I am Richard III

Chapter 2

I was born the youngest son of Richard, Duke of York and Cecily Neville. It was 1452. The country was almost at war. I suppose in a way it was my father's fault. He shouldn't have rebelled but then the Queen shouldn't have excluded him like that.

Oh dear I'm getting carried away again.

Anyway the country was almost at war because the weak King Henry and Queen Margaret were running the country badly. Henry was related to me, we were cousins I think. So Queen Margaret had lots of influence over the King and convinced him to exclude my father from the councils. Margaret had made some poor men very great indeed so my father was cross.

Then the King fell into a mysterious sleep. My father was appointed to be regent, which was testimony to his greatness. Margaret greatly opposed this. He held power for a year or so and then the King woke up. Then, for some reason, everyone got very cross and went to war. My father and the great Earl of Warwick against the Queen. I'm not quite sure who did what and how we ended up in a civil war but you probably know all about that so I'm going to tell you about me.

I was the youngest of four surviving brothers. I also had three sisters and then there were three other brothers who didn't survived past infancy. Presumably I was fairly dispensable as there was four boys. Chances were I wouldn't inherit the dukedom.

I grew up under Warwick's care. My brothers and I learnt how to fight. We fought well, strong in battle. At mealtimes we saw Isabel and Anne Neville. Warwick's young children. I was the same age as the eldest, Isabel, and just a few years older than Anne. I guess we weren't too interested in them. Well we were learning battle plans and how to jump onto a running horse. Who would be interested in girls?

Before long we were ready to fight. Well the older boys were George and I had to stay at home while the older boys fought with Father and Warwick.

But then, in 1460, disaster struck: while fighting at Wakefield, Father and Edmund were killed in battle. How the Lancasterists, as we called the Queen and her army (we were the yorkists), must have laughed. There was no threat now. How could an eighteen year old boy take the throne or be any sort of threat?

Well I wasn't the only one who underestimated my enemies