Book Review: The Rose, the Bastard and the Saint King by A.W. Boardman

A worthy, quick-paced and stimulating addition that returns to the spotlight a this neglected episode

Anyone who has trodden upon the hallowed cobbles that lead into the heart of the Tower of London will soon find themselves standing in the Wakefield Tower, reflecting upon a commemorative plaque that has been sunk into the floor. The plaque reads: ‘By tradition, Henry VI died here, May 21st, 1471’.

The tradition that thundered into being in the months and years after his death is that, on the night engraved into the plaque, this beleaguered, unwell and, by every metric, failure of a king, was murdered. Some pointed the finger in the direction of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, later to become Richard III, whilst most accepted blame ultimately lay with the man who had twice deposed Henry from his throne, Edward IV. The Yorkist regime pumped out propaganda that that Henry had, in fact, died on mere ‘melancholy’ upon hearing of the death of his son.

For most historians of the period, including myself, Edward’s motive for almost certainly having Henry put to death is clear – to remove the head of the Lancastrian snake and conclusively settle the dynastic wars in the Yorkist favour. Seasoned medievalist A.W. Boardman, however, argues that whilst it is difficult to argue against this point, he would suggest the impetus for the execution was the overlooked Siege of London, rather than because of Edward’s resounding victories at the battles of Barnet (14 April 1471) and Tewkesbury (4 May 1471). In ‘The Rose, The Bastard and the Saint King: The Murder of Henry VI’, he makes a cogent case that I found compelling.

Boardman is no stranger to the study of the Wars of the Roses, having penned well-received works like ‘The Medieval Soldier in the Wars of the Roses’, plus worthy assessments of the battles of St Albans in 1455 and Towton in 1461. In this work, he turns his exacting eye towards another specific episode of the dynastic conflict, namely the siege of England’s capital which took place between 12-15 May 1471.

Before Boardman consummately tackles the siege, he first lays the groundwork and sets the scene for the journey that is to follow, effectively world-building for the reader, adeptly helped through an urgent forward from Matthew Lewis, who most certainly knows his beans when it comes to these wars. The reader is treated to a useful contextual guide to military practices in the fifteenth century, and granted an insight into life on campaign. Particularly welcome as a research tool is an insightful and referenced discussion of innovative ship building and the crucial roles vessels played during a century ‘shipbuilding underwent a significant transformation’, and as a general introduction to the importance of battlefield topography and sifting through confused written accounts. Boardman is also at pains to show that, contrary to popular opinion and in many cases the deliberations of misguided historians, the Wars of the Roses rarely had much impact on the lives of the everyday person. This helps set the stage for the comparative horror that is to follow for the people of London.

Boardman provides concise biographies of Henry VI, the Saint King of the title, and Edward IV, the titular Rose, covering well-trodden but necessary ground in showing how these distant cousins came to quarrel over the English crown. Suffice to say, Henry loses his throne in 1461 due to his ineptness, Edward gains it through outstanding military leadership only to lose it back to Henry just under a decade leader through political naivety. When Henry was removed from his imprisonment in the Tower of London by his supporters in October 1470, it was noted by one chronicler he was ‘not so cleanly kept as should seem such a prince’. By April 1471, Edward was back in charge of the kingdom and Henry was returned to the Tower, though not before saying to the man who had taken his crown twice ‘My cousin of York…I know that in your hands my life will not be in danger’.

And maybe this would have been true had it not been for events that would follow across the next month. Enter the figure for whom the book features as a vehicle to tell his story - Thomas Fauconberg, the Bastard. This Fauconberg was the illegitimate son of William Neville, Lord Fauconberg and later Earl of Kent, making him a cousin of not only Richard Neville, Warwick the Kingmaker, but also Edward IV.

It is Boardman’s fair assessment that this figure has too often been relegated to the footnotes in popular studies of the period and his actions in some of the more consequential episodes of the fifteenth century merit illumination. We learn through the narrative that Fauconberg is an elusive character’, a consummate pirate-turned-sea captain who commanded a navy that proved a ‘powerful military asset’ through the Wars of the Roses for the faction he represented. This was initially the House of York but when his cousin Warwick defected, Fauconberg followed suit, pledging his fealty to his Neville cousin against his York cousin Edward IV.

After covering much of his rise to prominence, the Bastard then becomes the focus of the book’s climatic chapters, exploring his crucial role in the Siege of London. Boardman notes how important Fauconberg was to Warwick’s strategy to patrol the Channel and then to raise the commons of Kent, a rebellious county delectably described by the author as a ‘bubbling cauldron of revolt’. It is shown that Fauconberg must have been a man of some charisma to prove as successful as he did in raising the Kentishmen, with parallels drawn to previous Kent-based rebel leaders like Jack Cade and Wat Tyler, men who likewise lit the revolutionary spark required to fuel an uprising. He also probes into the reasons why Fauconberg was able to attract support, which has more to do with the concerns of the local populace rather than those of noble descent.

This is a strong passage from Boardman, who delves deep into local networks to reveal how the seeds of rebellion can grow into a mass movement, exploring why men of influence like Richard Lovelace, George Brook and Geoffrey Gate threw their lot in with the rebels. Conflict between nobility might be the draw to the work, but Boardman nevertheless is able to investigate social history lower down the ranks and what motivated men who believed they had been left behind. These were men who not just believed in something, but were willing to stand for something, those reared in areas where there was an ‘engrained culture of rebellion’ and lack of overlordship.

Having gathered a well-drilled and experienced host led by seasoned war captains, Fauconberg’s orders were to lead these rebels to Warwick, but the latter’s death at the Battle of Barnet forced him to pivot. Rather than meekly surrender, Fauconberg turned his attentions to the capital and thoughts of springing the captive Lancastrian king, Henry VI, from his prison.

All roads in Boardman’s book then, lead to London, the ‘wealthiest city in Christendom’ and the key to the kingdom. The chapters covering the assault on the metropolis, the only siege of a walled town throughout the Wars of the Roses, are vividly told with thorough employment of contemporary sources to relate a terrifying ordeal for the panicked citizens. Boardman adeptly paints a colourful picture of London in 1471, a traveller’s guide even, providing insightful context in the topography, administration, and demographics of the city and in particular stressing how vital the Tower was to its security.

The well-coordinated three-pronged attack itself is also engagingly retold with great urgency, covering the bombardment by cannon of London from the south bank, the relentless assault on the eastern gates and the blood-drenched charge on London Bridge. As the siege gathered pace, Boardman tells us how the ‘Thames would have become a scene of smoke and fire’ and that ‘dead and wounded would have soon mounted on both sides’.

Innocent citizens were killed in the streets and the detonation of guns sent panic thundering through everyone else as they tried to evade arrows and arson. The rebels themselves lost considerable numbers in the attack, including when some were trapped within the archway of the Aldgate and butchered where they stood, and others when a portcullis dropped and crushed them. Boardman astutely notes that Henry VI likely could see and hear the frenzied attempts to free him, though what frame of mind the king was in at this moment in his life is unclear.

Fauconberg’s attempt to take London, ‘a desperate affair that could have gone either way’, ultimately failed and he was captured soon thereafter. Though he was seemingly pardoned, his days were numbered and the Bastard was executed in Middleham Castle, perhaps pointedly a Neville family citadel. A rebel of his nature clearly could not escape the punishment his crime merited – his head was spiked upon London Bridge facing Kent, the stage upon where Fauconberg stirred much of his revolt.

Boardman closes his study by examining the ‘dire consequences’ of the Bastard’s siege of London – the death of Henry VI. He admirably explores the various theories that could explain the demise of the Lancastrian king in the Tower on the evening of 21 May 1471, trying to untangle what the various pro Lancastrian and pro Yorkist sources tell us. Unusually for most modern accounts, Boardman gives equal weight to the idea that Henry may have died naturally as he does to the well-trodden theory the Lancastrian king was murdered, but the bottom line is clear that the Yorkists were unable to risk any further insurgencies that looked to spring him from his prison. He, after all, ‘remained a catalyst for civil war despite his fragility’, and Fauconberg’s actions effectively singed the fallen king’s death warrant.

Regarding murder, Boardman exonerates the eighteen-year-old Richard, Duke of Gloucester, who would loyally have only been following the orders of his brother Edward IV, the only person with ‘the means, the authority and the motive to destroy the Lancastrian dynasty at its roots’. Boardman does intriguingly propose a potential cut-throat who performed the dastardly deed, one that cannot be verified at this distance in time but which is nonetheless persuasive.

In The Rose, The Bastard and the Saint King’, Boardman makes a compelling case that these heady, smoke-filled and blood-spattered few days in May mark a ‘defining moment in British history’. The siege and its consequences have been ‘largely neglected’ by historians, sometimes scarcely meriting mention compared to other events of 1471, perhaps blinded by hindsight that it ultimately failed.

Now, this worthy, quick-paced and stimulating addition to the Wars of the Roses canon has returned some of the spotlight to this neglected episode, and raise awareness once more of the terrifying few days the commonfolk of England’s capital witnessed the internecine warfare that had plagued every corner of England brought to their own doorstep. It is, as the author explains with conviction, ‘a story of split-second decisions, devious betrayals and heroic last stands’.