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Friends, it's been said that there are decades where nothing happens and weeks where decades happen. The following episode is certainly going to serve the latter, I'd say, so keep your ears peeled. But before I hand you over to a pivotal string of weeks in Plantagenet history, I've got something rather exciting to announce. After season nine, I'll be launching a special new miniseries with my friend and and fellow history graduate Elizabeth Day, writer and host of the excellent how to Fail podcast. We're teaming up to discuss some of history's greatest failures and learn why losers make history. And this is where you can come on on the bonus episodes for this miniseries, we want your favorite failures. I'll be discussing them alongside producer Al and we'd love to get your voice notes on this new podcast. To submit, all you need to do is sign up to become one of our royal favourites@patreon.com thisishistory and find the sign up link on the show chat room. Now on with the episode after this short break the lookout on the turrets of Beaumaris Castle peers through the salt spray coming off the sea on the horizon. Something has caught his eye. It looks like a light. He squints, rubs his eyes and looks again. He realizes he was wrong. It's not one light. It's a whole cluster of them. He's seeing the pilot lights of a fleet of ships. They're carving their way through the grey waters of the Irish Sea towards the island of Anglesey, just off the northwestern tip of Wales. It's September 1450, and these ships have been expected for the last couple of weeks. Even so, it's still bracing to see them arriving. Because now they're coming. A political play has to be set in motion. It's a play sent down from the highest authority in England, the council of King Henry vi. The lookout scampers through the castle looking for his boss, the captain of Beaumaris, Thomas Norris. When Norris hears that the ships are coming, his jaw tightens. Then he does what he has to do. Minutes minutes later, a small boat sails out from Beaumaris Harbour, going to cut off the ships before they reach port. The message the men aboard have is a simple, unequivocal command. It amounts to scram. If the sailors try to land at Beaumaris, they'll receive no food, no water, no fodder for their animals, nothing. It's not exactly a threat, but it's a promise of a welcome frostier than the seat of a polar bear's outdoor toilet. The garrison of Beaumaris castle watches as the scene unfolds. The boat approaches the fleet of ships. There's a cursory exchange of greetings. The message is relayed, and then the ships change course and head east. Where they'll eventually pull into port, no one knows, but it's a fair bet they'll find somewhere, because the man in charge of the fleet is the King's cousin, Richard, Duke of York. He's not someone who takes no for an answer, and he's got it into his head that he's the only person who can save Plantagenet England from collapse. York has been in Ireland while England has been convulsed by assassinations and mob rule. But now he's heading back to offer his services to what remains of the Crown. As of right now, Henry's ministers don't want helping, but history has a funny way of biting you in the hind parts. Like it or not, it won't be long before York takes centre stage. I'm dan jones and from sony music entertainment, this is history season 9 of a dynasty to die for, Episode 8 royal blood. Ever wondered what it feels like to be a gladiator facing a roaring crowd and potential death in the coliseum? Find out on the Ancients podcast from History hit twice a week. Join me, Tristan Hughes, as I hear exciting new research about people living thousands of years ago, from the Babylonians to the Celts to the Romans. And visit the ancient sites which reveal who and just how amazing our distant ancestors were. That's the Ancients from History hit. Hey, it's Sterling K. Brown from the Hulu original series Paradise. The next chapter begins as Xavier's search for his wife takes him above ground. And what he finds will change everything. It was never just about the bunker. Tune in and discover the truth lies outside Paradise. The official podcast is now streaming and stream paradise on Hulu and Hulu on Disney plus One of the classic fears of childhood and for some people, adulthood, is the terror that there's a monster living in your house. Sometimes it's under the bed, sometimes it's in the closet. Sometimes, yes. I'm thinking of the movie Home Alone here. It lives down in the cellar in the form of a scary furnace boiler thing. Wherever it resides, that monster, the bogeyman, is not a nice thing to have to live with. Knowing that it's there, but being too scared to do anything about it. Well, in England around the year 1450, the name of that monster under the bed is Richard, Duke of York. To the common people, he's a saviour who will someday come charging over the horizon to drag England out of its malaise. But to plenty of the nobles on Henry VI's royal council, the Duke of York is a great grizzly green furred beast with. With pointy horns and slavering jaws. The possibility of his return to England has them well and truly shook. Join our royal favourites on Patreon this week if you want to discuss your own irrational fears. And tune into our bonus episode if you want to hear me confess mine to producer Al. But right now, let's keep it in the 15th century and find out exactly who this beastly Richard, Duke of York is and why the Plantagenet supernoble returns to England. We can start with the basics. In September 1450, Richard, Duke of York, is 39 years old. He's married to a noblewoman called Cecily Neville and has a large brood of children with her, including three soon to be four young sons. York has a solid war record. He's done military service in Normandy, governing the duchy, which has now been lost to the rampaging armies of the French. But as we heard a couple of episodes back, just as the heat was really on, York had his spell as the King. King's representative in Normandy terminated and was sent to Ireland instead, which is where he's been for the last 14 months. By all accounts, he's done a decent job. Ireland is a tough place to go, but York has a dash of Irish blood in his veins. He doesn't mind cracking skulls if he has to, and he can split the garden on every single pint of Guinness he drinks. Well, two out of the three, anyway. But doing a good job in Ireland isn't really what makes York a perceived saviour threat in England. He has some other important attributes too. The first is that York is a bona fide member of the House of Plantagenet, descended from Edward III through both his father and his mother. Never mind that Irish blood. He's got four star royal rocket fuel pumping away in his veins. For family tree geeks, I'll spell it out. York's dad was Edmund Langley, Duke of York. That was old King Edward's fourth son. His mum's great granddad was Lionel of Antwerp, Duke of Clarence. He was old King Edward's second son. So, yes, that makes York his own cousin. But you know what they say in royal circles, kids, incest is best. Anyway, enough of genealogical tables. Let's get back to politics. Why does York's royal blood matter? Well, one reason it matters is because at this point, the royal family has shrunk to the point where it's vanishingly tiny. Henry VI is an only child. All his uncles, including old Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, are now dead. Henry still hasn't fathered any children. The sight of warm, nubile flesh makes him run for his rosary beads. That means York is very much in the conversation when it comes to the matter of the succession. Many people reckon he's got the best claim to be heir presumptive. And even if Henry VI is showing no signs of being able to ill, it still means York has a right to be involved in government on behalf of the inept King Henry. York also has that key political attribute of having been absent when the warm pail of liquid feces hit the industrial sized mega fan during Jack Cade's rebellion in the summer of 1450. So he's not just a royal heavyweight, he's a royal heavyweight who isn't politically compromised. And then there's the small but not inconsequential matter of public opinion. Cage rebels tried to associate their demands for reform with York's name. And there have been similar rumblings in Parliament and in the streets. The wisdom of the crowd says the Duke of York is the answer to all the realms ills. Put all that together and you can see why York finds it impossible to stay in Ireland. In September 1450, everyone can see the realm of England is going to hell in a handcart. William de la Pole, the Duke of Suffolk, who is leading government, is dead and the ordinary people are clamoring for York to come and sort things out. But. And it's a big but, let's remember what I said a couple of minutes ago. York's popularity among the proles, and even with the Commons in Parliament, makes him actively scary to the nobles around King Henry village. Which is why someone sent firm orders to North Wales to block York if he tried to come back from Ireland and land there. But who gave that order? Well, when York finally does land further along the Welsh coast, he sets his mind to finding out who it was that gave this unfriendly order to the watchmen at Beaumaris Castle. The strict answer is that it was an usher of Henry VI's chamber. But a decision of that magnitude must have come from somewhere a bit higher up the chain of command. All the evidence points to someone very senior, someone with pretensions of their own, to be the leading man in the troubled Plantagenet realm. A few weeks before York comes back from Ireland, another great lord of the extended royal family also pitches up back in England. His name is Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, who just lost Normandy. Despite that catastrophic loss, Somerset still fancies himself as the guy who has the fix for all England's problems. York wants to be the man, but so does Somerset. Soon England won't be big enough for the both of them.
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The streets of London are heaving and the air is thick. Thick with menace. Ever since Cade's Rebellion in the summer of 1450, life in the capital has been tense, as though the whole city is living on a knife edge. Now Parliament is in session, so the great lords of the realm have come accompanied with entourages of loyal followers, also known as retainers. Every day there are clashes, fights and riots. But today, Tuesday 1st December things are especially spicy. A band of the Duke of York's retainers are barging their way through the streets towards Blackfriars. They're heading to the riverside mansion where they've heard Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset, is staying. Since York returned against Somerset's wishes, something like this has been brewing. York has been encouraging protests against the so called traitors who let Normandy be lost. Since Normandy was lost on Somerset's watch, those traitors would be him. Somerset, meanwhile, has been relying on his connections at court to keep him safe. If you think back to episode three of this season, you'll remember that this cat has been purring around the ankles of what passes for the royal family for quite a while. Before the King's late mum, Catherine de Valois, shacked up with Owen Tudor, it was rumoured that she was having an affair with this self same Edmund Beaufort. Now Somerset is in with Queen Margaret, who sees him as a more reliable ally than York. He's also preferred by the King. And Beaufort does have royal blood, sort of. He's a grandson of John of Gaunt, via Gaunt's third wife, Catherine Swynford. There are some legal issues about just how royal that actually makes him. But I said I was done with family trees for today. I'll bore producer Al with that on the bonus episode. Join us there if you want to nerd out today. However, Somerset's royal origins aren't going to keep him safe from the London mob that's paying him a rather unfriendly visit. Rioters charge towards his house in Blackfriars and start causing an almighty. Somerset has to run to the end of his garden and jump in a boat to make a getaway downriver. Behind him, the rioters start smashing up his house and the surrounding streets. In Blackfriars, it's chaos, or it is, until a messenger arrives to order them to stop. In the name of none other than Richard, Duke of York, says he's prepared to hang anyone he finds causing damage to property. That's enough to earn Somerset a reprieve and to cool the heels of the mob for a few hours. York has played a cynical, cunning hand. He's whipped up the crowd against his direct rival for power, then shown that only he has the power to call off the dogs. He has no love for Somerset, but he's prepared to save him, to show that whoever has the top job, he alone has the muscle on the streets. And it would be a good play, except that in England the streets are only sporadically important. True practical power is still controlled by the nobility. And while the mob love Richard, Duke of York, the nobles mostly hate this kind of populist rabble. Rousing York has a few close noble allies. The Duke of Norfolk has his back, as does the Earl of Devon. But the rest are on the fence at best. So when things calm down in London, York is edged out of government in favour of Somerset once more. By the time the new year comes, Somerset is the de facto leader of the government. Never mind what the oiks in the street say, he has the support of the Queen and a majority of the English lords. York hasn't figured out how to turn his popularity into command. His window of opportunity is gone. He languishes a whole year away, spending 1451 brooding on his estates. But in 1452, another chance for York to have a tilt at power and Somerset arrives. A row blows up in London over a guy called William Oldhall, a servant of York's who's accused of being part of the mob that smashed Somerset's house up back in 1450. Somerset has let it be known that he's out to get this guy. So Old hall has been sheltering in sanctuary at a prominent London church. In early 1452, Somerset has him dragged out of sanctuary and arrested. It's an obvious provocation and York can't let the insults slide. So he summons a big crew of his retainers and marches to London. He doesn't say he's coming to revenge the arrest of Old Hall. Instead he sends letters around saying that the whole political scene in general is existentially bad. In France, he says Charles VII is moving in on the long standing English territory of Gascony and the vital port of Calais. At home, Somerset is leading a corrupt and vengeful regime. York says he's marching to London to remove the Duke of Somerset and promote ease, peace, tranquility and safeguard of all the land. This is a big test for the other lords of England. They're being asked to choose directly between Somerset the incompetent and York the insurgent. It's not a great choice, but in the end, there's a clear verdict. As York nears London in the spring of 1452, a whole bevy of great noblemen march out to block his way at Blackheath. It's not just Somerset and his allies. Some of York's usual sympathisers, like the Duke of Norfolk, are among the merry band. The message is clear. The lords don't want partisan politics, they want some semblance of normality. And unity. So York is coaxed to come into London with the rest of the nobles. He goes, still seeming to believe that the King is on the verge of dismissing Somerset and appointing him instead. But no such thing happens. Instead, he's pressured into going to St. Paul's Cathedral and making a public oath of loyalty to the crown. Yet again, York has been thwarted and, to an extent, humiliated. Every time it looks like he's on the verge of taking power, it seems to slip through his fingers. On paper, he should be running government and sitting in as heir to the throne. But he's not running government. He's actually being eased out of the royal family. Shortly after his humiliation in early 1452, it's announced that two new royal earls are being created. Henry VI's half brothers, those awkward, whoopsie Welsh French boys, Edmund and Jasper Tudor, have been growing up away from the limelight. Now the love children of Owen Tudor and Catherine de Valois are both in their early 20s and they're given noble titles and brought into leading positions at court. Edmund becomes Earl of Richmond and Jasper becomes Earl of Pembroke. York, meanwhile, is the grand old duke of looking like a total donut. And then, in early 1453, just as if he couldn't be pushed any further from the centre of the action, there comes another, even more left field piece of family news from the royal court. Queen Margaret of Anjou is pregnant.
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The messenger skips out of the jubilant royal chamber, a smile on his face and his hand clutching something precious. He's just delivered King Henry VI the news that Queen Margaret is finally with child. Henry was so delighted to hear it that he's given him a piece of jewelry known as a demi saint to take back to the Queen. In fact, everyone is happy, relieved and probably a little astonished too. It wasn't entirely clear that Henry knew the difference between his pissa and a pepperoni pizza, but somehow or other, they've got the thing working. So Margaret of Anjou is expecting the birth of of a little Plantagenet prince or princess Astonishingly enough, with the exception of Henry himself, it'll be the first royal baby to have been born in 50 years. Cecily Neville, wife of Richard, Duke of York, writes to Queen Margaret to congratulate her, saying that the baby will be the most precious, most joyful and most comfortable earthly treasure that might come unto this land and to the people thereof. It's not clear if Richard himself agrees. Most likely he's in two minds. He can't very well claim to have England's best interests at heart and not be pleased to hear that there's a royal bun in the oven. On the other hand, this probably makes it less likely that he's going to have a hand in government anytime soon. Queen Margaret being pregnant is good news for everyone involved with the incumbent regime, and that includes Edmund Beaufort, Duke of Somerset. Somerset is still close to the Queen, close enough, in fact, that people whisper about the possibility that he's the father of her child, much as they did when Queen Catherine de Valois was pregnant by Owen Tudor. That's probably not true, or at least not provable. But since the Queen is, for nine months at least, the most important person in England, it just locks down Somerset's position further. So, all in all, this pregnancy news is a bit of a head scratcher for Richard, Duke of York. He can't be mad about it, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. He's just going to have to figure out how he fits in to the new political reality of Somerset being Teflon, Queen Margaret being the power broker, and Henry VI proving for the first time in his life that he actually does have a pair of balls. Yet just as that calculus is settling in on Richard, Duke of York, the world takes another crazy lurch. In late July 1453, a couple of months after Queen Margaret's pregnancy is announced, more stunning news arrives at the English court. But it's not that kind of stunning. On July 17, in a field near Castillon, just outside Bordeaux, an English army under the war hero Sir John Talbot has been annihilated by a French force. Talbot, known as the English Achilles, is dog meat. His army is wiped out and the French are now hurtling headlong towards Bordeaux itself. The capital of Gascony, which has been in English hands for 299 years, has no prospect of holding out. There's no time, no money and no hope of reinforcing it. And when Bordeaux falls, the whole of Gascony falls with it. In 1429, England ruled a third of French territory, and the right to the French crown. Now they only hold Calais. It's a calamity, a catastrophe. A king sized solid gold plated clusterfux. You'd think that as disasters go, this one is going to take some beating. But as it happens, a good old fashioned beating lies immediately around the corner. Because when news of the loss of Castillon and the imminent loss of Gascony reaches England, Henry VI goes mad. But that's for next time on this is History. And just when you thought Plantagenet history couldn't get any crazier. Friends, strap yourselves in for now though. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this week's discussion starter, which is all about the Beauforts. I know my royal favourites have written in previously a asking me about the Beauforts and their claims to the throne. So now I want to throw it open to all my royal favourites. Tell me, do you think Edmund Beaufort really has a good claim to the throne? I'll also be discussing this with producer Al on this week's bonus episode, so listen out for all of that@patreon.com thisishistory and don't forget to send us your voice notes of your favorite historical film failures while you're at it.
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