On the morning of 18 June 1525, six-year-old Lord Henry Fitzroy travelled by barge from Wolsey’s mansion of Durham Place, near Charing Cross, down the River Thames, to the royal palace of Bridewell. In his company were a host of knights, squires and other gentlemen. At 9 a.m. his barge pulled up to the watergate and his party made their way through the palace to the king’s lodgings, on the south side of the second floor. The royal apartments, which Henry had newly refurbished just two years earlier, included two great vaulted chambers running the length of the building. More like a church nave than a domestic residence, they stood two floors high with large windows set in either side.1 As Fitzroy entered the royal apartments, preparations for the day’s events were already well in hand.
The rooms were decorated with rich hangings of gold and silk. At the end of the far chamber a canopy of estate ‘of rich cloth of gold of tissue’ was set over a matching chair, whose gold pommels glittered in the morning light. Trumpeters were waiting to take up their position in the bay window at the far end. The chamber would have been filling up with those who had come to witness this grand event. For the moment, Fitzroy was led through the chambers to an ante-room, where he could rest and be made ready for his part in the proceedings. Outside, the king and his nobility prepared to take their place under the cloth of estate.
The occasion was well attended by the court. At the right hand of the king stood Richmond’s godfather, Thomas Wolsey. Beside him were numerous bishops, abbots and prelates. On Henry’s left were the Duke of Norfolk and the Duke of Suffolk and standing behind them numerous earls, lords, knights and esquires. By now, the crowd of onlookers packed the chamber. Before the ceremonies could begin the gentlemen ushers were forced to clear a path so ‘that three men might go armin-arm’. At last, everything was ready. At a signal from the king, there was a fanfare of trumpets and Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, entered the chamber, carrying a sword before him. He was followed by the eight heralds of the College of Arms, with the Garter herald bearing a patent and the Somerset herald wearing a newly designed coat-of-arms. Finally, flanked by John de Vere, Earl of Oxford and Henry Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, Henry Fitzroy entered, dressed in the robes of an earl.2
The feelings of the assembled nobles can only be wondered at, as the diminutive lord came to kneel before his father. As Henry VIII raised his son to his feet, the voice of Thomas More echoed about the chamber, as he read the patent, which created the Lord Henry Fitzroy, Earl of Nottingham:
and when it came to the words ‘Gladdii Cuituram’ then the young Lord kneeled down and the kings grace put the girdle about the neck of the young Lord the sword hanging bendwise over the breast of him when the patent was read the king took it to the said Earl and this Earl of Nottingham accompanied as before entered into the said Gallery.3
Not since the twelfth century, when Henry II had made William Longsword Earl of Salisbury, had a King of England raised his illegitimate son to the peerage.4 Even now, the ceremony was far from complete. Before the assembled nobles and onlookers could catch their breath, the newly created Earl of Nottingham re-entered the chamber.
This time his attire and the badges of office borne before him, were those of a duke. The Earl of Northumberland carried the robes. Behind him came Thomas Grey, Marquess of Dorset, carrying the sword, the Earl of Arundel, carrying the cap of estate with a circlet and the Earl of Oxford with a rod of gold. The only two existing dukes in England, Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk and Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk walked on either side of the child. Once again he came to kneel before his father. As the patent was read he was invested with the trappings of a duke. This time, when he rose to his feet, he was Duke of Richmond and Somerset.
To be a duke was a significant honour. It was it the highest rank of the peerage and the office, originally devised by King Edward III for his son, Edward the Black Prince to be Duke of Cornwall, had retained its royal aura. The former Lord Henry Fitzroy was subsequently referred to in all formal correspondence as the ‘right high and noble prince Henry . . . Duke of Richmond and Somerset’. As if to compound this sense of Royal dignity and endow the child with as much respectability as possible, Henry VIII had granted his son the unprecedented honour of a double dukedom. While he is commonly referred to as Richmond, some pains were taken to see that he bore both titles with equal weight. The bulk of his lands came from possessions which had formerly been held by Margaret Beaufort, the king’s grandmother, as Countess of Richmond. These included estates which had been the rightful inheritance of King Henry VII when he was Earl of Richmond, and lands which had belonged to Margaret’s father, John Beaufort, when he held the title Duke of Somerset.
Indeed, for all of those who strained to catch a glimpse of the new duke in the chamber at Bridewell, Henry’s use of the Somerset title would have struck a particular chord. It was widely known that John Beaufort, created Earl of Somerset in 1397, had been a royal bastard, who was subsequently legitimated. John Beaufort and his siblings were the children of Edward III’s son John of Gaunt and his mistress Katherine Swynford. The affair took place during his second marriage. After Katherine had borne him four children, Gaunt’s wife died and they were free to marry. However, due to the complexities of the affair, not least that the children had been conceived in adultery, they were not automatically legitimated. Instead, Gaunt and Katherine applied to the Pope for a special dispensation, which being granted was confirmed in England by Act of Parliament by Richard II. The Beauforts were henceforth to be considered legitimate ‘as fully, freely and lawfully as if [they] were born in lawful wedlock’.5
The church at Corfe Castle, a long-time Beaufort residence and now part of Richmond’s holdings, proclaimed for all the world to see this significant change in the family’s status:
The coats-of-arms at the side of the north doorway reflected through heraldry the importance of the family’s legitimization. On the left the shield lay on its side, indicating a bastard line, whilst on the right it was placed upright.6
Few of those present can have been ignorant of this particular piece of English history. Seeing Henry’s evident pride and affection in his sturdy little son, many of those who witnessed Richmond’s elevation must have wondered if this was what the king had in mind.
Although some might remember that the Beauforts had been excluded from the line of succession, others might remind them that this had not originally been the case. Richard II had made no such stipulation when he had confirmed his cousin’s legitimacy. Only when John of Gaunt’s eldest son (by his first wife Blanche), Henry Bolingbroke, seized the throne as King Henry IV, did he look nervously to his half-brothers and sister. The Beauforts had done well for themselves and his own claim to the throne was not above reproach. Henry IV confirmed their legitimate status, but with the significant proviso that it was ‘excepting the royal dignity’. Henry IV had good reason for his actions. Despite the legal fiction of their legitimacy, the stigma of illegitimacy was not erased from people’s minds. Most importantly, Henry had four perfectly good sons of his own and had no need to complicate matters further.
Henry VIII was not so fortunate. In June 1525 Henry VIII’s only legitimate child was his nine-year-old daughter, Mary. Katherine was now almost forty years old and her last pregnancy had been in 1518. With determined optimism, Henry had continued to sleep with her for several years without any sign of conception, before reluctantly conceding she was past the age of child bearing. Gradually, the whole country came to agree with the Venetian ambassador that Katherine was ‘past that age in which women most commonly were wont to be fruitful’. Only once Henry ceased having sexual relations with her, and estimates for this begin in 1524, was he forced to acknowledge that she would never give him a male heir. After sixteen years of marriage and at least six pregnancies, the hopes for the Tudor dynasty rested solely on the shoulders of one small girl.
In the spring of 1524, Henry VIII had organised one of the lavish tournaments that were almost a weekly occurrence at court. On this occasion he intended to show off his new suit of armour ‘made of his own device and fashion’. Obviously the new design caused quite a stir. Henry was able to set off against his opponent, Charles Brandon, before he, or any of his attendants, realised he had not closed the visor on his helmet. The horrified crowd called out the danger, but it was too late. Brandon’s spear shattered in the king’s unprotected face. As the king fell to the ground the fate of England hung in the balance, yet Henry had a miraculous escape. Shaking off the splinters of wood, he assured his panic-stricken subjects that he was indeed alive, first by walking about and then by remounting his horse and competing six more times ‘by which all men might perceive he had no hurt’. It was a very public reminder that the king, whatever he might wish to believe, was not immortal. Given Henry’s love of dangerous sports, the next time England might not be so fortunate.
Unlike France where the law prevented the accession of a daughter, there was no reason why Mary could not reign as Queen of England, except that prevailing opinion was firmly against it. The motto of Henry VIII’s third wife Jane Seymour – ‘bound to obey and serve’ – neatly summed up the perceived role of Tudor women. They were the weaker sex, physically less able, mentally inferior and morally suspect. They were subject to the authority of their husbands and fathers. They were not designed to rule. The admirable example of women like Margaret of Savoy, who acted as regent for the Emperor Charles V in the Netherlands, or the formidable career of Mary’s own grandmother, Isabella, who ruled as Queen of Castile in Spain, did nothing to reassure. Even more worrying was the complex issue of female inheritance. After she married, a woman’s lands and possessions belonged to her husband and no one could agree exactly how this would work if part of that inheritance were a kingdom. The English looked nervously to the example of other small countries, like Burgundy, whose independence had been lost when they had been left in the hands of a woman.
England’s one experiment with a ruling queen was not an experience anyone was eager to repeat. At his death in 1135 King Henry I’s only legitimate issue was his daughter, Matilda.7 During his lifetime Henry I had made his barons swear to accept her as the heir to his kingdom, but his authority could not reach beyond the grave. After his death the barons chose her cousin, Stephen, Count of Boulogne, as a more acceptable male alternative. This, ultimately, plunged England into nine years of civil war, which decimated the land. When Stephen was imprisoned for seven months in 1141, Matilda briefly occupied the throne. It was not exactly a precedent. Stephen remained the anointed king and Matilda’s ‘extremely arrogant demeanor, instead of the modest gait and bearing proper to the gentle sex’ helped ensure she was not crowned queen. Matilda eventually secured a victory of sorts when Stephen recognised her son Henry as his heir, but she never ruled as queen of England as her father had intended.
All things being equal, Henry VII’s mother, Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond, had had the better claim to the crown in 1485. However, such things were not equal. A king needed to be able to defend his crown, if need be, on the field of battle. It was quite possible that England might prefer to see a member of the peerage take the throne, rather than accept Mary as their queen. In 1519 the Venetian ambassador had seen nothing wrong in speculating on the chances of the Dukes of Suffolk, Norfolk or Buckingham, ruling the kingdom if Henry died without a legitimate son to succeed him. Shortly afterwards Henry himself wrote in great secrecy to Wolsey, requiring him to ‘make good watch’ on a number of the nobility. If this letter is rather too ‘cloak and dagger’ to be absolutely sure that Henry’s concerns centred on the succession, the fate of one of those named, Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, certainly seems to indicate that the king was increasingly anxious about the future of his dynasty.
At this time there were only three dukes in England. Two of them had been Henry’s own creations. Charles Brandon was created Duke of Suffolk in 1514 for his part in the French War. He had begun his career as a mere esquire, owing everything he was now to Henry VIII, ‘my sovereign lord and master who has brought me up out of nothing’. Since men had been amazed at his elevation to the peerage, they would perhaps have been reluctant to accept him as their king. His marriage to Henry’s sister, Mary Tudor, in 1515, had brought him closer to the throne, but it could not overcome the disability of his birth. Mary continued to be known as ‘The French Queen’ by right of her first husband King Louis XII of France. As the contemporary inscription on their portrait openly acknowledged ‘cloth of gold’ (Mary) outranked ‘cloth of frieze’ (Brandon). Given his relatively humble origins the duke was perhaps fortunate he was not cast as canvas.
As part of the same ceremony in 1514, Thomas Howard, with rather more justice, had become Duke of Norfolk, in recognition for his victory at the Battle of Flodden. He had spent much of his adult life trying to recover the dukedom that had been bestowed on his father by Richard III in 1483. Unfortunately, the family had enjoyed the title for just two years before it was forfeited for fighting on the losing side at Bosworth in 1485. Thomas Howard had struggled to restore his family to their former glory for twenty-nine years. Despite the apparent splendour with which his son, also Thomas Howard, would bear the title, when he succeeded to the dukedom on his father’s death in 1524, the house of Howard was built on fairly fragile foundations.
However, Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham was a rather different proposition. His family had been Dukes of Buckingham for four generations. His father had been executed by Richard III, for a rebellion that may have more to do with his own ambition than his support for the Tudors.8 As the nephew of King Edward IV’s queen, Elizabeth Woodville, and a direct descendant of King Edward III, Buckingham could boast an impressive royal pedigree. He was also a major landowner in his own right, with an impressive array of magnificent castles and an army of retainers. Perhaps most worryingly, he was the epitome of an over-mighty subject, with sufficient pride and ambition to give any monarch pause for thought.
Certainly, Buckingham was killed as much for what he might do as for what he had actually done. The charges levied against him in May 1521 were treasonous. Chief among them was the allegation that he had spoken of how he would kill the king. It was also alleged that he had proclaimed the death of Henry’s infant son to be God’s vengeance, that he had dabbled in prophecies that Henry would never have a male heir and that, instead, he himself would become king.9 If he had said and done what he is claimed to have said and done, then Buckingham deserved to die. If his downfall was a plot, perhaps led by Wolsey to remove a powerful rival, then Buckingham’s actions must have been sufficient to give colour to the charges. In the political climate of the time such behaviour was more than foolish, it was fatal.
Buckingham’s conviction sealed his fate and his execution sent a chilling message through the ranks of the peerage. Significantly, from June 1525 the most senior noble in England was not Norfolk or Suffolk. The highest-ranking member of the peerage was Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Somerset whose elevation to the peerage had been such a spectacular affair. The heralds’ reports all testify to the splendour and gravity of the occasion. The ceremonies were followed by ‘great feasts and disguisings’ as Henry VIII celebrated his son’s honours with customary extravagance. While we cannot be sure whether Elizabeth, now Lady Tailbois, returned to the court to witness the event, her husband was almost certainly able to give her an eyewitness account.10
As arrangements for Richmond’s new dignity had taken shape, Elizabeth and Gilbert had been honoured with a spate of further grants. In April 1525 Gilbert was made bailiff and keeper of Tattershall in Lincolnshire, now part of Richmond’s lands. His elevation to a knighthood also seems to be associated with his step-son’s new rank, as he now appeared as Sir Gilbert Tailbois for the first time. However, the exact significance behind all this display was more elusive. Both contemporary and subsequent observers have been forced to speculate on Henry’s motives for raising his bastard son to such unprecedented heights.
Henry may have been prompted into action by a piece of good fortune. On 14 February 1525, Charles V had inflicted a shattering defeat on Francis I at Pavia. The French forces were decimated and many of their foremost military leaders were killed. To Henry’s great joy, one of the dead was the English exile, Richard de la Pole, which effectively extinguished any threat that family still represented to the security of the Tudor dynasty. While Richard was still at large and far from reconciled to the Tudors’ occupation of the throne, the policy of advancing his illegitimate son to almost regal honours might have seemed too dangerous a gauntlet to throw in the face of a disgruntled, rival claimant. At the very least, Henry could now be reassured that that particular danger was laid to rest.
It has also been argued that Richmond’s elevation was born more out of pique than policy.11 During the battle at Pavia Francis I had been taken prisoner and his realm was now vulnerable to invasion. Henry was overjoyed. ‘Now is the time for the Emperor and myself to devise the means of getting full satisfaction from France’, he declared. His dream of regaining England’s ancient rights across the Channel, and more besides, at last seemed within his grasp. England prepared to reap the spoils of war. Forces were to be mustered, armaments to be made ready and money to be raised for the enterprise, from the so-called Amicable Grant. Whatever the political realities of the situation, and Henry was objective enough to arm his ambassadors with a sliding scale of demands, he clearly believed that the French throne could be his for the taking.
Almost at once the King of England was being warned that Charles intended ‘little or nothing to your commodity, profit, or benefit’ and so it proved. More concerned with his own problems elsewhere, than indulging Henry’s dreams of European expansion, Charles V agreed terms for peace in the Treaty of Madrid. Whatever Henry had expected, it was not that.
Not for the first time the King of England’s ambitions were thwarted by Katherine’s family. Like Ferdinand of Aragon before him, her nephew Charles V refused to co-operate in Henry’s grandiose designs. The king was bitterly disappointed and Richmond’s elevation has been seen as a deliberate snub to the queen and the Spanish alliance that she represented. Certainly, the ceremony did nothing to spare Katherine’s feelings. To make some honourable provision for a natural son was normal and expected. To parade him around the court, almost as if he was a legitimate prince, would have been a trial to the most patient of wives. For Katherine, who knew she had failed in her most basic duty, the implicit rebuke must have been keenly felt.
Not only was there anxiety about the possible implications for her beloved daughter, Mary, but also Katherine’s own pride and honour were at stake. In a private letter, one of the Venetian observers wrote:
It seems that the Queen resents the Earldom and Dukedom conferred on the king’s natural son and remains dissatisfied, at the instigation it is said of three of her Spanish ladies her chief counsellors, so the king has dismissed them the court, a strong measure, but the Queen was obliged to submit and have patience.12
Henry may have been angry enough not to care whether he upset and embarrassed his wife and through her therefore exact some small revenge on the real target of his wrath, Charles V. However, the significant financial outlay involved in Richmond’s elevation, at over £4,000 per annum, is evidence the king also had a far more serious purpose in mind than this transient satisfaction.
It might also appear that Henry was pushed into honouring his son by Charles V’s decision, on 7 June 1525, to break off his engagement to Princess Mary. The couple had been betrothed since 1522 and their marriage could have offset many of the dangers of a female ruler. If Mary could marry and produce a son before Henry died, England’s future would be far more secure. Even without this obvious benefit, Charles V was a proven soldier and leader who could support her peaceful succession and help her to rule. If the king had to be a foreigner, a Hapsburg was perhaps rather more acceptable to the English people than either a Valois or a Stuart. If Mary’s marriage was a compromise from the ideal solution of a legitimate prince, then at least Henry could console himself with the thought that his grandson would one day rule over an immense empire.
Now Charles V demanded that the nine-year-old Mary should leave England at once to be brought up among her future subjects. Also her dowry should follow within four months. The terms were unreasonable and intended to be rejected. Charles was already well advanced with his own plans to marry Isabella, Infanta of Portugal and needed Henry to release him from his obligation to Mary. Yet the claim that Richmond’s elevation was set in hand ‘immediately after the news reached England that Charles meant to break his engagement’,13 rests on two assumptions. Firstly that Henry had not intended to raise Richmond to such high honour prior to the breaking of this news and secondly, that the king had come to rely on the union between Charles V and Mary as being the best means of securing her, and England’s, future.
In fact, whatever Katherine might have hoped, there is nothing to suggest that Henry viewed this match as anything other than another diplomatic alliance. In 1518, the two-year-old princess had already been engaged to the infant Dauphin of France and no one was surprised when that betrothal did not endure until the children were adults. In the treaty it had been acknowledged that this betrothal would ‘not prevent the Emperor from marrying any woman of lawful age before our daughter comes to mature years’. It had always been unlikely that Charles V, who was already twenty-five and eager for an heir of his own, would wait for Mary to grow up.14
Also, Charles’s conduct towards his mother, as Queen of Castile, ought to have given Henry pause for thought. Juana had succeeded as Queen as Castile after her mother’s death in 1504. When Charles V assumed the title of King of Castile from 1516, he did so in complete disregard of his mother’s prior claim. Even if she was eventually deserving of the epitaph ‘Juana the mad’, and her virtual solitary confinement at Tordesillas Castle can only have contributed to her decline, legally Charles should have continued to rule as regent in her name. Such conduct did not speak well of his attitude towards the rights of ruling queens.
Certainly, Mary’s betrothal had not stopped Henry negotiating for her possible marriage to James V of Scotland in 1524. Nor did it prevent him from considering the offer of a French match in March 1525. The manner in which Charles repudiated the betrothal was hardly designed to mollify the king, but his action cannot have been entirely unexpected.
In any case, the plans for Richmond’s elevation seem to have begun well in advance of this particular disappointment. The first indication of Fitzroy’s impending honours is generally taken from an undated note of Wolsey’s to the king, usually assigned to May 1525:
Your grace shall also receive by this present bearer, such arms as your highness hath devised . . . for your entirely beloved son, the Lord Henry Fitzroy.15
These included two heraldic beasts: a white lion representing the dukedom of Richmond and a silver yale symbolising the dukedom of Somerset. An escutcheon in the centre completed the honours with its chief design a castle and two bucks’ heads for the earldom of Nottingham. Significantly, the arms of France and England, as borne by the king, were crossed with a ‘baton sinister argent’ a silver band which proclaimed his illegitimacy to the world. His motto ‘Duty binds me’ stressed his obligation to Henry VIII – his king and father.
A list of the ‘wardrobe stuff appointed for my Lord Henry’ gives some indication of the scale of these plans. There were hangings for six chambers, a closet, a chapel and a hall. The various furnishings included twenty-five different carpets and twenty-one assorted beds, each with their own pillows, sheets and counterpanes. Richmond’s bed, with its canopy and a scarlet counterpane, was decidedly grand.16 When the necessities for his household were finally assembled it would require a chariot and seven horse-draughts to transport them. Although the young duke’s financial accounts do not begin until 12 June 1525 (just prior to the ceremony at Bridewell), all these goods and the two hundred and forty-five people thought necessary to attend upon a six-year-old duke could not have been brought together in a few short weeks.
At least one member of Richmond’s household seems to have had more notice than this of his new appointment. If the experience of the duke’s tutor, John Palsgrave, is in any way representative, then plans for the household were already in the pipeline by April 1525. Palsgrave apparently owed his selection to the influence of Sir Richard Wingfield, Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. On this basis the arrangements must have been made before 18 April 1525, because on that date Wingfield sailed from England to Spain, where he died in July 1525 without returning to England.17 It is unlikely that he would have been able to ensure that Palsgrave was chosen to bring the king’s son up ‘in virtue and learning’ as the tutor would claim, if the composition of Richmond’s household was not already well in hand before his departure, especially as Wolsey seems to have had his own candidate waiting in the wings, in the shape of Dr Richard Croke.
In fact, the timing of Richmond’s elevation was probably not a knee-jerk reaction to the events of spring 1525. The simplest reason for the date chosen is almost invariably overlooked. All the accounts, with the exception of the Venetian Lorenzo Orio’s wildly inaccurate report, agree that Richmond was six years old on 18 June 1525. A child’s sixth birthday was an important milestone, marking the end of infancy and the beginning of adult life. Writing in his journal in 1547, King Edward VI would recall when he made the transition out of the nursery, being
brought up [un]till he came to six years old among the women. At the sixth year of his age he was brought up in learning by Dr [Richard] Cox . . . and John Clerke . . . Master of Arts.18
At six, the dangers of death in infancy were past and the child was of an age when a father needed to address the care and education of his son. While Fitzroy had struggled through the perils of the first few years of life, Henry had had reason to be cautious: there might not be any future prospects. Since the date of the ceremony coincides so exactly with the most likely date for Elizabeth Blount’s delivery, it does seem reasonable to assume that 18 June 1525 was in fact Richmond’s sixth birthday. Now the child was old enough to take his place in the wider world Henry had an obligation to ensure his son was adequately cared for.
Admittedly, obligation could easily have been satisfied with significantly less than the honours and income that Henry heaped upon his son. However, perhaps Henry’s honour could not. Putting aside for a moment the political implications of Richmond’s elevation, this was Henry’s ‘worldly jewel’, whom he ‘loved like his own soul’ and these feelings alone were surely sufficient to ensure that his son would be equal to no mere subject.
His elevation to the peerage was not the first honour Henry VIII had bestowed on his son. The child had already been elected into the Order of the Garter. Membership of this prestigious and ancient order of knighthood was a marked note of favour. Numbers were strictly limited to the king and twenty-five members and vacancies only occurred through death or dishonour. Despite the polite fiction of elections, the king’s wishes dominated the choice of candidates.
According to one account, Richmond’s election into the Order may have taken place as early as 23 April 1525.19 Although according to the register of the Order it occurred on 7 June 1525, when all the knights present, not surprisingly, nominated the Lord Henry Fitzroy. At some point, the child must also have been knighted, since the discovery that Lord Roos had not been knighted had caused no small problem when he was elected into the Order. Fitzroy was duly nominated to the place formerly occupied by the Duke of Norfolk, who was moved down to make room for him. This placed him second only to actual royalty (namely, the king, Charles V and Francis I).
Henry’s instructions for the installation of ‘our dearest son’ were drawn up on 18 June 1525 when he was at Bridewell. The ceremony duly took place on 25 June, in St George’s Chapel at Windsor Castle, where his coat-of-arms can still be seen. Although the proceedings were not quite as lavish, nor as prominent as his elevation to the peerage, the chapel was decked out with his banners, helm and crest. Robes of the garter, including a mantle of purple velvet decorated with ‘a great cross of St George’, tassels of purple silk and buttons shaped like sundials, were laid out for the duke. This time, instead of trumpeters there were choristers to accompany the service and a host of clerics and ‘officers of the King’ to ensure that everything ran smoothly. Richmond arrivedin a gown of black satin, furred with sable, with gold buttons and gold laces, which he gave away in reward to the Garter Herald after the ceremony. As a knight of the Garter Richmond enjoyed an honour not bestowed on Henry’s legitimate son, Prince Edward, during his father’s lifetime. Even so, it is unlikely Henry would have considered this alone was sufficient provision for his son.
Richmond’s elevation to the peerage certainly seemed to herald great things. At this time the only other royal bastard in England was Arthur Plantagenet, Viscount Lisle.20 The illegitimate son of Edward IV and his ‘wanton wench’ Elizabeth Lucy, ‘my lord the bastard’ had spent his youth living at his father’s court. Yet, he was completely overshadowed by a host of legitimate male relatives and only achieved prominence under the Tudors. When Henry VIII made him an esquire of the body in 1509, he was already almost fifty years old. Richmond’s grandfather, John Blount, also made an esquire of the body at that time, was half his age. Not until 1523 did Arthur join the ranks of the peerage, when he married Elizabeth, the daughter of Edward Grey, Viscount Lisle. Despite Henry’s benevolence, the titles now showered on Richmond made Lisle’s fortunes seem positively dismal. In addition, Lisle’s lands were valued at £800 per annum, several thousand pounds short of the income intended for Richmond.
On 12 June 1525 Orio was already reporting that Henry VIII had moved to legitimise his son.21 Although he was entirely mistaken, Orio was not deterred. He subsequently became so carried away by the prevailing rumours that he declared:
The King has created his natural son by name Henry, aged seven years, Duke of Buckingham, with an annual rental amounting to 40,000 ducats, also Earl of Richmond and viceroy, so that he takes precedence of everybody.22
Although his sources were clearly so wildly inaccurate that it is amazing that he got the right name, the statement does reflect how far Richmond was perceived to have risen from his innate status as the king’s natural son.
Around this time Richmond was also granted a number of offices. From 18 June 1525 he was Captain of the Town and Castle of Berwick upon Tweed and Keeper of the City and Castle of Carlisle, ‘an office held by the heir apparent from the time of Richard the Second’. Shortly afterwards, on 22 July 1525, he became Warden General of the Scottish Marches, a post Henry VIII himself had held as a child in 1494. Not since William the Conqueror, in the eleventh century, had an actual bastard sat upon the English throne. However, here was Richmond apparently being asked to fulfil the duties of a bona fide prince. Surely it was only a small step from here to the real thing?
Orio was not the only person, then or now, to believe that Henry was grooming his son as a possible successor. Yet it is dangerous to place too much emphasis on the king’s choices at this time. It must be remembered that for much of his young life Henry VIII was only the second son, not the heir apparent, and the offices he held reflected this. It was also a well-established practice for any monarch to employ family members in as many posts as possible and Henry did not have many on whom he could call. As a mere girl, Mary was ineligible for any of those public offices that a prince might have performed for his father. Not only could Richmond help to address this deficiency, but his youth was often a positive advantage. Image and honour would be satisfied by the appointment of the king’s blood relative, but lesser men could do the real work at a fraction of the cost.
There were also other practical reasons to cloak Richmond in a mantle of respectability. Whatever Henry was thinking, and he was careful never to declare his hand, the events of 18 June 1525 must have been reassuring to his subjects. Even as they marvelled at the ‘gravity and good manner’ that the six-year-old could display, they must have been relieved to see that the king’s son was sound and healthy. If he had any defects none of the keen eyed observers at Henry VIII’s court ever reported them. It must have been a comfort to know that there was a viable alternative to Mary. Also, in 1523, while Mary was still betrothed to Charles V, Henry had been negotiating with the Scots, only to find he was being courted by the French. A betrothal was the traditional means to secure any diplomatic alliance. Yet with the best will in the world, Mary could only be engaged to one person at a time. An illegitimate son was not quite as valuable in the marriage stakes as a legitimate one, but given sufficient status, Richmond could be a useful tool in matters of matrimonial diplomacy.
Indeed, if these events were truly intended to signal Richmond’s new position as heir to the English throne, Henry did not go about it in a very systematic or committed manner. Although Henry Tudor had been Earl of Richmond prior to his accession as Henry VII, it should be remembered that this was not an honour normally associated with the direct line of succession. Henry did not make his son Duke of Cornwall, the title traditionally bestowed on the heir apparent, nor did he create him Duke of York, the dignity usually reserved for the monarch’s second son. Instead, his titles were those most intimately associated with the Tudor dynasty itself, rather than the estate of royalty. In a similar manner, Henry VII had honoured his mother as Countess of Richmond, without intending to imply that she was destined for the throne.23
Henry was clearly reluctant to use any of those lands which might be needed for his legitimate sons. The closest Richmond got to the inheritance of the legitimate heir was a collection of manors in Somerset and Dorset which had been annexed to the Duchy of Cornwall in 1421 by Henry V. These lands, formerly held by Sir Matthew Gourney and briefly granted under Edward IV to George, Duke of Clarence, were not, therefore, specifically part of the duchy. Despite this, in December 1490 they had been included in the charter drawn up by Henry VII for his son and heir, Arthur.24 The king did allow Richmond to hold the lordship of Middleham in Yorkshire, which in 1534 was described as ‘his second son’s inheritance which is parcel of the Dukedom of York’. However, the impressive residence that was Middleham Castle was specifically excluded from the grant.
Rather than signalling his intention to place a crown on his head, it might be more accurate to suggest that Henry VIII wanted to provide for his illegitimate son in a manner which stressed their blood relationship, not his place in the succession. Henry VIII was obviously not yet willing to abandon hopes of one, or even two legitimate sons. Should he have a male heir, that child would automatically take precedence over the unofficial Princess of Wales. An existing Duke of Cornwall or Duke of York would be a very different matter. At the very least Henry was keeping his options open. Indeed, the decision to bestow upon the young Duke of Richmond those lands traditionally associated with the Beaufort and Tudor lines neatly sidestepped any direct consideration of the child’s exact status in respect of the succession.
Although it had sometimes been claimed that Richmond was given precedence even over Mary, his patent expressly stated that he outranked all but the king’s (and his successor’s) legitimate issue. In 1525 Henry’s ‘entirely beloved daughter’ still outranked him. Although she was never formally created Princess of Wales, to all intents and purposes she held that position. When she was sent to Ludlow in the Welsh Marches, it was a tacit acknowledgement of her status as Henry’s heir and she was spoken of as if she was Princess of Wales. In 1525 the Venetian ambassador wrote that ‘the Princess went to her Principality of Wales with a suitable and honourable escort’. Even Charles V, who was keen to protect his cousin Mary’s interests in England, so that he might use them to his own advantage, did not become unduly concerned about Richmond’s honours affecting her rights for several years to come. Certainly, in marriage negotiations at least, Henry VIII was still prepared to offer Mary as England’s heir apparent, if he had no legitimate son.
The spate of honours that accompanied Richmond’s elevation is also evidence that Henry was keen to use the occasion for wider political advantage, as he replenished his depleted nobility.25 Royal blood was much in evidence. The new Earl of Lincoln was Henry Brandon, the king’s nephew by his younger sister Mary and her husband Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. Although their elder son, who had been born with such commendable promptness in 1516, had not survived infancy, their second son was now a promising three-year-old. The new Marquess of Exeter, Henry Courtenay, was the king’s cousin, the son of Henry’s maternal aunt, Katherine, from her marriage to William, Earl of Devon. Sir Thomas Manners, now to be Earl of Rutland, was a great-nephew of Edward IV. Henry Clifford, the new Earl of Cumberland, would subsequently cement his ties to the Tudor dynasty through his marriage to Henry VIII’s niece, Eleanor Brandon. Even Sir Thomas Boleyn, who was created Viscount Rochford, was family too in a way, being the father of the king’s most recent mistress, Mary Boleyn.
While Richmond’s elevation was by far the most spectacular, these other creations were intended to do more than simply reflect his glory. After the death of Richard de la Pole, the last militant sprig of the Yorkist line, Henry Brandon’s creation as Earl of Lincoln was particularly significant in signalling the eradication of their claim to the English throne and the ascendancy of the Tudors. At a stroke Henry demonstrated good lordship by rewarding his loyal nobility and created a network of kinship and alliances to help secure his dynasty. At best, these nobles would provide loyal support to his legitimate heir, although there was also the unspoken thought that one of these near relations might be a suitable candidate to follow him on the throne.26
From this point, despite being only six years old, Richmond also became an independent magnate in his own right. Like any other noble in the realm, he was now expected to support himself from his own estates and revenues. Although Henry covered a good deal of the costs, many of the expenses relating to Richmond’s elevation, including £13 6s 8d ‘for sealing and writing the patents of creation of the earldom of Nottingham and Dukedom of Richmond and Somerset’ came out of Richmond’s coffers. A large number of the ‘necessaries for the household’ now being assembled, including more than £63 on ‘hangings for chambers and other stuff’, were paid for by Richmond himself.
In contrast, Mary continued to be supported by their father, even after her legitimacy was called into question. The king may well have considered that his son could easily afford the bills. The £20 annuity that he received as Earl of Nottingham was just the tip of the iceberg. In the first year his income of £4,845 exceeded all expectations.27 Yet, if Henry’s goal was to gain acceptance of his son as heir apparent, it is curious that he chose to ennoble him in a manner which stressed his independence, rather than bring him closer into the Royal Household.
On 16 July 1525, Richmond’s immediate prospects were made no clearer by his appointment as Lord High Admiral of England. This decision was not a case of needs must. The present admiral was the very capable Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk. Nor is it something that Henry can have done on a whim. Only eleven years previously Norfolk had been granted the office for life. Now Henry was required to mollify the disgruntled duke with a generous exchange of lands. Even then Norfolk was not exactly happy. He took his time in surrendering his patent, claiming, with rather bad grace a month later, that it had been among other papers. Because Richmond was so young, Arthur, Viscount Lisle took on the day-to-day responsibilities of the post as vice-admiral. While this may have been a cheaper option, not even Henry would have chosen to deeply offend one of his senior nobles purely in the interests of economy. A more plausible explanation is that the king wanted to make the new Duke of Richmond a more public figure. Most Tudor government was organised on a county-to-county basis and a national office like Lord Admiral was a rare commodity. Now, by his proclamations if not actually in person, the whole country would be familiar with the king’s natural son.
Then, before the summer was over, it also became apparent that there was a more concrete and immediate reason for Richmond’s lavish new status than a vague or future policy over the succession. As well as his appointment as Warden General of the Marches towards Scotland (another office recently relinquished by the Duke of Norfolk), Richmond was also granted several other posts which effectively placed the government of the north of England in the hands of the king’s son.28 The policy of employing wardens for the East, Middle and West Marches were to be brought under the auspices of a newly resurrected Council of the North, a council that Richmond would preside over in the name of the king.
This was obviously a significant aspect of Henry’s immediate intentions. Several parts of Richmond’s honours were clearly designed with this appointment in mind. The inclusion of manors in Westmoreland and Yorkshire gave him a personal interest in local affairs. To further support this process, Wolsey made him High Steward of the Bishopric of Durham and High Steward of the Liberties of the Archbishop of York. Finally Sheriff Hutton Castle, where his new household would be established, was a proven base for government of the north.
At the same time Mary was to go to Ludlow as the figurehead of a similar body for the Marches of Wales. Both the Council of the North and the Council of the Marches had evolved from traditional manorial courts. When Richard, Duke of York had established a court at Sheriff Hutton, he had been ensuring the peace and security of his own estates. It had only been brought under royal control when he seized the throne as Richard III.29 The sparsely populated north of England, with its deep-rooted feudal loyalties and distance from the seat of government, presented particular problems for control.30 Henry VII had made use of the authority of Margaret Beaufort’s council as Countess of Richmond, but after her death in 1509 Henry VIII had made do with the appointment of local gentry to police the Marches as lord wardens. Unfortunately, their commission from the king was not always sufficient to ensure order. In February 1522, the Bishop of Carlisle, sent north to see to preparations for the anticipated war with Scotland, complained of so much theft and extortion that ‘all the country goeth, and shall more, to waste’.
In the spring of 1523, Henry was still pursuing war with Scotland, rather than seeing to the state of the north. In between fighting the Scots the king’s lieutenant, Thomas Howard, then Earl of Surrey, made some efforts to restore order in the north, sending a long and detailed report to Wolsey of what still needed to be done. In the end it was only the resistance to taxation that brought the danger sharply into focus, in particular the Amicable Grant of 1525. This demand for one sixth of lay income and one third of clerical income came hot on the heels of an especially heavy subsidy. The country’s mood was far from generous and there was widespread opposition. Henry made as dignified a retreat as possible, claiming he ‘never knew of that demand’ and leaving Wolsey to bear the brunt of the blame for this unpopular measure. It was clearly time for central government to exercise a firmer hand over the far reaches of the realm.
The decision to send Richmond to Sheriff Hutton was derived from a number of factors, which were not related to the succession. To hand such power to an established feudal magnate, such as the Earl of Northumberland, might invite as many problems as it solved. The region needed to be brought under the king’s control, not establish a rival centre of patronage and power. The use of a lesser noble, like Lord Thomas Dacre, had already brought its own difficulties. In February 1525 he had been imprisoned in the Fleet for his inability to keep order as Warden of the East and Middle Marches. Since both the most powerful church posts, Archbishop of York and Bishop of Durham, were held by Wolsey that option was also lost. In the circumstances, the decision to use Henry’s six-year-old illegitimate son was probably derived as much from practical necessity as concrete political policy. Despite the documents and instructions ‘signed with the gracious hand of the King’s Highness’ it is entirely possible that the original architect of this plan was Richmond’s godfather, Wolsey.
The cardinal certainly seems to have had his own agenda for exploiting Richmond’s usefulness. Many of Wolsey’s political schemes and government initiatives would rely on Richmond, not necessarily for their success, but that they might be attempted at all. As the Duke’s Council, headed by Brian Higdon, Dean of York, began to take shape, almost all of the senior officers had prior links to the cardinal. Only the treasurer, Sir Godfrey Foljambe, the vice-chamberlain, Richard Page, and the cofferer, Sir George Lawson, have been identified expressly as the king’s men.31 Richmond perhaps expressed something more than pro forma respect when he wrote to Wolsey in March 1529:
to whose favour and goodness no creature living is more bound than I am. And like it hath pleased Almighty God and the king’s Highness much part by the means and good favour of your Grace to prefer and advance me in honour.32
In fact, Wolsey was perhaps more beholden to Richmond, since this particular initiative in Tudor local government could not have been attempted without him.
However, Richmond was no John of Gaunt or Earl of Northumberland to rule over northern parts as a feudal lord. He had no existing power base or affinity in the north, and he was, after all, only six. Rather than his council being the executive arm of the duke’s will, his youth allowed Wolsey to place the real business of the council in the hands of educated professionals, largely clerics and lawyers, who were accustomed to working at the centre of Tudor government. Wolsey’s ‘new men’ were by no means unsuited to their task. Many of them had firsthand experience of the unique difficulties of the north, having served under Wolsey in his capacity as Archbishop of York or Bishop of Durham. Between them they had a wealth of clerical and legal experience, including canon, civil, chancery and equity law, which allowed them to exercise the same function as the king’s courts in London. Significantly, none of Richmond’s officers were above the rank of knight. It remained to be seen whether this new initiative would be successful in controlling the established northern lords.33
From the outset there were indications that more might be asked of them than they could deliver. In a significant departure from previous models the authority of Richmond’s council was not confined to Yorkshire but extended right across the border counties, though it was not a complete departure from the traditional feudal form. The council was still responsible for the administration of Richmond’s lands and household. In January 1527 the surveyor and general receiver of his estates, Thomas Magnus, arranged ‘for divers great causes to meet with sundry my lord of Richmond’s officers in Lincolnshire’. He then made a substantial detour through Northamptonshire and Cambridgeshire, in order ‘to survey and see my lord’s lands in those parts’. In a similar manner one of the council, William Franklyn, Archdeacon of Durham, was pressed into service to take a view of Richmond’s lands in the north. In addition, all manner of domestic concerns, from the order in the kitchen to the arrangements for Christmas, were as much part of their duties as the government and security of the north.
It did not take long for these dual requirements to clash. Henry decided that Richmond should have a chapel at Sheriff Hutton ‘because the Lord Dacre and the Lord Latimer have chapels’. The council begged to be allowed to put this matter off until they had tackled the instructions they had already been given ‘for the good order as well of my said Lord’s household, as of the north parts of this realm, which we esteem to be matters of no small importance’. The government of the north was bound to be a difficult and time-consuming task; and the administration of the large and complex community that was a ducal household was also a significant undertaking. If one was to be preferred to the other, then the envisaged model of justice and domesticity was going to suffer.
A second potential difficulty was the king’s and Wolsey’s evident inclination to use Richmond’s patronage as if it were their own. The cardinal’s role was by no means confined to setting up the establishment. In 1527 when the Duke of Norfolk wanted to place his servant in Richmond’s household, he was required to ask Wolsey ‘to write a letter unto my lord of Richmond’s council to admit him’ as he had been advised that they would not do so ‘without your grace’s letters to them directed for that purpose’. In his turn the cardinal, like any good lord, also assumed responsibility for promoting the welfare of Richmond’s servants. When the duke’s chamberlain, Sir William Parr, hoped to secure a grant of lands from the king, it was Wolsey who pressed his suit. While it was natural that Richmond’s officers should consult Wolsey regarding their role as the king’s Council of the North, their eagerness to defer to him over other matters was rather at odds with Richmond’s role as an independent magnate.
The role of the king in his son’s affairs was even more complex. The creation of a separate household, financed from his own lands, did not stop Henry from regarding his son’s possessions as his to bestow. There was, of course, an element of royal prerogative in this, since even the most established magnate would be hard pressed to deny the express wish of the crown. When Henry VII had taken a liking to a manor-house at Woking, even his mother, despite her obvious reluctance, had deemed it wiser to relinquish the property.34 Richmond’s position was much less secure; Henry was his father as well as his king. Despite his extensive possessions he was still a minor and his illegitimate status meant his reliance on Henry’s favour was absolute. In March 1527, when a parsonage fell vacant in the manor of South Molton in Devon, Richmond’s council meekly sent up a blank paper, already embossed with Richmond’s seal, so that the king could chose the new incumbent. Yet if Henry truly wanted his son’s authority as a representative of the crown to be effective, then it had to be seen to be respected, even by him.
While the child’s existence may have been generally known in court circles, no one knew how the country at large would receive him. When the young duke began his journey northwards to take up his responsibilities at Sheriff Hutton, his council meticulously recorded how he had been greeted:
My Lord of Richmond departed from William Jekyll’s house unto my Lady Parrs, where his grace was marvelously well intreated and had good cheer . . . and from my Lady Parr’s unto Huntingdon no person of all the Country met with my Lord’s Grace saving only at Huntingdon [author’s italics], Dr Hall met his Grace without the town, and upon the bridge the bailiffs with the honest men of the town presented unto his grace, four great pikes and four tenches. And at Huntingdon the Abbot of Ramsey sent unto his Grace certain swans, cranes, and other wild fowl, in a present.35
Everything was done to ensure that Richmond’s train would be an impressive sight as it wound its way across the country. His council, gentlemen and servants, were dressed in his livery of blue and yellow, crested with white. Each of them wore Richmond’s badge, a demi-lion rampant, bursting out of a Tudor rose, bordered with gold embroidery. The horses were elaborately trapped in cloth of gold or silver or rich satins and velvets. Richmond himself rode in a lavish horse litter that Wolsey provided for the occasion. Padded with crimson velvet and cloth of gold, this was also embroidered with his arms. No casual observer was to remain ignorant of who had just passed by.
The sheer number of carts required to carry those things necessary to the state of a duke, including 120 sheaves of arrows, 20 gilt javelins in leather cases and 47 other javelins, must have added to the visual impact. The bill for carriage by land and water was over £90. Richmond’s wardrobe alone consisted of numerous doublets, short coats, long coats, cloaks, shirts, hose, bonnets and eight pairs of shoes. For the household there were vestments and altar cloths for his clergy; pewter, board cloths and napkins for his table and for the kitchen more than forty types of pots and pans, which all cost £1,193.36 Since they were so encumbered with bags and baggage, expedience alone must have demanded a leisurely pace, which also provided a perfect opportunity to show the duke off to the country in an appropriately stately manner.
Following his investiture into the Order of the Garter, Richmond spent some time with his father at Hampton Court. Members of his household, including his tutor, John Palsgrave, and his Master of the Horse, Sir Edward Seymour, as well as a number of his councillors, had already begun to assemble. The child finally left from Sir William Jekyll’s house at Stoke Newington in Middlesex on 26 July 1525. From there he went to Northampton, where Lady Maud Parr (the mother of Henry VIII’s last wife, Katherine Parr), gave the young Duke ‘a grey ambling nag’. At this point the Duke of Norfolk and others, who were providing an honourable escort out of London, took their leave of Richmond, carrying messages from the duke and his company back to the king.
Leaving Northampton the following morning, Richmond travelled north in daily stages, passing through Buntingford, Shengay and Huntingdon, where there was a day’s rest on the Sunday, until he reached Collyweston on 1 August. Once the favourite residence of Henry VIII’s grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, this was one of the properties granted to Richmond at his elevation. In a letter of 2 August, his council assured Wolsey that the duke was not finding the journey at all arduous, being ‘in better case [condition] and more lusty of his body, than his grace was at the first taking of his journey’.
However, Wolsey’s expensive new horse litter, no doubt also intended as a concession for a small child over such a long distance, was not a success with the six-year-old duke. As his council apologetically reported:
In all which journey my lord’s grace rode not in his horse litter, but only from William Jekyll’s house 3 or 4 miles, which riding in his said horse-litter his grace liked nothing; but ever since his grace hath ridden upon his hobby [pony], and hath been very well at ease.37
If the pony was the ‘little bay ambling’ which Richmond was given by the Marquess of Dorset, then perhaps the excitement of the gift fuelled his determination to ride like the grown-ups. From the beginning Richmond showed every sign of being a lively and somewhat demanding charge, one not above exploiting his status in order to get his own way. It is perhaps as well to remember that while it was not unusual for royal children to be expected to perform in an adult manner this did not make them grown-up. Almost as if this was a minority government, the tension between the power and authority vested in the duke and the freedom of action actually allowed to the child would be an ongoing source of problems and dilemmas.
The party broke their journey at Collyweston for a week. Not for the last time Richmond benefited from the extensive programme of improvements that Margaret Beaufort had made to her possessions. Collyweston boasted the particular comforts of a gallery, library and chapel. The gardens had been laid out with planted ponds and summer-houses, with an adjacent park for hunting and other sports. Richmond also seems to have reaped the rewards of another of his great-grandmother’s legacies. Margaret Beaufort had always been a popular local patron. Now, in his turn, local dignitaries warmly received Richmond when the Abbots of Peterborough and Crowland sent him ‘certain goodly presents of swans, crane and other wild fowl’.
If Richmond felt in any way overawed by recent events there is no sign of it. During his stay Davy Cecil, the Keeper of Cliff Park and Steward of Collyweston took him hunting. It was afterwards proudly recorded that the six-year-old had ‘killed a buck himself’. Still mindful of exactly how Richmond was being treated the council also happily reported that Cecil, at his own expense, had ‘made his Grace and all his folks right good cheer’. Given the size of the child’s entourage this must have been quite a costly privilege for the steward.
On 7 August the party finally left Collyweston on their next leg towards York. Now, news of Richmond’s impending arrival had begun to travel before him. Sir John Husse was eager to pay his respects and despite an affliction which left him barely able to ride, he expressed his intention of attending upon the duke when he passed through Grantham in Lincolnshire. The party continued on via Marton Abbey, near Stillington, until on 17 August the duke and his company at last arrived in York. They remained there until 28 August when Richmond was escorted from the city by his officers and members of the local gentry, who ‘attended on his grace and brought him on his way towards Sheriff Hutton’ to officially take up his new duties as the head of the king’s Council of the North.