The Last Plantagenets (55 page)

What might be termed a mystery within a mystery has developed over the authorship of the More book, which will be identified hereafter as the
History
. There were two versions, one in Latin and one in English. Some authorities declare it to have been the work of Cardinal Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury, in whose household the young More served (he was not quite eight when Richard died) throughout his youth. Twenty-two years after More’s death, in 1557, a relative named Rastell found the English version among his papers and printed it. However, the Latin version had been printed in 1543 by Grafton, incorporated with more material from what was called the Great Chronicle. The Grafton edition carried the story some distance beyond the translation which
Rastell found, which might indicate that More had not completed the work he set out to do.

There is an obvious reason to support the More theory. St. Thomas More was one of the greatest and most appealing figures in English history, a man of courage, of high purpose, and of an engaging wit. As chancellor under Henry VIII he refused to support the divorce of Catherine of Aragon and the king’s marriage to Anne Boleyn. For this he was sent to the Tower by Henry, who could not brook opposition, and finally he was beheaded. Coming from such a source, it is easier to believe the almost fantastic story told of Richard’s wickedness and his murder of the princes. More’s integrity cannot be questioned, even though acceptance of him as the author leaves doubts as to the soundness of his historical judgment.

On the other hand, Morton was the right-hand man of Henry VII and one of Richard’s dangerous enemies. He is given credit for Henry’s most ingenious method of extracting money from his subjects, which is called “Morton’s Fork.” His instructions to the collectors in the field ran to this effect: “If the persons applied to for a benevolence live frugally, tell them their parsimony must have enriched them and therefore the king may expect from them a liberal donation; if their method of living on the contrary be extravagant, tell them they can afford to give largely, since the proof of their opulence is evident from their great expenditures.” Morton, conniving servant of a sly master, became so unpopular that his methods have remained an unpleasant legend in English history. Being more expert in the use of his legal fork than in the wielding of a scholarly pen, it was less likely that the story of Richard’s reign would be believed if it came from him.

This, however, is a matter of relatively small importance, for it is agreed that the information on which the
History
is based was supplied by Morton.

The work in question is no more than a fragment, a matter of, roughly, 25,000 words. It is in no sense a history of the reign of Richard, paying no attention to parliamentary records and having nothing to say about the thoroughness and fairness with which the king administered the laws. In fact, it deals almost exclusively with the many charges against Richard and is the only authority for most of them, although in no case does it offer proofs. The
History
, in fact, reads like a political broadside (as many historians have pointed out), a deliberate effort to garnish the coming of the Tudors and to cast a friendly light about the new incumbent of the throne, the far-from-glamorous Henry. Never before nor since has an important stage of history depended so completely on such a brief and unsatisfactory document.

Can it have been that Sir Thomas More’s failure to finish the work after keeping it for so many years was the result of doubts he began to entertain of the honesty and value of the material his erstwhile master had entrusted to him?

To understand this scarcity of sources, it is necessary to look at the conditions which prevailed at the time. England, with her thick green woods and lovely meadows enclosing a multiplicity of hamlets, was not a land of great distances, but it seemed to be so when all travel was by foot or horseback. The roads were always rough and sometimes swampy. The ravages of war had converted bridges into piles of rubble jutting up above the surface of the water like the last black fangs in a gaffer’s jaw. Watling Street and Ermine Street, the main thoroughfares, stretched interminably north and west. The king’s writ still did not run beyond the beautiful Wye as it twisted and turned and rolled down from Plinlimmon to the Estuary. England seemed far removed from the continent because the winds of the North Sea and the Channel made navigation a matter of chance and a prayer. At many momentous periods, armies and fleets were held in leash for weeks while waiting a favorable turn of weather.

It followed that news traveled slowly. The country districts were fed on rumor and surmise and hearsay, supplied by such wayfarers as chanced to come their way. Richard did his best to correct this situation by re-establishing the post which his brother Edward IV had started in 1482. This made it possible to deliver messages by fast relays for 200 miles within two days. This, of course, was an official post, and so most people, in spite of it, lived out their lives in the same ignorance of what was happening and without ever glimpsing a pen print on a letter, which disturbed them not at all because they could not read. William Caxton might be inking his plates and printing his books industriously, but rarely did the eye of even a learned prior in a monastery rest on a printed page. Newspapers would not be dreamed of for centuries to come. There was no agency at Westminster which had the responsibility of keeping a chronological record of what transpired. This had been left for centuries to the monasteries where monks had compiled chronicles of uneven value. It is unfortunate that during this particular period the page of medieval history was more blank than ever before. Perhaps the continual clamor of internal war had taken men’s thoughts away from the ordinary processes of living, but it so happened that the monkish chronicles had been
discontinued. Save one, the not always accurate Croyland Chronicle.

Croyland was an abbey of the Benedictine order, lying north and east of Peterborough. Despite its isolation in what was called the Fen country, with the land low and swampy about it, the abbey was the most opulent in East Anglia. The church had a nave of nine bays and the aisles were 183 feet long, which gives an indication of considerable splendor.

It is unfortunate that the only monastic record left to consult was so far removed from the necessary sources of information. A study of this chronicle leaves the impression that it also had been suspended for a time and that it was resumed later. The new incumbent was responsible for often-quoted entries bearing on rumors of the deaths of the princes as well as some of the deliberately and brutally unfair stories about the married life of Richard.

T
HERE is a much to be deplored practice in the prosecution of criminal cases in the law courts of the present day. An ambitious and unscrupulous district attorney, determined to have a long record of convictions, will ask a defendant such questions as, “Were you arrested in 1952 for criminal assault?”, “Have you ever been convicted on charges of bigamy?”, “Were you arrested for kidnaping last year?” There is always a brusque note about this form of interrogation. A crisp and indignant “Confine yourself to answering the question, a mere Yes or No will suffice” shuts the defendant off if he attempts to make any explanation. The innocence of the man in the dock on all these counts may be established in the course of the cross-examination; but the harm has been done, he is a suspect character in the minds of the jury and the way has been prepared for pressing the charge on which he has been brought to trial. This is called “throwing the book” at him.

It is not a new practice. Clearly it was understood by Morton, the prelate given credit for the information on which the
History
is based. He saw the value of convincing the world that Richard was a villain of the worst kind before he proceeded to lay the most heinous charge of all against him. Like an unscrupulous prosecutor, he charged the dead king with the blackest of crimes. In doing so he did not give proofs, he simply made flat statements. History followed him on all counts, citing him as authority.

Here is a list of the crimes laid at Richard’s door, most of them straight from the
History
or from other books published in later generations:

He pressed for the execution of his brother, George of Clarence, who will be remembered in the matter of the butt of malmsey.

He joined in the murder of young Prince Edward, son of Henry VI, after the Battle of Tewkesbury.

He slew King Henry “Sixt” with his own hand.

He had his brother Edward IV declared illegitimate in an open announcement at St. Paul’s Cross, thereby accusing his own mother of adultery.

He forced Anne Neville to become his wife, even though she hated him, and later considered having her poisoned so he could marry his own niece.

This is indeed “throwing the book” with a vengeance. The sad part of it was that the throwing was all that was necessary. The Tudor historians accepted everything that was charged. Had not Sir Thomas More said it?

Let us consider such of the charges as may be dealt with to best advantage at this stage.

The
History
has this to say about Richard’s part in the death of George of Clarence: “He [Richard] lacked not in helping further his brother Clarence to his death; which he resisted openly, howbeit somewhat (as men deemed) more faintly than he was heartily minded to his wealth—he was glad of his brother’s death, the duke of Clarence, whose life must needs have hindered him—- But of all this point there is no certainty.”

It has already been made clear that it was Edward IV himself who forced the issue in the matter of Clarence, being ever mindful of the latter’s long record of treacheries and weary of his intrigues and his assumptions of royal prerogative, his ears ringing, moreover, with the complaints of his queen and her kinsmen, all of whom hated Clarence. Edward appeared in the House to act as prosecutor against Clarence and the hearing consisted exclusively of a bitter debate between them. It was a board presided over by the Duke of Buckingham, and on which Richard did not sit, which pronounced the sentence of death.

Even the
History
is compelled to assert that Richard “resisted openly,” meaning that he declared himself against the execution of his brother. By what right can the sincerity of his attitude be questioned, particularly as no act or word can be cited to prove the “faintness” of his stand?

Richard was the youngest member of the family and also the one ugly duckling, lacking the fine stature of his three brothers, Edward, Edmund, and George, and the fairness of face that all three shared with their lovely sisters. It has been conceded that the dark and poorly boy had no envy in him because of his lacks. He loved them all. His loyalty
and affection for his oldest brother, great Edward, was evident at every turn. As he grew into manhood, the fine qualities of courage and judgment he developed were never employed for his personal advancement. Everything was for the mighty and sometimes indolent Edward and to keep the family in power. Never had king a brother who could be relied upon more completely.

With Clarence it was a different matter. After his open break to join Warwick and the Lancastrian cause, he always had to be watched. He was a constant thorn in the flesh. He was bitterly opposed to Richard’s marrying Anne Neville because he himself was already the husband of Isabel, the older of the two Neville heiresses. Generous fellow that he was, he wanted Isabel to have everything and Anne nothing. Naturally enough, Richard disputed this but he finally agreed to an arrangement which certainly favored Clarence. It is probable there was less warmth of feeling between them after that but Richard gave no evidence of deep-seated malice. In stating that Richard was “heartily minded to his [Clarence’s] wealth,” the
History
overlooks the fact that the division of the estates had already been made and that he would not benefit by his brother’s death.

Men may
deem
many things, and the tongue of slander may be depended upon to spread idle lies. But it is not the function of an honest historian to publish such tattle and label it fact.

The accepted story of the death of young Prince Edward is that he was killed during the retreat from the field at Tewkesbury and it was not until a generation later that the effort was made to charge Richard with his death. The
History
did not refer to the battle and it remained for Polydore Vergil, the hired historian of Henry, to assert that the prince was taken prisoner and murdered. He adds, however, that Richard was one who stood aside and played no part in the killing. The complaisant historians who followed, being tender to the nod of Tudor kings, went further and incriminated Richard in the assassination.

In consideration of the part Richard played in the battle, this seems impossible. Edward, the shrewd and aggressive commander, always the architect of victory, had a tendency to consider his part done when the enemy fled from the field. The rest would devolve on someone playing the part of a chief of staff, although that term had not come into use. It is clear from everything that can be gleaned about the last battles that it was Richard on whom these tasks fell. He had commanded the van
at Tewkesbury which included the cavalry, and it was his spearheading charge against the Lancastrian center, where the Duke of Somerset and the prince were in command, that started the rout. Now Richard was not the kind of leader who led his army from behind. Instead he rode in front, his emblem of the White Boar fluttering in his helmet and on the accouterments of his horse. With the aid of a concealed body of 200 spearmen who had been craftily concealed in a clump of trees by the wily tactician Edward, he drove the Lancastrian center from its position. It was Richard who led the pursuit through the Bloody Meadow and all the way to the ford of the Avon at Abbey Mill. It was during this pursuit that the Lancastrian losses mounted up and that the young son of Henry VI was killed.