The surviving images of Richard come from the Tudor period, and were used as propaganda. Photo: Getty
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Does it matter if Richard III’s DNA suggests infidelity in the royal family?

New DNA research into Richard III’s remains has cast the legitimacy of the royal line into question, all the way down to the present queen.

The Plantagenet dynasty was no stranger to scandal. However, dramatic new discoveries made by scientists at the University of Leicester now suggest that more than one skeleton has been lurking in the family closet. While it has been proven there is an “overwhelming” likelihood that the body in the Leicester city car park is indeed that of the controversial King Richard III, laying to rest many long-standing uncertainties, these latest findings have unleashed a whole new can of historical worms. With the last medieval King becoming the media’s blue-eyed-boy, quite literally as his DNA proves, it would appear that at least one member of his family was not the son of York he believed. Or Plantagenet, or Tudor, or Stuart. New allegations of infidelity cast the legitimacy of the royal line into question, all the way down to the present queen.

Royal legitimacy scandals are nothing new. In the fifteenth century, Richard’s eldest brother, Edward IV, became the focus of unpleasant rumours that led to a dynastic crisis. Although his birth passed without comment, his enemies invented, or exploited, a story that he was the result of an affair his mother had with a French Archer by the name of Blaybourne. Despite having all the appearances of a political smear, timed to discredit the king at the moment of rebellion, the story has lingered. Even in the twentieth century, “proof” of the affair was being offered in a TV documentary fronted by Tony Robinson, based on the reputed separation of Edward’s parents nine months prior to his birth. Yet this evidence only accounted for his father’s movements, not those of his mother, and has been largely discredited.

Then, in 1483, following Edward’s death, a new, more damaging, rumour emerged. Bishop Stillington claimed that Edward was a bigamist, having already been pre-contracted to another woman, Eleanor Butler, who had still been alive at the time of Edward’s union with Elizabeth Wydeville. The fact that Edward had married Elizabeth in secrecy and did not make the match public for several months played into Richard’s hands. On the Bishop’s statement, he was able to claim the throne instead of his nephew, Edward’s son. Yet it would appear, now, that the real cuckoos in the royal nest may have gone unnoticed. While Richard’s maternal DNA is intact, there is no match with the paternal line of his modern relatives.

Richard had no descendants. His heir died in childhood and his two acknowledged illegitimate offspring, John and Katherine, appear to have left no issue of their own. In order to identify him, the scientists needed to trace his ancestry back to a male who shared his Y chromosome, and match it with his direct descendants in the twenty-first century. They found five men alive today who shared the line of Edward III’s son, John of Gaunt, Richard III’s great uncle. In theory, all these five should share the same Y chromosome as Richard, yet the tests revealed that none of them did. Dr Turi King, from Leicester University, who led the study, offers infidelity as the most likely explanation. According to her research, cases of “false paternity” account for between 1 and 2 per cent of births per generation. However, there is no way of knowing exactly where the event took place, or under what circumstances. It could have been anywhere between John of Gaunt and the modern descendants of the eighteenth century fifth Duke of Beaufort, who provided the DNA samples. That leaves a staggering six centuries of possibilities.

But does it matter? It’s not really going to change anything and no one is going to suggest the deposition of the current queen as a result. On a historical level, though, the fascination lies in knowing which side of 1485 the illicit paternity took place. After the battle of Bosworth, where Richard was killed, Henry VII claimed the throne by right of conquest. This trumps any potential “flaws” in his bloodline. Henry’s royal descent came from Edward III through the Beaufort-Somerset line, which had been legitimised in retrospect but barred from claiming the throne. He was also dependent upon his mother for the claim but the act of seizing the crown at Bosworth rendered all this irrelevant. The current queen is Henry’s descendant through his eldest daughter, Margaret, and her great-grandson James I of Scotland. Her claim actually rests on the 1701 Act of Settlement so this latest scandal in her distant family tree will not be ruffling any feathers at Buckingham Palace.

So where might the false paternity have occurred? The answer is that we simply don’t know, although there have been a few historic murmurings that have festered into theories over time, including the true identity of the father of John of Gaunt. Edward III’s absence during the time of his third son’s birth, coupled with his arrival on foreign soil, in the city of Ghent, cast suspicion on his conception. Yet it was hardly uncommon for a father to be absent, especially when the mother had already produced several surviving children. In addition, most of these rumours appear to date from the end of John’s life, once he had become unpopular. Casting aspersions on the legitimacy of an enemy was a common but powerful slur, which reputedly used to enrage Gaunt. It was a useful political tool used by enemies of both branches of the Plantagenet family, the Yorks and Lancasters. Another candidate might by Richard of Conisburgh, Richard III’s paternal grandfather. He received nothing from his father in terms of income or estates and was not mentioned in his will or those of his brothers, which has led historians to give credence to the rumours that his mother may have had an affair.

Equally, the false paternity might have occurred on either branch of descent, from Edward III to Henry, or from Henry to the present day. Given the statistics, though, the greater likelihood is that the misdemeanour occurred in the line of the more modern Somerset family, which represents the largest percentage of births in the family tree. It may well not have taken place within a royal match; it may have happened more than once. Nor can we assume the circumstances of the encounter; it is just as credible that this occurrence was the product of rape, perhaps more so than a medieval queen committing adultery. In fact, it would be an incredible stroke of luck to identify a single unbroken line of paternal DNA running through six centuries of marriages. This exposes one crucial aspect of historical research and the differing experiences of men and women across time. Until recently, paternity could not be guaranteed. As Richard’s unbroken mitochondrial line highlights, though, the certainty of childbirth lay with the woman. If an illegitimate child was conceived, even within marriage, the mother could not avoid the consequences, while the father’s identity might forever be lost to history. Between the differing experiences of men and women, lies an area of rumour and suspicion to be exploited by their enemies.

This new research has also raised an interesting point about Richard’s colouring. It has often been argued that Richard took more after his father, the short, dark-haired Richard of York, while his tall, handsome blonde brother Edward had the genes of Edward III. This has been used to further argue the case for the elder brother’s illegitimacy. Now though, the scientific evidence suggests a 77 per cent chance that Richard was blonde and it is 96 per cent likelihood that his eyes were blue. While the colour of his hair may well have darkened as he left childhood, another possibility arises. Royal portraiture was more symbolic rather than realistic: the surviving images of Richard, which come from the Tudor period, are well known for the narrowing of his eyes and lips and the raising of his shoulder, to paint him as the villain. With external defects considered to correlate with inner vices, Richard’s hair might have also been darkened from the 1520s onwards to depict what were perceived to be his “dark” deeds. When queens were portrayed as blonde and beautiful regardless of their actual looks, the opposite effect may have been employed as a metaphorical criticism of Henry VII’s adversary.

If anything, these new findings affirm the humanity of the individuals included on the royal family tree. While the likelihood of infidelity somewhere down the line appears strong, conclusions cannot be drawn as the facts stand, and our modern theories comparing the marriages and affections of past royals rest all too often on anachronistic values. Love matches were not seen as being incompatible with a man pursuing physical affairs, nor was the double standard of gendered behaviour always strictly drawn. These results provide another opportunity to reflect on the inconclusive nature of the study of history, and as a caution in regards to drawing assumptions. Until further research uncovers further truths, it must remain another delicious mystery, nothing more. The Royal Household has declined to comment.

Amy Licence is a late medieval and early Tudor historian focusing on women's lives. She is the author of the forthcoming biography Anne Neville, Richard III’s Tragic Queen and her blog can be found here.

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The conflict in Yemen is a Civil War by numbers

Amid the battles, a generation starves.

Ten thousand dead – a conservative estimate at best. Three million internally displaced. Twenty million in need of aid. Two hundred thousand besieged for over a year. Thirty-four ballistic missiles fired into Saudi Arabia. More than 140 mourners killed in a double-tap strike on a funeral. These are just some of the numerical subscripts of the war in Yemen.

The British government would probably prefer to draw attention to the money being spent on aid in Yemen – £37m extra, according to figures released by the Department for International Development in September – rather than the £3.3bn worth of arms that the UK licensed for sale to Saudi Arabia in the first year of the kingdom’s bombing campaign against one of the poorest nations in the Middle East.

Yet, on the ground, the numbers are meaningless. What they do not show is how the conflict is tearing Yemeni society apart. Nor do they account for the deaths from disease and starvation caused by the hindering of food imports and medical supplies – siege tactics used by both sides – and for the appropriation of aid for financial gain.

Since the war began in March 2015 I have travelled more than 2,500 miles across Yemen, criss-crossing the front lines in and out of territories controlled by Houthi rebels, or by their opponents, the Saudi-backed resistance forces, or through vast stretches of land held by al-Qaeda. On those journeys, what struck me most was the deepening resentment expressed by so many people towards their fellow Yemenis.

The object of that loathing can change in the space of a few hundred metres. The soundtrack to this hatred emanates from smartphones resting on rusting oil drums, protruding from the breast pockets of military fatigues, or lying on chairs under makeshift awnings where flags denote the beginning of the dead ground of no-man’s-land. The rabble-rousing propaganda songs preach to the watchful gunmen about a feeble and irreligious enemy backed by foreign powers. Down the road, an almost identical scene awaits, only the flag is different and the song, though echoing the same sentiment, chants of an opponent altogether different from the one decried barely out of earshot in the dust behind you.

“We hate them. They hate us. We kill each other. Who wins?” mused a fellow passenger on one of my trips as he pressed green leaves of the mildly narcotic khat plant into his mouth.

Mohammed was a friend of a friend who helped to smuggle me – dressed in the all-black, face-covering garb of a Yemeni woman – across front lines into the besieged enclave of Taiz. “We lose everything,” he said. “They win. They always win.” He gesticulated as he spoke of these invisible yet omnipresent powers: Yemen’s political elite and the foreign states entangled in his country’s conflict.

This promotion of hatred, creating what are likely to be irreversible divisions, is necessary for the war’s belligerents in order to incite tens of thousands to fight. It is essential to perpetuate the cycle of revenge unleashed by the territorial advances in 2014 and 2015 by Houthi rebels and the forces of their patron, the former president Ali Abdullah Saleh. This demand for retribution is matched by those who are now seeking vengeance for the lives lost in a UK-supported, Saudi-led aerial bombing campaign.

More than 25 years after the two states of North and South Yemen united, the gulf between them has never been wider. The political south, now controlled by forces aligned with the Saudi-led coalition, is logistically as well as politically severed from the north-western territories under the command of the Houthi rebels and Saleh loyalists. Caught in the middle is the city of Taiz, which is steadily being reduced to rubble after a year-long siege imposed by the Houthi-Saleh forces.

Revenge nourishes the violence, but it cannot feed those who are dying from malnutrition. Blowing in the sandy wind on roadsides up and down the country are tattered tents that hundreds of thousands of displaced families now call home. Others have fled from the cities and towns affected by the conflict to remote but safer village areas. There, food and medical care are scarce.

The acute child malnutrition reported in urban hospitals remains largely hidden in these isolated villages, far from tarmac roads, beyond the reach of international aid agencies. On my road trips across Yemen, a journey that would normally take 45 minutes on asphalt could take five hours on tracks across scrubland and rock, climbing mountainsides and descending into valleys where bridges stand useless, snapped in half by air strikes.

Among the other statistics are the missing millions needed by the state – the country’s largest employer. Workers haven’t been paid in months, amid fears of an economic collapse. This is apparently a deliberate tactic of fiscal strangulation by the Saudi-backed Yemeni government-in-exile. The recent relocation of the central bank from the Houthi-controlled capital, Sana’a, to the southern city of Aden is so far proving symbolic, given that the institution remains devoid of funds. The workforce on both sides of the conflict has taken to the streets to protest against salaries being overdue.

Following the deaths of more than 140 people in Saudi-led air strikes on a funeral hall on 8 October, Saleh and the Houthi leader, Abdulmalik al-Houthi, called for yet more revenge. Within hours, ballistic missiles were fired from within Houthi territory, reaching up to 350 miles into Saudi Arabia.

Meanwhile, in the Red Sea, Houthi missile attacks on US warships resulted in retaliation, sucking the US further into the mire. Hours later, Iran announced its intention to deploy naval vessels in the area.

Vengeance continues to drive the violence in Yemen, which is being drawn ever closer to proxy conflicts being fought elsewhere in the Middle East. Yet the impact on Yemeni society and the consequences for the population’s health for generations to come are unlikely to appear to the outside world, not even as annotated numbers in the brief glimpses we get of this war. 

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood