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Power, pomp and the Peacock Throne: the Mughal empire at 500
Five centuries ago, the birth of the Mughal empire heralded a new era of social and religious tolerance, international trade, and artistic and intellectual flourishing. Jagjeet Lally traces the fortunes and legacy of the dynasty that transformed India
Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall deeply in love. Boy’s disapproving father forbids their union. The pair strive to be together, against the odds – but, in a tragic denouement, their young love is thwarted forever. It’s a timeless trope that’s long been stock in trade of Bollywood cinema. But when the girl is a courtesan and dancer, and her suitor is an imperial prince whose father – the Mughal emperor Akbar – holds the power to sentence her to death by immurement (being bricked up in a wall), the result is a sensational, lavish box-office hit. Mughal-e-Azam (The Great Mughal), a 1960 blockbuster that smashed records for Indian cinema, is now an established classic. That film, based on a legend about the prince who later ruled as the emperor Jahangir, is rooted in the popular consciousness of the Mughal empire. That mighty, influential and long-lasting power was, according to one definition, founded 500 years ago this month, and ruled much of India for som e three centuries. The film touches on themes of romance, power, conflict, control and more, all linked in many minds with that dynasty. But who were the real Mughals, how are they remembered today – and is that legacy accurate? <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/DXN48Awebready-d474b24-e1776688295226.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="Two individuals in elaborate historical attire stand in an ornate interior with carved pillars and arches. One wears a purple‑and‑pink outfit with gold embroidery and a jeweled headpiece; the other wears a light green garment with maroon and gold detailing and a pearl necklace." title="Dancer Anarkali is courted by Salim, son of the Mughal emperor Akbar, in the 1960 Bollywood blockbuster Mughal-e-Azam, based on a legend about the future ruler Jahangir (Image by Alamy)" /> The dynasty originated in 15th-century central Asia with a prince named Babur, whose ancestors included Genghis (or Chinggis) Khan. Babur was an even more direct descendant of Timur (Tamerlane), who died in 1405. Having created an empire stretching from the Black Sea to the borders of Ming China, Timur’s life later served as inspiration for the playwright Christopher Marlowe and composer George Frideric Handel. By the time of Babur’s birth in 1483, however, Timur’s empire had shattered into numerous smaller emirates, with various pretenders hungry for power. Sucked into this maelstrom after being crowned Emir of Fergana (now in eastern Uzbekistan) in 1494, Babur was ousted from that throne at the turn of the 16th century. Timeline: rise and fall of the Mughals 1504: Ousted as emir from the Fergana Valley (now eastern Uzbekistan), Babur and his followers head south and capture Kabul 1526: Babur defeats the Delhi sultan and establishes the foundations of the Mughal empire 1540: Babur’s son and successor, Humayun, is defeated by rival sultan Sher Shah Suri and exiled in Iran, retaking Mughal lands in 1555 1560–70s: Following a regency government, Humayun’s son Akbar comes of age and begins administrative reform and fresh expansion. He is succeeded in 1605 by his son Jahangir 1632: Construction of the Taj Mahal begins in Agra on the orders of Shah Jahan, who succeeded Jahangir in 1628 1638: Shah Jahan commissions a monumental walled city to serve as the new imperial capital, today known as ‘Old Delhi’ 1681: Aurangzeb, who took the throne from his father Shah Jahan in 1658, shifts his court to Aurangabad to manage territorial expansion 1707: Aurangzeb dies, and lengthy tussles among would-be successors follow, with seven more emperors taking the throne in less than 13 years 1717: Emperor Farrukhsiyar signs important trading rights over to the British East India Company, which proves pivotal to its expansion 1739: Nadir Shah of Iran defeats Mughal forces, seizing the Peacock Throne and other booty. His rivals also make bids for power, weakening the empire further 1757: Afghan ruler Ahmad Shah defeats the Mughals. The East India Company bests the Mughal governor of Bengal and begins its process of conquest 1857: Bahadur Shah Zafar backs the Indian Rebellion against Company rule in India. He is then deposed and exiled, ending centuries of Mughal monarchy With a band of followers, he headed south and captured Kabul in 1504, proclaiming himself padshah (emperor) in 1508. His new kingdom lay on the long-distance trade routes connecting the Indian subcontinent with the ancient Silk Roads. Though Vasco da Gama had discovered a direct sea route from Europe to Asia a few years earlier in 1498, and the Portuguese were starting to embark on imperial enterprise in the Indian Ocean world, it would be several decades before ships replaced caravans in the east–west trade. So Babur was able to command tax revenues from the passing commercial traffic. The real prize, though, was Al-Hind, or Hindustan, as north India was known by contemporaries in the region. (Ironically, Babur later lamented in his autobiography that India was “a place of little charm”, the lack of good horses and his beloved musk-melons chief among its many perceived defects.) So Babur and his followers launched raiding expeditions to the south. Soon they were invited by disgruntled north Indian elites to challenge the last of the so-called Delhi sultans who ruled over Hindustan from their capital in that city. On 21 April 1526, in a battle at Panipat some 50 miles north of Delhi, Babur’s forces proved victorious. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-918984520webready-1ff64c7-e1776688172526.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A ruler sits on a golden throne under an ornate canopy, surrounded by attendants in colourful robes." title="Timur, who conquered swathes of Asia in the 14th century, pictured in a Mughal manuscript of c1600–01. Babur was his direct descendant (Image by Getty Images)" /> Delhi had been the capital of successive royal dynasties for centuries, attracting learned and wise men from far and wide to become a spiritual centre of great repute. These points were not lost on the Mughal empire’s founder, who was quick to pay homage at the gardens, tombs, mosques and monuments of Delhi’s important kings and saints. Timur had done the same in 1398 after his conquest of the city. Babur was effectively retracing his famous ancestor’s footsteps, linking himself to royal power and establishing his legitimacy as an emperor. Read more | Genghis Khan: the Mongol warlord who almost conquered the world Turbulent decades The first decades of Mughal rule were turbulent, the empire remaining fragile and far from consolidated. Besides the last vestiges of the old regime and numerous Indian rajas or kings resistant to Mughal power, challengers emerged from within Babur’s family itself. In keeping with Timurid political culture, Babur was seen as the first among equals by his relatives who considered themselves to possess as much legitimacy as him, and an equal claim to the throne. Some, such as Muhammad Zaman Mirza, chose to try their luck; his rebellion was quashed in the 1530s. Others – including Babur’s cousin Mirza Haydar Dughlat, who governed Kashmir – established toeholds of their own farther afield. Babur died in 1530, having ruled the new empire for less than five years, and was succeeded by his son, Humayun. That emperor’s early reign was marked by near-constant threats to his authority, and in 1540 Humayun was toppled from the throne and exiled by Sher Shah Suri, a sultan with a base in northern India. In 1555, though, Humayun returned with the military support of the Safavid shah. His triumph was short-lived: he was dead within a year of his reconquest, following an accident. So the task of securing the Mughal imperium fell to his son, Akbar ‘the Great’ (reigned 1556–1605). <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-1326248022webready-3c716d3-e1776688384638.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A historical painting depicts a crowded battle scene with warriors in armour wielding swords, shields, spears, and bows. Some fight on horseback, others on foot, all wearing colourful patterned clothing and helmets." title="A late 16th-century miniature depicts the triumph of Babur’s forces at the battle of Panipat in 1526. This victory secured Delhi, and marked the moment when the Mughal empire really took root in India (Image by Getty Images)" /> Awareness of Akbar’s greatness did not originate in posthumous tributes but was carefully established by the emperor’s own courtiers, not least the Mughal grand vizier and polymath Abul Fazl. In biographical, genealogical and historical works that emphasised Akbar’s excellent pedigree and portrayed his birth as nothing short of a miracle, the padshah was presented as a supernatural figure, preternaturally well-tempered, wise and just. Artists represented him larger than life; thanks to the steady stream of pictures brought by Jesuit missionaries and ambassadors from European courts, Mughal painters appropriated iconographic elements including the solar nimbus or halo to distinguish the emperor as a saintly, otherworldly being. Akbar’s greatness became a pillar of Mughal ideology, and was perpetuated by his heirs and most loyal nobles. All this would have rung hollow, however, had it not been accompanied by tangible achievements. It was from Akbar’s reign that the empire was consolidated, thanks to the standardisation of weights and measures, the wholesale re-surveying of the imperial lands to ascertain reliable figures of annual yields ahead of setting (reasonable) tax rates, and the transformation of the system of government. In a move aimed at reducing the tendency towards waywardness or rebellion, the institution of the imperial nobility was transformed into a graded and much more hierarchical system, with a steady rise in rank offered in return for loyalty to the emperor. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/KNDD3Bwebready-9d2e697-e1776688468204.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A detailed painting shows a figure in ornate clothing standing on a grassy mound with a lion and a white cow beside them, set against a landscape with trees and distant buildings." title="Mughal emperor Akbar the Great, portrayed with a solar nimbus or halo in a 17th-century painting. His courtiers strove to cultivate his image as an almost supernatural figure (Image by Alamy)" /> For commoners, what mattered most was that the kingdom was peaceful, society harmonious, and trade flourishing. Their point of view is reflected in the incredibly rich autobiography penned by a Jain merchant named Banarasidas. He was 19 at the end of Akbar’s reign, and lived to see the reigns of two further emperors. Overcome by the rumours of Akbar’s death (from dysentery), he swooned and split open his head in the courtyard of his home. Meanwhile, his fellow townsmen were also beset with grief at the loss of an emperor whose rule they linked to their personal security and wellbeing. This outpouring of genuine affection was also connected with the interest in a broad range of religious teachings espoused by Akbar and, later, by his son Jahangir. The Mughals were Sunni Muslims, but the fruits of the emperors’ dialogues with other faith leaders was a short-lived syncretic religion or ethical system, Din-i Ilahi, and the much more enduring policy and practice of sulh-i-kul, universal civility or peace. Both pre-dated Enlightenment codes of tolerance by more than a century. Mughal toleration certainly aroused admiration among Europeans, and not only those who were religious minorities in their homelands. Indeed, Sir Thomas Roe – who left a widely cited account of the early 17th-century Mughal empire – noted the dramatic contrast with sectarian persecution and violence in England. Inclusive empire The Mughal empire was highly cosmopolitan, integrating people of different backgrounds and religions. It was also central to the success of the trading system that spanned the Indian Ocean. Indian cotton textiles were bartered for spices in south-east Asia. From the late 16th century, too, demand for spices and other Indian goods was swelling, fuelled by both Asian merchants and European trading organisations – first the Portuguese crown, then the English and Dutch private trading companies – with knock-on effects for the Mughals. Read more | Gulbadan Begum: the Mughal Jane Austen The decision to expand the empire’s frontiers to Gujarat and Bengal did more than bring Mughal rule all the way to the Indian subcontinent’s western and eastern seaboards. It also resulted in the incorporation of two of the most prosperous provinces and their entrepôts, chief among them Surat, the Bandar-i Mubarak or ‘Auspicious Port’. Akbar’s successors continued the process of imperial expansion, though it was his great-grandson Aurangzeb, the sixth Mughal emperor, who extended imperial rule over much of the peninsula, enlarging the imperial domain to its greatest extent. As tax revenues from the growing empire poured into the imperial coffers, the Mughal court became more magnificent, impressing ambassadors from all over Europe and Asia. Akbar, Jahangir (reigned 1605–27), and Shah Jahan (r1628–58) are often called the ‘Great Mughals’, reflecting the flourishing of the arts, architecture and culture during their reigns. This was a time of innovation, when Indian, Islamic and European motifs, forms and techniques were blended into a new tradition – the Mughal style. The emperor was, of course, key to this development. Jahangir’s interest in flora and fauna sat well alongside the naturalistic current in imperial painting prompted, in part, by the influx of Netherlandish art and he is said to have instructed court artists to make studies from life. Shah Jahan was more interested in buildings, and the complex of gardens and structures known as the Taj Mahal– its centrepiece an iconic, breathtaking white marble mausoleum – is a pinnacle of Mughal architecture. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/GettyImages-612573174webready-94241d6-e1776688550478.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A view of the Taj Mahal shows its white marble dome, four minarets, and surrounding buildings beside a river, with reflections in the water and a hazy sky." title="The Taj Mahal, a mausoleum commissioned in 1631 by Shah Jahan for his wife Mumtaz Mahal, was the apogee of that emperor’s architectural ambitions (Image by Getty Images)" /> Projects commissioned by Rajput ruler and general Man Singh and other important nobles were also pivotal to the formation of the Mughal style. So, too, was the cultural patronage of imperial and royal women. Take Shah Jahan’s daughter, Princess Jahanara, who was the most senior figure in the imperial harem, and the richest woman in the empire. She was the driving force behind several large-scale architectural projects – Chandni Chowk, the tree-lined boulevard of shops and squares bisected by a canal in what’s now Old Delhi, is among her most famous and enduring legacies. Sahifa Banu, meanwhile, was one of at least two women known to have been trained by Mughal masters such as Persian miniaturist Aqa Reza. Her portrait of an Iranian monarch (shown on the previous page) is in the V&A Museum’s collection in London. Shah Jahan’s son and successor, Aurangzeb (r1658–1707), is seldom called a ‘Great Mughal’. Instead, he is more often portrayed as a devout Muslim whose zealotry spelled the end of Mughal patronage of the arts – and, worse still, upset the communal harmony pervading before his reign. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/3AJ31RTwebready-ac765e5-e1776688645974.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A detailed painting shows a person in richly patterned Mughal clothing, wearing jewellery and holding a green leaf in one hand and a small dish in the other, set against a dark green background." title="Princess Jahanara, here pictured in 1632 at the age of about 18, continued Shah Jahan’s architectural projects, pushing through major developments such as the Delhi boulevard called Chandni Chowk (Image by Alamy)" /> Contested legacy This view is part and parcel of the politics of Mughal historiography, and leaves little room for a positive appreciation of Aurangzeb’s reign, much as the idea of Akbar’s greatness obscures that emperor’s errors and missteps. Aurangzeb’s most important legacy was in the realm of the law and the massive scholarly project of legal codification that served the increasing number of his subjects – and their progeny down the generations – who took their legal affairs and disputes to Mughal courts for resolution. On Aurangzeb’s death in 1707, the empire faced a period of instability characterised by factionalism, high regnal turnover (four emperors occupied the throne in 1719 alone), and the installation of puppet rulers by powerful courtiers. But worse was to follow. First came the invasion in 1739 by Iranian general Nadir Shah. This humiliated the Mughals, though the invader was content to leave with a vast amount of booty – including the fabled Peacock Throne – never to return. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/2022NF9414webready-cfe712b-e1776688765707.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A Persian miniature painting shows a figure in a tall white turban and golden robe seated cross‑legged on a richly patterned carpet. A stylised tree with drooping branches rises behind them against a gold background with intricate designs." title="A portrait of a 16th-century Iranian Shah by Sahifa Banu, one of at least two Mughal women who became accomplished miniature painters (Image by Victoria and Albert Museum London)" /> Less than 20 years later, the Afghan ruler Ahmad Shah emptied the coffers yet again, and publicly proclaimed the Mughal emperor his vassal. Not long after that ignominy, the Marathas – a rising Hindu-Indian power – followed in his wake. A popular saying from the times went: “What Nadir had spared, Ahmad Shah destroyed; what Ahmad Shah had overlooked, the Marathas carried away.” These misfortunes drained the empire’s reserves and damaged the king’s majesty so grievously that imperial decentralisation became imperial decline, and power shifted decisively from the capital to the provinces and regional kingdoms. It was not only petty rajas and warlords waiting in the wings who felt emboldened to stake their claims of independent authority. News of Ahmad Shah’s invasion in 1757 stiffened the British East India Company’s resolve when it went to war with the Mughal governor of Bengal that same year. The Company’s victory marked its transition from a trading organisation to a sovereign power and, ultimately, the beginnings of its Indian empire. Read more | Michael Wood on the rise and fall of Asian empires The Mughal line clung on for another century before being extinguished once and for all following the Indian Rebellion of 1857, when the emperor was coerced into supporting the forces fighting the East India Company. Until then, he had lived under the protection of whichever power dominated: first the Marathas and then, from 1803, the Company. The influence of Mughal power nonetheless endured long after 1757 and even 1857 – though more as an idea than in practice. Having violently stamped out the rebellion, the British remained anxious about threats to their rule in India, and were eager to be seen as legitimate heirs to the Mughals. So they appropriated their symbols and visual language, evident in the pomp of the colonial durbars of 1877, 1903 and 1911, and more prevalently in the Indo-Saracenic or Mughal-Gothic building style rolled out across the subcontinent, from Aitchison College in Lahore to the Madras High Court in what’s now Chennai. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/D8BF5Kwebready-f11bffb-e1776688859388.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A historical scene shows elaborately decorated elephants with embroidered fabrics and painted designs, carrying riders in traditional clothing and turbans. Other figures sit or kneel nearby in an open field." title="Ornately decorated elephants at the 1903 Delhi Durbar, celebrating the coronation of King Edward VII as emperor of India, recall the pomp and rituals of the Mughals (Image by Alamy)" /> Enduring achievements Does 2026 truly mark the 500th anniversary of the Mughal empire’s founding, or merely 500 years since Babur’s conquest of north India? Babur had actually been using the language of empire long before 1526 – though the dynasty’s precarious first half-century calls into question whether the Mughal kingdom was truly an empire before the 1570s. More importantly, ought we be celebrating a moment of conquest? Or, instead, remembering the achievements in statecraft and administration, the arts and culture, justice and trade witnessed during the Pax Mughalica in the longer term? Setting aside the martial skills of Babur and his progeny, or their personalities and predilections, the making (and unmaking) of the Mughal empire owed a great deal to a wider cast of characters. These included bureaucrats and intellectuals including Abul Fazl, and women such as Jahanara Begum – Shah Jahan’s eldest surviving child – who patronised charitable efforts, learning, arts and architecture. The ruling elite depended on artisans and merchants such as Banarasidas, as well as every one of the emperor’s subjects who paid their taxes and helped produce goods traded overseas. Their labour kept the empire in good repair, and helped the memory of its glories burn bright to the present day. Hindustani cinema – aka Bollywood – reflects how shifts in Indian politics and society have steadily reshaped popular conceptions of the Mughals. Film production in India really took off in the 1940s amid the struggle for independence from British rule. Whether intended to portray India’s rich history against the hardships and struggle under colonialism, or merely as a form of escapism, period pieces were popular. In 1944, Wajahat Mirza – who later co-wrote the 1960 epic Mughal-e-Azam about the emperor Jahangir’s youthful romance – directed Shahenshah Babar, a feature about the first Mughal emperor. After independence in 1947, the Mughal past seemed to offer an exemplar for the fledgling democratic, secular nation, especially after the horrors of communal violence between Hindus and Muslims before and during partition. The Mughals were, after all, a Muslim dynasty ruling over a majority non-Muslim population. Some films thus celebrated the relative social harmony of the high Mughal period – for example, with Adl-e-Jehangir (1955), a rather idealised depiction of Jahangir as a just ruler. Others (such as Baiju Bawra, 1952, about a musician at Akbar’s court) depicted the composite culture of the Mughal empire or focused on the emperors’ love lives. Most touched on sulh-i-kul, a policy of universal civility and peace. Two years after the death in 1964 of Jawaharlal Nehru, independent India’s first prime minister, his daughter, Indira Gandhi, became premier. That was soon followed by the release of Noor Jehan (1967) about Jahangir’s wife, who was widely maligned as power-hungry and ruthless. In 1975, Mrs Gandhi suspended India’s democracy upon declaring the Emergency, ushering a brief authoritarian interlude that lasted until 1977. From the 1980s, India opened up to the world economy, unleashing economic growth but also a new kind of conspicuous consumption. Reflecting this, Jodhaa Akbar (2008), about Akbar’s marriage to a Hindu Rajput princess, is an extravagant gold and-jewel-encrusted vision of the Mughal past, fitting for the New India of the 2000s. But it was also intended to be a balm for the hurt unleashed by anti-Muslim violence in Gujarat in 2002, and the communal strife that continued to plague India. Today, the Mughal past is being re-evaluated wholesale amid a rising tide of Hindu nationalism. A growing number of films paint the Mughals and other Muslim rulers not as heroes but as villainous invaders, among them Panipat (2019) and Tanhaji (2020), which valorise the Marathas and their conflicts with the Mughals. The Mughal past is more hotly contested than ever, and the 500th anniversary of the empire’s founding is as likely to be met with reflection on lessons it could provide for present problems as with calls for ‘retribution’ for past wrongs. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/04/2AX43H7webready-bb415d0-e1776689024327.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="A movie poster features three characters: a central warrior in a red turban holding a glowing sword, a bearded man in a dark turban on the left, and a woman in traditional attire on the right. A battlefield and fortress appear in the background." title="A poster for the 2020 historical action epic Tanhaji, which celebrates the 17th-century commander of the Hindu Maratha kingdom who challenged the Mughals (Image by Alamy)" /> Jagjeet Lally is associate professor of the history of early modern and colonial India at University College London, and author of Badshah, Bandar, Bazaar: Commerce and Everyday Life in the Mughal World (Penguin Business, 2025) This article was first published in the May 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine
Could Tudor sleep tips fix your insomnia? Here’s what they got right (and wrong)
What did the people of the early modern period, including the Tudors, believe about sleep?
If you ever have trouble sleeping – as many people do – you might consider seeking the assistance of a book. Or perhaps, a new mattress, or fancy blackout curtains. One method you likely haven’t tried is putting a cold apple on your head. But, centuries ago, the Tudors and other people of early modern Britain believed that this was an effective sleeping aid. The apple on the head is only one part of a much broader – and deeper – school of thought about how to achieve the best sleep. People in Tudor and early modern Britain treated good rest as something that needed conscious preparation, discipline and care. And, the fact is, much of their thinking still has value today. “I do think we can learn about sleep hygiene from the early modern period,” says Professor Sasha Handley, “partly because sleep was a much more prominent concern in day-to-day life.” So what did the Tudors do when they couldn’t sleep? Speaking on the Life Lessons From History series of the HistoryExtra podcast, Handley explains their tips and tricks, and sets out how they align – and misalign – with modern thinking “People’s sleeping habits were part of an interconnected ecosystem of lifestyle habits that were meant to keep the body healthy and prevent illness,” Handley explains. “Sleep was one of six lifestyle behaviours widely identified by physicians, medical practitioners, and ordinary people as things they had to take regular care of in order to stay healthy in the long term.” “It’s part of this preventative healthcare culture that we don’t really have anymore,” Handley says. As well as dictating the value of sleep, this culture also shaped where people slept, what they slept on, what they ate before bed, and what they did when they woke in the night. No such thing as a modern bedroom One of the biggest differences from modern life is spatial. “The word ‘bedroom’ is not used terribly often,” Handley notes. That is partly because beds were not usually confined to a room used only for sleep. “Depending on how rich or poor you were, you were likely to be sleeping in a room that had multiple purposes,” Handley says. In early modern households, especially modest ones, rooms often had several functions. A bed might stand in a space used for cooking, eating, working and receiving visitors. Many households consisted of just one or two rooms, making separation of activities impractical. Read more | The lie of succession: did James I steal Elizabeth I's crown? Meanwhile, “those with more money could afford to separate out a particular room for sleep,” Handley explains. That meant experiences varied sharply across the social scale. A servant lying close to the floor in a busy household space certainly didn’t experience sleep in the same way as a noblewoman in a carefully arranged chamber. Naturally then, beds themselves became markers of wealth, hierarchy and respectability. “The wealthiest often had very lavish beds,” Handley says. “One of the most interesting features is how many mattresses they had. The Duchess of Lauderdale, for example, had six mattresses stacked on her bed.” This was partly about comfort, but not only that. Height itself signalled importance. “It was generally accepted that the higher your bed was off the floor, the more important you were. Beds lower to the floor were associated with illness from damp and with lower social status.” That social meaning is especially clear in the truckle bed. “A truckle bed, for example, was used by servants,” Handley explains. It was a low bed on wheels, often stored beneath a master’s larger bed and pulled out at night so a servant could remain nearby if needed. “These beds were very low to the floor,” she says, “and the word ‘truckling’ means to be subservient.” Herbs, scent and the problem of temperature Early modern sleepers also paid close attention to the sensory world around the bed. “A mattress stuffed with straw and hops was surprisingly comfortable,” Handley says. Hops were commonly used in pillows because “their scent was thought to help relaxation at bedtime”. Hops were also used in brewing beer, and their mild sedative properties were widely noted in early modern herbals. “There is also evidence of various herbs being used to calm the body and, crucially, to cool it down.” That concern with temperature is particularly notable, because it aligns with one of the core tenants of modern sleep science: a slight drop in body temperature helps prepare the body for sleep. Read more | Want to live like a Tudor? Historian Ruth Goodman did, and here are five crucial lessons she learned To encourage that cooling effect, people used scented plants and flowers in the sleeping space. “They used rose petals to scent bedchambers and plants believed to promote a cooling atmosphere. Water lilies, for example, were popular.” Also aligning with modern sleep science was the idea that achieving good sleep began hours before actually being in bed. “People were advised to have a light supper and to avoid rich foods such as heavy beef or sweet wines, which were thought to disrupt sleep,” Handley says. Again, the reasoning came from medical ideas about digestion and bodily balance. Heavy or rich foods were believed to burden the body and interfere with rest. Digestion was thought to generate internal heat, which could disturb the balance of humours and make sleep more difficult. But the basic principle – that late, rich eating can make sleep harder – does resonate with modern advice. Six Wives: A HistoryExtra podcast series Member exclusive | In this six-part podcast series, we’ll be peeling back the layers of mythmaking to take another look at these fascinating women, who shaped the course of Henry’s reign – and the history of England. Listen to all episodes now Prayer, fear and waking in the night The broader lesson is that sleep was treated as something to consciously prepare for, and that involved getting into bed in a state of calm. “Some of the most important bedtime practices involved meditation,” Handley explains. For most people, this meant prayer. Religious practice structured much of daily life in Tudor England, and the night was often seen as a spiritually vulnerable time. This was usually done quietly, either kneeling at the bedside or once in bed. People might read a familiar prayer, devise their own words, or contemplate religious images in their surroundings. Read more | Porpoise for breakfast and late night intimacy: Henry VIII's life in a day “Bedtime prayer was important because people were genuinely concerned about what might happen during the night,” Handley says. “They believed the Devil’s power was strongest at night and sought protection through prayer, asking God to keep them safe until morning.” When sleep was disrupted, early modern people reached for strategies that still sound familiar. “There is also evidence of poor sleep during periods of stress, financial worry, or when there were young children in the household,” Handley says. “In that sense, they were not very different from us.” People kept books at the bedside, including the Book of Common Prayer, which contained prayers for waking in the night. They might also use prayer beads or other repetitive devotional practices to help to calm the mind. This is still good advice today. However some Tudor tips were rooted in medical theories that modern science certainly wouldn’t support. Handley notes that “some sources recommend placing a cold apple on the head to help induce sleep”, because apples were considered soporific. Nevertheless, early modern sleep culture got several things broadly right. It recognised that routine, body temperature, the sleeping environment, and the state of mind all could impact one’s sleep for better and worse. Modern sleep science might explain the reasoning behind these points differently, but would concur with many of the conclusions. Sasha Handley was speaking to David Musgrove on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
He was one of England's greatest astronomers – so why has no one heard of him?
Children's author and screenwriter Frank Cottrell-Boyce chooses Jeremiah Horrocks (1618–41) as his history hero
When did you first hear about Jeremiah Horrocks? As a child, I saw him and his telescope on the stained-glass windows at St Michael’s Church in Much Hoole, Lancashire. The windows, depicting his groundbreaking observation of the transit of Venus in 1639, were such an unexpected sight that I never forgot them. What kind of man was he? Born into an ordinary Lancastrian family, he lived in a small, tight-knit Puritan community. He was later a sizar at Cambridge University, where he had to chop wood and wait on the other students. He was fascinated by astronomy and the question of time from an early age – partly because his father was a watchmaker – and it became his life’s passion. Read more | Star witness: how the Royal Observatory transformed our understanding of astronomy and time What made him a hero? Unlike most great astronomers in history – such as Kepler, who worked for the Holy Roman Emperor – Horrocks was of modest means. He bought a telescope for two shillings and sixpence, and just had a strong sense in his bones of the rhythm of the moon and the tides – perhaps because he’d lived alongside the Mersey, with its huge tidal range. He paid great attention to the natural world around him, partly due to a profound religious conviction: he thought there was purpose in looking at the stars. When Newton spoke about standing on the shoulders of giants, one of the people he was talking about was Horrocks. What was Horrocks’ finest hour? He didn’t have a finest hour – but he did have one of the finest 15 minutes in history. On the day of the transit of Venus, there was thick cloud. It was also a Sunday so, being a Puritan, he was busy. But he set up his telescope all the same. A little after three o’clock, the sky cleared for a short while and he watched Venus move across the face of the sun. He wrote an important treatise on the transit, Venus in sole visa. The airport in Liverpool, which is just around the corner from where he lived, is named after John Lennon – but it should be named after Jeremiah Horrocks. As a nation, we sadly undervalue scientists. Is there anything that you don’t particularly admire about Horrocks? No. I think he’s wonderful – and the fact that he achieved so much despite dying so young only increases my admiration. Read more | Why the scientific revolution was far from just a European phenomenon Can you see any parallels between his life and your own? Only in the sense that we both had great passions in our lives – his was for astronomy and mine is for words. What would you ask him if you could meet him? I’d ask what inspired him to keep checking in on that telescope – even though he was busy, the Lancastrian sky was often cloudy, and there must have been people telling him: “You’ve got no chance, mate!” This article was first published in the February 2026 issue of HistoryExtra Magazine
Sores, sweat and secretions: the pox in early modern London
Olivia Weisser reveals the pox-ridden world of early modern London, from sickening symptoms to tortuous treatments
With sinful associations and incredibly painful symptoms, the pox could be a damning diagnosis in the early modern period. In this episode, Olivia Weisser speaks to Charlotte Vosper about the pox-ridden world of London in the era. She takes us behind the doors of medical practitioners, on to the streets in search of cures, and into the city's courtrooms. If you'd like to find out more about historical diseases and their (rather tortuous) treatments, then check out this HistoryExtra article by Dr Elma Brenner about the reality of medieval medical treatments for the Black Death. Go beyond the podcast.
Paul Gillingham reveals how a fiercely independent nun rose to become one of the great literary figures in Mexican history
She led “a life that really, in many ways, shouldn't have been possible”. So says historian Paul Gillingham of Juana Inés de la Cruz. This 17th-century polymath and nun challenged a host of social conventions – earning, through her extraordinary books and poems, a place in the pantheon of great Mexican literary figures. Here, in conversation with Spencer Mizen, Paul discusses the life of a woman he describes as "the Spanish Shakespeare". If you'd like to learn more about the people who have shaped Mexico over the past 500 years, listen to Spencer Mizen's conversation with Paul Gillingham on the history of Mexico – from the conquistadors to the cartels. You'll find that in our archive.
Camilla Townsend uncovers the real Pocahontas, a young Powhatan woman who navigated diplomacy, captivity and empire
Pocahontas's life is shrouded in myth – but how much of that lore is true? Speaking to Emily Briffett, historian Camilla Townsend brings us face to face with the real Pocahontas, revealing how she acted as a diplomatic bridge in a fragile encounter with English colonists – and considering the way in which her legacy still shapes our view of American history. The story of Native American societies decimated by European arrival is a familiar one. But, while undoubtedly important, that’s only one part of the story. In this podcast episode, Kathleen DuVal looks back at 1,000 years of Native American history to uncover a rich, complex picture of North America's Indigenous people. Go beyond the podcast.
What your hands say about you – according to history
Alison Bashford reveals how palm and hand reading has shaped science, medicine and ideas about the human body, from ancient times to the present day
What do your hands reveal about you? Historian Alison Bashford joins Elinor Evans to explore the extraordinary history of how people have interpreted the human hand. From ancient divination to cutting-edge medical diagnostics, her book Decoding the Hand reveals how palm reading once sat at the centre, not the fringes, of science. In this episode, she explains how hands were used to predict character, diagnose disease, and even identify criminals – and why they still hold such symbolic power today.
The Gunpowder Plot of 1605 ranks among the most audacious acts of treason in British history – a dramatic attempt by a small group of disaffected Catholics to blow up King James I and parliament, not long after the new Stuart regime took the throne. In this four-part HistoryExtra podcast series, Danny Bird and Professor John Cooper for a four-part series that bring this fraught, combustible moment into sharp relief, exploring the motives, betrayals and what-could-have-been consequences of this explosive act of treason.
Over 70 observers watched this Stuart queen give birth. Why did they still doubt the baby was real?
The struggle between Catholicism and Protestantism came to a head in England when Maria of Modena gave birth to an heir with a claim to two crowns
On 10 June 1688, Maria of Modena, queen to King James II of England and VII of Scotland, gave birth to a son who was heir to both kingdoms. More than 70 observers watched it happen. But while that baby – James Francis Edward Stuart, would grow to adulthood – he would never wear either crown. Instead, scurrilous questions about the birth itself played a pivotal role in the eventual toppling of James’s rule in England. Speaking on the HistoryExtra podcast, Breeze Barrington, a cultural historian specialising in women’s history and the 17th century, explained why Maria of Modena’s labour was so closely witnessed and how it became key in ending her husband’s reign. The pressure was on Maria to produce an heir The most important job of a queen was to produce heirs. But there was extra political and religious pressure for Maria to give birth. Maria and James were Catholic, and they needed to produce a Catholic heir if they wanted to keep the ruling of England out of Protestant hands. Otherwise, the throne would go to Mary, James’ oldest legitimate child from his previous marriage, who had been brought up Protestant. Protestant factions at the English court, and in government, hoped that Maria wouldn’t have any sons who could prevent Mary from claiming the throne. “There was constant worry about England going back to Catholicism if there was a Catholic heir,” Barrington says. Read more | Your guide to the Glorious Revolution Maria had been pregnant many times before 1688, but many of those had ended in miscarriage or stillbirth; the few that survived died in infancy. “Maria was really concerned that she needed to have a son in order to secure the line of succession, so she went to Bath to take the waters in the hope that it would help her to become pregnant,” Barrington says. The reproductive health of the queen was in the interest of the nation, and so even Maria’s attempts to improve her fertility were of public concern. Members of the public went to watch her sitting in the waters at Bath from the balconies in August 1687. By December of the same year, Maria was pregnant. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/01/GettyImages-113494156-4056867-e1768555127208.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This later portrait depicts James II and VII (1633–1701), whose reign was defined by religious tension and political crisis. His marriage to the Catholic princess Maria of Modena proved pivotal: the birth of their son in 1688 raised the prospect of a Catholic dynasty and helped trigger the Glorious Revolution, forcing James and Maria into exile and ending his rule." title="James II and VII (1633 - 1701)." /> People questioned whether Maria was really pregnant “Almost straight away, there were whispers that this wasn't true, or that there was something wrong,” Barrington says. People questioned that she could get pregnant at her age (she was 29), after so many years of difficult pregnancies, and even whether any of her previous pregnancies and miscarriages had been real. She was constantly observed, scrutinised, and assessed during the pregnancy. “Understandably, it's extremely upsetting and distressing when you're heavily pregnant and everyone just wants to gawp at you,” Barrington says. “So she refuses to let lots of people see her when she's changing. At this time, it was quite normal for lots of members of the court to be there in the morning when she was getting up, for what was called ‘levée’ [a formal royal morning reception] and she tried to make this more private.” But this only fuelled rumours that the pregnancy was fake. “These foundations had already been laid. The rumours were already there that there was going to be an attempt to smuggle a different child in,” Barrington says. Read more | A king without a crown: James VII and II’s years in exile Any doubt about the legitimacy of an heir could help to fuel plots against their rule – and because of this it was usual for royal births to be observed. And because of the rumours and political tension, Maria’s labour was witnessed by an unusually high number of people – more than 70 people gave testimonies that they saw it happen, which James later published in a book of depositions. “By the time she goes into labour, the room is filled up. There is something like 80 people there, most of them men, being herded to the end of the bed to have a good look,” Barrington says. If that sounds horribly intrusive, it’s because it was. “Maria says to James, ‘I can't bear to do this with so many men looking at me.’ And he covers her face with his wig so that she can't see them,” Barrington says. When James Francis Edward Stuart was born, he was taken to another room to be cleaned and swaddled, and James made sure people followed him there, too. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/01/GettyImages-463990175-f376b31-e1768555382384.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This portrait shows Mary of Modena (1658–1718), the Italian-born princess who became queen consort of James II after their marriage in 1673. A devout Catholic, her presence at court — and the birth of her son in 1688 — intensified fears of a Catholic succession, helping to spark the Glorious Revolution that ended her husband’s reign." title="Mary of Modena, Queen Consort of King James II of Great Britain.Artist: S Audran" /> 80 witnesses weren’t enough to quell suspicions But the rumours didn't end just because people saw the birth. A new rumour started to circulate at court: that the baby had been stillborn and switched out for a baby smuggled in a bedpan brought in to heat the bed. “There were witnesses that said they'd seen the pan full of hot coals, and a bedpan isn't anything like big enough to put a baby in anyway,” Barrington says. Nonetheless, it took root. Historians today do generally agree that James Francis Edward was the legitimate child. But at the time, there were multiple reasons it was believed he was an imposter. Firstly, James’s choices of witnesses weren't the most astute. Most of the people who saw the birth were Catholics or otherwise sympathetic to their cause, so it was in their interest to say that he was legitimate whether it was true or not. Secondly, the new heir posed a threat to Protestantism. The majority of people in England were Protestant and viewed James VII and II as a brief Catholic blip in the line of succession – as long as he didn’t have any Catholic sons. Read more | When was England last successfully invaded by a foreign power? But the birth of James Francis Edward changed this. Now there was both motivation for pro-Protestant factions to take action – to stop the cementing of a Catholic dynasty – and a reason why. “The rumour is the pretext for seven politicians and aristocrats to send a letter over to William of Orange, inviting him to invade England and to usurp James from the throne,” Barrington says. Not only was William of Orange James’ nephew, but he was also married to the king’s daughter, Mary. Most importantly, they were both Protestant. And so invade William did, landing in England on 5 November 1688. James fled to France, which Parliament interpreted as him abdicating, and William and Mary were declared joint rulers. “So, it is the birth of this longed-for boy,” Barrington says, “who they had so hoped for, who they thought would cement their future, who would fulfil Maria’s obligations to the Pope, which is their downfall.” James Francis Edward Stuart spent most of his life in exile and became known to his supporters as the Old Pretender, the focus of repeated but ultimately unsuccessful Jacobite attempts to reclaim the throne. Breeze Barrington was speaking to Elinor Evans on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.
In post-medieval Scotland, two specific crimes reveal the challenges faced by ordinary women
What do the crimes that women were charged with in a post-medieval Scotland reveal about the lives they lived?
In the court records of post-medieval Scotland, women appear for a strikingly limited range of crimes. While men were prosecuted for theft, violence and disorder, women were charged with offences that spoke directly to their bodies and behaviour. As Dr Allan Kennedy, a historian of early modern Scottish history, explains on an episode of the HistoryExtra podcast, “understanding what kinds of crimes are committed and how they are responded to gives you a really good understanding of the ordering assumptions of any given society”. In early modern Scotland, those assumptions produced a sharp gender divide in the law. “There’s a very strong split between what women were being prosecuted for and what men were being prosecuted for” in Scottish courts, Kennedy says. Women were accused overwhelmingly of two crimes: witchcraft and infanticide. Both were profoundly gendered offences, shaped by contemporary anxieties about women’s morality and place within the social order. And, both crimes expose the pressures faced by ordinary women in Scotland as the country stepped into the early modern era, and the reign of the Stuarts. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/01/GettyImages-463928361-1-1ef1f6e-e1768479587395.jpg" width="1498" height="1000" alt="Painted in 1621 by Daniel Mytens, this portrait shows James VI and I (1566–1625), a monarch deeply preoccupied with the threat of witchcraft. Convinced that witches were agents of the Devil, James personally oversaw trials in Scotland and authored 'Daemonologie' (1597), a treatise that fuelled persecution across Britain." title="James I, King of England and Scotland, 1621. Artist: Daniel Mytens" /> Witchcraft in early modern Scotaland One of the most common crime committed by women in 1600s Scotland was witchcraft. Between 1560 and 1706, approximately 6,000 people were tried for the crime in Scotland – three times the number tried in England, even though Scotland’s population was a quarter of the size of England’s. The witchcraft craze was encouraged by King James VI and I, Elizabeth I's successor, who set up royal commissions to hunt witches. He also wrote a book about black magic, called Dæmonologie, which was inspired by his involvement in the infamous North Berwick witch trials of 1590. Read more | Tracy Borman explains why King James VI and I was obsessed with witch hunts The majority of people accused of witchcraft were women; estimates say between 75 to 84 per cent. They were accused of renouncing God and their Christian faith, and using powers received from the devil to cause harm – that could be anything from blighting crops and causing storms, to making their neighbours ill. Many of the women accused had acted in a way that disrupted the established social order and gender – behaviours that went against the meek, subservient role expected of women at the time. Witchcraft was suspected as the reason why they were so deviant. Some historians also link the trend to the changing relationship between religion and government. “Scotland had a distinctive reformation in 1559, producing a Calvinist church, which is quite an austere form of Protestantism – much more rigid than the Anglicanism of the Church of England – and a very dense system of church courts,” Kennedy says. “What that means is that religion was very central to pretty much every aspect of Scottish life, and importantly, Scottish governance and administration – much more so compared to England.” Read more | James VI and I and his favourites: what were their relationships like? This could explain why witchcraft, which was a renunciation of Christianity, was seen as so threatening in Scotland at the time, compared to England. <img src="https://images.immediate.co.uk/production/volatile/sites/7/2026/01/GettyImages-924761818-b2bfc16-e1768479906280.jpg" width="1500" height="1000" alt="This mid-16th-century German engraving depicts the ordeal of water, a brutal method used to test suspected witches. Thrown into a river, the accused was judged innocent if she drowned and guilty if she floated — a reflection of how religious belief shaped the persecution of alleged witches in early modern Europe." title="Witch Hunting" /> By the end of the 17th century, a hundred years after the publication of Dæmonologie, the bulk of the Scottish witch hunts were over, and there weren't as many women being accused of witchcraft as there were earlier in the 1600s. Now, the most common crime among women was infanticide. The crime of infanticide Infanticide today is understood as the intentional killing of a child. But in Scotland in the late 17th century, the definition was more expansive. “A law passed by the Scottish Parliament in 1690 made it so that if a woman concealed a pregnancy and the child later died, then it will be assumed in law that she murdered the child, even if there's no hard evidence that she actually did,” Kennedy says. “So, in other words, if you had a stillborn child but you had concealed the pregnancy, the law would assume that you murdered the child.” The practical effect of this law was that there was an upsurge in the number of women prosecuted for infanticide in the 1690s, Kennedy says. “There were a few older women who were prosecuted for having assisted in the murder of a child, such as elderly midwives or elderly relatives,” Kennedy says. Read more | 10 things you (probably) didn’t know about Scottish history But the majority of the people accused of infanticide were younger women, usually of a lower social status – like farm workers or domestic servants – who actually bore the children. “Very often the father of the child was their master or a family member of the master,” Kennedy says. “It's implied in a lot of these cases, and sometimes more than implied, that the father of the child attacked the woman and committed sexual assault, leaving her with a child who was going to be illegitimate.” In 17th century Scotland, there was a hugely significant social stigma against illegitimacy. “Often, it was said explicitly in women's confessions that if they concealed their pregnancy and murdered the child, they did so because they couldn't bear the shame or the very significant practical and reputational ramifications that come with having an illegitimate child,” Kennedy says. Meanwhile, the men who fathered these children seldom faced any consequences because they didn’t bear the children. “This tells us some very important things about the particular constraints and social pressures that women were forced to deal with – not just the women who are caught up in the courts, but just women generally,” Kennedy says. Dr Allan Kennedy was speaking to Emily Briffett on the HistoryExtra podcast. Listen to the full conversation.