In Her Arms, a Nation:
The Calculated Escape of Marie de Guise and Mary, Queen of Scots

 

            On 23 July 1543, under cover of dusk, a small but loyal party arrived at Linlithgow Palace with a dangerous mission: to help Marie de Guise and her infant daughter, Mary, Queen of Scots, escape the tightening grip of political unrest. The palace, once a cradle of royal splendor, had become a gilded cage watched closely by both supposed allies and bitter enemies. At just nine months old, Mary was already a prize in a perilous game of power, her crown contested by rival factions and her future eyed by foreign powers, most notably England and France. Marie, fiercely protective and politically astute, knew she could no longer trust the delicate balance holding her daughter’s life in place. Their destination was Stirling Castle, an imposing fortress rising above the River Forth, and a place where, for now, the crown could rest in safer hands. The journey would be swift, secret, and shadowed by danger- for in a realm torn by ambition, betrayal was never far behind.

 

                                                       Marie de Guise, attributed to Cornielle de Lyon, c.1537

King James V of Scotland died on 14 December 1542, broken in both body and spirit after a military defeat at Solway Moss. His death left the throne to his only surviving legitimate child, Mary, a fragile infant just six days old. Her unexpected succession plunged Scotland into a political crisis. As the realm reeled from the shock, the question of who would govern on behalf of the infant queen sparked immediate and intense rivalries: two powerful and ideologically opposed figures emerged as contenders for the regency: James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, a Protestant nobleman with royal blood and a claim to the throne himself; and Cardinal David Beaton, the Catholic Archbishop of St. Andrews, who insisted he carry out the late king’s dying wish to appoint him protector of the realm. Their conflict was not merely personal, it represented the deepening religious and political fractures in Scotland, with one eye turned toward reform and alliance with Protestant England, and the other clinging to traditional ties with the Catholic Church and France. The fate of the infant queen, and the very soul of Scotland, hung in the balance.  

                                                              Mary, Queen of Scots, Francois Clouet, c. 1560

Ultimately, the Protestant cause prevailed…for a time. James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, was declared Governor and Protector of Scotland, placing the infant queen under his wardship and giving the Protestant faction a temporary upper hand. Cardinal David Beaton, defeated politically, was arrested and placed under house arrest, his ambitions checked but not extinguished. With Beaton sidelined, Arran came under increasing pressure from King Henry VIII of England, who saw an opportunity to bring the Scottish crown into closer alliance, and eventual subjugation, through marriage.

                                                                    James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, Unknown
 

In July 1543, Arran agreed to the Treaty of Greenwich, a pair of accords that promised peace between the two kingdoms and, most significantly, the betrothal of the infant Queen Mary to Henry’s only legitimate son, Prince Edward. The treaty stipulated that Mary would be sent to England at the age of ten to be raised as Edward’s future queen- a union that, in Henry’s eyes, would finally unite the crowns of England and Scotland under Tudor control. But the treaty, far from securing peace, planted the seeds of future rebellion. Many in Scotland viewed it as a betrayal of national sovereignty, and the notion of sending their queen to be raised in a foreign and Protestant court, soon sparked a fierce and dangerous backlash.

                                                             King Henry VIII, after Hans Holbein the Younger, c. 1540

This vision of an Anglo-Scottish union was met with outrage across much of Scotland, especially among those fiercely loyal to the centuries-old Auld Alliance with France. To many Catholic nobles and traditionalists, the Treaty of Greenwich was not a diplomatic triumph but a dangerous surrender- an attempt to hand over their sovereign child to a heretic king who had broken from Rome and executed his own queens. The thought of young Mary being raised in the English court, molded by Protestant tutors and wed to a Tudor prince, was intolerable. Chief among the opposition was Cardinal Beaton, who, though recently disgraced, still wielded considerable influence within the Church and among the Catholic nobility. From his confinement, Beaton conspired to free Queen Mary from what they viewed as Protestant captivity. Their goal was clear- restore Catholic dominance, renew ties with France, and ensure Scotland’s queen would remain beyond England’s reach.

                                              Cardinal David Beaton, Archbishop of St. Andrews, Unknown, 18c
 

On 23 July 1543, Cardinal Beaton’s allies made their move. Disguised as a rescue mission but charged with political urgency, a band of loyal Catholic nobles arrived at Linlithgow Palace under the pretense of protecting the queen. Tensions were high, and the risk was immense. Protestant forces still held considerable influence, and any misstep could spark open conflict. Just days later, under the cover of darkness and with an armed escort, Marie de Guise and her infant daughter were smuggled out of Linlithgow. Their destination was Stirling Castle, a bastion of royal authority and a stronghold of the Catholic and pro-French faction. There, behind thick stone walls and guarded by trusted allies, the infant Mary was finally safe from English designs and Protestant ambition.

                                             Stirling Castle, ©All Things Tudors, August 2024

 

On 9 September 1543, in the chapel of Stirling Castle, surrounded by bishops, nobles, and great officers of state, Mary was formally crowned Queen of Scots. Though barely nine months old, she wore a crown too large for her tiny head, symbolic of the immense weight already placed upon her. Her coronation marked not only the beginning of her reign but also the solidification of Catholic resistance to English pressure, ensuring that Scotland’s future would remain fiercely contested.

 

The marriage treaty with England was formally renounced in December 1543, just months after Mary’s coronation. The fragile peace promised by the Treaty of Greenwich shattered as Scottish nobles, led by Cardinal Beaton and supported by Queen Dowager Marie de Guise, rejected the idea of binding their young queen to the son of England’s increasingly aggressive and heretical king. Instead, Scotland looked once more to its oldest and most trusted ally- France. In a bold reaffirmation of the Auld Alliance, negotiations began to betroth Mary to Francis, the Dauphin of France and eldest son of King Henry II. The match promised not only a royal union but also military and financial support from France to counter English threats. In 1548, the formal agreement was sealed, and five-year-old Mary was sent across the sea to be raised in the glittering, sophisticated French court. This new alliance bound Scotland and France together more tightly than ever, creating a Catholic front against English Protestant expansion and reshaping the political landscape of Western Europe. For Mary, it marked the beginning of a life that would be shaped by foreign courts, powerful enemies, and the heavy expectations of two kingdoms.

 

                                                 King Francis II and Mary, Queen of Scots, Unknown, c. 1573

Cardinal David Beaton, the cunning and forceful architect behind Mary’s escape from Linlithgow and a key figure in the fight to keep Scotland allied with Catholic France, would not live to see the young queen grow into her crown. In 1546, just three years after orchestrating her flight to safety, Beaton met a brutal end. He was assassinated in his own residence at St. Andrews Castle by a group of Protestants who were outraged by his persecution of reformers and emboldened by the rising tide of religious dissent. The immediate spark was the execution of the Protestant preacher George Wishart, whom Beaton had condemned to death. Days later, the conspirators stormed the castle, murdered the Cardinal, and gruesomely displayed his body from a castle window as a message to those who still clung to Catholic sympathy. His death sent shockwaves through Scotland, deepening the divide between Protestant reformers and Catholic loyalists. Beaton’s violent end was emblematic of the volatile religious and political climate that had come to define Mary’s early life- a world where alliances shifted like sand, power was seized by force, and even the most powerful men were never truly safe.

 

Mary’s escape from Linlithgow in 1543 was more than a flight to safety- it marked the beginning of a life shaped by power, politics, and peril. Orchestrated by her mother and Cardinal Beaton, the journey to Stirling Castle secured her crown but plunged Scotland deeper into the struggle between Protestant reform and Catholic tradition, between English ambition and French alliance. The infant queen became a symbol of resistance and a pawn in a wider game of nations. Her escape was not the end of danger-it was the beginning of a destiny fraught with conflict. 

©All Things Tudors

 

The Arrow’s Verdict: 

Death and Destiny at Shrewsbury

 

            On 21 July 1403, King Henry IV crushed a rebellion at the Battle of Shrewsbury, defeating the formidable Sir Henry “Hotspur” Percy in one of the bloodiest and pivotal battles of medieval England. What began as a bold uprising by one of the king’s former allies quickly spiraled into a full-scale confrontation that threatened the very stability of the Lancastrian crown. As arrows blackened the sky and steel clashed on the fields outside Shrewsbury, father fought against former friend, and prince against rebel. In a single day, thousands perished, including many of England’s seasoned knights. The fierce Hotspur fell, his rebellion dying with him. The battle not only secured Henry IV’s hold on the throne but also marked the dramatic rise of his son, Prince Hal, who would one day become the legendary King Henry V.

 

King Henry IV, Imagined Portrait, Unknown

            Sir Henry “Hotspur” Percy had once been one of Henry IV’s most trusted allies, instrumental in the dramatic downfall of King Richard II. Alongside his powerful father, the Earl of Northumberland, Hotspur helped rally northern forces to support Henry Bolingbroke’s (as he was then known) return from exile and eventual seizure of the throne in 1399. But while Henry IV claimed a crown, the Percys expected generous rewards: lands, influence, and a firm hand in northern and border politics. What they received instead was neglect and suspicion. Henry IV’s reluctance to ransom Scottish prisoners captured by Hotspur, an affront to both honor and profit, deepened tensions. Adding to the strain, the king’s refusal to grant the Percys further control over the volatile northern frontier, particularly in dealings with the Welsh revolt led by Owain Glyndŵr, stoked a sense of betrayal. Glyndŵr’s uprising against English rule in Wales had raged since 1400, and Hotspur was forced to bear much of the burden of defending the realm with little royal support. Feeling isolated, undervalued, and disrespected, Hotspur’s loyalty unraveled. What had begun as a noble alliance became a bitter feud. In 1403, emboldened by his family and secretly allying with Glyndŵr himself, Hotspur raised the standard of rebellion, determined to defy the king he had once helped make.

Owain Glyndŵr in Battle, A.C. Michael, 1918

            Marching south with a rebel army drawn from the north of England and bolstered by allies of the powerful Percy family, Hotspur aimed to strike a swift and decisive blow by seizing the strategic town of Shrewsbury. Control of the town would not only divide royal forces but also open the path to London, where the rebels hoped to rally broader support and force the king to the negotiating table…or the battlefield. But Henry IV, acting with urgency, moved swiftly to intercept the uprising. Henry IV pushed westward and reached Shrewsbury just before Hotspur’s arrival, seizing advantage and barring the rebel army from taking the town.

 

            Hotspur now found himself forced into a pitched battle. Among the rebels were fierce and seasoned troops, including a large contingent of Chesire archers, veterans of past campaigns and fiercely loyal to the memory of Richard II, who had long held favor in the region. These archers were renowned for their deadly skill with the longbow, and at Shrewsbury they unleashed a devastating storm of arrows upon the king’s lines. The initial volleys were so intense and accurate that they reportedly caused panic among royal troops.

 

            Attempts at parley quickly broke down, neither side willing to bend. And so, on that grim July day, the fields outside Shrewsbury erupted into one of the most savage clashes in English history. Amid a hail of arrows and the brutal clash of hand-to-hand combat, rebellion met royal wrath in a battle not only for the crown, but for the future of England.

 

            Amidst the chaos and carnage of the battlefield, the king’s son, Prince Henry of Monmouth, the future King Henry V, proved himself with extraordinary courage. Though just sixteen years old, the prince led his division with determination and discipline, standing firm even as waves of rebel forces pressed against the royal lines. In the thick of battle, an arrow pierced his face, entering beneath the eye and embedding deep into the bone. The wound could have been fatal, and many expected the prince to be carried from the field. But Prince Henry refused to retreat. Bleeding and in agony, he held his ground, rallying his men and continuing to command with unshakable resolve until the tide turned and the field was won. His survival became one of the great stories of the battle.

King Henry V, Unknown, 16c, via Wikipedia

            Afterward, the removal of the arrow fell to the royal surgeon, John Bradmore, who used a specially designed instrument to extract the barbed shaft from Prince Henry’s skull. Bradmore recorded the procedure in painstaking detail, a brutal yet miraculous operation that saved the prince’s life and left him with a scar that he would carry to the throne. For many, Prince Henry’s valor at Shrewsbury marked the birth of a warrior-king. The boy who bled on that battlefield would one day wear the crown and lead England to legendary glory at Agincourt.

            As the battle neared its brutal climax, Hotspur, bloodied but unbroken, led one final, desperate charge. With the rebel lines faltering and the field strewn with the bodies of fallen comrades, Hotspur saw only one hope left: to strike down Henry IV himself and shatter the royal army’s moral in one bold stroke. With sword raised and courage undiminished, he spurred forward through the chaos, cutting a path toward the king’s standard. It was the act of a warrior and a gambler- brave, reckless and utterly defiant.

 

            But fate, ever fickle in war, turned against him in that moment. In the confusion of battle, Hotspur is said to have lifted his visor- perhaps to call out to his men, perhaps to get a clearer view. In doing so, he exposed his face, and in that instant, an arrow struck him down. The man who had once shaken kingdoms, who had defied a king and dared to dream of a new England, fell lifeless on the field he had hoped to claim for his cause. His death, sudden and ignoble, sent shockwaves through the rebel ranks. Leaderless and demoralized, the rebellion crumbled. What had begun as a bold uprising ended in blood and dust, with Hotspur’s body lying in the dirt beneath the banner he had carried into battle.

            In the aftermath of the battle, as silence fell over the blood-soaked fields of Shrewsbury, the body of Hotspur was found among the slain. At first, there was confusion. Rumors spread that he had escaped, wounded but alive. To quiet any whispers of Hotspur’s survival and to make a public example of the fallen rebel, Henry IV ordered that the body be handled with cold political precision. Initially, Hotspur was buried with honor at Whitchurch, in Shropshire, not far from the battlefield. But Henry IV, wary of legend forming around a martyred hero, soon had a change of heart. Fearing the grave might become a rallying point for northern sympathizers and loyalists to the Percy name, Henry IV ordered the body exhumed. It was then publicly displayed in Shrewsbury to confirm beyond doubt that Hotspur was dead.

 

            The display of his body was only the beginning. Hotspur’s body was subjected to the full, brutal punishment for treason: he was drawn and quartered. His head was sent to York, where it was placed on a spike above Micklegate Bar, a dramatic and deliberate insult to the powerful Percy stronghold in the north. His remaining limbs were scattered, sent to London, Newcastle, Bristol and Chester- grim trophies of royal justice, designed to deter any future insurrection. Eventually, likely in response to growing public discomfort with such barbaric treatment, Hotspur’s remains were gathered and returned to the Percy family, who were finally permitted to bury him properly at Whitchurch. But the damage had been done. The once-revered knight had been posthumously shamed, his body desecrated, his reputation blackened as a traitor.

 

            And yet, death could not erase his legend. In time, the name Hotspur would come to represent not treason, but valor, defiance, and tragic nobility, immortalized in the pages of history and in the words of Shakespeare, who cast him not as a villain, but as a fiery, flawed hero in Henry IV, Part 1.

 

            The Battle of Shrewsbury was more than a clash of swords and strategy, it was a defining moment in the struggle for England’s crown, a collision of ambition, loyalty and betrayal. Hotspur’s rebellion, though crushed, left a legacy far greater than its failure. His fiery courage, his tragic death, and the brutal fate of his body became symbols of the brutal price of dissent in a kingdom still learning to live under Lancastrian rule. For Henry IV, the victory solidified his tenuous grip on the throne. For Prince Henry, it was a trial by fire. His wound and unshakable resolve on the battlefield forged the image of the warrior-king he would become. And for England, it marked a turning point, a moment when the sword decided the future, and myth began to take root in the ashes of war. In the years to come, history would remember Shrewsbury not just as a battlefield, but as the birthplace of legends- where Hotspur fell, Hal rose, and the fate of dynasty was sealed. Henry IV stood victorious, his crown secured- for now.

©All Things Tudors

 A Castle, a Queen, and a Courtship: 
Elizabeth I at Kenilworth

 

            From the 9 to 27 July 1575, Queen Elizabeth I was the honored guest at Kenilworth Castle—a visit drenched in pageantry, poetry, and longing. For nineteen glorious days, the castle was transformed into a stage of elaborate entertainment designed to dazzle the Virgin Queen and, perhaps, to win her heart. Beneath the spectacle, however, pulsed a deeper story: that of Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, whose grand gestures masked a quiet yearning. Every fountain, masque, and melody seemed to whisper a single question—might this queen finally chose love?

Queen Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, Nicholas Hilliard, c. 1575

            The castle belonged to Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester—the man who had stood beside Elizabeth for years, not merely as a trusted courtier, but as the subject of whispered love and endless speculation. Their bond had captivated the courts of Europe: she, the resolute Virgin Queen, who claimed she was married to her people; he, the ever-present favorite, whose heart seemed forever pledged to her alone. From their earliest days at court, their closeness had raised eyebrows and stirred gossip—dinners taken in private, glances exchanged in plain view, and an intimacy that danced just outside the bounds of what was proper. Though scandal and tragedy had often overshadowed their connection, Leicester remained a constant- ambitious, devoted, and perhaps the only man who truly knew the woman behind the crown. Kenilworth Castle was more than his home; it was his love letter in stone, and in the summer of 1575, he opened its gates in the hope that all his lavish displays might finally win her hand.

            New chambers were constructed for the Queen, outfitted with the finest tapestries, gilded furnishings, and every comfort befitting a monarch. A majestic gatehouse was raised in her honor, its very architecture, a tribute to her majesty. The surrounding gardens bloomed with intoxicating color and scent—roses, lilies, and sweet herbs arranged with poetic care, each one chosen not just for beauty, but for symbolism. Every path she walked, every blossom she brushed against, every shimmer of candlelight that flickered through the twilight was carefully curated to enchant her senses.

 

            Elizabeth was enveloped in a dreamscape of feasts and revelry: grand banquets served on silver platters, thrilling hunts through lush Warwickshire woods, intricately staged masques with allegories of virtue and love, and music that floated through the castle wall like sighs in the night. The culmination came with fireworks that split the sky—light and fire dancing above the towers of Kenilworth as if heaven itself celebrated her presence. It was a courtship on a royal scale, a living sonnet composed not in ink but in stone, silk, music and flame.

 

            But the proposal never bore fruit. Whether out of political caution, personal conviction, or the careful balancing act of sovereignty, Elizabeth—ever the monarch first—chose not to marry. The weight of her crown, the expectations of her council, and the precarious dance of European alliances made any union fraught with risk. For all Leicester’s efforts, for all the unspoken promises, the Queen remained steadfast in her solitude.

 

            Yet in those golden summer weeks, within the rose-scented halls and candlelit chambers of Kenilworth, love reigned—if only in gesture, not in vow. Theirs was a romance suspended in time: tender, complicated, and unresolved. No ring was exchanged, no future pledged, but something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, a shared history, a quiet ache. Though Elizabeth left the castle unmarried, she left with a memory steeped in longing and loyalty, one that would linger in both their hearts long after the gates of Kenilworth had closed behind her.

 

            Centuries later, Kenilworth stands in a quiet testament to an extraordinary moment in Elizabethan history. Though the grandeur has faded and the music long since ceased, the story still lingers—not as a tale of triumph or tragedy, but of possibility. It reminds us that even the most powerful hearts are not untouched by longing, and that love, however restrained, can leave an enduring mark. At Kenilworth, politics paused, and for nineteen days, the Queen of England was simply Elizabeth—admired, adored and, perhaps, tempted to imagine a different fate.

©All Things Tudors

 

THE SIEGE OF THE TOWER OF LONDON, JULY 1460

 

In the summer heat of July 1460, the ancient stones of the Tower of London bore witness to one of the most dramatic and violent chapters of the Wars of the Roses. For two relentless weeks- from the 2^nd to the 16^th—London itself became a battleground as Yorkist forces clashed with the defenders loyal to King Henry VI. The Tower, a symbol of royal power and the fortress of the Lancastrian regime, came under siege from within its own capital. As cannon fire echoed along the Thames and the cries of the wounded rose above the city, the struggle for England’s crown reached a fever pitch. This was not just a military confrontation, it was a turning point in the brutal civil war that would define a generation.

Tower of London, May 2023 © All Things Tudors

Richard Neville, Earl of Salisbury; his son, Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick—known later as the “Kingmaker”; and Edward, Earl of March—son of Richard, Duke of York—were three of the most powerful figures in the Yorkist cause. United by blood, ambition and deep frustration with the weak rule of Henry VI, they believed the House of York had a superior claim to the throne through descent from Edward III. Richard, Duke of York, was the son of Anne Mortimer, a direct descendant of Edward III’s second surviving son, Lionel of Antwerp—giving the York line a possible senior claim over the Lancastrians, who descended from Edward III’s third surviving son, John of Gaunt. The Yorkist lords also accused Henry VI’s court of corruption and misrule, blaming Queen Margaret of Anjou and her circle for the kingdom’s instability. Their military campaign was as much about restoring strong governance as it was about dynastic legitimacy—and by 1460, they were ready to fight for both.

Edward, Earl of March, later King Edward IV

And so, on 26 June 1460, a determined Yorkist force commanded by Salisbury, Warwick and March (the future King Edward IV), landed at Sandwich on the southeastern coast of England. Their landing marked the beginning of a bold military campaign aimed at challenging the authority of the Lancastrian regime. The Yorkists had sailed from Calais, a strategic English stronghold on the continent, which Warwick controlled as its captain. The passage was swift and unopposed, and upon reaching the Kentish coast, they quickly seized the port town of Sandwich, where they encountered little to no resistance.

From Sandwich, the Yorkist army advanced inland toward Canterbury, one of England’s most important ecclesiastical centers. The city, perhaps sympathetic to the Yorkist cause or unwilling to provoke conflict, opened its gates without opposition. The way with which the Yorkists took Canterbury suggested a favorable local sentiment or, at the very least, a widespread disillusionment with the ineffective rule of King Henry VI and his court.

Meanwhile, the royal army, still loyal to the crown and commanded by Queen Margaret of Anjou and her Lancastrian allies, remained stationed in the Midlands. They had positioned themselves strategically, prepared to respond to simultaneous threats. The Lancastrians anticipated that invasions might come from multiple directions- Edward of March had connections to Ireland, and Warwick’s fleet could strike from Calais-making it difficult to predict where the Yorkists would make their move. The uncertainty left the royalists at a disadvantage, unable to concentrate their forces effectively as the Yorkists advanced swiftly through Kent.

The Yorkist army advanced steadily toward London, their numbers swelling as they marched through Kent and the surrounding counties. Support for their cause grew with each passing day. Local gentry, merchants, and even former royal officials began to declare for the Yorkists, bringing with them men, arms, and valuable intelligence. By the time the army approached the capital in early July, it had become a formidable force, organized and emboldened by a string of easy successes.

On 2 July 1460, the Yorkists reached London. Rather than resist, the city welcomed them with open arms. The gates were thrown open, and the citizens, many of whom favored the restoration of good governance and the rule of law the Yorkists promised, greeted their arrival with cheers. Warwick, already popular in London due to his naval victories and reputation for order, was met as a liberator rather than a conqueror.

However, not all within the capital shared the city’s enthusiasm. Inside the heavily fortified Tower of London, a garrison of Lancastrian loyalists under the command of Thomas, Lord Scales, refused to surrender. Determined to hold the Tower for the King, Scales defied the surrounding Yorkist forces and took the drastic step of ordering cannon fire on the city itself. Shot and flame rained down on London’s streets and rooftops, striking both innocent civilians and Yorkist troops. Panic and fury spread through the city as homes were damaged, and citizens were killed by the very defenders sworn to protect them.

The Yorkists responded swiftly and decisively. Drawing on bombards and heavy artillery stolen from the Royal arsenal, they positioned their own guns to return fire on the Tower. The city, once a neutral prize in the political struggle, had now become a battlefield. The Yorkists understood that they could not secure the capital fully while the Tower remained in enemy hands.  The exchange of fire marked the beginning of a tense and dangerous standoff in the heart of London.

The Yorkist besiegers methodically cut off supply routes to the Tower, while continuing to pummel its thick stone walls. Yet even as the Tower’s defenses began to weaken, Scales remained defiant. He may have hoped for a royal victory at Northampton, which Warwick and March had departed for, or at least reinforcements from loyalist forces in the Midlands. But with each passing day, news from the north was ominously absent—and inside the Tower, provisions began to dwindle. Morale among the Lancastrian defenders fell sharply, worsened by the realization that the people of London were no longer silent spectators but actively hostile.

Public anger now boiled over. The citizens of London became active participants in the siege. Armed mobs erected barricades, maintained night watches, and patrolled the riverbanks to prevent any escape from the fortress. Several local militias, aligned with the Yorkist cause, offered their services to the commanders coordinating the assault. Calls for vengeance grew louder with each civilian casualty from the Tower’s bombardment.

Everything changed when word reached London of the Yorkist victory at the Battle of Northampton on 10 July 1460. More devastating still for the Lancastrians, King Henry VI had been captured. The political and symbolic blow was enormous—without the king, the defenders of the Tower no longer had a cause to fight for. Realizing that no reinforcements would come, and that further resistance would only bring destruction upon themselves, Scales began to negotiate surrender. Around 19 July 1460, the Tower of London capitulated. March and Warwick returned to London with the captive king in tow.

Yet surrender offered no guarantee of safety. As Scales attempted to slip away under cover of night, disguised and aboard a barge down the Thames, he was recognized by a London mob still furious over the destruction of their homes and families. Dragged from the boat, he was brutally murdered in the street—an act of mob justice that reflected the deep bitterness left in the wake of the siege. His body was left exposed near the Church of St. Mary Overie, a grim warning to any who might challenge Yorkist rule in the capital.

With the Tower now firmly in Yorkist hands and the king himself in captivity, London was at last secured. The city, which had stood at the heart of political instability for over a decade, was now the stronghold of the Yorkist regime. What followed would be a dramatic and unprecedented political maneuver: Richard, Duke of York, returning from Ireland to press not for the protection of the realm—but for the throne itself.

 

©All Things Tudors

The Duel That Never Happened: Henry Bolingbroke and Thomas Mowbray

 

    Henry Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, was the son of John of Gaunt. Many of us Tudor fans are aware of John of Gaunt, as the Tudor line descended from Gaunt, the third living son of King Edward III. Bolingbroke had a tense relationship with his cousin, King Richard II. Although, outside of Richard II’s few favorites, I’m quite sure everyone had a tense relationship with Richard II. It is the background of their relationship and the threat that Bolingbroke posed to Richard II, that lay the backdrop for one of the most famous duels in history.

Henry Bolingbroke, Unknown, 16c Imagined Painting, National Portrait Gallery

    Richard II was the son of the famous Black Prince, first son of King Edward III. The Black Prince died before he was able to inherit his father’s throne. Upon the death of Edward III, his grandson ascended to the throne as Richard II. Richard II had a tumultuous relationship with all his uncles, including John of Gaunt. Gaunt was the Duke of Lancaster, and as a result, was very wealthy and had vast lands. Richard II viewed Gaunt as a threat, even though Gaunt was loyal to a fault. Gaunt only had his heart set on becoming King of Castile, never King of England. Richard II knew that Henry Bolingbroke was set to inherit all of Gaunt’s wealth and power, so he kept a sharp eye on his cousin.

John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, Unknown, c. 1593, Badminton House

    Tensions between Richard II, Gaunt and Bolingbroke were set to explode in 1397. Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, had been childhood friends with Richard II. Mowbray continued to rise in favor with the king, while Bolingbroke consistently fell further. There was even a plot for the assassination of Gaunt put in motion by Mowbray and his friends. Bolingbroke did not take this lightly.

 

King Richard II, Unknown, c. 1390, Westminster Abbey

    As time went on, Mowbray began to fall out of favor with Richard II. Mowbray attempted to join forces with Bolingbroke in the beginning of 1397. One day, Mowbray met Bolingbroke while on the road. Mowbray informed Bolingbroke of Richard II’s plot to have them both killed. But Bolingbroke didn’t trust Mowbray. Was this information the truth? Or was Mowbray attempting to lure Bolingbroke into a treasonous plot so Richard II would be able to do away with him? Bolingbroke turned to his father for advice. Ever the loyal subject to his nephew, Gaunt told Bolingbroke to take the information to Richard II and allow him to make a judgement.

 

    This just happened to work to Richard II’s advantage perfectly. He immediately had both Bolingbroke and Mowbray arrested. In one quick move, Richard II was able to isolate both Dukes that constantly threatened the sole power that he desperately wanted. The conflict instantly turned into a he said, he said situation and the issue could not be resolved. The two men refused to make amends. Richard II ordered the only solution possible- the two would have to duke it out (pardon the pun!) in a duel set to take place in Coventry. An old-fashioned trial by combat was to take place. But was this really the only solution? If Bolingbroke died, his wealth and lands would be forfeit to the crown and Richard II would rid himself of his pesky cousin. 

 

    Invitations to the duel were dispatched throughout the Continent. It was set to be the spectacle of the year! Months of preparation went into the duel. It was bound to be a great show as both Bolingbroke and Mowbray were experienced and skilled jousters.

 

    The duel was set to take place on 16 September 1398. This was several months after the conflict, so the argument could be made that Richard II perhaps intended the delay to allow cooler heads to prevail. Unfortunately, that did not happen. At 9 AM on 16 September, King Richard II entered the lists, followed by Henry Bolingbroke and Thomas Mowbray. The two men went to their respective sides and prepared for combat. Armor on and weapon in hand, Bolingbroke and Mowbray climbed onto their horses. Just as the men prepared for the charge, Richard II abruptly stood up, stopping the advance. A hush fell over the crowd as confusion grew. People had travelled from near and far to be entertained by the event of the year. What was happening?

 

    Richard II shockingly called off the duel and walked away from the lists. The confusion would have been unbearable for Bolingbroke and Mowbray. Two men had entered the lists that morning but only one was going to exit with his life. The torment they must have endured while preparing their souls for possible death, would have been unbearable. After what was most likely an agonizing two hours, King Richard II returned to the lists with his verdict. Perhaps sensing a victory by Bolingbroke, Richard II declared the two men would not duel to the death, rather Bolingbroke was to be exiled for ten years and Mowbray for life. Bolingbroke’s sentence was later lessened to six years of exile.

 

    It was the most famous duel in history, that never happened. Perhaps Richard II would come to regret that decision in the years to come. Bolingbroke would later return to England, depose his cousin and become King Henry IV.

 

Claude of France

Queen of the Dazzling, Renaissance Court

 

    Queen Claude of France was the eldest daughter of King Louis XII of France and his wife, Queen Anne, Duchess of Brittany. Queen Anne gave birth to Princess Claude on 13 October 1499 in Romorantin in the Loire Valley of France. Princess Claude was allegedly named after St. Claudius; a saint Anne had fervently prayed to in hopes of giving birth to a living child. It worked for Queen Anne, and it may have been passed down through Claude, as she later gave birth to many living children.

Queen Claude of France, Corneille de Lyon

    Louis XII and Queen Anne had no surviving male heirs, and as such, Claude was the heiress of the Dutchy of Brittany. However, Claude could not inherit her father’s crown, as France ruled under Salic law. Initially Louis XII wanted to keep the Dutchy of Brittany separate from France, so in 1501, Princess Claude was betrothed to the future King Charles V of Spain, Holy Roman Emperor. This betrothal was broken off in 1505, when Louis XII changed his mind and decided Princess Claude should marry Francis, Duke of Valois, heir presumptive to the French throne.

King Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, Bernard van Orley, c. 1519

     On 9 January 1514, Queen Anne died, and Claude became the Duchess of Brittany, in her own right. Four months later, at the age of 14, Claude, Duchess of Brittany, married Francis, Duke of Valois at Saint-Germain-en-Laye. Claude seemed disinterested in running the Dutchy of Brittany, so she handed over the rule of her lands to Francis in perpetuity.

King Francis I, Jean Clouet, c. 1515

    Claude’s father, Louis XII married Princess Mary Tudor, the sister of King Henry VIII, in October 1514, in a last-ditch effort to obtain a male heir. Part of Mary’s bridal entourage included Mary and Anne Boleyn, who were provided with a magnificent opportunity to learn at the French court.

 

Queen Anne Boleyn, Unknown, c. 1550, Hever Castle

    Upon King Louis XII’s death on 1 January 1515, Francis and Claude became King Francis I and Queen Claude of France. However, Queen Claude wasn’t crowned until 10 May 1517, at St. Denis Basilica. Mary and Anne Boleyn chose to stay at the French court to serve Queen Claude, rather than return to England with Mary Tudor, Dowager Queen of France. Queen Claude influenced Anne Boleyn immensely during her seven years stay at the prosperous and dazzling Renaissance court.

 

    Queen Claude spent the last eight years of her life in nearly constant pregnancies. In 1515, Claude gave birth to Louise, who died at the age of three. In 1516, Charlotte was born; she only lived until the age of seven. Francis, the heir apparent was born in 1518, but died at the age of eighteen, before he could inherit the throne. Henry was born in 1519 and would become King Henry II of France. Then came Madeline in 1520, who would become Queen of Scotland, and then Charles in 1522. Her last child, Margaret, was born in 1523.

 

    Queen Claude died on 26 July 1524 at the Chateau de Blois. Speculation of the cause of her death continues today, arguments consisting of complications from childbirth or miscarriage, exhaustion from her many pregnancies, tuberculosis, and possibly contracting syphilis from the ever-philandering Francis I. Queen Claude was laid to rest at St. Denis Basilica in a tomb designed by her son, King Henry II.

 

Queen Mary I

The Road to England’s First Crowned Queen Regnant

 

    England’s first crowned Queen Regnant was proclaimed on 19 July 1553. But who was she and how did she do it? Today, we will explore the tumultuous road Queen Mary I travelled to obtain her rightful place as Queen of England. Not for the faint of heart, this story witnesses the perseverance of a woman constantly pushed aside, denied her rights and views, and continually undermined for her sex. Undermine her no more, for on this date, Mary Tudor claimed her father’s throne.

 

    Princess Mary Tudor was the only surviving daughter of King Henry VIII and his first wife, Queen Catherine of Aragon. In 1553, Mary was declared illegitimate after Henry VIII’s marriage to his second wife, Queen Anne Boleyn. Elizabeth, the daughter of Henry VIII and Queen Anne Boleyn, was now the heir of Henry VIII, rather than Mary. Henry VIII did not have a legitimate male heir, at this point. After being declared illegitimate, Princess Mary was styled as “The Lady Mary”.

 

Queen Mary I, Antonis Mor, 1554

    Mary staunchly refused to acknowledge Anne Boleyn as Queen and Elizabeth as the rightful heir. She severely frustrated Henry VIII by only recognizing her mother as Queen and herself in the line of succession. Henry VIII and Mary did not speak for nearly three years. As a punishment to both Catherine of Aragon and Mary, Henry VIII refused to let mother and daughter be together, rather, he sent Mary to be a part of Elizabeth’s household. They were not allowed to correspond either, however, I believe they managed to get messages to each other. At least, I hope they did.

Queen Catherine of Aragon, Lucas Horenbout, c. 1525

    In 1536, after the dramatic downfall of Queen Anne Boleyn, Mary reconciled with Henry VIII. But it was at a price. Mary, who was Catholic, had to recognize her father as the Supreme Head of the Church of England, reject papal authority, acknowledge the invalidity of her parents’ marriage, and accept her own illegitimacy. With no other choice, Mary begrudgingly agreed. 1537 saw Henry VIII receive that which he longed for, for over twenty years- a legitimate son. Edward, born by Henry VIII’s third wife, Queen Jane Seymour, was now first in line of the succession. But what to do about Mary and Elizabeth?

King Edward VI, William Scrots, c. 1550

    In 1543, Henry VIII married his sixth and final wife, Queen Katherine Parr. Queen Katherine was an advocate for all of Henry VIII’s children, helping to bring them all together as a family, as best she could. It may have helped, for in 1544, Mary and Elizabeth were returned to the succession through the Third Succession Act, placing Mary as heir after Edward, and Elizabeth after Mary. However, there was still a caveat - Henry VIII never reversed Mary and Elizabeth’s illegitimacy.  

 

    King Henry VIII died in 1547. His son, King Edward VI, succeeded him. Mary generally stayed at her estates during his reign, rarely attending court. Edward VI was a staunch Protestant, and he and Mary constantly butted heads in matters of religion. It would create a divide between brother and sister that would become insurmountable.

 

    The religious strife would continue until King Edward VI’s death on 6 July 1553. Before he died, Edward VI wrote out his Device of Succession. In it, both Mary and Elizabeth were excluded from the succession. Mary’s bar from the throne was based on her illegitimacy and Catholic faith. Initially named as his successor, were the heirs male of his cousin, Lady Jane Grey. Perhaps realizing he was running out of time, Edward VI hastily scratched out heirs male and named Lady Jane Grey as his successor. Edward VI and Lady Jane were young, neither had yet had children. 

Queen Jane, Unknown, c. 1590

    But was this Edward VI’s doing, or the Lord Protector’s doing? The Lord Protector was John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. Dudley also happened to be Lady Jane Grey’s father-in-law, through her marriage to Guildford Dudley. Historians still debate to this day if Edward himself made the change or if he was influenced by Dudley to make the change.

John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, Unknown, c. 1605

     

    However, it wouldn’t really matter as Edward VI died before the Device of Succession could be passed through Parliament. The Device wasn’t a legal document, it was more of Edward VI’s will. Just before Edward VI’s death, Mary was summoned to court on the pretext of a visit to her dying brother. But Mary had friends with an ear to the ground. She was informed that the summons was a trap to capture her, thereby making Lady Jane’s accession to the throne seamless. Instead of visiting her brother, Mary had her wits about her and fled to East Anglia. From the safety of Kenninghall in Norfolk, Mary wrote to the Privy Council on 9 July 1553, demanding they name her as Edward VI’s successor.

 

    The demand either fell on deaf ears or did not arrive in time. The next day, Lady Jane Grey was proclaimed Queen Jane. Mary was not going to let go of her inheritance without a fight. She began to recruit soldiers and by 12 July 1553, Mary had assembled a substantial military force at Framlingham Castle in Suffolk.  Unnerved by the reports from Suffolk, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland and Queen Jane’s father-in-law, knew that something had to be done with Mary’s military force. He was one of the most experienced military leaders in the country which made him ideal to deal with Mary’s army, but he couldn’t leave the vulnerable Queen Jane with men he distrusted.

 

    Queen Jane begged her father-in-law to stay with her. But Northumberland couldn’t be in two places at once and he made the grave mistake of deciding to deal with Mary’s army. In Northumberland’s absence, loyalty to Queen Jane began to crumble. Little by little, the Council began to turn against Queen Jane, until eventually, there were no more supporters. On 19 July 1553, the Council declared for Mary. Northumberland surrendered. He was arrested on 21 July 1553. The deposed Queen Jane was also arrested, and she and her father-in-law were imprisoned in the Tower of London.

 

    Queen Mary I rode triumphantly into London, accompanied by her sister, Elizabeth, on 3 August 1553. How different would history look if Henry VIII had realized that his first-born daughter could rule on her own? Queen Elizabeth I, Mary I’s successor, took it one step further and became one of the most well-known monarchs in history and brought England into it’s Golden Age.

 

Queen Elizabeth I, Attributed to William Scrots, c. 1546

    John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, was found guilty of treason and executed on 22 August 1553. Queen Jane’s trial took place on 13 November 1553 at Guildhall in London. Queen Jane was found guilty of high treason. But Mary was merciful, she did not want to execute Queen Jane. Mary insightfully knew Queen Jane was merely a pawn in a game of chess and the men who partook in the chess game made the wrong gambit. Queen Jane was held in the Tower but was free to walk around, talk with her brothers-in-law and probably even see her husband, Guildford Dudley, all of whom were also imprisoned.

 

    Alas, Wyatt’s Rebellion in January 1554 changed everything. If Queen Jane was alive, she would remain a figure head for anyone wanting to depose Mary I. In this instance, the rebellion began during negotiations with Spain of the marriage between Mary I and Prince Philip of Spain. The rebels were against a marriage with Spain, fearing an outsider would control England as King. England had not yet seen a Queen Regnant. Would Mary bow down to Philip and submit to his will? The rebels did not want to take that chance. Mary I quashed the rebellion and Queen Jane was executed on 12 January 1554.

Thomas Wyatt the Younger, Hans Holbein the Younger, c. 1540

    Mary’s marriage negotiations went ahead. On 25 July 1554, Queen Mary I married Prince Philip of Spain. Thus, by the end of her reign, Mary was England’s first crowned Queen Regnant, as well as Queen of Ireland, Queen of France, Queen of Spain, Queen of Naples and titular Queen of Jerusalem, Queen of Sicily, Archduchess of Austria, Duchess of Milan, Burgundy and Brabant, and Countess of Hapsburg, Flanders and Tyrol. As a girl who grew up without the love of her father, shunned and shaken into submission, Mary proved Henry VIII wrong in the end. She could be Queen of England, Ireland and France, and she would be so much more.