One day, early in the 16th century, a teenage English princess said goodbye to her father and set off to marry a king. Margaret Tudor was the eldest daughter of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, her brother would become Henry VIII, and negotiations for her marriage to James IV of Scotland had begun when she was just eight years old. Thanks to the intervention of her mother and grandmother (who argued that consummating a marriage at such a young age would “injure her and endanger her health”), the wedding was delayed until Margaret turned 13. But by June 1503 it could be postponed no longer — even though the bride-to-be had recently lost her brother Arthur (to sweating sickness) and her mother (to childbirth) — so she embarked on a stately progress north, crossing the border a month later.
Margaret’s new country was poor and overwhelmingly rural (the largest town, Edinburgh, had a population of just 12,000), but her welcome was lavish. The royal couple wore matching outfits of white damask to their wedding, and at the banquet that followed the lucky bride was served delicacies including wild boar, ham and “a fair piece of brain”.
At 30, Margaret’s new husband was old enough to be her father, but as the historian Linda Porter argues in this well-researched biography, he treated his new wife kindly. He was a man of contradictions, with interests including military technology and embroidery, and apparently saw nothing wrong with combining a visit to his mistress with one of his frequent pilgrimages — usually accompanied by his favourite white peacock.
Margaret’s marriage was supposed to ensure good relations between Scotland and its neighbour, but the Treaty of Perpetual Peace held for barely a decade. Matters came to a head at the Battle of Flodden Field in 1513, which James expected to win. But the Scots were wrong-footed by bad weather and boggy terrain, and thousands died — including the king, his throat slit by an English soldier. A triumphant Catherine of Aragon, acting as regent while Henry VIII was in France, sent her husband a piece of his brother-in-law’s bloodied surcoat as a trophy.
Margaret, still in her early twenties and pregnant with her sixth child, was swiftly appointed regent for her 17-month-old son, the new King James V. For a few months things went smoothly: Margaret had the support of the Council, which included many of the leading men of the realm, and gave birth to a healthy boy, Alexander, in the spring.
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Then, in August 1514, she secretly married Archibald Douglas, earl of Angus. Why she did so is unclear, but, whatever her motivations, this was surely the worst decision Margaret made. Within weeks she was deprived of the regency (in accordance with the terms of James IV’s will, which required her not to remarry) and lost custody of her children.
Miserable and isolated, Margaret fled to England, where she gave birth to her only surviving daughter, Lady Margaret Douglas (who would grow up to be the mother of Mary, Queen of Scots’ husband Lord Darnley) and spent time at the Tudor court. But Henry VIII was not the most supportive of brothers — certainly he wanted Scotland to fail more than he wanted his sister to succeed — and Margaret was soon back in her adopted homeland.
Hoping to improve her lot, she collaborated with the new regent, John Stewart, prompting Henry to assume that her new ally was also her lover. The insinuation was made more plausible by her estrangement from the deeply unlikeable Douglas, who had become one of Margaret’s main rivals for control of Scotland. In late 1525 he essentially kidnapped his royal stepson, ruling in his name for nearly three years.
Much to Margaret’s dismay, Henry seems to have trusted his brother-in-law, Douglas, more than his sister. When, in 1527, she decided to end her marriage, Henry — who had recently embarked on his own Great Matter — fiercely objected, while Cardinal Wolsey warned her that “for the weal of your soul and to avoid the inevitable damnation threatened against adulterers” she must reconcile with her husband. Satisfyingly, Pope Clement, who refused to end Henry’s first marriage, granted Margaret an annulment. But she paid heavily for her freedom: Douglas took custody of their daughter, and her treasurer turned third husband, Henry Stewart, whom she married in 1528, and was several years her junior, soon left her for another woman.
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By this time James V was ruling in his own right. Margaret’s relations with her son were cordial, but he and Henry VIII rebuffed her enthusiastic attempts at diplomacy. When she died of a stroke, aged just 51, James ignored her deathbed bequests, and Henry — distracted by his latest marital woes — failed to observe mourning for her.
And Margaret’s misfortunes continued even in death. Within two decades of her burial religious reformers destroyed her tomb and burnt her remains; historians have been almost as scathing in their judgments, dismissing her as an incompetent, oversexed drama queen. Following the current fashion for biographers to argue that their female subjects have been unfairly criticised, Porter valiantly attempts to rehabilitate Margaret’s reputation.
But it is hard to escape the conclusion that she was a woman ill-equipped to deal with what life threw at her, and often hard to like. Her strong attachment to the trappings of royalty was particularly problematic: she grumbled that she had to live like “a poor gentlewoman, and not like the woman that I am”, and once loudly proclaimed her relief that “I should [not] die from lack of clothes”.
Such unflattering glimpses aside, Margaret remains an elusive figure, with her views on important events such as the Reformation and her personal motivations largely unknowable. Nevertheless, Porter’s highly readable account of Margaret’s sad story compels the reader to sympathise with this unhappy woman, who was undoubtedly ill-served by the men in her life. And it is hard not to feel a little satisfaction at her ultimate triumph over Henry VIII, achieved in 1603 when her great-grandson James VI united the thrones of Scotland and England. Margaret, who dreamt of a closer union between her two countries, would surely have been delighted — not least because her annoying little brother would have been furious.
The Thistle and the Rose: The Extraordinary Life of Margaret Tudor by Linda Porter (Head of Zeus £27.99 pp400). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members
