The King's Grave: The Discovery of Richard III's Lost Burial Place and the Clues It Holds (23 page)

In May 1485 the French government started cautiously to release funds for Tudor’s invasion force. Richard moved to his mother’s residence at Berkhamsted to seek her blessing on his enterprise. This seems an unlikely course of action if – as Polydore Vergil later insinuated – Richard had grievously slandered Cecily Neville’s reputation with the unfounded allegation that Edward IV may have been illegitimate. Richard – out of reverence for his father and respect for his mother – wished to champion a rightful inheritance from the House of York, not fight as an outsider from its ranks.

Richard then moved to Nottingham Castle and prepared to meet his challenger. The king’s military preparations were almost complete. From early in the year he had been purchasing guns and employing specialists from Flanders to manufacture more in the Tower of London. Richard intended to deploy field artillery and numerous hand guns against his opponent and this ordnance was now moved up to the Midlands. Richard had also bought 168 suits of Milanese plate armour; its relative lightness and mobility made it ideal equipment for a cavalry charge.

On 23 June Richard issued a second proclamation against Tudor, amplifying the contents of the first, and specifically stressing that he was of bastard stock in both his paternal and maternal lineages. Henry Tudor’s French backers were now showing less enthusiasm for his cause and on 13 July he had to borrow the remainder of the money needed to pay his mercenary troops. By the end of the month his small invasion army had gathered at the Norman port of Honfleur. Events were drawing towards their inevitable climax: a clash of arms on the battlefield.

9

The Identification of the Remains

Thursday, 6 December 2012

I
T HAD BEEN
an anxious three months. The circumstantial evidence surrounding the remains had been powerful. The chances of finding another set like these, of the right age, sex and condition, with what could be battle wounds and a specific pathology (scoliosis), buried in the choir of the church, had been estimated at a million to one. The odds told us that the remains must be those of King Richard, but in the twenty-first century scientific proof is essential.

The date of the actual founding of the Greyfriars in Leicester is unknown, but a house connected to the friary existed on the site in 1230, with the chapel first mentioned in 1255. As King Richard was buried there in 1485, this gave us a window of two and a half centuries of potential burials at the Greyfriars. We also had two interesting details to work with. First, we had a stop date for the burials in the church in 1538, with the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Further, from what the historic record suggested, Richard III had been the last known recorded burial within the church, which gave another potential window of only one burial in the church in its last fifty years (1485–1538). If the carbon-14 dating placed the remains in the late fifteenth century, these factors would add to the likelihood of the remains being those of Richard III.

Richard Buckley, Lead Archaeologist from ULAS, and Lin Foxhall, Head of Archaeology and Ancient History at Leicester University, had warned me that the identification process would take time: they would be carrying out every possible test to make sure the results were reliable. These tests were numerous and exhaustive. There was the stratification study of the site, with its finds, large and small; the genealogical confirmation and the DNA analysis; the osteology, which included the dental report and CT scans of the remains, pre- and post-wash; the investigation of the scoliosis; and the forensic trauma analysis by a weapons expert. In addition, there was the isotopic and calculus analysis, the parasite sample examination of the soil and of course the big one, the carbon-14 dating.

I’d been asked not to contact ULAS because DSP wanted to capture my first reactions to the results on film. As the client in the project it was a big ask but I’d agreed. I’d only spoken to Richard Buckley in the early stages of the investigation when he had relayed some disturbing news that the sex of the Greyfriars skeleton was in doubt.

With the results in, I headed to ULAS to meet Nick Cooper, the small finds expert and first in a series of specialists I would be consulting. With Simon Farnaby and Dr John Ashdown-Hill present, Cooper quickly brought us up to date regarding the barbed arrowhead. This had been found in the grave at the back of the skeleton between the second and third thoracic vertebrae, although not lodged in the bone. Detailed X-rays now revealed it to be a nail, probably Roman, which had already been in the ground where the body had been laid in the Greyfriars Church. It was not the auspicious start I had been hoping for, but the next result was far more important.

My palms were sweating as Richard Buckley arrived and we moved to his computer. Buckley was about to reveal the results of the carbon-14 tests on the bones. Carbon-14 dating is used to estimate the age of organic material by calculating the rate of decay of the carbon-14 in the material. These tests could get us to within an eighty-year period. For there to be any chance that the Greyfriars remains were Richard III, who was buried in 1485, the carbon dating result would have to fall within the mid to late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries.

As we gathered round Buckley’s computer, I scanned his face for any give-away signs and made a mental note not to go up against him at a poker table. First he told us that the stratification study of the site had shown that the remains were found in the medieval layer. Cut medieval floor tiles had been found nearby, indicating a hastily dug grave. The tiles were at the correct height for a medieval floor, with the grave itself two to three feet deep. Further, the later Victorian foundations had missed the remains by only three inches, near the leg bones.

Two samples of rib bone had been submitted to two specialist radio-carbon dating laboratories to enable the results to be crosschecked. The work was undertaken by the Scottish Universities Environmental Research Centre at the University of Glasgow, and the Oxford Radiocarbon Accelerator Unit, part of Oxford University’s Research Laboratory for Archaeology and the History of Art.

Buckley presented the carbon-14 data on screen. It showed a 95 per cent probability that the Greyfriars remains dated from about 1430 to 1460, too early for Richard III but far too late for any of the other known burials in the church. It was a blow. But it wasn’t the end. The analysis had thrown up an anomaly. Stable isotope analysis indicated that the person in the grave had had a high protein diet. This diet had been heavily marine-based, and as marine animals absorb significant amounts of carbon-14, the result had been skewed. The recalibrated analysis provided a 68 per cent probability that the age of the skeleton lay between 1475 and 1530, with a 95 per cent probability of a date between 1450 and 1540. Richard had died in 1485. I could hardly believe it. Buckley added that a heavily based marine diet was indicative of a high-status individual, since the usual medieval diet consisted of potage, a vegetable-based soup. I was elated with these results and sure it was Richard III, but the osteology results were still to come. Would these confirm my belief, or dash my hopes?

Friday, 7 December 2012

Dr Jo Appleby had undertaken the osteology examination at ULAS and was waiting to reveal the results to us in one of the ULAS finds rooms, together with Dr Piers Mitchell, a scoliosis specialist and hospital consultant from the University of Cambridge.

I knew that a comprehensive record of this whole process had to be made, but I was worried about the way the DSP footage and the university’s photography would be released to the world. I was anxious to avoid a repeat of the humiliating display of his dead body after Bosworth.

Before filming started, Louise Osmond, award-winning director for DSP, tried to allay my fears by explaining what I would see. The remains would be on a table in the centre of the darkened room, positioned on a specially designed light box that would illuminate them gently from beneath. There would be no harsh strip lighting in an impersonal laboratory setting, and the remains would be given as much dignity within the analysis as possible. This explanation was a comfort, but didn’t alter my feeling that I was about to do the very thing I had tried to avoid.

I shed quiet tears of despair despite Simon Farnaby gently reminding me that the only option was to display Richard’s remains; the world had to see him for itself.

I don’t remember the opening words of the session. All I could see was the box that illuminated him, his washed bones bright against the darkness. To me he seemed unprotected and I felt like a ghoul invading his privacy. I saw faces, mouths moving, and then I heard the word hunchback again. It was all too much: I had to escape that dreadful room.

Agreements had been negotiated to prevent the public display of pictures of Richard’s body except in museum archives and these were important to me. But now they seemed worthless, buried by the scientific demand for visible proof. I stood outside, wondering desperately how I could prevent pictures of Richard’s remains from being strewn over the internet.

I was joined by Sarah Levitt who had become a friend and understood the turmoil I was in; but as Head of Museum Services she also understood the pressure to authenticate the find. She reminded me that the search for Richard had always been about the truth: ‘This is Richard’s moment to reveal his truth,’ she said.

But there was still that awful word, ‘hunchback’, that I thought had been discarded. Why had the specialist used it – and to describe scoliosis? Simon Farnaby told me to go back in and stand up for myself and make Piers Mitchell explain. I thought about all those who gave to the International Appeal and who had saved this project for Richard; not for me, or any scientists and TV programme. I returned to the room and could now look at Richard so beautifully illuminated, and see his remains for what they were: the evidence he would give to the world.

Jo Appleby and Piers Mitchell stood at the far side of the light box facing Simon Farnaby and me. Appleby was confirming the age of the remains, which were of someone in their late twenties to late thirties (Richard was thirty-two). Lifting the skull with great care away from the lower jaw, the mandible, she tilted it towards us to show the inner cavity. She pointed to the top surface where the bone plates met, her finger indicating a smooth but jagged line. Here the sutures of the skull were still visible, but had fused, thus providing the estimate of age. In addition, the third molars, the wisdom teeth, had erupted which meant the remains were those of an adult, since wisdom teeth normally develop some time between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five. I asked about the rest of the teeth. She said they were in relatively good condition, with some dental calculus (calcified plaque) and a few cavities, with the missing front tooth most likely lost in the grave as there was no evidence of trauma on the bone or healing, but the later dental report would investigate this further.

Next, Piers Mitchell explained the scoliosis. He had measured the remains, and the angle of the curvature of the spine appeared to be sixty degrees, but it could have been as much as eighty degrees in life. Without seeing him in the flesh, it was difficult to tell how severe the scoliosis would have looked. It was idiopathic scoliosis, that is, of no known cause: he hadn’t been born with the condition – it had developed later in life. It was most likely progressive and may have led to a shortness of breath, due to increased pressure on the lungs.

The most common cause of scoliosis is hormonal. As puberty began, at around ten to twelve years, the spine would have begun to curve. How long it would have taken to reach its final shape was impossible to tell. The curve was a ‘C’ shape, in the upper torso, not an ‘S’ shape, and would have made the right shoulder appear higher than the left. Mitchell now showed us the two clavicle bones, or shoulder bones, and pointed out that the end of the right clavicle was a different size and shape, much bigger than the left. He said that the individual would have been an ordinary child, and, as the lower and upper vertebrae had a straight alignment, would have stood erect and walked normally. The hip joints and the length of the legs also suggested a normal gait. However, without the feet, Appleby added, it might be difficult to prove this conclusively.

Seeing the extent of the C-shaped curvature of the spine, I asked Mitchell if it would have been painful, but he couldn’t answer. I cited the example of the DSP cameraman at the dig who had curvature of the spine and had been in great pain after carrying a heavy camera. Mitchell still wouldn’t be drawn and moved on to describe the skeleton, again using the word hunchback. He said that, although we knew the person didn’t have kyphosis, when bent forward there was probably some form of prominence on the right side. He called this prominence ‘hunchback’ merely as a commonly understood term.

Jo Appleby resumed her analysis. She said that the remains were in good condition and suggested someone well-nourished in life. The femur (thigh) bones and the bones of the lower leg were strong with good muscular development and attachment. Mitchell added that the arms showed no sign of being withered. The upper arm bones – the humerus – were the same length and symmetrical. The lower arm bones, the radius and ulna, though normal, were gracile – that is, quite graceful and slender.

Appleby then moved down to the pelvis, lifting it gently to reveal the sciatic notches, the circular gaps that indicate the sex of a skeleton. A smaller gap was male; larger was female (for childbirth). In the Greyfriars remains the gap was of medium size, and therefore the gender was indeterminate. It could be female. At this point, Appleby explained the scale against which human remains are measured. At one end is the heavy-set, thick-browed, very male person, and at the other an incredibly delicate female. In between, you have every possible variation, from a very muscular female to a delicate male. The Greyfriars remains, with their gracile lower arm bones and pelvis, were around the centre of the scale. I asked if this could be part of the pubescent hormonal disturbance that brought on the scoliosis, but they couldn’t say. Appleby declared that, on balance, she thought the remains were male, but only the DNA result would confirm it one way or the other. As far as height was concerned, she said the skeleton was five feet eight inches tall, above average for the fifteenth century, but the scoliosis would have taken two or more inches off the person’s height. As the lower leg bones showed no evidence of injury or trauma, the missing feet had been removed while the remains lay buried in the grave – most likely by the Victorian builders.