Bosworth: The Birth of the Tudors (61 page)

To the varied evidence supplied by the surviving archives and local documentation, recent archaeological finds uncovered by the latest battlefield survey undertaken by the Battlefields Trust and led by Professor Glenn Foard supply significant new information that confirms Bosworth was fought not at Ambion Hill, but in fact nearly two miles south-west, around the location first suggested by Peter Foss in his groundbreaking work. In March 2009 the first cannon shot, a 30mm lead ball, was discovered in a field off Fenn Lanes; soon the surrounding area yielded up over thirty similar projectiles. The discovery of so many cannon shot, more than has ever been found on any European fifteenth-century battlefield, provides new insights into the methods of warfare used at Bosworth. Most of the lead round shot unearthed at Bosworth ranges in diameter from less than 30mm up to 94mm. Some of the cannon shot are of solid lead, though others contain an iron cube or pebble or large pieces of flint at their core. It remains uncertain whether this was done to save lead or in an attempt to reduce the weight of the shot, allowing it to travel further, or perhaps to reduce the pressures placed on the gun barrel of the cannon, fashioned as they were at the time from wrought iron rather than cast iron or bronze as casting technology did not develop until the sixteenth century. From the finds uncovered so far, there are enough different diameters present that there must have been at least ten pieces of artillery and two hand cannons at the battlefield. The largest shot would have been fired from the largest field artillery piece in common use in the following centuries, while some of the cannon balls show evidence of having been fired from an octagonal rather than a round barrel, with
flat edges having been scored onto the lead as they were fired from the cannon.

While the scatter of cannon balls evidently indicates that action was spread around the fields either side of Fenn Lanes, until more detailed analysis is conducted into which shot can be matched up with the type of guns that fired them, they cannot reveal exactly the positions of both armies. The fact that both sides employed the use of artillery has long been apparent from the written sources, with Henry’s Act of Attainder against Richard’s supporters detailing how the king’s army was ‘mightily armed and defenced with all manner of arms, as guns, bows, arrows, spears, glaives, axes, and all other manner of articles apt or needful to give and cause mighty battle’. The ‘Ballad of Bosworth Field’ reveals how Richard’s army had at least 140 ‘serpentines’ chained together in a row, with as many bombards. Commynes also provides evidence that Henry also had been given artillery by Charles VIII, while he would have had the opportunity to obtain ordnance along his journey from castles in Wales and at Stafford, Tamworth and Lichfield, where, as the ‘Ballad of Bosworth Field’ recorded, he had been greeted by a volley of cannon fire. The fact that Sir Richard Guildford had been appointed as Henry’s master of the ordnance on 8 August, a day after landing in Dale, suggests that Henry’s forces brought artillery with them.

With both sides firing upon each other, the cannon balls could have been fired from either direction along Fenn Lanes; recent experiments in firing similar sized weapons has demonstrated that cannon shot could travel over a kilometre, bouncing for a significant distance from their first impact on the ground. Added to this, the fields where the finds were discovered have been extensively ploughed over the centuries, bringing with it the prospect that the shot would have been moved from where they originally came to rest at the battle. While this does not diminish the importance of the discovery of these remarkable archaeological finds in reassessing how medieval warfare was fought, a sensible note of caution should also be applied when using the cannon shot to pinpoint the exact site of the battle, even if they do correspond closely with all the evidence that pinpoints ‘Redemore’ to the fields surrounding Fenn Lanes beneath Stoke Golding and Dadlington.

The most celebrated find of the recent investigations find has been
the silver-gilt livery badge depicting a boar, roughly two centimetres in length and a centimetre in width, that has been heralded as ‘a vital clue’ ‘as to the exact spot where Richard III died’. The figure of the boar was certainly Richard’s personal device which most likely would have been worn by a member of his retinue. On the back of the badge is evidence of its fastening in a figure of eight design, suggesting that it may have been held in place by a pin. The boar badge was discovered in a field close to a footpath off Fenn Lanes Farm. Nearby is a ditch and evidence of the possible ‘Fen Hole’, lying in the parish of Dadlington. Whether we should be confident enough to suggest that the discovery of the boar badge ‘has helped to pinpoint the likely site of King Richard’s death’, however, is to place upon the archaeological evidence a weight of expectation that cannot necessarily be sustained. Though the fact that the badge is fashioned from silver gilt suggests that it must have been worn by a soldier of substance, possibly from the gentry class and one of the ‘choice’ men with whom Richard had decided to surround himself, it is entirely possible that the badge could have come loose as he fled the battle. The discovery of a broken sword-pommel nearby, however, does suggest that this must have been an area in which hand-to-hand combat took place, in addition to the greatest concentration of cannon shot being found in the neighbouring fields.

This note of caution is highlighted by an equally significant find, a lead badge clearly depicting a blazing sun, the Yorkist badge of the sun in splendour that also features on the back of the Bosworth crucifix, that was discovered in an entirely separate location to the boar badge, between Mill Lane and a field known formerly as Mill Field, the likely site of the Dadlington windmill. It was here also that a silver gilt heraldic badge of an eagle grasping a snake in its beak was discovered. Other artefacts that have come to light in the archaeological investigations include a double petard of Charles the Bold of Burgundy (1467–77), was discovered near the Fenn Lanes ford. Tantalisingly, the find is suggestive of the presence of Burgundian troops at the battle; after all, Maximilian’s agent Juan de Salazar had been present at the battle. Yet again, the assumption is not so clear cut: Burgundian coins were legal tender in England, so the coin itself does not prove that it belonged to a Burgundian solider, although two other Burgundian coins were also
recovered, both from the Ambion Hill area, which suggests that they may have come from Richard’s camp.

The recent archaeological investigations have nevertheless wielded a wealth of new information about the battle, adding to what has already been a ferocious debate about where the battle was fought. No doubt it will last for decades to come, as new finds are uncovered and future investigative technology develops. If anything, it proves that the debate around Bosworth or ‘Redesmore’ remains alive and well. Long may it continue. Over 500 years since the battle was fought, in many ways Bosworth remains so close but yet so far from our own imaginations. Part of the responsibility for this remains with the paucity of original documentary evidence, and what there is remains open to interpretation.

There is, however, one last clue to the battle’s location that has puzzled historians for centuries. When Henry’s victory was proclaimed in York by the Windsor herald three days after the battle, Richard was described as having been slain at a ‘place named Sandeford’. The proclamation was not known for its accuracy, issued in the confusion of what had actually occurred: it wrongly included Thomas, Earl of Surrey in the roll call of the dead. The citizens of York certainly ignored the location, knowing as they did that the fighting had occurred at ‘the field of Redemore’. Subsequently historians have sought to locate where this ‘sandy ford’ might be, whether it represents a sandy area of ground in the area of ‘redemore’. Yet medieval battles could be named not only by their geographic location, but also by their iconic significance. One of the first mentions of the battle of Towton, for instance, recorded it as being Northfield or Palm Sunday battle. The herald’s proclamation was not just second-hand news, but an official statement of the new king’s will and intent and how, importantly, he wanted his victory to be recognised. Sandeford need not necessarily be a place, rather a representation of how Henry wished his ‘victorious field’ to be viewed. In fact, Sandeford was a long-established name for a battle, made popular through prophecies associated with Thomas the Rhymer of Erceldoun from the thirteenth century. In one, it was described how there would be a terrible battle at Sandeford, which is described as the ‘last battle’. There is a strong link between prophecy and Henry’s expected arrival, particularly from Welsh Bards. Is it possible that in using ‘Sandeford’
in his proclamation, Henry was using bardic traditions to reinforce his new kingship? Ultimately, we cannot know. Perhaps Bernard André was right; in the end, we can only draw a blank.

POSTSCRIPT

In the late summer of 2012, an archaeological team co-ordinated by the University of Leicester was granted permission to dig several trenches in the car park in Leicester where Richard III’s body was believed to have been buried. In the far corner they discovered a skeleton in what was identified as the site of the choir of the nave of Greyfriars Church.

The skeleton, lying around 26¾ inches (68cm) below modern ground level, had been placed in a hurriedly made grave that was irregular in shape, with sloping sides and a concave base, and too short for the skeleton to be fully laid out inside it. Its lower limbs were fully extended, suggesting that perhaps the legs had been laid in the grave first, yet the torso of the remains had been twisted slightly, and the skull had been buried noticeably higher than the rest of the skeleton, propped up against the north-west corner of the grave, as if the body had to be squeezed into the grave pit by bending the neck. The mouth of the body must have fallen open as the remains were being interred, for the skull was uncovered with its jaw hanging open. Rather than the arms lying by the sides of the body, as is the case with most medieval burials, the lower left arm had been draped over the abdomen, the right arm laid over the torso, and the hands crossed, evidence of them possibly having been tied together, right hand over left, by the hip.

As the bones were unearthed by trowel and brush strokes, it became apparent that the skeleton was missing both of its feet. However, it seems that the disappearance of the feet in their entirety can be explained by later disturbance caused by the construction of a Victorian building merely metres away. As the skeleton was removed for further examination, it also became clear that this person had not died of natural causes. The lead archaeologist, Dr Richard Buckley, quickly
recognised that the body had suffered ‘critical injuries’. When the team announced the discovery of the body to an eager gathering of the press on 12 September 2012 he explained that the skeleton showed signs of ‘near death trauma’ that ‘appears to be consistent with injury from battle’. According to Dr Jo Appleby, Professor of Human Bioarchaeology at Leicester University, ‘the skull had a minimum of two injuries. The first was a small penetrating wound to the top of the head that had dislodged two small flaps of bone on the skull’s interior. The second was a much larger wound to the occipital bone (or base of the skull): a slice had been cut off the skull at the side and back. This is consistent with a bladed instrument of some sort … it should be noted that this did not cut through the neck and that the skull was in its correct anatomical position when excavated.’

No images of the skeleton were released while the university carried out further tests on the bones. On 4 February 2013, at a press conference at Leicester University, it was announced that not only did radiocarbon dating suggest that the remains were those of a male who had lived between 1455 and 1540, testing also showed that the individual had enjoyed a protein-rich diet, with high levels of marine protein detected in the bones. Crucially, DNA tests also matched the bones to the nearest surviving relative of Richard III.

Analysis of the skeleton had confirmed that the individual was male, in his late 20s to late 30s, with a ‘gracile or feminine build’. Yet, perhaps most strikingly, from the moment the remains were uncovered, it was clear that the skeleton demonstrated a noticeable curvature of the spine or scoliosis that had most likely occurred at the time of puberty. ‘The analysis of the skeleton proved that it was an adult male, but with an unusually slender, almost feminine, build for a man,’ Dr Jo Appleby announced at the conference. ‘This is in keeping with historical sources which describe Richard as being of very slender build. There is, however, no indication that he had a withered arm – both arms were of a similar size and both were used normally during life.’ Without the spinal abnormality, it is estimated that the individual was roughly 5 feet 8 inches (1.72m) high. This would have been above average height for a medieval male; however, the curve in the spine would have taken a significant amount off his apparent height when standing. The spinal disability would have meant that the individual stood up to one foot
(0.3m) shorter, with his right shoulder higher than his left. ‘Taken as a whole,’ Dr Appleby reported, ‘the skeletal evidence provides a highly convincing case for identification as Richard III’.