As Richard set to work planning the coronation and dealing with the day-to-day workings of the government, word came to him that Bishop Morton was a Woodville man and not to be trusted. It was also possible that Morton was carrying messages between Queen Elizabeth at Westminster Abbey and King Edward. With the coronation still six weeks away, the bishop and the queen had ample time to poison the boy’s mind against his uncle. On 19 May, using the pretext that the vast demands of a new government and preparing for the coronation required the king’s constant attention, Richard ordered his nephew to be moved from the Bishop’s Palace to the Tower. Once there he and his household were installed in the apartments formerly used by his father. That Edward was involved, at least nominally, in ruling the kingdom, is attested to by the fact that his signature appears on many surviving documents from this period.
To Richard’s credit, he did not simply appoint political toadies to the new government. He selected men who were capable and experienced, regardless of their political leanings and social standing. He also kept many of the Lancastrians who had served under his late brother, probably hoping that if they were allowed to retain their offices they would be less likely to stir up trouble. But there was always the niggling fear that they would try to block every move Richard made. What Richard lacked was the force of personality – and marriage to a Woodville – that had allowed his brother to hold the warring factions in check. He had to find another way to keep his family in power. To this end he secretly set up a dual council. The official council still met in the Council Chamber at the Tower, but private meetings, limited to those loyal to the House of York, were held at his private residence, Crosby Palace.
Obviously, the Lancastrians had exactly the same fears about Richard as he had about them. Lord Hastings, the Lord Chamberlain, Lord Stanley and Bishop Morton were the leading Lancastrians on the council and they all felt Richard would do anything he could to marginalise their influence at court. The removal of the young king from Bishop Morton’s palace was evidence enough of that.
What both sides did agree on was that having a minor as king would set England on a course to disaster. The same situation had occurred twice within the past century – under Richard II and Henry VI – and both times the kingdom had nearly fallen apart. Both Yorkists and Lancastrians were determined it would not happen again, and both were equally determined that stability would be maintained to their own best advantage.
The first overt move to consolidate power was made by Richard. Anxious to get the king’s younger brother, Prince Richard, away from the influence of his mother and her faction, Richard asked the queen to send him to live with his brother at the Tower. Politically, she would have baulked at such a suggestion, so it was probably put to her that the young king was despondent and lonely in the Tower, and that his brother’s presence would cheer him up. Whatever Richard said, it worked. By early June the boys were living together in the Royal Apartments in the White Tower.
Amid this slowly escalating war of wills, evidence came to light – probably through the Duke of Buckingham – that the marriage of the late King Edward IV to Elizabeth Woodville had been invalid. Records were produced showing that Edward had a previous marriage contract with another woman, Eleanor Talbot. Whether or not this marriage ever took place was irrelevant. According to medieval civil and canon law a marriage contract was as binding as a marriage itself. This meant that Edward IV had been a bigamist and his children by his marriage to Elizabeth Woodville were bastards. The new king, Edward V, had no right to the crown.
It was hardly unknown for a medieval court, or the church, to legitimise a bastard child so that they could claim their father’s name, title and even his throne. Such legal manoeuvrings would certainly have suited the Woodvilles, but at the moment, Richard and the Yorkists held the upper hand. It was particularly convenient that if young Edward was successfully barred from the throne, the man best positioned to take his place was his uncle, Richard, Duke of Gloucester.
On Friday 20 June 1483, members of the Privy Council assembled for their regular meeting in the Council Chambers at the Tower of London. Everyone else had settled in long before Richard arrived. Apologising for having overslept, he immediately left the room again. Uneasy and irritated, the council members began mumbling to each other about the regent’s reliability. Moments later Richard strode back into the room and began accusing one council member after another of plotting treason. William Hastings, the Lord Chamberlain; Lord Stanley, Archbishop Rotherham of York and Bishop Morton were all condemned by name. Loudly protesting their innocence, the men were interrupted when Richard’s soldiers entered the room and arrested everyone who had been singled out. One by one they were marched off to the cells. All except Lord Hastings. He was dragged into the Tower yard, thrown across a beam that had been left lying there by workmen, and beheaded on the spot.
Later that day Richard summoned a meeting of the full council to explain his actions. The arrests and execution of Hastings had been a calculated act designed to undermine a Lancastrian plot to gain control of the government and King Edward. Unsaid was the fact that Richard had proved himself a man of action and not just his dead brother’s puppet. Richard of Gloucester was not to be trifled with. By and large, the entire episode had been a
tour-de-force
exercise in sabre rattling. By executing Hastings, Richard had shown himself a force to be contended with and by arresting the others (who would later be released) he had demonstrated he was both wise and lenient; and he had done it all in a single morning. The lesson was not lost on the council, parliament, the church, or the populace. As a result of this impressive bit of theatrics Richard’s popularity soared. And his message to those who opposed him was clear enough to cause the apparently miraculous reappearance of much of the Royal Treasury – which had disappeared weeks earlier on Queen Elizabeth’s orders.
Within days there were make-Richard-king movements springing up everywhere. If Edward were crowned, between his youth and his questionable legitimacy there were sure to be years of instability. If Richard assumed the throne England would be led by a man of foresight and determination. Better still, his prowess on the battlefield had been proved many times and he would be capable of countering any threat the Lancastrians might pose. From pulpits across England, Richard’s kingly qualities were praised. Parliament and the Council repeatedly asked him to accept the crown on behalf of the people. With little hesitation Richard accepted.
Of course, there was a cost. With Richard set to be the next king, the young princes lost nearly all their political importance. On 25 June, only five days after the council meeting, the boys were moved out of the Royal Apartments and into a large, single room in what was then called the Garden Tower (later known as the Bloody Tower). Their new accommodation was spartan and nearly all their servants were withdrawn. The boys were still seen playing in the Tower yards; shooting bows and arrows and tossing a ball with the wardens, but they no longer played any part in the future of the kingdom. On 6 July 1483 their uncle Richard, Duke of Gloucester, was crowned Richard III in Westminster Hall.
Among Richard’s first acts as king were the customary bestowals of legal clemency. After cooling their heels in a cell for a few weeks – and hopefully rethinking their allegiance to Richard, who was now safely on the throne – Lord Stanley, Bishop Morton and Archbishop Rotherham were all released unharmed and restored to their titles and offices. There were, of course, less pleasant measures designed to ensure the Yorkists’ hold on power. The Earl Rivers, his grandson Lord Richard Grey and Sir Thomas Vaughan (the Woodville party which had been with young King Edward when Richard intercepted them at Stony Stratford) were all arrested and summarily executed.
There is little doubt that Richard was so consumed with safeguarding the new government and consolidating his position that he neglected his nephews almost entirely. They were still the children of his beloved brother, but there were simply more important things to deal with than family visits. One of these ‘important things’ occurred only four months after his coronation.
In October, Henry Stafford, the Duke of Buckingham, who had been Richard’s staunch supporter through the worst of the troubles, mounted a rebellion against the crown. By many accounts, Buckingham was acting on behalf of Henry Tudor, a Lancastrian who had been forced into exile at the age of fourteen following the Battle of Tewkesbury twelve years earlier. The uprising was suppressed and Buckingham was publicly executed at Salisbury shortly thereafter, but Richard’s position was never again secure. At the heart of the king’s problem was a growing concern about the princes in the Tower.
Ever since Edward had been barred from the throne and the boys moved out of the royal apartments, they had become less and less visible. Where were they now? Why weren’t they seen any more? At least the guards at the Tower should know where they were. But there was simply no word. It had only been twelve years since Henry VI had died mysteriously in his cell after the Battle of Tewkesbury and, as always, people love to gossip about their leaders and their families.
The last known sightings of the boys were recorded both in the Great Chronicle of London and by the Italian spy and courtier, Dominic Mancini (to whom the story was told by the king’s physician Dr Argentine). According to Mancini, Argentine said that ‘all the attendants who had waited upon the King [Edward] were debarred access to him. He and his brother were withdrawn to the inner apartments of the Tower proper . . . [and they were] seen more rarely behind the bars of the windows . . . till at last they ceased to appear altogether.’ According to the Great Chronicle, the boys were seen ‘shooting and playing in the Garden of the Tower by sundry times’ during the mayoralty of Sir Edmund Shay, which ran until 28 October 1483.
According to Mancini, the Croyland Chronicle and the writings of Philippe de Commines, before the end of the year rumours and accusations in connection with the boys’ disappearance and supposed deaths were running wild. There were calls for the young princes to be brought before the public. Throughout the later months of the year massed demonstrations, sometimes bordering on riot, protested their disappearance all across the south of England. Strangely, Richard refused to make any comment as to the boys’ whereabouts, their health or address any question concerning them.
But apparently everyone did not share the public’s concern for the boys. Their mother, Elizabeth Woodville, seemed unperturbed about the disappearance of her sons. As rumours and accusations rose, Elizabeth sent her three daughters from Westminster to the Tower to live with their uncle Richard. Certainly Richard was no friend; he had already executed her father, Earl Rivers, and one of her sons, Lord Richard Grey. But these executions had been carried out according to the law as part of the big game of medieval power politics. Certainly if she had thought he was complicit in the death or disappearance of the princes she would never have handed her daughters over to him.
But Richard’s life continued in a downward spiral. In April 1484, his son died at the age of ten. The following year his wife, Anne, followed their only child to the grave. With no heir and no wife to produce another, Richard again became politically vulnerable. In an attempt to bolster his position, he sent for another orphaned nephew, the Earl of Warwick – son of his late brother the Duke of Clarence – and appointed him heir to the Yorkist line. It was not enough. The combination of continuing rumours about the princes and the desperate Lancastrian longing to reclaim the kingdom brought Richard’s enemies into the open. Chief among them was Henry Tudor, Duke of Richmond. Henry Tudor had been in exile in Brittany since the Battle of Tewkesbury. Then he was only fourteen, now he was twenty-eight.
Although officially barred from the throne because he was part of the Lancastrian line, Henry was determined to reclaim the crown for his family. And he had plenty of help inside England. His mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, the Countess of Richmond and Derby, was ambitious for her son and had plenty of money and connections, both of which she devoted wholeheartedly to his cause. On 7 August 1485, Henry Tudor landed at Milford Haven in Wales with two thousand French mercenary troops and began marching eastward to meet Richard III.
Sixteen days later the two armies met in an open field near the town of Bosworth. Richard’s army was more than twice the size of Henry’s and it should have been an easy victory. The battle only lasted two hours and no more than a hundred men were lost on either side, but at a crucial point in the fighting Richard’s allies, the Earl of Northumbria and Lord Stanley (the same Lord Stanley who Richard had briefly jailed after the council meeting of 20 June and whose army alone was larger than that of Henry Tudor) betrayed Richard, turning their men against the king and his forces.
When Richard’s horse stumbled on marshy land, he was thrown to the ground. As Lord Stanley’s men closed in around him, a loyal page fought his way through the crowd to bring Richard a horse – urging him to flee the field. Richard refused, shouting, ‘I will not budge a foot, I will die King of England.’ Now, nearly alone among his enemies, his sword broken and having only a war hammer with which to defend himself, Richard was hacked to death, crying ‘Treason – treason’, in Stanley’s direction. His mangled body was stripped naked and flung across a horse to be paraded through the streets of nearby Leicester. Richard’s crown, lost in the heat of battle, was picked up by Stanley who placed it on the head of Henry Tudor, whom he proclaimed King Henry VII.
Almost immediately, King Henry ordered the arrest and imprisonment of Richard’s heir, the Earl of Warwick; and just as quickly rumours sprang up that Warwick had escaped. But Tower records show he was still there a year later when Margaret of Burgundy sent a cask of wine to him. Along with the new rumours about Warwick were the continuing rumours concerning the fate of the young King Edward and his brother Prince Richard.