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A verse written at some point after the death of James Stanley, Bishop of Ely - youngest surviving son of Thomas Stanley and Eleanor Neville - in 1525.

Having already secured prestigious ecclesiastical positions in Manchester, James was elevated to the see of Ely in 1506. This was presumably through the influence of his stepmother, Margaret Beaufort, since the two of them later collaborated on several Cambridge foundations.

As this poem serves to demonstrate, James was a great patron, but not the most pious of priests!

'A little priest's metal was in him, A goodly tall man, as was in all England, And sped well in matters that he took in hand, Of Ely many a day was he bishop there. Builded Somersame, the bishop's chief manere: Ane great viander as was in his days: To bishops that then was this no dispraise. Because he was a priest. I dare do no less. But leave, as I know now of his hardiness: What priest hath a blow on the one ear, [will] suddenly Turn the other likewise, for humility? He would not do so, by the cross in my purse; Yet I trust his soul fareth never the worse. For he did acts boldly, divers, in his days, If he had been no priest, had been worthy praise. God send his soul to the heavenly company, Farewell, godly James, Bishop of Ely.'

#{{sources}}#{the three sons of stanley}#{{the stanley queue}}

Wife:

As long as you do not behave as a tyrant, I shall not have cause to, Margaret thought silently. In truth, all tyrancy she placed firmly upon the Usurper’s head, it was a claim for Richard’s shoulders to bear, but that did not mean her husband would not be so inclined. She had learned from early youth, that greed for power and hunger for wealth and prosperity could drive men to anything, no act beyond their moral boundaries. She still remembered her Mother’s promises when she had married Edmund, and he had been a man grown, tall and imposing, promises that nothing would happen for some time, that it would be no different than her previous match, made in words alone until she was a little older. Edmund Tudor had made her Mother’s promises into lies, and years later she had learned his reasoning.

Men did not wait for anything if they did not have to and Richard had handed a world into Thomas’ hands; it could easily swell his head, his pride and control if she was not a watchman to it.

“It was the best Buckingham could manage,” Margaret retorted quickly, “When we joined forces, the man was insistent, he was a mind that was ever convinced he knew best and that none could better him in plots and he was proven wrong to the cost of his life” And men rarely felt the patience to listen to women; there were few who differed, of course, but for the most part it was a battle constantly fought and one which Margaret never intended to relent upon. She was not boastful when she considered herself intelligent, quick-witted, determined; these were the qualities God had deemed to bestow upon her and she would be bound to use them.

“If you do not trust in the success of them, surely you know me well enough by now enough to trust in my skill? There would not be one footstep taken that was not certain; it is for my son, Thomas, my son” She repeated the word, imploring him. She would never risk failure when it came to Henry, never, and now there was none left but her and those beside her to continue these plots, she would ascertain every part of the way that failure was far from possibility.

She hesitated at the promise, reluctant, but like it or no, she needed leeway, allowances, now that power had been stolen from her hands…and a promise made today did not always mean a promise kept tomorrow. Circumstances could change and turn the tides in a moment. “Until…circumstances are bettered, I shall curtail my communications to those safest” She promised.

He waited until she had finished, his head tilted back in silent appraisal, with a small quirk of the lip at her final hesitation. “Good,” he replied curtly. “Just remember that it is up to me to determine when circumstances are bettered, not you.” He flashed her a grin sarcastic enough to show that he knew what game she was playing, but fleeting enough to leave no time for a rebuttal. Confident that his point had been made, he returned to the broader questions at hand.

Thomas needed no lecture on the many failings of Harry Stafford. With the right level of ruthlessness and skill, Buckingham might have risen up as another Hugh Despenser the Younger (and given the former’s acquisitiveness in south Wales over the last few months, this had been a justified fear). But it had taken an invasion from France and the deposition of a king to remove the Despensers; Buckingham had been thwarted only by a flooded river and his own political incompetence. “I have never doubted your skill and diligence, Margaret,” the baron said, with a vague swat of the hand and a curl of the lip that cast aside any notion that these words were offered merely as praise. “My concern is not that you are a Buckingham, but that you’ll endanger yourself by contacting other Buckinghams. So to speak.”

Thomas was careful not to brush aside the mentions of her son in a manner quite so blasé. Was he not, after all, a father himself, and was not the continuation of his family name and estates through his sons and their heirs part of his very reason for being? There, he supposed, was the difference between his experience of parenthood and hers. While he had two of his three boys already settled in their estates and advantageously matched, Margaret’s only son remained an exile whose prospects of filling Edmund Tudor’s shoes were as remote as the duchy of Brittany itself was. “I know you would not act rashly if it endangered your boy,” he said, his tone firm, but gentle. “And so you must understand that, likewise, I cannot have you acting in any way that endangers mine own sons.” There were other arguments he could use: he could point out that Henry was his son now, through covenant, just as Margaret had become mother to George, Edward and James when they married - but no, their interests, it seemed, would remain separate, even if he did ostensibly have complete control over Margaret and all that had once been hers.

He took one final swig of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand. Setting the goblet down again, he concluded, “Did you have any further things on your mind, or are you satisfied with our arrangement?” Thomas knew perfectly well that she could reply yes through gritted teeth and pay him little heed, but nevertheless, the option to voice further concerns was there.After all, ‘twas better - though he liked it little - for her to vent her frustrations at him now than to channel them into another reckless plot. It was, in this instance at least, far safer to trust a Stanley than a Buckingham.

#{the suspect: 1483-85}#a billion years later #sorry about the wait

Hi! I love your blog, thanks for keeping it! :) I wanted to ask you, do you know anything more about Thomas`s brother, Sir William, or can link me to any websites or articles which have information about him? He`s as fascinating as his brother!

{{ That’s very kind of you to say - thank you!

You’re right; William is absolutely fascinating. In some ways he’s more interesting than his brother, partly because younger sons weren’t expected to act in the interests of their whole family in quite the same way and had more options open to them in terms of career/loyalty etc. And boy oh boy does that show through in Sir William’s case, even though William was a lot wealthier and more independent than most younger brothers/sons tended to be.

That said, it’s difficult to say much about William’s career because so much of it has been overshadowed by his brother’s. From 1495 onwards, most of William’s defining career moves are ascribed to Thomas instead, hence the conflation between the two brothers in accounts of their involvement at Bosworth. To some extent, the Stanley family themselves can be blamed for this, since some of the earliest ballads about Bosworth and the events leading up to it come from their affinity, and several of Thomas More’s probable sources were well-established in the Stanley-Beaufort circle (including Christopher Urswick, who even gets a cameo in Shakespeare’s Richard III). The events surrounding William’s treason and execution were clearly very shady; the Stanleys were keen to disassociate themselves from it, and the commentators at Henry VII’s court weren’t given many details either (probably because of the flimsiness of the charges), so in terms of narrative sources, we haven’t got an awful lot to go on, despite all the hubbub his execution caused.

But to paint in very broad brushstrokes, William’s tendency throughout the WotR was to fight on the Yorkist side. He was attainted as a traitor after fighting alongside Salisbury & co. at Blore Heath, but was granted substantial rewards when Edward IV finally took power. He lost out during the Readeption, and was one of the first to welcome Edward back in 1471. The only time he seemed to take the Lancastrian side was at Bosworth, although it’s been argued that he was fighting for EoY rather than Henry Tudor in this battle, hence his quandary when he heard rumours that Richard of York was still alive and his fatal decision to communicate with Perkin Warbeck. That’s not to say we should paint William as a die-hard Yorkist - he had vested interests in Cheshire and North Wales that R3 and his allies threatened to upset, and as steward of the Prince of Wales’ household, he’s another person who really lost out when R3 took the throne in 1483. He might not have shared Lord Stanley’s political tactics, but they weren’t too dissimilar in their overall aims. (It’s interesting that Thomas petitions - albeit unsuccessfully - for William to be pardoned by the Lancastrians in 1459 but seems to make no such attempt when William’s accused of conspiring with Warbeck. Fighting for another side is fine, but threatening the security of the Stanley family and the peace of the realm is not.)

The go-to article on William (once you’ve read the ODNB entry) is Michael Jones’ ‘Sir William Stanley of Holt’ (1988), which is particularly good at tracing William’s regional concerns in north Wales and Cheshire as a distinct affinity from his brother’s, while also charting their overlapping interests. Another article I’d try is Michael Bennett’s ‘Good Lords and Kingmakers’ (1991). It discusses the Stanleys of Lathom from the late 14th century to the early 16th, so it’s good for putting Sir William’s career in the context of his family allegiances.

If you’re not like me (obsessed with landholding/regional power/local defence etc.) and would rather learn more about his treason in 1495, I think there’s a chapter on it in Ian Arthurson’s Perkin Warbeck Conspiracy, which I really must revisit one day.

Anyway, I hope this helps, and thank you for your questions! }}

#{brother william}#i'd provide some more useful links except i can only get most of the articles through my university server #this is very brief so if you have more questions let me know!#{{out of the wars}}#richards-lizzie

Wife:

Margaret bore witness to his every moment, every affectation no matter how small. She had learned in her early youth that much and more could be said from stance as from words, and too often a movement of the hand betrayed a lie far more quickly than anything else. Thomas, however, seemed to have made it his life’s work to guard his thoughts and feelings from all but those whom with whom he wished to share…he was a clever man and Margaret admired him for such resilience and manner of survival. It was one such reason why he had been her choice for husband….yet currently, she wished he were a little easy to read so that she might know her next steps more certainly.

“My apologies; I am ill used to the extent of the role of a husband when a woman is no more than a wife,” And there it was. The sharpness of her tone betrayed the true level of her bitterness over the matter and her choice of words confessed the true source of her irritation. Imprisonment she could bear, challenges and attacks she could suffer, all gladly for her son’s cause, but the idea that she was nothing but a wife, an extension of her husband’s household as much as his lands or his furniture was almost more than she could bear. She had been pushed along all her life, circumstances and the whims of men dictating her every move, yet she had always had her own household, her own finances, her own lands and titles, some independence no matter how she was dictated. Richard had taken even that.

“I know that you have ambitions,” She said, forcing herself to calm any threats of temper that hummed beneath her, slipping back into her easy manner that was so natural when she was in good humour. “And I know that you keep them well hidden from others also. But you must understand my frustration, my anger,” She told him, “And you must understand that when you are the only one in my company, I have none to inflict it on but you. I apologise for it, but I will not promise that it will not be repeated. Better that I unleash my fury with words at your feet than at the Usurper’s, would you not agree?” Margaret had amusement on her lips, a knowing gaze, encouraging her husband to share in it.

“My actions, any and all I take, shall be done with the utmost surreptitious habits; you shall be free to plead any ignorance should the matter come to it. But…with success, Thomas…Henry is all that is left to lead the cause, only he can be a true challenger to Richard now, do you not see? You are in a significant position at court, yes, but the stepfather to the King is far higher, would you not agree? You would have greater estates, greater power, a greater position…the King himself would be your kin as well as your ally, Thomas. If it is your ambitions you think of, then there is no better place to focus them”

He let her speak, unwilling to enter into further arguments unnecessarily. The only response he deigned to give to her impassioned outburst was a gentle incline of the head - a deliberate display of good-willed patience to one who seemed determined to test it.

Thomas appreciated the eventual lifting of her tone and shared her amusement, her arguments prompting a short laugh through his nose. Better to dwell on humour than to encourage her complaints by responding to them. He did wonder, in a moment of dry whimsy, if unleashing Margaret’s full fury on Richard could actually do the realm some good; the force of it might shorten this period of civil conflict by ten years.“Quite,” he replied, his smile mirroring hers. “As long as you do not come to see me as a tyrant in mine own house.” His tone was light, nonchalant even, but it could serve as a subtle confirmation that he would not be unjust in taking advantage of her misfortune, nor usurp her liberties as blatantly as Richard had done. An informal concession in these fraught negotiations.

Would you not agree... do you not see...would you not agree...? Thomas resisted the urge to give in to her manipulations and nod his head at such leading phrases. Good humour could only get Margaret so far. Of course he saw; the temptations were as clear as day, like a pie in a cookshop window. Seeing, however, was very different to agreeing. There was much to gain from swiping the crown from Richard’s brow and setting it upon Richmond’s, but there was much to lose if it went wrong. Contrary to what she said, pleading ignorance was a luxury he could ill afford now. Surely one of the main reasons why Richard had dissolved Margaret’s household was to make he - Thomas Stanley - responsible for any further crime she might commit.

“With success?” he exclaimed, with mocking incredulity writ upon his face as a half-snarl, half-wince. “After the debacle that saw your boy turn back from Plymouth, and saw Buckingham executed? If that is the best the Lancastrians and old King Edward’s faction can do when they finally get organised, Margaret, then I like not our chances.” And neither did God, apparently, else He would not have breathed such a storm upon English waters that one party had been scattered at sea and the other stopped at the banks of the Severn. But the will of God was not today’s topic of discussion; this conversation was proving to be a battle of wills in its own right.

Having made his point, his tone shifted to a more conciliatory one, and he gently set down his goblet. “Many of your friends are my friends also. Writing to them would arouse little suspicion; given your continued duties as my wife, you would have ample reason to write to them. Test the waters in England if you must, but for my sake, refrain from contacting anyone in your son’s little satellite court until things have cooled. Could I trust you to do that?”

#i don't usually go in for the whole astrology thing but i can totally see that #i think stanley's just figured that the best way to deal with her changing moods is to keep cool and wait for it to pass #although in this encounter #when he feels he has a greater need to show superiority #he's being a bit sharper (and snarkier) than he might otherwise be #{the suspect: 1483-85}#lentelente

{{ Last week, I got to visit Rye Castle in East Sussex, which, it turns out, actually belonged to Lord Stanley for a while, between c.1473 and 1492! The castle was conveyed to Stanley by Joan Hyde upon the death of her father.

It’s also perhaps worth mentioning that one of the attorneys for this sale was none other than Reginald Bray, providing an early example of how Margaret Beaufort’s servants often moved across to serve her new husband after they married in 1472.

Why Stanley - whose estates were clustered in the North West - would suddenly take an interest in one of the south-eastern Cinque Ports is unclear. In any case, when he passed on the castle to John Newbury in 1492, it was part of an exchange in which Stanley received some of Newbury’s lands in Cheshire, near the edge of Stanley’s natural sphere of influence. }}

#{{out of the wars}}#{territories}#genuinely interested to find out why he bothered with rye at all #unless he was just interested in the revenues

Wife:

“Of course” Margaret Stanley could move as she pleased for Margaret Stanley was only a wife, all decisions and actions curtailed or encouraged at the whim of her husband; no doubt King Richard thought her suitably trapped, limited to the point of being beyond concern. Why else would he let her live? He accused her of treason and yet did not take her head, only putting under the lock and key of a spousal confinement. He felt a husband was enough to hold a woman fast from further crimes…and perhaps he was right, but working in the best interests of her son, her only child, was no crime in Margaret’s eyes.

If only King Richard were not so rigid and cold, if only she could appeal to him as she had appealed to King Edward, who had listened to her and smiled at her compliments, had been pleased when she played host to him, and had heard her pleas for her son’s return and had been amicable towards them; by the heavens, he had written the document to bring her son home, to allow him money from her estates, to return his titles…..but fortune’s wheel had snatched that King away before he could act upon his promises and Richard had seen the boy King vanished before he could finish his Father’s work. If she did not know better and more, she might thing the action was a personal vendetta against her own cause; but no, it was simply ill fortune at the hands of a usurper.

Henry had better claim than he for her son had killed no promises, had disinherited no children, had never stolen from the hands of his own nephew. He could make a better claim for the throne, and he would be a better King. She had only ever wanted him the lord of his lands, but she knew now more than ever, that the only way to have him home was with a crown upon his head.

And she could not do that when confined to house arrest, unless her husband allowed her letters and offered no protest to her continued ministrations and machinations. She had no money now to send to Henry, but she had sent much already, and there were cleverer, more cautious ways to find funds in other places; she had garnered support and there were many men to his claim now, but words and applications could see more by his side once he touched English soil.

Thoughts filled with Henry and how long it had been since last she had looked upon her son’s face and the deathly price that now lay upon his head, Margaret did not at first notice that Thomas had already seated himself, nor that he had asked the same of her.

She sat at the request– she did not choose to view it as instruction as it would only frustrate her further and that would serve neither of them. “There is much to discuss,” She admitted without hesitation. She would not play a game of words with that for what would be the point. They knew the circumstance; her limitations could be increased or lessened as he saw fit, in truth, whether she liked it or not, and the matter only remained to discover whether her husband would choose leniency or not in her confinement.

Margaret took a breath and wondered how to venture this discussion, but as she looked at her husband, she concluded that frank and open honesty might serve her best here. What was the point in dancing around a subject they both knew the facts of? “Am I free to write as often as I have? Do I have freedom of parchment and quill?” She asked, before adding with a knowing glance, “You know me well enough to know that I will find a way regardless, but I would prefer that I make my correspondences with your blessing”

I will find a way regardless. Lips pursed into something that was not quite a smile, and the baron’s hands moved from the arms of his chair to his lap, ringed fingers interlocking furtively. A tilt of the head served as a mild concession: households were porous institutions, and anyone with a semblance of guile could probably carry out a letter without being caught.

That, however, was where his concessions would end - at least for now. Her question had not surprised him (for what woman would not want to write to her exiled son, and what prisoner - if that was what she was to be - would not wish to write to faraway friends?), but her manner of asking had. She had stated her case with a level of presumption that would have left most husbands reeling, not least a husband who had expected to go up in his wife’s estimations for effectively saving her life.

“I am not a dry stamp,” he said sharply. “My job is not to confirm the law as it is written by the Lady Margaret.” He rattled it off almost nonchalantly, as though correcting an error in her grammar. Attempts at genuine chastisement ceased with a severe look - enough to demonstrate that she was treading on a boundary that oughtn’t be crossed - before his gaze was averted by the arrival of drinks, and he reached out to take his cup in hand.

Though he recognised the limits to her deference, he was also able to appreciate her honesty. Where he had kept his cards close to his chest, she had shown her hand, splaying her cards across the table in a sign of... weakness? Surrender? Surely there was an element of this, though Margaret would never admit it. The past month’s events were an unnecessarily harsh reminder of how much she needed the Stanleys in these turbulent times. In any case, her openness had to indicate some degree of trust, begrudgingly given or otherwise (trust that he had the power to help, if not necessarily the inclination).

Besides, to fight back against her discourtesy would have been counterproductive; theirs was a relationship built through meticulous negotiation, and her irreverence towards his authority mattered less at present than her apparent disregard for his own aims and interests. It was for this reason that revealing more of his own hand now seemed more sensible than keeping it hidden. He took a large sip of wine and wiped his mouth before adding, “You are not the only one with ambitions here, as you well know.”

After all, George Stanley had already lost out to this new regime: following a decade of bargaining with the Woodvilles, Thomas had ensured that when Edward V assumed his father’s crown, his eldest would be the new king’s cousin by marriage with a significant office in the royal household.Those hopes had vanished along with the young princes. Now Richard’s leniency towards Margaret had convinced Thomas that the new king was prepared to tiptoe round his family in order to secure their loyalty and the stability of their region; but where would he draw the line? Any further doubts about the Stanleys’ trustworthiness and suddenly all hopes George might have harboured about succeeding his father and grandfather as steward of the household would be reduced to nothing.

“Forgive me, Margaret, if I do not leap for joy at the prospect of your engaging in treason again. I will not countenance your correspondence with young Richmond if it should in any way jeopardise the prospects of my own sons, or my own security.”

He took another swig of drink and then paused, his arm still elevated so that he could watch her over the rim of his goblet. “If you want my blessing - which, believe me, is in your best interests - then prithee explain why granting you parchment and quill is in my best interests also.”

#{the suspect: 1483-85}#lentelente #he's... being more open than i'd expected him to be tbh #looks like they're moving past the initial veiled displays of power and deference and into a more open discussion #so it'll be interesting to see if/how the conflict develops and how well they iron it out #sorry this is so late btw #exams happened and then loads of other stuff cropped up

{{ Aaaaand now my second year of uni is done!

While I get back to writing replies, consider this a small starter call. Whether or not we’ve interacted or already have threads going, go ahead and like this post. }}

#{{out of the wars}}#{{starter call}}

Wife:

Margaret’s sharp gaze was not blind to the curve of her husband’s lips, and she let her own lips turn upwards in shared amusement; they had not been married so very long yet, not when compared to her many years with Sir Henry, but he already knew her well enough to know her nature was not one of keeping silence. Oh, she knew well enough the time to hold her tongue and the time to let it free, but no matter, eventually her opinion was always made clear in the end.

“A baroness by the grace of my husband,” She corrected, “And imprisoned even if it be no stone tower and cell” Her words betrayed a tension and she felt her hands flexing as if to relieve a little of it. She thought of prayer or confession to clear her head, to see if God might make his intent more easily seen, or at the very least, give her the strength to bear this turn of the wheel, and have courage that it would turn again. But it would not turn without the help of the man beside her.

It was not that she was angry with Thomas; he had only done what he had always done for their marriage, and for her very reason behind the making of it. He had secured her position and by extension secured her son’s and kept her position at court, even when she had the taint of treason thrown against her. If anything in this circumstance, her husband had only served to prove she had been right in this match, her choice justified, even if she was at the lowest turn of the wheel now Thomas had kept her from being crushed.

No, it was not her husband for whom she felt fury and frustration but the King himself. The man took from everyone, all he did was steal what was not rightfully is; what Godly man proclaimed their own kin illegitimate? That her own kin had played a part in the capture of the princes had been a concern, but what had followed had obliterated that with a fresh indignance and disbelief; to deny a marriage under God that had been acknowledged by the nation and the Vatican all simply so the crown could be taken for himself? It was disloyal and, worse, it was blasphemous and those boys….surely they had been murdered, upon Richard’s command no doubt, for where else could they be? And now he had stolen all from Margaret as well; no, if she had fury, it was the King she wished to feel it, not her husband. But her husband was near and the King far and it was hard to compartmentalise the two when Thomas must so insist on reminding her of the ownership and now of the name she must sign.

“Perhaps I should merely sign all correspondence Margaret Beaufort and preclude any confusion that might be prompted,” Margaret said as she began to move to more private rooms so that their discussion was not heeded so easily by servants, but there was more of her own variety of humour to her words now. She would not make an enemy of him, could not. “The name is of little concern; I am your wife no matter the circumstance, am I not? Stanley as much as Richmond? But I do hope that Margaret Stanley would not be without some freedoms of her home, Thomas…..”

He hummed in agreement. Aye, it was through his grace that she bore the title of baroness. Everything she now had would be a gift of his grace, but just how gracious he would choose to be remained to be seen. He was certainly prepared to exercise discretion in following through with Richard’s orders; after all, it was he, and not the King, who had to live with its consequences on a nigh daily basis.

Besides, he could view this lenience as a small and satisfying act of resistance against the former Duke of Gloucester - a man who had seen fit to wreck the Stanley family’s ambitions of prosperity under Edward V, execute an old friend and kinsman with only a semblance of legality, (presumably) murder two boys in cold blood, and threaten the balance of power on the fringes of Thomas’ affinity. He was not about to take a leaf from Margaret’s book and dabble in treason, but since Richard had proved himself untrustworthy, it was only right that Stanley should repay him in kind.

Yet whatever his personal feelings, he could not have Margaret assume that his sympathies earned her his support. Her treason had made him rich, but he could hardly give her the credit for that. He would rather subsequent royal preferment did not follow a taxing interrogation from the king’s council. Amenable to persuasion though he was, Thomas was happy to play the judge for a brief while. Once they had ascended to the more private space of the solar, he lowered himself unceremoniously into his chair, legs outstretched with one heel crossed over the other. His wry smile had not changed, as though he thought displaying any greater sign of mirth at Margaret’s brand of humour would be a concession.

“Margaret Stanley can go about as she pleases. Margaret Beaufort, to all intents and purposes, is in stone tower and cell. If Richard gets his way, she may not see the light of day again. You would be wise to keep the two persons separate.”

His words are all for effect; in truth, he would hate to see her lose the Beaufort name as much as she. Thomas could not complain that this new arrangement devised by the King was unfavourable to him, for the wealth of the richest landlady in England had tumbled into his hands, but he had not married her merely for her land - he had enough of his own, encircling the littoral of the Irish Sea and stretching deep into the heart of the North West, built up over four generations of good lordship. Nay, her name was a prize in itself, and his winning it had tied him to one of the most prominent bloodlines in the realm. He therefore wondered if subsuming her identity entirely might undermine his own.

“But sit, wife” - his tone left it unclear whether it was an invitation or a request - “and mayhap we can discuss the settlement further.”

#{the suspect: 1483-85}#lentelente #yeah i'm torn on stanley's motives at this point #because i do think in an ideal world he wanted richard off the throne and henry on it #but despite stanley's reputation as a schemer in times of crisis he generally did better in long stints of peace #and richard's reign so far had been profoundly unstable #which did not bode well #but henry wasn't really a viable candidate yet and didn't necessarily promise stability either #so i imagine he gave margaret leeway purely for the purpose of keeping everyone's options open #rather than abetting henry in any active sense #anyway sorry for taking so long to reply #had hoped to queue this before the first batch of exams #{{the stanley queue}}

tempushistoria-deactivated20201

the most recent portrayals of Henry the VII of England. (The Hollow Crown and The White Princess)

#{son through covenant}#{unofficial portrait}#{{the stanley queue}}

the-earl-in-the-tower

Semi-Hiatus

{{ Hi all. I’ve got exams starting soon, so I’m settling down into quiet mode and won’t be logging in again until the 12th June. Any replies I already have in my drafts will be queued. Thank you for your patience! }}

#{{out of the wars}}#ditto #if i already owe you something you'll get it asap dw

Wife:

Margaret’s lips pursed as she looked about her, both in an involuntary display of displeasure as well as a conscious attempt to keep herself from speaking freely of what was on her mind. She was not a woman to be easily kowtowed, but nor was she a woman to act impulsively to the detriment of herself; like it or no, much, if not all, power lay in her husband’s court currently and that was the way the game must be played if anything of her plans and intentions were to be a success.

Yet, one thing was all too clear; she would never see Henry home so long as Richard was on the throne which, therefore, made her situation no different than it had been before he had stolen everything from her; it was only the means and resources she had to her disposal which had changed, all under lock and key at the hand of the man beside her. Was he glad of it? She wondered. Was he consumed with pleasure at all the riches and lands he had suddenly acquired, or did he feel some level of pity or sympathy for her predicament? Much like in matters of rebellion and war, it was not always easy for Margaret to gauge the side Thomas Stanley fell upon. It was a gift of his, she supposed.

She turned sharply at the word ‘keeper’, resenting it greatly, but offered no outward protest though her expression said it clearly enough.

“I have no intention of remaining quiet,” Let him take the meaning however he wished. Margaret turned to ask one of her girls to remove her cloak, before she remembered that none of them here were her girls anymore; servants whom she had cultivated over years, who had served her loyally and whom she repaid loyally in return. All gone now; another strike of resentment and hatred against the King.

Margaret took a breath and turned to her husband, “I should thank you for my head. I doubt it would have remained upon my shoulders otherwise” I thank you and God for that, she silently admitted, but you are no keeper of mine. A servant removed her heavy cloak, and she felt the relief of the weight from her shoulders, but another, much heavier one remained….a weight which drove her onward. Fortune’s Wheel had always turned and she had known suffering and strife a dozen times, and each time she had survived, and she would do no differently here.

“I would say I am in your debt for my life, but I have little to offer now to repay it as you have it all” Her tone left it unclear whether she spoke in jest.

“Of course you do not,” he muttered, though a small curl of the lip betrayed amusement rather than bitterness. The ambiguity of her reply was not lost on him, nor was her sour expression, which he counted as a small victory. This was a game they both knew how to play, and it involved holding their cards close to their chests. It was going to have to be Thomas who made the first move, laying out his lowest cards and building up until she had no choice but to concede. Only when all cards were on the table could they then say, with a lawyer’s certainty, this is where we now stand.

“Aye, your head, and and your dignity too.” His father had been comptroller of the royal household when Eleanor of Gloucester had been paraded through the streets like a common strumpet for her ostensibly wicked designs against the king. It had also been the first Lord Stanley’s duty to escort the duchess - now divorced from her husband - to her exile on Man. True, Margaret was neither witch nor whore - she made that much perfectly clear - but she should be grateful that she was not publicly humiliated and banished to some windswept and godforsaken island, and was allowed instead to remain secure by her husband’s side. “As it is, at least you remain a baroness, and neither of us are humiliated by your being in prison.”

Having shed his cloak, Thomas beckoned for a valet to carry his strongbox to his chamber. He chuckled at her final remark, though there seemed little humour there; indeed, his own response was as grave as they could come.“You can repay me simply by being what you have always been - a dutiful wife and good lady to our tenants.” The baron inclined his head before pointedly correcting himself: “my tenants now.” A small shrug and an apologetic wave of the hand clarified that this was, of course, the king’s fault and not his. “Your estates have been managed well, and I should hate to lose your experience simply because the letters cannot be signed Margaret Richmond.”

After all, despite everything that Margaret had lost (for she had lost much, and he did pity her for it) she was still Lady Stanley. For any woman who had not grown used to the illustrious title of countess, being tied to one of the greatest emerging families in the realm would have been a signal honour. But, as Margaret was making quite clear, their marriage was one based on debts, on deeds, and on deals; it was a marriage where the stroke of a secretary’s pen meant more than a touching of hands or an exchange of scornful looks. Now at home as well as in correspondence, Richmond would need crossing out, and Stanley written in its place.

#{the suspect: 1483-85}#lentelente #haven't got my books on me so i can't check #but i'm assuming margaret still played some role in managing her estates even though they were no longer hers?#i mean house arrest or no she was still his wife #and i can't imagine stanley managed to handle both his estates and hers all by himself

In 1477 a local genealogist concluded his descent of the Stanleys of Lathom with Thomas, Lord Stanley 'now reyninge'. It was a telling slip: his position in the region had become at least vice-regal.

M.J. Bennett, ‘’Good Lords’ and ‘King-Makers’: the Stanleys of Lathom in English politics, 1385-1485’ (1981)

#{{sources}}#{territories}#like yes they were trimmers #and yes they were good at playing their cards close to their chests #but they would not have had the freedom to do that had they not built up their own affinity so well beforehand #{{the stanley queue}}

'People in this country be so troubled in such commandment as they have in the King's name and otherwise marvelously that they know not what to do. My lord Strange goeth forth from Lathom upon Monday next with 10,000 men, whither we cannot say. The Duke of Buckingham has so many as that is said here that he is able to go where he will; but I trust he shall be right withstanded and [or] else were great pity.'

From the Plumpton correspondence, dated 18th October 1483. Plumpton was a secretary of Lord Strange, but the fact that he was in the dark about his master’s intentions during Buckingham’s rebellion (not even knowing whose side his men were joining!) demonstrates the Stanley family’s propensity for playing their cards close to their chests.

#{{sources}}#{the three sons of stanley}#{that upstart duke}#{{the stanley queue}}

stanleyofbothsides

To Stoke the Flames

// Finally got round to finishing my ficlet for the Battle of Stoke (May 1487). Because Thomas Stanley wasn’t at the battle, I’ve written it from the POV of his son, Lord Strange. It came out better than I thought it would, especially since Strange makes it easy to draw parallels between Stoke and Bosworth.

Put under the cut because it’s quite long.

Keep reading

#i hear they've just covered stoke in twp #seemed like an apt time to resurrect this #especially given the show's treatment of lord strange #{the three sons of stanley}#{son through covenant}#{milord oxford}#{milord bedford}#{{the stanley queue}}

Wife:

The sentence was lenient by all accounts and Margaret could not deny she had felt some measure of relief. When they had read the attainder against her, the counts of treason and all the details therein, she had felt certain her life was forfeit; King Richard was not an easy monarch and treason never welcomed mercy. Her head would be lost and her son’s cause and life with it, and she had prayed, in the chapel and without, she had prayed; prayed for help and for deliverance.

And it had come in the form of her husband. Thomas had been loyal to Richard no matter her encouragement to openly defy him and help Buckingham and her son, but her husband was a man who always played all cards pressed close to his chest….and it had saved him and now it had saved her.

But at a price. Almost as heavy as her life; nothing was hers now. Nothing that was hers by birthright or by marriage; it was all taken from her, given to her husband, and she was nothing now save his wife. Nothing.

And it did not suit her well.

Less so when they entered the home and she became all too aware that this was her prison now. It was not the Tower, but she was arrested here regardless, confined. She turned to speak to Thomas, to say something of the matter, to perhaps even ask for a little parchment and ink so that she might write, but she loathed the need to ask permission too much to actually ask it and so fell silent before the words could be spoken.

Thomas Stanley had never expected great things from the new regime. He and the Duke of Gloucester had been rivals in the North ever since the latter had grown old enough to lift his own sword. Regional lords seldom made strong kings on account of their partiality, and the bad blood Richard shared with the Stanley family did little to endear them to his cause. They were less than six months into the reign, and already Thomas’ skepticism had been validated by one attempt to free King Edward’s boys and one failed rebellion led by one of the premier noblemen of the realm.

And also implicated in this rebellion had been Thomas’ own wife.

He had turned a blind eye to Margaret’s treason, but he had known of its existence. How could he not? He had lied through his teeth in court when he claimed their households were separate institutions. From henceforth, however, such ignorance would be difficult to plead, since her personal servants had been dismissed and everything she owned - her lands, her goods, her income - were all his. It now made little difference whether their households had overlapped or not, since the only household in existence now was Thomas Stanley’s.

He had played his part well, leaving no traces of treason in his own correspondence, and the rewards had been ample. Far from being rebuked for his failure to control his wife, he was surely now one of the richest men in England. Arriving home at what had once been Margaret’s manor, the baron made a show of surveying the hall afresh, making a mental inventory of his latest acquisitions. All of this was done deliberately in Margaret’s line of sight, and he made a point of glancing over in her direction multiple times; without her wealth and titles she was as much a part of this inventory as everything else in the room.

Yet he also kept glancing at her in order to gauge her mood. Recent events had shown that he wielded some power over the king, to the point where Richard was falling over himself not to antagonise him. In theory, he could now exercise complete control over Margaret too, but he sensed that this would only work in practice up to a certain point, and he was keen to establish where this point was. It was a necessary test, he believed, if he was to be her gaoler until one of them eventually dropped dead.

“I had no wish to be your keeper,” he said slowly, “but if you intend to remain this quiet I daresay you will make my job much easier.”

#{the suspect: 1483-85}#lentelente #i think her silence unsettles him #but he's less interested in starting a dialogue than provoking a response #so he's not asking direct questions #it's like he wants to establish where they stand but not in a way that makes it look like a negotiation?#at least until it's been made clear that he's the one in full control

bold what your muse CAN do ———— REPOST , don’t reblog . ( italic is what they can do but it’s not so good at )

Tagged by @lentelente

Tagging: @yesanthonywoodville

#{meme}#did the 15th c have its own version of poker?? idk #i only have him down as playing an instrument because we know ed stanley was taught to play the clavichord #{{the stanley queue}}

tagged by: @lentelente (thank you!) tagging: @yesanthonywoodville, @aroseofyork

four similarities between mun and muse: (It’s been tricky trying to come up with four, goodness...)

1) Generally happy to sit back and watch things happen rather than get involved. 2) Surrounded by an affinity of loyal friends! 3) Generally not a fan of R3 as a king (though I daresay for very different reasons). 4) We’re both Christian.

four differences between mun and muse:

1) He lived in the North West of England. I’m from the South East. 2) He proved himself (on occasion) to be a capable fighter, whereas I can’t even cope in a self-defence class. (Let’s just say I would not have managed to get out of the way of that swinging pike blade at that council meeting in June 1483...) 3) I don’t have the political power or strength of character to weasel my way out of tricky situations. He clearly did. 4) He travelled round a lot on horseback and enjoyed hunting. I’m allergic to horses.

#{{out of the wars}}#{{meme}}

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