Lady Margaret Beaufort was the mother of Henry VII. She played a vital role in establishing the Tudor dynasty on the throne of England. In recent years, she has been much maligned in popular fiction.
I am joined by two authors and experts to discuss the real Margaret Beaufort. How accurate are the depictions we see in fiction? What were her real qualities? What is her legacy?
Nicola Tallis is the author of ‘Uncrowned Queen’, a recent full-length biography on Margaret. Buy Nicola’s wonderful book.
The portrait of Anne helped Henry make up his mind to marry her
Ever get that feeling that people are making fun of your appearance behind your back? If so, spare a thought for poor Anne of Cleves. She’s been trying to shake off that feeling for almost 500 years.
Anne and Henry VIII’s non-love story is well known to most Royal History Geeks. After the death of his beloved Jane Seymour, Henry allowed his ministers to open international negotiations for a new bride. Each minister had their own political and religious agenda. Cromwell eventually triumphed by convincing Henry of the virtues of an alliance with the almost-protestant province of Cleves. The beauty of its princess was a major draw. Hans Holbein, the great artist of the Tudor court, was dispatched to Cleves to paint Anne’s portrait. The result did not disappoint. Henry fell instantly in love.
But his delusions were quickly shattered.
Upon meeting his new bride, Henry expressed dismay. “I like her not,” he is supposed to have proclaimed. While it was too late to postpone the nuptials, he quickly informed his doctor that the union remained unconsummated. He complained that Anne had been unable to arouse him and that her body was undesirable. Even her personal hygiene, Henry suggested, left much to be desired. He never actually used the term ‘Flanders mare’ to describe her. But it’s easy to see why it stuck.
Anne’s side of the story remains a mystery. It’s possible that she was no great beauty. Most people aren’t. But there are several reasons to think that she was far from ugly. Here’s just a few of them.
When Henry met her, he kissed her
Upon arriving in England, Anne believed she had several days to prepare herself for meeting the King. But an infatuated Henry couldn’t wait. Accompanied by five of his councillors, he went to Anne disguised as a messenger, bearing a gift from the King.
The cultivated Katherine of Aragon or the sophisticated Anne Boleyn would have recognised straight away that this was a courtly game. The messenger was clearly her knight in disguise and her heart should recognise him at once. Sadly, no one had prepared Anne of Cleves for the courtly culture of England. When the ‘messenger’ grabbed and kissed her, she was reportedly ‘abashed’. She proceeded to treat him as a servant and largely ignored him.
This is the moment it all went wrong for Henry and Anne. She had demonstrated her cultural ignorance. He had been publicly humiliated. What is less often remarked upon, is Henry’s initial reaction to Anne. He had fallen in love with her portrait and was said to be disappointed with the real thing. Yet, his first action upon meeting her was to grab her and kiss her. Was he just swept up in the moment? Or, when he first set eyes on the Princess, did he conclude that she was eminently grabbable and kissable?
2. Anne seemed to think she was more attractive than Katherine Parr
While Anne was surely happy to escape certain aspects of her marriage, there are signs that she felt slighted when Henry did not take her back after the fall of Katheryn Howard. When it was announced that the King was to marry Lady Latimer (better known to us as ‘Katherine Parr’) Anne was heard to remark that she was a good deal more attractive than the Queen to be.
Obviously, the fact Anne thought positively about her appearance doesn’t mean that others agreed. We can all delude ourselves. But it should be noted that the imperial ambassador Chapuys, who reported these remarks, was quite capable of adding his own opinions to his observations. If he had felt that Anne was deluded, he might well have mentioned it.
Other depictions of Anne suggest the Holbein portrait was flattering, but not outlandishly so
3. Holbein was never punished for the portrait of Anne
As we know, Henry fell in love with a portrait. Given his reaction to Anne once they met, it is often assumed the painting must have been deliberately distorted. Yet, Hans Holbein, the artist behind the miniature that captivated Henry’s heart, remained in favour. He stayed on the King’s payroll and went on to paint another portrait of Henry.
Holbein may have embellished a little. That was to be expected. Alison Weir has also noted that, when compared to some of Anne’s other portraits, it’s clear that Holbein chose to paint Anne at her most flattering angle. But there’s a difference between a flattering picture and a fake one.
*
Ultimately Henry and Anne lacked one crucial ingredient: chemistry. That concept which is so hard to define yet so essential for the blossoming of romance. Though he would never have used the word, it was an important concept to the King. He had built up such an impression of Anne in his head. He had fallen in love with a woman that didn’t exist. She had failed her first courtly challenge. They were doomed from the start.
In later years, a friendship emerged. They ate together and talked. Henry seems to have enjoyed her company. She may have felt the same. Perhaps if the circumstances had been different and Henry had been allowed to fall for her freely as he had all the other loves of his life, history would have taken a different turn.
The fate of the princes in the tower remains a mystery 500 years later
Shortly after becoming King in 1483, the 12-year-old Edward V was lodged in the Tower of London to await his coronation. His uncle and Lord Protector, the Duke of Gloucester soon arranged for the young King’s brother, Richard, Duke of York, to join them.
But the day of the coronation never came. Instead, it was announced that the boys were illegitimate – the result of a bigamous marriage – and that their Uncle would reluctantly reign as Richard III. In the weeks that followed the boys were seen playing in the grounds or looking out of windows. But such sightings soon stopped. By the end of the year, they were widely presumed to be dead.
To the minds of many historians, the circumstantial evidence weighs heavily toward Richard’s guilt. He had the motive, means and opportunity. The Princes were in his custody. But if Richard is the most likely candidate, he is hardly the only one. A host of others have been accused of the crime over the past five centuries. Some who have studied the subject, don’t believe the boys died at all. And there is no hard evidence that they did.
No one wants to believe that an uncle could order the death of his nephews. Any alternative theories are going to be attractive. But when we start to scrutinise those on offer, each can, sadly, be found wanting.
Let’s take a quick look at them.
Could the Princes’ mother have cut a deal with Richard III?
1. The Princes in the Tower were never killed
I would love this to be true. Even 500 years later, the thought of what might have happened to those boys is chilling. Could they have escaped a brutal end? Might they have exchanged sovereignty for survival?
Sadly, I think it’s unlikely. The theories range from Richard stashing the Princes somewhere else to a secret deal between Elizabeth Wydeville and her brother-in-law. Secret identities and alternative careers as construction workers in Colchester are all offered as possibilities.
Others still, argue that someone sympathetic to the Princes managed to smuggle one or both from the Tower to safety. Many would identify the imposter Perkin Warbeck as Richard, Duke of York, believing that the younger boy had somehow escaped his uncle’s custody. Could the man sent to do the deed have taken mercy on him?
The belief that Richard had killed the Princes cost him dear. Some could accept him as King but never tolerate child murder. An unlikely coalition formed against him. The remnants of Lancaster and supporters of his late brother, united against Richard’s reign. Ultimately, they would take his life and his crown at Bosworth Field. Had Richard been able to produce the Princes, this shaky alliance would have fractured immediately.
So why didn’t he? That the boys were dead, and could not therefore be produced, is not the only explanation. But it is, sadly, the most likely one.
One day, we may be allowed to DNA test the bones that were discovered in the Tower in 1674. Should they be identified as those of the Princes, we will at least be sure that they died in the tower in the 1480s.
At the moment, we can’t draw too many conclusions from what we know of the skeletons. But I will say this: the discovery of two skeletons, of children roughly the same age as the Princes in 1483, discovered exactly where Thomas More claimed they were buried, hardly detracts from the argument that the boys met their end that year.
2. The Duke of Buckingham did the deed to frame Richard, or to further his own claim to the throne
To my mind, this is the best alternative theory. It’s certainly peculiar that Buckingham had been Richard’s staunchest supporter until he – somewhat suddenly – decided to spearhead a rebellion. It may have been him that spread the rumours that the Princes were dead. But could he have killed them?
Some say that given his closeness to Richard, he was the only person that could have gained access. I have some sympathy with that. But even in this scenario, the King would have found out pretty sharpish. Surely when he finally got his hands on the Duke, he would have publicly accused him. It would have been the perfect solution for Richard. His rivals would have been eliminated. He would have been free from blame. He would emerge as both legitimate King and grieving Uncle.
3. Seeing an opportunity for her son, Margaret Beaufort had the Princes done away with in 1483
Many on social media hold Lady Margaret Beaufort responsible for the Prince’s murder
Fundamentally, however much the Countess of Richmond was ambitious for her son, she wouldn’t have had access to the Princes in the Tower. They were guarded by Richard’s men and she had nothing to bribe them with which was more attractive than the rewards offered by service to the King.
4. Henry VII, after his victory at Bosworth, had the Princes murdered
The first Tudor King has regularly been named as an alternative suspect. But there are problems with this. Firstly – and I refer readers to arguments earlier in the article – it relies on the Princes being alive until 1485, something which as I have demonstrated, seems unlikely.
And what about Henry’s reaction to the pretender Perkin Warbeck? Was he convinced that this man wasn’t truly Richard, Duke of York? Some historians believe there was doubt in his mind. A murderer would know the boys were dead. Henry may not have enjoyed that confidence.
5. The boys died of natural causes
Edward V was being visited by a physician while in the Tower (before Richard removed his attendants). Forensic investigations of the skeletons have shown some problems with the elder child’s jaw. I’ve never known anyone die of jaw ache, although it could have been a symptom of something more serious.
But even if the elder boy had died, isn’t it a bit too convenient to think the younger had followed suit? Had this gift been handed to Richard, surely he would have made use of it.
*
In a court of law, it would be unfair to convict someone by process of elimination. The fact that these scenarios are unlikely to have played out, doesn’t make Richard guilty.
DNA testing of the bones may be able to confirm in the boys died in the tower. But even that won’t tell us who killed them. The truth is, we will never know for sure.
But as we begin to scrutinise all the alternative theories, we start to see their limits. While recognising that we cannot be 100% certain, the finger of suspicion inevitable points again toward the man who took both Prince’s into custody, placed them in a high-security prison and, despite damaging rumours of their murder, never produced the boys to counter them.
Let’s be honest: lockdown sucks! But it does mean there’s more time for reading. Over the next couple of weeks, I will review 10 books which all Royal History Geeks should add to their reading list
I have no memory of the famous assassination of Louis ‘Dickie’ Mountbatten. It took place three years before my birth and was never something mentioned at school. Yet, growing up in a coastal city with strong naval presence, his name was one I knew well. The pub at the end of my road was even named after him.
Perhaps it was for these reasons that I decided, aged about 15, that he was my favourite minor royal of the 20th Century. Yes, you’re right. I was a super-cool teenager.
Discovering my interest, some friends of my parents procured me a book about the late Earl when they passed a charity shop. It was a kind gesture. But the book was second hand and dusty with yellow peeling pages. More worryingly the contents were dry and – most unwelcoming to a teenager – almost entirely reverential.
Such a book could simply never do justice to the scandalous Earl Mountbatten of Burma. It certainly failed to capture the spirit of Edwina, his equally sensational Countess. And, with thanks to a dial up modem and the early days of the internet, I soon found out just how much my dusty manuscript had been missing.
‘The Mountbattens’ by Andrew Lownie is an altogether more vibrant, more honest and more satisfying account. A collective biography of the couple, it’s 388 pages explore their personal and public adventures in glorious – and occasionally graphic – detail.
The book guides us through the lives of both protagonists in parallel up until the point they meet and marry. For many Royal History Geeks, the early adventures of Dickie – or His Serene Highness Prince Louis of Battenburg, as he was known for the first 17 years of his life – will more immediately pique interest. It was he that had the royal connections and it was he that was closer to the famous events of that era that many of us will recognise.
As the narrative progresses however, Edwina and her story more than hold their own. Not one to take a back seat, the wealthy heiress never risks becoming a supporting character. The pages that explore her relationship with Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s first prime minister, are among the most tantalising in the book.
The Mountbattens were at the centre of major events ranging from world wars to royal weddings. But their role in delivering the independence of India will be the one that history remembers. And their actions in this role, the ones that historians will judge. Current analysis tends to be kind to the couple. The author seems to agree.
Despite the high drama of their combined career, the book’s most intriguing pages are those that touch on the personal. I had always known that the Mountbatten’s ‘enjoyed’ an open marriage. But I’d failed to realise was that this was initially to accommodate Edwina’s desires and interests. Dickie, Lownie tell us, was hurt by his wife’s distance and adultery. It would, however, be an arrangement that the Earl would more than grow in to.
Whatever the ups and downs of their relationship, their parting was a painful one. Lownie describes Edwina’s quiet death and Dickie’s grief with perfect poignance. In contracts, Dickie’s assassination in 1979 is detailed with the drama it deserves.
The rumoured bisexuality of Louis Mountbatten is explored at length. The author seems convinced that evidence for homosexual behaviour exists and his presentation of said evidence is certainly compelling. While this is hardly likely to ruffle many feathers with the modern reader, darker accusations of under-age sexual encounters exist. The author does not dismiss them.
Throughout the book, the slow transformation of Prince Louis of Battenburg and Miss Edwina Ashley to the Earl and Countless Mountbatten of Burma is told with a pacey, compelling tone and accessible language. It is perfectly suited to those who already know much about the controversial couple and to Royal History Geeks that have never come across them before.
The Mountbattens are still figures of living memories. It is probably too early to measure their impact and assess their legacy. But as this biography shows, their marriage, lives and career contain all the necessary ingredients to establish the couple as figures of interest for future generations. Let’s hope that as tomorrow’s historians take up this mantle, they do so with the acute observations, careful analysis and skilful articulation of this biography.
The Mountbattens: Their Lives & Loves by Andrew Lownie is available from Amazon.
However, please consider supporting your local book seller. If you are based in the UK, search for your local book seller at the Book Seller Associations website.
People often claim that Richard’s reputation was distorted by his Tudor successors. But by examining the source material from Richard’s own time, we can be relatively clear on the events of 1483. We can make a reasonable assessment as to what happened to the Princes in the Tower.
In this video I make a couple of slip ups. I say ‘Richard II’ when I mean ‘Richard III.’ I refer to a source as the third ‘edition’ of the Croyland Chronicle rather than the third ‘continuation.’ Oh dear. It’s a good thing I’m pretty.
Let’s be honest: lockdown sucks! But it does mean there’s more time for reading. Over the next couple of weeks, I will review 10 books which all Royal History Geeks should add to their reading list.
That’s about the sum of Tudor history I picked up at school. Against the backdrop of a blackboard, a cold classroom and an uninspired teacher, the history of England seemed about as exciting as a wet weekend in Brighton.
But years later I would learn the truth. That I was lucky enough to inhabit an island brimming with a history of drama that even fiction writers would be unable to fabricate. A big part of that realisation begun when, before a long train journey, I purchased a copy of the intrepid ‘Six Wives’ by David Starkey.
Starkey – as many will know – has an academic background. The book is dense with research. But there is not a dry paragraph in this 795-page epic. I have read three collective biographies of the six Tudor Queens. Starkey’s is the most readable. Combining wit and a touch of sass with well-formed sentences and colourful language, the book is as gripping as a thriller.
The early pages follow Katherine of Aragon as she sets sail for a new life in England and marriage to Arthur, Prince of Wales. It takes us through her destitute widowhood and her ultimate triumph upon marriage to the 18-year-old Henry VIII. We explores her active role in government and regency of England before her marriage is doomed by a failure to produce a son, a prickling of the King’s conscience and the rise of Anne Boleyn.
The King’s ‘great matter’ (the divorce of Katherine and marriage to Anne) dominates the next section of the book. Henry’s second Queen emerges as a wily and aggressive manipulator. But Starkey is not without sympathy. He is clear that she is not guilty of the crimes she loses her head for. And, unlike some historians, he is not prepared to let Henry off the hook.
Jane Seymour emerges. Jane Seymour gives birth. Jane Seymour dies. Anne of Cleves and Katherine Howard both give the reader an interesting interlude. The book concludes with Katherine Parr, the canny reformer who published books, kept her head and briefly ruled England.
Starkey has shown great wisdom in the tome’s structure. Implicitly he accepts that each Queen is not equal in significance. Jane Seymour’s legacy is essentially confined to one act of childbirth. Anne of Cleves and Katherine Howard are marginal in their impact. The intellectual Starkey holds a torch for blue stocking Katherine Parr. But it is Katherine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn who shaped the character of Henry, his actions as king and the fate of the nation. Together they claim 73% of the book’s content.
Starkey is surely right to devote the bulk of the book to the first two Queen’s. But as a result, the rest of the reigns feel a little like a flash in the pan. But then, this is probably how they felt to contemporaries.
Because of the strong narrative, colourful language and modern colloquialisms, Starkey’s work has attracted criticism from other academics. No doubt some of it is valid – though we must be mindful of the presence of the green-eyed monster. But it is through writing in this accessible and compelling manner that Starkey and others have rescued the stories of Henry’s wives from the doldrums of the classroom. They have inspired documentaries, historical fiction and other popular biographies.
These women played their part in shaping our history. Thanks to books like ‘Six Wives’, a popular appreciation of their significance continues to grow.
Six Wives, the Queens of Henry VIII, is available from Amazon.
However, please consider supporting your local book seller. If you are based in the UK, search for your local book seller at the Book Seller Associations website.
Let’s be honest: lockdown sucks! But it does mean there’s more time for reading. Over the next couple of weeks, I will review 10 books which all Royal History Geeks should add to their reading list.
Ten years ago, most people had never heard the name Margaret Beaufort. The mother of the Tudors may have been significant to history, but she was lacking a popular profile.
How times have changed.
Thanks to an explosion of interest in the latter half of the 15th century, fuelled in part by a wealth of historical fiction, Margaret has shot to fame. Or perhaps ‘infamy’.
For whatever reason, script writers and novelists have chosen to portray Margaret as a sinister character. And for many people, fiction has been taken as fact.
It’s time for the truth to be told. And in ‘the Uncrowned Queen’ that’s exactly what Nicola Tallis sets out to do.
The beginning of the book details the history of the Beaufort family and sets Margaret’s birth in the context of her royal descent from Edward III. So often the Beauforts are simply a footnote in the Tudor origin story. Readers will appreciate the attention that Tallis gives them.
As Margaret is born, readers quickly get a sense of how the tumultuous turns of fortune’s wheel will dominate her life. By the time she is a year old, her father is dead. She is one of England’s richest heiresses. But she is also without a protector.
By the age of 13, Margaret is both a widow and a teenage mother. She marries twice more before playing her famous role in the downfall of Richard III. Tallis depicts Margaret as a woman who was a natural risk taker but became more cautious following a miscalculation in 1469. But as Richard’s regime crumbled, she sensed her opportunity. Once again, she through caution to the wind.
Upon her son’s ascension, Margaret becomes known as ‘My lady, the King’s mother.’ And from this point on, records become plentiful. Tallis uses the vast sources to great effect, painting a glorious picture of Margaret’s later year. Yes, she was pious and invested in learning. But as her household accounts reveal, she also liked the finer things in life.
Some have criticised the book for being the ‘account that Margaret would have wanted written.’ One that emphasises Margaret’s qualities but fails to explore some of her less pleasant characteristics. But all this really means is that the author has spent little time addressing the accusations that popular fiction has thrown Margaret’s way. And why should she? They aren’t based on historical fact.
The hardback book is beautifully produced. Margaret would have been proud to find her portrait positioned above the Beaufort portcullis and inbetween two mythical Yales from the Beaufort crest. The typeface throughout the biography is both pretty and easy to read. The book contains two sections of stunning imagery.
To many Royal History Geeks, the outline of Margaret’s life will be well known. What I particularly like about this book is the colour it adds to the picture. Descriptions of the houses and castles in which Margaret dwelled helps us picture her in situ. Analysis of her household accounts give a glimpse into her character.
Misunderstandings around the character of Margaret Beaufort are set to continue. Such is the power of fiction and social media certainly doesn’t help. But for people really wanting to delve into the history of the woman who gave birth to the Tudor dynasty, it’s reassuring to know that ‘the truth is out there.’ Much of it can be found in this excellent biography.
Uncrowned Queen, the Fateful Life of Margaret Beaufort, Tudor Matriarch, is available from Amazon.
However, please consider supporting your local book seller. If you are based in the UK, search for your local book seller at the Book Seller Associations website.
Let’s be honest: lockdown sucks! But it does mean there’s more time for reading. Over the next couple of weeks, I will review 10 books which all Royal History Geeks should add to their reading list.
Perhaps it’s the work of fiction writers. Maybe it’s the discovery of Richard III’s remains. But whatever the reason, the latter half of the 15th century has never attracted so much popular attention. If only we had a wealth of source material to satisfy the curiosity.
And what we do have – records of Parliament, patent rolls and a chronicle or two – focus on the exploits of men. That’s typical of medieval history. But it’s only half the story.
The long-running Wars of the Roses were a series of conflicts which saw women step outside their usual sphere of influence. It was Queen Margaret of Anjou – and not her husband Henry VI – that led the Lancastrian fight back against York in 1460. It was the plotting of Margaret Beaufort and Elizabeth Woodville that bought Richard III’s regime crashing down. It was Margaret of York, not either of her brothers, who came close to destroying Henry Tudor.
It would be tragic if those stories were lost to us. Thanks to the brilliant ‘Blood Sisters’ by the talented Sarah Gristwood, such a travesty is avoided.
The brilliant book is a collective biography of seven women who were at the centre of events in the latter 1400s. It records the high-profile exploits of the heroines already mentioned. But it also shows how women constituted a hidden but powerful network of influence which played a part in shaping politics. Cecily Neville, Anne Neville and Elizabeth of York would each played a crucial role in shaping our history. Even if they had to do it through sons, fathers, brothers and husbands.
The book is underpinned by an ocean of research. Yet every chapter is lively and accessible. Gristwood began her career as a journalist. It’s clear that writing remains one of her major gifts. Despite its length and density, it’s easy to read the book in a few sittings. Helpfully, given the number of heroines called ‘Margaret’, Gristwood uses culturally appropriate names to help the reader distinguish between them.
Popular historical fiction has partially distorted public understanding of this era. The book is not written as a response to the beautifully produced but controversial ‘White Queen’ series of 2013. It was published before the series aired. But because it covers a similar range of characters it is an essential tool for anyone wanting to separate the fact from fiction.
There is almost nothing I would change about this work. It is stunning and studious. But if I were being picky, I would eliminate Anne Neville from its pages. I have yet to be convinced that her contribution to history was particularly meaningful. In my view she should not benefit from the same attention as the remaining six heroines. But on balance, this is not a significant complaint. Afterall, to the true Royal History Geek, there’s no such thing as too much history.
In recent years, more attention has been given to the role women played in medieval history. Fiction in particular has tended to suggest that they were the prime instigators of social shifts and political upsets. As a feminist this appeals to me. As a historian I’m more cautious.
But in this researched and readable account, Gristwood demonstrates beyond doubt that this was a time when women broke the mould. They stepped outside expectations and rightly deserve to be called the authors of our history.
For any fan of the Wars of the Roses era, this book won’t just make an enjoyable addition to the reading list. It will shed light on a crucial dynamic to the conflicts that we are unlikely to come across in other accounts of the period.
Blood Sisters: The Women Behind the Wars of the Roses, is available from Amazon.
However, please consider supporting your local book seller. If you are based in the UK, search for your local book seller at the Book Seller Associations website.
Could York’s proudest son have really been the child of a French archer?
Edward IV faced rumours in his own time that he was not a legitimate Plantagenet. More recently, historians have raised questions around the circumstances of his conception and birth.
In this video, I outline why I do not believe claims of Edward’s illegitimacy bear scrutiny.
I am indebted to a blog post by Trish Williams on the History Files. This post did not fundamentally change my view and I was already aware of the most of the information in contains. However, I had not previously appreciated that the Earls of Oxford and Ormonde/Wiltshire had been in France with the Yorks in 1441. This information is significant and a game changer in discrediting the rumours that surfaced in 1469.
The young Margaret of Somerset became the greatest heiresses of her era; but her phenomenal wealth made her a pawn to politics.
I’m hardly the first Royal History Geek to be fascinated by
Margaret Beaufort. The matriarch’s
struggles, hardships and triumphs are the things that epics are made of.
A widowed mother at 13.
A fifth column in the final days of the Yorkist regime. Against all the odds, her valiant efforts put
her descendants on the throne. They’ve
remained there ever since.
But even before the Wars of the Roses broke out, Margaret
was a figure of note to contemporaries. Thanks
to the early tragedy of her father’s death, the young Margaret inherited the
bulk of the Beaufort fortune.
But just how wealthy was the young Margaret of Somerset? Did her wealth place her among the upper
reaches of England’s nobility? Had she
been a man, would her fortune have made her a major military player in the
dynastic wars that dominated her life?
As so often with Margaret Beaufort questions, we must turn to the academic study by Michael K Jones and Malcolm G Underwood. In these pages, the young heiresses’ lands are explored in detail. Thanks largely to the fortune of her late grandmother, who was co-heiress to the earldom of Kent, by 1450 it was clear that Margaret wielded a fortune of approximately £1000 a year.
On its own, this doesn’t tell us much. Such a figure would be no great income
today. How far did a grand go in the
1450s?
WATCH: my video discussing the wealth of Margaret Beaufort
To get some sense of an answer we must wind the clock back
to seven years before Margaret’s birth.
Ahead of a new tax to fund the war with France, all landowners were
assessed and their annual income calculated.
The findings have come down to us.
If Margaret were alive in 1436 and in possession of her fortune, she would have ranked among the top 20 landowners. Given that there were about 60 titled families at any one time, this placed Margaret in the upper-third of noble society. Those with lands to the value of £25 a year were deemed wealthy enough to tax. Margaret’s income was 40 times that sum.
However, we need to be very, very careful about this. Seven years is a long time. Income from land was subject to the
stewardship of the landlord and, at least to some extent, market forces.
Furthermore, it’s clear from other evidence that the rich
then – like the rich today – had gone to some length to disguise the extent of
their wealth.
As an indication however, it remains illuminating. Chris Given-Wilson, the great late-medieval
historian, estimates that an earl would typically enjoy £1000-1500 a year. This is clearly the category that Margaret
was in. Nonetheless, money was not always
so logically linked to title. Some earls
– such as Devon, Westmoreland and Suffolk – seemed to have less. Some could claim considerably more. There were also a handful of wealthy barons
who enjoyed fortunes greater than some earls.
Margaret, however, did not have an income worthy of a major
power broker. If we take numbers from
the 1436 list, add together the various titles and estates that were
consolidated in the late 1430s and 1440s, we get a sense as to who the major
players were at the beginning of the Wars of the Roses.
The Duke of Buckingham enjoyed almost £3000 a year, the Duke
of York £3500 and the mighty Earl of Warwick £4,400. As stated earlier, these figures should be
taken as conservative. Studies on the
Duke of Buckingham for example, suggest his income was double this sum – at
least in some years.
At the beginning of the Wars of the Roses, the Earl of Warwick was probably the richest noble in the land
Margaret’s wealth was both extraordinary and
unremarkable. What made it so
significant was her sex. It was unusual
– thought not unique, even in her own time – for a woman to be in sole
possession of such a staggering sum. And
that staggering sum, of course, was up for grabs by a future husband.
Under the common law of primogeniture, women would only
inherit a parent’s fortune if they were devoid of a brother. The eldest son would typically inherit the
lot. But when there was more than one
daughter (and no son) the girls had to share it out equally.
Great landowners hated the idea of daughters
inheriting. This was not out of pure
misogyny. They loathed the thought of
their estates being divvied up among daughters and used to bolster the
ambitions of the lesser Lords their girls would marry. As a result, many deployed legal devises – such
as entails – to block female inheritance.
For whatever reason, the Beauforts never deployed such a
devise. As her father’s sole surviving
legitimate child, Margaret’s status as a major heiress was established within
the first two years of her life.
Money was important to Margaret. When her son seized the throne, she would be
granted plenty more of it. But this
early fortune would lead to trauma. Before
she was seven years old, she was abandoned to the machinations of the medieval
marriage market. Her money, along with
her trickle of royal blood, made her a pawn of politics from her earliest
years.
Thank goodness that the matriarch of the Tudors was a born
survivor.
