The Mortality Of Elizabeth Of York: “For lo, now here I lie.”

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  The day was February 11, 1503. The bells of Saint Paul’s Cathedral tolled while London’s wearied masses collected in assured astonishment of the news. The Queen was dead. Queen Elizabeth of York had been introduced to the realm 37 years to the day of her death in an England much different than the one she left. She was the first child of King Edward IV and her namesake, Elizabeth Woodville. Born amidst the turmoil of the dynastic wars; her formative years were spotted with war, instability, death and betrayal. Narrowly escaping the grasp of her Kingly uncle who stood in place of her misfortunate brothers, the succession of a Lancastrian incumbent would change her fortunes. Following the defeat of King Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth, Elizabeth married the freshly crowned King Henry VII. By uniting their houses formally, the Tudor dynasty sought to establish itself as the premier royal house at all means necessary. England’s new Queen would play an essential part in her country’s security by providing the necessary heirs to its future. She would hardly disappoint. Nine months and one day after her wedding, she gave birth to the golden prince meant to be the first King to receive the crown by means of natural inheritance since the days of Henry VI; Prince Arthur.

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Elizabeth of York’s parents; Elizabeth Woodville and King Edward IV. The marriage that nearly ended Edward’s brief tenure as King and the first true wedding of a monarch to a commoner.

        In the course of her life, Elizabeth would provide seven additional children as adornments to the Tudor tapestry. By all accounts, Elizabeth would prove herself to be a figurehead for the ideal late medieval Queen. It is even suggested that through her, The Tudors earned their trademark coloring. Erasmus described her in singularity as “brilliant.” A Venetian report detailed Elizabeth as “a very handsome woman of great ability, and in conduct very able,” while commenting personally on her “charity and humanity”. She may have even conducted some power herself from underneath of her husband’s iron first in forms of rebuking letters sent to members of the peerage. Yet, despite all of her glories and characteristics, she too proved to be made of clay. Succumbing to post partum infection following the birth of a short lived daughter just over a week later. Her distraught and notoriously thrifty husband spent lavish sums on a funeral fit for her importance in a sum estimated at 721,270 in modern terms. A London lawyer delivered an elegy which effectively summed up the realms opinions of their lately departed Queen:

“If worship might have kept me, I had not gone,

        If wit might have me saved, I needed not fear,”


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The funeral effigy of Elizabeth of York that survives today.


        That same lawyers name was to return to the chronicles of history again and again; Thomas More. Specifically when he served under the son of Elizabeth; Henry VIII. Ironically, it was from the death of Henry’s mother that one of the most prolific influences would enter his life stage. Henry, described as Elizabeth’s “loving son”, was a mere eleven years old at the time. His entire life had been turned on its axis the previous year following the death of his eldest brother. This left him as his father’s sole male heir. Gone was the Tudor’s golden egg and in its place, a scarcely known boy whose life had predetermined towards the church prior. As one could only imagine, the events of the past two years would prove to be traumatic for the pubescent Harry but how affected was he by the passing of his mother?

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The Vaux Passional.

        The Vaux Passional is an illuminated manuscript dated from the late 15th or early 16th century. In its rare, original binding lays some means to answer this question. The books first miniature depicts the same manuscript being presented to a regent that is thought to be Henry VII. Yet, just past that lays its true peculiarity. The background of the illustration contains two young girls before a fireplace in colors of mourning. Besides them, a young man seeming to weep into a bed of black cloth. His face hidden despite his full head of reddish-golden hair. It is almost with complete certainty that one can suggest these three children represent Margaret, Mary and Henry following the death of the Queen. Given it is likely a contemporary source, this manuscript seems to know better than we may about the reaction of the young Prince. Be it of her death of the events that had transpired in such quick succession. The miniature depicts not the Kingly man that Henry was to become but a small, broken boy. In a letter to Erasmus in 1507, Henry would later reflect following the death of Philip the Handsome that “never since the death of my dearest mother hath there come to me more hateful intelligence. And to speak truth, I was the scanter well-disposed toward your letter than its singular grace demanded, because it seemed to tear open the wounds to which time had brought insensibility. But indeed those things which are decreed by Heaven are so to be accepted by mortal men.” Henry was particularly fond of the archduke who was married to his wife’s sister and who had visited him in 1506. In many ways, Henry saw Philip as the ideal man of his era against the advisement of Henry’s own father. This death seemed to shake the Prince to his core. Another death so close to home as his life seemed virtually full of them.


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A bust of what could be a young Henry; far be it from his throne and unlikely to ever seat one.


        Henry (by this time Harry) was no doubt profoundly upset by the lost of his mother which, to a modern audience, should come as no great surprise. Yet, by the contemporary standards of the day, it should be noted with some air of curiosity. Royal mothers were notoriously aloof in their parenting style and often too busy with matters of Queenship to be much concerned over their children. The job of caring for royal children was often shuffled off to high ranking members of society who saw it not as a burden but as a rare honor and privilege. From virtually the moment of birth, Queens of medieval society vacated their responsibilities. To breastfeed one’s own child was unbecoming of their station and thus, the honor was passed to a wet nurse and a number of attendants. From royal cradle rockers and beyond, A queen’s place was by the side of her husband and within her court. Children would be established in their own residences where their education and upbringing was monitored by those appointed to do so. That is not to say that a Queen did not care greatly for her children but it was merely the way of it. As best stated in Virtuous or Villainess? The Image of the Royal Mother from the Early Medieval to the Early Modern Era: “On the one hand, the royal mother is expected to produce and nurture future heirs who will ensure dynastic and political security, but on the other, a woman who appeared to have too much influence was seen as meddling, overwhelming in her authority, and a threat to the stability of the realm.” Due to this, Elizabeth of York would be expected to do much the same.

       However, it is worth noting that Elizabeth’s own childhood was less than traditional by standards of the day. Elizabeth’s mother, Elizabeth of Woodville, had stolen herself and her family to the sanctuary of Westminster Abbey twice. First when Edward IV was forced to flee England due to the rebellion of his once allies; George, Duke of Clarence and Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick. It was there that she’d give birth to her son and heir, Edward. The second time would be when her brother-in-law took possession of that same Edward and seized the title of Lord Protector. Rife with instability, Elizabeth would have likely spent vast amounts of time with her mother and her siblings. It is reasonable to suggest that her bond would have been more familial than most of her station due to this. Additionally, Elizabeth Woodville was a commoner before her royal marriage and was likely to have a much more hands on approach to parenting due to this. Thus, it is not difficult to suggest that Elizabeth of York’s relationship with her children would be reflective of her own childhood.

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The urn of Westminster Abbey thought to contain the skeletal remains of Elizabeth of York’s brothers; Edward and Richard.

        Little is known about Henry’s early life before the death of Arthur. It seemed almost not worth recording to contemporary scholars at the time. Incredulously, Henry’s grandmother, Margaret Beaufort, would incorrectly label his birth in her Book of Hours and seemed to amend it at a later date. However, it is within his obscurity that we may better understand Henry’s relationship with his mother. The evidence of deviation in royal protocol lays in an unexpected yet obvious place; Henry’s handwriting. As noted in David Starkey’s Mind Of A Tyrant series, Henry’s handwriting is uniquely his own and nothing like that of his tutor. Instead, it is much like his Queenly mother’s which suggests that she was the one to teach him in the first place. Though there is little known evidence of Elizabeth’s handwriting that remains, what we do have shows staunch similarities even to the untrained eye. Furthermore, Starkey recalls “it’s characteristic enough in weight, rhythm and letter forms to prove conclusively, I think, that Elizabeth was the first teacher of her daughters and her second son, Henry.”

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Elizabeth of York’s signature.

        Though we may never know the true extent of the bond between the two, the mere suggestion that the future King would be tutored firstly by his own mother allows us to better understand the man himself. Be it his devastation in the face of her death which smacks of modern maternal bonds, or how it later shaped him. All of this provides modern audiences with the early operative pieces of what was to be a Freudian daydream. In so many ways, the new age idealism that Henry aspired to can be traced back to Elizabeth of York and the marriage that begot him. His desire to love the woman he married was in homage to his father who was thought to never stray from his marital bed. The traits of loyalty, fidelity and humility which he sought most in a wife, was a mold first cast by his mother. A mold that had not had time to be broken due to her early and untimely death. Freudian theory tells us that his mother would have become something of an idolatrous figure for him. Aspiring to a flawless and immortal figure which could never belong to this life. All of this and more proves that while Elizabeth’s body may have been laid to rest in ceremony and pomp in the luxury of Westminster Abbey, her presence was very much there in Henry. All of his decisions regarding love, loss, standard and ultimately what it was to be King was due in part to her. That figure of the old world who died in the new. She who heralded the dynasty which would become the stuff of speculation for centuries to come; Elizabeth of York.

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Weir, A. (2014). Elizabeth of York.

“Elizabeth of York: a Tudor of Rare Talent.” History Extra, 7 Aug. 2018,

“Sir Thomas More: ‘A Rueful Lamentation’, 1503 [Poem on the Death of Queen Elizabeth of York].” The Life of Edward De Vere, Earl of Oxford (1550-1604),

“The Vaux Passional.” Llyfrgell Genedlaethol Cymru – The National Library of Wales: Aberdulais Mill, Glamorgan,

Wight, Colin. “Beaufort Book of Hours.” The British Library, The British Library, 24 Apr. 2012,

 Fleiner, Carey, and Elena Woodacre. Virtuous or Villainess?: the Image of the Royal Mother from the Early Medieval to the Early Modern Era. Palgrave Macmillan, 2016.

Starkey, David. Mind Of A Tyrant.

T.I.H.: The Death of Robert Dudley


Today in history, September 4, 1588, Robert Dudley died at his home in Oxfordshire. Dudley had been of ill health as of late and was on course to Buxton in Derbyshire to “take the waters” which were said to have healing properties. Despite this, his death still came as a shock to the Queen and likely Robert himself who wrote to Elizabeth just days prior praising “your medicine and find that (it) amends much better than with any other thing that hath been given me.” The death of her court favorite and oldest friend hurt Elizabeth profoundly. While still riding high from the defeat of the Spanish Armada that summer, Elizabeth was distraught at the loss and reportedly locked herself away in her apartments for days. Only the wily Lord Burghley had the power to have her chamber door broken down and her isolation ended. His final letter was found in Elizabeth’s close possessions 15 years later just after her own death speaking to the incredible, non-traditional nature of the two. Yet, let us examine what exactly bound the two together in such a way over their decades together.


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(John Dudley, 1st Duke of Northumberland.)

Robert Dudley was one of thirteen children belonging to John Dudley, the Duke of Northumberland. Contrary to popular belief, the Dudley family were hardly upstarts. Edmund Dudley (Robert’s grandfather) had been Speaker of the House of Commons and President of the King’ s Council under the reign of Henry VII. However, Edmund Dudley was brought up on high treason and executed in what is often referred to as one of Henry VIII’s first acts of King. Edmund, who had been acting strictly on the orders of his King, is often seen historically as a scapegoat. His execution garnered the young King public favor. The populace was glad to see the downfall of the man who they saw responsible for the taxation under the previous regime. Despite this, John Dudley claimed his inheritance and went onto witness many pivotal happenings in the reign of Henry VIII. He served Cardinal Wolsey diplomatically, was knighted by Charles Brandon and served in the 1523 Invasion of France. He was present in the Reformation Parliament, the Pilgrimage of Grace, The Burning of Edinburgh and was elected as one of the 16 members of the regency council under Edward VI. After the execution of Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset and Lord Protector, he took over as Lord President of the Council. Rejecting the title of Lord Protector unlike his predecessor, John Dudley had a close yet respectful working relationship with the King. Seeking to bring the now teenager more into affairs of state, Edward began to exercise some of his own authority independent of the council and even of John Dudley himself.

Sadly, what we know best about John Dudley is ironically where the paths of Robert and Elizabeth merge forever. Prior to the death of King Edward VI, after a bout of illness which left the young King’s health in question, John Dudley married his second youngest son to Lady Jane Grey. Jane Grey was the daughter of Henry Grey and Frances Brandon. Frances Brandon herself was the daughter of Charles Brandon and Mary Tudor making Jane Grey the great-granddaughter of Henry VII. Fascinatingly enough, Jane Grey’s father Henry was the grandson of Thomas Grey, 1st Marquess of Dorset who was the son of Elizabeth Woodville by her first marriage. Though the bloodline is not royal, I’ve always found this interesting. Though the marriage seemed politically insignificant, that would not stand that way for long.


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(Edward VI’s “Device For The Succession.”)

Prior to Edward’s passing, he had worked ardently to change the act of succession and exclude his half-sisters. Whether it be Edward’s fear of a Catholic England under Mary or the work of his councilors attempting to convince the dying King of the best next step, no one can say for certain. Yet, what we do know is that Edward supervised and worked to have his “Device for Succession” legitimized despite his own father’s act of succession passed prior to Edward’s accession. Surprisingly enough, his unlikely yet Protestant cousin and the daughter-in-law of his main counselor was to take up the helm. After Edward’s death on the 6th of July, 1553, Jane Grey was proclaimed Queen days later. Yet, it wasn’t too last. Mary Tudor rose up through East Anglia. Garnering strength and Dudley was overwhelmed as was the whole of his regime.

Robert Dudley had been arrested and tossed into the Tower of London after attempting to lead a force against Mary in Norfolk. He was condemned to death along with his father and four brothers. Yet, only Guildford and John Dudley were to be executed. It was around this same period of time that Mary’s half-sister Elizabeth had been imprisoned in the Tower as well. Though the two had known one another as children in the court of Elizabeth’s father and may have even shared a tutor, this seemed the period that bonded them together best. Wyatt’s Rebellion was a direct answer to the impending marriage of Mary to Philip II of Spain. Though Elizabeth had never been directly implicated, Mary suspected her involvement and her life was at risk. Both of them narrowly escaped with their lives and the Dudley’s were restored after their support of Philip II’s forces in France in 1558. Needless to say, the circumstances of their initial meeting at such a lowly period of their lives would forge something deeper between them. Elizabeth knew she could trust the man when she was fighting but a subject in the Tower and so she knew she could trust him when she had come to her throne.

With Mary’s death and Elizabeth’s accession, Robert was remembered as was all of the Dudley family. Ambrose Dudley, as heir, received his father’s titles which had been stripped of them. Robert was made Master of the Horse on the very day that Elizabeth received the Great Seal. His rise was quick and alarming to many. As a favorite, he was recognized as one of the few men leading the country and many thought him to be a substantial threat that needed to be eliminated. Foreign suitors came and went but to the naked eye, it was obvious that Robert carried the Queen’s favor and should he not already be married, he could have even become her husband.



(Amy Dudley)

On September 8, 1560, Robert’s wife, Amy Dudley, was found dead at the landing of a flight of stairs. An inquest was opened immediately as the events were suspicious, strange and furthermore scandalous. Robert Dudley was nearly in constant attendance to Elizabeth at this point and for his wife to abruptly be found dead in such a manner raised many eyebrows. Especially when he seemed to be so high in Elizabeth’s favor that marriage between the two seemed not only plausible but likely should he be suddenly a bachelor. The case was reviewed by a coroner and 15 jurors who found Amy Dudley’s death to be an accident as a result of a broken neck. While some suspected suicide, others ruled out the suggestion due to Amy’s pious nature. Through the years, breast cancer has also been suggested. Yet, to this day there is no true explanation and there likely never will be. Regardless, scandal ensued and Robert’s enemies used it as a chance to stunt his political ambitions and his hopes of marrying Elizabeth. At the conclusion of his period of mourning, Robert pursued Elizabeth with complete abandon. Sabotaging all attempts by foreign suitors and limiting his own pursuits between 1561 and 1578. For 17 whole years Robert Dudley fought for the hand of his longtime friend and Queen, announcing that he “could not contemplate the queen’s marriage to anyone else… without great repugnance.”

In 1575, Robert or “Sweet Robin” as Elizabeth knew him, staged the most elaborate, expensive and longest party in Elizabeth’s honor at Kenilworth. This celebration went on for three weeks and reportedly cost £60,000. With emphasis placed on Robert’s dedication and willingness to sacrifice all of himself for his would-be brid. The wine, beer and gifts ran just as wildly as the masquerade. Robert had enlisted the help of Italian painter Federico Zuccaro for two portraits depicting both himself and Elizabeth. Within the portraits, the two were facing one another in a tradition usually held for married couples. Clearly he was laying it on thick in a last and final attempt that would not succeed. By 1578, Robert Dudley had married Elizabeth’s cousin Lettice Knollys in yet another scandal that had Lettice banned permanently from court. It had been suggested that the two had been involved for sometime and only married when Lettice became pregnant. Elizabeth was to never forgive her cousin for the happening and exhibited that infamous Tudor temper of hers. Though the marriage was to never be for one reason or another and the extent of their relationship may never be truly known to be anything more than just this, the two did truly seem to be soulmates. It is thought that Robert was the only suitor that Elizabeth truly ever entertained.


(Though those original portraits by Federico Zuccaro no longer exist, his drawings provide us with a glimpse of the type of symbolism employed. Notice the dog representing fidelity and ermine for purity.)

Their relationship was damaged but managed to mend following the crisis. It is thought that Elizabeth relied heavily on Robert during the proceedings of the execution of Mary Queen of Scots and for sometime after. A happening that no doubt shook the anointed Queen to her very core. Robert was of the essence once more in the coming of the Spanish Armada when he led Elizabeth’s horse during her famous speech at Tilbury. He stood beside her prepared to fight for her safety during the Armada and following her success during the celebrations. Yet, by the fall, her friend and sometimes-sweetheart was gone from this world. Dudley’s stepson Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, would attempt to fill the void. Maybe even for a moment he did. Yet, Elizabeth was mistaken to think the loyalty and good intention of stepfather laid in stepson. With the execution of Robert Devereux in 1601, Elizabeth would follow not long after with Robert Dudley no doubt in her heart and mind.

T.I.H.: The Great Fire of London.


(The areas of white show you the extent of the fire.)

Today in history, September 2, 1666, the Great Fire of London began. It is known as the most devastating fire in London history which destroyed some 13,000 houses, 87 churches and Old Saint Paul’s Cathedral. The country’s capital inhabited some 350,000 people at the time. In addition, homes were made of pitch-soaked timber with thatched roofs and tightly packed into small quarters. The tight confines and narrow, winding streets compounded with a dry summer made London a tinderbox waiting for a spark. That spark would come from an unlikely place.

A Baker’s shop in, aptly called, Pudding Lane would go up in flames in the early morning hours of the 2nd. Thomas Farrinor, ironically the King’s own baker, had gone to bed the night of the 1st quite convinced that he had entirely put out his oven. He was wrong. Lit embers took to the firewood besides the oven and his house was engulfed momentarily. While Farrinor escaped, his bakery assistant did not. All too quickly the fire was to claim its first victim but it was just getting started. The fire, which was aided with easterly winds, spread quickly. Warehouses filled with oil, whiskey, coal and all sorts of other flammable materials burnt with reckless abandon. It is around this time that fellow Londoners began to notice the ferocity and danger of the spreading blaze and abandoned their efforts at extinguishing it. Many would run home to save their families and valuables. What could not be carried was buried.



Interestingly enough, it seems evident that fires must have been quite common in central London. Samuel Pepys recorded in his diary for that day that he had been told twice of the fire and thought little of it upon both times he reviewed it. The second time he writes “About seven rose again to dress myself, and there looked out at the window, and saw the fire not so much as it was and further off” and so he returned to the plans of his day. It wasn’t until the fire had committed to its warpath did he seem to truly find interest in its severity. Pepys diary is perhaps the best firsthand account of the Great Fire which we have today though it is with curiosity that one can consider some odd intrigues. If these fires were so commonplace that a man thought it best not to get out of bed, this fire must have truly been a wonder of the day. Either that or it began at exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.

“The churches, houses, and all on fire and flaming at once, and a horrid noise the flames made, and the cracking of houses at their ruin.” – Samuel Pepys.

It carried down Fish Hill and down to the Thames which acted as a natural buffer. It spread quickly leaving 436 acres destroyed in what must have been days of complete and utter hell. To put the size of the fire in perspective, London at the time was only 677 acres. That means that over 60 percent of the city was either on fire, had been on fire or was to be on fire. But how was a fire of such magnitude meant to be contained much less put out? Well, not easily as one can imagine. There were no fire companies and fire laws were just as medieval as the city they were attempting to save. A common method of this time was demolition. Demolition teams equipped with firehooks or gunpowder would create empty spaces in rows of houses and shops that could burn themselves out without fear of spreading. However, time had been wasted by the indecisive leadership of Thomas Bloodworth, the Lord Mayor of London. Whether he was used as a scapegoat or was a true culprit, we’ll leave that for history to examine. What we do know factually is that Bloodworth refused to allow the demolition of key buildings that could have controlled the fire. In fear of liability, he was later ordered to by the orders of the King himself.



King Charles II answered the call of devastation with ‘with alacrity and vigour” and arrived at the heart of the city that afternoon. A campaign was organized by the privy council and soldiers/volunteers were dispatched to various points to battle the blaze. Primitive fire engines were used which were hardly functional considering the scale of the fire. At its greatest point of escalation, the Tower of London had even been threatened. It wasn’t until winds finally begun to die down that the demolition of houses and shops or firebreaks, had finally become efficient ways of containing the fire. Ultimately, the fire continued to smolder for months but it had done its damage. By result, London as the world knew it was smoke and ash. Now it was time to rebuild and wrestle with the thousands of homeless, the threat of rebellion and become the London we know all know it to be. Ironically enough, the fire did have some benefits. The bubonic plague had returned with a vengeance the year before in 1665. Though the chronicled number is around 69,000, the true number is suggested to be around 100,000. The same heat that made conditions perfect for the fire also helped the plague to spread. Yet, with the outbreak of the fire, it killed many of the rats and thus the fleas they carried. An odd silver lining perhaps but at a tremendous cost for poor Londontown.

“The hand of God, a great wind, and a very dry season” – The official inquiry into the Great Fire and its origins.