Richard III and the Princes in the Tower

It is one of the great mysteries of English history. Did Richard III, the last of the Plantagenets, really murder the Princes in the Tower as his Tudor successors, including their greatest propagandist, William Shakespeare, always alleged? Was he the cold and calculated killer that his enemies depicted him as, who even went as far as to suggest that he poisoned his wife and brother too? This ruthless depiction of Richard Plantagenet suggested that he was thirsty for power and would eliminate any obstacles in his way. Yet prior to the princes' disappearance, he was seen as a religiously devout man, loyal to his kingdom and his people. So why was he given the blame? In a game of political intrigue, with each house (Lancaster, York and Tudor) fighting against each other, the loser of a battle would be slandered in history – as the winners would record their own versions of historical events.
There are several theories that speculate to the disappearance of the princes, including strangulation, poisoning and even her being smuggled away. With so many contradictions how can we fully determine who, if in fact anyone, killed the princes? But we know one thing for certain, with Tudor’s triumph at The Battle of Bosworth in 1485 he commissioned several writers (including Thomas More) to pen memoirs of Richard III and his definitive murder of the princes. Yet he did not know for certain if they were dead (or so he claimed), when a rebellion issued by the pretender Perkin Warbeck (1490) argued he was Richard of Shrewsbury, Duke of York. With the emergence of Perkin, some began to question the Tudor’s assertion that Richard III his predecessor killed the princes.
New theories began to develop suggesting that whilst Edward had been killed in the tower, his younger brother Richard had been smuggled to Flanders. Instead another boy was put in his place, so that one day Elizabeth Woodville’s son Richard could claim his stolen throne. With this knowledge, Perkin's claimant to the throne was extremely regarded. However upon duress, he allegedly confessed that he was born to a man called John Osbeck and Katherine de Faro of Flemish descent. Which brings us back to our initial argument; did Richard III kill the princes? If Henry VII momentarily believed Perkin Warbeck’s succession to the English throne, then surely he had no hand in their death. This points to only one other predominant suspect -Richard III.
The story of the princes' demise began after the death of Edward IV of England on the 9 April 1483. At the time Edward's son, the new King Edward V, was at Ludlow, and the dead king's brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, was at Middleham in Yorkshire. It is reported that he then went to York Minster to publicly "pledge his loyalty to his new king". The Croyland Chronicle states that, before his death, Edward IV designated his brother Richard as Lord Protector although there is no documentation of the King's actual wishes.  With this wish, Richard should have protected his nephews as future rulers of England; yet he claimed the throne for himself. Both princes were subsequently declared illegitimate by Parliament and this was confirmed in 1484 by an Act of Parliament known as Titulus Regius. The act stated that Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville's marriage was invalid because of Edward's pre-contract of marriage with Lady Eleanor Butler. The Duke of Gloucester was crowned King Richard III of England on 3 July.
The declaration of the boys' illegitimacy has been described by Rosemary Horrox as an ex post facto justification for Richard's accession. By 1893, the princes had disappeared from the tower under Richard’s care and even today we do not know whether they were murdered or died of natural causes. Many historians believe they were murdered, some suggesting that the act may have happened towards the end of the summer, 1483. Maurice Keen argues that the rebellion against Richard in 1483 initially "aimed to rescue Edward V and his brother from the tower before it was too late", but that, when the Duke of Buckingham became involved, it shifted to support of Henry Tudor because "Buckingham almost certainly knew that the princes were dead.
Other than their disappearance, there is no direct evidence that the princes were murdered, and "no reliable, well-informed, independent or impartial sources" for the associated events. Nevertheless, following their disappearance, rumours quickly spread that they had been murdered. Only one contemporary narrative account of the boys' time in the tower exists: that of Dominic Mancini. Mancini's account was not discovered until 1934 and accounts written after the accession of Henry Tudor are often claimed to be biased or influenced by Tudor propaganda.
Four unidentified bodies have been found which are possibly connected with the events of this period: two at the Tower of London and two in Saint George's Chapel, Windsor Castle. Those found in the tower were buried within Westminster Abbey, although neither set of remains has been subjected to DNA analysis to positively identify them as the remains of the princes. Due to the wishes of the Church of England and the monarchy, a plea for testing to begin has been repealed. We may never know who killed the Princes in the Tower but it has become increasingly clear that Richard III might not be the culprit…

Nefertari, Goddess of the people

She was the Queen who received paramount rewards in the afterlife; a magnificent tomb (QV66 in the Valley of the Queens) to record her greatest achievements. The decorations in her tomb are considered the most beautiful of the entire necropolis and even today visitors are astounded by the sheer craftsmanship dedicated to her resting place. Images adorn the walls; she is the Goddess Isis, the chief wife of Ramesses II, a leader among men. Stories attest to her intelligence, her skills with the people and her excellent command of languages. In fact it was even reputed that she could speak seven languages including Hittite! Yet this much loved Queen was an enigma. What we know of her existence is plagued by inaccuracy and guesswork, creating a patchwork of misconceptions. We do not know when she was born, the exact date of her death or even facts about her personal life. With so few facts, how can historians create a true picture of this revered Queen? But here is what we do know.
In the 19^th Dynasty New Kingdom, Egyptian Queen Consorts often held many titles that attested to personality traits, status and heritage. For example Nefertari held the following titles: Great of Praises (wrt-hzwt),Sweet of Love (bnrt-mrwt)Lady of Grace (nbt-im3t),Great King’s Wife (hmt-niswt-wrt),Great King’s Wife, his beloved (hmt-niswt-wrt meryt.f),Lady of The Two Lands (nbt-t3wy),Lady of all Lands (hnwt-t3w-nbw),Wife of the Strong Bull (hmt-k3-nxt),God’s Wife (hmt-ntr)and Mistress of Upper and Lower Egypt (hnwt-Shm’w-mhw). As the King's Principal Wife she was also accorded special symbols and dress and allowed to wear the Royal Vulture Crown .  The Royal Vulture Crown consisted of a falcon feather headdress with its wings spreadround her head in the act of protection. This crown associated her with the goddess Nekhbet of Upper Egypt and emphasized the queen's maternal role. On top of the Royal Vulture headdress she wears a Shuti crown (meaning the Two Feathers) as a symbol of divine law, consisting of two, tall ostrich or falcon feathers combined with a sun disk. With her many titles and supreme authority, no one could dare question her identity. Yet at the start of her role as Queen Consort, she was allegedly condemned as a ‘Heretic Queen’, with some historians such as Michelle Moran attesting to her identity as Nefertiti’s niece, the wife of   Akhenaten ( the Heretic King). If this is true then we can only imagine the hardships she must have faced to overcome the divides of a stratified Egypt. Yet with cunning, intelligence and compassion she eroded the prejudices against her and was determined to replenish the old Gods of Egypt once again, so that her name could not be used in conjunction with her heretical family. One of the ways that she was reported to have done this is through her adoption of the title of "God's Wife of Amun" in addition to the title of "King's Principal Wife". The title directly associated her with the powerful god Amun. The title of "God's Wife of Amun" referred to the myth of the divine birth of the kings of Egypt, in which his mother was impregnated by the god Amun and reflected the powerful concept of 'Divine Queenship'. An important religious office, it proved her position as the highest ranking priestess in the cult of Amen at Thebes. The title was first held early in the 18^th dynasty by Queen Ahmose-Nefertari early in the 18^th dynasty, and traditionally was held by the mothers, wives and sisters of the reigning pharaoh. It might have been that Nefertari was given this title to consolidate the power of the Ramesside dynasty in Thebes, as this dynasty of kings came from the north and Ramesses II had built his new capital at Pi-Ramesses in the Delta. To all those whom had doubted her Queenship or birthright.To, it was clear that she meant business. In the face of adversity, she implemented measures to win over the people and gradually she began doing just that . Remarkably, despite her premature death, she was only the second Queen to be deified ( after Queen Tye) in Ancient Egypt. Deification was incredibly rare, as only Pharaoh’s were made Gods. What started as a possible political alliance grew into a truly amorous relationship. No other Queen adorns Egypt so vastly as she does. Through paintings, statues, writings and love letters from Ramesses, he truly adored his young Queen. He must have been devastated at her early demise and despite his harem of women and other chief wives (he lived until the age of 96); Nefertari was regarded above all others.

crimes of passion

 

Prologue

Dear Diary,

As I write this the tears scatter the page, a reminder of what I’ve lost. He was everything to me, my world, my life- everything revolved around him. That’s all gone now, ashes in my memory, a corpse destroyed by deceit. I remember his laugh the chorus of church bells angelic- like songbirds. But now that laugh is death, his eyes empty sockets, unseeing unknowing. His mouth a gaping hole, frozen in twisted agony. I smile maliciously, the flames of envy possessing me. He begs for me to stop, but I don’t. I continue ruthlessly, his face contorted in agony. Already the mark of death is upon him. But I don’t care, his pain, my happiness. Even though I know it is wrong I can’t help but continue. They say that two wrongs don’t make a right but how can I forgive him after what he did to me?

He turns to look at me’ why are you doing this’. I laugh and slowly caress his face ‘Oh you know’. I leave a lingering touch, jealousy scorching his skin- it sizzles. I back away and slowly expose one shoulder – smooth tanned skin. He glances fleetingly, a cloud of lust enveloping him. How could it be so easy? Did he honestly think I wanted him back? He smiles tentatively ‘that was just a joke to scare me right?’ I smile at him sweetly ‘of course, of course it is ‘I murmur .My insides are churning, the feeling of nausea envelops me. Lies. What has become of me? That sweet little girl now a devils advocate.

I walk, my hips swaying gazing at him intently. I take his hand and kiss it, red upon white, stained forever. He reaches out to hug me whispering sweet nothings ‘I knew you’d forgive me ‘I say nothing kissing him passionately- bloody desire. I pull the trigger.Bang.Hes dead, blood on my hands. It was me I killed him.

Guilty

Chapter 1

Scarlett

10 years later

Damp, the walls are closing in on me, threatening to consume me. I lay here, a broken shell of the past. The tears fall, the pity starts, my fist against the wall. My fingers crunch, a sickening sound. I feel nothing, detached from pain. My inmate groans, her sleep interrupted.’ For god’s sake can’t I ever sleep?’ I say nothing, there’s pity in her eyes too. She wonders why I don’t speak, why I do nothing but stare into space. She wonders why I’m here, what I did that was so bad. Every day she tries to get me to speak, to say something that will trigger it.But it doesn’t the trauma of that night paralyzes me forever. I hear her pleading with the doctors that visit,’ you have to help her’ she cries ‘this isn’t normal’. They shrug non committedly ‘it’s not our problem’ .She gasps in disgust ‘I thought that’s what doctors were for’ They look at her as though she is stupid ‘she’s a criminal- she doesn’t have feelings ‘She looks at me waiting for a reaction ‘that doesn’t mean that she should be treated like this, humans have rights’ But already they are gone and she is left humiliated.

 

‘Don’t you ever feel anything; do you have no feelings at all?’ I gaze at her blankly, feelings what are feelings? What is the point of them when your life has been destroyed? None exactly, I may have destroyed my past but I am not about to destroy my future. One wrong word, one wrong move and I’m dead, hanging like a dancer suspended in flight. I can feel the noose slipped round my neck, rough against smooth. The rope tightens, the crowd jeers. I gaze at the sea of faces before me, one last time before I live my last breath.

I can’t let that happen.

Chapter 2

Bluebell

From the moment I saw her I knew she was different, her eyes reflected loss and regret- glittering emeralds .But I didn’t know how different she would be, that her voice was a silent story, waiting to be told. She sits there deep in thought, serene like an angel, glistening golden hair fanned across her shoulders – the picture of innocence. She doesn’t belong here this angelic creature, a beauty so unearthly and eerie that it makes you catch your breath, long to be like her. But then that’s when I’m wrong, she’s here for a reason, a crime so terrible that no one dare speaks it. But I’m not afraid. This ‘angel’ killed in cold blood, a murder drenched in blood and torture. Crimes of passion they called it. They say that her boyfriend cheated on her, that she caught them and flipped. She locked him up for days on end, no food no water. The conditions were damp, an enclosed space, and mould patterned walls. Sometimes you would hear the scuttle of rats, sometimes you heard worse. If you believe the rumours, there were ghosts, forgotten spirits crying out to be heard. The endless screams an echo- there were voices ‘help me help me’ over and over again. Some people say she became possessed, that the ghosts were the cause of this. ‘Look at her’ they would cry ‘she is a victim not a murderer’. Then again appearances are deceiving.

What happens next is hazy; no one knows the exact events that took place that night. But we do know one thing. His corpse was found a week later, a mutilated body beyond recognition, criss crossed scars, battle wounds. She lay next to him, blood on her hands. They looked at her, her eyes brimming with tears ‘It was me, I killed him’. They took her away then, bound her hands, and marched her to the police car. That was 10 years ago, now all that is left is silence, she can’t speak, her body is immobile. She lays there paralysed by her crime. I scream at the doctors that visit pleading them to help her. They do nothing; say it’s not their problem. I thought that was what doctors were for- to help others. But I guess not these ones .They radiate a sense of evil, their eyes a pool of murky darkness. So if doctors can’t help her then who can?

Chapter 3

Mathew

I lay here, a rotting corpse, buried underground- a pair of decaying bones. I remember that day, the night I became dust, a broken soul-death. She was the one that killed me’ innocent little Scarlett, Poor Scarlett’ they’d cry ‘It’s not her fault’. So who’s fault is it then? Mine? Sure I’m dead why not blame me. Of course they do how could Scarlett had done anything, the ultimate role model, marred only by my death. But that stain is a speck, they don’t care what she’s done. Possessed by ghosts? Sure, why can’t they accept the fact that she is evil, a devil’s advocate, a flame of lies her crown. Pity surrounds her like a cloak of deceit, why do you feel sorry for her? Why I am not mourned and yet she is revered as a saint. What justice is that? But then I guess I am partly to blame for I was the one who betrayed her trust, who chose someone else over her. ‘I was young’ I cried, too immature to know the consequences of my actions; that it would be the thorn that destroyed me- forever. I never loved her; she was just a bit of fun, a rebound girl if you like. She knew this of course, accepted it laughingly, she agreed ‘What’s the point of serious relationships?’ ‘It all ends up in heartbreak anyway’. But I guess that was one of the many lies that she spun.

Now my identity is fragmented, remembered yet forgotten. My soul flitters restlessly, moving from place to place, I will seek my revenge…I promise.  

Sinner’s paradise

He sits on a throne of fire, eternal flames his paradise.  Slowly but surely he turns to face his audience, a sardonic smile on his lips ‘Welcome, Welcome to Sinners Paradise’. His audience claps, robotic in motion- as though their movements were engineered by puppets.  Suddenly his speech is fuelled by an underlying anger , a hunger to avenge the past, so many millions of years ago ‘ My people, my  followers , merry band of men , it is time to carry out my work and fight for what is rightfully ours’ . There is a great cheer at this statement and he continues his speech ‘we have been so cruelly condemned, apportioned blame for actions conceived by humans, why should we be scapegoated for the actions of others? Why should we lie meek and mild as we wait for our fate to be carried out? No we will fight, fight until judgement day if need be’. The roar becomes deafening, the flames crackle, and huge plumes of fire surround him like an emblem of evil light. He walks forward, his movements pronounced, flamboyant even as he reinstates his cause , persuasion on his lips ‘ so who will join me and make a name of themselves , be remembered forever for all eternity? It is a hard question to ask, a life-affirming decision that would divide them forever. If they say yes, there is no turning back, no embracing the light once more, a golden aura gone, a gauzy black their nature. They look at each other, some apprehensive, unsure of what is expected of them, whilst others are exultingly celebrating their chance to wreak revenge. Then there is me, an isolated spectre, neither black nor gold, a grey mist my guise. This was never my choice, you must understand, they forced me, betrayed me to these ‘barbarians’, I thought they were on my side… it seems as though I was wrong. They turn to look at me, to see what my choice is. That thought is laughable- what choice? I have no free will, a prisoner in another world. Before I give my answer you must understand why I am here. And so our story begins, a pen dipped in ink, a scribe to my senses.

Thomas

I am an angel, powerful and magnificent- one of God’s chosen, a golden being made of light and glory. My piercing blue eyes are all knowing, my senses heightened, my beauty breath-taking. You cannot see me, you do not know me but I know you… all of you. I am the angel erased from history, the shadow in a divide of darkness and light. I am the piteous whisper of wind, rustling through the trees, condemned to an eternity of wandering. It began with Luther, you all know who he is , the intrinsically immoral angel that refused to bow down to Adam and Eve. Pride was his downfall, he failed to understand God’s intentions ‘ we are superior beings’ he cried ‘ I refuse to kneel’. He continued his passionate admission further ‘ you expect us who are fashioned from gold and light to kneel before beings of mud?’ . A few nodded enthusiastically, Luther was almost equal to God, and his words had substance. Yet God refused to accept Luther’s words and condemned him for all eternity. Fast forward a hundred years and Luther had set up his own kingdom aptly named a sinners paradise. How ironic I thought, we who were once friends, now mortal enemies. But he had not forgotten me, oh he was clever that one, all part of his plan along. He came to me, caught me unawares sobbing uncontrollably. I was surprised – primarily because he had sought me out and secondly because he was on forbidden territory ‘what are you doing here’? I whispered frantically, relieved that there was no one to witness our reunion. ‘You have got to help me’ he whispered tear drops trickling down his now imperfect features. Fear clenched my heart, expecting the worst- a mass execution perhaps? He whispered his treacherous lies, pouring false emotions into his rehearsed speech. He knew, knew I who had only known goodness and light would fall into his deviated trap.

He led me to believe that he wanted to atone for his sins, he was always a dramatist that one. Even now as I remember these events from so long ago, feel the simmering rage threatening to boil over. And of course I helped him, innocent, vulnerable fool that I was, too naïve to sense the treachery behind those words. You can guess what came next, something too painful to even describe. He took my innocence, poisoned my senses and then I realized it was too late.

Haunted past

Epilogue

I could feel their stares behind my back, dripping with undisguised malice, their laughter poison ink dripping down my back. I clutch my fists; anger mingled with tears, salty, streaming down my face. I make my way forward, ignoring the cruel jibes; they are just words Louise, just words, nothing more nothing less. Yet I struggled to convince myself, one word a punch, a sentence a stab, a paragraph was murder. It held bittersweet memories for me, I knew where this had happened before, the past was all but a shallow barrier…Its true history does repeat itself.

I swing back to the present, and look frantically for a place to sit, the teacher looking expectantly at me, her eyebrow arched, as she waits to begin. ‘Well’ she asked her blazing green eyes boring into me, as though she was peering into my soul. I shivered and made no reply, finally settling into a seat near the front, smiling weakly at the teacher as she tsked at me. ‘Good. Now that we have that sorted let’s begin’. The lesson was blur, I zoned out as the teacher droned on about the importance of mathematics, the essentiality of numerical data in defining and shaping the world. So what I thought to myself, what is maths, when life is misery, when every waking moment is a death trap, so what?

We file out of the classroom, 1,2,3,  like soldiers, we are regimented , watched, spied upon, every wrong move- a step closer to death. But no one knows, nobody knows but the puppets that control us and … me. I know, I know because I am one of them, the chosen, the people above all others.  In my mind’s eye, I see you, I know what you do, what you have done, I’m watching you.

 

caged in

Caged in, trapped I can’t breathe. What is happening to me?  My world has turned cold, no  air, no warmth, the views of the horizons barred, blocked out by bars. All I have left is the remnants of the past, ghosts swirling, twirling, gliding round the room. They move like dancers, suspended in flight, revenge upon their lips.. . at least that’s what it seems to me. Maybe I’m just cynical, perhaps they are here to comfort me, remind me of the good times, they are after all just distant memories. But then they turn malicious, their eyes glow red, fast motion, they turn on me – I can’t escape I choke on their malice; it engulfs me like the shadows of death inevitable. Time goes slowly here, no tick tock to signal the end, only the endless stretch of time. The rats scuttle, their claws scraping the ground beneath me. I lay restless, the rough wood against my cheek, my hair lank, greasy, matted with filth. I sigh, if only, if only. But I have to endure it, survive the ordeals, before my chance comes. Don’t worry I will escape. It’s just a matter of when.

 

Chapter one

They rush round the ward, blue and white they mix together, muffled chatter buzzes round my ears. I hear my name, a snippet of a conversation, they laugh- it’s unnatural. Panic mode sets in, the alarm bells ring, my hands clutch together, rocking side to side, 1.2.3. Over and over. They come towards me , the colours merge, my vision a blur. The screams begin. They come faster now, the dreaded weapon is near.  They smile reassuringly ‘don’t worry’ they murmur soothingly, as though they were taming a wild horse. I want to cry the tears like rivers , salty sweet, pure release. Yet I cannot do so. I have to play dumb, a mute, succumbed to  their needs, their wants ,desires . So I lay still, silent. One nurse steps forward, jangles keys, gleaming gold, glistening in the light- they catch my eye . They turn the key, the lock clicks- the sound of judgement . I await my fate , it comes closer . I plunge into darkness lose all sense of smell, touch, sound, all the senses stripped from me. They joke now, mock me torment me, their smiling faces twisted, they feed upon my pain. Like vampires they suck the life out of me, the syringe moving deeper and deeper until….

‘Mummy mummy’ I run, my chubby little legs trailing behind me. She thrusts me into her arms, plants a perfumed, lipsticked kiss upon my cheek – a tattooed declaration of love. I hug her tightly and she holds me, as though she doesn’t want to let go. I didn’t understand then, the events that would follow that moment and change my life forever. That was the last time I saw my mum, she left me , abandoned me to the fate of wolves , hungry for my inheritance. I was rich but what does a little girl know of wealth? Nothing , but to naively trust each individual you encounter, to trust their sweet lies over bitter truths. I’m sorry you must forgive me, for this story has no end nor beginning, no chronological sequence of events , only a selection of memories that you must piece together to form a narrative.

It began when I was born ...

Lost in translation

I am the fine sand that mingles between your toes,

I am the only one, who knows how life goes,

I am the fire that erodes your weary soul,

I am the whisper of treachery infiltrating your goals,

I am a nobody but I am everyone too,

I am a golden eagle through and through,

I am the person with many faces,

I am the animal in many places,

I am the desert ,  no mercy,

I am the adventurer Percy,

I am the isolated, mottled library book,

I am the glistening tear , drowning-look,

I am a king and servant too,

I am the humility and the arrogance of –who?

I am shhh- lost in translation.