the legendary Tudor Queen, her inner thoughts remain clouded in mystery. And it’s unlikely that we’ll ever know more than we do now.

But there’s one fragment of evidence that may give us a rare insight into the Queen’s affections. After her death, a ring was prised from her finger. Usually referred to as the “Chequer’s ring” in reference to where it would later be displayed, the artefact contains two portraits. One is Elizabeth herself. The identity of the other remains an issue of debate.

Royal History Geeks caught up with Dr Owen Emmerson, historian and castle supervisor at Hever Castle, family home of Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn.

Disputed identity

“There’s usually three theories given as to who the French-hooded figure in the portrait could be,” Dr Emmerson begins.

“To be honest, I don’t think the first two carry much weight. We’re fairly confident that the ring was gifted to Elizabeth in the mid-1570s. So the real question is, whose memory was it that Elizabeth wanted to keep close at this stage in her life, as she entered her forties?”

A portrait of Parr?

“The first theory is Katherine Parr,” Owen explains. Given the marital history of her father, Henry VIII, Elizabeth enjoyed or endured a parade of stepmothers. But Parr, the King’s final wife, was a maternal figure in Elizabeth’s life from the age of 9 until Katherine’s death when Elizabeth was 15.

Katherine Parr became Elizabeth’s stepmother when the girl was 9 years old

But for Dr Emmerson, the evidence simply isn’t there.

“We just don’t see Elizabeth involving herself with Katherine’s memory in any meaningful way at this stage of her life. In an age when art and portraiture were flourishing, Elizabeth had every opportunity to celebrate the memory of her stepmother. But she never took it.”

A younger Elizabeth

“The other suggestion is that it’s a portrait of a youthful Elizabeth”, Owen continues. “But I find that equally problematic.

“Elizabeth closely guarded her image. She eradicated several earlier portraits of herself. I don’t think she would have appreciated being reminded of her old age. Particularly at a time when the question of the succession was so acutely unresolved.”

A mother’s love

“In this instance, the most obvious explanation is probably the right one. It was her mother, Anne Boleyn, that Elizabeth wanted to keep close.

“As I said earlier, we know that the ring was created for and gifted to Elizabeth around the mid-1570s. The famous portrait of Anne Boleyn, which is today housed at the National Portrait Gallery was created at about the same time. I defy anyone to examine both portraits and fail to spot a similarity.

Anne Boleyn - Wikipedia — This iconic portrait of Anne dates from around the same time as the ring

“One of the most cited arguments against it being Anne is the hair colour. The sitter seems to have a golden colouring. The best evidence we have suggests Anne was brunette.

“But the gold colour really comes from the material the image itself is made of. If you inspect it closely there are remnants of darker enamel. This enamel probably once covered this area of the portrait.

“Contrary to popular belief, Elizabeth often evoked the memory of her mother during her reign. She adopted Anne’s iconography and her courtiers filled their Long Galleries with posthumously created portraits of Anne. She wanted to emphasise and rehabilitate her legitimacy. Elizabeth even had an effigy of Anne at her coronation. This duel portrait very much sits within this pattern of acknowledgement. Subtle and inherently personal.”

Check out the programme of activities at Hever Castle as it prepares to reopen once social distancing regulations ease.

Also, check out “Inside Hever Castle” – a new online subscription that will let you explore this historic property from the comfort of home.

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