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Lady Jane Grey was put on the English throne by her scheming father-in-law, deposed by her power-hungry cousin and condemned to death by her own father’s treason. Nicola Tallis tells the story of a tragic victim of her royal blood
On 13 November 1553, the 17-year-old Lady Jane Grey became the youngest royal woman to be condemned for treason in British history. Her trial – staged at Guildhall in the heart of the city of London – was a very public humiliation. For Jane, its outcome was a personal catastrophe. How had it come to this? A mere four months earlier, some of the most powerful men in England had conveyed Jane, the great-niece of Henry VIII, to the Tower of London, where they proclaimed her queen. But now here she was, facing her accusers, her nine-day reign well and truly over, her very life hanging by a thread. The seeds of Jane’s spectacular fall from grace were sown, earlier in 1553, by one of Edward VI’s last acts as king of England. Edward was a committed Protestant and when he succeeded his father, Henry VIII, as king in 1547, he immediately took it upon himself to impose religious reforms upon his people. Read more | Lady Jane Grey: why do we want to believe the myth? But championing Protestantism in his lifetime wasn’t enough for Edward. He wanted the work to continue after his death, and that meant preventing his fiercely Catholic elder half-sister, Mary, from succeeding to the throne. His solution was to author a famous document, ‘My Devise for the Succession’, in which he excluded both Mary, and his other half-sister, Elizabeth, on the grounds of their illegitimacy (as his father had done before him). Lady Jane Grey, a fellow Protestant who had sat third in the line of succession, suddenly found herself anointed Edward’s heir. What made Edward’s ‘Devise’ all the more significant – and explosive – was the fact that it had in part been orchestrated by the young king’s chief advisor, John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland. Northumberland was an ambitious man, desperate to retain his grip on power, something that would inevitably be diminished should Mary succeed to the throne – for the simple fact that she loathed him, for both religious and political reasons. Bonds of allegiance Edward’s ‘Devise’ gave Northumberland a priceless opportunity to shore up his position – and in May 1553 he did just that, persuading Jane’s naïve father, the Duke of Suffolk, to allow Jane to be married to Northumberland’s fourth son, Guildford. The alliance was an attempt to cement the bonds of allegiance for what lay ahead – chiefly Jane’s succession to the throne, for which Northumberland’s support was essential. When, on 6 July 1553, Edward VI died – possibly from tuberculosis – Northumberland’s scheme appeared to be falling into place perfectly. But, even as Jane processed to the Tower of London to be formally proclaimed queen four days after the king’s death, Northumberland’s plan was beginning to unravel. The people of London, who were overwhelmingly sympathetic to Mary’s claim to the throne, greeted Jane’s accession with shock and hostility – so much so that the imperial ambassador reported that “no one present showed any sign of rejoicing”. Read more | Edward VI: boy king and religious zealot Worse still, Northumberland had fatally misjudged Mary’s popularity throughout the country. As each day passed, the clamour for Henry VIII’s eldest daughter to be given the crown grew louder. Soon it had gathered an unstoppable momentum. On 19 July, just nine days after she had been proclaimed queen, Jane was overthrown in Mary’s favour. With her short reign at an end, Jane and her husband remained in the Tower – prisoners in the same building that had so briefly been their palace. As the country erupted into joy at the succession of Mary I, few spared a thought for Jane’s predicament. In fact, many would have considered her fate a foregone conclusion: after all, she had, albeit unwillingly, accepted the crown in defiance of Mary, an act of high treason. Surely she would be executed. But Mary was eager to begin her reign by demonstrating clemency, and by the middle of August she had intimated to those at court that she “could not be induced to consent that she [Jane] should die”. Not only was Jane her cousin, Mary was also acutely conscious of Jane’s youth and the fact that she had been manipulated. It seemed that Jane’s life was safe. There was to be no such mercy for the Duke of Northumberland, and on 22 August his head was cut off. On the podcast | Helen Castor describes the short, but dramatic, life and reign of Lady Jane Grey Queen’s prerogative The next few months passed by uneventfully for Jane in the Tower, but she had not been forgotten. As the autumn drew in, under immense pressure from her supporters to punish those who had been involved in the coup, Mary agreed that Jane and her husband should stand trial. Some form of justice had to be seen to be done, and in Mary’s eyes the trial was a formality, one that would help to pacify those who urged her to act against her cousin. As queen, it was Mary’s prerogative to administer mercy where she deemed fit. On the morning of 13 November, Jane and Guildford were conducted on foot from the Tower to Guildhall. As they passed through the streets, “with the axe before them” according to standard procedure, people gathered to watch, but Jane was absorbed in the prayer book that was open in her hands. Read more | Mary I: the forgotten trailblazer Upon arrival at Guildhall, the prisoners were escorted to the Great Hall, where their trial was staged in a room full of spectators. A whole host of Mary’s supporters had been appointed to oversee the proceedings, headed by the Duke of Norfolk. The queen had commanded those who sat in judgment to “apply yourself diligently” to the task, and to ensure that justice prevailed. The charges against Jane were read out, and the evidence was laid before the court: Jane had “falsely and treacherously” accepted the crown of England and acknowledged herself as “Jane the Queen”, thereby depriving Mary of “her royal status, title, order and power of her kingdom of England”. In so doing, she had committed high treason. All eyes were upon Jane as those in the court waited to hear how she would plead to the charges. Her answer came soon enough: “Guilty.” This one word placed Jane “at the mercy of the queen” and, as such, the court’s verdict was a foregone conclusion: Jane and her husband were found guilty of treason and condemned to die. For Jane, the sentence was that “on the order of the queen herself”, she should be “burned, or the head cut off, as it will then please the queen”. Following their condemnation, Jane and Guildford were returned to the Tower, there to await Queen Mary’s decision as to their fate. Despite the enormity of the sentence that had been passed, however, Mary remained true to her initial desire to show mercy, and it was commonly believed that “Jane will not die”. Life as a Tower prisoner began to resume its normal course for Jane, as it became evident that the sentence passed against her would not be carried out. As Christmas approached, Mary relaxed the conditions of Jane’s confinement and permitted her to exercise in the Tower grounds. There seemed every reason to hope that not only would the queen spare Jane, but that she may eventually set her at her liberty. However, the machinations of ambitious men were to put Jane in terrible danger once more. Marital woes By early 1554, Mary had signalled her desire to marry Philip, future king of Spain. Many of her subjects vehemently opposed the union – primarily because they feared that Philip would try to embroil England in Spanish wars, and because the Spanish king was a Catholic. Mary, however, was unmoved, and plans for the wedding continued unabated. But Mary, it seems, had underestimated the level of opposition to the union. Unbeknown to the queen – and, tragically, also to Jane – there were those among her subjects who were preparing to take a stand against the marriage. In the heart of the Kent countryside, a gentleman named Sir Thomas Wyatt and several of his friends were planning a rebellion that aimed not only to protest against the Spanish marriage, but also to overthrow Mary and replace her with her half-sister, Elizabeth. Worse still, the rebels had recruited a supporter closely connected to Jane: her own father. Read more | Scandalous Tudor marriages: 7 women who braved royal wrath by marrying for love We can’t be sure why Jane’s father chose to throw his weight behind the Wyatt Rebellion, but one thing is certain: in doing so, the Duke of Suffolk had placed Jane’s life at mortal risk. The rebellion was fatally compromised almost before it began. The rebels had been careless planners, and in January 1554 their plot was discovered. Soon the Duke of Suffolk was fleeing towards the Midlands in order to evade capture and rally support for the uprising. He failed dismally and, on 2 February, was captured in Warwickshire, and dispatched to the Tower as a prisoner. Thomas Wyatt would soon join him. Londoners’ steadfast support for Queen Mary had shattered his attempts to take control of the capital and, on 7 February, he too was captured. Jane had known nothing of the rebellion but now, as she languished in the Tower, she may have been painfully conscious that her life depended on its outcome. Its failure sealed her fate. Though Mary was, even after all that had happened, “considering to have her reprieved”, through the insistence of her advisors she was left with no choice but to order Jane’s execution. The decision may have been made as late as 7 February, and it was probably that evening that Jane was told to prepare herself for death. She had already been condemned, and thus the formalities had already been settled. Jane prepared for her end with courage, and began writing her final farewells to her family. Mary may have decided that Jane could not live, but she was still concerned for her cousin’s spiritual welfare. So, on 8 February, the queen tasked her chaplain, Dr John Feckenham, with converting Jane to Catholicism. Feckenham certainly gave it his all, even managing to delay Jane’s execution by three days to complete his assignment. Several contemporaries later referred to the chaplain’s encounter with Jane, most famously John Foxe, the martyrologist. Foxe tells that, having failed to break Jane’s resolve, and realising that he was getting nowhere, Feckenham took his leave, saying that he was sorry for her: “‘For I am sure,’ quoth he, ‘that we two shall never meet.’” Foxe continues: “‘True it is,’ said she, ‘that we shall never meet, except God turn your heart; for I am assured, unless you repent and turn to God, you are in an evil case.’” As Feckenham discovered, Jane’s resolve had hardened. By now she had resigned herself to the fact that death was inevitable, and she was determined to be remembered as a Protestant heroine. Even Feckenham was impressed with her steadfast spirit. Lifeless corpse On the morning of 12 February, Jane mounted a scaffold that had been specially prepared within the precincts of the Tower. Shortly before, she had watched as her husband’s lifeless corpse was returned to the Tower on a cart, following his execution on nearby Tower Hill. Unperturbed by this gruesome spectacle, she faced death with courage. She made a short speech urging those who were present to pray for her and, having been blindfolded, she knelt on the straw. Then her calm momentarily deserted her, as she found that the block was just out of her reach. “What shall I do? Where is it?” she cried out in panic. She regained her composure as her hands were guided to the block. Moments later the axe fell and severed her head with a single stroke. Jane’s death made her a martyr, not just to Protestants in England but across the continent too. Elsewhere in the realm, though, her end went almost unnoticed. It was not until later centuries that Jane began to be remembered as one of history’s most tragic victims. And in this image there is some truth: Jane was both a victim of circumstance, and of her royal blood. Mary I certainly did not wish for Jane’s execution and did everything in her power to prevent it. But, from the moment ‘the nine-day queen’ was deposed in July 1553, death cast a long shadow over her. Her father’s actions made it a cruel reality. For Jane, the royal blood that the two cousins shared had been a deadly inheritance, and one for which she was forced to pay the highest price. Nicola Tallis is an author and historian specialising in Tudor England. She is the author of Crown of Blood: The Deadly Inheritance of Lady Jane Grey and Elizabeth's Rival: The Tumultuous Tale of Lettice Knollys. This article was first published in the November 2016 issue of BBC History Magazine
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By the end of her reign, Mary I’s relationship with her half-sister and successor, Elizabeth, was at an all-time low. But had the Tudor siblings always been such bitter enemies? Nicola Tallis reveals how the duo’s bond was both broken and strengthened by events beyond their control
On 17 November 1558, Mary I died and was succeeded by her half-sister, Elizabeth. Upon receiving the news, Elizabeth declared that “the law of nature moveth me to sorrow for my sister”, for whom she professed to have wept tears of sorrow. Yet, despite her claim, there were few people who believed her to be sincere. Throughout the course of Mary’s reign, the relationship between the two sisters – who had once been close – had broken down beyond repair. Elizabeth and Mary’s bond had faced significant challenges from the start, through no fault of either party. Elizabeth’s mother, Anne Boleyn, had caused Mary great unhappiness, for her father Henry VIII’s intense passion for Anne had been the catalyst for his separation from Catherine of Aragon, Mary’s mother. Read more | Is Catherine of Aragon Henry's greatest queen? By the time of Elizabeth’s birth on 7 September 1533, the teenage Mary had been rendered illegitimate by her father, their relationship lay in tatters, and her loathing for Anne Boleyn had peaked. Though Elizabeth’s gender may have come as a disappointment to her parents, Henry still acknowledged her to be his legitimate heir, with pertinent consequences for Mary. The same day that Elizabeth was born, orders were given that Mary “the true princess should not be so called”, for instead, Elizabeth alone bore the title of ‘princess’. View oEmbed on the source website At three months old Elizabeth was sent to Hatfield, Hertfordshire, where her nursery was to be established, and she was soon joined by an unwilling Mary. Though Mary agreed that she might refer to Elizabeth as her sister, she utterly refused to have anything to do with the infant. Her insolence ensured that she remained estranged from her father, and was treated harshly by both Anne Boleyn and her relatives who oversaw life at Hatfield. Finding common ground For the first two and a half years of her life, Elizabeth took precedence over her sister – but Mary nevertheless took any opportunity she could to supersede her. Once, when the pair were travelling, Mary deliberately spurred her horse forward before Elizabeth’s litter, and she also took care to secure a better position whenever the two were in the royal barge. When it came to status, she would not willingly submit to second place. In 1536, however, everything changed. On 19 May, Anne Boleyn was executed on charges of adultery, incest and treason – charges that were almost certainly falsified. We will never know the full extent of the impact her mother’s loss had on Elizabeth, who was not yet three years old, but it led to a dramatic shift in her relationship with Mary. Read more | Elizabeth I and Anne Boleyn: the Tudor queen’s undying love for her mother The sisters were now of equal status, for with the fall of Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth was – like Mary – declared illegitimate. With Anne removed and Elizabeth motherless, Mary began to bond with her much younger sibling. So much so that, just two months after Anne’s death, she told their father that Elizabeth was “such a child toward, as I doubt not but your Highness shall have cause to rejoice of in time coming”. Over the course of the following decade, Elizabeth and Mary’s relationship grew stronger, and the two were frequently seen together. Mary took a close interest in her sibling, whom she lavished with affection and gifts, including money with which to play card games, and silver thread to embroider a box. She also rewarded Elizabeth’s minstrels, so we can surmise that the sisters spent time together enjoying entertainments. Likewise, Mary grew close to members of her sister’s household, with whom she sometimes also exchanged gifts. Throughout their father’s reign the two sisters paid the occasional visit to court, and after Henry married Katherine Parr in 1543, they were there more regularly. When Katherine later assumed the role of regent in 1544, both Elizabeth and Mary spent the summer with her, enjoying a short progress in Surrey and Kent. They appeared every inch a happy family unit. Read more | Who were Henry VIII’s six wives? Your guide to the Tudor king's queen consorts Switching allegiances The royal family experienced further upheaval, however, when Henry VIII died on 28 January 1547. Elizabeth and Mary’s nine-year-old half-brother, Edward, succeeded the throne, and this changed the course not only of the sisters’ lives, but also marked the start of another change in their relationship. No longer would they spend as much time together, for Mary now established her own household while Elizabeth moved to join that of Katherine Parr – an arrangement that was thrown into disarray when Katherine discovered that her fourth husband, Thomas Seymour, had been showing Elizabeth far more attention than was appropriate. Katherine died from complications after childbirth in 1548, and Elizabeth, now 15, set up her own home. Though she and Mary kept in touch, the time they spent together during Edward’s reign was infrequent. Just one letter between them survives from this period, written by Elizabeth to her “Good sister”. It was a friendly piece of correspondence in which Elizabeth remarked that “you may well see by my writing so oft, how pleasant it is to me”. But it would not be long before her relationship with Mary was put to the test once more. In the spring of 1553, 15-year-old Edward VI’s health began to fail, and on 6 July, he died. Determined to ensure a Protestant succession, which he knew would be impossible if the fervently Catholic Mary succeeded him, the young monarch had, shortly before his death, drafted a ‘Devise’ that excluded both Mary and Elizabeth from the succession on the grounds of their illegitimacy. Instead, Edward’s ‘Devise’ named their cousin Lady Jane Grey as heir. However, after a reign that lasted a mere nine days, Jane was deposed, and Mary declared queen in her stead. Elizabeth had been silent as the battle for power between Jane and Mary played out, but upon Mary’s accession, she wasted no time in writing to congratulate her sister. Read more | Lady Jane Grey: why do we want to believe the myth? Determined to be seen by Mary’s side and aware that, for the first time, her sister wielded authority over her, Elizabeth set out to meet Mary in person and “offer her fealty as was fitting”. She was welcomed “with great warmth”, and the following day Elizabeth joined the queen as Mary made her ceremonial entry into London. She could not have failed to notice Mary’s popularity, for the Londoners were out in full force to celebrate the queen’s accession. It was a triumphant moment for Mary, and one that Elizabeth was there to share with her. Suspicion and intrigue As Mary’s reign began, relations between the two half-sisters were warm, and the queen showed her younger sibling “every mark of honour”. But behind the scenes, Elizabeth had enemies who were working to undermine it. She was, after all, now heir to the throne, and having been raised a Protestant, she was also on the opposite side of the religious spectrum to Mary. The queen’s chief supporters, the imperial ambassadors of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, believed Elizabeth to be “clever and sly”, and were adamant that she could not be trusted. Their views were reinforced when, within weeks of Mary’s accession, pressure was brought to bear on Elizabeth to conform to the religious changes Mary was implementing. Although she appeared to do so, there were few who believed her to be sincere. The queen herself became suspicious when Elizabeth once tried to excuse herself from attending mass by complaining loudly “that her stomach ached”. Mary nevertheless attempted to push her doubts to one side, reverting to type and lavishing gifts of jewellery upon her sister. Further cracks in the siblings’ relation- ship appeared following the queen’s first parliament in October. The session saw the legislation declaring Mary illegitimate reversed, which, coupled with her queen- ship, rendered her far superior to Elizabeth in status. This, along with the hostility instilled by Elizabeth’s enemies, seems to have led to a change in her attitude and mindset, for Mary now held Elizabeth “in small account”. She became determined not to allow her sister to succeed her, because of her “heretical opinions, illegitimacy and characteristics in which she resembled her mother”. By December, the atmosphere had become so toxic that Elizabeth withdrew from court, but her situation was soon to take an even more drastic downward turn. In early 1554, a group of Protestants led by the Kentish nobleman Sir Thomas Wyatt staged an uprising in opposition to Mary’s planned marriage to Philip of Spain. Elizabeth was herself implicated in the rebellion, of which she seems to have had some knowledge and which, though crushed, saw her cousin Lady Jane Grey executed on account of her father’s complicity. Elizabeth was summoned to London, but when she reached the Palace of Whitehall, Mary refused to see her, telling the imperial ambassador Simon Renard that “Elizabeth’s character was just what she had always believed it to be”. She was adamant that her sister had been plotting against her, and to try to force Elizabeth to confess her guilt, gave orders for her to be sent to the Tower of London. Read more | 10 famous royal sibling rivalries Irreparable damage Knowing that her mother had lost her life within the Tower’s walls, Elizabeth panicked and wrote Mary a desperate letter in which she urged her “to remember your last promise and my last demand, that I be not condemned without answer and due proof”. By the time Elizabeth had finished writing, the tide of the Thames had changed direction, thereby preventing access to the Tower for another few hours. Yet Mary remained unswayed by her sister’s pleas, and instead ordered her to be conveyed to the Tower the next day. It would prove to be the most terrifying ordeal of Elizabeth’s life, and one from which her relationship with Mary would never recover. Elizabeth maintained that “she had never been guilty of having acted or said anything against the queen”, and despite the best efforts of Mary’s councillors to wring a confession from her, she never provided one. Mary nevertheless remained convinced of her sister’s wrongdoing, but as the weeks passed it became clear that there were no lawful grounds on which the queen could act against her. Mary was at last forced to concede that Elizabeth could not remain in the Tower, but she was determined not to allow her to go free. After two months in the fortress, on 19 May – the anniversary of Anne Boleyn’s execution – Elizabeth was removed and began her journey to Woodstock Palace, Oxfordshire, where she was to spend almost another year under house arrest. Though at Woodstock Elizabeth was allowed to write occasional letters to Mary, one of which Renard claimed was “as bold as anything I have ever seen”, she was largely ignored by her sister. Mary was instead busy preparing for her wedding to Philip of Spain, which took place in July. Read more | When Mary met Philip: a Tudor queen in love Thoughts of Elizabeth’s fate continued to occupy her mind, though, and in April 1555 she finally summoned her sister to Hampton Court. Here, Mary was awaiting the arrival of her first child – a child that would replace Elizabeth as Mary’s heir, much to her gratification. When the sisters at last came face to face for the first time in over a year, there was no happy reunion. Instead, Mary greeted Elizabeth coldly, still seething that “you will not confess your offence, but stand stoutly to your truth”. It was clear that she had no desire to reconcile despite Elizabeth’s assurances that she was “your true subject”. Mary would have no child, and it is feasible that she experienced a phantom pregnancy. Her sorrow did nothing to mellow her attitude towards Elizabeth, who to her displeasure remained her heir. With one eye to the future, Mary’s husband Philip, however, recognised the sense of keeping his wife’s sister on side, and Elizabeth later acknowledged that Philip had “shown her favour and helped to obtain her release”. She was now at her liberty. To please her husband, Mary tried to dissemble “her hatred and anger as much as she can”, endeavouring in public to receive Elizabeth “with every sort of graciousness and honour”. But it was all an act. Succession crisis As Mary’s reign progressed and it became clear that she would not produce a child, Elizabeth’s confidence grew. Despite further plots against the queen – notably a failed conspiracy led by Henry Dudley, in which several of Elizabeth’s servants were implicated – Mary dared not act against her sister. She had no child of her own to succeed her, and was thus acutely aware that – whether she liked it or not – Elizabeth was looking increasingly likely to succeed her as queen. Quiz | How much do you know about Tudor Queen Elizabeth I? She nevertheless bore Elizabeth an “evil disposition” and declared her disbelief in her sister’s parentage, for she was “born of an infamous woman”. Prompted by fruitless rumours that the queen was again pregnant, the siblings met for the last time in February 1558, by which time Mary’s grasp on power was getting weaker by the day. There was to be no reconciliation between the two, and as Mary’s health grew progressively worse that autumn, her antipathy towards Elizabeth remained. She “would never call her sister, nor be persuaded that she was her father’s daughter”. It was not until 6 November that, realising she was in the final stages of her life, Mary formally acknowledged Elizabeth as her heir. Though she had long been considering alternative successors, including her cousin Lady Margaret Douglas, Mary was aware that Elizabeth was the only heir that her council – and her people – would accept. Eleven days later, Mary died, and though Elizabeth paid for her sister’s funeral, she ignored her wishes that she be buried alongside her mother, Catherine of Aragon. Indeed, the bitterness that had enveloped the final years of the sisters’ relationship continued long after Mary’s demise, with a Spanish envoy claiming that Elizabeth remained “highly indignant” about the treatment she had received during her reign. Their fates had been entwined since the beginning, but it was a sad conclusion for the siblings who had once been so close. Sibling rivalry How Henry VIII’s longed-for male heir, Prince Edward, changed the family dynamic In October 1537, Elizabeth and Mary welcomed a new sibling when their stepmother Jane Seymour gave birth to the king’s long-awaited male heir, Prince Edward. Both sisters played key roles at the christening, with Elizabeth tasked with carrying the child’s christening robes and Mary made the baby’s godmother. Elizabeth and Mary doted on Edward, and during their father’s reign the trio could often be found in one another’s company. On one occasion Elizabeth gave her brother a shirt she had embroidered herself, and another time sent him her portrait. With just four years between them, Elizabeth and Edward were natural playmates, and they also had religion in common – a subject that would later be a bone of contention between Edward and Mary. This became apparent at Christmas 1550, when the three royal siblings spent the festive season together for the last time. In a heated confrontation, Edward (by now Edward VI) took the opportunity to berate Mary for her failure to conform to his Protestant religious policies, leaving them both in tears. By New Year Mary had left court, leaving Edward and Elizabeth to enjoy the feasts staged for the occasion. Though Mary would later be received “very kindly” by Edward, religion continued to divide them. Elizabeth, meanwhile, took pride in being “the King’s Majesty’s most honourable sister”, and was always treated with reverence at his court. His death, in 1553, came as a crushing blow to her. This article was first published in the March 2024 issue of BBC History Magazine
Nicola Tallis explores the tumultuous life and reign of Mary I, the first queen to rule England in her own right
The only surviving child of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon, Mary I is often remembered as ‘Bloody Mary’, the Catholic queen who burned hundreds of Protestants for their religious beliefs. But does she deserve her brutal reputation, and what impact did her father’s many marriages have on her early life? Charlotte Hodgman speaks with historian Nicola Tallis to chart Mary I’s fascinating life and reign.
Queens of bling: the importance of jewellery to Henry VIII's six wives
When each of the wives of King Henry VIII sought to project messages about themselves to the watching world, they often did so via their jewellery. Their pendants, brooches and gems could be to display anything from power to piety. Nicola Tallis explores portraits of the six queens to reveal how their choice of pendants, rubies and brooches shaped their public images
Listen to a version of this article: Catherine of Aragon: symbols of salvation as a public display of piety The jewels worn by the first wife of Henry VIII not only say a great deal about her status but, more significantly, her character and values. In keeping with the fashion for low-cut gowns, Catherine’s is lined with pearls and diamonds set in goldsmith’s work. But it was her necklace and brooch set that drew the most interest. Attached to the necklace of gold beads and clusters of pearls is an ornate tau cross – a T-shaped cross symbolic of salvation. Interestingly, Catherine’s daughter, Mary, was later painted wearing a similar cross, as were Jane Seymour and Katherine Parr, reflecting each queen’s piety. Read more | Henry VIII’s six wives: your guide to the Tudor king's queen consorts Queens were expected to be pious, but Catherine of Aragon’s faith was personal too. Her jewels reflect a genuine and heartfelt devotion to God, and the tau cross was also associated with her favourite religious order, the Observant Franciscans. Her commitment to the Franciscans was reinforced by her choice of the IHS brooch pinned to her chest (IHS is an abbreviation of the Greek word for Jesus). IHS had been employed as a peace symbol since the 15th century, and by Catherine’s time, it had become an integral marker of Catholic identity. Catherine is well known for being a principled woman with a strong religious faith. Her choices of jewellery reinforced this image by providing a platform from which she could make her piety public – and enduring. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2023/02/GettyImages-1354453102-88251de.jpg" width="620" height="413" alt="Anne Boleyn, by an unknown artist, late-16th century (Photo by: Pictures From History/Universal Images Group via Getty Images)" title="Anne Boleyn, by an unknown artist, late-16th century (Photo by: Pictures From History/Universal Images Group via Getty Images)" /> Anne Boleyn: an independent woman at the cutting edge of fashion This image of Anne Boleyn has etched its way into popular memory. Five centuries after it was painted, it remains a source of fascination – and that fascination is largely the product of her jewels, most specifically the gold “B” pendant hanging from her neck. Anne acquired a reputation for great style and sophistication among her contemporaries, so it’s tempting to imagine that the trend for wearing jewels bearing initials originated with her. The fashion, however, had begun long before, spreading through Europe during the late 14th century. Margaret of Austria, regent of the Netherlands, was extremely fond of initial jewels. Given that Anne had spent a small amount of time at Margaret’s cosmopolitan court in Mechelen in her youth, it is feasible that she was influenced by the trend there. Anne was fascinated by fashion, so it is unsurprising that she set and expressed the latest trends through her choice of jewellery. Read more | The three French queens who inspired Anne Boleyn She was certainly enthusiastic about initial pieces, for in addition to her “B” pendant she owned an “AB” and an “A”, which her daughter, Elizabeth, can be seen wearing in a portrait. Anne also had a ring which displayed her motto: “The most happy.” Such jewels provided a neat way of showcasing Anne’s pride in her Boleyn roots and her individuality, and at least two of her successors, Catherine Howard and Katherine Parr, owned similar items. Initial jewellery is a style that has retained its popularity, and Anne’s image is immediately conjured when considering its history. The trend may not have begun or ended with her, but she has doubtless contributed to the fascination and is certainly worthy of the title of fashionista. Jane Seymour: projecting power, glory and her magnificence The imperial ambassador Eustace Chapuys described her as “no great beauty”, but what Jane Seymour may have lacked in looks she certainly made up for in jewels. In her portrait by the great master Hans Holbein, Jane is adorned in some of the most splendid pieces from the queen’s jewel collection. It is possible that some were inherited from her predecessors, and certainly, many of Jane’s items later came into the possession of Catherine Howard and Katherine Parr. Painted in exquisite detail, the rich pearls and diamonds studded in gold that adorn Jane’s headdress – known as a habillement – form a matching set with those around her neck, waist and the border of her dress, known as a square. Jane’s inventory lists numerous jewelled buttons, so it is unsurprising that the sleeves of her gown show some of the practical jewels that pinned them together. She also owned more than 50 pairs of beads, and several descriptions match those that hang from her waist that were elaborately decorated, probably with enamel. Read more | The royal weddings of Henry VIII: Alison Weir on what came before divorced, beheaded, died... Jane’s most impressive jewel, however, is the spectacular ouche – a pendant set with jewels – that is suspended from her necklace. Catherine Howard also wore this while sitting for her portrait, revealing not just a link between the two queens but also that this was a high value piece that made a statement of splendour. Jane’s portrait reveals a queen consort who clearly wanted to impress with her magnificence. Anne of Cleves: a determination to carve out her own identity in a new home Henry’s marriage to Anne of Cleves may only have lasted for six months in 1540, but she was determined to make the most of queenship – and the material trappings that came with it. This contemporary portrait shows her dressed in the style popular in the Duchy of Cleves: pearls adorning both her costume and her jewelled coif (a close-fitting cap). Yet the jewels that she bought on becoming Henry’s fourth wife paint a more impressive picture. As a foreign queen (born in Dusseldorf) yet to make friends and allies in her new country, jewels were glamorous tools that allowed Anne to carve out her own identity. By spending more than £400 in a matter of months – an exorbitant sum – Anne recognised the value of splendour when it came to fashioning a role for herself at court. Her jewels came from several goldsmiths employed by the other wives as well as the king, and her purchases included diamonds, a gold chain and rings that were perhaps similar to those worn in her portrait. There was also a brooch “garnished with diamonds”, which told the story of Samson (and, as such, could be viewed as a sign of strength, or even romantic betrayal). A similar piece later appeared in Henry’s inventory: could it have been the same? Perhaps most importantly, money was outlaid for “the engraving and making of the queen’s grace’s great seal”, a sign that Anne took her duties seriously. Her jewels served to boost not only her confidence but also her status. Catherine Howard: luxurious objects of desire for Henry’s young bride When Henry married Catherine Howard in the summer of 1540 at Oatlands Palace, he was infatuated with his new, young bride. So enamoured was he that he showered Catherine with gifts of jewels in tangible signs of his love and affection. A number of these were given “at the time of the solemnisation of their marriage”, but there were many more to follow. At new year 1541, Henry gave his wife eight pieces of jewellery. In a gesture of kindness, Catherine then presented a ring (which Henry had given her) to her predecessor, Anne of Cleves. On the podcast | Franny Moyle chronicles the incredible art and tempestuous life of Hans Holbein the Younger Catherine’s opulent jewels are reflected in Hans Holbein’s miniature, which is widely thought to depict Henry’s fifth wife. One of the strongest clues of the sitter’s identity comes from her jewels; an inventory compiled at the time of Catherine’s fall and execution (1541–42) lists 175 items, many of which had probably been owned by Henry’s previous queens. It includes the same diamond and ruby ouche that was worn by Jane Seymour. Similar rings to those worn in the miniature also appear in the inventory, and the same is true of the jewels attached to Catherine’s rich hood. These pieces were so valuable that it is easy to understand why a contemporary chronicler believed that “the king had no wife who made him spend so much money in dresses and jewels as she did”. Katherine Parr: a sumptuous costume to secure the royal seal of approval Almost certainly painted to mark Katherine Parr’s regency in the summer of 1544, Master John’s likeness of Henry VIII’s fashion-conscious sixth queen displays some of Katherine’s costliest jewels. The beads suspended from her waist are decorated with antique faces in keeping with the latest trends, while a dazzling ouche is attached to her beautiful necklace. This was perhaps a favourite, given that Katherine wore it while sitting for another portrait. One of Katherine’s jewels is particularly striking, for it exemplifies the common theme in her collection: grandeur. Pinned to her dress is an opulent crown brooch, which may have been commissioned on the queen’s orders. Hailing as she did from a non-royal background, throughout her reign Katherine did her utmost to project an image of majesty, and her jewels provided her with rich tools that enabled her to do so. On the podcast | Alison Weir discusses the varied and dramatic life of Henry VIII’s final wife Several pieces in her collection reflected her interest in royalty, including a brooch featuring her image and that of her royal husband. This symbolised loyalty to Henry VIII. Katherine’s iconic crown brooch passed into the hands of Henry’s daughter Mary I, and it was later owned by both Queen Elizabeth I – who learned much about fashioning a royal image from Katherine – and Anne of Denmark (wife of James VI and I), on whose orders it was broken down. Dripping in jewels, Katherine’s portrait is undoubtedly one of the most powerful images of a queen consort, and one in which, as intended, she exudes majesty. This article was first published in the December 2022 issue of BBC History Magazine
Hampton Court Palace: Jane Seymour’s final home
Dr Nicola Tallis explores Jane Seymour’s tragic connections to Hampton Court Palace…
The heritage space connected to Jane Seymour that I'd recommend people to visit is Hampton Court Palace. In my mind, there is no place more evocative of Jane's reign than Hampton Court Palace, Henry VIII’s beautiful, red-brick, Thameside residence. And it was here that the perhaps best-remembered event of Jane's reign took place; in the autumn of 1537, Jane arrived with her ladies and went into confinement to await the arrival of her child. The room that Jane gave birth in, and in which she died, still survives. But perhaps more evocative still is the Chapel Royal. And it was here that Jane's son, the future Edward VI, was christened on 15 October 1537 – a magnificent occasion on which the very creme of the English nobility were out in force. Although Jane didn't attend the christening personally, there is still a poignant reminder of her presence outside the chapel today: her initials are interlinked with those of Henry VIII at the entrance to the chapel. This serves as a very tangible reminder, I think, of Jane's presence at Hampton Court and also the events that took place within. Related content: Video | Jane Seymour: The queen Henry loved most? Profile |Jane Seymour: Henry’s tragic third wife Quiz | Henry VIII’s wives: how well do you know the six women he married? Now watch Henry VIII’s six wives: Secrets of the Tudor queens In our six-part series Henry VIII’s six wives: Secrets of the Tudor queens, leading Tudor historians explore each queen's heady rise to power, peeling back the myths surrounding these six women to reveal their true natures. Watch all episodes now. Dr Nicola Tallis is an author and historian with expertise in Tudor England. Her latest book is All the Queen’s Jewels, 1445–1548: Power, Majesty and Display (Routledge, 2022)
A Tudor love triangle: Elizabeth I, Lettice Knollys and Robert Dudley
When Lettice Knollys, Countess of Leicester, married Robert Dudley in 1578 without telling Elizabeth I, sparks flew in the Palace of Whitehall. Here, Nicola Tallis tells the story of the love triangle between the three Tudors
The atmosphere within the queen’s apartments at the Palace of Whitehall was icily cold when, in late 1579, Lettice Knollys stood before Elizabeth I. The queen raged at the woman in front of her in no uncertain terms. “As but one sun lightened the Earth, she would have but one queen in England,” Elizabeth seethed, before reputedly boxing Lettice’s ears and banishing her from court. What could Lettice have possibly done to provoke such a volcanic reaction? She had entered into a secret marriage without the queen’s consent – reason enough to provoke royal outrage. But what really fanned the flames of Elizabeth’s fury was the identity of the groom: Lettice’s husband was none other than the queen’s favourite and one time suitor, Robert Dudley. It was a betrayal that Elizabeth would never forgive. Scandalous gossip “They say she is in love with Lord Robert and never lets him leave her.” So wrote the Spanish ambassador, the Count de Feria, two decades earlier in 1559, of the blossoming relationship between Elizabeth I and Robert Dudley. Nor was de Feria alone in his belief that matters were far from platonic between the queen and Dudley, and scandalous gossip about the pair began to circulate soon after Elizabeth’s accession the previous year. De Feria had heard that “Her Majesty visits him in his chamber day and night”. Dudley was already married to Amy Robsart, but this did nothing to quell the rumours, and when Amy died in mysterious circumstances (she was found dead at the bottom of a flight of stairs) in September 1560, it was whispered that Dudley had ordered her murder in order to free himself to marry the queen. Elizabeth had known Dudley since childhood, and from the beginning of her reign she showed him great favour. He was created her Master of the Horse, and in 1564 she granted him the title of Earl of Leicester. Their behaviour raised eyebrows, and although Elizabeth would later swear that nothing improper had ever passed between them, one thing is certain: Dudley was more than her favourite, and her relationship with him was arguably the most important of her life. Read more about Elizabeth I’s love life: was she really a ‘Virgin Queen’? Handsome, clever and ambitious, it was little wonder that Dudley caught the queen’s eye. She herself was a tall, slim and fiercely intelligent woman – one described by the Venetian ambassador as “comely rather than handsome”. When she ascended the throne, Elizabeth – scarred by her mother, Anne Boleyn’s tragic fate – publicly declared her intention to remain unmarried and a virgin. This was of little matter to the queen’s advisors, and no sooner had she taken her seat on the throne than the pressure on her began to mount: few people really believed that Elizabeth intended to remain single, and it was expected that she would marry in order to produce an heir. Various European princes began to press their suit, but not all of those who proposed marriage were of royal blood. Following the death of his wife, Robert Dudley was a free agent. And, once the scandal surrounding Amy Robsart’s death had died down, he began to present himself as a serious contender for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage. Dudley had already won Elizabeth’s heart, but romantic attachment was not her sole consideration. She was, after all, no ordinary woman but Queen of England. Dudley would spend more than a decade attempting to persuade her to become his wife. At times Elizabeth seemed to consider it, toying and tormenting him as she persistently refused to give him a definitive answer. This was such a source of frustration to Dudley that, in 1565, he resorted to provoking her jealousy in order to sting her into a decision. Listen | Nicola Tallis explores the life of Lettice Knollys, who enraged the Virgin Queen by marrying her favourite, Robert Dudley The queen sees red Described as “one of the best-looking ladies of the court”, Lettice Knollys was a kinswoman of the queen, to whom she had been a “darling” in her youth. Though 10 years younger than Elizabeth, the physical similarities between the two women were striking – notably their flame red hair. Lettice’s grandmother had been the queen’s aunt, Mary Boleyn, and her mother was a close companion of Elizabeth. Lettice herself had briefly served in the queen’s household, and was referred to as one of her favourites. It was probably in 1561 that she married Walter Devereux, Viscount Hereford and left the court behind for leafy Staffordshire. In the summer of 1565, Lettice was back. She was pregnant with her third child, and had travelled to London to attend her brother’s wedding. Elizabeth treated Lettice generously, but that summer the queen’s feelings for her kinswoman were put to the test. It was reported that Robert Dudley, now Earl of Leicester, “showed attention” to Lettice at the wedding celebrations – a very deliberate decision on Dudley’s behalf. Flirting with Lettice would, he hoped, produce more than dithering indecision from the queen in response to his suit for her hand. It achieved no such thing. All Dudley succeeded in doing was throwing Elizabeth into a jealous rage. She admonished him, we’re told, for “his flirting with the viscountess in very bitter words”. As the 1560s gave way to the 1570s, the queen remained unmarried – and, to many of her courtiers, it was becoming increasingly apparent that this would remain the case. She appeared to take the marriage offers of several of her European suitors seriously, before inevitably getting cold feet, and the prospect of her accepting Dudley’s overtures grew more remote with every passing year. The realisation that the queen would not wed him came as a major blow to her old sweetheart. He had made enormous personal sacrifices to retain her favour, and later claimed that, since the death of his first wife, he “had for a good season forborne marriage in respect of her Majesty’s displeasure”. In the 1570s he had however become embroiled in an affair with Lady Douglas Sheffield – one of the queen’s ladies – resulting in the birth of a son, Robin Sheffield. Lettice Knollys’s life had also reached a crossroads. For several years of the 1570s, her husband, Walter Devereux, now Earl of Essex, had been engaged in a protracted military campaign to colonise Ulster. The enterprise was a disaster, and had attracted a storm of condemnation back in England. One of Devereux’s fiercest critics was Robert Dudley – and so, when Devereux died of dysentery in Dublin in September 1576, whispers soon spread that he had been poisoned on Dudley’s orders. The rumours were baseless but, in light of consequent events, it is unsurprising that such gossip was circulating. In the summer of 1577, the widowed Countess of Essex spent time hunting on Dudley’s Warwickshire estate, Kenilworth Castle. It may have been here that the seeds of a romance were sown, for that year the couple’s relationship became more than platonic. Whatever the circumstances, the love affair quickly became serious, and they resolved to marry. But there was one major obstacle: the queen. Though Elizabeth would not marry Dudley, she was still fiercely jealous of the attention her favourite showed to other women, and was determined to keep him to herself. But Lettice and Dudley were in love, and he could sacrifice his personal happiness no longer. “For the better quieting of his own conscience” he was determined to “marry with the right honourable Countess of Essex.” Marrying into trouble Lettice and Dudley were fully aware that by entering a marriage they risked losing the queen’s favour permanently. Yet, so strong were their feelings for one another, it was a risk they were both prepared to take. Early in the morning of 21 September 1578, they were secretly married in front of just a handful of witnesses at Wanstead, Dudley’s Essex home. The couple’s nuptials did not remain secret for long. Within a matter of weeks, word had started to spread. Just one question remained: how would the queen react? It was the summer of 1579 when Elizabeth was dealt the crushing blow of Dudley’s betrayal. She herself was engaged in negotiations for a potential marriage with the Duc d’Anjou, but that did not make the news any easier to swallow. So incandescent with rage was she that her initial reaction was to send Dudley to the Tower of London – a punishment he was spared thanks to the intercession of the Earl of Sussex. Nevertheless, he retired from court in disgrace, leaving his new wife to bear the brunt of the queen’s fury. Lettice was proud of her marriage – made for love – and even Elizabeth’s rage could not prevent her from pretending otherwise. She was a spirited woman and, according to one hostile source, rather than meekly regretting her conduct, she now “demeaned herself like a princess”. Even when the queen confronted her during the latter half of 1579 and banished her from court, Lettice showed no remorse, remaining, so we’re told, “as proud as ever”. For all her anger, the queen could not bear to cut Robert Dudley out of her life altogether. He was soon back at court, where he resumed his former friendship with the monarch. Lettice enjoyed no such forgiveness. After being confronted by Elizabeth, she had little choice but to retire to the country, and would remain estranged from both queen and court until Elizabeth’s death in 1603. Not even the loss of Lettice’s three-year-old son by Dudley, ‘the Noble Imp’, in 1584 could soften the queen’s heart. Lovers to the end On 4 September 1588, Lettice was by her husband’s side when he died at Cornbury Park in Oxfordshire. Elizabeth was devastated, fully believing that the loss was all her own. It wasn’t until Christmas Day 1634, aged 91, that Lettice followed her husband to the grave. She was laid to rest beside Dudley in St Mary’s Church, Warwick, where their double tomb still survives. Even in death, Lettice’s tumultuous relationship with Elizabeth was not forgotten. An epitaph, thought to have been composed by her granddaughter’s husband, summarises the reason for her disgrace: “She [Lettice] was content to quit her [Elizabeth] favour for her favourite [Leicester].” Love had won the day for Lettice Knollys, though not for Elizabeth. Nicola Tallis is a historian and researcher, and the author of Elizabeth’s Rival: The Tumultuous Tale of Lettice Knollys, Countess of Leicester (Michael O'Mara Books, 2017) This article was first published in the December 2017 edition of BBC History Magazine
“Margaret Beaufort wielded enormous power. She was a queen in all but name”: Nicola Tallis on the mother of the Tudors
Nicola Tallis talks to Ellie Cawthorne about her new biography of matriarch Margaret Beaufort, whose sharp survival instinct during the Wars of the Roses secured her son the throne
Born in 1443, Margaret Beaufort belonged to a Lancastrian noble family with royal ancestry. By age 13, she had been married twice, widowed and given birth to a son, Henry Tudor. Margaret went on to marry two more times and survived several regime changes during the Wars of the Roses, as Lancastrian Henry VI was deposed by Yorkist Edward IV, before Edward’s brother Richard III eventually took the throne. After the battle of Tewkesbury in 1471, her son Henry Tudor went into exile, returning to England in 1485 to defeat Richard at the battle of Bosworth and claim the crown as Henry VII. Margaret survived her son’s 23-year reign, dying shortly after her grandson Henry VIII became king in 1509. Ellie Cawthorne: What makes Margaret Beaufort such a fascinating subject for a biographer? Nicola Tallis: Today, Margaret is best remembered as the mother of the Tudor dynasty – her only child, Henry, went on to become King Henry VII. But what makes her most intriguing to me is that she had a life packed with drama and was the most extraordinary character. In an age when women were expected to be obedient, and subservient to their husbands, Margaret broke the rules and wasn’t afraid to make her voice heard in a male-dominated world. We’re also fortunate to have quite a lot of source material that gives us a glimpse into what Margaret was like as a person, especially in her later years. For example, we’ve got a relatively complete set of her household accounts. We know from them that she was a woman who loved to be entertained – she had two fools, and enjoyed hunting, hawking and gambling. We also see payments in her accounts for white wine, gloves, slippers and jewels, so she was clearly fond of the finer things in life. Read more: the ultimate history guide to the Tudors Margaret’s early life was dominated by instability. How did that affect her? The fact that she lived through precarious times affected her life from the beginning. Growing up, her future was subject to the whims of men and power politics. Margaret certainly had a devastating start in life. Her father died just a couple of days before her first birthday, probably at his own hand. Her first marriage – to John de la Pole, when she was a young child – was dissolved. Later her guardian, the Duke of Suffolk, was murdered, and when Margaret was just 13 her second husband, Edmund Tudor, died of plague. She was also heavily pregnant at the time. Suddenly, all her male protectors were gone, and she was left incredibly vulnerable. After all of this, I think she realised that relying on the men around her could be a risky business. From that point onwards she really took control of her own destiny, and began to make her own decisions; she was determined to avoid a husband she didn’t want being thrust upon her. Rather extraordinarily, given that she was still a child at the time, she played a substantial role in arranging her own third marriage. How did the experience of becoming a mother at such a young age change Margaret’s life? I think it’s fair to say that Margaret started life by playing by the rules. But when her son was born, her entire outlook changed. Suddenly it was not just herself that she had to consider, she also had this whole other life to protect – one that was infinitely more precious to her. Protecting Henry was always a real driving force for Margaret. Even much later, when Henry was on the throne, she continued to worry about her son’s welfare. She was an almost constant presence by his side for the first 10 years or so of his reign, and was especially concerned when he was plagued by pretenders. Margaret’s confessor, John Fisher, described how, even in prosperity, she was always worrying about falling into adversity again. She was constantly wracked with anxiety about keeping Henry and her family safe – I feel like that was her primary motivation in everything she did. The 5 greatest mysteries behind the Wars of the Roses Where did Margaret’s allegiances lie in the Wars of the Roses? Was she motivated by family loyalty or just a canny political operator looking for her next opportunity? A bit of both. Margaret was very loyal to the House of Lancaster, but she’d also learnt pragmatism from an early age. She was astute enough to know when a battle or a cause was lost, at least for the time being. For example, it was at her urging that her 14-year-old son Henry Tudor fled abroad following the Lancastrian defeat at Tewkesbury in 1471, and didn’t return home again until 1485. We can also see this pragmatism at play when Edward IV became king in 1461. Then, Margaret realised that she had no choice but to submit to the House of York. She tried her best to ingratiate herself with the Yorkist regime, laying low and trying to keep in Edward’s good books. This seems to have been a successful strategy, because Margaret played an increasingly prominent role at the Yorkist court as the 1470s drew on. We know that at the christening of Edward and Elizabeth Woodville’s last child in 1480, Margaret carried the baby princess to the font. That indicates to me that Elizabeth Woodville had come to trust Margaret to a certain extent. We also know that she was busy trying to negotiate with the king for the return of her son from exile. Edward IV did actually draw up a draft pardon for Henry, but like an episode from a soap opera, he died before the pardon could be implemented. Soon after, Richard III came to the throne, and suddenly everything was up in the air – especially Henry’s future. At that point, Margaret threw caution to the wind and decided to risk it all. Margaret helped instigate a plot to overthrow Richard III. What did the scheme involve? By October 1483, just a few months after Richard’s usurpation, Margaret had already become involved in plans for a rebellion against him. Led by her kinsman, the Duke of Buckingham, the plot intended to overthrow Richard and replace him with Margaret’s son, Henry, who was exiled in Brittany at the time. We know that she was busy working on her son’s behalf, sending messengers abroad to keep Henry informed of what was going on in England. At the same time, Margaret had also been plotting with Elizabeth Woodville (who was then living in penury in Westminster Abbey) to unite the houses of Lancaster and York by marrying Henry to Elizabeth’s daughter, Elizabeth of York. But the Buckingham plot was a dismal failure. The Duke of Buckingham himself was executed. Henry, who’d sailed to England, swiftly turned around and headed back to Brittany. Margaret could quite easily have met a traitor’s death herself – the only reason she kept her head was because Richard III needed the support of her fourth husband, Lord Stanley. It was a lucky escape, but she was placed under house arrest with her husband as her custodian, forbidden to have any contact with her son and stripped of all her lands. That must have been a bitter pill to swallow. Did Richard III really kill the Princes in the Tower? Some people have theorised that Margaret had a hand in the disappearance of the princes in the Tower. What do you make of that claim? To be honest, I don’t think there’s a case to answer – it’s just absurd. I think that the princes’ fate is one of those mysteries that has captured popular imagination, and Margaret has been one of the proposed suspects for their murder. But it’s really important to recognise that not one single contemporary source links Margaret with their disappearance. To me, that is the most convincing argument that she wasn’t involved. In 1485, Margaret’s fortunes were reversed when her son Henry returned to England, defeated Richard and took the throne. How much influence did she hold as mother of the king? As soon as Henry became king, Margaret’s position was completely transformed. By this time, she had achieved an extraordinary level of wealth. In a completely unprecedented move, an act was passed through parliament that gave her financial independence from her husband, Thomas Stanley. All of her lands were now entirely her own. Although Margaret and Stanley remained on good terms, she also separated from him and, with his approval, took a vow of chastity. It’s almost like she waited for the moment when her son became king to suddenly turn around and say: “I don’t need a husband. Now I can do my own thing, I’m my own woman and no one is going to stop me.” And it wasn’t just financial independence Margaret gained as mother of the king – she was also able to wield political power on an unprecedented scale. At the beginning of the Tudor dynasty, she was undoubtedly the most powerful woman in the realm – certainly a lot more powerful than Henry’s wife, Elizabeth of York. From 1499 onwards, she even became Henry’s unofficial lieutenant in the Midlands, passing judgments and delivering justice in his name. The fact that Henry allowed his mother to wield so much power is a real testament to the strength of their relationship, which is quite remarkable considering that they hadn’t actually spent that much time together. When her son died in 1509, Margaret also acted as unofficial regent for a few weeks until her grandson Henry VIII reached his 18th birthday, overseeing the funeral and coronation arrangements. Her position gave her the opportunity to legitimately voice her opinions and she was able to carve out a completely new role for herself within the Tudor regime. Everyone referred to her as ‘My Lady, the King’s Mother’, and after 1499 she began signing herself ‘Margaret R’. There’s been lots of debate over whether this R was for Richmond [from her second husband’s title] or Regina. Personally, I think it was for Regina. I feel like that says it all: Margaret was basically a queen in all but name. That is really where the title of my book, Uncrowned Queen, comes from. What kind of woman emerges from your biography? Margaret has been given a bad reputation in some quarters, but I came away from writing the book feeling like a lot of the criticism is unjustified. I actually found her to be a woman for whom I have a great deal of admiration and empathy. There’s no doubt that she could be grasping on occasion, and politically ruthless. But she could also be warm, and extremely generous. Ultimately, I feel like this was a woman who was driven by love for her son. Everything that she did, from an early age right until the very end of her life, was motivated by devotion to her family. The 15th century was a really extraordinary period for women – all the turbulent ups and downs offered the opportunity to play a role in politics in a way that had never existed before. Margaret grabbed that opportunity with both hands – she wasn’t afraid to make her voice heard and pursue something that she saw as her right. Nicola Tallis is an author, historian and researcher. Her two previous books are Crown of Blood: The Deadly Inheritance of Lady Jane Grey (2016) and Elizabeth’s Rival: The Tumultuous Tale of Lettice Knollys, Countess of Leicester (2017). Uncrowned Queen: The Fateful Life of Margaret Beaufort, Tudor Matriarch (Michael O’ Mara) is published in November 2019. MORE FROM US: Listen to an extended version of this interview with Nicola Tallis on the HistoryExtra podcast This article was first published in the December 2019 issue of BBC History Magazine