5

‘Þe Castel of Care’¹

Thursday 2 June 1485 – the Thursday after Trinity Sunday – was the Feast of Corpus Christi.² This was a relatively recent feast day of the western Church, which had been officially approved by Rome only in the fourteenth century. It was very popular, and was universally celebrated with great enthusiasm. The feast celebrates the sacramental ‘Real Presence’ of Christ in the elements of Holy Communion. Thus the principal liturgical focus of the celebration was and is the ‘Host’, or wafer of bread consecrated by the priest at mass. On the Feast of Corpus Christi a large consecrated Host is traditionally displayed in a monstrance.³ This is then borne aloft by a priest richly robed in a cope. In modern celebrations the priest also wears a humeral veil over his shoulders and arms, so that his hands are not in direct contact with the sacred vessel, but medieval depictions of Corpus Christi celebrations do not show this veil, the wearing of which may not have been the practice in the fifteenth century. In other respects, however, fifteenth-century Corpus Christi processions were clearly very similar to those that may still be seen today. Preceded by thurifers with incense-burners and an acolyte ringing a sanctus bell, accompanied by burning torches, and walking beneath a canopy of rich fabric, the priest would process out of the church into the village streets. In country districts the procession then made its way to the local fields, where, holding the monstrance aloft, the priest would trace the sign of the cross with the consecrated wafer in blessing. Towns and cities likewise had their Corpus Christi processions, often accompanied in the Middle Ages by dramatic interludes, enacted at various pausing places or ‘stations’ where the Host and its bearers could rest on their way.

In 1485, on the vigil or eve of this feast day, the king and his attendants rode out from Kenilworth Castle heading for the city of Coventry, a few miles to the north-east. This short royal visit was obviously undertaken to allow Richard the opportunity of celebrating the coming feast day in Coventry. There, every year, as the king and his court knew well, one of the greatest medieval drama cycles in all England was mounted in honour of this holy day. ‘In its fullest form the cycle comprised at least ten plays, though only two have survived to the present day. Of these two, the Shearmen and Tailors’ Pageant was a nativity play portraying events from the Annunciation to the Massacre of the Innocents, and the Weavers’ Pageant dealt with the Purification and the Doctors in the Temple.’⁴ By the sixteenth century the Shearmen and Tailors’ play included the famous ‘Coventry Carol’ for the scene of the massacre of the Innocents, and although the earliest known text of this carol dates only from 1534, it is very probable that Richard III heard it sung at the Corpus Christi celebrations in Coventry just two months before his death.⁵ If so, the words of this song (which laments the fate of innocent children murdered by a wicked king) apparently carried no special significance to Richard’s ears, nor to those of the citizens of Coventry who watched the pageant with him that summer.

Richard III was already familiar with the lavish Corpus Christi celebrations held annually in the city of York, which he had attended on various occasions prior to his accession, and again with Queen Anne Neville in 1484.⁶ It seems the king was now eager to see how the feast was celebrated in Coventry. Richard had visited Coventry on previous occasions – but not, so far as is known, on the Feast of Corpus Christi. Nor was he the first fifteenth-century monarch to stay in Coventry. Henry VI and his queen, Margaret of Anjou, had been earlier royal visitors. The Lancastrian sovereigns had based their Coventry court on St Mary’s Guildhall, a building which, though damaged during the Second World War, nevertheless survives (see figures 13 and 14). It was probably also at this guildhall, and beneath its carved, painted and gilded wooden ceiling of angel musicians, that Richard III was entertained during his 1485 visit to Coventry.

The royal visit lasted a few days. By Monday 6 June at the latest, the king had returned to Kenilworth Castle. Later that week, probably on or about Thursday 9 June, Richard III and his suite set off again in a northerly direction, riding to Nottingham Castle, which they would have entered by means of the surviving gateway on the eastern side of the castle bailey (see figure 18). This castle was centrally located in Richard’s kingdom and was strongly defended, and these may have been among the reasons why he now decided to make Nottingham his base. Indeed, most previous writers have assumed that the king’s choice of Nottingham as his residence at this juncture was motivated by military considerations. However, we should not necessarily take too grim a view of the factors underlying Richard’s decision. One must also remember that Nottingham Castle had consistently been a favourite residence of the Yorkist kings.⁷ Nor need this visit be seen as a sign of gloomy prognostications on the part of the king – though many historians have chosen to so interpret it. The king had last been at Nottingham Castle the previous summer, and this in itself may indicate that it would have become a habitual port of call for him at about this time of year had his reign continued. In 1484 he had been accompanied by his consort, and it had been at Nottingham Castle that the royal couple had received news of the death of their young son. Large parts of the medieval castle that Richard knew were demolished and rebuilt in the seventeenth century, and ‘we have no authentic drawing of the Castle as it existed when in its complete state [but] … we can get a good general idea of its appearance from the plan made by an architect named John Smithson in 1617’.⁸

Nottingham Castle had been a favourite with the late King Edward IV, who enlarged it:

carrying almost to completion the work of his predecessors, and made it his chief residence and military stronghold. In addition to the Norman fortress on the highest part of the plateau (the site of the present Art Museum), the whole of the space now known as the Castle Green formed at this time the inner ballium, surrounded by beautiful buildings, protected by a dry moat, with portcullis and drawbridge, with fantastically sculptured ‘beasts’ and ‘giants’ on the parapet, and all the recognized means of defence; in fact, it was now looked upon as one of the largest and most magnificent castles in the land, and a secure retreat in time of danger. Edward’s love for the place was perhaps only exceeded by that of his brother Richard, who completed with loving care what little remained to be done at the time of Edward’s death. The great tower at the N.W. angle – ‘the most beautiful part and gallant building for lodging,’ as Leland termed it – had been carried up for three storeys in stone, and Richard completed it by erecting ‘a loft of tymbre with round windows (i.e. bow windows) also of tymbre, to the proportion of the aforesaid windows of stone, which were a good foundation for the new tymbre windows.’ … Thereafter the great tower which he had completed was known as ‘Richard’s Tower’.⁹

From Nottingham Castle, on Tuesday 21 June, Richard sent instructions to Bishop John Russell, the Chancellor, to reissue a royal proclamation against Henry ‘Tudor’ and his allies, which had first been published the previous December. Two alterations were now made to the text. The name of Elizabeth Woodville’s son, the Marquess of Dorset, was removed from the list of ‘ rebels and traitors’. At the same time, details were supplied carefully chronicling Henry ‘Tudor’’s bastard royal descent.¹⁰ The omission of Thomas Grey’s name was no mere oversight. First, it was part of Richard’s ongoing attempt at a rapprochement with the Woodville family – and particularly with Elizabeth Woodville and her children – of which we have already noted signs in connection with his Portuguese marriage plans. Second, it was a clear indication of the fact that Richard III was well aware that the marquess (who had fled into self-imposed exile after his involvement in the so-called ‘Buckingham Rebellion’, and taken refuge with Henry ‘Tudor’) had subsequently been strongly encouraged by his mother, the erstwhile queen, to put his trust in Richard and return to England. Indeed, Dorset had actually sought to escape from the ‘Tudor’ ‘court’ in Paris by night, making for the French coast and for England beyond. However, he had been overtaken by Henry ‘Tudor’’s men at Compiègne and ‘persuaded’ to return to Paris. Thus in June 1485 Richard III knew that Dorset was an unwilling ‘Tudor’ supporter.¹¹

As for the details which Richard published of Henry ‘Tudor’’s illegitimate descent, this accords well with his recorded actions on other key occasions. In 1483, for example, faced suddenly and unexpectedly with Bishop Stillington’s revelation of Edward IV’s marriage to Eleanor Talbot (in consequence of which Edward’s Woodville marriage was bigamous, and the children of it bastards), Richard’s immediate reaction was to bring all the evidence out into the open and make it publicly accessible, so that people could see and judge for themselves. It was not, apparently, in Richard’s nature to ‘hush things up’. In the same way, he now set out the facts of the very dubious royal descent of Henry ‘Tudor’, no doubt in the conviction that these would speak for themselves. Obviously, Henry ‘Tudor’’s false claim to be a younger son of Henry VI was well known in English court circles to be ridiculous, and could not be left unchallenged. Richard was an honest man, but perhaps politically somewhat naive. He seems not to have realised that not everyone was as concerned as he was that the sovereign’s claim to the throne should be unimpeachable.

On Wednesday 22 June instructions were sent out to the commissioners of array for every county in the realm:

For asmoche as certain informacion is made unto us that oure Rebelles and traytors associate with oure auncyent ennemyes of Fraunce and other straungiers entende hastely to invade this oure Royaulme purposing the distruccion of us, the subversion of this oure Royaulme and disheriting of al oure true subgiettes We therefore wol and straitly commaunde you that in alle haste possible after the Receipt hereof ye doo put oure Commission heretofore directed unto you for the mustering and ordering of oure subgiettes in new execucion according to oure instruccions whiche we sende unto you at this tyme with thise oure lettres. And that this be doon with alle diligence. As ye tender oure suertie the wele of youre self and of alle this oure Royaulme.¹²

The specific instructions appended to this letter were that the commissioners of array should first pass on to the king’s subjects his thanks for their past services in resisting traitors and rebels, urging them to renew their efforts now. Second, they were to check that all men already mustered were properly equipped, and that their wages had been paid up to date. Third, they were to notify all knights, esquires and gentlemen to appear in person at the king’s array, assigning each of them to the command of suitable captains. Fourth, all men were to be warned to be ready to serve the king at an hour’s notice, and last, all lords, noblemen and captains likewise were commanded to present themselves, ready to serve the king, and setting aside any private quarrels.

Despite this last injunction, on or about Friday 24 June Richard’s Chamberlain, and Constable of England, Thomas, Lord Stanley requested leave of absence from the court and from attendance upon his sovereign. In May, Lord Stanley had ridden out of London to Windsor Castle at Richard’s side, and he had been in continuous attendance on the king throughout the following weeks. Nevertheless, his overall record was equivocal. At various times during the succession disputes, Stanley had supported both York and Lancaster. Although, in the immediate aftermath of Edward IV’s death, he seems to have sided with Lords Howard and Hastings, supporting Richard as Lord Protector and opposing the ambitions of the Woodville family, like Lord Hastings he seems to have baulked at the notion of disinheriting Edward IV’s children.¹³ When Hastings was executed, Stanley had briefly been imprisoned. His already somewhat equivocal loyalty was unquestionably further complicated by the fact that he had married as his second wife Lady Margaret Beaufort. As a result of this marriage he had become the exiled Henry ‘Tudor’’s stepfather. Despite all this, Richard III had been willing to employ him, and to entrust him with responsible posts in his household and government. Now, however, Stanley asked ‘leave to retire for a time to his estates, from which he had been long absent, in order to rest and refresh himself. Should the invasion occur during this interval, he was quick to point out, he would be the better able, at home, to rally his men to the king’s cause.’¹⁴

It is surely a measure of Richard III’s character that, instead of refusing, dismissing Stanley from his posts, or imprisoning him as a suspected traitor, he simply acceded to the request. Ironically (given the popular picture which has been painted of him since the sixteenth century), one key feature of Richard’s character was apparently a lack of ruthlessness. Time and again his behaviour proved too kind, too generous, too trusting. Thus Bishop John Morton and others survived to betray him. And now, in the penultimate week of June 1485, Richard repeated his mistake, and allowed Lord Stanley to depart. The king was in the strongly fortified castle of Nottingham, surrounded by his yeomen. ‘He had but to move his hand and, whatever course the house of Stanley might take, the enigma of Lord Stanley himself would be solved by simply holding him in custody until the invasion had been mastered. No doubt John Kendall, Ratcliffe, Catesby, when they learned of Stanley’s desire, begged him [Richard] to refuse it.’¹⁵ Yet Richard III granted Lord Stanley his leave of absence, and Stanley rode off into the west.

On Richard III’s previous visit to Nottingham Castle, the year before, he had been accompanied by his wife. And although their son, Edward of Middleham, had not been with them in Nottingham, the boy had still been alive at the time of the royal couple’s arrival there. By contrast, on his visit in 1485 Richard III was alone as far as his immediate family was concerned, even though he had trusted friends and supporters with him. Possibly one of his distractions at this time was music: an art in which the king had a great interest. In 1484 a foreign visitor to Richard’s court had been most impressed by the quality of the music at the royal mass.¹⁶ It is also on record that:

as king Richard issued a warrant to one of the gentlemen of his chapel ‘to seize for the king all singing men as he can find in all the palaces, cathedrals, colleges, chapels, houses of religion and all other places except Windsor royal chapel’, and some of his musicians were identifiable composers.¹⁷

Like many of the aristocracy Richard employed his own performers, and in the years before he ascended the throne we find mention of his trumpeters, his minstrels, and his shawm players.¹⁸ The shawm was a robust and lively instrument from which the rather more genteel modern oboe and clarinet are descended. As Duke of Gloucester, Richard also had his own ‘players’, and there were more than four of these in his troupe.¹⁹ The players in question were probably actors rather than musicians, though the English word could have either meaning.²⁰ We know that within a year of Richard’s death, Henry VII was maintaining a company of four actors who were called lusores regis (‘the King’s Players’), and there is no reason to suppose that this was an innovation at court. ‘Since these men were specialists in the presentation of stage-plays they needed both a repertoire of scripted plays and certain minimum physical conveniences for their performance.’²¹ Although medieval plays are best known today from religious contexts, this is largely an accident due to the survival of texts of miracle and mystery plays. Secular dramas certainly existed too, though little trace of them has survived.²²

During his stay at Nottingham Castle, Richard III also had time to remember his interest in the University of Cambridge, and specifically in Queens’ College, which he and Queen Anne had already conspicuously patronised. In July 1485 the king granted to the president of the college – his friend, Master Andrew Dockett – a selection of lands in Buckinghamshire, Lincolnshire, Suffolk and Berkshire, the combined value of which, in terms of yearly income, amounted to £329 3s. 8d.²³

Yet even amongst his varied interests and activities in the summer of 1485, Richard could not completely forget the threat posed by Henry ‘Tudor’, the self-styled ‘earl of Richmond’, whose French-financed expedition was now poised at Harfleur for the invasion of England. On Sunday 24 July the king sent to his Chancellor in London asking for the Great Seal. It was not that Bishop Russell was being dismissed from his post, merely that the king was aware he might need rapid personal access to the seal during the coming days and weeks. It was on Friday 29 July, at the Old Temple, that Chancellor Russell surrendered this solemn object into the hands of the royal messenger. Two days later, across the Channel in Harfleur, Henry ‘Tudor’ embarked his expedition and set sail. He landed at Milford Haven in Wales a week later (Sunday 7 August). His first intention was said to be to make straight for London. It took just four days for the news of his landing to be brought to the king at Nottingham. Richard III at once summoned his array. The king was seen to be publicly rejoicing at the news of ‘Tudor’’s landing, since he fully expected to defeat him.²⁴

He then did something which may now, in retrospect, seem quite extraordinary, but which nevertheless tells us a great deal about his mood at the time, and which also speaks volumes as to his opinion of the ‘Tudor’ invasion force. Having summoned his array, the king left Nottingham Castle with some of his close friends. This little company then rode a few miles into nearby Sherwood Forest.²⁵ There, at the royal hunting lodge in the deer park of Bestwood, the king planned to give himself a short holiday.²⁶ Most previous writers have painted a dramatic picture of a Richard III obsessively preoccupied at this time by pessimistic thoughts of the coming fight for the throne. Yet, as we have seen already, contemporary sources contradict this, telling us that Richard rejoiced at Henry ‘Tudor’’s coming because he was confident that he would defeat him. The medieval nobility certainly considered hunting a very suitable preparation for war, but Richard III’s hunting holiday also appears to confirm that at this juncture the king felt optimistic and completely in control of the situation.