Violence in the Wars of the Roses: A Study of Contemporary Interpretations

Introduction

The wars of the roses was characterised by an escalation of violence, political discontent and dynastic struggle. Contemporary chronicles had an infamous propensity to exaggerate the extent of the bloodshed during the conflict, such as the battle of Towton allegedly leaving 33,000 men dead in its wake. Although the reality may not have been quite as brutal, the fifteenth century was certainly a period of exceptional levels of violence. Traditional views of the medieval period typically align with that of R.J. Mitchell: ‘It was a brutal age, when human life was cheap and suffering meant little’. The issue with this interpretation is that it ignores the basic humanity of those who lived through the period. Ian Mortimer argued that society itself may have been more violent than today’s, but to assume that violence was more acceptable over half a millennium ago was a misinterpretation of the medieval mind set. Violence was an integral part of medieval society in England, but it was restricted to very limited circumstances. Contemporary views on violence were, in fact, not overly dissimilar to those widely held today. Without justification, without acceptable cause and without any genuine attempt to represent the common causes of grief for the English people, violence was merely seen as opportunistic, sadistic and cruel. Presentation was thus key to maintaining a sense of justice during the wars of the roses, and consequently the fifteenth century saw a rapid escalation in both the distribution and significance of popular political literature. Appealing to the sympathies of the general public was vital to many of the political campaigns of the mid fifteenth century, and consequently students of this period have access to an almost unprecedented wealth of contemporary literature to examine from an English conflict prior to the fifteenth century. Manifestos, political songs and poems, chronicles (both domestic and foreign) and a wealth of personal correspondence reveals a great deal about true contemporary attitudes towards violence during the wars of the roses. Despite typically being the product of propaganda, chronicles from this period are immensely useful for observing not only what common themes of the wars of the roses were, but also the way in which those themes were directly portrayed to the English people.

Aside from primary sources, there has also been an abundance of literature dedicated to the wars of the roses from subsequent historians. This literature, however, largely focuses on specific events or general histories of the period. Other works, such as Anthony Goodman’s The Wars of the Roses: Military Activity and English society, 1452-97, may well focus on the actual conflict, with a focus on the impact of the wars, but subsequent literature often fails to address the actual views and opinions on the nature of the violence throughout the wars. Through examination of much of the contemporary evidence and careful study of major case studies from the period, it is possible to observe under what circumstances violence might be considered necessary, acceptable and justifiable, and understand why other instances of violence were seen as criminal, opportunistic and unnecessary.

Chapter 1: Acceptable Violence

For people living in Western Europe during the middle ages, there was a belief that there were three basic social categories; the labourers, the clergy, and the warriors. The model was never a perfect fit for society, but it gave soldiers, and more specifically knights, a significant role to play. Drawn from the wealthiest families, the knights of Western Europe were integral to its society. But this led to a very fundamental problem: how to control a social class whose entire existence was dedicated to the art of warfare? The establishment of a set of rules of conduct, in what would be called chivalry was a step towards defining the difference between necessary and unnecessary violence among members of this class.

Chivalry came into existence through the introduction and development of new military tactics. With the use of stirrups, heavy steel armour and strengthened lances, cavalry could be used as a deadly shock formation rather than just as a means to sweep the field during a rout. The courtly romances of the period typically refer to one principal person and present them as the very essence of chivalry, and thus the authors were able to convey what chivalry is without ever actually defining it. A rather fitting example of this is the fictional Sir Lancelot, who features prominently in the Vulgate Cycle (an early imagining of the Arthurian legends written in French in the early thirteenth century). Sir Lancelot is hailed as a shining figure of chivalry because honourable actions, and his incredible skill with both a sword and a lance is praised, despite the fact that he kills a vast number of other knights throughout the tale. Chivalry wasn’t merely a martial concept to ensure justifiable conduct on the battlefield, but was, in fact, closely linked with the church. Knights in medieval Europe existed in a state of total paradox. On the one hand, from the time a young man starts his training he was told that it was his duty to fight to defend those that he was sworn to protect. Simultaneously, he was told by the church that violence was a sin, and that should he ever kill, his soul would be forever damned. Chivalry was in some way an attempt to reconcile these two totally contradictory ideas, and the concept of chivalry was promoted by the clergy.

Most of the authors of the works of chivalry from the time were priests or members of clerical orders. Because of this, chivalry was often written about within the context of religious priorities. The more pious and religious the deeds of a particular knight seem to be, the more chivalrous his biographers will present him. In this way, the idea of chivalry became inherently tied up with the principals of the church. Some contemporaries believed that the knight was in fact the right arm of the church, willing to do whatever was necessary to protect the clerical orders who assumed the position of their spiritual and social superiors. For many, the ideal knight was the crusader knight, since their cause was that of the church’s. The First Crusade had been, to some extent, an attempt to give knights a greater degree of purpose in society. Not only did it offer knights the chance to practice their art without fear of repercussion from other Christians, priests actually promoted the idea that fighting in the name of their church would be rewarded spiritually. In The Crusade of Richard the Lion-Heart Richard is depicted as a true manifestation of chivalry. He is said to have charged headlong into groups of hostile Saracens and slaughtered them with a great deal of unbridled fury and violence. Records of the crusades often present brutal and bloody conflict within the confines of chivalrous actions. What would be considered causing mass devastation and destruction in Europe was praised in the Holy Land because it fit within the confines of what the church considered acceptable violence. During the wars of the roses, however, the aristocracy were unable to capitalise on this religious bias because the conflict involved only the indigenous population of England, all of whom were at this time deeply devout Christians. Justifiable violence during this period would thus have to encompass both aspects of martial conduct and religious devotion in order to be presented in a chivalrous manner.

The problem with civil war is that established rules such as chivalry were often disregarded, the result of which being a period in which examples of chivalry were few and far between. Perhaps the main source of chivalric inspiration came from the only major figure during the wars of the roses to avoid violence wherever possible, Henry VI. Henry was well known for his religious devotion, and just as writers of great chivalric deeds would present an individual as the very embodiment of chivalry, Henry VI was presented as the very embodiment of religious devotion. John Capgrave, author of the Liber de Illustrious Henricis, once wrote ‘would that his subjects would be more inclined towards the example of our king.’ He also mentioned that due to Henry’s impressive level of devotion to the sign of the cross many of those who were not as devoted as he would find inspiration in his actions and begin to mirror his behaviour. Such was the devotion of Henry VI that after his death there grew something of a cult dedicated to his life. The cult ended up growing so much support that there was a strong movement to have him beatified posthumously. Another highly influential source of information comes from John Blacman’s memoir, a biographical depiction of the life of Henry VI but with a great deal of emphasis on his pious behaviour and the way in which it influenced those around him. Today, it is believed that Blacman’s work may have been intentionally trying to encourage the cult to Henry VI. The issue we have is that the exact publication date is unknown to us. Robert Lovatt believed that it was published in around August 1484 when Henry’s body was moved by Richard III so that he could keep a closer eye on this new cult. If it was published much later, then Blacman’s work could be seen as a piece of Tudor propaganda, rather than a dedication to an old friend.

A great deal of effort was made to present Henry VI as a pious and just figure, and much of the literature about him mirrors the earlier works on chivalry, i.e. presenting the deeds and manners of one person as an example through which others should follow. Henry was not, however, known for his chivalry (or even presence at all) on the battlefield. While he may have been son to a famous warrior king, Henry VI was never known for his love of conflict. Consequently, he may well have been a shining example of the religious aspect of chivalry, he was unable to fully embody the martial side as well.

Although not really thought of in these terms, the politics of Richard, Duke of York, during the 1450s certainly embodied the martial side of chivalry. Though technically a rebel, York’s appearance to the commons was that of a man who was trying to defend those who were unable to defend themselves. The most fundamental part of chivalry came back to the idea of the three social categories, and it was thus the job of the warriors to defend the clergy and he labourers. Using the commons was paramount to York’s campaign, and as Dave Grummit wrote: ‘the platform of reform on which Richard… sought to challenge the crown in the 1450s was essentially that of the commons.’ The majority of the emphasis in the articles of Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick and brother-in-law of York, issued before the flight at Ludlow in 1459 is placed on acting for the good of the commons and protecting them from the injustices that they shared. The term ‘commonweal’ became the standard manner of expressing the idea of acting for the good of the people. While it was first used in 1446 it was York and his supporters that popularised the term in their literature. York had dynastic ambitions beyond simply trying to defend the commons, but the abundance of literature he and his company produced over this period is almost entirely focused on the plight of the commons, and how they wished to defend them against tyranny. The key to all of this was the fact that York and his followers did not challenge the authority of Henry VI, but instead took advantage of growing distrust for Henry’s ministers and targeted them instead.

Contemporary accounts confirm the general feeling of resentment about the king’s ministers. The English chronicle is among the more extreme due it being Yorkist propaganda, but is nevertheless useful for observing what anti-establishment views at the time were, asserting that ‘The King was simple and led by covetous counsel.’ Waurin, a Burgundian chronicler observing the events in England, wrote that ‘Each one who had power with [Henry] was wished to strengthen himself by getting control over the king.’ The concept of poor ministry crippling the commons is also present in the Articles of the Commons of Kent, and was one of the main factors influencing people to join with Cade’s rebellion. The reverence for York as a champion of the commons is made clear during Cade’s rebellion in 1450, as Cade demanded that York be brought back from Ireland (in what he refers to as a period of exile) to bring him back into mainstream politics. There is also evidence that many poets in the South-East of England were actually patrons of York, who embarked on a campaign of commissioning propaganda in the form of satirical poetry to reach the widest possible audience. York would continue to fight for the good of the commons throughout the 1450s and early 1460s, albeit largely just in name, and would turn to violence on several occasions. Despite this, he was revered as a hero among the commons for his actions. In other circumstances, York would have been another rebellious aristocrat seeking power for himself, but his message was that of the defence of the people, and through his chivalrous presentation he was made an icon.

The common people of England were not bound by the rules of chivalry. As those who work, they were supposed to stay clear of all forms of violence, and should they stray into the category of those who fight they were often vilified for doing so. Although there were occasions of civil strife occurring before this period, until the 1450s there had been only really one outlet for the commons to take part in violence in a justifiable manner; by entering the military service of a knight or lord. The increasing political awareness of the peasantry by the middle of the fifteenth century, however, provided another outlet for justifiable violence in the form of local resistances in the name of the good of the common people rather than grievances that were only locally relevant.

The devastation of the Black Death left a third to a half of the English population dead, and at the time of the first major outbreak in 1348, some three quarters of the population worked as peasant farmers or farm labourers. The saturation of the agrarian labour market prior to the outbreak resulted in the subsequent labour shortages being absorbed almost immediately. Such was the extent of the recovery after the plague that by the third quarter of the fourteenth century the majority of landlords were enjoying revenues that were at least comparable to those they enjoyed before the pestilence. It was now possible for a leaseholder to hold land from one landowner whilst also holding lands from multiple sources at the same time. The South-East had always tended to be more prosperous than the rest of the nation, but after 1348 their recovery was so successful that studies into the welfare of the population revealed that ‘the total number of gentry families resident in Kent between 1422 and 1509 was two hundred and fifty six’ and that, according to the tax records of 1450, at least half of these families were of the lesser gentry; i.e. men who were considered gentlemen but not esquires or knights. The wealthy yeomen could afford more luxuries, with one very key luxury being leisure time, which in turn meant that for the first time the lower income households saw a significant increase in literacy rates. Open letters, manifestos and any other form of literature produced to promote the political cause of one side or another reached a much wider audience than it ever would have before. While not necessarily wealthy, by the 1440s growing literacy rates and greater disposable income resulted in the lines between husbandman, yeoman and gentlemen becoming blurred. With welfare improving for the lower social classes in England, a greater sense of political awareness helped fuel many of the actions and opinions for the commons during the wars of the roses.

We can see substantial evidence of a politically aware commons in the rebellion of 1450. The rebel leader John (or sometimes Jack) Cade is said to have taken the family name Mortimer, the surname of Richard Duke of York, to associate himself with his politics. This betrays an understanding of national politics that could not have been matched some 70 years prior. Though universally condemned for its brutality, the chronicles reveal that, for a brief window of time, the rebels were seen to be fighting with justice on their side. So great was the support for the rebellion that when urged ride out and disperse the rebels, many soldiers ‘answered and seide that thay wole not feghte agaynes thaym that labored forto amende and refourme the commyn profette of the londe.’

Not only did the Londoners actively support the rebels in the early stages of the rising, they continued to do so after the rebellion had already turned to bloodshed. Before the rebels were able to enter London, William Stafford Esquire and Sir Humphrey Stafford were despatched to track down the rebels and defeat them in battle. Instead, the Staffords were baited and ambushed, resulting in both of their deaths and the defeat of their forces. The subsequent murders of Lord Saye and William Crowmer and the terrorisation of the London citizens resulted in the rebels being vilified in English literature, yet the deaths of the Staffords wasn’t enough for the Londoners to keep the rebels out of their city. This was because Cade and his rebels were not out to challenge the justice system, and nor were they looking to make any changes at all. Their goal was to see to it that the established justice system was properly implemented, and they desired an end to its corruption. The citizens of London clearly believed in them, and therefore the deaths of the Staffords were seen as a necessary step to achieving that justice. Even Polydore Vergil, writing with the influence of sixty years of vilification of the rebellion and who was clearly the most critical observer, had to admit that there was a significant proportion of Londoners who supported the rebels. The moment they executed Lord Saye and William Crowmer without due process, they became part of the corrupted justice system that they had sworn to uphold, and from that moment onwards they simply became opportunistic and violent rebels.

Once again we can see evidence of the political awareness of the entire realm through the contemporary literature, this time with the way in which the rebels were dealt with. After Cade’s rebellion had failed, Henry VI offered a general pardon to the rebels. The vast majority of the rebels took this pardon, but Cade refused. In response, Henry issued a proclamation demanding the arrest of Cade, but in this proclamation it was written that Cade ‘desceyved many of the kinges peopull and under color of holy and good ententes made theyme tassemble with him’. Not only does Henry acknowledge that Cade’s perceived intentions were ‘holy and good’, but he issued a general pardon to all of the rebels, a grace that was not commonly extended to rebels in this period. Despite the deplorable actions taken by the rebels in London, the king was willing to admit that the political cause that they initially fought for was commendable enough to save them from being universally hunted down as traitors. Other examples of popular violence with such an acknowledged politically motivated goal were rare in this period. Unrest usually took the form of religious activity, particularly from the Lollards. In 1434 the Lollards attempted a new form of rebellion, this time using a secular and more politically motivated campaign that targeted the wealth of the church rather than its established beliefs and practices. While the majority of the rebels escaped being charged with heresy and burned alive, many were still hanged as traitors, and ultimately their political goal was not as readily recognised as the rebels of 1450.

The crown grew increasingly worried about the overly politicised nature of the unrest that was rapidly taking hold in the commons in the 1450s. In April of 1450 the government made proclamations in Latin in London and Middlesex against the posting of bills. Following Cade’s rebellion and a clear lack of cooling off among the commons, the crown began issuing proclamations in English in a last attempt to stop the fire of insurrection spreading. This was apparently unsuccessful as it seems that York was actually inspired by Cade and his rebels, and may have used their goals as a foundation for his own agenda. It has been well established that the bulk of Warwick and York’s support in the 1450s and early 1460s was from the commons, not the nobles. This is clearly represented in their manifestos and by the number of noblemen that actually committed to their cause prior to Ludlow. Only one earl and three barons mustered with York at Ludford Bridge (excluding a few other Nevilles that were possibly there). At this point they couldn’t really be considered the Yorkist Party since many of the noble members were deeply impoverished, and as far as the crown was concerned they were of no legitimate threat by their union. Such was the success of this propaganda machine that York and his supporters were able to muster enough support among the commons to pose a legitimate threat to the Lancastrian regime which would eventually culminate in Edward IV taking the throne.

Popular participation in the wars of the roses was therefore clearly not a universally vilified concept. It was, in fact, a fundamental part of York’s campaign. Under the correct circumstances, the commons could take part in the violence and be considered the justified for doing so. These circumstances were, however, very limited, and this particular form of saving grace was not extended to the vast majority of popular violence in this period.

Chapter 2: Rebellion and Resistance

Popular involvement in politics during the wars of the roses was certainly limited, particularly to the lower social classes. Modern historians such as Michael Hicks often suggest that the primary manner in which the voice of the commons could be genuinely heard was through armed demonstration, typically as a result of economic distress. While this particular interpretation leaves much of the non-violent participation in politics out, the wars of the roses certainly had more than its fair share of rebellions. Beginning with Cade’s rebellion in 1450, the commons in England gathered together to express their political voice through the demonstration of force multiple times across the period. The framework for a political demonstration in a justifiable manner may have existed in the form of participation in uprisings dedicated to the defence of the common weal, but many of the rebellions during this period failed to adhere to the strict guidelines that constituted as justifiable, and as a consequence the contemporary opinions of many of these uprisings are extremely negative. With the exception of Cade’s rebellion, which managed to hold on to a sense of justice initially, almost every other form of rebellion during this period was unable to justify their actions sufficiently enough to be considered acceptable.

Understandably, Cade’s failed rebellion is recorded with a great deal of animosity among the chronicles. In June of 1450 a great host of men from Kent assembled at Black Heath. The King, apparently being at Leicester at the time, sent lords to go and understand their intent. Cade is said to have responded with their desire to ‘commen to redresse many poyntes whereby the kynges subgettes and comons were grevously wrongid’. Other chronicles mention very similar intentions for the rebels, with Bale’s chronicle claiming that Cade swore on pain of death that no man in his party should commit murder or robbery on the Londoners. While the rebels may have maintained that their intentions were honourable, unfortunately for the residents of London their actions would speak otherwise. According to the English chronicle, once the rebels were inside the city walls they sought out and dragged Lord Saye from the Tower of London and executed him without a trial. Soon afterwards, Lord Saye’s son-in-law, William Crowmer, who had previously acted as Sherif in Kent, was dragged to Mile end and executed as well. The chronicles also provide an utterly grotesque image of the two disembodied heads being placed on spears and paraded around London. Most of the chronicles record that after the murders of Saye and Crowmer, the rebels went rogue and began attacking the citizens. Of particular note is Philip Malpas, a wealthy alderman of London, who was terrorised and robbed by the rebels. The author of the London Chronicle speculated that if Cade and his men hadn’t turned to robbery they probably could have continued their rebellion and made a genuine difference (although this is partially attributed to the fact that all of the lords and King Henry VI himself had fled the city).

The gruesome imagery of this rebellion has been brought to life with the graphic descriptions of the violence committed inside the city of London. Typically, the violence of Cade’s rebellion draws itself into parallels with the Peasants’ Revolt of 1381. The popular risings of both 1381 and 1450 were in protest to a war in France, were led by men within riding distance from London, and were reactions to the breakdown and corruption of the justice system. The differences lay in the fact that the incredible fiscal demands of the decade running up to 1381 were not matched by the circumstances of 1450, and the role of the peasantry had changed a great deal in the 70 years since the peasants’ revolt. The great rising of 1381 was not the combined efforts of a unified body of protestors, but rather a collection of risings that were all pointed towards a general shared goal. By contrast, the rising of 1450 was a political movement that issued general manifestos not only among their own ranks but across the entire region.

Following the battle of Tewkesbury, and the final defeat of Margaret of Anjou and most of the remaining Lancastrian loyalists, the South-East once again rose up in resistance. This time, however, there was no political goal in mind, and their actions reflected that of a pillaging party rather than a genuine rebellion. Polydore Vergil’s largely inflammatory account of the rebels that assembled with Cade accuses them of always intending to use the rebellion as an opportunity to pillage the Londoners. In his account he wrote ‘[The rebels] allured unto them on every side, in hope of spoyle, an huge number, as well as citizens and countrey people’. Such a description does not aptly match the nature of Cade’s rebellion, but such a mentality could be applied to the attempted pillaging of London in 1471. The Crowland Chronicle describes those in the party as ‘some remnants of the Earl of Warwick’s men, Calais Regulars, seamen and pirates’. There was no pretence of political representation, no sense of justice and no obvious goal other than to profit from the destruction they intended to cause in London. The assembled men cannot therefore be realistically referred to as rebels, and more accurately fit the description of brigands. For this reason, their defeat at the hands of Anthony Wydeville, recently bereaved of his father and brother at the hands of Warwick and consequently the new Earl Rivers, and the assembled Londoners was praised as justice in action. The Crowland Chronicle even goes as far as to suggest that it was God’s will that justice would prevail that day, and so gives a glowing and honourable account of Rivers as he defeats the assembled brigands. Such opportunistic and obviously personal intentions clearly did not represent the commons, and therefore this incident is remembered only as an honourable victory over a band brigands.

While Cade’s rebellion was certainly the most high profile popular uprising of the 1450s, there were indeed other attempts by the commons to alter the political landscape of England by force, but in a different manner. In January of 1450, there is mention of a man calling himself ‘Captain Bluebeard’, who assembled a host of men together in Kent, similarly to Cade. Bluebeard was apparently caught before he could do too much damage, however, but his goal seems to have differed greatly from that of Cade’s. According to Bale’s chronicle, Bluebeard is said to have desired to attack the ruling lords and takeover the administration of England for themselves. Bluebeard was summarily dealt with as a traitor and many of the chronicles fail to even mention him due to the underwhelming performance of his rising. This rising does, however, reflect the way in which popular risings would change as the wars of the roses continued. Bluebeard’s goal was personal, and not necessarily appealing to the common grievances that many other risings would at least try to represent. For such a personally motivated goal, Bluebeard was not seen as a champion of the people, and the transparency of his rising was clear for all to see.

Political insurrection continued to be a common theme in England following the 1450s, but later in the 1460s the manner and ideology of these uprisings began to change. Later in the wars of the roses, nobles sought to use the grievances of the commons to manipulate politically fuelled uprisings in their favour. Close to two decades after Cade’s rebellion, the same style and form of language was still being used in manifestos issued by rebels, but by 1469 the people were beginning to see through rather obvious façade of the political rhetoric being presented to them. Easily the most obvious example of seigneurial manipulation of an uprising was that of the Robin of Redesdale rebellion.

In early 1469 Robin of Redesdale released a series of articles that reflected their rather transparent goals. The first article compares Edward IV to previous kings, calling for him to once again bring the ministers of royal blood back into his inner circle and to rid himself of the ministers that were abusing their positions at the expense of the common weal. Not only is the sentiment almost identical to that of the manifesto released in 1450, but the term ‘commonweal’ featured prominently in all Yorkist propaganda in the 1450s. Robin of Redesdale managed to maintain the appearance of a typical uprising in this period for a short while, but it quickly became apparent that it was nothing more than a rising of Warwick’s northern retainers. Robin of Redesdale was a fake name, and the real man is generally thought to be a relative of Sir John Conyers, a member of a family with a long tradition of supporting the Nevilles, with Warkworth suggesting that he was Sir William Conyers.; Michael Hicks described the rebellion as ‘[a] northern insurrection [that] was really a noble revolt in disguise.’ This statement is confirmed by the contemporary sources. John Warkworth directly linked the Robin of Redesdale rebellion to Warwick and George Duke of Clarence, Edward IV’s rebellious younger brother, declaring it to be ‘by ther assign[n]ment’. Similarly, within Hearne’s Fragment it was written: ‘it was done by the consent of the Earl of Warwick, the which was known more clearly afterwards.’ This rebellion culminated in the battle of Edgecotte, and eventually Edward IV was captured and taken into custody by Warwick and his brother, the Archbishop of York. The outrage over the capture of Edward IV was severe. There were riots in London, and various lords took the opportunity to wage whatever private battles they pleased. Most damning was the rebellion being helmed by Sir Humphrey Neville, who gathered men together to support the Lancastrian cause. As a relative of Warwick, this proved particularly embarrassing, and his own northern estates were right in the firing line. Warwick desperately needed to stop this rebellion before it caused any serious damage, but to do so he needed the royal authority to summon levies, all of whom refused to muster until Edward was released, and Edward refused to summon them himself until he was freed. Eventually, Edward was freed and the rebellions crushed.

Astonishingly, despite the failure of Warwick and Clarence to capitalise on the grievances of the commons with the Robin of Redesdale rebellion, less than a year later they were found to have been manipulating yet another rebellion in the name of the people, typically referred to as the Lincolnshire rebellion. Our main source of information on this particular rebellion comes from a chronicle known as The Chronicle of the Rebellion of Lincolnshire, an extremely critical of account the rebels. The chronicle opens with a description of the graces and virtues of Edward IV, before quickly moving on to condemn the Lincolnshire rebels and how they sought to abuse that trust and forgiveness. While clearly a work of Yorkist propaganda, the chronicle does offer an insight into the mind set of the English people towards this particular rebellion. The language of The Chronicle of the Lincolnshire Rebellion is very derogatory towards the rebels, with the words false, and traitor appearing consistently throughout the chronicle. The Crowland Chronicle doesn’t dwell on the Lincolnshire rebellion for long, but the author makes a reference to how these rebels acted ‘As though making a new alliance with the Kentishmen’, perhaps referencing the political unrest in the South-East of England prior to this period. The violent actions of these to insurrections didn’t even come close to becoming justifiable since they merely served the political schemings of Warwick and Clarence rather than any genuine attempt to serve the commons.

In 1483 England suddenly entered a period of extreme unrest and uncertainty after twelve years of relative peace following Richard III’s usurpation of the throne. This proved so unpopular that within only a few months of his reign he was forced to deal with significant unrest that proved dangerously close to home. Richard’s betrayal of his late brother and imprisonment of his nephews, the rightful heirs to the throne, removed all sense of justice from his administration, and the commons were quick to react. In July of 1483 there seems to have been a conspiracy to release the two princes from the tower by using fire in the city of London as a diversion. Little evidence actually survives of the entire affair, but the indicted men were close to Richard III, including John Smith, groom of the stirrup and servant to the crown’s master of the horse, and Stephen Ireland, who controlled the wardrobe of the Tower. The conspiracy was dealt with before any damage could be done, but those involved had significant links with Richard, and thus the implication was clear: the kingdom would not abide the imprisonment and death of the two princes.

Following this, and possibly other minor conspiracies, was an attempted rebellion that was apparently orchestrated by the very man who had helped install Richard III on the throne, Henry Stafford, Duke of Buckingham. Most of our knowledge of what happened during this rebellion comes from the January 1484 act of attainder. While an official record of events, this does not represent a perfect chronological record, since the timings all appear to be far too tightly organised. The act of attainder did much to hide the true nature of just how dangerous the 1483 risings were. For the most part, the leaders were insiders in Richard’s regime. The fact that it didn’t come to battle allowed Richard III to downplay the extent of the rebellion. This rebellion ultimately failed due to Buckingham’s forces being overrun, and the man himself was promptly captured and executed. The act of attainder, and many of the contemporary chronicles, place the bulk of the blame on Buckingham, presenting him as the chief orchestrator of the rebellion, but the reality seems to have been very different. As Rosemary Horrox stated: ‘Many of the leading gentry in the southern third of the country were in arms for a month’. This is confirmed by The Crowland Chronicle, which described how the people of the ‘South and West’ of the kingdom were beginning to form assemblies with the idea of spreading the message that the princes were dead, and they sought vengeance for their murder. The account of Thomas Moore tells us that ‘soon after [Richard’s usurpation] began a conspiracy… between the Duke of Buckingham and many other gentlemen’.

What is known as Buckingham’s rebellion was, in fact, a complicated series of rebellions with multiple different contingents. Buckingham and his retinue were only one part of this entire affair, and though it may have been ultimately blamed on him, his involvement was rather minimal. Modern interpretations downplay the involvement of Buckingham, and typically evidence for this can be seen by the fact that not many of the rebels had any ties with Buckingham. This particular rebellion was unique in the wars of the roses, since it was a popular uprising that didn’t serve the commons, but the core principal of justice itself. There was no aggrieved commons, no burden of taxation and no political rhetoric guiding the actions of the armed rebels. As Michael Hicks stated: ‘Buckingham’s rebellion had dynastic objectives: to get rid of Richard and restore Edward V.’ In this instance, not only would the violent actions of the rebels be seen as justified, but they could arguably have been seen as necessary for justice to prevail in the kingdom.

Not since Cade’s rebellion in 1450 had any major insurrection been focused on the idea of enforcing the current justice system, rather than try to make any attempt to alter it in any way. In theory, this should have lent this rebellion to being classified as one of the more justifiable outbreaks of violence from the commons, but the wealth of literature dedicated to keeping the true nature of this unrest hidden from the general populace prevented this from happening. The Crowland Chronicle, Thomas Moore and Polydore Vergil all present Buckingham as the captain of this uprising, and so all of them failed to address the abundance of popular involvement. Some sources even stipulated that Buckingham, who held a loose claim to the English throne, coveted the position for himself, but this is quite unlikely. Buckingham had played a considerable role in the usurpation of Richard III, and would have been well aware that he wouldn’t have survived another regime change. Richard III took care to make sure this rebellion seemed to be nothing more than a nobleman looking out for his own interests, and in so doing he managed to confuse much of the contemporary literature and mask the true nature of the rebellion. For this reason, the justice for the imprisonment of the two princes that the commons desired was lost among much of the literature, and the rebellion was written off as little more than a royal Duke reaching for the crown for himself.

Chapter 3: Aristocratic Violence

Of every violent act committed during the wars of the roses, the murder of Edward IV’s sons has lived on in infamy in the public imagination. The unlawful execution of a prisoner was one of the biggest taboos in English society, and these prisoners were not only mere children, but they were sons to the previous king and Richard III’s own nephews. There is some debate over whether it was Richard III that ordered their deaths, but the apparent belief by Richard III’s contemporaries was that Richard was indeed guilty. The Crowland Chronicle places the blame of the death of the princes on Richard III and establishes it as the chief reason for the rebellion of 1483. Another major source of information from this period is Dominic Mancini, an Italian diplomat living in London during Richard’s reign. Dominic Mancini’s account is the only one that survives from before 1485 and is thus clear of all Tudor influence, however, he was a stranger to England and had little knowledge of the geography of the country. Nevertheless he asserted with a great deal of authority that the boys were dead before Richard III left London in 1483. We can see other evidence for the widespread belief in the death of the two princes by the actions of Elizabeth Wydeville, wife of the late Edward IV. Elizabeth was implicated in the 1483 plot to place Henry Tudor on the throne on the condition that he married her eldest daughter Elizabeth of York. There is no way she would have sought to disinherit her sons by Edward IV unless she knew for certain that they were already dead.

Although the deaths of the princes in the towers is clearly an event that even today warrants a great deal of disgust, these were not the only high profile murders done by Richard’s command. According to The Great Chronicle of London Richard III is said to have called a parliament early in his reign, and requested the presence of Lord Hastings and the Earl of Derby. During the council meeting that evening men were said to have burst into the room crying ‘treason’ and dragged the two men off to be executed. The author takes care to mention that the two men were executed ‘without any due process of law or lawful examination’. The account of Sir Thomas Moore confirms what was written in The Great Chronicle of London. Within the conclusion of his account is the line ‘Thus ended this honourable man, a good knight’ presenting Richard III as a villain, executing Lord Hastings without due process. Such was the extent of the level of fear created by these murders that it was spoken of across the realm. In June 1483 Simon Stallworth wrote to Sir William Stonor saying that ‘With us is much trouble and every man doubts the other’ before going on to speak of Hastings’ execution.

The mark on a person’s name that came with committing the taboo of murdering a prisoner was so great that to even be associated with such an act could incur national outrage. Such was the case in 1447 with William De La Pole, then Marquess of Suffolk, and the mysterious circumstances surrounding the death of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. The author of the English Chronicle claims that not only did Suffolk and his men kill Gloucester, but that the only reason for summoning him to parliament that day was to fulfil their long planned desire of permanently ridding themselves of king Henry VI’s uncle. Interestingly though, the chronicle refers to Suffolk as a duke, a title that he did not hold until the following year, which perhaps betrays a lack of care taken by the author when establishing the facts of this particular case. When Suffolk was later arrested and put on trial for treason, the accusation of the murder of Gloucester was not part of the charges brought against him. It seems as if enough of his contemporaries believed that Gloucester really did die of some unexplained cause (the prevailing view today is that Gloucester died of a stroke while in Suffolk’s custody), but this didn’t stop the commons from reacting in utter disgust.

The Articles of the captain of Kent state that they wished to see justice done to Suffolk’s co-conspirators for the death of Gloucester. They believed that Gloucester was murdered for simply opposing Suffolk and his regime. William Ascogh, Bishop of Salisbury, is given a rather graphic obituary in the English chronicle depicting the great dishonourable treatment that he suffered at the hands of his captors as he was killed in 1450. He is said to have been ‘euel beloued amonge the commyn peple’, but the author also indicates that he was complicit in the murder of the Duke of Gloucester. The fury generated by the death of Gloucester was spread across the kingdom, resulting in his apparent co-conspirators being targeted and brutally murdered, despite the fact that neither Suffolk nor anyone else had ever officially been confirmed to have killed him.

This outrage over the murder of prisoners wasn’t exclusive to the aristocracy, but in fact extended to the commons as well. In 1470 Edward despatched John Tiptoft, 1^st Earl of Worcester and brother-in-law to the Earl of Warwick, to Southampton to deal with a group of Warwick’s rebels there. It was generally understood that the commons would be spared from the worst punishments, and the vengeance would only be taken against the ringleaders. Tiptoft, however, brought back the ringleader there (a man named Clapham) and twenty others back to his court where he had them all condemned to death. They were ordered to be hanged, drawn and quartered, and Tiptoft even went as far as to impale their various body parts around London. At the point at which Tiptoft decided to carry out his own version of justice, the worst the rebels had done was simply listen to Warwick, and had not yet actually taken any action against Edward or the Crown. Admittedly, Tiptoft had long since grown a reputation for being particularly cruel when it came to dispensing justice, but this very much went outside the authority granted to him, and thus this was not an act of legitimate justice. For this, and a lifetime of cruel implementation of the law, Tiptoft was beheaded during the brief readeption of Henry VI.

The execution of prisoners long held in captivity was one of the most infamous acts one could commit during the wars of the roses, but one’s conduct on the battlefield could be considered equally important during this period. One of the primary functions of the concept of chivalry was that of keeping battlefield conduct restricted in such a way as to limit the violence to innocents. During the wars of the roses, however, there was a rapid escalation of personal feuds, and chivalric ideas such as sparing an enemy who has surrendered were increasingly ignored. This can be traced back to York’s policies as early as 1455. The first battle of St Albans in 1455 was the first major conflict in which York instructed his forces to specifically target the nobles within the Lancastrian contingent and kill them. The half decade preceding the battle had been characterised by the political conflict between York and Somerset, and so consequently Somerset, Northumberland and Clifford were all killed during the battle. Each of the three Lancastrian noblemen killed at St Albans had an heir old enough to be a legitimate threat to the Yorkists. This legacy from St Albans may have driven an escalation of the personal nature of the conflict. These three men wanted revenge for the brutal murders of their fathers, and for the next six years leading up to Towton, the chivalric codes became ever more irrelevant to both sides.

Personal conflict between the Yorkists who desired absolute supremacy, and the Lancastrians who desired revenge, eventually culminated in the battle of Towton, typically referred to as one of the bloodiest battles to take place on English soil. The archaeological record of the battle reveals a great deal about the manner in which the battle was conducted. From the examination of a mass grave uncovered at the battlefield, Shannon A. Novak concluded ‘The injuries exhibited by individuals in the Towton mass grave suggest that chivalry was not a driving force in this wars of the roses battle.’ Such a statement was the result of the examination of the skeletons at the aforementioned mass grave, which revealed the shocking mistreatment the men suffered at the hands of their captors. On average each of the skeletons in the mass grave have 2.2 wounds, though this average is skewed by half having only one wound and the other having two or three, with one unfortunate victim having no less than nine separate wounds around the neck and arms. Notably, there is an odd lack of torso wounds in the mass grave at Towton. This might indicate that the deceased were adequately equipped, which would explain the propensity to attack the deceased’s buttocks, knees and neck, three undefended areas. Such barbaric execution of prisoners was not common during this period, and the nature of the wounds suggest that they were hacked to death en masse without any weapons to defend themselves.

Despite this, however, Towton exists as something of an anomaly in English medieval literature. The intensity of the battle is not matched by any other in this period because of the decade of growing personal and political rivalries between both the Yorkists and the Lancastrians, and Towton was to be the final conflict. Edward, while he had not yet been officially crowned, had been formally recognised as king in London at St Pauls and taken an oath at Westminster. Towton was especially personal for Edward, not simply because he stood to become king if he were victorious, but also because he was recently bereaved of his brother Edmund and his father Richard, with the latter’s dismembered head being publically displayed by Lord Clifford with a paper crown.

With revenge fuelling the intensity of both sides, and the deeply personal nature of the battle, it seems rather strange that these atrocities largely went unmentioned in popular literature of the time. It has been speculated that Edward IV adopted a policy of allowing the battle to fall into the realm of folklore, and this is reflected by some of the literature of the time. Celebrity verses, such as ‘The Battle of Towton’ were composed without accuracy in mind, but rather poetic symbolism that presented the battle in an almost Arthurian manner. Rarely are aristocrats mentioned by name, with Edward consistently being referred to as either the ‘White Rose’, or simply the ‘Rose’. Towton had been a barbaric battle, but it had been necessary, and thus a period of healing was supposed to begin. This helped to calm the sentiment regarding the atrocities committed during the battle, but Towton would be the only time such forgiveness would be given after the wanton execution of prisoners and personal conflicts.

One such infamous act of barbaric execution of personal enemies was that of Warwick choosing to behead his personal enemies after the battle of Edgecotte. William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, Richard, Earl Rivers, and Sir John Wydeville all lost their lives after the battle of Edgecotte at the request of Warwick. Michael Hicks suggested that Warwick was merely emulating the Yorkist policy of disposing of influential enemies during the 1450s and early 1460s, but where that policy had arguably been enforced to further the Yorkist cause, these executions were clearly just the personal desire of Warwick himself.

The abuse of the justice system during the wars of the roses was one of the primary driving points of much of the political criticism by both domestic and foreign observers. As those who were meant to be enforcing justice, the conduct of aristocrats was held to a much higher level of scrutiny in the public eye, and instances of blatant disregard for the laws of the realm were met with fierce backlash. Perhaps the most vilified figure in English society when it came to abuse of the justice system was John Tiptoft for his increasingly brutal methods of execution. As the so-called ‘Butcher of England’ he was deeply infamous for his cruelty, and his own execution at the hands of the Lancastrians during Henry VI’s readeption was seen as justice at last for the whole realm. This interpretation of Tiptoft’s character is, however, largely misleading. For Tiptoft, justice wasn’t personal, and he made no attempt to hide his character from his peers. Tiptoft is not known for ever having killed a personal enemy himself, and was never recorded displaying the recipients of his own brand of justice in a mocking way as many of his contemporaries did.

Prior to 1450, it was actually William de la Pole, the often considered second king to Henry VI, who was the generally vilified figure when it came to the abuse of justice. Suffolk’s connections with William Tailboys would prove disastrous for him. Hailing from a well-established gentry family from Lincolnshire, Tailboys was retained as a squire in the king’s household in 1441, made a Justice of the Peace in Lindsey and Northumberland in 1444, and even elected as a knight of the shire in Lincolnshire in 1445. Through Suffolk, Tailboys enjoyed a great deal of political protection, which allowed him to escape justice on multiple occasions. The most damning incident for Suffolk and Tailboys was his alleged murder attempt against Lord Cromwell. Tailboys and his men apparently recognised Lord Cromwell as their chief adversary, and are said to have attempted to murder Cromwell during a council meeting at the Star Chamber in Westminster. Whether or not this charge was an exaggeration, Cromwell used this incident as a means to try and hasten Suffolk’s later impeachment. The actions of Suffolk’s affinity, particularly in East-Anglia, were among the chief reasons for the political unrest of 1450.

Complaints about the failure of the justice system feature prominently in the Articles of the Commons of Kent, with Suffolk being named as a chief traitor by Cade. The English people simply wouldn’t abide such blatant disregard for their established legal system, particularly from the people who were meant to be enforcing the laws of the realm. Suffolk may not have been the one directly accused of the violence done by Tailboys and his ‘slaughterladdes’, but his continued use of political influence to keep him out of custody dragged both of their reputations to an irreparable point.

The actions of Suffolk and his affinity abused the justice system for political gain, but later in the period Edward IV would become infamous in a similar manner, but for financial gain instead. Having already gained something of a reputation for financial mismanagement and possible accusations of embezzling money gathered by taxation, Edward was no stranger to exacting the money he needed by some less than reputable means. Even Philippe de Commynes, a Franco-Burgundian diplomat, accused Edward of embezzling money to pay off the wages for the Calais garrison. In 1468 Edward IV became involved in something of a scandal after Sir Thomas Cook, originally a draper of unknown background who made his fame as Mayor of London, was named as a Lancastrian conspirator. The accusation against Edward was that the charges were fabricated so that he could profit from the seizure of goods from Cook. The Great Chronicle of London stressed that Cook was innocent and that his whole arrest and trial was simply a matter of extracting money out of him. There is a great deal of emphasis placed on his financial losses and the amount of money that he was fined by the courts. The chronicler infers through his emphasis on the financial losses that this was the core reason Cook was put on trial. This incident is made all the more suspicious by the fact that by 1468, Edward was desperately seeking to replenish his treasury, and it is speculated that this incident was a result of that desperation.

The accusations against Edward were never really proven, and he managed to escape any legal repercussions, but the public opinion began to turn against him after half a decade of financial policies that proved to be extremely unpopular. Cook initially faced charges of treason and thus stood to be executed, but it seems Edward relented, perhaps recognising the backlash that would occur. Manipulation of the justice system was deeply resented, especially since in this instance it very much appeared to be purely for personal profit. Profiting from such legal abuses were, after all, at the heart of much of the Yorkist literature designed to appeal to the commons during the 1450s, and thus Edward’s actions began to make him seem like the unjust ministers that his father and supporters desired to rid the realm of.

The aristocracy in fifteenth century England may have been the ones to enforce the justice system, but they were not above it. In the instances where they did try to operate outside the legal restrictions of the realm, they were almost invariably unable to maintain their position for any considerable amount of time. Violence committed in the name of personal valour, financial or political profit or any reason that wasn’t deemed fully justifiable and was met with intense displeasure among the English people.

Conclusion

Justice sat firmly at the heart of the dynastic struggle that was the wars of the roses. From aristocrats with aspirations of kingship to common men with a desire to see justice restored to the realm, the laws of England were held to a much higher degree of scrutiny during this period. The right of inheritance was sacred to the English people and was thus the cause of the majority of the civil strife during the fifteenth century. J.R. Lander speculated that many of the lords joined the Yorkist cause after the flight of Ludlow because of the act of attainder that disinherited the two most wealthy and influential families in England, the Nevilles and the Mortimers, created an atmosphere of fear and resentment over the decisions of Henry VI and his administration. The commons, for whom the inheritances of the aristocracy meant little, the primary concern was the basic enforcement of law and order across the kingdom, and the repeated abuses of the justice system by the influential nobility. Within the restricted parameters of fighting to uphold the justice of the realm, violence could be deemed acceptable. This was, however, a very conservative limitation that was rarely extended to the perpetrators of violence in this period. Popular literature may have had significant impacts on swaying public opinion, but the transparency of certain campaigns, such as that of Robin of Redesdale, were clearly understood by contemporaries. What constituted as justifiable violence did vary, depending on the particular circumstances, who was involved and, rather subjectively, the general mood of the entire kingdom. The best example of this is the politics of Cade’s rebellion in 1450 prior to the terrorisation of the London residents. The growing feeling of a lack of justice and the abuse of the legal system by certain lords helped the rebellion to be taken more seriously than a simple local insurrection. It gave the rebellion a more nationalistic goal that affected everyone, and to that end the battle between the rebels and the forces of the Stafford brothers were seen as a means of achieving justice, rather than the murder of two high profile gentlemen. Cade’s rebellion also serves as a perfect example of how a political message could be so rapidly corrupted. The wanton destruction and terrorisation of London served no clear purpose other than the personal enrichment of the rebels, and the executions of Lord Saye and William Cromer were done so without any sense of legal justice to them whatsoever. For this, the rebellion has remained one of the most infamous events of the wars of the roses. Although typically those to be the ones to enforce the legal system in England, the nobility were bound by the similar rules. Violence in the name of personal profit was absolutely illegal, and contrary to the belief of many that aristocrats could operate under their own sense of justice, their actions invariably had extremely negative consequences in the public eye. The unlawful execution of prisoners, the extraction of money through illegal means and the unchivalrous conduct both on and off the battlefield led to many noblemen having their reputations permanently ruined and many faced extreme punishments as a result. Violence may have been a significant part of the wars of the roses, but its tragic nature was recognised at the time, just as it is today.

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