Foundation (History of England Vol 1) (64 page)

Six days later Gloucester was appointed as Protector, although the length and extent of his protection was not made clear. The coronation itself was to be held on 22 June, and at that point the young king could declare himself ready to rule on his own account. That might be the wish of his mother. Henry VI had been fit to rule at the age of fifteen; Richard II assumed the duties of kingship at the age of seventeen. So in theory Gloucester had precious little time to enforce his authority. He may also have feared that the Woodvilles were set upon his destruction.

The fact that the queen herself remained in sanctuary demonstrated the uncertainty and danger of the situation. One of Gloucester’s first actions as Protector was to remove the kin and allies of the Woodvilles from positions of influence. In that decision he seems to have had the support of the majority of the royal council, who did not see the dismissals as part of any plot to seize the crown. Gloucester also rewarded his allies. The duke of Buckingham, for example, was granted control of Wales and its border lands; it was a happy coincidence, perhaps, that he also usurped the power of the Woodvilles in that region.

The chroniclers of the period concur that by the end of May Gloucester had prepared himself to seize the crown; hindsight may be the real judge here. It is possible that Gloucester himself did not
know, or was not sure, what to do; he recognized as well as anyone, from the history of his own family, the power of chance and the unexpected.

The first real sign of his intentions came in a letter to his northern allies on 10 June, in which he asked them to come to his aid ‘and assist us against the queen, her blood adherents and affinity, which have intended and daily doeth intend, to murder and utterly destroy us and our cousin, the duke of Buckingham, and the old royal blood of this realm . . .’. His words suggest fear and insecurity in equal measure. He did not mention Hastings as possible victim of these intrigues, because he now had cause to suspect him as well. It seems likely that Hastings had become aware of Gloucester’s decision to supplant the young king, and had decided to resist the attempt; all of the chroniclers report his loyalty to Edward.

On 13 June, at nine in the morning, Gloucester joined the council at the White Tower of the Tower of London in a good humour. There is a lively account of the meeting by Thomas More, in his life of Richard III; the record has often been treated with scepticism, but More’s principal source was undoubtedly John Morton who as bishop of Ely was present on the occasion. ‘My lord,’ the duke of Gloucester said to the bishop, ‘you have very good strawberries in your garden in Holborn. I request you let us have a mess of them.’

‘Gladly, my lord,’ the bishop replied. ‘Would to God I had some better things as ready to your pleasure as all that.’ The bishop despatched his servant, and Gloucester retired to his chamber. He returned to the council, an hour later, in a much altered state. He was now in a sour and angry mood; he had a habit, when perplexed or enraged, of chewing his lower lip. ‘What do those persons deserve,’ he asked the councillors, ‘who have compassed and imagined my destruction?’

Hastings was the first to answer. ‘They deserve death, my lord, whoever they are.’

‘I will tell you who they are. They are that sorceress, my brother’s wife [Elizabeth Woodville] and others with her.’ He then named Elizabeth ‘Jane’ Shore, who had been Edward IV’s mistress, a most unlikely associate of the queen. At this point he pulled up
the sleeve of his doublet, and showed to the council his withered left arm. This deformity was not a new one – More says that the arm ‘was never other’ – but it served the purpose of proving witchcraft against his opponents. Then Gloucester turned on Hastings himself and furiously accused him of treason. Hastings was bundled away and summarily executed, beheaded on a log of wood that lay close to the door of the Tower chapel.

The
Great Chronicle of London
, compiled towards the end of the century, concluded that thus ‘was this noble man murdered for the troth and fidelity which he bore unto his master’, the ‘master’ being the young king held in the Tower. By swiftness and surprise Gloucester had managed to destroy the man whom he suspected of barring his path to the throne. It seems likely, too, that Gloucester had been given information that Hastings had decided to attempt a rescue of the young king from confinement; this may help to explain his impassioned letter to his northern allies on 10 June.

On 16 June Gloucester’s personal troops surrounded the sanctuary at Westminster Abbey, where the king’s younger brother was still being kept. The queen herself was persuaded to yield up her son by the persuasions of the archbishop of Canterbury, who argued that the heir apparent needed the company of his younger brother. The prelate declared that, on his ‘wit and trouth’, he would preserve the safety of the boy and that he would return him to her after the coronation. ‘As far as you think I fear too much,’ the queen replied, ‘be you wel ware that you fear not too little.’ She may have come to her decision in the knowledge that Gloucester’s troops might force themselves into the sanctuary and remove her son by violent means.

She surrendered Duke Richard with the words ‘Farewell my own sweet son, God send you safe keeping, let me kiss you once again before you go, for God knows when we shall kiss together again.’ He was then escorted to the Tower to join his brother for the coming coronation. Nine days later the queen’s brother, Earl Rivers, was beheaded in Pontefract Castle. ‘I hold you are happy to be out of the press [of London]’, an adviser wrote to the Lord Chancellor, ‘for with us is much trouble and every man doubts other.’

The news of the death of Hastings had already provoked consternation in London, only quelled by the gentle ministrations of
the mayor who claimed that there had indeed been a plot against the Protector’s life. Now the time had come for Gloucester to justify himself to the citizens and prepare them for his seizure of the crown. On 22 June a tame doctor of theology, Ralph Shaw, delivered a sermon at St Paul’s Cross – the main centre for government proclamations in the period – in which he stated that Gloucester was the only legitimate son of Richard, duke of York, and thus the only true candidate for the throne. Another report, duly circulated at the time, declared that the two young princes in the Tower were also bastards. It is most unlikely that either claim had much substance, but it is possible that Gloucester believed one or both of them. Wherever a moral high ground was to be taken, he seized it with alacrity.

He could easily have convinced himself, for example, that Edward IV had what was called a ‘pre-contract’ with another woman and that his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville was thereby fraudulent. He had also seen at first hand the debauchery of Edward’s court, and may have surmised that the occupant of the throne was in truth not king at all. Ambition might breed in him a false sense of duty. Fear also was an element in his calculation. Edward V, if he were crowned king, would have no compunction in destroying the man who had killed his uncle. Gloucester was obliged to move quickly.

Two days after Shaw’s sermon the duke of Buckingham, Gloucester’s paramount ally, made a speech to similar effect before the mayor and aldermen of London in the Guildhall. Once more the dubious claim to the throne was delivered with much earnestness and piety – and, as the
Great Chronicle of London
puts it, ‘without the impediment of spitting’. The response of the Londoners was, by all accounts, lukewarm to the point of tepidity; the few calls of ‘yeah, yeah’ at the end were uttered ‘more for fear than for love’. The servants of Buckingham roused one or two apprentices to cry out ‘God save King Richard!’ and as a result the event was deemed to have been a great success.

On the next day the parliament assembled at Westminster, and a roll of parchment announcing Richard’s title to the throne was presented to the Lords and Commons. It was given unanimous consent by these various worthies from towns and shires, and on
26 June a large concourse proceeded with Buckingham to Gloucester’s mansion in London, Baynard’s Castle, where the roll was read out to him; he was then exhorted to take up the crown and, after a period of modest reflection, he decided so to do. He was therefore proclaimed as Richard III.

King Richard rode in state to Westminster Hall where he was seated in majesty upon the marble chair of King’s Bench; this was the seat in which the monarch reposed when he was dispensing justice. Richard had immediately taken on the role of the wise and just king. He delivered a speech to the Lords and Commons, in which he pleaded for fairness and equity in the proceedings of justice. No man was outside the law. All parties should be treated equally. This may be considered a reproof to Edward IV, whose family interests often led him to break or bend the law for immediate profit.

Some in fact welcomed the advent of Richard’s reign. He was known to be a good administrator, and a fine soldier. Surely his reign would prove superior to that of a fourteen-year-old boy under the thrall of his mother and his remaining Woodville relations? Edward V was king for eighty-eight days, a king for spring and early summer; he thus earns the unhappy distinction of enjoying the shortest reign of any English sovereign but in death his influence, as we shall see, was profound.

38

Come to town

In the fifteenth century England was still predominantly a rural society, with only a fifth of the population living in approximately 800 towns. Only one city, London, could be compared with the cities of the European continent; the other urban centres were essentially large towns, with populations well under 10,000. York and Norwich were the exceptions, with populations of 30,000 and 25,000 respectively. The more important of them, such as York and Chester, were walled; so were the port towns such as Southampton. At the other end of this demographic range, the majority of towns contained populations of hundreds rather than thousands. Many of these smaller towns were simply ringed with a ditch.

A Venetian traveller, at the end of the fifteenth century, noted that the country was ‘very thinly inhabited’ with ‘scarcely any towns of importance’. We may imagine a land with an uneven distribution of relatively small settlements, in utter contrast to the territories of the city-states in northern Italy. The small towns had not yet reached maturity; they were part of the great unconscious of England.

The most significant public buildings were constructed of stone; the churches were of stone, as were the bridges. But only the richest merchants built their houses of that material. The rest were constructed as before with timber or wattle-and-daub; the streets
between them were narrow, dirty and malodorous, combining the less desirable aspects of the farm with the detritus of town life. Pigs and chickens roamed the streets and houses; there is a case from Girton in Cambridgeshire where, in 1353, a hen caused a fatal fire by scratching glowing ashes onto a child’s bed of straw. Cattle were kept in the gardens of some town houses, and the back gardens resembled the ‘strips’ of the common farmland producing fruit and vegetables. Orchards and streams lent for a moment the illusion of open country. In many towns you would never be very far from the sound of running water.

The clamour was great, rising in a crescendo on market day, but a few minutes’ walk would take the visitor into the relative silence of the fields or woods. The town gradually faded into the country, with dwellings and yards becoming fewer and fewer until pasture or field or wood became the landscape. The wind was fresher here, less contaminated by foul smells and the fear of infection, and the earth softer beneath the feet. Yet it would be ill-advised to create a picture of pastoral bliss; many trades were pursued in the cottages and hamlets of the countryside, among them cloth-making and leather-working. Fewer clothmakers resided in the town than in the country, where labour was cheaper and less regulated.

The towns were nevertheless the centre of commerce and of administration; they were the sites of assembly and of public entertainment. The market cross was the place where proclamations were made concerning the affairs of the town and the kingdom; this was the cross to which royal heralds would come with news of battle. Here, too, were the town stocks and the ‘pound’ or cage for offenders. Some towns were built in the shade of a castle or abbey, in which they found their most reliable and prosperous customers. Relations were not always harmonious, however, and the monks and citizenry of Bury St Edmunds were engaged in several violent confrontations; abbots did not make good landlords.

Other towns were built at the confluence of rivers, where trade was assured. A number of towns had a whole range of purposes. They grew organically without any plan or coordination; a new street would be laid out when traders multiplied; huts and houses were built outside the walls according to demand. They persisted
and became hallowed by time. In towns as diverse as Winchester and Saffron Walden the building plots, the width of the streets, the topography of the market, still persist and are still visible.