"It's time to re-evaluate how our monarchs died with a modern understanding of medicine and genetics, and in some cases shed new light on the stories of the kings and queens of England and Scotland."
In Mortal Monarchs, Dr Suzie Edge explores the deaths of English and Scottish monarchs from Harold Godwinson, who died in 1066 in battle, to Elizabeth II, who died in 2022 of old age. Edge discusses how the way a monarch died reflects their time and how the way we remember them and talk about their deaths reflects what we think of them: popular kings and queens' deaths are described with dignity, while bad monarchs get horror stories of pus, leaking fluids and other gross stuff repeated about them.
Mortal Monarchs was not quite as big a hit with me as Edge's other book Vital Organs was because around half of this book is focused on medieval kings and I am not, though not for a lack of trying, a medieval history girlie. I also don't know too much about the monarchs of the first 500 or so years discussed, so the stories of their deaths began to blur together. This is not Edge's fault, it's more due to the fact that I am just not that intrigued by medieval monarchical history. But, I want to emphasise, the book was never boring or uninteresting – it just got more interesting, for me, once we got to the Tudors, Stewarts and the Georgians.
I liked what Edge set out to do in this book and I think she did so well. She portrays these royal figures who are so often portrayed as larger-than-life, so high above the rest of us puny peasants, as flesh-and-blood human beings who can get ill, get better, survive and die just like everyone else. It is important to remember that even though kings and queens have always had more power, protection, wealth and possibilities, they have always been human. But because they were humans on top of the social pyramid, they had access to help many people didn't, thus, this book is also a history of the development of medicine and healthcare. Royals always got, apart from those who were dethroned, assassinated or killed (Edward II was killed, though not by a red hot poker, and Richard II was most likely either starved or starved himself) or straight-up officially executed (just one monarch was unlucky enough to had their head chopped off – Charles I), the best possible care. Their deaths also mirror their time: hundreds of years ago, most monarchs died of illnesses like smallpox, dysentry, TB and so on, or in battle or other violent wounds, while later on, as times became more stable and royal poisonings went out of fashion, royals began to die, a bit before their subjects, of what kills most people these days, aka lifestyle-based illnesses, like lung cancers and issues, heart failure, obesity-based complications and simple old age.
Edge's other central theme in the book is to due with how we remember monarchs and talk about their deaths, and the moralising attached to the stories of their deaths. Whenever you read about a particularly gruesome or icky death of a monarch, you can be quite certain that you are meant to feel disgusted. Gruesome and disgusting stories are attached to disliked or hated monarchs – kings like William the Conqueror, Edward II or Richard III – while liked and respected monarchs are often given either peaceful or heroic deaths. Edward the Confessor died of a peaceful illness and that's how he is remembered, while George II, much disliked in England, is remembered for having an episode while on the toilet. Henry V most likely died of something butt-related (dysentry or cancer or some such sickness) but the butt-ful nature of his death is downplayed in favour of a the simple diagnosis of "infection" because, well, butt-sicknesses are not a good way for a respected warrior king to go. It was fascinating to see how stories of deaths were twisted, emphasised and repeated and embellished to the point of obscuring the truth completely in service of a moral agenda. The most famous killing of a monarch in Britain, Edward II being killed with a red hot poker up the arse, is, for example, most likely not true – it became a popular story because it was seen as a fitting end to a bad monarch who was also rumoured (though I would say he clearly was) to be gay (known back then as the horrid sin of sodomy).
Many aspects of the stories of these monarchs' lives and deaths still feels relevant and modern. It is no longer considered in good taste to spread rumours of exploding corpses and so on to poke fun at a passed on individual, but I'd say we still like to see bad people go through bad deaths, as if dying itself was not bad enough. And it still hurts us especially deeply if a good, beloved person, even if we don't personally know them, dies a "bad" death. When it comes to illnesses, I noticed how we have, throughout history it seems, associated certain types of illnesses and physiological differences to moral values. Many kings and queens who had physical deformities were seen as morally corrupt – Henry IV, for example, had a noticeable skin condition and it was theorised it was God's punishment. Richard III is a fun example of this because for the longest time so-called Ricardians, up until 2012 when his body was found underneath a car park, claimed stories of his crooked back was just malignant gossip meant to make him seem evil. But, the truth is, he had a painful scoliosis. His back was bent. I can imagine that, when he lived, his deformity was seen as a moral failing. And in some of these stories, if the person didn't have anything "wrong" with them, someone came up with a deformity just to highlight their lack of morality: Anne Boleyn was said to have had six fingers, which linked her to contemporary narratives about witches. Fatness and over-eating is also still today linked in many people's minds to moral weakness and lack of self-control, and it seemed kings who indulged themselves and were fat were often depicted as gluttonous tyrants (sure, some where asshats, but their fatness had nothing to do with it). Henry I's death seemingly by overeating lampreys is a prime example of this. Even in modern media, this link between villainy and fatness is visible (see, for example, the way Baron Harkonnen was depicted in the new Dune films).
It also becomes clear when reading this book that people have always loved gossip and conspiracy theories when it comes to figures in power. The more a royal was disliked, the wilder the stories told about them. But even the ones who were respected had to endure weird slander and rumours – for example, Elizabeth I was suspected, by some, to actually be a man (transvestigation has a long, unpleasant history), presumably because of her refusal to marry and have children which was seen as a woman's most important job. Even Elizabeth II's death sparked rumours and theories online: Was she actually in the coffin? Was she secretly cremated like her sister? Did she die way earlier than was reported? Perhaps the biggest mystery of British monarchical history is the deaths (or did they die?) of the princes in the Tower, the boys of Edward IV. People still debate whether they died in the Tower or not, and while I am inclined to believe they did die, I think it says something lovely about our collective need to find a better, kinder alternative that we still try to come up with ways they could've escaped and lived.
I would recommend this book to anyone interested in medical history or history of death, or to fans of British royal history who are bored with your typical biographies, military histories and so on. Dr Suzie Edge brings a fresh point of view to a very thoroughly researched topic. The result is a refreshing, amusing (despite its grim topic) and easy-to-read popular history book.
Here are some interesting facts I learned:
- All that is left of William the Conqueror is his thigh bone, found in 1960, which survived many lootings and reburials of the king's corpse and even the digging up of royal remains during the French Revolution.
- Henry I holds the record for most known children of any monarch – he had two legitimate kids and at least 22 illegitimate children. He was even worse than Charlie boy.
- No part of Richard the Lionheart was buried in England.
- Richard II loved his wife Anne quite a bit: it is said that during her funeral, he beat an Earl with a stick for arriving too late and leaving too early.
- Georgians and Victorians had a thing for opening royal coffins and graves and poking and prodding the remains. Sure, we got a lot of cool information because of this, but also, it's a bit sus to open a grave and then poke a corpse in the eye.
- Henry VII's marriage to a Yorkish princess ended the War of the Roses, a familial decades-long squabble between Yorkists and Lancastrians. I was so happy when I got to his chapter: the War of the Roses and trying to make sense of the family connections were giving me a headache.
- Some have estimated that around one in seven of all people who have ever lived died of tuberculosis.
- Catherine of Aragon's heart was black when she died, most likely due to a heart cancer. The people of the time saw it was a sign of how her husband's betrayal had broken her heart. Very poetic.
- When Henry Frederick (James I/VI's son and heir) was lowered into the ground, a naked man started running around the funeral claiming he was the prince's ghost.
- When, in 1813, Charles I's body was discovered, the royal surgeon took the neck bone exhibiting axe marks and paraded it around at dinners and even made something of a salt shaker out of it. Victoria later demanded it was returned to the body.
- Mary II was James II/VII's daughter with a commoner, Anne Hyde.
- William III is said to have slept in a cot next to his wife's sickbed, worn a lock of her hair close to his heart until his own death eight years later and even to have considered abdicating when he lost his wife. It seems he loved her, genuinely.
- It is said that Charles II apologised on his deathbed for taking so long to die. Could be true, or it could be just a story that reflects his reputation as the Merry Monarch.
- The last of the British monarchs to personally lead an army was George II.
- George V launched the Windsor name to distance the British royal house from its close ties to Germany during World War I. His death is also something of a sore spot: he was either euthanised or murdered by his doctor, depends on who you ask.