Thanks Mat! I hadn't caught up with that. Though as you say, the sword and (probably) halberd blows were no doubt the crucial factr

I'm surprised they nominated halberd as the likely weapon. I would have thought the good English bill a more likely candidate.

Well, a bill and a halberd are not always clearly distinguishable; in fact the OED points out that a 'bill' can mean a variety of long-handled edged weapons, including a halberd. There's also a thing referred to in 15th C English texts called a 'wifle', which is even vaguer--any kind of edged attached to any kind of longish handle, it appears. So I'm not sure with what precision the archaeologists are actually identifying the weapon...

I think the halberd evolved from the bill, but they are a similar weapon in the sense of one bit for hacking and one bit for spiking someone. I would just favour the bill in this case because it was a more common weapon for dismounted men at arms in England at the time. The proper halberd was more a continental thing, especially Swiss/German.

But strike another aristocratic kill up to the slashy/pointy thing on a stick. Charles the Bold went the same way.

#polearm-nerdiness

That's a very fair point Geoffrey; the find certainly has raised a lot of popular attention, and I;m very pleased about that. (it will also no doubt make a difference to the levels of tourism in Leicester--let's not forget the economic benefits.)
I just wish, however, that I could believe that it would lead the people who have been engaged by this find actually to go away and read some of the history! (After all, let's face it, Shakespeare was writing fiction, not history.) I wish it because I think there's a lot more, and a lot more interesting material, in the history than in the bones, however fascinating they are in themselves…

Well, Fiona, I'm still not convinced. Even before this discovery (which is exciting—I don't quarrel with you on that score!), we knew that archaeological investigation of DNA—and also the examination of the chemical composition of tooth layers—can bring to light very precise and exciting information on the identity of individuals, and on their past history. See, for example, the investigations in 1996 on the 9000-year-old Cheddar Man skeleton, from Somerset, which showed that while his mitochondrial DNA was very different from that of subsequent Anglo-Saxon inhabitants, he still shared mitochondrial DNA with three people now living in the same region, showing that there had been continuous occupation by indigenous Somerset inhabitants for at least 9000 years! But that's now 17 years ago—so how much 'new' does this discovery tell us about the uses of DNA investigation in archaeology? And that's only one example of much really exciting research carried out in this field over the last twenty years. My feeling is that it's a great pity that more of it doesn't get the kind of publicity that this discovery has achieved.

Furthermore, in this case, it seems to me that it's not the history that is confirming the archaeology—the history came first, and if anything, the archaeology only provides a little confirmatory addition to the history. Why, for instance, will this discovery change the history of Leicester? We already knew, from contemporary sources, that Richard was buried in the Grey Friars precinct in Leicester. I think the real difference is, as I said, that people find it easier to relate to a material skeleton than to a figure represented in the texts. That's no doubt good for Leicester's tourism, but it doesn't change its history.

It may result in more study of Richard III; but in fact Richard is already one of the best-studied of the medieval kings. I can offhand think of at least three major biographies (the most recent in 2010), four very substantial editions of primary sources from his reign, and several works analysing in the closest detail his subsequent reputation. And there are hundreds of articles on different aspects of his reign and reputation! For a king who reigned only two years, that's a lot of attention! (And you're right—the Ricardian society has done good work in promoting some, though by no means all, of this research). You talk of this discovery 'dispelling the Tudor myths'—but in fact, almost all the history I've mentioned above does just that. No one in the field now believes that Richard was born with teeth and hair, or had a withered arm, or anything of that sort! Everyone knows that Tudor history (not only of Richard, but of the whole fifteenth century) is evidence not of what went on in the fifteenth century, but of how the Tudors created their own self-image. And as I've pointed out, DNA investigations, though excellent in their way, have their limits. They simply cannot tell us about the political motivations or actions of the individual in question—so how will they help us to reassess Richard as an aristocrat and king in his own time? Only history can do that—and that's exactly what it has been doing!

I think the whole project is a great example of cross-disciplinary co-operation. Even the DNA match wouldn't be possible without some good work from genealogists.

I've been loving the History Cold Case series on SBS, which presents similar projects.

You're right on the question of the extent and scale of physical discomfort and suffering often visited on medieval people. Examinations of the fourteenth century skeleton of Sir Hugh Hastings, a famous Norfolk knight, for instance, showed serious (and inevitably painful) stress arthritis in his right shoulder and arm, almost certainly from the constant swordplay and weapons training he had undertaken, probably since he was in his teens. An even more gruesome story comes from a skeleton exhumed from one of the York medieval cemeteries; the man appeared to have died, (eventually!) because he developed a tooth abscess, which, in the absence of antibiotics, ate through the surrounding tissue, finally bursting into the sinus cavity, and set up a massive and incurable infection. Think of that for agony!

We have to reckon, I think, on many medieval people just learning to perform their daily tasks in spite of fairly constant pain and discomfort. Let's remember, however, that scoliosis, unless it is very severe, may not cause major disability or discomfort; Richard probably remained perfectly capable of riding a horse to battle.

'From the perspective of a medieval monarch, the princes had to disappear'. Maybe--but as I say, the only reason that Richard was a monarch was that he had dispossessed his nephew (a process that also involved the speedy execution of several of Edward V's supporters). It's often argued that these actions were in the nature of a pre-emptive strike--Richard may have feared that Edward V's maternal relatives would edge him out of power. But whichever way you look at it, I think we have to see Richard as an ambitious man, perfectly willing to adopt the most ruthless means at his command to achieve that ambition.

The attempted incest relates to the accusation--current in Richard's lifetime, so it wasn't one of the ones invented later by the Tudors!--that on the death of his first wife, he proposed to marry his niece, Elizabeth of York (Edward IV's daughter, who was later married to Henry Tudor). Again, as I understand it, scoliosis does not necessarily incapacitate the sufferer in regards to sex.

As regards Richard's popularity with his subjects; it's true that his retainers and supporters from Northern England seem to have remained very loyal to him--the city of York recorded their sorrow at his death. But it's less clear that he managed to win hearts and minds in the rest of England, especially after the usurpation and disappearance of the princes. His army at the battle of Bosworth was actually the smallest mounted by any English king in the Wars of the Roses, which suggests that he could not find enough supporters willing to turn out for him in the field...

Why was he made Protector? Well, there you have it--he wasn't. On Edward IV's death, the royal council met to consider what should be done--should a regency or protectorate be set up? If so who would act? They decided NOT to appoint Richard Protector (though he was the obvious candidate), but instead to have the young king crowned as soon as possible, which in effect meant that they would treat him as if he were adult, and capable of ruling; though the council would continue to advise him.
Richard was not himself at that meeting, though some of his supporters were (they were presumably over-ruled, though we don't have details of the discussion). However, when informed of the council's decision, he set off to intercept the young prince on his journey from Wales (where his household was) to London, with a retinue of his own. Meeting him, he then dismissed out of hand Edward's current retinue (in fact he had a couple of them arrested on vague charges of disloyalty), took over the custody of the prince, and virtually proclaimed himself Lord Protector. So there you have it--he usurped the position of Protector before taking over the crown, and may have been planning the second action at the time of the first.

On medieval kings and ambition--I'm not at all sure tthat ambition applies. Certainly kings were supposed to be manly, courageous, good battle leaders, dispensers of law and justice, prudent, wise and good governors. But how could ambition apply to a medieval king? The rules of succession--after 1066--were clear. The eldest male heir of the deceased king should succeed him automatically. Despite some glitches, that is what normatively happened for the next 400+ years. So, Edward 1 and Edward II were succeeded by their eldest surviving sons, as were Henry IV and Henry V. Edward III's eldest son had died before his father, but that only meant that his grandson, Richard II succeeded. In many cases, the dying king left brothers (Edward II, for instance had three brothers still living when he died); but they had no claim the throne while the direct heir was alive. So how did ambition come into it? The heir didn't need it--as long as he survived, he was sure of becoming king. And his, or his father's younger brothers shouldn't have had it, because they had no legal chance of succession. Richard III was in fact the fourth son of his father; and his father (Richard of York) was never even king! Edward IV--the eldest son of Richard of York--died leaving not one, but two male heirs--so Richard could have no legitimate ambition to be king.

On the actions of Norfolk and Northumberland at Bosworth--why would they think that supporting Henry Tudor meant 'the loss of one's country'. Loss to whom? Though Henry had quite a few non-English merdcenaries in his army, he himself, on his father's side, was impeccably British, and indeed could trace his descent (though through an illegitimate line) to King Edward III. And of course he claimed to coming to reclaim the crown on behalf of all true English people. So how would supporting him 'lose' England? It would simply involve a change of leadership--and Norfolk and Northumberland were clearly not convinced enough of Richard's superior claim to govern to support him to the hilt.

Indeed, science is a wonderful thing; but let's not forget, as Mat has said above, the also wonderful contributions of historians and genealogists, without whom these scientists would have been unable to prove anything but that these were the bones of a fifteenth-century battle victim.