The King's Grave: The Discovery of Richard III's Lost Burial Place and the Clues It Holds (9 page)

Richard might have fought his way to the throne for no other reason than merciless personal ambition; he may also have killed for a cause – the legitimacy of his right to be king. Once we allow for that possibility, the fateful and heroic cavalry charge on the morning of 22 August 1485 begins to make more and more sense. The Battle of Bosworth saw the fall of the last King of England to die in battle and the succession of a dynasty determined to denigrate his name. To bring him back to life we do not need to try to replace a villain with a saint; rather, we need to understand better the bravery and self-belief of the line of horsemen who charged across the battlefield to meet their foe, and the astonishing courage of the king who led that charge. If we are able to allow history to be written by the losers as well as the winners, perhaps we can at last lay Richard III to rest with real dignity.

3

So It Begins

Thursday, 23 August 2012

T
HE ALARM GOES
off at 5 a.m., but I had woken at two and slept unevenly, questions racing through my mind. What could go right and what wrong? What hadn’t I planned for? Would I be ridiculed for this quixotic search? The cab arrives promptly and the journey to Edinburgh’s Waverley Station is quiet, the familiar tree-lined suburbs slipping by. Would I see them differently on my return? Would my quest for the grave of King Richard III change everything for me? As I board the train for Leicester the sick feeling in my stomach finally subsides. This is what I’ve been fighting for. The dig is finally happening.

As the train pulls out of Waverley Station, I’m actually following in Richard’s footsteps. When I was researching Richard’s life it had come as a revelation to learn that he had once walked the streets of Edinburgh, having been sent north by his brother, Edward IV, in 1482 (see
here
).

At the next stop, Berwick, it was strange to think that the train stood on the remnants of what had once been the Great Hall of Berwick Castle, where Richard had also stayed. The train heads out over Northumberland, and Percy country, towards Durham, a city that held a special place in his heart. St Cuthbert, patron saint of Durham Cathedral, was much venerated by Richard who had dedicated a stall to him in his church at Middleham. Not far from Durham was Barnard Castle, one of Richard’s favourite residences where you can still see his personal emblem of a boar carved into a surviving window tracery. And nearby was Saleby, the home of the Brackenbury family, his most loyal supporters and adherents. Robert is the most famous Brackenbury, the man Richard would make Constable of the Tower of London, and who would be immortalized by Shakespeare as ‘Gentle Brackenbury’.

If Durham and its cathedral and Barnard Castle captivated him, it was the next stop that surely held his heart completely. York was always Richard’s ‘fair city’, the Archbishop’s Palace chosen by him as the place where he would invest his young son as Prince of Wales, and whose people had known Richard man and boy.

We’re delayed at Doncaster so I miss the connection at Sheffield but, with thirty minutes to spare built into my journey, I should still make the on-site midday meeting at the Social Services car park with Richard Buckley, co-director of University of Leicester Archaeological Services (ULAS), Dr Christine Fiddler, interim Heritage Manager for Leicester City Council, and Mick Bowers, Head of Greyfriars Property Services. I check my phone. No calls or texts from the media. The press release for the launch event in the car park tomorrow went out yesterday, embargoed until midnight tonight. Perhaps in the 527 years since Richard’s death at Bosworth and interment in Greyfriars Church, the world has turned too many times and there’s no interest in the search for his grave. A part of me is relieved that I’ll then be able to perform my role quietly, away from the media spotlight. But my relief is tinged with frustration. If no one cares about the quest for Richard III’s grave then the chance finally to air the dichotomy between evil Shakespearean villain and man of good reputation – to challenge the status quo – will have been missed.

The train trundles on to Leicester. It’s nearly eleven o’clock and my phone rings. It’s Fiona Phythian, education correspondent for the
Leicester Mercury,
who wants to do an article on the dig for tomorrow’s edition. I give her as much of the story as I can, and explain that the full story will be available tomorrow at the car park. I hear her frustration but if I say too much now this will ruin any chance we have of attracting other media to the launch. As the train pulls into Leicester Station the phone rings again. This time it’s Nick Britten, Midlands correspondent for the
Daily Telegraph,
who tells me the editor wants to run a piece. Thrilled that a national is interested, I give him as much information as I can.

In Leicester, I walk the short distance between the train station and the Greyfriars Building in Grey Friars Street, which allows me fifteen minutes of fresh air to clear my head and prepare myself for what’s to come. En route strangers smile as they pass – what is it about this friendly city that makes me feel so much at home? Situated in the heart of England, Leicester has always welcomed outsiders, from Saxons and Vikings, to Romans and Jews, Asians and Africans.

At Leicester City Council’s Greyfriars Building reception desk I have to explain why I am here, but then Mick Bowers arrives and I’m finally let in. It’s good that security is tight, but I am surprised that news of the dig hasn’t filtered through. Perhaps there’s no interest here either. On the way to the office on the first floor that I can use Bowers shows me the Richard III display boards, full of pictures, history, genealogy and a timeline, making a wonderful introduction for Social Services employees. Centre stage on the display is a voting sheet: ‘Good Richard’ (orange stickers), ‘Bad Richard’ (green stickers) or ‘Annoyed That Their Car Park is Out of Use for the Dig’ (blue stickers). There are some votes for good, some for bad but the blue section is already half full. It’s a lovely moment: I think we may be about to change history; they just want their car park back.

Mike Mistry is the attendant who ensures all runs smoothly in the organized chaos that is the Leicester Social Services car park. Of particular concern are the children who are brought here into care, who typically arrive with care workers at the northern end. Our dig is not going to make his job any easier but he’s affable. I spot Richard Buckley, who is already in the car park with Christine Fiddler. As Mick and I approach them, they’re discussing the bike shed and Trench Two whose size and planned location may just block it. It looks as if the trench might have to be shortened to allow cyclists through, but after another look at the site plans, it’s agreed there’s no need to do so; the cyclists will have ample room to get round it and into their shed. I’m relieved. In the days to come every inch that we dig may count. Archaeologically, the car park is virgin ground and I only have funding to dig 1 per cent of the 17 per cent remaining open area of the Greyfriars precinct. We’re about to play a very expensive and advanced game of Battleships. We will need to find the Greyfriars Church in that 1 per cent, never mind any gravesites. Not for the first time, I glance over to the northern end and the white letter ‘R’ painted on the tarmac.

Richard Buckley confirms that high fencing has been ordered for the site for Health and Safety reasons. I ask if we can put covers over the fencing for privacy (I’m already thinking of the potential human remains we may uncover) and he assures me that they have tarpaulin. Everything will be under control. Apparently the BBC has been in touch which is great news. If the BBC is showing interest it bodes well for tomorrow’s launch and a frisson of excitement runs through our small group. As we leave the earlier tensions fade away in laughter and banter about what the next day will bring. Richard Buckley has told his team that if we find Richard he will eat his hat. It’s now well after 3 p.m. and I get a text from historian and genealogist Dr John Ashdown-Hill telling me that he’s arrived in Leicester. We agree to meet up later at the apartments into which we’ve all been booked. Annette Carson, author of
Richard III: The Maligned King,
has confirmed she’ll be in Leicester at 6 p.m. and will come straight to us.

The apartments are a five-minute walk from the Social Services car park, located by the River Soar. On the way you pass the fine statue of Richard in Castle Gardens. Unlike the statue at Middleham Castle in Yorkshire, where a serpent is curled over his back to denote slanders against him, this depicts Richard III as a warrior king, a courageous fifteenth-century soldier. As I pass the River Soar my thoughts turn to the tale that Richard’s remains were thrown into its depths, a story that remains powerful, no more so than in Leicester. Will the next two weeks consign it to the dustbin of history? Maybe the discoveries of the next fortnight will challenge and change English history, or maybe our theories will be proved wrong.

Back at the apartment the doorbell rings and I open the door to Annette Carson. We hug and she comes in to discuss the plan for tomorrow. I’m telling her about the BBC attending the launch when a text arrives from Richard Buckley to say that ITV Central News is also coming. It’s not long before John Ashdown-Hill arrives and we discuss our respective areas of expertise for the media launch as we don’t want to repeat information. John’s sphere is the Greyfriars Church and genealogy, with his discovery of Richard’s mtDNA sequence, and he is also well practised at repudiating the River Soar story. From her understanding of contemporary sources, Annette’s competence is in defending Richard III’s reputation, while knowledge of his character and the genesis of the dig project is my speciality. With our strategy for tomorrow sorted out, we bid one another goodnight.

I’m ready to collapse into bed when I get a text from Dominic Sewell, the historical equitation specialist, who has just arrived in Leicester; we agree to catch up early tomorrow morning in the car park. The phone then never stops and I spend the next two hours sorting out tomorrow’s filming at the car park launch with various news crews, film crews, radio stations and newspapers. What have I kicked off?

The Media Launch

Friday, 24 August 2012

I’m up at 5 a.m., nervous about what today will bring but thankful that the weather is reasonable – overcast but not raining. John, Annette and I walk to the Social Services car park and arrive at six o’clock to find the large green gates open and a white satellite news van already in place. I notice it is parked over the letter ‘R’, hiding it from view. Richard Buckley and Mick Bowers are already there.

Dominic Sewell pulls up in a car jam-packed with the clothing and armour of a medieval knight. We have a quick discussion and I explain that it’s his job to bring the car park to medieval life with combat display. His ‘foot soldier’, Henry Sherry, a reenactor from the Wars of the Roses group, puts on his ‘murrey’, a dark reddish purple and blue tunic, the colours of the House of York, while Dominic climbs into his hose and padded undergarments aided by Josh, his ‘squire’, who then straps on his armour. They are soon joined by Dr Tobias Capwell, Curator of Arms and Armour at the Wallace Collection in London. It’s a great honour to have a leading expert in this field with us. Toby will talk about Richard, his armour and Bosworth. Claire Graham, the Ground Penetrating Radar (GPR) specialist from Stratascan, is setting up her equipment and running a final analysis of the Social Services car park area. We joke about how far the project has come since we last met in this car park for the original GPR survey a year ago. I see Carl Vivian starting to film for the University of Leicester and meet Colin Brooks, their photographer, who explains that they will be recording all events at the dig for the partners.

The presence of Assistant City Mayor, Piara Singh Clair is a welcome boost and gives the Looking for Richard project its official launch. Michael Ibsen, the genetic descendant of Richard III and his seventeenth-generation nephew, is due from London today and Dr Turi King, the DNA expert from Leicester University, will obtain his DNA sample. Everyone working in the car park will have to give their own DNA sample too, just in case there’s cross-contamination.

I spot Alex Rowson, associate producer at Darlow Smithson Productions (DSP), setting up his equipment. Dr Julian Boon from Leicester University, the inventor of Personality Profiling, is here. As part of the Looking for Richard project I had commissioned him and Professor Mark Lansdale to do the first-ever Personality Analysis of the king. I ask Dr Boon what he will talk about to camera and he confirms his overriding view that Richard III was essentially a well-meaning man living in difficult times. If one of the UK’s leading psychologists, who has spent the past eighteen months profiling Richard, has come to this conclusion, it needs to be heard. Michael Ibsen arrives and is engulfed by news teams. He takes it all in his stride. It’s an added bonus to have a genetic descendant with us on launch day, bringing Richard’s world directly into ours. Turi King and Ibsen make an extraordinary team and collecting his DNA by mouth swab is filmed live; it’s quite surreal to see a living relative of a king having his DNA taken in a car park. The whole place is crammed with news crews and media.

Richard Buckley is pleased that the gazebo has sides so there will be somewhere to shelter if the weather turns. He wants to start spray-painting the car park today to mark out the areas of Trench One and Trench Two so that the buzz saw can cut them ready for tomorrow’s machining work. He’s keen to get on and I agree. We don’t know how much time we may need. Every moment counts. He gives the go-ahead for marking up the trenches with yellow paint and archaeologist Leon Hunt, who put the Archaeological Desk-Based Assessment together for the project back in the spring of 2011, begins the task. He too is quickly surrounded by cameras.

By late afternoon, everyone has left. I look back at the deserted car park. The long, rectangular layouts of the two thirty-metre trenches shine brightly in yellow spray paint. Beside them, and sometimes crossing them, is the faintest of cuts carved into the once pristine tarmac, like a perfect precision puncture wound. The letter ‘R’ is now encased within the cuts of Trench One.