Andrew Dudley's Goods and Will

Andrew Dudley was the younger brother of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. Born around 1507, he shared in his older brother's improving fortunes and in his downfall.

In 1553, Andrew, in his mid-forties, was betrothed to Margaret Clifford, the daughter of Henry Clifford, Earl of Cumberland. As Margaret was only thirteen or so, it was apparently arranged that she and Andrew would reside for a while at her father's castle of Skipton. In preparation for the marriage, Andrew Dudley sent a number of costly goods to Skipton Castle, including rich apparel for both spouses, "a Venetian cup with a cover pounced," and "a salt with certain stones set therein."

Andrew borrowed some items from the royal household to set up housekeeping with his bride-to-be, as listed by the editor of the Historical Manuscript Commission's Calendar of Manuscripts of the Marquis of Salisbury. The notations in brackets are the editor's.

One fair tablet of gold, to open in the back, made like a castle, garnished with xxvij diamonds, eight rubies, and four sapphires, cut lozenge-wise, with a picture of a woman and an agate [small figure cut in agate] holding a small diamond in her hand, like a glass.

A flower of gold, with a rose of diamonds in the midst, and eight small table diamonds on the borders, and three pearls pendant.

Two erypen parteletts [partlets, or ruffs] of cipress wrought with gold.

A fair ring of gold, with a blue sapphire, enamelled black and white.

A brush of hair, with a handle of purple velvet, garnished with passamen lace of silver and gold.

Sleeves of cambric and calico cloth for plucking out of French sleeves as following, viz., two pair wrought with black silk, three pair wrought with blue silk, and two pair wrought with red silk.

Three linings for partlets of nettlecloth, wrought with red silk.

A pair of shears of iron for a woman, parcel gilt.

A table of Diana and nymphs bathing themselves, and how Action was turned into a hart.

Two targets of steel lined with velvet.

One cassock of black velvet all over embroidered with Venice gold.

An ewer of antique work of silver and gilt, garnished with pearls, jacinths, amethysts, and other stones of small value — 22 oz.

Three bowls with a cover of silver and gilt poz. [i.e. weighing] 971 oz.

Three spoons of gold taken out of the green coffer in the silk house.

One Allmayn cup with a cover thin beaten of silver and gilt, in a case.

Six launsedegayes with brassell staves, trimmed with green velvet, and fringe of green silk, save one is with blue silk and velvet.

One case of knives, of black leather printed with gold, furnished with knives tipped with metal gilt.

Three combs, a glass, an ear-pick, and a bodkin, all of white bone, garnished with damascene work.

Fifty-one ostrich feathers.

A Flanders chest.

Six learns [collars for hounds] and collars of red velvet.

Left behind at Andrew's house at Petty Callyn were garments which included Andrew's Garter robes, a night gown of crimson satin, and a black damask gown lined with fine budge that was apparently a gift from Henry VIII or Edward VI, for it was called "the king's gown."

The marriage, however, was forestalled by Northumberland's attempt to put Lady Jane Grey on the throne. Andrew Dudley, always loyal to his older brother, was arrested in July 1553 and sent to the Tower, where he remained until January 19, 1555. He had not lost his life, but he did lose his bride. On February 7, 1555, Margaret Clifford married Henry Stanley, Lord Strange, the future Earl of Derby. Queen Mary sanctioned the wedding and gave the bride a diamond brooch. Lost along with Margaret Clifford were the goods that Andrew had sent to Skipton Castle.

Andrew was pardoned on April 5, 1555. On April 23, 1555, he was given a pension of 100 pounds per year, and on May 30, 1555, he was granted those goods which he had "craftily concealed" from the queen. Staying well away from politics, he settled at Tothill Street in Westminster, where a bout of sickness caused him to make his will on July 21, 1556. Despite his fears about his health, he lived until some time in 1559, his will being proven on November 22, 1559.

Andrew was survived by his younger brother Jerome, who appears to have been disabled, and by his half-sisters Bridget, the widow of Sir William Cawarden, and Elizabeth, the wife of Francis Jobson. (Elizabeth and Bridget were the products of his mother's marriage to Arthur Plantagenet, Edward IV's illegitimate son.) The nephews referred to in the will are Henry Sidney, who was married to Northumberland's daughter Mary, and Northumberland's sons Ambrose and Robert. The Henry Dudley named in the will had died at the siege of St Quentin in 1557.

I, Sir Andrewe Dudley, Knight, beinge sicke of Bodye, but of good and perfitt Remembraunce, and consideringe that every Man is mortall, and not knowing the certeyn Tyme and Hower when it shall please Godd to call, and willinge to be in a Redyness, do constitute and make my last Will and Testament in Manner and Forme followinge. First, I bequeath my Soule to Almightie God, my Body to be buried at Westminster, where it shall please the Deane to bestowe, and whereas dyvers and sondrye Parsones have Goodes, Juells, and Plate of myn, and be indebted unto me in Manner and Forme followinge: That is to say, where my Lord of Cumberland hath Juells, Plate, Mony, Apparell, Horsses, Wapons, and other Things, to the full Vallue of 4000 Marks and more; and whereas Oswald Wilkinson my Servaunt did receave of my Debts at Callice, at the Hands of my Lord Wentworlb, Sir Richard Cotton and others, the Quenes Hignes Commissioners there, at Guysnes, and other on that Side the Sea, certeyrt Somes of Money, amountinge to the Vallue of 180l. And whereas James Shelley, Gent, doth owe unto me the Some of 200l. which I lent him in redy. Mony, and whereas there was due to me the Some of 30l. by Maister Duke, at Michaelmas now one Yere past, for the Rente of one Yere and a Haulfe of Westtennmoulb, and owing unto me by Hetserolde, the Quenes Goldsmith, foe certeyn Golde he hadd of myn, a Parcell whereof is received, and tenne Pounds which my Lorde of Vrmond doth owe me, which I lent him at Guysnes; and 5l owing unto me by my Lord of Westminster, which I lent him at Bulleyn. And the yerelie Rent of seven Nobles, due unto me by the Space of thre Yeres and a Haulfe, by Thomas Malerth, Yoman, at Michaelmas nowe one Yere past, and going out of certyn Lands and Tenements in Surry, called Fredinghursty and other Lands, as appereth by Indentures made betwene me the said Sir Andrewe, and the said Thomas. I geve and bequeth all and singular, the foresaide Plate, Juells, Apparell, Debts, Somes of Mony, and all other Things whatsoever due unto me by any the Parsones aforesaide, unto my Nephewes Ambrose Dudley, Robert Dudley, Henry Dudley, my Sister Jobson, and my Sister Carden, equally to be devided amonges them; and that the Parsones aforesaide shall pay, out of the foresaid Somes, Juells, Plate, Mony, and other the Premisses, the Somes hereafter ensewinge: That is to say, to my Brother Jerom Dudley the Some of 200l. to my Nephewe Sidney 200l. to Robert Nowell, of Grayesinne, the Some of 100 Marks, &c. further paying my Debts, which as I remember are little above 100l, and geving to the poor Folkes 10l. Also I geve to my Ladie, my Nephewe Ambrose Dudley's Wife, 100l. which I lent him in Gold, and one Gowne which I delyvered in the Tower, furred with Sables, by Estimation worth 80l. Also I geve to my Nephewe Ambrose Dudley, my Nephewe Sidney and his Wife, my Brother Jobson and his Wife, my House in Tuthillstreet; and the best of my Garments and Apparell, whatsoever they be, I bequeath to my Brother Jobson, my olde Apparell to be bestowed amongs my Servaunts. The Residue of my Goods and Debts I will they shall stande and be at the Order, Discretion, and Disposition of my Executors, my Nephewe Sir Henry Sidney, my Brother in Lawe Sir Frauncis Jobson, and Robert Nowell of Grayes Inne, and my Overseers my Nephewes Ambrose Dudley, Robert Dudley, and Henry Dudley.

Following Andrew's death, Robert Dudley brought suit against the Earl of Cumberland to obtain the goods that Andrew had sent to Skipton Castle. Cumberland, who disputed Robert's right to claim the goods, acknowledged having in his possession Andrew Dudley's money and "divers apparels, as shrites, petycotes, trusses, doublets of taffaty and satin, hoses of velvet and saten, jerkyns, clokes, and gowns of velvet and satin with aglets of gold, jackets of cloth of gold, cote of silver, velvet, and satin, hankerchers, certain plate double gilt, parcel gilt, white plate, one cup of gold, and certain pewter and glass." After the examination of various witnesses, which included Margaret Clifford herself, Robert was granted all of his late uncle's forfeited estate.

Sources:

Simon Adams, "The Dudley Clientele." In G. W. Bernard, ed., The Tudor Nobility. Manchester University Press,

Simon Adams, ed., Household Accounts and Disbursement Books of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, 1558-1561, 1584-1586. Camden Fifth Series, Volume 6, 1995.

Calendar of Patent Rolls.

Arthur Collins, ed., Letters and Memorials of State, 1746.

John Roche Dasent, ed., Acts of the Privy Council, 1554-1556.

Maria Hayward, Rich Apparel. Surrey: Ashgate, 2009.

Historical Manuscripts Commission, Calendar of the Manuscripts of The Marquess of Salisbury Preserved at Hatfield House, Hertfordshire

Louis A. Knafla, ‘Stanley, Henry, fourth earl of Derby (1531–1593)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/26272, accessed 30 Jan 2011]

J. Andreas Löwe, ‘Sutton , Henry (d. 1564?)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8151, accessed 30 Jan 2011]

C. C. Stopes, Shakespeare's Environment. London: G. Bell & Sons, 1914.

Guildford Dudley

What is known about Guildford Dudley, the young husband of Lady Jane Grey? Here are some facts about him.

Guildford was the son of John Dudley, who eventually became the Duke of Northumberland, and his wife, Jane—whose maiden name, Guildford, served as her son’s Christian name. In 1544, the Dudleys’ oldest surviving son died during the siege of Boulogne, leaving his parents with five remaining sons. Historians are divided as to whether Guildford was the fourth or fifth of these, but the Spanish ambassadors described him in July 1553 as the fourth son. He or perhaps his brother Henry was the last of the brothers to marry: John had married Anne Seymour in 1550; Ambrose had married his second wife, Elizabeth Tailboys, some time in 1552 or 1553; Robert had married Amy Robsart in 1550, and Henry had married Margaret Audley before Edward VI’s death.

Both Simon Adams and G. J. Richardson give Guildford’s year of birth as being around 1535. In a letter written July 15, 1553, Don Diego Mendoza is quoted as referring to himself as Guildford’s godfather.

Nothing is known about Guildford’s interests or education, but his siblings were certainly well educated: His brother John owned an impressive collection of books and was interested in mathematics; his brother Robert was fluent in Italian and could read Latin and French; and his sister Mary is said to have known French, Latin, and Italian . There is no reason to suppose that Northumberland would have stinted on Guildford’s education.

The first we hear of Guildford Dudley is in 1552, when his father was trying to arrange his marriage—not to Lady Jane Grey but to her cousin, Margaret Clifford, whose father was the Earl of Cumberland. The privy council sent Cumberland a letter on July 4, 1552, urging him to finalize the marriage. This proposal prompted one Elizabeth Huggones to impute suspicious motives to the duke: she is recorded as saying “Have at the crown with your leave,” a point she emphasized “with a stout gesture.” The marriage never did go through; instead, arrangements were made the following year for Margaret to marry Northumberland’s younger brother, Andrew, though in the event this marriage never took place either.

The marriage that would ultimately cost both Guildford and his bride their lives came in 1553. According to Roger Alford in a letter written to William Cecil, the idea came from Elizabeth Brooke, Marchioness of Northampton, whose secret marriage to William Parr, Marquess of Northampton, had recently been legalized. By April 24, 1553, preparations for the wedding were underway: parcels of tissues and cloths of gold and silver were to be delivered to Jane, Guildford, their mothers, and the match-making Marchioness of Northampton herself. Just over a month later, on May 25, 1553, the couple were married. (Some sources give the date as May 21, but both Eric Ives and Leanda de Lisle cite evidence putting it at May 25.)

Various chronicles report Jane to have been a reluctant bride, but Guildford’s own feelings about the match are a mystery. We can only guess at how compatible the couple was or whether they might have achieved a happy marriage given time. Guildford is often depicted in historical fiction as being spoiled and even brutal, but there is no evidence of that; nor is there evidence to support his depiction in the movie Lady Jane as a frustrated social reformer who hides his idealism underneath a dissolute exterior until his marriage to Jane brings it to the forefront.

Edward VI, meanwhile, was dying, while rumors circulated that Guildford’s father was himself aspiring to the crown. Guildford had his own problems at this time: he and several others fell ill while eating some salad at his father’s house and was “still suffering from the results” as of June 12, 1553.

As Guildford was recuperating, Edward VI had decided to alter the royal succession: instead of the crown passing to his sister Mary, then his sister Elizabeth, it would go to Lady Jane Grey. Northumberland may or may not have urged this upon the dying king (the question is much debated), but the fiercely Protestant Edward VI took up the idea with enthusiasm. When Guildford learned about it is unknown, but Jane, writing to the victorious Mary after the fact, claimed that she first learned about the altered succession at the time when Edward VI’s condition became publicly known, or around June 19.

Edward VI died on July 6, 1553. On July 10, Jane and Guildford, along with their mothers and others, arrived at the Tower via barge. There is a description of both Jane and Guildford as they arrived at the Tower; unfortunately, Leanda de Lisle has pronounced it to be fictional, the 1909 invention of Richard Davey. If the description of Guildford as “a very tall, strong boy with light hair” is not authentic, then we are left with no idea of what he looked like. Portraits of his father and his brother Robert show them to have been dark-haired and dark-eyed; Guildford’s sister Mary, on the other hand, had reddish hair.

As recounted by Jane in a letter to Mary written after Jane’s brief reign had collapsed, the one recorded quarrel between Guildford and Jane—an episode on which most assumptions about Guildford’s character seem to be based—ensued soon thereafter. The hapless Marquis of Winchester brought Jane the crown and asked whether one should be made for Guildford. Not surprisingly for a sixteenth-century male, Guildford wanted to be king, whereas Jane insisted that he could only be a duke. (Bearing in mind the controversy that would arise as to Phillip’s role following his marriage to Mary, it doesn’t seem terribly unreasonable for Guildford to have expected to be made king.) Word got back to Guildford’s mother, whether through Guildford himself or through someone else Jane does not say. The Duchess of Northumberland reacted furiously to this snub to her son and persuaded him not to sleep with Jane anymore. Guildford would have also returned to his family’s house at Sion, according to Jane, had not Jane intervened and forced him, through the Earls of Arundel and Pembroke, to remain at court. The story does make Guildford sound rather like a petulant mother’s boy, but we have only Jane’s side of it, written at a time when Jane needed to present herself in the best possible light to Mary and at a time when the imprisoned Jane had little cause to speak kindly of anyone in the Dudley family.

If the Spanish ambassadors can be believed, Guildford did console himself by aping royal style: “He already had himself addressed as ‘Your Grace’” and ‘Your Excellency,’ sat at the head of the Council board, and was served alone.”

Guildford had very little time to concern himself with his royal status or lack thereof, however. Mary asserted her right to the throne, and by July 20, Jane, Guildford, and the Duchess of Northumberland were prisoners in the Tower. There, the ambassadors noted with considerable satisfaction, “At present the Tower jailor serves [Guildford] at table, and stands in the stead of his captain of the guard.”

From the Beauchamp Tower, where he was imprisoned, Guildford had a front-row seat as his family's fortunes collapsed. His father and his brothers John, Ambrose, and Henry were brought as prisoners to the Tower on July 25, and his brother Robert arrived on July 26. By July 26, the Duchess of Northumberland had been released. She promptly rode out toward Beaulieu, where Mary was staying, “to move her to compassion towards her children,” but was refused an audience.

At the Beauchamp Tower, Guildford had two servants waiting upon him; his expenses (including meals and “wood, coal, and candle”) for the period from July 20 to July 29 amounted to 109s, 6d. He had the company of one of his brothers, either Robert or Henry, in the Beauchamp Tower. From there he would have witnessed the dreary spectacle of his father being led out to execution at Tower Hill on August 22, 1553, followed by the sight of his headless body being returned for burial at the Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula.

With their father dead, Guildford and his brothers were allowed the “liberty of the leads” of their respective places of imprisonment in September. Guildford’s brothers John, Ambrose, and Robert were allowed to receive visits from their wives, but there is no indication that Guildford and Jane were allowed contact with each other.

On November 13, Guildford, along with Thomas Cranmer, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Lady Jane Grey, and Ambrose and Henry Dudley, were led on foot to the Guildhall, where they were to be arraigned for treason. With an ax borne before them, the Archbishop led the gloomy procession, followed by Guildford, Jane, and Ambrose and Henry. All were found guilty of treason. Jane was sentenced to burning or beheading; Guildford and the other men were sentenced to be drawn, hanged and quartered.

Guildford and Jane might well have been eventually pardoned were it not for the outrage provoked by Mary’s upcoming Spanish marriage. Determined to stop the marriage, and presumably to replace Mary with her sister Elizabeth, Thomas Wyatt entered into a conspiracy against the queen. Among the co-conspirators was Jane’s father, Henry Grey, Duke of Suffolk. The rebellion was a failure, and with its end died all of the hopes that Jane and Guildford, neither of whom had participated, would be allowed to live.

Jane’s last days have been described in detail; Guildford’s have not. The word “Jane” carved into the wall of the Beauchamp Tower might have been his effort; it is unlikely to refer to his mother by the same name, as she was in no danger of death and there was no need to memorialize her. At some point Guildford wrote a message to his father-in-law in a prayer book, the one which Jane was to take to the scaffold: “Your loving and obedient son wishes unto your grace long life in this world with as much joy and comfort, as did I wished to myself, and in the world to come joy everlasting your most humble son to his death G Duddley.” A few pages later in the same prayer book, Jane added her own note to her father “The Lord comfort your grace and that in his word wherein all creatures only are to be comforted and though it has pleased God to take away 2 of your children, yet think not, I most humbly beseech your grace, that you have lost them but trust that we, by losing this mortal life have won an immortal life and I for my part, as I have honored your grace in this life, will pray for you in this life. your Grace’s humble daughter Jane Duddley.” Jane had expressed nothing but contempt for Guildford’s own father after his downfall; it says something about Guildford, surely, that he was able to write without rancor to Jane’s father, the man whose ill-advised participation in Wyatt’s rebellion had sealed his fate.

With death approaching, Guildford is alleged by Commendone to have asked to say farewell to Jane in person, to be allowed “to embrace and kiss her for the last time.” Jane, however, refused on the ground that as such a meeting “would only tend to increase their misery and pain, it was better to put it off for the time being, as they would meet shortly elsewhere, and live bound by indissoluble ties.” This has been taken by some to suggest that Jane was indifferent to her husband, but as Eric Ives suggests, it’s more likely that Jane simply did not want to be distracted from the serious business of preparing for death. Assuming that Guildford still was sharing quarters with one or more of his brothers, at least he had their moral support.

The executions (commuted to beheading) took place on February 12, 1554. Guildford was to go first at Tower Hill, Jane second at Tower Green. Because of a misreading of “prayers” as “tears” by Stowe and Holinshed, Guildford has been depicted as sniveling his way to the scaffold. In fact, walking to the scaffold without a priest but surrounded by well-wishers, he conducted himself with quiet dignity:

The monday, being the xijth of Februarie, about ten of the clocke, ther went out of the Tower to the scaffolde on Tower hill, the lorde Guilforde Dudley, sone to the late duke of Northumberland, husbande to the lady Jane Grey, daughter to the duke of Suffolke, who at his going out tooke by the hande sir Anthony Browne, maister John Throgmorton, and many other gentyllmen, praying them to praie for him; and without the bullwarke Offeley the sheryve receyved him and brought him to the scaffolde, where, after a small declaration, having no gostlye father with him, he kneeled downe and said his praiers; then holding upp his eyes and handes to God many tymes; and at last, after he had desyred the people to pray for him, he laide himselfe along, and his hedd upon the block, which was at one stroke of the axe taken from him.

Note, the lorde marques [of Northampton] stode upon the Devyl’s towre,and sawe the executyon. His carcas throwne into a carre, and his hed in a cloth, he was brought into the chappell within the Tower, wher the ladye Jane, whose lodging was in Partrige's house, dyd see his ded carcase taken out of the cart, aswell as she dyd see him before on lyve going to his deathe,—a sight to hir no lesse then death.

Guildford Dudley’s fate has been largely overshadowed by that of his wife, but his death should be viewed as a tragedy no less than hers. At least one observer, the chronicler Grafton, saw it that way: “And in like manner that comely, vertuous, and goodly gentleman the lorde Gylford Duddeley most innocently was executed, whom God had endowed with suche vertues, that even those that never before the tyme of his execution saw hym, dyd with lamentable teares bewayle his death."

Sources
Simon Adams, ‘Dudley, Robert, earl of Leicester (1532/3–1588)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, May 2008
[http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8160, accessed 23 Jan 2011]

Simon Adams, ‘Sidney , Mary, Lady Sidney (1530x35–1586)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Jan 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/69749, accessed 23 Jan 2011]

Calendar of Patent Rolls

Giovanni Francesco Commendone, The Accession, Coronation, and Marriage of Mary Tudor, as related in four manuscripts of the Escorial. Translated by Cesare V. Malfatti.

John Roche Dasent, ed., Acts of the Privy Council of England

J. Stephan Edwards, Transcription of Lady Jane Grey’s prayerbook.

Eric Ives, Lady Jane Grey: A Tudor Mystery.

Leanda de Lisle, The Sisters Who Would Be Queen.

David Loades, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, 1504–1553.

John Gough Nichols, ed., The Chronicle of Queen Jane and Two Years of Queen Mary.

Nicholas Harris Nicolas, ed., The Literary Remains of Jane Grey.

G. J. Richardson, ‘Dudley, Lord Guildford (c.1535–1554)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edn, Oct 2008 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8149, accessed 23 Jan 2011]

Joseph Stevenson, ed., Calendar of State Papers, Foreign Series, Elizabeth I, 1558-1559, Vol. I (Appendix to Preface, "Expenses of the Prisoners in the Tower").

Royall Tyler, ed., Calendar of State Papers, Spain.

Some Goods of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford

John de Vere, thirteenth Earl of Oxford, born on September 8, 1442, was one of those unusual figures of the Wars of the Roses: a Lancastrian leader who died in his bed. After being defeated at the Battle of Barnet in 1471, he continued to harass Edward IV and was finally imprisoned at Hammes Castle in 1475. He might well have spent the rest of his life in prison had it not been for Richard III's seizure of the crown, which appears to have alienated Oxford's jailer, James Blount, who walked off his post and took his prisoner with him to join the exiled Henry Tudor. Oxford helped to win the day for Henry Tudor at Bosworth in 1485 and subsequently recovered his earldom and his lands. When he died at age seventy at Castle Hedingham on March 10, 1513, having survived into Henry VIII's reign, he was a wealthy and respected man.

Having spent much of his young manhood as an exile or as a prisoner, Oxford had a lot of ground to make up in terms of acquiring goods when he returned to England in 1485. He managed the task quite nicely, however, as shown by Sir William H. St. John Hope in his 1915 article, "The Last Testament and Inventory of John de Veer, Thirteenth Earl of Oxford" (Archaeologia vol. 66). The list that follows represents only a small fraction of the inventory transcribed by Hope (for those interested in reading the whole thing, the 1915 issue of Archaeologia can be found on the Internet Archive).

In his will, which Hope includes in his article, Oxford rather sweetly leaves to his widow, Elizabeth Scrope (his second wife), "a standing cup gilt and enamelled with blue 'Trulovys' in the bottom." The earl left many other goods to his wife, including "w'out dymynucion or restraint all maner appareill to her persone, as well clothe as sylkes, and almanner of cheynes, rynges, girdelles, devices, bedes, brooches, owchis, precious stones, and all other thinges beyng parcell of hir appareill whatsoever they be."

Before her death in 1474, Oxford's mother, Elizabeth de Vere, had been bullied by the young Richard, Duke of Gloucester, into giving up her lands to him in return for an inadequate consideration. Some of her goods were waiting for her son when he returned to England, however, for Oxford bequeathed two altar clothes "wrought by my lady my moder," which are described in the inventory as "two altar cloths, one of white sarcenet, and another of white damask, embroidered and wrought by needle work with my Lord's arms, and a frontlet of the same."

The inventory contains many goods bearing Oxford's various badges: a mullet or a molet ( a five-pointed star), often accompanied by clouds; the ubiquitous blue boar; and a mythical creature called a calygreyhound, which bears no resemblance to a greyhound whatsoever but which the earl seems to have been very fond, for it pops up in all manner of places in the inventory.

Itm a nother quylt w' floure de lic and birdes

Itm a Counterpoynt of tapistry w' the picture of Salamon lined sore worne

Itm a Counterpoynt of counterfeit arrais w' a man and a woman hawkyng and hunting

Itm A tapet of tapestry, w' a gentilwoman bering a Cupp of gold

Itm an olde tapett of tapestry and a woman beryng a baskett w' grapes

Itm an olde tappitt of counterfet areis /a man w' a crossebowe shoting at a wilde best and in a nother corner a castell

Itm A Seler and a tester of Red say and therein a wilde man Ryding on a
horse

Itm an hanging staynid w' Calygreyhaunds and Scalys

Itm iiij tapettt of grysell olde and sore worn [Hope suggests that this depicted the tale of Patient Griselda, which might well have appealed to Oxford]

Itm A splayde Egle of gold w' an angell face w' vj dyamoundes and xj perles w' iiij Rubies gyven to our Lady of Walsinghm

Itm an home of vnykhorn [unicorn] harnesed and garnisshid w' gold [Hopes states that this would have been the tusk of a narwhal]

Itm A pair of Ivory beedes [rosaries]

Itm iiij tapettt of counterfet Areis of thistorie of Tulius and Mesius

Itm A newe Celer and a tester w' a counterpoint of crymsyn damaske enbroderid w' ij gentilwomen standing on a mountain feding a popyniay in a cage full of crankette molette blue boores & water flores

Item a pair of Organs

Itm a peir of Portatyvys [the editor identifies these as small portable organs]

Itm an Image of saint John Baptist standing upon a base siluer and the camell skynne all gilt and his mantell white

Itm A Colar of gold made in garters w1 redde Roses in the garters and a george w' a dyamount and iij greate ples hanging in the dragons foote [note those red roses, please]

Itm A Colar of fyne gold of xxvij S and ij Porteculeisse w' a greate diamount in a red Rose and a Lyon hanging vppon the same Rose w' ij Rubies and a diamount vppon the said Lion and ij greate Rubies /and iiij diamount & ix greate perles vppon the S [this is an example of the famous "SS" collar associated with the House of Lancaster]

Itm A greate cheyne of gold w' a maryners whistell & of viij and oon Lynke [Oxford was the Lord Admiral]

Itm A Matteyns Boke w' a clapse of silu wich my lorde was wont to vse hymself

Itm A Canapy of crymsyn tynsyll satteyn w' the Dome [the Day of Judgment]

Itm A Whistell of Ivory garnisshid w' gold

It A Celor & a testor of red satteyn w' a lyon driving a Whilebarowe & a counterpoint of y e same

It A Celor and a testour of counterfeit areis after thistory of Daniell

Itm A long Cusslicon w' nedill werke w' ij Calygreyhoundes in hit

Mark Satchwill's Portrait of Margaret of Anjou

I have long admired artist Mark Satchwill's portraits of historical figures, and I was delighted to be able to commission one of Margaret of Anjou, just in time for the publication of The Queen of Last Hopes! Here it is!



If you visit Mark at his website, you can see (and order) portraits of Edward IV, Elizabeth Woodville, Elizabeth of York, Richard III, and Henry VII, as well as the Tudor gang. Mark has also produced portraits of Piers Gaveston and of everyone's favorite she-wolf, Queen Isabella.

Queen of Last Hopes Blog Tour

Well, The Queen of Last Hopes is available in bookstores now, and I'm getting ready to embark upon a blog tour! I'll post the schedule in the right sidebar soon, but in the meantime look for me tomorrow at Christy English's blog and Mrs. Q: Book Addict. Many of the sites I'm visiting this time are new to me, so I'm especially happy about meeting a brand-new group of readers.

Since I'm preparing for the blog tour, I might be a little more quiet on this blog than usual this month, but I'll still stop by from time to time. And once I get my author copies, I'll host a giveaway, so stay tuned!

The Queen of Last Hopes in LOL Cats: A Preview While You're Waiting

If you happened to visit your local bookstore on January 1, you might have asked yourself this question, "Where, pray tell, is The Queen of Last Hopes, which Susan has been saying for the last nine months or so would be published on January 1?"

I was experiencing rather similar emotions this weekend:



So where IS The Queen of Last Hopes? Evidently there was a delay at the printer's, but if all goes well, the book should be on its way to bookstores within the next few days. (If you own a Kindle, though, you can download it immediately.) In the meantime, rather than doing nonconstructive things such as kicking small children out of my path, I decided to put together this visual preview of my novel for you.

My Favorite Reads of 2010

OK, everyone else is doing this today, so why shouldn't I? 2010 wasn't a great reading year for me in terms of quantity, but in quality there were some high points. (Most, but not all, of these books were published in 2010.)

My Favorite Novels of 2010:

Noah's Compass by Anne Tyler (contemporary fiction). Like all of Tyler's novels, this is a deceptively simple story with characters who linger with the reader.

Secrets of the Tudor Court by D. L. Bogdan. A first novel about Mary Fitzroy, Duchess of Richmond, and her relationship with her father, Thomas Howard, the third Duke of Norfolk. I found this novel to be a haunting one, and I especially liked the character of Norfolk, a figure who could have easily been treated as a cardboard villain but came across as complex and even somewhat sympathetic. I'm looking forward to Bogdan's upcoming novel about Mary's parents.

Mary the Queen and Bloody Mary by Hilda Lewis. The second and the third novels in a trilogy about Mary I, these books are an excellent and insightful psychological portrait of England's first queen regnant.

My Favorite Nonfiction of 2010

Becoming Queen Victoria by Kate Williams.

We Two by Gillian Gill.

Mary Tudor by Anna Whitelock.

Elizabeth's Women by Tracy Borman.

Catherine of Aragon by Giles Tremlett.

Louisa May Alcott: The Woman Behind Little Women by Harriet Reisen.

All of these were exceptionally well written and engrossing--proof that nonfiction can be as page-turning as fiction in the right hands.

Books I Didn't Read Straight Through but Enjoyed Dipping Into:

She-Wolves by Helen Castor

The Wars of the Roses by Michael Hicks

Richard III by David Hipshon

Edward II by Seymour Phillips

Favorite New Toy of 2010:

Hands down, Mr. Kindle!


As for my plans for 2011, I'm going to be chugging away on my Tudor novel (it's slow going at the moment, but I take comfort in the fact that The Queen of Last Hopes was slow going at this time last year too, and it's due to be published tomorrow!). I've got some blog posts planned on a variety of subjects, including Guildford Dudley, Elizabeth Woodville's son the Marquis of Dorset, the will of John de Vere, Earl of Oxford, and more, so keep stopping by!

I hope all of you have a great 2011, and that the New Year is especially good for those of you who have had a rough time during 2010. I've never been the best at offering comfort and advice, but my thoughts have been with you.

Happy New Year!

A Word About Wakefield

I'm feeling very guilty because this is the 550th anniversary of the Battle of Wakefield, fought on December 30, 1460, and I haven't prepared a proper post. All I can really do today, then, is ramble a bit.

My own belief is that Henry VI--isolated from his supporters and probably fragile mentally--was bullied into accepting the Act of Accord under which it was agreed that Richard, Duke of York, would reign after Henry's death, thereby disinheriting his own son. The chronicler Gregory writes that after York arrived at Westminster, "he kepte Kynge Harry there by fors and strengythe, tylle at the laste the kynge for fere of dethe grauntyd hym [t]e crowne, for a man that hathe by lytylle wytte wylle sone be a feryd of dethe, and yet I truste and bee-leve there was no man that wolde doo hym bodely harme." The Crowland Chronicler tells of York compelling Henry "to remove to the queen's apartments," while Whethamstede writes that York "went to the principal chamber of the palace (the king being in the queen's apartments), smashed the locks and threw open the doors, in a regal rather than a ducal manner." If such (literally) strong-arm tactics were being employed publicly, what type of pressure might have been applied to the king in private?

Once Henry VI entered into the Act of Accord, his supporters could hardly have believed that the future boded well for him. York and his ally Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick, had shown no hesitation in ridding themselves of their political enemies at the first battle of St. Albans and at Northampton. The Duke of York was older than Henry VI and faced the prospect that if nature were allowed to take its course, the king might outlive him, thereby cheating him of the crown. Under these circumstances, I think it highly likely that Henry VI's days were numbered once he agreed to make York his heir. (If this was the period during which Henry VI went to Westminster to search out his final resting place, he may have thought so too.) Some convenient accident could have been arranged to befall the king. Even if he were persuaded to abdicate instead of waiting for death to claim him, his prospects as an ex-king would have seemed bleak, given the examples of Edward II and Richard II.

Henry VI's queen and his son--who under the Act of Accord had been left with nothing of his patrimony as Prince of Wales, though it may be that it was intended that the Duchy of Lancaster would be allowed to pass to him upon his father's death --had equal cause to worry about the future. Gregory tells of the "counterfeit tokens" purporting to be from the king that were sent to Margaret (then in Wales) in an attempt to lure her to London; it seems unlikely that the Duke of York was planning a banquet in her honor. Already the Yorkists had circulated rumors about the legitimacy of her son: could York had been planning to start formal proceedings declaring Edward of Lancaster to be a bastard? Or might York have intended to attack the validity of Margaret's marriage to Henry VI? Perhaps York was planning a simpler, more brutal solution. The older he grew, the more of a threat Edward of Lancaster would pose to York and his progeny, even if he were to be officially declared a bastard. Had Margaret of Anjou been foolish enough to let him fall into Yorkist hands, the boy might well have become the first Prince in the Tower, disappearing like the sons of Edward IV did during Richard III's reign. Or perhaps he might have been imprisoned and eventually executed, as young Edward, Earl of Warwick, would be during Henry VII's reign.

All of this is speculation, of course. But such thoughts likely occurred to Margaret of Anjou and her followers as they raised troops to oppose the Duke of York. Under those circumstances, the duke and those who fought alongside him could hardly expect mercy from the Lancastrians, and it's no surprise that they didn't receive it at Wakefield.

Get It While It's Free!

I wanted to let you know that my publisher, Sourcebooks, is offering several e-books free, including my first novel, The Traitor's Wife! I'm not sure how long the promotion lasts, so now's the time to get over and download your copy! You can go to the publisher's website or to various other e-book vendor sites.

While I'm here, I must say that I'm looking forward to Christmas, but even more so to New Year's Day, because that's when The Queen of Last Hopes will be published! After seeing so many novels where Margaret of Anjou is reduced to a cackling caricature (and one recent one where it's even hinted that she and her son have an incestuous relationship), I'm hoping that my novel will make some readers see Margaret in a sympathetic light and to appreciate the complexity of the situation with which she was faced.

I may not stop by again until after Christmas, so Merry Christmas! Hope it's a great one for you.

A Christmas Scene at Barnes and Noble

While buying a gift card at Barnes and Noble today, I overheard the following exchange:

Clueless customer: "Do you sell Kindle gift cards?"

Clerk: "No, we have Nooks here."

Clueless customer: "I need a gift card for my friend."

Clerk: "Well, the Nook gift cards are right here."

Clueless customer: "But where are the Kindle gift cards?"

Clerk: (steadfastly refusing to mention the "A" word): "All we sell here are Nook gift cards."

This (with inspiration from my husband and apologies to Dr. Seuss) led to the following poem:

You say you wish to buy a Kindle in our store,
But that is a thing we most abhor!
If you shop here you must buy a Nook,
Or go without reading an electronic book.
No Kindle can be found in our aisles,
To mention the name is so very vile!
Our shelves are lined with pretty Nooks,
We think the Kindle is for kooks.
If you must buy the Amazon devil device,
(And we really wish you would think twice),
You must not think to buy it here,
For its name dampens our Christmas cheer.
So buy your Kindle, if you really must,
But don’t ask for any help from us.

2010 Virtual Advent Tour: In the Pink, and Some Tudor Presents

Welcome to my blog! I'm delighted to be participating in the 2010 Virtual Advent Tour, as I have over the past couple years.

First, my family and I got a little goofy this year. Not only did we decide to buy an artificial Christmas tree (a very popular decision with my husband, who didn't have to wrestle it into a stand or water it), we decided to get a PINK artificial Christmas tree. And boy, is it pink! Next year, we hope to have more color-coordinated trimmings on it, the better to revel in its sheer pinkness.



Second, as you might not know if you're stopping by here for the first time, I write historical fiction, and the novel I'm working on presently is set in Tudor England. So for this year's Advent tour, I thought it would be fun to imagine what self-help books some of the Tudor gang might be hoping to get this year for Christmas. (All the books are real and can be found on Amazon.)

Margaret Beaufort: The Single Mother's Guide to Raising Remarkable Boys.

Henry Tudor: What's Next? Follow Your Passion and Find Your Dream Job.

Elizabeth of York: When He's Married to Mom: How to Help Mother-Enmeshed Men Open Their Hearts to True Love and Commitment.

Henry VIII: Winning Your Divorce: A Man's Survival Guide.

Catherine of Aragon: What to Do When He Says I Don't Love You Anymore.

Anne Boleyn: Mr. Right, Right Now! How a Smart Woman Can Land Her Dream Man in 6 Weeks.

Jane Seymour: Dating The Divorced Man: Sort Through the Baggage to Decide If He's Right for You.

Anne of Cleves: Still Friends: Living Happily Ever After...Even If Your Marriage Falls Apart.

Catherine Howard: Are You Keeping a Secret?: Finding Freedom from Hidden Issues That Can Ravage Your Life.

Katherine Parr: Liberating Losses: When Death Brings Relief.

Anne Stanhope: You Say I'm a Bitch Like It's a Bad Thing.

Edward VI: The Teenager's Guide to the Awesome God.

Jane Grey: A Smart Girl's Guide to Sticky Situations: How to Tackle Tricky, Icky Problems and Tough Times.

Guildford Dudley: Teenage Survival Manual: How to Reach 20 in One Piece.

Mary I: He's Just Not That Into You: The No-Excuses Truth to Understanding Guys.

Elizabeth I: A Passion for Purity: Protecting God's Precious Gift of Virginity.

Mary, Queen of Scots: Smart Women/Foolish Choices: Finding the Right Men Avoiding the Wrong Ones.

I'll probably get in a couple of more posts before the year ends, but just in case you don't get another chance to stop in before 2011, I'd like to wish you a very Merry Christmas (if you celebrate it) and a Happy New Year!

Happy Anniversary to Edward of Lancaster and Anne Neville!

On December 13, 1470, Edward of Lancaster and Anne Neville were married. Their marriage was due to one of the more unlikely alliances of the Wars of the Roses, that between Margaret of Anjou, Edward's mother, and Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick, Anne's father. Anne, born on June 11, 1456, was fourteen; her groom, born on October 13, 1453, was seventeen.

The marriage had been in the works for some time. Edward and Anne had been betrothed at Angers on July 25, 1470. A proxy may have stood in for Anne, for she might not have even been present: Sforza de Bettini, the Milanese ambassador in France, wrote from Angers on July 24, 1470, that Warwick, Margaret of Anjou, and Edward were at Angers, but he did not mention Anne's presence. On July 28, 1470, he wrote that Anne had been "sent for" to Amboise, where the marriage would be consummated. In fact, between the need for a papal dispensation and the need of Warwick to take England for his new Lancastrian allies, the marriage itself would not take place for months.

A papal dispensation was issued on August 17, 1470, but Michael Hicks suggests that this was found wanting in some respect, as another dispensation was issued on November 28, 1470. In the meantime, Warwick had restored Edward's father, Henry VI, to the throne. With the dispensation granted and Warwick's mission accomplished, the last obstacles to the couple's marriage had been removed.

Thanks to historical fiction, with considerable help from nonfiction like Paul Murray Kendall's biography of Richard III, two myths surrounding the marriage of Anne and Edward have become firmly entrenched: the first, that Anne was aghast at the thought of marrying Edward because she had long been in love with her childhood sweetheart, Richard, Duke of Gloucester; the second, that Edward of Lancaster was a cruel youth who mistreated his young bride. Neither myth has any basis in fact. Anne and Richard did know each other in their youth, but what each thought about the other is unrecorded. As for Edward's personality, I've posted about this before, but it's worth mentioning again that the famous comment that he talked of "nothing but of cutting off heads or making war, as if he had everything in his hands or was the god of battle or the peaceful occupant of that throne," should not be taken as the sum total of his character, as it too often is. The comment was made when Edward was only thirteen, and the source was an ambassador who was hostile to the House of Anjou and who may have never met Edward in person. In any case, there is no historical evidence that Edward mistreated Anne. Indeed, we have no idea of what either spouse felt about the other or about their marriage. No one recorded the private interactions of the two teenagers or was inclined to speculate upon their thoughts; all eyes were on their parents.

While the dispensation was being sought and while Warwick was re-establishing Lancastrian rule in England, Edward, Anne, and their mothers were at the Chateau of Amboise (pictured above), where King Louis XI himself was in residence. There they were married on December 13, 1470, by the Grand Vicar of Bayeux. Kendall with his usual bias describes the marriage as "something of a hole-and-corner affair," though it is hard to understand how a marriage performed by the Grand Vicar of Bayeux at a royal palace where the French king himself was present can merit such a description. (In fact, we know far more about this "hole-and-corner" marriage than we do about Anne's second marriage to the Duke of Gloucester, for which we don't know the date, the location, the identity of the person who officiated, or the identity of any of the guests.)

Whether the marriage was consummated is unknown. I've blogged about this elsewhere and won't repeat myself at length, but I'm inclined to think that it was, as it would have been foolish of Margaret to alienate Warwick by preventing its consummation. Louis XI, who had worked hard to promote the marriage and who had been supporting the pair and their mothers at his court, would have also been furious had Margaret refused to allow the young couple to bed together.

The day after their marriage, the newlyweds and their mothers went to Paris, where Louis had arranged for them to be greeted by city and university officials. They entered the city through the Porte Saint-Jacques, passing through streets that in their honor were lavishly decorated with tapestries and other hangings, before arriving at their lodgings at the Palais (on the site of the present Palais de Justice complex, if I'm not mistaken, and I hope someone will correct me if I am). From Paris, the couple went to Normandy. They at last returned to England in April, where they were confronted with the disastrous news of Warwick's defeat and death at Barnet.

Happy or unhappy, the couple's marriage ended on May 4, 1471, when Edward of Lancaster was killed at Tewkesbury. The pair had been married for less than six months.

Sources:

Calendar of State Papers and Manuscripts in the Archives and Collections of Milan: 1385-1618

J. Calmette and G. Perinelle, Louis XI et L'Angleterre. Paris: Editions Auguste Picard, 1930.

Peter Clarke, "English Royal Marriages and the Papal Penetentiary in the Fifteenth Century." English Historical Review, 2005.

Michael Hicks, Anne Neville, Queen to Richard III. Stroud, Gloucestershire: Tempus, 2006.

Michael Hicks, Warwick the Kingmaker. Oxford: Blackwell, 2002 (paperback edition).

Margaret Kekewich, The Good King: René of Anjou and Fifteenth Century Europe. Palgrave Macmillan: 2008.

Jean de Roye, Chronique Scandaleuse, 1460-1483, ed. B. de Mandrot, volume I. Paris: 1894.

Dressed to Be Killed: Some Tudor Execution Wear

Those of high estate who ran afoul of the government in Tudor England had a final decision to make: what to wear for their last day on the public stage--that is, at the scaffold. While the final speeches of the condemned were often recorded, observers were generally less inclined to note the deceased's final fashion choice. Nonetheless, here are a few of the descriptions that have come down to us (when and if I find more, I'll post a sequel):

Anne Boleyn: The various accounts mention either a gray or black gown, over which Anne wore a mantle of ermine, and a gable hood. The Spanish Chronicle adds the detail that Anne wore a red damask skirt and a netted coif over her hair, though another account states that one of Anne's ladies handed her a linen cap into which she bundled her hair after she removed her hood. See Eric Ives, The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn and Alison Weir, The Lady in the Tower, both of which list the various sources for Anne's execution. Weir's book quotes from a number of these sources. (For more on the red skirt, see here.)

John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland: The Chronicle of Queen Jane reports that he wore a gown of "crane-colored" damask, which he removed after mounting the scaffold and before making his speech to the crowd. (One report states that Northumberland's executioner wore a white apron.)

Lady Jane Grey: According to The Chronicle of Queen Jane, she wore the same gown that she had worn to her arraignment: a black gown of cloth, turned down, with a velvet-lined cape. If she also wore the same headdress to her execution that she had worn to her arraignment, it was an all-black French hood. No red skirts here!

Mary, Queen of Scots: John Guy in his biography Queen of Scots describes her attire in great detail: a white linen veil; a gown of thick black satin. "Trimmed with gold embroidery and sable, it was peppered with acorn buttons and of jet, set with pearl." Mary also wore slashed sleeves, over inner sleeves of purple velvet, suede shoes, and "sky-blue stockings embroidered with silver thread and held up by green silk garters." She carried an ivory crucifix and a Latin prayer book. On her girdle was a string of rosary beads with a golden cross. She wore a medallion "bearing the image of Christ as the Lamb of God." Underneath she wore a petticoat of tawny velvet and an inner bodice of tawny satin, which Guy describes as the color of "dried blood; the liturgical color of martyrdom in the Roman Catholic Church." Famously, she was also wearing an auburn wig.

Was Elizabeth Woodville one of Margaret of Anjou's Ladies?

It’s stated as fact in the Wikipedia article on Margaret of Anjou, and elsewhere, that Elizabeth Woodville served as a lady-in-waiting to Margaret of Anjou. Fact or fiction? Unfortunately, the answer is uncertain.

The assertion that Elizabeth was one of Margaret’s ladies comes from Tudor sources. Sir Thomas More in his History of King Richard III writes in passing that Elizabeth was “in service with Queen Margaret,” and Hall’s Chronicle makes the same claim. At first glance, this is confirmed by Margaret of Anjou’s records. As A. R. Myers and George Smith each note, an Isabel, Lady Grey, was among the English ladies sent in 1445 to escort Margaret to England. Myers notes as well that an Elizabeth Grey, a lady in waiting to Margaret, received jewels from the queen in 1445-46, 1446-47, 1448-49, 1451-52, and 1452-53. “Isabel” and “Elizabeth” were often used interchangeably during this period, and Elizabeth’s first husband was John Grey.

As Myers, Smith, and other historians have noted, however, there are problems with assuming that the lady in the records is Elizabeth Woodville. Her birth date is generally estimated as being around 1437, which means that for Elizabeth to be the Isabel or Elizabeth Grey of the records, she would have been married and serving as Margaret’s attendant beginning at age eight. Girls did marry as children, but would an eight-year-old girl be assigned to travel to France to escort Margaret to England and to serve in her household? If she was there at all, it seems more likely that she would have been merely tagging along with her mother, Jacquetta, the Duchess of Bedford, and would not have been important enough to the queen to be the recipient of gifts in her own right.

Moreover, as Myers and Smith point out, there were other Elizabeth Greys around, including Elizabeth Woodville’s own mother-in-law. The most likely candidate for the Elizabeth Grey of Margaret’s records, however, is “Elizabeth, late the wife of Ralph Gray, knight, daily attendant on the queen’s person” who received a protection on June 27, 1445 (Calendar of Patent Rolls). This Elizabeth, daughter of Henry, Lord Fitzhugh, was a widow, whose husband Ralph died in 1443. (The couple have a splendid tomb at Chillingham, you can see some lovely photographs of it here.) Incidentally, Elizabeth and Ralph had a son, another Ralph, who after a brief accommodation with the Yorkists returned to his former allegiance and was besieged at Bamburgh in 1464. Badly injured when gunfire brought down part of a wall upon him, he survived long enough to be taken to Doncaster and beheaded.

So where does that leave Elizabeth Woodville? Even if the Elizabeth referred to in the records is another woman, it’s certainly not impossible that Elizabeth Woodville served Margaret of Anjou in the 1450’s, especially as her mother, the Duchess of Bedford, would have given her a natural entrée at court. Elizabeth’s parents were in Margaret’s company at Coventry in 1457, and her brother Anthony jousted before the king and queen in 1458. Still, the lack of any unambiguous contemporary reference to Elizabeth as a lady of Margaret’s leads me to think that while Elizabeth Woodville might have visited court from time to time in the company of her family, she was never one of her predecessor’s ladies.

Sources:

David Baldwin, Elizabeth Woodville: Mother of the Princes in the Tower. Gloucestershire: Sutton, 2004 (paperback edition).

A. R. Myers, Crown, Household and Parliament in Fifteenth-Century England. London and Ronceverte: Hambledon Press, 1985.

Arlene Okerlund, Elizabeth: England’s Slandered Queen. Gloucestershire: Tempus, 2006 (paperback edition).

Proceedings, Society of Antiquaries of Newcastle upon Tyne, 1888.

George Smith, The Coronation of Elizabeth Wydeville. Gloucester: Gloucester Reprints, 1975 (originally published 1935).

Edward II in Love, and a Special Appearance by Robert the Bruce: Search Terms!

susan higginbotham download ebook

You heard the man. Do it.

edward second in love

Awwwww.

6 articles of faults drawn up against edward ii

That's no way to treat a man in love.

edward ii ending

All good things must . . .

king william 147? married to elizabeth woodville

If only someone had thought to tell Richard III. It might have saved a lot of trouble for everyone.

elusive woodville

Until King William came along.

did edmund beaufort lose france

Yes, but the Duke of York kept trying to tell him where to find it.

fun photography susan higginbotham

My prom picture, in which I am depicted with my eyes shut, is considered quite amusing by some.

leeds castle child out of wedlock

Someone really needs to address the growing immorality of medieval castles before it gets out of hand.

anglo saxon law cats divorce

Until William the Conqueror came along and ruined everything, of course, by restricting the right of divorce to dogs.

robert the bruce rapes queen isabella

He leered at Isabella, his haggis-laden breath heavy on her neck. "It's time, lass," he whispered, "that ye larned what a real man was like."

Isabella made a pretense of struggling under the mighty Scotman's embrace. At least, she thought to herself, I shall finally see what they keep under those sexy little kilts of theirs.

My Henry VIII Washington Weekend

I took advantage of the four-day Thanksgiving holiday weekend to travel to Washington, D.C., where I was lucky enough to catch "Vivat Rex! An Exhibition Commemorating the 500th Anniversary of the Accession of Henry VIII." The exhibition was mounted at the Grolier Club in New York in 2009 and traveled to the Folger Shakespeare Library this fall. (You can still see it in Washington through December 31.) The exhibit contains a number of objects associated with Henry VIII, his family, and his contemporaries. I particularly enjoyed seeing Elizabeth of York's inscribed prayer book, a New Year's gift roll from 1539, and a book of instructions given by the widowed Henry VII to his ambassadors, who had been sent to scout out the Queen of Naples as a possible bride. ("To marke hir brestes and pappes whether they be bigge or smale.")

I'm the sort of exhibition-goer who always leaves wishing I'd looked at certain exhibits more closely, so naturally I couldn't resist purchasing the exhibition guide, which is worth purchasing on its own if you can't get to the exhibit. It contains pictures of the items on display and short commentaries on them, along with essays by John Guy, Dale Hoak, and Susan Wabuda.

To coincide with the exhibit, the Folger has been staging William Shakespeare's Henry VIII, which has the distinction of having caused the Globe Theatre to burn down when it was produced in 1613. It's a rather odd play, which focuses on the downfall of Edward Stafford, Duke of Buckingham, the schemes and fall of Cardinal Wolsey, and Henry's infatuation with and marriage to Anne Boleyn, to the cost of Catherine of Aragon. It ends with the christening of the future Elizabeth I, whose glorious reign is predicted by Thomas Cranmer. In this production, a number of the roles are taken by Henry's Fool, Will Sommers. I found the acting and staging excellent and was delighted that I had a chance to see this little-performed play!

My Henry VIII weekend continued in my reading matter for the trip: Giles Tremlett's new biography of Catherine of Aragon. I found it well written and insightful, especially as to Catherine's years in Spain. My one quibble is that the edition of the book published in the United Kingdom has no end notes; a set taken from the American edition, however, can be viewed at the website of the British publisher, Faber and Faber. This is one instance where I wish I had been a little more patient and waited for the American edition, but at least I can print out the notes.

So there you have it, my Henry VIII weekend! I only wish I could have stayed until Monday, when author Margaret George will be doing a reading, but at least I have her upcoming novel on Elizabeth I to anticipate.

Mary Dudley Sidney Writes in a Book

One of the things I enjoy most is finding things that the people in my novels wrote themselves--letters, wills, and, in some cases, poetry.

Mary Dudley, the oldest surviving daughter of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, married Henry Sidney in March 1551 at Esher in Surrey, in a private ceremony; in May, a public wedding was held at Ely Place, Northumberland's London mansion. (At that time, Northumberland was the Earl of Warwick, having not yet become a duke.) Sidney, eight years older than Edward VI, was a companion to the young prince and became a gentleman of his privy chamber after the young Edward VI became king. Why the young couple had two wedding ceremonies is unexplained: had the pair made a runaway match? Henry Sidney was a few months shy of his twenty-second birthday; Simon Adams has estimated Mary Dudley's birthdate as being anywhere from 1530 to 1535. After Northumberland's ill-fated attempt to put Lady Jane Grey on the throne in 1553, Henry Sidney was soon reconciled to the new queen, Mary I, but he remained loyal to his wife's family and was among those who helped the surviving Dudley brothers regain their freedom following their lengthy imprisonment in the Tower. Mary Sidney became a favored lady of Elizabeth I, a decidedly mixed blessing, for she nursed Elizabeth through an attack of smallpox, caught the infection, and was badly scarred. Mary is shown here in a portrait by Hans Eworth, dated between 1550 and 1555.

Henry Sidney and Mary Dudley are most notable, perhaps, for being the parents of Philip Sidney, the celebrated poet-courtier. Their daughter Mary, Countess of Pembroke, was herself a writer and a literary patroness.

Mary Dudley also tried her hand at writing, as did her husband. On two blank pages of Hall's Union of the Two Noble and Illustrate Famelies of Lancastre and Yorke, now in the hands of the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C., the spouses traded verses, Henry in Latin, Mary mostly in English, with a bit of French and Latin mixed in. I've obtained photographs of the pages and would love to post them here, but I haven't yet obtained permission to do so. I hope to get permission, because the couple's handwriting is lovely and quite legible. The first two verses have been transcribed by Alfred Bill in Astrophel, or the Life and Death of the Renowned Sir Philip Sidney; the last two are my own maiden attempts at transcription (if anyone more accustomed to reading sixteenth-century English than I am wants to have a stab at a transcription, I'd be happy to pass the photograph on to you!)

To whyshe the best and fere the worst
are to points of the wyese.
To suffer then whatt happen shall
that man is happy thryese.

1551
Mary Sidney
fere God

Of all thinges the newest is the best,
save love and frinship, which
the elder it waxeth is ever the better

Escript par la maine d'un
femme heuruse assavoir

If not for to spede thou think again
Will not the thing that thou moveth not attain
for thou and none other art cause of thy [lett? loss?]
if that which thou mowest not thou [?]
to express scriptini manire felix

Upon thy good daye
have thou in mind the [unware?]
woe that may come behind

The Dukes That Were Left Behind

Karen over at A Nevill Feast has been posting some scenes she left out of her work-in-progress, and if the outtakes are any indication, I'm looking forward to the completed product! Anyway, that inspired me to post two of the snippets that didn't make it into the The Queen of Last Hopes, one involving Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester (Henry VI's uncle) and the other involving Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter. (This novel went through several false starts, some in first person and some in third person, before I finally got swinging--it ended up being told in first person through the eyes of Margaret and several male characters.) I was rather sad at leaving the Humphrey snippets behind, mainly for the loss of Humphrey's daughter, Antigone, who did indeed exist and who did indeed bear that name in a world of Margarets, Elizabeths, and Annes.

Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester:
“My fool nephew is in quite the coil,” said Humphrey that December at Powis Castle in Welshpool, the home of his bastard daughter, Antigone, and her husband, Henry Grey. “He fully intends to surrender Maine, but he’s in the minor difficulty that no one who’s actually in Maine wants to surrender it, including Edmund Beaufort.” Edmund Beaufort was the Earl of Somerset and the governor of Maine. “It’s causing Henry and Wooly Will no end of headaches.”

“Papa, how do you manage to learn all of these things?”

“I may not be welcome at court, my dear, but I have my ways of finding out things. I have some very obliging men at court who provide me with information. For a fee, of course, but it’s well worth it to keep apprised of happenings. The entertainment value in itself justifies the expense.”

“So what do they plan to do about it?” asked Henry.

“Oh, this is splendid. They’ve made Beaufort lieutenant general of France and Normandy, in order to keep him sweet. Of course, the Duke of York has been expecting to be reappointed to that position, so they’ve cultivated themselves other enemy in the process. Wooly Will must have nothing but that substance between his ears.” He leaned back in his chair—the family was dining privately—contentedly. “I predict absolute disaster. Do they really think that Somerset’s going to be bought that cheaply? And what are they going to give York in return? Ireland would be my best guess, but face it, given the choice, what man would prefer life among the savages in Ireland to the civilization of France? But my nephew and his merchant better hope that Somerset and York aren’t pleased, because if they do give in and cooperate in ceding Maine, the people will never forgive Henry and Suffolk. And it’ll be even worse for the French Wench. What did she bring to England? Nothing. What will she cost England? Maine, at the very least. How has she proven her worth? Not at all. The girl’s of prime child-bearing age, almost seventeen. And not a hint of a child to come. The people won’t stand for that state of affairs forever. God knows, I’m having a hard enough time doing so. My poor brother, the noble king Henry. That his England should have come to this!”

“Father, you are upsetting yourself too much over these things.”

“No, my girl. You would be upset too if you were old enough to remember a different time. England was not always ruled thus.”

“But it seems so futile, for you to waste your life brooding over what you cannot change.”

Humphrey’s hand tightened on his wine cup. “Who says I cannot change things?”

***

“Antigone, I must make you promise me something.”

The Greys were alone, Humphrey having taken his leave several hours before. “Goodness, you sound grim.”

“I am. I know you love your father. I am fond of him too. But you must promise not to involve yourself in any schemes of his.”

“Schemes? What on earth are you speaking of?”

“I believe he is plotting treason.”

Antigone said confidently, “That is nonsense, Henry, and you know it.”

“Do I? Listen to the man, Antigone. During his stay, he did nothing but rail against the king and the queen and Suffolk and how good it was in his late brother’s time. From one of our shepherds, that might be nostalgia. From the heir to the throne—and it looks as if that’s not going to change any time soon, if this French girl is indeed barren—that’s alarming talk. What do you think would happen if King Henry got wind of it?”

“He is just blustering, my dear.”

“Is he? Your father's popular here in Wales, and you know how the people here can be. Wild. If there is a place he could raise support for an insane scheme to steal the throne from his nephew, it’s here. Mind you, I’m not saying that he’s tried. Yet.”

Antigone sighed. “Very well. I assure you, if he were to do anything so stupid and foolhardy, I would not become involved or give him aid. But I am quite sure that all of your fears are for naught. Men! How suspicious they always are.”

“Someone has to be.”

Henry Holland, Duke of Exeter (after the Battle of Barnet):

As the afternoon wore on, a man limped slowly about the dead, kneeling from time to time to turn a face in his direction or to stare into a pair of glazed-over eyes, only to rise and continue his search. As he was clearly not competing for the spoils of the battle, the Yorkist soldiers left him to his grim task in peace.

Presently, the man stooped and lifted yet another face. What he saw when he brushed off the mud and blood that all but obscured the features before him made him cry out: this was the man he had grown up beside and served for nearly three decades, the man he’d followed in and out of prison, in and out of exile. He lifted his fallen master to a sitting position and hugged him against his chest, weeping.

Then his face changed. He put his hand to the man's chest, then to his wrist. He had not been wrong; the Duke of Exeter was drawing breaths, faint but regular. “My lord?” he whispered. “My lord! Do you know me?”

Henry Holland opened his eyes a slit, then groaned and shut them without any sign of recognizing his servant. But it was enough. Lifting his master in his arms, and paying no mind to the pain that shot through his own injured leg with every step, the duke's man began his slow trek to the town in search of a surgeon. With the gold he’d secreted on his person for just such an exigency, there would be no difficulty in finding one.

Guest Post by Lila Rhodes: Going, in Armor, for the Gold

I'm pleased to be hosting a guest post by Lila Rhodes, with whom I've been chatting back and forth for some time about one of my favorite families, the Woodvilles (or Wydevilles, if you please). Without further ado, here's Lila!

__________________

Hi, I'm Lila Rhodes.

Back in '83 I met (through fiction) my knight in shining armor: Anthony Wydeville (1440-1483). Yup, I fell for this guy 500 years to the month after he was beheaded by order of (soon to be) Richard III. In Shakespeare's Richard III, he appears as Earl rivers. Before long, I was mainlining history, drafting scripts about Anthony, and playing with the Society for Creative Anachronism. There, my persona is Agatha Whitney—who subsequently appears in my fiction. [Did you ever write yourself into a novel?]

Going, in Armor, for the Gold

by Lila Rhodes


A Ceremony

After mass on the Wednesday before Easter 1465, Anthony Wydeville strode through Shene Palace to visit his sister. At twenty-five, he was Lord Scales, a baron. It had been only seven months since he had the surprise of his life: King Edward had married his sister. Without warning, he was the king’s brother-in-law.

Anthony found Queen Elizabeth, a young beauty with the delicate features of a china doll, seated on a carved chair and flanked by her ladies in waiting. One of her ladies-in-waiting was Anthony’s wife. Another was their sister Anne, another of the thirteen Wydevilles.

“Lord Scales,” the queen acknowledged him.

Anthony Wydeville, an athlete, stepped forward and sank to his knee. He doffed his velvet hat and let it fall upside down beside him on the richly colored carpet. “Your grace?”

“Are you practicing handling a pitcher and goblets on horseback?”

“Yes, your grace. I will be ready to serve spiced grape juice at your coronation feast.”

The queen nodded. The ladies moved forward and surrounded Anthony. Something glittered in Lady Scales’s hand. She and Anne Wydeville settled on either side of him. Lady Scales reached under her husband’s extended leg and handed one end of a band to Anne and they fastened it above his knee. It was a series of golden links shapes like 8’s, set with precious gems, and adorned with a flower of enameling on gold—for remembrance.

Another lady dropped something in Lord Scales’s hat before they all returned to their places.

Recognizing the honor, Anthony responded, “This comes nearer my heart than my knee.” In his hat, he found a scroll of parchment tied with a gold thread.

The Challenge

Anthony, Lord Scales, recognized at once that the flower was an emprise to be won by meeting the challenge described in this scroll. Eager as he must have been to read it, Anthony was a wise courtier. He took the scroll to King Edward and explained. “Her grace’s ladies have honored me with this emprise.”

Edward IV—who was twenty-three, huge, and handsome—broke the seal and read the message. “You are instructed to joust with a champion of your choice. The first day’s encounter will be on horseback and the second on foot.” He grinned at his brother-in-law. “Who might you challenge?”

That was a question. It had only been four years since Edward seized the throne, and civil war sputtered on. People from either side could easily be offended.

Lord Scales wrote at once to Comte de la Roche, an illegitimate son of the Duke of Burgundy and a famous jouster.

King Edward sent his Chester Herald with the jeweled emprise, to deliver the challenge. This called for a ceremony in the elegant court of the Duke of Burgundy in Brussels. The Chester Herald displayed the sparkling band of gems on gold and spoke to Count de la Roche. “You have the opportunity to meet Lord Scales in London to win this emprise for yourself.”

Count de la Roche, whose name was Antoine, asked about Anthony.

The herald answered, “He showed himself an able jouster at King Edward’s tournament last spring. Like yourself, he has also seen battle.”

A great deal of negotiation followed on the rules of this tournament. At one point the articles considered, with horror, the possibility that one of them could be hurt.

Magnificence

It was two years before Comte de la Roche, and four hundreds of followers, made it to London. On May 30, 1467, seven barges of key lords and Londoners escorted him to his landing place.

The count was the houseguest of a bishop. Lord Scales and the royal court paraded through the city. Some­thing, maybe the elegance of his entourage, tipped Anthony off when he came to the count along the parade route. He turned his horse, and, for the first time, the opponents saw each other.

Comte de la Roche visited the opening of parliament and attended many feasts and dances. Meanwhile, the stockyard at Smithfield turned into their venue. The lists and three-story stands were built for the event.

The tournament began on June 11. The queen wore a very high-waisted houpland that obscured the fact that she would be having a child in July. The king’s purple robe spread out behind him over the sand, but the garter of the order on his leg was plain to see. He climbed two flights past knights and squires to join his counselors on the podium. Hundreds of important and wealthy Londoners entered, knelt before the king, and took their places in the opposite stands.

There was a knock on the wooden door at the end of the lists. The marshal of the tournament called out, “Who would enter?”

Lord Scales answered, “My name is Escallis. I am come to accomplish a deed of arms with the Bastard of Burgundy...” Lord Scales and his horse entered wearing cloth of gold. The horse trappings had gold fringe half a foot long. Behind him, came eight more horses ridden by his pages. The boys all wore green velvet, but the horses were all dressed differently in trappings clear to the ground. Three wore damask of different colors and patterns. Two wore velvet, and two fur. The last horse glittered in cloth-of-gold.

Next Count de la Roche received permission to enter. Some in his parade of horses wore fur, cloth of silver, and gold and silver bells.

The Marshal delivered a warning. “Viewers must not approach the lists, wave, or make any noise. Anyone doing so will be imprisoned until he pays whatever ransom the king demands.”

Horses

At the king’s signal, the jousters lowered their lances, rushed together, and missed each other completely. Tossing the lances away, they began fighting with their swords. Steel rung on steel and the horses churned up the sand.

Suddenly the count’s horse reared. The count clung to him as he rose higher and higher. The weight of the armed knight toppled the stallion over on top of him.

Lord Scales rode slowly around his opponent as the marshal crossed to the fallen count and thrashing horse.

There are many conflicting accounts of what happened. Some Burgundians even said that Lord Scales rammed his sword down the horse’s throat. Another version has Scales’s horse wearing an illegal spike on its faceplate. Some said there was blood around the horse’s mouth, other its nose. One version says it was pierced through the eye and killed instantly.

The day’s combat was over. Lord Scales was stripped in front of everyone as officials searched him for hidden weapons.

Miraculously, Count de la Roche walked away. When he was asked if he could fight, the count said, “Today I fought a beast. Tomorrow I will fight a man.”

And he did. They fought on foot with pole axes (a knight­’s version of a Swiss army knife equipped with spear point, blade, hammer, and hook.)

The two champions pried pieces off each other’s armor. Each fought to put his opponent in a position where he could make no further moves. The baron brought his spear point up and wedged the tip in the count’s visor. Thrusting with this advantage, Lord Scales forced his opponent onto his knees. “Whoa” cried a lone voice in the stands. His command was picked up and repeated by the king’s marshals and heralds.

Anthony and Antoine removed their helmets. The count told the king and the marshal that he wished to continue.

The Marshal replied, “If you resume, it will be from the same position. You were on your knees with a spear point in your visor.” The count conceded.

King Edward called on them to shake hands and never fight each other again. There is no evidence of hard feelings between them.

It was probably clear to all the spectators who won the day. However, King Edward wanted an alliance with Burgundy and declared it a draw. Let us hope that Lord Scales, as well as the count, was given a jeweled band with a flower of gold for remembrance. In any case, this tournament is one way Anthony Wydeville is still remembered.

The Sack of Ludlow: The Margaret/Cecily Face-Off

As I mentioned on Margaret of Anjou's Facebook page, a number of novels set during the Wars of the Roses have a scene where Margaret of Anjou's troops sack the town of Ludlow, usually resulting in carnage that makes the St. Bartholomew's Day Massacre look like a minor street brawl. To top things off, few novelists can resist having the courageous Cecily, Duchess of York, bravely taking her stand at the town's market cross, come face-to-face with the vengeance-crazed, merciless Margaret of Anjou. After all, it's a perfect opportunity for an encounter between Good (Cecily, need you ask?) and Evil (Margaret, natch). Throw in a callow young George, Duke of Clarence and a saintly, frail little Richard, Duke of Gloucester, trembling at Cecily's side, and the chapter practically writes itself.

There's no doubt that Henry VI's troops did loot and pillage, and probably rape as well, after the Yorkist leaders fled from Ludford Bridge in 1459. Gregory's Chronicle reports:

The mysrewle of the kyngys galentys at Ludlowe, whenn they hadde drokyn i-nowe of wyne that was in tavernys and in othyr placys, they fulle ungoodely smote owte the heddys of the pypys and hoggys hedys of wyne, that men wente wete-schode in wyne, and thenn they robbyd the towne, and bare a-waye beddynge, clothe, and othyr stuffe, and defoulyd many wymmen.

[It's interesting that the poor women are mentioned here almost as an afterthought to the bedding and clothes. But I digress.]

Hearne's Fragment tells us:

And in the year of our Lord 1459, and then being the 38th year of King Harry the 6th, the Duke of York fled from Ludlow into Ireland. And this Edward, with the Earls of Salisbury and Warwick, departed into Devonshire, and from thence into Guernsey, and so to Calais, &c. After the which departing King Harry rode into Ludlow, and spoiled the Town and Castle, where-at he found the Duchess of York with her two young sons (then) children, the one of thirteen years old, and the other of ten years old: the which Duchess King Harry sent to her sister Anne Duchess of Buckingham.

Benet's Chronicle, as translated in Elizabeth Hallam's The Wars of the Roses, simply reports that after the Duke of York and his companions fled, "The king ransacked all of their property between Worcester and Ludlow."

The English Chronicle mentions Ludlow only after discussing the Parliament that followed the battle:

Thanne was a parlement holden at Couentre, and they that were chosenne knyghtes of the shyres, and other that had interessc in the parlement, were nat dyfferent but chosen a denominacione of thaym that were enemyes to the forseyde lordes so beyng oute of the reame. In the whiche parlement, the sayde duk of York and the iij. erles and other, whos names shalle be rehersed afterward, withoute any answere, as traytours and rebelles to the kyng were atteynt of treson, and theyre goodes, lordshyppys and possessyons escheted in to the kynges hande, and they and theyre heyres dysheryted vn to the ixthe degre. And by the kynges commissione in euery cyte, burghe, and toune cryed opynly and proclamed as for rebelles and traytoures; and theyre tenauntes and there men spoyled of theyre goodes, maymed, bete, and slayne withoute cny pyte; the toune of Ludlow, longyng thanne to the duk of York, was robbed to the bare walles, and the noble duches of York vnmanly and cruelly was entreted and spoyled.

Abbot Whethamstede, with uncharacteristic brevity, simply reports that the town and the surrounding area was sacked. (If anyone's up for some Latin translation, I'll be happy to send you the relevant paragraph.)

It's plain from all of these accounts, as I said, that Ludlow did suffer at the hands of the Lancastrians after the rout at Ludford Bridge. (It wasn't the first town to suffer in this manner during the Wars of the Roses, however. According to Whehamstede and other sources, St. Albans was looted by the victorious Duke of York's men after the first battle there in 1455, but the same novelists and historians who wax horrific about the sack of Ludlow breezily pass by the Yorkist misdeeds at St. Albans.) What's also plain, however, is that not a single source states that Margaret of Anjou was present at Ludlow, much less has her cackling with glee at the Duchess of York and her terrified youngsters. As none of these sources were friendly to Margaret, it's hard to believe that they would have failed to mention her malevolent presence at Ludlow. Most likely she had stayed behind at a safe place with her son while her husband and his army made their way to Ludford Bridge.

As for Cecily, Duchess of York, it does seem from Hearne's Fragment, quoted above, that she and her two younger sons (whose ages the chronicler gets wrong) were at Ludlow. The English Chronicle also speaks of her being "entreated and spoiled," though whether this refers to the duchess's person or her property is unclear. It seems more likely that it refers to her property, as a physical attack on the duchess and her young children would have surely provoked the fury of the pro-Yorkist chroniclers.

But was she taking a stance at the market cross? This is where Paul Murray Kendall departs into one of his historical flights of fancy. In the text of Richard the Third, he writes, "When the troops of the King stormed triumphantly into the undefended town the next morning, they found Cicely, Duchess of York, and her sons Richard and George courageously awaiting them on the steps of the market cross." Only when one reads to the end of the paragraph in which this sentence appears does one find an end note, in which Kendall cites the passage from Hearne's Fragment quoted above and explains, "It is reported that Cecily and her two boys were found in the village. Since she was a woman of spirit and was apparently trying to protect her villagers, I have conjectured that she took her stance at the market cross" [italics mine]. Kendall may not have intended to mislead his readers, but it is nonetheless the fact that many, not bothering to flip to the end note, have come away with the conviction that it is established historical fact that Cecily outfaced the Lancastrians at the market cross. In fact, pace Kendall, one can't be sure from the wording of the fragment ("spoiled the Town and Castle, where-at he found the Duchess of York") that she was even in the village; it appears more likely that Cecily was within the castle walls.

So to sum up, while there was certainly looting and pillage at Ludlow, there's no evidence that Margaret was there, and none except for a twentieth-century historian's admitted conjecture that Cecily was defiantly standing at the market cross. As Stacey Schiff so aptly says in her new biography of Cleopatra, however, "For well over two thousand years, a myth has been able to outrun and outlive a fact." Thanks to the power of fiction and fictionalized history, there may be a lot of life left in the story of Cecily and Margaret facing off at the market cross.