Henry: Virtuous Prince. David Starkey

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СКАЧАТЬ Henry’s mother a pawn in the hands of others? Revolted at the thought of a marriage of convenience to her brothers’ likely murderer? Or did she simply see a marriage – whether to Richard III or to Henry Tudor – that would make her queen consort as the only hope of rescuing the shipwreck of her family’s fortunes? All are possibilities.

      And where Elizabeth Woodville led, her son by her first marriage, Thomas, marquess of Dorset, tried to follow. After the failure of the revolts of 1483, he, like the other rebel leaders, had fled to join Henry Tudor in Brittany. Now he tried to slink across to England to reconcile himself with Richard III. But he was caught and hauled back to Henry Tudor in disgrace. After this double perfidy, Henry Tudor never fully trusted the Woodvilles again.

      Meanwhile, Richard III was making serious attempts to extract Henry Tudor from Brittany. His chosen instrument was Duke Francis II’s low-born minister, Pierre Landais, whom he won over by backing him against his aristocratic opponents. By autumn 1484 the minister was ready to deliver his side of the bargain by handing over Henry Tudor to a certain death. But Richard III’s proved a Pyrrhic victory. Henry Tudor was warned of what was in store and fled across the border to France. Then, characteristically, Duke Francis changed tack and allowed the other English exiles to follow him.

      The flight to France was the making of Henry Tudor. Brittany did not have the resources to back a serious invasion of England; France did. And, as Henry Tudor’s luck would have it, circumstances there meant that he was received with open arms.

      Louis XI had died in 1483, leaving as his successor his only son, Charles VIII, who was aged thirteen. This resulted in a minority, which as usual provoked a struggle over who should enjoy the regency. The losing side in the struggle then sought an alliance with Richard III. This, on the prin-ciple of tit-for-tat, was enough to turn the new French government into enthusiastic supporters of Henry Tudor.

      The French court went to Normandy. There, with Henry Tudor present alongside the French king, the provincial estates voted taxation to finance his conquest of England. Men and ships followed. On 1 August 1485 the little armada set sail from Honfleur for Milford Haven.

      England, Henry Tudor hoped, would be taken through Wales; it would also have to be conquered by French troops, since Englishmen made up less than a fifth of his army of two or three thousand. This too was lucky, for French infantry tactics were considerably ahead of English.

      Henry Tudor came face to face with Richard III’s army at Bosworth in Leicestershire. Richard’s army was much bigger. But, inhibited by a justifiable fear of treachery, the king’s leadership had been uncharacteristically confused and indecisive. The night before the battle he was also troubled by dreadful dreams, and slept badly. As 22 August dawned, however, Richard III recovered himself: it was, he realized, all or nothing.

      Twice Richard III launched his forces against Henry Tudor’s little army. In the first attack, the king’s vanguard broke against Henry Tudor’s front line which, stiffened by his seasoned French pikemen, had assumed a dense, wedge-shaped formation.

      Richard III’s army was now on the back foot. But the king thought he saw a way to retrieve the situation. He caught sight of Henry Tudor with only a small detachment of troops and at some distance from the rest of his army. The chance was too good to miss, and Richard III decided to try to end the battle at a single stroke by felling his opponent in combat, man-to-man.

      There followed the second assault, led by Richard III himself.

      For the last time in England, a king in full armour and wearing his battle crown and surcoat of the royal arms charged at the head of his heavily-armed and mounted household knights. The impact, psychological as well as physical, must have been terrifying. But, once again, Henry Tudor’s pikemen assumed a defensive position – this time in squares – and protected him against the first shock. How long they could have continued to do so is an open question.

      At this moment of utmost need, fortune once again smiled on Henry Tudor. Lord Stanley and his brother Sir William had brought a substantial army of their own followers to the battle. Hitherto – torn between their allegiance to York and Stanley’s position as Lady Margaret Beaufort’s husband – their forces had held aloof. But now Sir William Stanley charged to rescue his nephew by marriage.

      That carried the day. Richard III, despite overwhelming odds, fought on, cutting down Henry Tudor’s standard-bearer and coming within reach of Henry himself. But finally numbers told. Richard III was unhorsed, run through and hacked to death. His naked, muddy and mutilated body was slung across a horse and put on public display before receiving a hasty burial. Meantime, his battle crown, which had fallen off in the struggle and become caught in a hawthorn bush, was retrieved and put on the victor’s head by Lord Stanley.

      Henry Tudor, the only surviving and improbably remote heir of Lancaster, was king.

Events now moved at breakneck speed. On 27 August 1485 Henry VII, as he now was, entered London and offered up his battle standards at St Paul’s, on 30 October he was crowned, and a week later, on 7 November, he met parliament. Its first act was to confirm his title to the throne, though without going into awkward details about his exact hereditary claim, while its last, just before it was prorogued on 10 December, was to petition him to marry Elizabeth of York. ‘Which marriage,’ the speaker declared, ‘they hoped God would bless with a progency of the race of kings, to the great satisfaction of the whole realm.’10

      Five weeks later, the deed was done.

      The story of how Henry Tudor survived against the odds, and won his throne and his bride against even greater odds, is one of the world’s great adventure stories. It made possible our Henry’s very existence. But, in the fullness of time, it would also present him with a problem. For his relations with his father were to be complex at best. Yet he could not deny the greatness of his achievement. Indeed, even forty years later he would take him as the yardstick against which to measure his own record.

      As well he might. His father had won his throne in battle, in man-to-man combat with his rival. And he would defend it in battle twice more. It was the ultimate test of kingship – and of manhood.

      Would Henry be able to do more? Would he be able to do as much?

      Notes - CHAPTER 2: ANCESTORS

1. D. R. Carlson, ‘The Latin Writings of John Skelton’, Studies in Philology 88 (1991) IV, 1–125, 40.

2. J. E. Powell and K. Wallis, The House of Lords in the Middle Ages (1968), 363.

3. GEC XII ii, 905 n.g.

4. Vergil A, 135.

5. Great Chronicle, 212 and 431n.; J. Warkworth, Chronicle of the first thirteen years of Edward IV, ed. J. O. Halliwell, CS old series 10 (1839), 11.

6. C. L. Schofield, Edward IV, 2 vols (1923) I, 546; H. Ellis, ed., Original Letters illustrative of English History, 1st s. 3 vols (1824), 2nd s. 4 vols (1827), 3rd s. 4 vols (1846), I, 140; OxfordDNB, ‘Millyng’.

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