Very little is known about Edward of Middleham, the only legitimate son of Richard III. His arrival, his childhood, character, appearance, death and the location of his bones all remain a mystery, although the boy was once in line to become King of England. Even his birthdate is uncertain, with estimates ranging from 1473 to 1477, meaning that he could have lived as many as eleven years, as few as seven, or even just short of that, depending upon when his birthday fell in the year. Edward was one of a group of male cousins born to the three surviving York brothers, the next generation of a dynasty whose fortunes had climbed to their height with the martial victories of Edward IV, and would plummet again as a result of the chaos of 1483. That next branch of Yorkist blood included the Princes in the Tower, Edward V and Richard, Duke of York, Edward, Earl of Warwick and Edward of Middleham, all of whom were born in the early to mid-1470s and should have been in their prime as rulers, warriors, patrons and parents by the end of the century. Not a single one of them made it.
Of all his peers, Edward of Middleham was closest in age to the younger Prince in the Tower, Richard, Duke of York. Both were second in line to rule and both died young but their fates could hardly have been more different. While Duke Richard is likely to have perished at his uncle’s command, by violence or neglect, Edward of Middleham was cherished and promoted by his father to take the very throne that had been denied his cousin. The Croyland Chronicle described Edward as ‘this only son, on whom, through so many solemn oaths, the hopes of the royal succession rested’. Yet all the care Richard III lavished upon the boy could not prevent his premature death. No doubt some of his contemporaries saw the irony in this and, possibly, due to the beliefs of the time, the hand of divine justice at work.
Edward’s existence was the result of an extraordinary marriage that could not have happened but for the outcome of the Battle of Tewkesbury. That game-changing day not only ended the direct Lancastrian line, it also redefined the lives of the victors. On the death of the 18-year-old Prince of Wales, Edward of Westminster, his wife Anne Neville became a widow at the age of 14. Their marriage had been an unusual one, forged out of necessity, of opportunity, perhaps of desperation, as the Earl of Warwick sought out allies to strengthen his invasion attempt of 1470. Yet for years his family had been the closest friends of the Yorkist dynasty and his support of Edward IV earned him the epithet of ‘Kingmaker’ from later historians. Likewise, his two daughters, Isabel and Anne, had grown up viewing Edward’s younger brothers as potential husbands, rather than enemies. Isabel had even married George, Duke of Clarence, so it was no real surprise when Anne married Richard, Duke of Gloucester in the spring or early summer of 1472.
The newly-weds retired to the Neville family home of Middleham Castle in North Yorkshire, to take over administration of the north during the second half of Edward IV’s reign. Within a year or two of the marriage, Anne gave birth to a son, whom they named Edward, after Richard’s reigning brother. The location of his delivery is unknown, but the two most likely places are London and Middleham Castle. Tradition favours the latter, placing the event in the nursery tower, or Prince’s Tower, in the south-west corner of the complex. However, there is no guarantee that this location was not named later, perhaps in response to local legend about the boy’s birth. Edward had certainly arrived by 10 April 1477, when his name was included in the list of benefactors to be prayed for by clerics at the church of Fulmere, Cambridge, along with his parents.1 The following year, the boy was given the title of Earl of Salisbury, which had once belonged to Anne’s grandfather. Referred to as ‘Edward Plantagenet’, he received £20 annually from estates in Wiltshire, as approved by the leading clerics and lords of the day.2
Wherever he was born, Edward did spend a portion of his childhood at Middleham Castle, if not most of it. Situated in the rolling green countryside of Wensleydale, the castle had come into the Neville family in the late thirteenth century, added to over the years to create a substantial defensive base. Shortly before Richard and Anne’s occupancy it had been developed further, to become a more comfortable family home, with residential wings built up around the large, central keep. Situated on the first floor in the castle’s west wing, the nursery would have been warm for the new arrival, as it was above the fires of the bakehouse. The other adjoining wing to the Prince’s Tower, in the south, housed the privy chamber or lady chamber, allowing access for Anne to her son. A bridge connected these rooms to the central keep, which housed the great hall and gave access to the chapel. Life for a child in a medieval castle was fairly insular, much of the family’s needs being provided on-site, or brought in from the surrounding countryside. Edward would have had his own establishment from birth, which functioned within the wider context of castle life, with nurses, rockers, domestic servants and those required to authorise and administer his accounts. It would have been a far more secluded life than that experienced by his cousin Prince Edward, even after the future king had been sent away to Ludlow. In comparison, Richard was raising his son to play a supporting role to his cousin, as a great magnate in the north; it appears Richard never considered sending the boy to be educated at the Ludlow establishment as a young henchman to the future king, as often happened with the sons of the nobility. It seems very unlikely that the two young Edwards ever met.
Edward’s life at Middleham contrasted with that of his cousin in other ways too. The prince’s advantage of age and destiny defined his household as a predominantly masculine one, shaped by chivalric models, while Richard’s son remained under the care of women. Yet Edward of Middleham does not appear to have made the transition to a more adult, male establishment that might have come through advancing age or better health. The court rolls list an Isabel Burgh as his wet nurse and Anne Idley (née Creting) as the ‘mistress of the nursery’. Isabel was the wife of one Henry Burgh, probably also a recent mother, and later received an annuity of twenty marks for ‘good service to the family’. Isabel’s initial role would have ended when Edward was weaned but it was Anne who would have defined the boy’s daily routine and education, approved by his parents and implemented by the mistress, especially during their absence on business. Anne came from Market Drayton in Oxfordshire, where she had been the second wife of one Peter Idley and although she appears to have borne no surviving children of her own, she had been stepmother to at least one of Peter’s sons. It was for this son, John, that Peter had composed a book of manners, or instructions for the education of a boy, called Instructions to his Son, of which Anne must have been aware.3
Idley was contributing to an established tradition. The late fifteenth century saw a glut of instruction books aimed at improving the manners of the aspirational middle classes in every respect, from dining etiquette, to appearance and protocol. The Boke of Nurture, the Babees Book, the Young Children’s Book and the Book of Courtesy were among many texts advising medieval youths to wash their hands and face, tell the truth and ‘let no foul filth’ appear on their clothing. Idley’s Instructions were composed in the late 1440s, during his first marriage, but three decades later his widow Anne had become the guardian of both his book and his legacy. After she arrived at Middleham, her stepson John refused to pay her the annuity they had agreed, leading her employer, Richard of Gloucester, to intervene to ensure the debt was settled. His father’s advice apparently had little impact on John but the future king’s son would have benefited from it.
As mistress or ‘lady governess’ of Edward’s nursery, Peter’s widow would have overseen the arrangements for his education. It is not impossible that Anne taught him directly from the book herself. At the time that she was employed by the Duke of Gloucester, Edward was never expected to be anything more than the nephew of the king, although it was crucial that he received a suitable training for this prestigious role. Idley’s advice filled two volumes, the first dealing with the theme of ‘wise business’ and fickleness of fortune, while the second includes religious teachings and the handling of sin. Family connections and loyalty were important. A young man should leave idleness until his old age and ‘set his mind’ to business, for the advancement of his friends and relatives. He should also honour his parents and see their blessing as a reward. His father’s advancing age should serve as a reminder to a ‘negligent’ child that ‘after warme youth coometh age coolde’. In all dealings, he should be humble and honest to rich and poor, in both word and deed, and respectful of his masters and superiors. It is no coincidence that the maxim ‘manners maketh man’ dates from this period.
Discretion was considered important too. Idley advised keeping ‘within thi breste that may be stille’ and not letting the tongue ‘clakke as a mille’. The avoidance of unnecessary conflict and offence are considered essential to personal control, as the ‘tonge’ could give ‘moche pain’ and ‘a grete worde may cause affray’. In fact, caution was a constant theme in the book. A boy should keep his ideas close ‘as thombe in fiste’ and not be too keen to express an opinion, as it may lose him friends. He should aim for ‘meekness’ as many had been ‘cast adoun’ for ‘grete pride’. Loyalty should be tempered by wisdom when it came to personal feelings.4
Even as a child, boys like Edward were advised to exercise self-control. Not for him the games, japes and ‘evil company’ that could lead him into mischief, even if he had had the opportunity or the good health to enjoy them. Friendship was the greatest treasure the author could recommend, more precious than silver or gold. According to Idley, a man without friends was a man without a soul. Nor should a boy be too hasty in making promises to friend or foe, or too quick to take vengeance. Equally, he should not ask for advice when he was angry as ‘it is harde than the trouthe to feele’ nor accept it from those who were ‘greene’ or inexperienced. He should beware of ‘covetous’ men who could show ‘two faces in one hood’. Interestingly, as Edward’s father would find, Idley warns that ‘a man may somtyme wade so depe, it passeth his power to turn ageyn.’5
Although many similar manuals existed, Edward’s almost certain access to this text encourages speculation as to the lessons he was taught and, by projection, the man and king he might have become. Idley advocated loyalty, hard work, caution and discretion, characteristics that Richard himself had amply displayed as Duke of Gloucester, until he took the throne. This raises the question of how Anne came to work at Middleham. Having spent her married life in Oxfordshire, there is little to connect her with the Yorkists. Peter acted as the comptroller of the king’s household from 1456 to 1461 under the Lancastrian Henry VI, leaving the position on the succession of Richard’s brother Edward IV. He may also have been the Peter Idley who was listed in the court of common pleas as having been in debt to a London tailor in 1466. Did he fall on hard times after losing his job at court? Given how closely the advice in the Instructions tallies with Richard’s character, it is not implausible that Gloucester had read the book and on hearing of Idley’s death, offered his widow a home. Anne was clearly a valued employee, remaining with the family throughout Edward’s short life.
In April 1483, Edward of Middleham may have been as young as 6 or as old as 10. Either way, he would have been old enough to understand the news that Edward IV had died and that his cousin, only a few years older than himself, had become Edward V. He would have bid farewell to his father, who first rode north to offer masses for his brother’s soul, then south, to intercept his nephew’s party at Stony Stratford. News of the rapid developments taking place in the capital may not have all reached Middleham, or else his mother, Anne, may not have passed it all on, but the next certain step for Edward was the dramatic news in June that his cousin was illegitimate. His mother prepared to leave Yorkshire and travel to London, leaving Edward behind in the nursery as the news sunk in that his father was to be crowned king. What was Edward told about the implications of this change, about the fate of his cousins? Did he understand that his elevation came at the cost of their lives? Perhaps the boys were simply not mentioned again, passed over as casualties of a legal detail, not permitted to impede the true succession.
Suddenly, the young boy was catapulted from relative obscurity at Middleham to heir to the throne. His parents clearly had their reasons for not taking him to London at this point. The final weeks of late June and early July were tumultuous and they may have judged the situation too volatile for the small boy; perhaps the journey was too long, or his health not sufficiently strong. In fact, Edward never visited London at all. His parents were crowned on 6 July as he waited at home, trusting that his time would come. But he was not forgotten. The mayor and aldermen of York made the trip to the castle to present the boy with gifts, food and wine on the day of the coronation. It must have been an exciting occasion for Edward and a taste of what was to come.
Today, Edward of Middleham is barely remembered, but between July 1483 and the following April, his future kingship was a very real possibility. For that brief window of time he was his father’s sole heir to the throne and the slender shoulders on which the dynasty rested. Two weeks after his parents’ coronation, Edward was appointed Lieutenant of Ireland,6 a role that had once been held by his grandfather, Richard of York, a decisive move that indicated what the new king had in mind for his son. And yet he was their only son. Anne Neville never bore another surviving child, although she may have had other unsuccessful pregnancies. His parents’ future and, technically, England’s future, was bound up in the health of a small boy few had seen outside Middleham. His father was determined that the public should see Edward as a viable king.
In late July, Richard III began his progress north. Queen Anne stayed at Windsor while the king visited Oxford, Tewkesbury, Gloucester, Worcester and then went on to Warwick on 8 August, where the pair were reunited and stayed for a week in the castle. At Warwick, Anne was presented with a chronicle by the Warwick family historian, John Rous. It depicts the royal couple and their son, in probably the only contemporary image of Edward, although Rous is unlikely to have seen the boy in the flesh. The image of him is just a smaller version of the one of his father, with no identifiable individual features. They were also joined by Edward’s young cousin, Edward, Earl of Warwick, son of George, Duke of Clarence, who was then aged 8. It is impossible to know which of the two boys was the elder but it can be stated that they were close in age, probably a year or two apart at the most. Warwick was also a reminder of the dynasty’s rebellious past and potentially dangerous. George’s seniority of birth would have seen the crown pass to his children following the allegations about Edward V’s legitimacy. However, Clarence’s attainder and execution in 1478 deprived his surviving children, Edward and Margaret, of their inheritance and their chance to rule. The pair had become wards of Richard and Anne, and were based at nearby Sheriff Hutton by 1484. With their nephew in tow, and perhaps their niece, the royal couple left Warwick on 15 August, travelling through Coventry, Leicester and Nottingham.
Edward left Middleham on 19 August, although his exact movements are unclear. Some sources have him staying in York, then joining his parents at Pontefract, while others place him at Nottingham, 120 miles south of his home. What can be stated for certain is that he was created Prince of Wales on 24 August, either at Nottingham or Pontefract, in advance of the family entering York. It was a precursor to the highlight of his life. At York, he was to briefly enjoy a lavish spotlight that was intended to be the first step of an increasingly illustrious career. His father went to considerable lengths to ensure the magnificence of the occasion, to put a seal upon his own reign and the right of his son. Richard’s secretary, John Kendale, wrote ahead to the citizens of York to request they put on the most elaborate pageants and finest speeches, to make an impression of local loyalty upon the lords accompanying the king. Thousands of badges depicting the white boar of King Richard’s device were commissioned to mark the occasion.
According to the city’s council proceedings of 4 August, it had been decided that the local dignitaries would be the first to welcome the king:
At the which day it was agreed that my lord the Mayor, and all my masters his brethren, the aldermen in scarlet, and all my masters of the twenty four, and the Chamberlains, and also all those that have bought out their charges of all offices in this City, shall, in red gowns, on horseback, meet our most dread liege lord the King at Breckles Mills, and over this, the Bridgemasters and all other that hath been Bridgemasters, and all other honest men of the City, shall be in red … and that all other persons, of every occupation, in blue velvet and muster devers, shall meet on foot our said sovereign lord at St James’s Church.
When they arrived on 29 August, Richard and his family passed through Micklegate Bar, where the heads of his father and brother had been displayed twenty-three years before. It was a symbolic choice to vindicate the dead duke’s claim. As part of their welcome, they watched a series of pageants before retiring to the archbishop’s palace. It has been suggested that Edward was ill at this point, too sickly to walk and carried upon a litter,7 but it is difficult to find contemporary evidence to corroborate this. Sixteenth-century historian Edward Hall has the boy playing a more active role, but his sources cannot be verified:
At the day appointed the whole clergy assembled in copes richly revested, and so with a reverent ceremony went about the City in procession after whom followed the King with his crown and sceptre, appareilled in his surcoat robe royal, accompanied with no small number of the nobility of his realm; after whom marched in order Queen Anne his wife, likewise crowned, leading on her left hand Prince Edward her son, having on his head a demi crown appointed for the degree of a Prince. The King was had in that triumph in such honour, and the common people of the North so rejoiced that they extolled and praised him far above the stars.8
Edward had time to rest before his formal investiture as Prince of Wales. On 7 September, the Corpus Christi Guild in York performed the Creed Play for Edward and his parents, an entertainment that was part-pageant, part-miracle play, and took a processional route past various stations in the city, featuring prophets, apostles and scrolls. Although the original text has been lost, the York Creed Play would have conformed to type, with each of the apostles offering an article that contributed to the final Apostle’s Creed, or statement of beliefs. As the centre of this attention, fêted by the city, Edward’s future would have been brought sharply into focus. He would already have been instructed in his family’s history, and that of the recent rulers of England. Perhaps he had also been read the classical stories, French romances and Arthurian myths that had shaped the education of his doomed cousins. Did young Edward allow himself to dream of such a future, following one of these models?
The following evening, Edward attended the archbishop’s palace with his parents, where he was invested by the touch of a sword and the placing of a cap of office on his head. An account in the York Minster Record book relates how ‘the Bishop of Durham was the officiating prelate, and the High Altar was decorated with silver and gilt figures of the twelve apostles and many other relics given by the Lord King’. A translation of the king’s words upon the occasion indicates the level of ceremony and the affection that Richard III had for his son:
We therefore, following the footsteps of our ancestors and with the assent and advice of the said prelates, Dukes and barons of our realm of England, we have determined to honour our dearest first born son Edward, whose outstanding qualities, with which he is singularly endowed for his age, give great and, by the favour of God, undoubted hope of future uprightness, as prince and Earl, with grants prerogatives and insignia and we have made and created, and do create, him Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester … And we invest him as the custom is by the girding on of the sword, the handing over and setting of the garland on his head, and of the gold ring on his finger, and of the gold staff in his hand, to have and hold to him and his heirs, Kings of England, for ever.9
It was during the ceremony at York that Edward met his older illegitimate half-brother, John of Pontefract, who was knighted along with Edward, Earl of Warwick. John of Pontefract emerges in the historical records after Richard’s succession and is likely to have been born in the early 1470s, perhaps to an Alice Burgh identified as Richard’s ‘beloved gentlewoman’, a relation of Edward’s wet nurse Isabel who was awarded an income in 1474. Alternatively, he may have been conceived during Richard’s residency at Pontefract Castle in 1471–72, in an encounter with a local woman. This would have made John around 12 years old at the time of his knighthood in York. In fact, Edward of Middleham had two half-siblings, both illegitimate children of his father. It is difficult to know exactly when he became aware of their existence, but such children were not usually looked upon with shame, rather accepted as part of life, unless they were in line for the throne. The second was a sister, Katherine Plantagenet, who was married between March and May 1484 to William Herbert, Earl of Huntingdon. She is likely to have reached the age of consent of 14 by this time, placing her birth in the first half of 1470 at the latest, making her at least three years older than her half-brother Edward. She died before 1487, possibly in childbirth, as her husband was described by that time as a widower. It is not clear whether the brother she outlived ever met her or was even aware of her existence.
Edward remained in York with his parents for a few days after the ceremony. Then, around mid-September, his mother accompanied him back to Middleham. This may be telling: there must have been a good reason why the Prince of Wales did not travel to Westminster, which he might be expected to have done, in order to observe and participate in the governance of the country. It had been common practice for the heir, especially once he was invested, to undertake an educational regime or to a least be involved in administration or ceremonial occasions. Edward could not do this tucked away at Middleham, nor could he be seen by the people among whom Richard would hope to establish ties of loyalty for the future. Either the boy’s health did not allow it or it was not safe for Edward to travel to London. It is true that rebellion was brewing, headed by the Duke of Buckingham, who wrote to Henry Tudor in his exile on 24 September, encouraging him to invade England the following month. Yet Richard was unaware of this when Edward returned to Middleham. Tudor was not ready to sail until 3 October and the first signs of revolt erupted in Kent a week later. Perhaps the king had received other intelligence, since lost, or was expecting a continuation of the volatile situation of the summer. Middleham was certainly a safer place for his son during these months. Yet after September 1483, Prince Edward drops out of sight. He was not even brought to Westminster that Christmas, to celebrate with his parents. This was unusual for a Prince of Wales. Bearing in mind that he had only just over six months to live, his immobility might be indicative of illness or weakness.
As the year progressed and Richard was involved in fighting the rebels and preparing for the threat of Tudor’s invasion, Edward’s investiture looked increasingly like a formality. He was included in prayers for the royal family that formed part of grants to a church in Yorkshire on 4 December 1483, All Hallows, London on 2 March 1484 and again at Nottingham three weeks later, but never engaged with the world he had hoped to rule. He may have been as young as 8 or as old as 11, both ages considered sufficient for him to have been active with his father in tasks such as overseeing the fleet, or representing authority in court or council. Yet there are no surviving accounts of him having visited nearby locations or written letters to encourage support, as would have been manageable from his base in the north, nor records of his movements. The complete silence regarding his activities would seem to support the notion of worsening illness or a perceived weakness. The suggestion that he was unwell at the time of his investiture may have arisen from reliable contemporary sources, or subsequent ones, and may have a basis in truth.
One interesting aspect of Richard III’s rule helps shed light on contemporary beliefs about death, mourning and memory. Richard had been a mere boy of 7 when his brother Edward won his decisive victory amid the snow at Towton and claimed the throne for the Yorkists. Described by historians as one of the bloodiest encounters ever, during which Edward ordered that no mercy be shown, Towton possibly claimed the lives of as many as 28,000 men. Afterwards, the bodies had been hastily buried in mass graves near the villages of Towton and Saxton. When the area was excavated in 1996, the extent of the battle’s legendary brutality was underlined by the discovery of forty-three bodies packed into a tiny space measuring 6m by 2m and 50cm in depth. The battle was an iconic part of the Yorkist legend. By 1484, looking back at it, Richard could afford to be charitable to the souls of his family’s enemies, in contrast to his brother’s brutality. He ordered the grave pits to be exhumed and the bodies to be given a decent Christian burial:
Their bodies were notoriously left on the field … and in other places nearby, thoroughly outside the ecclesiastical burial-place in these hollows. Whereupon we, on account of affection, contriving the burial of these deceased men of this sort, caused the bones of these same men to be exhumed and left for an ecclesiastical burial in these coming months, partly in the parish church of Saxton in the said county of York and in the cemetery of the said place and partly in the chapel of Towton … and the surroundings of this very place.10
In 1461, Edward had either planned, or actually built, a chapel at the battle site in atonement for the massacre. Twenty-three years later, Richard granted £40 for the chapel, or its foundations, to be ‘re-edified’, and fragments of masonry and glass found in 2013 suggest that the work went ahead. He also appointed a permanent chaplain, funded from revenues from the Honour of Pontefract, to continue the work of helping the slaughtered men to salvation.
Chantry chapels were a common feature of late medieval piety, usually founded by a wealthy patron for the sole purpose of one or two priests to say daily masses and annual obits in their name and those of their family. On the anniversary of their death, or certain saints’ days, the priests might also light candles as a reminder of that soul’s ultimate destination. It was believed that after death, the soul lingered in purgatory while certain sins were expunged, allowing it to progress to heaven. The wicked went straight to hell, but the balance of good and evil meant that the majority of people were in limbo for a certain period of time. Exactly how long they had to wait was determined by their conduct during life, the manner of their death, their good works and the prayers of the living. Therefore, death became a process rather than an event, a journey begun when a soul relinquished its physical body and only completed when it reached its final resting place. Technically, there was a final stage too, the resurrection upon Judgement Day, but that was at a remove. Those souls who had experienced particularly violent deaths, especially those in battle, were considered by some contemporary European sources to remain trapped on earth, as anima, or ghosts. Having been wrenched too soon from their bodies, they mourned their loss and were reluctant to move on. Jerome de Raggiolo’s fifteenth-century Miracles of John Gualbert even depicts them returning to repossess the living, in a vain attempt to experience life again. It was as much in the interests of the living to assist the dead, as it was the dead to seek assistance.
A chantry chapel might be an altar or discrete section of existing churches, or it might be a free-standing building dedicated entirely to the purpose, such as the one on Wakefield Bridge, which Edmund of York had attempted to reach in 1460. Usually established in wills, chantries might cater for a handful of individuals, so the creation of one for the benefit of such a large number of souls, by a non-relative, was not unique, but quite unusual. It worked like a trust fund, allowing the benefactor some degree of control over the perpetuation of their memory as long as their wishes were respected. If the bequest did lapse, the fabric of the chantry itself, the very solid stone presence and the carvings and paintings upon it, was an everyday reprimand. Typical of the times was the chantry chapel founded in 1460 by Sir John Wenlock, later Lord Wenlock, in Luton Church, Bedfordshire. The east window served as a constant reminder to the congregation to remember the knight in their prayers, assisting his path through purgatory, featuring his portrait and a verse:
Jesu Christ, most of might
Have mercy on John le Wenlock, knight
And on his wife Elizabeth
Who out of this world is passed by death
Which founded this chapel here.
Help them with your hearty prayer
That they may come to that place
Which ever is joy and solace.11
Winchester Cathedral also provides an excellent history of the chantry chapel, housing seven that were established from the fourteenth century through to the sixteenth. One of the most spectacular, and the closest contemporary to Richard’s reign, is that of Bishop William Waynflete. Dying in 1486, Waynflete’s career spanned the entire spread of the Wars of the Roses, including the baptism of Edward of Westminster over thirty years before. His chantry chapel is a self-contained unit within the cathedral, a fantasia in stone dedicated to Mary Magdalene, the construction of which he had overseen during his lifetime. Situated at the east end of the nave, almost as a partner to that of Cardinal Beaufort, it is likely to date from 1470, when the cathedral’s great screen was completed. On a floor of Purbeck marble, two pillars enclose the chapel, flanked by two screens decorated by a series of open arches which culminate in canopied niches. Inside, the tomb’s plinth is also made of marble, topped with a life-size coloured effigy of Waynflete, presumably taken from life, dressed in blue, red and gold robes, a blue mitre and white jewelled gloves. The bishop wears black shoes with red-edged soles and carries a crozier.12 The intended duration and impact of chantries is illustrated by the fact that the Waynflete obit continues to be read on the anniversary of his death.
Richard’s chantry at Towton was incomplete at the time of his death. It is a sad irony that his effort on behalf of those souls who died violently in battle was so swiftly followed by his own bloody end. A year later, in July 1486, Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop of York offered to issue indulgences for anyone willing to contribute towards the completion of
a certain splendid chapel expensively and imposingly erected from new foundations in the hamlet of Toughton, upon the battleground where the bodies of the first and greatest in the land as well as great multitudes of other men were first slain and then buried and interred in the fields around, which chapel in so far as the roofing, the glazing of the windows, and other necessary furnishings is concerned, has not yet been fully completed.13
Richard’s intention to honour the dead of Towton in such a way was perfectly consistent with late medieval piety and his own personal religious mission. This was a mixture of social convention, faith and individual redemption, which makes it not quite as altruistic as may appear. It cannot be overlooked that such an act, on such a scale, would have earned Richard himself great credit in the eyes of the Church and effectively bought him more direct access to heaven. Yet all members of Richard’s social class were concerned to purchase memorials and prayers for themselves, to save their souls by the exercise of their worldly goods and status, as even a cursory glance at contemporary wills indicates. Late medieval piety actively encouraged the relationship between wealthy benefactors, the fabric of the Church, the congregation and the dead, for the mutual benefit of all. Richard’s actions serve as a reminder that the dead, and recent history, were not forgotten but still very relevant, and the living were active in the facilitation of their afterlife.
Edward died in the spring of 1484. Richard and Anne were at Nottingham Castle on 20 April, when the news reached them. Even if his health had been poor, his state may not have been considered life-threatening, or might have been complicated by an additional infection or setback. The Croyland Chronicle suggests that his end was not anticipated at that time:
this only son of his … was seized with an illness of but short duration, and died at Middleham Castle, in the year of our Lord, 1484, being the first of the reign of the said King Richard. On hearing the news of this, at Nottingham, where they were then residing, you might have seen his father and mother in a state almost bordering on madness, by reason of their sudden grief.14
The Neville historian, Rous, called it an ‘unhappy death’, although this is more likely to have been a description of the political consequences than the circumstances of the boy’s end. Perhaps Rous had in mind the irony of the situation, which Croyland refers to as a judgement on Richard’s ambition, stating that ‘it was fully seen how vain are the thoughts of a man who desires to establish his interests without the aid of God.’ Rous’s term was also a deeply emotive one for the times, when the emphasis on making a good or happy death, of embracing the end with not just resignation, but acceptance, was critical to the afterlife. A ‘good’ death, met without impatience or complaint, was just as important as good deeds throughout life, but in cases of illness, it might be a drawn-out process, lasting days, weeks or months. With the lack of surviving evidence, we do not know the circumstances of the boy’s death, but then Rous was at a remove from the family, and may not have known more than us. Rous’s comment seems to relate more to the timing and the impact upon Edward’s parents. The chronicler’s reminder that it was a year since the demise of Edward IV indicates a possible approximate date for the boy’s death, around the anniversary on 9 April. The effect of his loss upon Richard and Anne, though, is not in doubt; ‘In a state bordering almost on madness, by reason of their sudden grief’, they left Nottingham at once and arrived back at Middleham on 5 May. In an era that saw the hand of God in every action and reaction, the loss of the king’s only son – on the anniversary of the death of his brother, whose sons he had usurped – would have been seen as significant.
The location Edward’s parents chose as his final resting place remains a mystery. It had traditionally been thought that the tomb of a young fifteenth-century male in the church of St Helen and the Holy Cross at Sheriff Hutton contained his bones, but the carved white alabaster memorial has proved to be a cenotaph, and completely empty. The figure on top appears to be that of a boy of 10 or 11, his features rubbed away over time, dressed in a belted robe and coronet. According to a local story, Edward’s body was brought to Sheriff Hutton while his parents travelled north in order to witness his burial, and the alabaster memorial was created for him but his bones were laid to rest opposite, on the church’s south side, in a vault of the Neville family. This is geographically plausible. The journey from Nottingham to Sheriff Hutton is 100 miles, which Richard and Anne could have covered in a week, perhaps less. If they had left Nottingham the day after hearing the news on 20 April, they could have reached the church and buried their son by the end of the month. They would then have had ample time to cover the forty-five remaining miles to Middleham Castle, to arrive on 5 May.
Yet there are problems with this story. Recent research suggests that the alabaster tomb dates from the first half of the fifteenth century and, therefore, cannot be Edward. Even if his bones lay in the Neville vault, the church of St Helen and the Holy Cross is a small and insignificant choice for the final resting place of an invested Prince of Wales. After the recent ceremony in York, it might seem a natural choice for the boy to have been buried in the cathedral there, in a city which would have mourned and revered him, where Richard could be certain that masses would continue to be said for his soul. Yet there may have been good reasons why the king deliberately chose a quiet location for Edward, to echo the quiet life he had lived. Edward’s death immediately made his father more vulnerable. Anyone seeking to remove Richard’s crown would previously have had to contend with the existence of a son, to whom the title would legally have passed. Perhaps, amid such unrest, Richard did not want to publicise his son’s demise, in case it emboldened his enemies. Perhaps he deliberately kept it quiet, hoping that nothing would be suspected the capital. This might be why Edward was still being named in Commissions of Array that were issued in Westminster on 1 May.
Contemporary protocol also offers an argument against the theory that Richard and Anne witnessed Edward’s burial at Sheriff Hutton. It was against custom for royal parents to attend the funerals of their children, as well as those of their spouse, as their status would place the focus on them rather than the deceased. Elizabeth Woodville did not attend the funeral of Edward IV and neither of them were present when their children Mary, Margaret or George were laid to rest, at Windsor or Westminster, in the 1470s. Richard III would not attend Anne Neville’s funeral, nor Henry VII those of his wife and eldest son, also a Prince of Wales. Royal parents provided for their children’s interments by appointing suitable officers to plan and oversee the details and service, then retreated into private grief. A monarch could not be seen to grieve publicly. However, it would have been fitting for Richard and Anne to visit the church at Sheriff Hutton on their return journey to Middleham, a few days after their son had been laid to rest there. The possibility also arises that Edward’s burial was intended as a temporary measure. Just as Edward IV had reinterred his father and brother Edmund, Richard may have planned to relocate his son’s remains once he had established the collegiate church he was planning at Middleham. However, he ran out of time, so Edward remained in place. It is also possible that Edward’s remains already lie unmarked in the parish church of St Mary and St Alkelda at Middleham, just a five-minute walk from the castle where he lived.
There seems to be no question that Edward of Middleham was deeply mourned by his parents. Very little evidence survives to suggest the boy’s character or suitability for rule, although educated guesses might be made about his education. Yet the dynastic significance of his death for Richard’s reign was even more far-reaching. Without an established successor of his blood, the king was a vulnerable target for his enemies, as his removal could now more easily pave the way for a new dynasty. Richard could hardly turn to the young Edward, Earl of Warwick for to embrace his claim would necessitate recognition that that claim was superior to his own. There was his illegitimate son, John of Pontefract, but Richard could not overlook the very same problem that he had used as grounds to disinherit the sons of Edward IV.
It appears that he now sought out his sister’s son John de la Pole, Earl of Lincoln, possibly as a temporary solution to the succession question. Although this was never formalised, Lincoln was given Prince Edward’s old position of Lieutenant of Ireland, significant for being a title often bestowed upon the heir, and he was already President of the Council in the North. John also had the advantage of being a fully grown adult, able to offer immediate support to his uncle, even immediate succession to the throne, should Richard be defeated by his enemies.
With hindsight, it is easy to identify Edward of Middleham’s death as a turning point for his parents. In a superstitious age, the irony of Edward’s death would not have escape the attention of his enemies, less than a year after Richard had been considered responsible for the death of Edward V and the usurpation of his throne. The threat of invasion persisted through the autumn and winter of 1484, and Richard prepared his army and naval fleet to repel Henry Tudor. He and Anne spent that Christmas at Westminster, which the Croyland Chronicler described as full of scandalous and self-indulgent behaviour, the origin of the rumour that Anne was ill and Richard was intending to marry his own niece, Edward IV’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth. After Anne’s death on 16 March 1485, Richard had to make a public statement that he had no such marital intentions. It seems like this was the beginning of the slippery slope for the Plantagenets. But the Battle of Bosworth had not yet been fought. In fact, hindsight could easily cloud this occasion, as Richard may have viewed the spring and early summer of that year in quite different terms. He had lost his wife and son, but these tragedies presented a new opportunity for remarriage and the fathering of sons. Richard was only 33 and might have anticipated ruling for another decade or two. Henry Tudor was a rank outsider, an exile with a tenuous claim and no military experience; his threat should have been relatively easily dealt with, leaving Richard to remarry and reign in peace. To this end, he began negotiations for a joint match, for himself and Princess Elizabeth, to members of the Portuguese royal house.
Edward has made little mark on history, with few representations in art and literature. While his death was no less a tragic loss than that of his cousins in the Tower, the element of secrecy and lack of surviving information makes him one of history’s notable absences. Having died quietly at home in his bed, even as a Prince of Wales, his fate did not capture the popular imagination or have as immediate, obvious an impact as the possible death of Edward V in the Tower. Edward of Middleham almost passed away unnoticed and unmourned, save for his immediate family and the loyal servants who had raised him in seclusion. After 1485, the king’s name was vilified and aspects of his humanity downplayed or forgotten, including his fatherhood. The identity and historical reputation of Edward of Middleham was a casualty of this. Yet one small shift occurred as a result of his loss, which could have repercussions within a few years. With the passing of the Yorkist mantle to John, Earl of Lincoln, the stage was set for violent conflict that would surface to haunt the new Tudor regime.