Shakespeare showed Richard as an evil schemer, twisted in mind as well as body, and this image has persisted. The belief that he killed his nephews so that he himself would rule England has a simple, persuasive logic. Perceiving the fallacies that surround it demands a little more thought.
Henry VII killed Richard at the battle of Bosworth Field in 1485. Once on the throne, Henry began a systematic wiping-out of the Plantagenet family to which Richard had belonged. His son, Henry VIII, continued it. In 1541, fifty-six years after Bosworth, he ordered the beheading of Margaret Pole, a quiet lady now nearly 70 years old who had committed no crime except for being the daughter of King Richardâs brother George, Duke of Clarence. Shakespeare was not born until 1564, but the persecution of any potential supporter of the Plantagenet line would have been common knowledge. He depicted âRichard Crookbackâ as a deformed villain, because he could not do otherwise.
The Tudor line came to an end with Elizabethâs death in 1603 and for the first time, dissenters dared to raise their voices. In 1619 George Buck wrote a book in Richardâs support, and fresh thinking began to grow. Horace Walpole defended Richardâs reputation in 1768, and in the twentieth century an increasing number of writers questioned the orthodox belief in his guilt. Many people, however, continue to believe the Tudor version.
As soon as Henry VII became king, he destroyed every copy of the
Titulus Regius
that he could find. That document was drawn up by Parliament (not by Richard as sometimes alleged), and constitutes official proof of Edwardâs previous marriage. One copy survived, so we know its contents. It states that Richard was forced to accept the throne, because his nephews had been declared illegitimate. Henry imposed severe penalties even for speaking of the document, and succeeded in pushing the dark old secret back into its box.
He had two good reasons for this.
Titulus Regius
not only proved Richardâs claim to the throne, but meant that the young princesâ sisters were also illegitimate â and the eldest of them was Henryâsown wife, a marriage eagerly sought by her mother, Elizabeth Woodville.
Almost every history written since that time has glossed over the fact that Edward IV was already married when he took Elizabeth Woodville as his wife. It has been dismissed as dubious hearsay, although the priest who conducted the marriage admitted in court that he had officiated at the private ceremony. After Richardâs death, the Tudor spin-machine was assiduous in presenting its own version of the facts. Strangely, it did not at first allege that Richard had killed his nephews, though it would have been an ace card to play, blackening his reputation forever, as it did eventually. It must be asked why they overlooked this opportunity. There can be only two reasons â either the princes were still alive at that time, or the Tudors knew who had killed them and had not yet thought of blaming Richard.
Sir Thomas Moreâs biography of Richard III was highly critical, and has been the basis for most of the later assumptions. But More, born in 1478, was only eight years old when Richard was crowned. He could not have been an eyewitness to the scenes he described. These come from accounts written byMoreâs master, John Morton, whom Henry appointed Archbishop of Canterbury in gratitude for his many services. Other chroniclers are equally dubious, as all of them were carrying out paid commissions for King Henry.
The whole case against Richard rests on the truth or untruth of the Tudor version of events. Henry VIIâs suppression of the
Titulus Regius
and of the secret that it exposed shows a desperate need to establish a different picture. Henry appointed chroniclers who were paid to write history as they were told to. Elizabeth Woodville was locked away in a convent for the rest of her life and could
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