Wednesday 23 August 2023

Richard Duke of York Revealed

Surviving images of Richard duke of York are few in number and generic in their style. So it was with great delight that I recently came across a previously misidentified image of him in a manuscript produced for his family. (The manuscript also includes an image of his wife, Cecily, which had been identified in the 1940s but I had been unaware of it).

University of Chicago Library’s MS 224 probably originated at Wigmore Abbey, a house founded and patronised by generations of the duke of York’s Mortimer ancestors. The manuscript looks to have been put together in the fourteenth century and added to in later generations both as a record of Mortimer family history and as a means of justifying their claims to various estates and even to the throne of England. The manuscript includes a history of Wigmore Abbey, a variation of the Brut chronicle of British/English kings, royal genealogies and an annotated heraldic genealogy of the Mortimer family until the male line died out. Notes have been added to the effect that the heir of the last earl, Edmund Mortimer, was his sister’s son, Richard (duke of York). The entry for this last earl is unfinished and on the pages following (ff. 61v, 62) earlier text has been scraped away to begin an entry for Richard duke of York and his wife Cecily – their arms are sketched in and there is a list of Cecily’s siblings that must have been written before her brother-in-law, Humphrey Stafford, was made duke of Buckingham in 1444. But then, for reasons we can only guess, the project was abandoned.

© Wigmore Abbey chronicle and Brut chronicle. Manuscript, Codex Ms 224, Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library ff. 61 v & 62.

Some decades after the list of Cecily’s siblings was written, a new and much more accomplished artist started fresh pages for the house of York, this time with sketches of each family member above their shields (unfortunately the very tops of each head have been worn away). It is among these that the image of Richard duke of York is to be found. 

©Wigmore Abbey chronicle and Brut chronicle. Manuscript, Codex Ms 224, Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library f. 62 v.

Mary Giffin, whose articles on the manuscript are essential reading, thought that the first of these images (above) depicted a crowned king, holding a sceptre, and presumed it was Edward IV since he was using supporters occasionally used by King Edward (Richard II’s white hart and the lion of Mortimer). On the page opposite, Giffin convincingly identified Edward IV’s mother Cecily duchess of York. Yet Giffin also identified Edward IV in a second - much less complete - image, depicted on the page after Cecily (this shield supported by a lion guardant and the bull of Clarence). It is highly unlikely that Edward IV would have been depicted on that first page, facing his mother, because throughout the book husbands and wives appear on facing pages. 

                                                                           Detail of above: Richard duke of York

I would suggest that Giffin had mistaken a staff of office in York’s hand for a sceptre and a coronet for a crown (see above). The figure opposite Cecily looks exceptionally like the sketch of Henry duke of Warwick in the genealogy of the Beauchamp Pageant (BL MS Cotton Julius E IV/3 see f. 27v), who carries a similar staff and wears a coronet. Indeed the similarities between the images in the Beauchamp Pageant and this Mortimer book are so close that it is tempting to speculate a connection between the artists.

© Wigmore Abbey chronicle and Brut chronicle. Manuscript, Codex Ms 224, Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library f. 63 v.

The images in this manuscript of Edward IV (above and below) and Richard duke of York are very different from one another – Edward’s face and shoulders are youthfully slim and his hair is at shoulder length. By contrast, York is square-jawed, almost jowly, clearly a man who has reached middle age. It would be reckless to imagine that this was any closer to a portrait than other surviving images of the duke of York, and the images could have been drawn well over a decade after his death. Yet the care taken to present an obviously older man and the more realistically detailed features make it a compelling representation.

                                                                            Detail of above: Edward IV

The facing page image of the duke's wife, Cecily (below), is also an attractive addition to the more familiar images of Cecily that are usually circulated (from her mother’s book of hours and the Luton guild book). In both of those she is surrounded by women with almost identical faces and it is unlikely that this is anything like a portrait either. In the present manuscript there are no other women to enable us to judge whether any distinctiveness was intended. The faces in the Beauchamp Pageant are all slightly different from one another and in comparison with these we could note the more pointed chin, straighter nose, and perhaps a more determined or down-turned mouth, but the differences are slight and probably meaningless since she is almost identical to the Beauchamp Pageant illustration of her sister-in-law, Elizabeth Lady Latimer on f. 27 v. Nonetheless it is always nice to have an extra resource to draw on in illustrating Cecily’s life and in this one, unlike the others, she is the central focus of the artist’s attention, not kneeling behind her mother or daughter-in-law.

© Wigmore Abbey chronicle and Brut chronicle. Manuscript, Codex Ms 224, Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library f. 63: Cecily Neville, duchess of York.

The choice of heraldic supporters is also of interest since neither the duke nor the duchess used these particular combinations in other surviving images of their arms. It may be that once York started using the royal arms of England, just months before his death, he decided to adopt Richard II’s white hart alongside his Mortimer lion and this is our only evidence of that. This combination was used by both his eldest son and his wife in later years. Mary Giffin identified Cecily’s supporters here (below) as eagles but they lack the head tuft that usually distinguishes eagles from falcons in heraldry. Falcons were of course a favourite badge of Richard duke of York and his father’s family. We cannot know who decided that here Cecily should use only a repeated badge of her husband’s family without any nod to her own lineage, but this fits with the impression I’ve gained elsewhere that Cecily had scant interest in promoting her own natal connections, immersing herself completely in her husband’s dynasty.

© Wigmore Abbey chronicle and Brut chronicle. Manuscript, Codex Ms 224, Special Collections Research Center, University of Chicago Library f. 63.

The page facing Edward IV looks to have been scraped clean(ish) but there is no hint of a roundel for his wife. This would suggest that these images were most likely inserted before the autumn of 1464. This could be consistent with production by the Beauchamp Master since Alexandra Sinclair suggests he was nearing the end of his career by the time he produced that work in the 1480s. Such a date also accords with Edward IV’s seemingly youthful appearance. That said, we might note a scattering of circles sketched beneath Edward, as if judging where to enter later generations, which could imply a different dating – a project begun just as Edward IV's son, Edward V, left Ludlow to ascend the throne, only for the manuscript to be abandoned at news of his deposition. If the artist was the same as the creator of the Beauchamp Pageant, it suggests a particularly sad scenario since the Pageant was probably left unfinished when its most likely dedicatee, Edward of Middleham, died suddenly in 1484.



I encountered these images while working on an article about Anne Mortimer’s legacy to the house of York which was recently published in a collection edited by Paul Dryburgh and Philip Hume: The Mortimers of Wigmore 1066-1485 Dynasty of Destiny (Logaston Press, 2023).

J.L. Laynesmith


Giffin, M.E. ‘Cadwalader, Arthur, and Brutus in the Wigmore Manuscript,’ Speculum 16 (1941), 109-20

Giffin, M.E. ‘A Wigmore Manuscript at the University of Chicago,’ National Library of Wales Journal 7 (1952), 316-25

Given-Wilson, C., ‘Chronicles of the Mortimer Family c. 1250-1450’, in Richard Eales and Shaun Tyas eds., Family and Dynasty in Later Medieval England (Shaun Tyas, 2003), 67-86

Laynesmith, J.L., Cecily Duchess of York (Bloomsbury, 2017)

Sinclair, A. ed., The Beauchamp Pageant (Richard III and Yorkist History Trust, 2

Saturday 29 April 2023

A Coronation Quiche for Richard III and his Queen Consort Anne?

King Charles and Queen Camilla’s Coronation Quiche has been making headlines – as it happens, one of the dishes at Richard III and Anne’s coronation was probably somewhat similar, beneath its elaborate decoration.

BL MS Royal 20 D IV pt 2 f. 1 (early 14th century)

The list of dishes assembled for Richard and Anne's coronation feast survives in a manuscript that was created for Henry VIII’s household. It can now be found in the British Library (Additional Manuscript 45,716A ff. 71-8). When Anne Sutton and Peter Hammond published the extensive surviving records for this coronation in 1983 they included the details of this feast.[1]

The coronation banquet, at 4pm on Sunday 6th July 1483, was the culmination of three days of ritual. On the previous two days the food had been dominated by fish dishes  - the first because it was a Friday, and the second because it was the vigil of the Coronation. So, on arriving at the Tower on the Friday, Richard and Anne’s two course meal had included pike soup, tench cooked in broth, plaice, crab, conger, salmon, sole, perch, bass, roach, trout, crayfish and even roast porpoise, as well as a pottage of soft rice and prunes in orange. Dinner the next day included many of the same fish as well as fried marlin, whelks, gudgeon in parsley, and baked quinces. Saturday’s supper at Westminster Palace may have been more sumptuous. It began with ‘Mamorry riall’. Mamorry (or malmeny) was usually made of chicken, but presumably on this occasion it was fish, in spiced wine. What made it ‘riall’ (royal) is unclear, but it was perhaps the expense of the spices. The second course for this meal included more sweet dishes such as date compote and sweet custard tarts called doucettes.

On the Coronation Day the king and queen were expected to fast until after the rituals of the Coronation were complete. The banquet was then held in Westminster Hall and there were probably some 3,000 guests expected. After a herald had ‘proclaimed the feast’ the first course began with a couple of pottage-type dishes (venison frumenty and Tuscany broth), followed by‘Mamory riall’ (chicken in spiced wine) and ‘Viand comford riall’ which was minced meat, spiced, pressed, boiled and served in slices. After these smaller dishes, the more substantial meats arrived – beef, mutton, pheasant served with its tail feathers attached, roast crane, roast cygnet, fattened capons with lemons, and so on, and on.

The final dish of this course, as with every course of the Coronation banquet, was a subtlety, an elaborate confection that was probably made of sugar paste or marzipan, gilded and painted. These were always fashioned with political or religious messages. Unfortunately no description of the subtleties at Richard and Anne’s coronation survives. Henry V’s depicted his emblems of swans, an antelope and an eagle, each with chivalrous mottoes beneath them. His queen’s all related to her name saint, Katherine, and wove together the saint’s story with Katherine of Valois’s own. Henry VI’s celebrated his dual English and French descent.

The second course at Richard and Anne’s feast opened with a multi-coloured jelly that was also decorated ‘with a devise’ and this course included peacock cooked and replaced in its feathers, roe deer turned inside out and a range of roast fowl, as well as fritters flavoured with rose and jasmine. Despite the four o’ clock start, darkness had fallen before the final course could be served. In an age when the leftovers of noblemen and women’s tables were routinely passed immediately to the poor and needy, this was probably no bad thing. That course was to have included roast quails and egrets, baked oranges and ‘Rosettes florished’ which were perhaps sugar roses, painted or garnished with gold leaf. 

The ‘coronation quiche’ at Richard III and Anne’s banquet was the penultimate dish of the first course. Immediately before the subtlety, the king was presented with a ‘Custard Edward planted’. Custards, or croustardes, seem to have originated as any open topped tart in a pastry crust, but by the fifteenth-century they pretty much always included eggs in a custard-like form similar to that in quiches. One mid-fifteenth-century recipe for a custard that has been digitised by the British library provides instructions for straining together cream, eggs and parsley and pouring into a pastry case containing marrow, dates and prunes. Just like the coronation quiche, a dairy-free alternative is offered in the recipe book – ‘if it is in Lent, take cream of almonds and leave out the egg and the marrow’. This custard would have been quite sweet, arguably more like a modern custard tart, but most recipes were more savoury. Another British Library manuscript has a recipe in which milk was used instead of cream, this time with chicken and spices including saffron. Custards didn’t always include milk or cream - the eggs could be mixed with meat broth instead. One version of that included hyssop and summer savory with veal.[2] On occasion almond milk was used for custards even when eggs and meat were still included.

So what was a ‘Custard Edward planted’? ‘Planted’ simply meant decorated. Henry VI’s coronation feast had included a ‘Custade Rooial with a leparde of golde sittyng theryn’. 300 leaves of pure gold had been purchased for decorating the food at Richard III and Anne’s feast, as well as leaves of ‘partie gold’ (ie mixed with a cheaper ingredient), so some may have been used on this ‘Custard Edward’. It is likely that the Edward in question was Edward the Confessor, a popular figure in late medieval royal pageants who also featured on the first subtlety for Henry VI’s coronation banquet. This doesn’t necessarily mean that there was a 3D figure of the sainted king on this custard. Perhaps the dish had simply been given his name as an appropriate coronation dish since so much of the coronation regalia was also associated with him, or it may have been decorated with the coat of arms that more recent heralds had invented for him. We can’t be certain that it was a savoury dish, but most custards were, and the penultimate dish of the next course certainly was - it was a venison bake.

While everyone got to admire the ‘Custard Edward planted’ as it was brought through the hall, it was only those sat at the king’s table who got to eat it. A second menu ‘For the lords and the ladies in the hall the same day at dinner’ listed just two courses. Again each ended with a subtlety and the penultimate dish of the first course was a ‘Custard riall’. Meanwhile, all the rest of the guests had only one course. Like the king’s it began with venison frumenty (but not the other small dishes), this was followed by beef, mutton, roast capon, a jelly and, finally, yet again, ‘custard’.

There can be little doubt that the ‘Custard Edward planted’ at Richard III and Anne’s coronation banquet would have looked rather more splendid than most of the quiches at next weekend’s coronation Big Lunch will do. But the dish that the ordinary guests finished with was likely very similar and all were probably a savoury, egg-based dish in a pastry case. Many of the recent reports about the Coronation Quiche have described it as a dish with German origins, yet the original quiche Lorraine was cooked in bread dough, not pastry. The name may indeed be German, but the dish itself would look pretty familiar to the guests at an English medieval Coronation ‘Big Lunch’ too.

J.L. Laynesmith


[1] Anne F. Sutton and P.W. Hammond eds., The Coronation of Richard III. The Extant Documents, (Alan Sutton, 1983)

[2] Two Fifteenth-Century Cookery-Books, EETS os 91 (1888), 74.

Thursday 11 February 2021

Miles Forest and the Fate of the Missing Princes

Five hundred years after Edward V and his brother, Richard duke of York, disappeared, their fate is once again headline news. What do the latest revelations really add to what we already know?

Professor Tim Thornton of the University of Huddersfield has been examining the connections of Sir Thomas More, creator of the most famous account of the deaths of the princes in the Tower. He has uncovered hitherto unrecognised links between More and the sons of one of the men accused of the murder: Miles Forest. According to Thomas More’s story, Forest was one of those charged by Richard III to look after the princes. When Richard decided he needed the boys dead, his servant, Sir James Tyrell, recruited Forest and his own horse-keeper, John Dighton, to assist him in smothering the boys in their beds.

Thornton’s new evidence indicates that Thomas More encountered Forest’s sons, Edward and Miles, in the course of conducting royal business. Consequently, Thornton speculates that it was these two men who had told More the truth about the princes’ fate. More himself described his source only as ‘them that much knew and litle cause had to lye’. The sons of a murderer might perhaps fit that description, he suggests.

But does this evidence justify the conclusion that Richard had ordered the murder of the princes? A deeper look at the evidence would seem to suggest otherwise. Back in 1879 James Gairdner identified Miles Forest as the keeper of the wardrobe at Richard's home of Barnard Castle. According to More, after committing the murder, Forest had ‘at sainct Marten pecemele rotted away’. He gives no date for this, but we know that his widow, Joan, was granted an annuity on 9 September 1484, so Forest clearly died sometime before Richard. Why would a man who had conducted such an important task for the king find himself resourceless in the sanctuary at St Martin’s just months later? It is hard to fathom. No sanctuary register survives so we only have More's word that Forest died in these circumstances. Because More is vague about the date most readers would assume that it was under a Tudor king that Forest died: the idea of Forest 'rotting' in sanctuary during Henry VII's reign because he was a murderer makes some sense. Knowing as we do that Forest really died in Richard's reign, the story is less credible.

If Forest really did die in sanctuary, it might be reasonable to ask why the king felt obliged to give his widow an annuity. It was actually a commonplace of good kingship that if a woman was unfortunate enough to find herself the widow of a felon then she was deserving of charity and should not be made to suffer for her husband’s sins. But we must remember, there is no evidence outside More's story that Forest died in disgrace. The annuity is more likely simply a recognition of Forest's good service at Barnard Castle and indeed Joan's in supporting him.

Forest’s death in 1484 must also have meant that his own boys were far too young for him to have told them of his crime himself. Would their mother have told them? I am well aware of the strong bonds and influence to be found between widowed mothers and their sons, and of mothers' important role in passing on family history, having written so much on Richard III's own mother. But I am not convinced any mother would choose to burden her children with the knowledge that their father had committed the crime of the century. 

Another credibility issue with Thornton's thesis lies in the idea that the Forest brothers would have chosen to reveal this terrible family secret to a man they occasionally met through their work. Henry VIII was reputedly devoted to his mother - what might befall the family of a man known to have murdered her brother? Given that Edward Forest was one of Henry VIII's Grooms of the Chamber and the younger Miles was in Cardinal Wolsey's employ, it would have been a wildly risky step to make.

And what of the other alleged murderers? More claimed that Tyrell and Dighton were both examined and confessed to the murder during Henry VII’s reign. Tyrell was executed but Dighton ‘yet walketh on a live’. Again More’s story is hard to credit here. Dighton confessed to such a murder but was simply allowed to walk free? Unfortunately it is impossible to trace Dighton for certain in other records, but clearly at the time More first drafted his work he had in mind someone he knew was still alive and at liberty.

Tyrell was indeed executed in Henry VII’s reign and, as Thornton notes, More was not the first to accuse him of killing the princes. Yet we have no record that any public statement was made of his guilt at the time of his execution which was for an unrelated charge of treason. His alleged confession does not itself survive.

Time and again in More’s work, we find scraps of truth woven together with plausible names, details no one could have recalled and entertaining direct speech. This makes for a vivid picture but frequently contradicts contemporary evidence (for instance in the controversy around Edward IV's wedding). What we know of More’s work must prompt the question: Was More really reporting what the Forest boys had told him, or was it just that his acquaintance with them had caused him to learn that their father had been a servant of Richard’s which made Miles Forest a convenient name in More's story. 

The fate of the princes is one of the most tantalising gaps in our knowledge of the past. At first sight, More’s novel-like explanation offers an attractively detailed picture to plug that gap. Little wonder so many are eager to believe it. Unfortunately, there are just too many elements that strain credulity or do not fit with what else is known. More's saintly reputation (hair shirt and all) has inevitably made generations of historians unwilling to imagine he was deliberately peddling falsehoods - but that is to assume More expected his readers to receive his work as soberly factual history. Since he never finished the work we cannot be sure what his intentions were, but anyone who has read his famous Utopia will be aware that More enjoyed using fiction under a veneer of plausible facts to explore political ideas.

Thomas More’s connections with the Forest boys are certainly worth adding to our investigation of all available evidence, but as yet they provide no new lead on the fate of the missing princes.


British Library Royal 16 II f. 73 The Tower of London


Tim Thornton, “More on a Murder: The Deaths of the ‘Princes in the Tower’, and Historiographical Implications for the Regimes of Henry VII and Henry VIII”, History, 2020.

The Complete Works of St Thomas More, ed. Richard S. Sylvester (Yale University Press, 1963) vol. 2. p. 160

Monday 4 January 2021

Richard III’s Lavish Christmas?

Shortly before Christmas, The Telegraph published an article on Richard III’s Christmas gifts. It mentioned that Richard ordered his Exchequer to pay £100 in ready money to the grooms and pages of his chamber at Christmas 1483. This is almost £70,000 in today’s money. Moreover, in the new year Richard settled a bill with a London goldsmith for Christmas gifts and other jewels worth the equivalent of £500,000 today. The article speculated that Richard’s lavish generosity was an attempt to secure the loyalty of the court after the recent rebellion against his rule. Nonetheless, the headline was an unusually positive one for Richard: “Not so much winter discontent in court of generous Richard III”.

Research currently being undertaken for the Society, thanks to a bequest from Pauline Stevenson, sheds significantly more light on this. The source for this expenditure is a collection of documents at The National Archives. Indeed, the Telegraph’s article was prompted by a Tweet about them from TNA. The documents in question are known as Warrants for Issues. Scholars have been using them for decades but hitherto they have not been published, other than a few details in the List and Index of Warrants for Issues. The Society has begun creating detailed calendars of these documents, starting with the period 1480-85. The plan is eventually to include all of Edward IV’s reign as well. From the work done so far, it is clear that there was nothing exceptional in Richard’s payment to his grooms and pages. His goldsmith’s bill, however, may have been unusually high.

On 10 December 1481, a warrant for Edward IV’s exchequer noted “it has been accustomed that the king’s servants, the grooms and pages of the king’s chamber, should have yearly of the king’s gift and reward against the feast of Christmas the sum of £100 in money” (E 404/77/2/39). On 13 November 1482 the same wording was used in another payment to the grooms and pages (E 404/77/2/54). So Richard III was merely following accepted practice when he paid his grooms and pages £100.

According to the Black Book of Edward IV’s Household, there should be ten grooms and four pages of the king’s chamber. Like other grooms and pages of the household, they were provided with lodging, food and clothing as part of their job. They were also given a quarterly allowance. Pages received 20d and grooms either 40d or 6s 8d, depending on how much clothing they received. The Black Book notes that, besides this quarterly income that was provided by the counting house, they should also receive “the great reward given yearly from the King’s privy coffers to the grooms and pages of his chamber”.[1] This Christmas bonus, it seems, was essentially part of their regular income but it clearly made the grooms and pages of the king’s chamber far better paid than those elsewhere in the household. It is likely that the grooms’ individual share of the £100 was greater than the pages’, probably £8 6s 8d for the grooms and half that for the pages.  According to the National Archives’ Currency Converter, the modern equivalent of the grooms’ bonus would be £5,760. It was twelve times as much as they received from the counting house in the course of the rest of the year. It was certainly a generous gift but its only political significance in 1483 is that it demonstrates Richard III following his brother’s policies.

The payment to a London goldsmith might be more interesting. On 22 January 1484 instructions were sent to pay Edmund Shawe, goldsmith, “the sum of £764 17s 6d as well for certain plate by him ordained for the king’s year’s gifts against Christmas last past, and for other jewels by him ordained and delivered to the king’s own hands” (E 404/78/2/28). Edmund Shawe was of course mayor of London the previous summer, during Richard’s accesson, and it was his brother, Ralph, who had preached the famous sermon declaring that Edward IV’s sons were bastards.

Edmund Shawe had been engraver of the royal mint from 1462-82 and loaned Edward IV money on occasion. According to BL MS Harley 433 (digitised by the Society here), Shawe also lent Richard III 400 marks early in his reign, and Richard had spent £134 on New Year gifts purchased from Shawe in December 1482. John Stow recorded that in December 1483 Richard sold some of his own silver and gilt plate to Shawe for just over £550. This was perhaps to acquire some of the funds necessary for a lavish Christmas.

Unfortunately it is impossible to know how much of the £764 spent by Richard in 1483/4 was for Christmas gifts and what was for jewels for the king himself (and perhaps his queen). This makes it difficult to judge how unusual it was. It may just possibly be significant that Richard arranged for the Receiver of Fee Farms to pay £431 10s 10d out of the total owed to Shawe (according to BL Harley 433). It could be that this was the amount actually spent on Christmas gifts, in which case it would again appear to reflect standard practice. Two years previously, in February 1482, Edward IV had paid £464 17s 3d to John Shawe (nephew to Edmund and Ralph) for ‘year’s gifts’ that included a gold cup costing more than £45, a gold cross set with diamonds, and four diamond rings (E 404/77/2/54).

In conclusion, it could be that Richard III’s gift giving at Christmas 1483 was more generous than his brother’s had been, but at present we simply cannot say. Both kings were lavish in their gift giving as befitted the medieval concept of a good prince.

J. L. Laynesmith

Image: Hastings Hours BL Add MS 54782 f. 42v

[1] The Black Book was probably in part an ideal rather than a wholly accurate reflection of practice, so it is impossible at present to be sure whether the £100 was originally a gift that came from the privy purse which Edward IV later started taking directly from the Exchequer. It may be that the compiler of the Black Book simply thought it ought to come from the privy purse.

Friday 28 August 2020

The Annulment of Cecily Plantagenet’s Marriage to Ralph Scrope

By Marie Barnfield 

(BL MS Royal 14 E I f. 3)  


 It has been thought for well over four decades now, thanks to a footnote in R. H. Helmholz’s Marriage Litigation in Medieval England,[1] that in 1486 Richard’s niece Cecily Plantagenet obtained an annulment from an otherwise-unrecorded marriage to Ralph Scrope, the second of the three younger brothers of Thomas, 6th Lord Scrope of Upsall and Masham. Helmholz’s footnote merely quotes a reference in one of the Act Books of the Consistory Court of York to a suit by ‘Preclara ac nobilis domina domina Cecilia Plantaginet contra Radulphum Scrope de Upsall’ (the most illustrious and noble lady, Lady Cecily Plantagenet, against Ralph Scrope of Upsall),[2] as an example of individuals of noble birth being clearly identified as such in the ecclesiastical court records; he  provides no discussion or explanation of the case in question other than dating it to 1486. This suit has, nonetheless, been assumed to have been an application for an annulment of marriage.

Marriage to Ralph Scrope

It is unfortunate that the very brief notes relating to the case in the Consistory Court Act Book are incompletely legible[3] and there are no surviving cause papers to flesh them out, but it does nonetheless seem reasonable to assume that this was, like the majority of cases brought by women to the church courts, an appeal for either the recognition or the annulment of a marriage; this also ties in fairly well with Polydore Vergil’s claim that King Richard had married ‘Cecily, Edward’s other daughter, to some unworthy no-account.’[4] Ralph was not exactly a no-account, but his eventual inheritance of the family lands and title could not at that time have been foreseen.

Since the court to which Cecily made her suit was that of the diocese of York, this may be assumed to be the diocese in which the wedding had occurred, in which case it can perhaps be tentatively dated to the few months between Queen Anne Neville’s death and the Battle of Bosworth, during which Cecily would have been resident at Sheriff Hutton. 

Given Cecily’s status by the summer of 1486 – as the Queen’s senior sister and (once more) a legitimate princess – and that by the end of 1487 she was married to Henry VII’s uncle, John, Viscount Welles, annulment of the Scrope marriage does indeed seem by far the most likely subject of her suit, and for the purposes of the remainder of this article this is assumed to have been the case.

The Court Case

The process of pursuing a case in the Consistory Curt of York was, briefly, as follows. Both parties would normally appoint proctors, who would appear in their stead wherever possible. The plaintiff (actor) would initiate proceedings by entering a complaint and asking the judge to cite the defendant (pars rea). Where a proctor was being employed the complaint would be made in writing, in which case it was known as a libel.  The judge would respond to the libel by summoning the defendant to appear at an assigned day and place. Both parties were expected to appear in court on the assigned day, either in person or by proctor. ‘The first absence might be overlooked and only lead to another day being appointed, but three absences and the judge would oblige, the absentee was declared contumacious and was usually suspended: that is, prevented from attending church services.’[5]

There are two brief notes on Cecily Plantagenet’s case in the relevant Act Book. These are not dated but appear, from their context, to place the hearings in or around July of 1486. They record that the actor (i.e. Cecily) was, like several of the other plaintiffs, represented by a proctor named Latomer (probably Master Richard Latomer who in 1473 had been paid to write down the testimonies of persons offering at the statue of Henry VI in York Minster and whose servant William Waux is mentioned in a Minster visitation of  1495[6]). On the first occasion, the defendant (Ralph Scrope) failed to appear although the court waited a long time for him, and a second date was set at which three witnesses were to be produced.[7] A third hearing is then referred to, at which Ralph may again have failed to appear but the names of the three witnesses were given to the court. Four names actually follow, all so carelessly scribbled that the interpretation of them offered here cannot be regarded as definitive. The first name would appear to read (in translation) Sir Ralph Evers of Graystoke, and the second, W. Greystoke esquire. The third and fourth names are exceedingly similar to each other and probably represent a single individual since the witnesses were said to number only three; these two names appear to read Thomas Pol gentleman, and Thomas Poke gentleman.[8] This is the final piece of information on the case.


The grounds on which Cecily might have sought such an annulment are few. There were only a limited number of diriment, or nullifying, impediments to marriage and, of these, impediments of relationship or want of consent are the only ones likely to apply. The witnesses may provide some clue as to which of these impediments Cecily may have been claiming.


The Witnesses


William Greystoke Esquire was probably the elderly Lord Greystoke’s brother of that name, as he, unlike Greystoke’s other brothers, is shown as still living at the time of the heraldic visitation of Yorkshire that, from internal evidence, appears to have been conducted shortly after Bosworth.[9] Greystoke was Ralph Scrope’s great-uncle, whilst Cecily Plantagenet was Greystoke’s first cousin once removed.  The Ralph Evers known to have been active in 1486 was a young man, one of the two sons of Sir William Evers (d. 1545) and a grandson of Sir Ralph Evers (d. 1461) by Elizabeth Greystoke. He was Ralph Scrope’s second cousin, Cecily’s second cousin once removed and the great-nephew of his fellow witness William Greystoke. Thomas Pol, gentleman, may be the ‘Thomas Pole, gentleman,’ to whom in March 1485 Lord Greystoke had enfeoffed his manor of Grimethorpe and other West Riding properties.[10]


Grounds for Annulment


The reason that Greystoke and Evers were both related to Ralph and to Cecily was that all four were direct descendants of Joan Beaufort. Ralph and Cecily’s relationship to each other, via Joan Beaufort’s two marriages, lay within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity, a fact that has already been noted by Douglas Richardson.[11]


The following tree shows the 3rd and 4th degree consanguinity between Cecily and Ralph, and also the position of the suggested Greystoke and Evers witnesses on the same family tree:




This is the only relationship that Cecily and Ralph shared within the forbidden degrees. It cannot be proved that the couple had not obtained a dispensation from its effects prior to marriage, but no such dispensation appears in any of the published papal registers;[12] neither was any copy of such a dispensation  entered into the register of Thomas Rotherham, Archbishop of York.[13]


It seems most likely that lack of a dispensation from the effects of this relationship was the grounds on which Cecily successfully sought an annulment from her marriage to Ralph Scrope; it was not a close relationship and was only in the half-blood, so had Cecily wished to remain married to Ralph she could probably have obtained a retrospective dispensation from Rome quite easily, provided she was in a position to make such an appeal. Ralph perhaps did wish to remain as Cecily’s husband given his failure to heed the court summons.

[1] (Cambridge, 1974), p. 160, n. 89.

[2] Borthwick Cons AB 4, f. 83r (not f. 88r as given in Helmholz).

[3] This unfortunately seems to be normal for the period: ‘The records of the Church courts . . . had become messy and hurried scrawls. Many of the entries are quite illegible.’ (Helmholz, op. cit., p. 11)

[4] Anglica Historia, 1555 edition, trans. Dana F. Sutton, Chapter 25, the Philological Museum website (

[5] What Are the Cause Papers? research guide of the Borthwick Institute for Archives


[6] The Fabric Rolls of York Minster, Surtees Soc. Vol. 35 (Durham, 1859), pp. 82, 262.

[7] Borthwick Cons AB 4, f. 83r.

[8] Borthwick Cons AB 4, f. 84r.

[9] Visitations of the North: Part III: A Visitation of the North of England, c. 1480-1500 (Surtees vol 144, 1930), pp. 139-140.

[10] C. T. Clay (ed.),  Yorkshire Deeds, vol. VIII, Cambridge, 1940, p.71.

[12] J. A. Twemlow (ed.), Calendar of Papal Register Relating to Great Britain and Ireland, vol 14, 1484-92, HMSO, 1960; P. D. Clarke & P. N. R. Zutshi (eds.), Supplications from England and Wales in the Registers of the Apostolic Penitentiary, 1410-1503, vol. II, 1464-1492, Canterbury & York, 2015.

[13] Borthwick Abp Reg 23 & 24.