Although Richard III was five foot eight inches tall, his spine was so twisted he stood as short as four foot eight. Imagine him hacking his way towards Henry Tudor at the battle of Bosworth, a furious human pretzel, ‘small in body and feeble of limb’, a contemporary noted, he cut his way towards his rival, ‘until his last breath’.
Five million people in the UK watched the Channel Four programme The King Under the Car Park that first revealed Richard really did have slight bones, and one shoulder higher than another, as the earliest sources had always claimed. It caught the national imagination with the details of the injuries Richard suffered at Bosworth bringing the violence of the battle to life. Chris Skidmore’s ‘Bosworth: The Birth of the Tudors’ could scarcely have been published at a better moment, and it is just the right book for all those whose interest has been piqued by the archaeology.
For admirers of Richard III, including all those who were convinced that tales of Richard’s twisted spine was Tudor propaganda, there is little comfort in Skidmore’s narrative. He expresses few doubts that Richard did away with his young nephews, the Princes in the Tower, in 1483. Nor does one warm to a king with henchmen like ‘the black knight’, who, tradition has it, punished offenders by the rolling them downhill in spiked barrels. According to Skidmore by the summer of the battle in 1485, Richard was haemorrhaging support so badly that even the servant who had dressed the king for his coronation abandoned him. Even so, England was not simply there for the taking by the obscure Henry Tudor.
Henry’s sole blood claim to the throne came through his mother’s illegitimate descent from John of Gaunt, which amounted to no claim at all. His army was an invasion force, backed by France, and over half the men were French, with the rest made up of Scots and Welsh, as well as English. In his rallying speech at Bosworth Richard condemned Henry as an ‘unknown Welshman,’ come to ‘overcome and oppress’ England with his ‘fainthearted Frenchmen’. But as Henry reminded them, there was no hope for their survival or escape without victory. The ships that had delivered them from France had sailed way again, ‘Backward we cannot fly, so that here we stand like sheep in a fold circumcepted and compassed between our enemies and doubtful friends’.
Pre-eminent amongst Henry’s ‘doubtful friends’ was his stepfather Thomas, Lord Stanley, whose eldest son was Richard’s hostage. Stanley’s vast force – bigger than Henry’s whole army – was ranged on the hills above the opposing armies and neither side was certain who he would chose to back and when. A shout from Richard’s greatest ally, the Duke of Norfolk and the whistle of arrows, announced the battle’s beginning. For me, one of the most startling revelations concerning what followed is that it was a woman’s hand that then guided the manoeuvres of Henry Tudor’s army.
The Venetian born Christine de Pizan is well known for her poetry and allegorical works, but she was also the author of a manual on military warfare dating to around 1410: ‘The Book of Deeds of Arms and of Chivalry’. Henry’s commander, the Earl of Oxford, confronted and defeated Norfolk’s attack using a series of classic manoeuvres lifted from her manual, and in gratitude later commissioned William Caxton to translate and publish it.
After his ally Norfolk was killed, Richard, decided to end the battle quickly with a direct attack on Henry, who he spotted standing away from the body of his army, surrounded by a small guard. As Richard’s cavalry thundered down the hill, standards streaming, Henry, looked up and saw the crowned figure of the king galloping towards him. The hand to hand fighting was ferocious and Henry’s men on the point of despair when Lord Stanley’s brother, Sir William, chose to engage his forces, on Henry’s side. Richard, shouting ‘Treason! Treason! Treason!’ continued battling towards Henry until, ‘fighting manfully in the midst of his enemies he was slain’. Skidmore describes in forensic detail exactly what happened, using evidence from the bones, contemporary descriptions, and his knowledge of medieval warfare to build a vivid picture of the death of the last Plantagenet king.
Skidmore’s Bosworth is far more than a book on the battle - it is also the story of Henry Tudor’s youth and of Richard III’s usurpation, but this is now the definitive book on Bosworth, the battle that marked in 1485 the last successful invasion of England. A version of this review was written by me for The Spectator in May 2013