The Wars of the Roses: A Sketch

Henry VI of England

Henry V, who had conquered half of France, died in 1422. The throne passed to his infant son Henry. Guardianship of the infant king was put in the hands of the baby’s uncles. The Dukes of Bedford and Gloucester split the governance of the realm: Bedford became Regent in France while Gloucester assumed direct charge of the court and parliamentary dealings. Gloucester hoped to attain the loftier title of ‘Protector of the Realm,’ but the Council could sense his ambition and refused to grant him such power. The Council’s slighting provoked a two-decade-long quarrel between the two, and that quarrel was personal: the Council’s chief was none other than Henry Beaufort, the bishop of Winchester, who happened to be Gloucester’s half-uncle. In 1441 Beaufort accused the Duchess of Gloucester of practicing witchcraft against the adolescent king. Gloucester’s political clout suffered from her conviction, and the wily Beaufort took Gloucester’s place over the king. Beaufort’s nephew, the Duke of Somerset, and William de la Pole, the Duke of Suffolk, took places of high power at Beaufort’s side. In 1444 Henry VI married the French-born Margaret of Anjou. Though Somerset and Suffolk were disliked by most of the English, Queen Margaret favored them—and absorbed their unpopularity. A string of defeats in France served as an impetus for Gloucester to lead a revolt against the ineffective crown. His rebellion failed, and he was imprisoned and died of a stroke. The queen divvied up Gloucester’s substantial estates to Suffolk and a number of her friends. Beaufort, who had laid the foundation for Somerset and Suffolk, died in 1447, just six weeks after the revolt. Suffolk, immensely unpopular with the people, was impeached and banished from England (he wouldn’t make it far, murdered just off-shore in a boat on his way to France). Somerset took the helm of the kingdom, but he, too, suffered a nosedive in popularity after Jack Cade’s rebellion in 1450. Though he was able to cool the passions of disaffected nobles and a moody populace, the rebellion brought to the forefront another opponent that Somerset would have to face: Richard, Duke of York.

Richard of York

Richard of York was the great grandson of Edward III via his father’s bloodline. He was born in 1411 to Richard, the 3rd Earl of Cambridge, and his wife Anne Mortimer. Anne died giving birth to the boy, and Richard’s father was beheaded just four years later for his involvement in the Southampton Plot against then-king Henry V. The traitorous earl’s title was forfeited but not politically stained, and the four-year-old orphaned boy became his late father’s heir. Just months after the earl’s execution, the boy’s heirless uncle, the 2nd Duke of York, was killed at Agincourt. Because the late duke was childless, his estates passed on to the young Richard at the approval of the king. Though the toddler held the title to York, he wouldn’t inherit the duchy’s land until his majority at twenty-one. The wardship of Richard’s lands and estates was put under the reins of Ralph Neville, the 1st Earl of Westmorland. Neville had numerous children from two wives—of twenty-three births, twenty children survived infancy—and in 1424 he betrothed the thirteen-year-old York to his nine-year-old daughter Cecily.Richard’s lands multiplied a third time the year after his betrothal: his maternal uncle, Edmund Mortimer, the 5th Earl of March, died in 1425, and the Earldom of March was added to the teenager’s territory. The inheritance of the March estates—as well as the Earldom of Ulster in northern Ireland—vaulted the teenaged boy into the top echelons of English society, for he became not only the wealthiest but also the most powerful noble in all England. A 1535 survey of church finances in England, Wales, and English-controlled Ireland tells us that York’s net income from the Mortimer lands in the March alone was the modern equivalent of 350,000 pounds. Neville died shortly after this landfall, and the wardship fell to his widow Joan Beaufort. The next year Richard was knighted at Leicester by the Duke of Bedford, and when he was eighteen the betrothal was honored in marriage to Cecily, now fourteen years old. The next month he was invited to the formal coronation of Henry VI in Westminster Abbey, and he followed the new king to France and was present at his Notre-Dame coronation as King of France in 1431. The next year York turned twenty-one and came into full control of his inheritance; the year after that he was admitted to the Order of the Garter.

The governance of English-controlled France had fallen on the shoulders of the Duke of Bedford, and his death in 1436 left a vacuum to be filled. York’s political career took off when he was appointed to fill Bedford’s shoes, albeit in a truncated manner: he would be ‘lieutenant-general’ rather than ‘regent’ of France (because Henry VI would be entering his majority soon, the king’s council wanted to limit the role’s power). This change meant that York couldn’t appoint major military officials, but he would make do. The truncated powers withstanding, York had a daunting task across the Channel: the French were making headway in reconquering their lands and the king’s council invested him with the task of holding the French at bay. York’s brother-in-law, the Earl of Salisbury, and the Earl of Suffolk accompanied him across the Channel. Their forces numbered around six thousand men, far less than the eleven thousand that had been promised. York’s first objective was to relieve and reinforce the beleaguered English in Paris; but when Paris fell to the French, York was ordered to look to the integrity of English-controlled Normandy. The Duchy had become plagued with insurrection as local allies switched their allegiance to France in the wake of the Franco-Burgundian reconciliation in 1435, and York set about putting things to rights—or at least to keeping things from getting worse. He left the field actions to his generals, notably John Talbot, and he poured most of his attention into the governance of English-controlled France. A strong government was just as sturdy a deterrent against enemies as swords and arrows, and it was necessary to keep Talbot’s men effective in the field. His officers recaptured Fecamp, Saint-Germain, a hodgepodge of Norman settlements, and clung to the Pays de Caux. Pontoise, a strategic point between Rouen and Paris that had been lost to the French in February 1436, was recaptured in a sneak attack; the same methods were applied to Paris, but the English were repulsed. The winter of 1436-37 saw English territory expand as far as Picardy, and a Burgundian army was defeated at Le Crotoy.

York’s successes earned him favor from the king’s council, and when his assigned tenure ran out, they asked him to stay on; but York’s year in France had drained his coffers, as he had to pay out-of-pocket for troops and material in hope that the council found the money to pay him back, and he declined the offer. His successor, the Earl of Warwick, arrived in France later than expected, which only stretched York’s debt. York finally made it back to England in November 1437, and that same month Henry VI reached his majority and assumed the full powers of reigning monarch. York had toiled and sacrificed for the council, but they turned their backs on him as soon as he returned from the Continent, made empty promises about paying him back, and found no place for him on the king’s council. York, cast from prominence, looked after his own estates. When his successor in France, the Earl of Warwick, died in 1439, York was given a role in the wardship of the late earl’s young son Henry. Warwick’s lieutenancy was temporarily filled by John Beaufort, the 3rd Earl of Somerset, but when peace negotiations with the French came to nothing, who would succeed Warwick became a matter of violent debate in the king’s council. Cardinal Beaufort wanted to pursue peace with France, but the Duke of Gloucester wanted to keep up the war. The pacifists and warhawks both liked York, who was viewed as flexible, dependable, a good governor, and seemingly neutral regarding England’s political machinations (though York likely leaned towards Gloucester’s warhawkishness). Henry VI liked York, and in July 1440 York was reappointed Lieutenant of France. York reached the Continent nearly a year later in 1441, and his wife and daughter Anne followed him (he and Cecily would have three children during York’s second tenure in France: Edward, Edmund, and Elizabeth would all be born in Rouen). York resolved to continue in his methods of governing English-controlled Normandy while leaving the war effort to his seasoned captains, but first York would have to get his hands dirty: he landed just in time to take the reins against a French campaign.

French forces had just recaptured Creil and Conflans, and Talbot’s men wearied in Pontoise beneath a French siege. York, with three hundred men, marched to reinforce Talbot at the beleaguered city, and the 5000-strong French army withdrew. The English chased after them for weeks, hoping (unsuccessfully) to force a battle. The English caught up with the French, and York and Talbot attempted a pincer movement to capture King Charles VII of France—but supplies were running low, the troops were exhausted from weeks of hard marching, and French skirmishers constantly winnowed the English forces. The pincer movement failed, and the wearied English retreated. The French did a roundabout, put Pontoise back under siege, and captured it with an artillery barrage. As the French continued reclaiming territory lost in the last hundred years of war, the England’s royal Council lurched for peace, and in September 1442 York was appointed chief commissioner to begin peace talks with France. Though peace with France slipped away, York was able to secure peace with the Duchess of Burgundy, who acted in place of her husband. The next year Henry VI put John Beaufort, recently created Duke of Somerset, in charge of eight thousand men and tasked him with securing Gascony against the French. These men were pulled from York’s already weakened force, increasing York’s difficulties in pacifying Normandy. The English campaign in Gascony struck ill nerves with the French Dukes of Brittany and Alencon, frustrating York’s entreaties with the French nobility. Somerset failed to achieve his goals so that the Gascony campaign did little beside make York’s job harder, and many historians speculate that the Gascony Campaign was the fire-starter for York’s loathing of Somerset particularly and the Beaufort family in general—a hatred that would, in time, lead to civil war.

English reverses on the Continent vaulted the Council’s pacifists to prominence, and Henry VI decided it was time to make a bid for peace (or at the least a truce) with France. As peace negotiations went forward, York’s responsibilities on the Continent devolved into ‘toeing the line’ and maintaining the status quo. In the fall of 1445, after spending five years in English-controlled France and after having three more children, York returned to England. He’d become associated with the Norman English who were opposed to Henry VI’s peace overtures, so the king’s Council yet again made no room for him. The lieutenancy of France went to Edmund Beaufort, the 2nd Earl of Somerset. Though York attended meetings of the king’s Council and Parliament over the next two years, most of his time was spent overseeing his estates on the Welsh border. York’s fortunes shifted for the better when Henry VI’s uncle, the Duke of Gloucester, died in February 1447 (he’d been accused of treason and died under ‘mysterious circumstances’ before he could stand trial). Since Gloucester and Henry VI’s other uncles had died without male heirs, Richard became the senior patrilineal descendant of Edward III; thus if Henry VI bore no children before he died, York would be a solid candidate for the throne. But York’s fortunes shifted again: when the Council gave up the province of Maine on the Continent for an extended truce with France and a French bride for Henry, York failed to keep his sentiments to himself and was politically banished to Ireland. He was made Lieutenant of Ireland, and though he was certainly a good choice—he was the Earl of Ulster and had numerous estates on the western island—it was clear to everyone that this was the Council’s way to get him out of sight and out of mind. His term of office was for ten years, effectively banishing him from any other high office for a decade.

York, with a pregnant wife and an army of six hundred men, departed for Ireland at the beginning of summer 1449. There he cleverly inserted himself into Irish politics, won friendships and favor from the Irish leaders, and even gained the favor of the Irish Parliament. These successes would be rewarded: affable Ireland would soon become a sanctuary and a beacon for Richard’s cause. Across the western sea, public disaffection with Henry’s government and relentless defeats in France spurred an uprising that would be known to historians as Jack Cade’s Rebellion. Though Henry VI was able to put it down, the government was rocked, and Henry’s chief counselor, William de la Pole, the Earl of Suffolk, was exiled only to be murdered just after setting into the Channel bound for France. The House of Commons railed against the king, demanding numerous concessions, and York used the unrest to make his move. Styling himself as nothing more than a reformer insisting on better government and the prosecution of the ‘traitors’ who had lost northern France, Richard left his sanctuary in Ireland and in early September 1450 landed a small invasion force in Anglesey. He evaded capture by the Lancastrians and summoned followers to his cause. At the end of September he reached London and had a sit-down with the king. The meeting came to nothing, and Richard continued recruiting supporters. Violence swept through London, and York’s premier political opponent, Somerset, was put in the Tower for his own safety. Henry’s government made concessions to York, and the ‘reform movement’ died down. Somerset was released from the Tower and York was given another political office, Justice of the Forest south of the Trent. Somerset was appointed Captain of Calais, and when one of York’s followers suggested that York be made king rather than Henry VI, he was imprisoned in the Tower and Parliament was dissolved.

York had claims to the throne, no matter how convoluted, from both his mother and father’s bloodlines. His mother Anne had been the daughter of Roger Mortimer, the 4th Earl of March. The Mortimers traced their bloodline to the Duke of Clarence, the second adult son of Edward III, so that they were, by default, heirs of the late childless King Richard II. When Henry IV seized the throne out from under Richard II, their hopes for the throne were sidelined. Because the Mortimer claim was placed on Anne’s brother Edmund, and because he died childless, the claim passed to Richard of York; some lawyers would argue that York’s maternal claim to the throne was better than that of the reigning House of Lancaster, descended from Edward III’s third son John of Gaunt. On the paternal side, York was a direct male descendent of his grandfather Edmund, the 1st Duke of York, who had been the fourth adult son of Edward III. Thus York could claim that he was a ‘prince of the blood,’ and he could argue that he, rather than the sitting Henry VI, had the better claim to the throne. To this end in 1448 he adopted the surname ‘Plantagenet’ to highlight his claim’s reliability.

the Battle of Castillon 1453

The call for Richard of York to supplant Henry VI prompted the king to authorize a number of reforms, and York retired to Ludlow—but only for a time. In 1452 York made a bid for the throne, not by usurpation but by succession. He wanted to be recognized as the king’s throne (Henry VI was still childless after seven years of marriage), and he hoped to destroy Somerset in the process. Marching from Ludlow, York found the gates of London barred against him. York’s ragtag army was outnumbered by the Lancastrian loyalists, and lacking support from the upper echelons of English society, York was forced to come to terms. He presented his complaints against Somerset to the king, and then he was escorted to London and put on house arrest. Two weeks later he swore an oath of allegiance to the king at St. Paul’s Cathedral, but his heart wasn’t in it. In addition to swearing an oath of allegiance, he promised to put an end to his public demonstrations and support his opponents in retaking Guienne in France. These promises would never be tested, for in July 1453, at the Battle of Castillon, the English were soundly defeated and the war was lost.

the Battle of St. Albans

Discontent soared in England, and York knew the time was ripe for making a violent bid for the crown. As if to pave the road for his ambitions, Henry VI collapsed into a sixteen-month bout of insanity, and York was named Protector of the Realm for as long as it took for the king to regain his senses. York used his newfound power to imprison Somerset, but when the king regained his sanity in December 1454, York had no choice but to relinquish the protectorship. Somerset was released from prison and regained control of the government. York returned to Ludlow Castle, summoned his soldiers from the Welsh Marches, and begin to gather an army. The Lancastrian royalists and York’s warrior assemblage clashed at the First Battle of St. Albans in May 1455; Somerset was slain, the king was captured, and York used his victory as leverage to have himself named Protector of the Realm in October.

Richard named his compatriot, the Earl of Warwick, was made Captain of Calais. This role was of vital importance, as it was tasked with protecting the port of Calais against the always-menacing French. Calais was England’s sole continental possession, the only surviving fragment of what had been the king’s glorious empire, and was thus of critical importance. In 1456 Queen Margaret, York’s clever opponent, regained control of court and government, and York was ousted from the protector-ship and forced back to Ireland. Warwick refused to surrender his title and armies to Margaret’s control, and Calais became a cross-channel sanctuary for York’s sympathizers. York wasn’t going to play Margaret’s games for the protector-ship; he was going to try to straight-out steal the throne. In 1457 Henry tried to broker peace with the Yorkists, but the tails came to nothing. York and Warwick began planning their separate invasions of England to turn the throne to the Yorkist cause.

War on a scale that made St. Albans look like a street brawl erupted again in 1459 when Queen Margaret ordered Lancastrian royalists to waylay a contingent of Yorkist soldiers en route to a Yorkist stronghold. The Lancastrian ambush failed, and the royalists lost twice as many men as the Yorkists. The Battle of Blore Heath was an embarrassment for the Lancastrians, but they got their revenge next month when Richard of York invaded England only to be defeated at the Battle of Ludford. It’s worth noting that his defeat wasn’t due to any ineptitude on his part but to a betrayal in the ranks: a contingent of professional soldiers sent to York’s aid from Calais had turned on him. York survived the encounter, but his troops dispersed. Parliament declared York a traitor to England, and Richard had no choice but to hurry back to Ireland to avoid the chopping block. Though declared a traitor, he was still in control of Ireland and had the backing of the Irish Parliament.

the Battle of Northampton

In June next year, 1460, Warwick made his bid against Margaret, landing at Sandwich with two thousand choice soldiers from the Calais garrison. He had the support of the Earl of Salisbury and York’s son Edward, the Earl of March. The king and queen were in Coventry when they received news of the invasion, and they scrambled together an army from their chief noble supporters and began a hurried march south to meet Warwick’s men. Time couldn’t be lost, for the men of southeast England weren’t fond of the Francophile Queen, and by July Edward’s two thousand handpicked soldiers were supplemented with three thousand citizen soldiers. York’s five thousand men entered London on July 2 and easily seized it, as the king and queen and the royal army were outside the city. Lord Scales in the Tower of London refused to surrender, trusting that the royal forces would relieve the beleaguered city soon. Warwick assembled a siege around the Tower, left men to guard it, and took the bulk of his army north to face the king, whose forces were encamped at Northampton. Warwick and the king clashed at the Battle of Northampton on July 10.

Henry VI, now in Yorkist hands, was taken to London, much to the aghast of Lord Scales in the Tower (he sensibly surrendered the Tower to the victors). The Yorkists forced the king to give his blessing to a Yorkist government, and Richard returned from Ireland to make his bid for the throne. He would have to convince the court to make him king, a daunting feat considering the current king was still alive. Richard hoped the Yorkist victory would enable him to both woo or cow the government into compliance, but they were unimpressed with his petitions. He had expected some sort of respect, and his theatrics only made him look like a fool. Though he failed to be recognized as king, the court compromised by giving his wide-reaching powers within the realm, making him and Warwick the de facto rulers of the country.

the Battle of Wakefield

Queen Margaret, meanwhile, wasn’t restless; though exiled to Scotland, she exerted her energies in winning the support of Scotland’s new king, James III. Richard wanted to crush her before she could regain her strength, so in late December he marched north with his Salisbury and his second son Edmund. They came upon York and the nearby Pontefract Castle and found them unquestionably loyal to the imprisoned king and willing to stake their claims on blood. Many of the royalist officers had lost fathers at St. Albans, and they were eager for blood. On 30 December the royalists sallied forth from their fortifications to give battle to Richard and his entourage. The ensuing Battle of Wakefield was a disaster for the Yorkists: Richard of York was killed (either in battle or after capture; some sources state that he was captured, mocked with a crown of bulrushes shoved over his head, and then beheaded); York’s son Edmund was intercepted while fleeing and executed (rumored to be at the hands of Clifford, who was avenging the death of his father at St. Albans); and Salisbury, though successful in escaping the battle’s carnage, was captured the next day and promptly put to death.

the Battle of Towton

Margaret recaptured London, but her husband remained in Yorkists hands—he’d been seized by the Earl of Warwick and carried from the city. Margaret began preparations to crush Warwick and rescue the king, and in the meantime she ordered Richard’s traitorous head displayed above the four-story stone gatehouse known as Micklegate Bar. This only further incensed York’s supporters; though Margaret had hoped York’s death would put a dent in the madness, his supporters carried on with a renewed vigor. York’s eldest son Edward took the reigns, leading the impetus against the Lancastrians. In February 1461 the Yorkists beat a Lancastrian force led by Sir Owen Tudor and his son Jasper Tudor at the Battle of Mortimer’s Cross. Margaret marched the royalist army south and in late February offset Edward’s victory by defeating the Earl of Warwick at the Second Battle of St. Albans. Margaret successfully rescued Henry, but Edward was on her scent. She met his forces mid-March at the Battle of Towton, the largiest and bloodiest battle fought on British soil to-date. 28,000 men lost their lives, and the king and queen were forced to flee to Scotland. Edward managed to accomplish what his father had failed to do: with the help of his supporters (and, more notably, the assistance of the politically shrewd Warwick), Edward had Henry VI deposed and took the throne as Edward IV.

King Edward IV of England

Edward didn’t expect the Lancastrians to back down, and he put all his weight into crushing a major revolt in 1462. Two years later Warwick defeated the Lancastrians at the Battle of Hexham. Henry VI was captured again and returned to the Tower of London. That same year Edward secured his place in the annals of romance by falling in love with Elizabeth Woodville, a widowed commoner. She was much older than him, and her father had been a knight who lost his life in France fighting for the infamous Edward knew his court and family would never approve of Elizabeth, so he married her in secret. Months later when Edward’s advisors tried to arrange a marriage between Edward and a foreign princess, Edward had to come clean—and he did so with gusto. He ordered London decorated with colored paper and tinfoil and paraded Elizabeth through the city. He gave her five brothers roles in the government, and the nobles didn’t like how much power the Woodvilles were accumulating. Many of the appointments weakened Warwick’s power and even insulted his family name (which was a worse offense). The offenses ran throughout the government, and a number of disenfranchised nobles began pondering thoughts of treason. Warwick, now more popular than the king and with an army to spare, took arms against his backstabbing compatriot. The two friends-turned-foes faced each other at the Battle of Edgecoat Moor in the summer of 1469, and Edward IV suffered grievously: a number of high-ranking officers were captured and executed, and his beloved wife’s father and brother were captured, given a mock trial, and executed. Though Edward VI was captured, the rebellion hadn’t been stymied: skirmishes and family clashes were rippling through the countryside. Warwick lacked the power to keep things under control, and he was forced to release the king and make a fragile peace with him. Though Edward and Warwick maintained a diplomatic relationship even in the wake of rebellion, the relationship was forever stained by the king’s humiliation and Warwick’s burning resentment that he had gotten so close. A number of Edward’s political maneuverings served as insults aimed at Warwick, and Warwick made a move to recapture the king. His ambition failed, however, and the Battle of Loosecoat Field put Warwick on the run.

Denied access to Calais, he sought refuge and support for the French. King Louis XI was related to Queen Margaret of Anjou (who was French, after all), and he refused to give Warwick support unless it meant a restoration of Henry VI and Queen Margaret. What reason would Louis have for supporting a rebellion that was opposed to his kin? Warwick begrudgingly agreed, knowing it was an impasse that could not be crossed, and promised to marry his daughter Anne to Margaret and Henry VI’s sole son and heir Edward, the Prince of Wales. Warwick and his ally the Duke of Clarence invaded England in September 1470. Warwick’s army swelled with die-hard supporters, among them his brother Montagu who had his own reasons for rebelling against Edward. As Edward rushed south to meet Warwick and Clarence, Montagu marched from the north in a pincer movement to surround the king. Edward fled to friendly faces in the Duchy of Burgundy, and Warwick, true to his word, reinstalled Henry VI on the throne.

battle of Tewkesbury

The new government stripped both Warwick and Clarence of their lands and titles. The Duke of Clarence took over the Duchy of York, leaving the exiled king legally homeless. But fate intervened: Louis XI declared war on Burgundy, and Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, steeled themselves against the French and even lent material to the exiled king so that he could put the Francophile Lancastrians out to pasture. Edward marched into England, cutting Warwick down and smashing the Lancastrians at the Battle of Barnet. Queen Margaret tasted defeat at the Battle of Tewkesbury, during the course of which her son Edward, the Prince of Wales and Henry’s only son, was slain. The road was open to London, and the triumphant Edward took Henry prisoner once more. “My good cousin,” the dethroned king mused, “I know that in your hands my life will not be in danger.” He was wrong, murdered in the Tower of London.

The throne thus passed into the hands of the House of York, and the reign of Edward IV was a period of relative peace and prosperity. He boosted England’s trade by making deals with the Hanseatic League of North German trading cities, and a printing press was installed in Westminster (by 1484 parliamentary statutes would be printed on the press). Edward IV’s reign wasn’t without personal troubles: he had a falling-out with his brother George, Duke of Clarence, and had him murdered in the Tower (it’s rumored that he was drowned in a vat of wine).

the Princes in the Tower

Edward IV died in 1483, and the throne passed to his 12-year-old son Edward V. Because the new king was in his minority, he needed help in running the kingdom; in stepped a caring, compassionate uncle who was willing to help. Richard, the Duke of Gloucester, saddled up alongside Edward V, and there he put to work the machinery of political intrigue. He wanted the throne, and all that stood between them was the new king and his younger brother. Gloucester had Edward V declared illegitimate, and the new boy-king was deposed in favor of his uncle, now known by the regal name Richard III. The new king had the boys imprisoned in the Tower, and after a few months they were never seen again. It’s likely Gloucester had them murdered; after all, he had seen firsthand how troublesome close claimants to the throne could be.

England’s new king, Richard III of York, named the Duke of Buckingham Constable and Great Chamberlain of England, but Buckingham had the same rebellious spirit that flowed through the king’s veins: he led a forlorn rebellion in October, but his army was demolished by the royalists. Buckingham was captured, tried, and executed. Richard III’s pacification of England marked the end of a tumultuous 1483: Edward IV had died, his son Edward V had been deposed, and Richard had successfully taken the throne (and eliminated rival claimants). The next year he established his headquarters at Nottingham Castle.

the Battle of Bosworth Field

He may have felt secure, but he had to suffer for his sins: his only son and heir died in 1484, just nine years old, and his wife Anne died the next year. As his personal life was struck blow after blow, Henry Tudor, the Earl of Richmond, who had sworn an oath to the Lancastrians to marry Elizabeth of York—thus uniting the two houses to bring the dynastic struggle to a close—, was scheming to take the throne. In early August 1485 he landed at Milford Haven in West Wales and set to work gathering an army to support him in his quest for kingship. Richard III faced the new upstart at the Battle of Bosworth field. Richard III was slain and Henry Tudor took the throne at Henry VII. In his marriage the York and Lancastrian bloodlines merged, so that his descendants would belong to neither of the rival houses but to a new house altogether, that of York. Thus the Wars of the Roses—and the Plantagenet Dynasty--came to an end. Richard III’s body would be taken to Leicester and buried in Greyfriars Church. In 2012 his grave was rediscovered beneath a car park; his bones were reinterred in Leicester Cathedral in March 2015.

The Wars of the Roses: Misconceptions

The Wars of the Roses—the posthumous name of the dynastic struggle between the Houses of Lancaster and York—has been dramatized and immortalized to the point of becoming fable itself. Though mainstream images of the Wars resemble George Martin’s Game of Thrones, in reality it was much more like The Hatfields & McCoys (albeit with a lot more death and a score of rolling heads). This multi-generational family feud lasted three decades, from 1455 to 1485, but it wasn’t (as is often pictured) a period of unrelenting warfare: historians have calculated that actual campaign time during the Wars comes to around a mere 430 days (just over a thirtieth of that thirty-year period).

The Wars of the Roses can be divided into three phases of conflict: (1) 1455-1464, (2) 1469-1471, and (3) 1483-1487. At the dawn of the Wars, the Lancasters sat on the throne in Henry VI, and they had been on the throne since 1399. When the Lancastrian Henry V died in 1422, the throne passed to his infant son Henry VI. While Henry V conquered much of France, Henry VI lost it. Much of the blame for this rests not on the young king but on his aristocratic council. The Council became a battlefield between relatives and friends vying for power. As the Hundred Years War came to a close, great nobles who had amassed vast amounts of wealth fighting in France returned home with their private armies. Lawlessness was rife in the countryside and taxation fell heavily on the urban centers. Henry VI came into his majority, but he was incapable of ruling, devastated by bouts of mental illness. His shrewd and brilliant French wife, Margaret of Anjou, controlled him and led the Council with Francophile allies. Much of England's population loathed her, even denounced her as a traitor, since she was French-born and the collapse of English possessions in France happened after her arrival in England. As the Lancastrians were losing France and popularity, between 1450 and 1460 Richard, the 3rd Duke of York, schemed his way into becoming the titular head of a powerful baronial league. His kinsmen—the Nevilles, the Mowbrays, and the Bourchiers—stood at his side. York’s right-hand man, Richard Neville, the 16th Earl of Warwick, had hundreds of supporters scattered over twenty counties. When Henry VI lapsed into insanity in 1453, York’s baronial league maneuvered to have him named Protector of the Realm. When the king recovered his wits in 1455, he reestablished his wife’s party and forced York to take up arms. York’s ambitions for the inept Lancastrian throne erupted into violence on 22 May 1455 at the First Battle of St. Albans. This would be the first major bloodshed in a three-decade dynastic struggle. But, alas, we are getting ahead of ourselves.

The Wars of the Roses is littered with misconceptions, not least because history is written by the victors (a metaphor that, in this case, works quite literally). Early 15th century chroniclers, lyricists, and historians rewrote the dynastic struggle in such a way that it would bring glory to the struggle’s ‘Last Man Standing,’ Henry Tudor (who ascended the throne as Henry VII). Modern historians believe that Tudor propagandists stretched the truth of the dynastic struggle, turning it into three decades of chaos and bloodletting, to bolster the Tudor Dynasty’s relative peace and prosperity. Thus misconceptions of the Wars began less than a generation after the events, and they’ve continued down to the present day. A few examples will suffice:

First, thanks to William Shakespeare’s misguided (albeit excellent) Henry VI, we have been conditioned to think of the York and Lancashire parties as being united behind opposing roses: the white rose for York and the red rose for Lancaster. However, historian Thomas Penn notes that ‘[the] ‘Lancastrian’ red rose was an emblem that barely existed before Henry VII. Lancastrian kings used the rose sporadically, but when they did it was often gold rather than red; Henry VI, the king who presided over the country’s descent into civil war, preferred his badge of the antelope… For the best part of a quarter-century, from 1461 to 1485, there was only one royal rose, and it was white: the badge of Edward IV. The [opposing] roses were actually created after the war by Henry VII.’ Henry VII’s royal bade was that of a white rose engulfed by a red rose; by propagating the idea that the York rose was white and the Lancastrian rose red, he made it so that his royal badge symbolized a ‘unification’ of the two warring houses. The term ‘Wars of the Roses’ was coined by David Hume as recent as 1762; he based the name off Shakespeare’s (erroneous) badges in Henry VI.

Second, though the Wars have been portrayed as a ‘civil war,’ they were much more a dynastic struggle between two cadet branches of the House of Plantagenet. Those who fought in the Wars were the aristocratic families of York and Lancashire, along with their noble allies, retainers, and supporters. Civil wars generally have political undertones, wherein one side wishes to see political changes made; these Wars, however, lacked such characteristics, as both the Yorkists and Lancasters wished to preserve the nation and its current government. Both hoped to seize the throne or to at least gain control of the king’s Council.

Third, because this was a dynastic struggle rather than a civil war, England’s general population remained untouched. The Yorkist and Lancastrian rivals fielded armies comprised of aristocratic followers and their supporters. There was no conscription, no ‘levee en masse,’ only volunteer soldiers aligning with the House that best guarded their interests and served their advancement. Most soldiers fought not for the ideals of their respective leaders but for the hope of gaining power, money, and influence. Both sides took extra pains to make sure that non-combatants weren’t harmed in the conflict; after all, whichever House came out on top would need the support of the people to rule. Philip dy Commynes, a diplomat in the courts of Burgundy and France and called by some historians ‘the first truly modern writer,’ wrote of the Wars of the Roses: “It is the custom of the English that, once they have gained a battle, they do no more killing, especially killing of common people; for each side seeks to please the commons… King Edward told me that in all the battles he had won, the moment he came to victory he mounted a horse and shouted that the commons were to be spared and the nobles slain. And of the latter, few or none escaped… England enjoyed this peculiar mercy above all other kingdoms, that neither the country nor the people, nor the houses were wasted, destroyed or demolished; but the calamities and misfortunes of war fell only upon the soldiers, and especially upon the nobility.”

A fourth misconception is that the English nobility was devastated by the end of the Wars. This simply isn't the case. It is true that the upper-tier nobles suffered badly: of the sixteen families of dukes and earls that existed at the tail end of Henry VI's reign, only two remained fully intact at the end of the struggle (though the others were beaten and bloodied, most of the old nobility survived by way of heirs filling the vacuums left by slain family leaders). Historians have estimated that the rate of ‘family extinction' at the time was around 25 percent, much less than fable and folklore would have us believe. The Wars cost 105,000 lives in a country of three million, but this was only about 3.5% of the population (a minuscule ratio when compared to the three million lives lost in the preceding Hundred Years War (which averaged nearly 776,000 deaths every three decades).

Fifth, it is often assumed that the Yorkist and Lancastrian alliance system with nobles was cut-and-dry; but allegiances in noble families was constantly shifting as people switched sides or intermarried. Interestingly enough, the Yorkists drew most of their support from the Midlands, while the Lancastrians were predominant in Yorkshire! This is because York and Lancaster were dynastic titles that had little to do with geography. 

7.9.18

"For the love of Christ urges us on, because we are convinced that one has died for all; therefore all have died. And he died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them."  (2 Cor 5.14-15, NRSV)

We are to be rooted in Christ's love. The gospel needs to be the foundational bedrock of our lives. We are to live not for ourselves but for Christ. In this vein no part of life should not be touched, shaped, or changed by the gospel. The Bible teaches that Christ isn't just in the business of canceling debts; he's in the business of reconciling the whole world to himself--and all Christians are 'ministers of reconciliation' rooted in the gospel. We are tasked with being God's co-workers in His work of reconciling all things to Himself.

We live in the Digital Age, and it shows no signs of slowing down. We live in a culture that revolves around social media. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram: all of these are centered on cultivating an image that proves to the world that we have it all together. We post our highlight reels on social media, but we make sure no one knows about those things that aren't marketable, and we sure as hell make sure no one knows about our sins and weaknesses. No one posts about the fight they had with their wife, or the way they lost their temper on their children, or how they're skating by at work and hoping no one notices. Social Media isn't about vulnerability; it's about pretending. It's pretending to be someone you're not and hoping everyone buys it (usually we do, because we're not so great at critical thinking). We who are in Christ are to be ministers of reconciliation, and Social Media can often be a barrier to fulfilling the task to which God has appointed us. 

If we are to take seriously our call to be ministers of reconciliation, then we must be honest with ourselves. We must be honest with our brokenness. We must be honest about how we deny guilt or pass blame. We must admit that whatever broken relationship we're a part of, we're a part of it; we're not innocent bystanders but participants. We must be honest about how we project our dysfunction on others so that we don't have to feel guilt; denying guilt and passing blame is, ultimately, an act of self-preservation. We project our emotional problems on others; we live out of the hurt we've experienced and share it with others. 

To begin moving forward in our task of working with God to reconcile the world to Himself, we must be honest about our emotional hazards, our dysfunctions, our brokenness. We need to seek out (with much wisdom) a friend with whom we can be honest and a friend who can be honest with us, speaking much-needed painful truth into our lives. And, perhaps most importantly, we need to practice vulnerability, whereby we take down the images we create and show ourselves as we are to the world. Everyone who cultivates an image on Social Media is hiding things out of guilt and shame; by being open and vulnerable, we are telling them that it's OK to be messed up, that they're not alone, and we open doors in which we can share the gospel about a God who knows we're messed up, who loves us anyway, and who is eager to save us knowing full-well that we'll never have it all together this side of heaven.

on reading

My journey through the historical fiction of the Napoleonic Wars continues! Sadly I've almost reached the end of O'Brian's novels for 2018. His wit and writing style is unparalleled, but Cornwell is a close second. To 'flesh out' the novels I've been supplementing them with a plethora of non-fiction works detailing various phases and events in Early Modern Europe. Many of them have been hit-or-miss, but those posted below have been fantastic. 

I'm almost done with my historical Reading Queue for this year; once I finish a handful of non-fiction books, I'll be side-stepping from the Early Modern World to splash headfirst into science fiction, horror, and a good number of detective yarns. If I have time I'll also purvey some dinosaur books. Who doesn't love a good dinosaur book (and a lot of good ones have come out over the last year)?

7.2.18

Double Trouble & A Double Cure

All of humanity stands before God with two major problems. First, we are legally guilty for our rebellion against God. This rebellion isn't just about the bad things we've done; it encompasses our hearts, our minds, our thoughts and attitudes, our emotions, even things we haven't done that we should have done. Our hearts beat in rebellion against God and are bent inwards on ourselves. The guilt we've accumulated makes us guilty, and the wages of such rebellion is physical and spiritual death. The second problem we face is that we're enslaved to sin; even if we want to do good, we are incapable of doing it! Thus there is absolutely no hope for us to find good footing with God--at least not on our own feeble, futile efforts.

God answers this "Double Trouble" with a "Double Cure." When Jesus died on the cross, he took our place, and he died for God's rebellious creatures. When we turn to Christ and become united with him, Christ's sacrifice on the cross is applied to us: the punishment he bore becomes our own, and the debt we owe to God for our rebellion is paid in full. God doesn't excuse our rebellion; He deals with it on the cross, and Christ's work is appropriated to us. Because of the forgiveness we experience in Christ, we are able to stand before God as if we'd never sinned. In addition to dealing with the legal ramifications of the guilt we've accumulated because of sin, God also breaks the enslaving power of sin in our lives and fills us with the Holy Spirit. The Spirit's task is to comfort us, teach us, convict us, and lead us in the ways of righteousness. Because sin's power is broken, we are able, day-by-day, to become the sort of people God wants us to be. We are able to crucify our sin and live for righteousness as we walk by the Spirit.

How do we experience the forgiveness of our sins and the gift of the Holy Spirit? The Bible is quite clear: we are to respond to God in faith, repent of our sins, confess that Jesus is Lord, and be baptized in His name. 

Belief in Jesus has two key aspects: assent and trust. By believing in Jesus we assent to the truth of the gospel, believing that, yes, Jesus is the Son of God and the Way, the Truth, and the Life. By trusting in Jesus, we give ourselves over to him, no longer trusting in our own efforts for salvation but relying fully on him and the work he has done. By entrusting ourselves to Christ, we are committing ourselves to him as our Master and King. This is why confession is such a big deal: by confessing that Jesus is King, we are stating that the powers-that-be (whoever they may be) are not the world's true king. It is a revolutionary and even subversive declaration. For a Christian in the days of the early church to confess that Jesus is Lord was to mark himself out as someone who isn't 'falling in line' with the state. No halfhearted devotion to Jesus would result in such a damning confession; only those who had truly committed themselves to Christ and his Way would be willing to put themselves on the line like that.

The Bible teaches that, in addition to faith and confession, repentance is necessary for salvation. It has been said that repentance is the first half of faith; you can't get faith without repentance. You can't commit yourself to Jesus without making the decision of the will to turn your back on the Old Ways of living and to embrace the New Way revealed by Christ. If faith is absent repentance, then it isn't really faith at all.

The Bible also teaches that we are to be baptized into Christ. In Romans 6 Paul tells the Roman Christians to look back on their baptisms as the point in time in which they became partakers of the New Covenant. He instructs them to live their lives in light of the reality of their baptism. While it has become commonplace to believe that baptism is nothing more than "an outward symbol of an inward reality," the Apostle Paul (along with the rest of the New Testament and the church in general up to the 15th century) understood that when a person was baptized into Christ, they participated in his death and resurrection. There was nothing symbolic about it; only until the Reformation did the Swiss reformer Ulrich Zwingli advance the idea that baptism is merely a symbolic act. It is in baptism that Christ's work on the cross is appropriated to us. Because many Christians today haven't been baptized (thanks to the ignorance regarding what the Bible plainly teaches about baptism), it's important to note that faith and repentance are the keys that make baptism worthwhile. Those who believe in Jesus, who have confessed him as Lord, who have repented (and continue to repent) of their sins, but who haven't been baptized, will likely be judged by "the light that they have been given." It's my belief that those who hold anemic views of baptism will have experienced baptism without even knowing it--their first bath after faith, or their first dip in the pool, may likely be appropriated to them as baptism.