Sunday, September 6, 2015

The Dastardly Death Of William, Lord Hastings

Arms of Sir Wm. Hastings
It appears that the traditional assumptions surrounding the execution of William, Lord Hastings in June of 1483, generally incline towards the idea that the Lord Protector, Richard Duke of Gloucester, simply lost his temper and so, without lawful trial or consultation, ordered the immediate beheading of his previous friend, virtually on the spur of the moment.

This assumption is derived from depictions in Tudor literature claiming that the Duke of Gloucester was infuriated by Hastings’ rigid support of the uncrowned Edward V, contrary to the wishes of the wicked duke who was eager to usurp the throne in the prince’s stead. This account of these events was written down after many preceding decades of indoctrination, when the Tudor-era orthodoxy of the usurping, murdering king had become imprinted on popular consciousness.

The writer who invested the confrontation with its best-known dramatic scenario, later adopted by Shakespeare, was Sir Thomas More, whose various attempts at a ‘history of Richard III’ are loathed by some, beloved of many, and seriously analysed by all too few. Since there exists no official contemporary documentation of exactly what happened, More’s chatty details attract those searching for explanations. It is often further assumed that, although More’s various elaborate accounts concern a time when he was a child and certainly not present, on the occasion of Hastings’ death, John Morton, Bishop of Ely, was certainly present and must therefore have witnessed exactly what happened. More, it is said, would thus have been told the truth by Morton some years afterwards when the young Thomas later lived as a page in Morton’s household.

However, regardless of assumptions, Thomas More himself reveals no source of information for his dramatic construction concerning the Duke of Gloucester’s peremptory execution of Hastings pursuant to a hissy fit. It is unsupported by any contemporary source, although the execution itself was condemned by some contemporary chroniclers. Sadly, very few later commentators appear to have bothered to take into account the bias of those contemporary accounts, or the probable circumstances (leaving dramatics aside) that actually led to Hastings making an attempt on Gloucester’s life.

Let us take one point at a time:
1) The incident occurred in the context of two events which are generally agreed to have preceded it, i.e. the disclosure that there was an impediment to Edward IV’s marriage with Elizabeth Woodville which rendered their offspring potentially illegitimate, and the discovery by Gloucester of threats to his life which prompted him to call for protection in the shape of forces from the North, combining in an atmosphere of heightened tension and insecurity.

2) Contemporary accounts report that Hastings was officially accused of treason. The simultaneous arrests of several others support the existence of a treasonous conspiracy. Any assumption that this accusation of treason was untrue is unsupported by any existing evidence. The crime of treason at that time was the most serious in the land, and could not be slung at just anyone, in particular someone as powerful as Lord Hastings, without any substantiation. In days leading up to the arrest and execution, Hastings is reported to have been seen visiting the houses of Morton and others who were caught up in the arrests. Morton and Hastings were most unlikely companions and this report – if true – raises considerable suspicion.

3) Some people mistakenly suppose that the crime of treason related only and exclusively to violent actions against the ruling monarch’s person. This is untrue and there are many sources which indicate that treason took many and varied forms. The further assumption that Hastings was simply attempting to support the true king (the young uncrowned Edward V) against the actions of the Protector, and therefore his attack on the Protector was not treason but loyalty to the crown, is an even further exaggerated train of suppositions without support, evidence, or even logic.

4) Others accused of having been involved in the same treason were arrested at the same time:- three present in the council chamber, and several others across London – their arrests carefully timed to coincide. This points to the uncovering of a treasonous conspiracy and the planning of a lawful reaction which would stop that treason before it became any more dangerous.

5) There is an account of a public proclamation made immediately after the execution, regarding the treason and the culprits’ arrest. There was neither secrecy nor lack of explanation given to the public concerning the situation. The accusation of treason and its consequences remained undisputed by any legal challenge or recorded public outcry at the time.

6) More’s account, written so many years later, denies the legality of the Protector’s actions. But More had no possible way of knowing the details he recounted. The mighty and extremely busy John Morton (by then Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Chancellor) chatting at length with his insignificant page and telling him stories of what happened many years previously, is not only highly unlikely but somewhat ingenuous. Indeed, Morton would rarely even have been at home let alone conducting cosy discussions with one of his pages. However, if such an improbable little scene did take place, the fact that Morton himself was one of those arrested and accused of treason, would certainly place a huge doubt on the veracity of any tale he told.

7) Richard of Gloucester’s proven record of rationality, of intelligent administration and commitment to the rule of law, would make this supposed hissy fit exceedingly out of character.

8) The arrests and following events took place in a council meeting at the Tower, in front of members of the Royal Council – the most powerful and influential lords of the land, together with their attendant officers. It is both naive and absurd to suppose that Richard could behave in some highly improper and illegal manner in such company without consequences to himself including a virtual battle in the council chamber.

9) Kindly old Hastings, simply standing loyally by the rights of his old friend’s son, is a total illusion. Hastings was a massively ambitious man. His many years of fighting bitterly against Thomas Grey, Marquess of Dorset, the queen’s elder son and Lord Rivers, her brother, (largely regarding disputed land borders) show him to have been ruthless and capable of cruelty. He had recently quarrelled with Edward IV and been deprived of some of his power, but this was – after warnings given – returned to him just before the king’s death. Hastings was certainly no cosy daddy-figure.

10) As for the allegedly illegal execution – and this is the most important ingredient in the murky soup of supposition – the accepted legal powers of the High Constable, (one of Richard of Gloucester’s long-held and most powerful offices) empowered him to hold an immediate trial of Hastings for treason in that place and at that time, and to pass sentence without leave of appeal. The other members of the council present would have stood witness, thus there was no outcry against the following execution. Since no documentation survives (and indeed the Court operated under the Law of Arms and was not required to keep records), it is impossible to say if any such trial took place. There is no specific evidence that it happened. Nor is there any specific evidence that it did not. However – since Richard of Gloucester was most certainly empowered to hold such a trial, it is logical and natural from what is known of his concern for the justice system, that he would have used the legal powers at his disposal. What is now doubted and frowned upon by modern judges with little or no comprehension of the medieval mind, would have seemed utterly right in those days – and in fact utterly necessary according to the situation. Summary courts with powers of life and limb, such as that of the High Constable, were important elements in the exercise of authority during the Middle Ages, and in fact Hastings himself presided over just such a summary court at Calais.

For this knowledge I am entirely indebted to Annette Carson and her recently published book RICHARD DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, AS LORD PROTECTOR AND HIGH CONSTABLE OF ENGLAND which outlines with considerable clarity and detail, based on existing documentation and clear historical precedent, the official powers the Duke of Gloucester held in 1483. This book does not set out to prove the rights and/or wrongs of the situation regarding Hastings’s execution, nor does it prove that any trial took place. It does indicate, however, that a trial could immediately have been called, and that if the proceedings found him guilty of treason Hastings would have been justly and legally executed.

In the first months of 1483 after King Edward’s death, the country was in a perilous position, and it was the duty of the Lord Protector and Defender of the Realm to keep the land and its people safe. There had already been an attempt to raise an army and civil war might have ensued (certainly the queen’s family continued organising uprisings, which came to fruition in the autumn months). It was Richard’s principal responsibility to be aware of all dangers and put a stop to them before the risk might escalate. Such an attitude must have been paramount when faced with whatever treason was discovered. That his actions are now seen as suspicious is a function of the villainy later attributed to his actions, and appears to ignore the pressures and demands involved in his personal responsibility for national security.

Today, amongst those interested (whether or not they have researched the era or the life of Richard III at all) there is a somewhat irritating attitude by which if you argue and judge Richard III guilty of something, then you are being open minded and unbiased. Whereas if you argue and judge him innocent, then clearly you are prejudiced and are making an attempt to exonerate and justify him and treat him as a saint.

But most of those who exhibit the former attitude appear to think the powerful lords of the late fifteenth century must have been weaklings and brainless puppets, too stupid or frightened to stand up for themselves. They sat meekly, it seems, while the wicked Duke of Gloucester got away with anything and everything. It is unwise to so vastly underestimate the over-riding power of the lords and the church, the three estates of parliament and the Royal Council during this period. Had they so meekly acquiesced to apparent villainy, they would, in fact, have been complicit to it. Instead no single man ever held absolute total power, not even the king.

See Annette Carson’s book RICHARD III; THE MALIGNED KING which remains a reliable source for the arrest and execution of Lord Hastings and the other important events of 1483 following the death of King Edward IV.

Monday, June 22, 2015

Minimalism In Word and Deed

Advice is not a four letter word. We all like to give it, and we are often keen to search it out and follow the advice of others when we lack confidence ourselves. But as an author I have become more and more dubious regarding advice so frequently given on the practice of writing itself.

There is plenty of such advice to writers out there, and a good deal of it refers to strict minimalism, cutting out all detail, and never using 10 words when you could use two.

So which is preferable? "He went," or "He ambled, enjoying the warm sunshine on his back."

There have always been brilliant authors who followed the belief in brevity and kept to the Hemmingway style. Indeed, many years previously John Ruskin told us - "It is excellent discipline for an author to feel that he must say all that he has to say in the fewest possible words, or his reader is sure to skip them." But then Ruskin got a lot of things famously wrong and I feel it is somewhat patronising to assume your reader is an impatient and somewhat shallow soul of limited focus and lacking in concentration.

“Murder your darlings,” advised Kipling.  But there are a good many differing ideas about what constitutes a ‘darling’ – and Kipling does not seem to be talking about cutting out everything, although this is what some people assume he meant.

The darlings we write and sadly want to hang on to are often those over-precious phrases of cleverly worded irrelevance. We, as authors, may feel very proud of a precocious little joke, or a suddenly poetic description. Purple prose, for instance. These are what is meant by our ‘darlings’. So yes, cut them out, even though we are lovingly proud of them. They look out of place and we need to crop ruthlessly with such over-indulgent violate passages.

But this does not mean cut – cut – cut. Some critics seem to think we should end up with a book 6 pages long. Or perhaps we should cut them too?

Some types of books call for brevity. The Regency romance can be a delicious frolic of no more than 100,000 words. Such a book speeds along without need of heavy plotting, considerable action or even depth of characterisation. A modern crime drama can also sizzle in 120,000 words or less. A fashionable contemporary novel of mental anguish about a woman who lives an even more boring life than we do ourselves, can be self-consciously arty in less than 80,000 words. Indeed – the shorter the better!

But what about Dickens? What about Hardy? Tolstoy (although no, I haven’t read War and Peace lately either – once was enough) In fact, Shakespeare’s plays were considerably longer than the average theatrical performance today. And coming up to date, there’s Tolkien. Dorothy Dunnett. Even Harry Potter. So many of the greats and so many of the best sellers are massive meaty stories, and their authors are not minimalistic at all. Alright, none of us pretend to be at the standard of these masters. But they had to start somewhere too.

Some of the classics are very thin books, but not so many. The great novels of the past were rarely scant or flimsy. And they are still adored and admired. If you are setting out to write a complicated story with a large cast of characters and a many layered plot, then I believe that characterisation and detailed episodes which promote storyline – suspense – anticipation and atmospheric description, should be used to the utmost effect.  No we don’t need to know what every character is wearing at every moment or have to wade through pointless dialogue discussing the weather – but that is more to do with the quality of writing rather than simply being told to cut and cut again.

In this age of publishing desperation, with traditional publishers slow to catch up with modern trends, and either going bankrupt or having to merge into fewer and larger companies, it is commercially helpful to keep your book short. Some literary agents will not even consider a novel longer than 150,000 words. Some won’t even open a manuscript over the 120,000 mark. I understand. Commercial profits rely on low printing costs. This is another reason why self-publishing can be attractive.

But my point goes beyond this. I am strictly interested in what actually constitutes a good book – and I utterly refute the idea that cutting out all description and layering while keeping word count to the absolute minimum, automatically means good writing.

I would rephrase John Ruskin’s advice and say, “The number of words you use is less important than the quality of plot, characterisation and style you use. Your reader will not skip as long as your writing keeps them utterly absorbed.”

I am biased, of course. I love long books. I want a novel – of whatever genre – to carry me into its world, transport me into its exciting and vibrant life – and to immerse me in its emotional diversity. I want to lose myself in the pages and that means a big feast of a book where I can swim and climb, savouring the beauty of its words and cherishing every tasty morsel.

I write long books too. And the same delight applies. I disappear each morning into a new world of dark mystery and adventure. And words are my roads, my map, my milestones, and my rumbling, rattling coach, lined with velvet and pulled by magic.

And of course, I do not denigrate short books in general, they can be delightful, frivolous and fun. There are sometimes advantages in a quick snack or a romantic dalliance. But it’s those magnificent heavyweights that usually end up being my favorites.  

Oh – and one more thing. If we, as authors, must take the advice of others, let me suggest the delicious and utterly convincing advice of Somerset Maugham, who said –
"There are three rules for writing a novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are."