S1 E5: Traders and Traitors

This is bad blood, the final chapter, a deep dive into the evidence against Elizabeth Holmes as we follow her federal trial. I'm John Carrier. I broke the story of the Theranos deception. And since then, I've learned a lot more about how she did it, how she got away with it for so long. This is what happens when you work to change things. With every new delay, every new development. First they think you're crazy then they fight you. It seems less and less certain the prosecution can pull it off. And then all of a sudden you change the world. In the years leading up to this trial, things have gotten complicated. The missing laboratory database. There are a lot of people who are doing anything to destroy all that. Fractured relationships. The notion of being abused perhaps mentally by an older man. And. Toro Plotwist. Obviously, she was going to get pregnant. I'm Professor Susanna Lipscomb. And on not just the tutors from History Hit, we do admittedly cover quite a lot of tutors. From the rise of Henry VII to the death of Henry VIII, from Ambulin to her daughter Elizabeth I. But we also do lots that's not tutors, murderers, mistresses, pirates and witches. Please in the title, really. So follow not just the tutors from History Hit, wherever you get your podcasts. Hands and larius each take hold of one handle of the saw. They give each other grim but determined nods. Their five more senior colleagues are all in position. Everyone's done their homework. They're all clearly briefed on how this is going to go down. Hands and larius will have to work quickly, cleanly and efficiently. Most important of all, they're not going to stop. Behind them, one of the senior men delves into a bucket and brings out a wet and pungent piece of cloth known as the soporific sponge. This rag has been soaked in a combination of opium, ivy, hemlock, mandrake, wine and mulberry juice. A concoction that could put an elephant to sleep. Right now, it's been used to tranquilise Frederick III, 77-year-old, king of Germany, Archduke of Austria, and Holy Roman Emperor. Just to be safe, it's pressed over Frederick's mouth and knows one more time. They really don't want this guy waking up any time in the next ten minutes. The senior surgeon makes one more final check. He gives hands and larius the signal, and then, as quickly and cleanly as they can, they start wrenching the saw back and forth and cutting off the lower half of the Emperor Frederick's leg. Needless to say, it's a grisly job. But before long, the black gangreness leg has come off and been set aside for safekeeping. The tourniquet above the incision has held and other surgeons are stepping in to seal the blood vessels. They tie off the major arteries and rub the wound with a potion made from lime, essence of gallnuts, pitch and the belly hair from hairs and deer. It's a hell of a job. True, when the Emperor wakes up, he isn't going to be very cheerful. There's a chance that the shock of this major surgery will kill him. And if it doesn't, there's a significant risk of infection. But if they'd left his leg as it was, he was going to be dead inside a month, from gangreness spreading up from his rotting foot. The year may be 1493, but no one deserves to go out like that. With the operation over, and the patient's condition stable, the seven quacks congratulate themselves on an operation well done. They've carried out a piece of surgery that's going to go down in medical and artistic history. What they don't know is that their bout of bone sawing is also going to have political ramifications. Not just in the Holy Roman Empire, but all over Western Europe. The gangreness Emperor's leg, these guys have just hacked off, is going to turn into a hospital-grade headache for the first Tudor King of England. I'm Dan Jones, and from Sony Music Entertainment, this is History. Season one of the Tudors. Episode five, traitors and traitors. Hello friends, we're back for yet another hard spin of Henry Tudor's Wheel of Fortune. Now, if you were to get ahead in Tudor England, would you be a traitor or a traitor? I ask because you're going to find out just how much Henry tests his realm's patience with a trade war. That's right, as Bill Clinton said, this week we're getting stuck into the economy, stupid. But don't worry, I'm here to make economic history sexy again. We're going to dig into the Watts, the Wise and the House of England's War on Wool in this week's bonus episode. You can grab that episode, add free, at patreon.com/thisishistory. Now, all I really want is for you to hear this episode. Don't worry, it'll all make sense after this short break. The medieval aristocracy had many virtues but dressing subtly wasn't one of them. Some outfits looked less like Lord of the Manor and more escaped upholstery, which is one reason I like Quince. They make the opposite, timeless pieces in premium materials like 100% Mongolian cashmere and marino wool. I've been wearing one of their soft cashmere sweaters lately, and these 100% Mongolian cashmere sweaters start at just $60. Everything at Quince is priced 50 to 80% less than similar brands because they work directly with ethical factories and cut out the middlemen. Find your next four favourites at Quince. Download the Quince app for app exclusive offers or go to Quince.com. Get free shipping on your order and 365 day returns, now available in Canada and the UK too. And when Quince asks where you heard about them, let them know, it was this is history. It's the best way to support the show. I realise I'm revealing my age here, but one of the albums that soundtracked my youth was the long-haired grudge-bearing Canadian warbler Alanis Morissette's 1995 multi-platinum seller Jagged Little Pill. Now, say what you like about older Alanis, but on that album, she really laid down some classics of the genre. That genre being music to go round to your ex's house and key the word "home wrecker" onto their new girlfriend's carbonate too. Anyway, one of the best known tracks on Jagged Little Pill is "Ironic", in which old Alanis goes through a list of allegedly ironic incidents. These range from "miss-haps" with cutlery to aviation disasters, and even if not all of them truly meet the definition of irony. The song is certainly iconic, and I'm sure it still earns Alanis a few quid on Spotify today. But, had Alanis been thinking more about 16th century history when she wrote that song, she might well have included the curious incident of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick III's leg amputation. Why? Because here's the thing. In June 1493, the 77-year-old Frederick undergoes the hardcore surgery I described at the start of this episode. Seven surgeons, knock him out with a sponge dipped in fart juice and donkey milk, take half his left peg off with a hacksaw, then stitch him up with a couple of paperclips and some rabbit fur. I mean, I'm being a bit reductive, but come on, that's what it is. And, incredibly, astonishingly, Frederick survives. He seems to be making a good recovery too, but then, in August 1493, he goes into a spiral, and very quickly, on August the 19th, he dies. Now, contemporaries can't agree on what the cause of death is. Some say it's connected to the operation, some say it's a stroke, others say it's a bad attack of diarrhea. But the most memorable suggestion is that Frederick dies from an overdose of melons. That's right, melons. And I agree, it's hard to know exactly what death by honeydew really looks like, but that's what the sources tell us. So, go on a larness, say it. You survive having your leg chopped off, and then meet your maker, chomping on a cantaloupe. Isn't it ironic? Yeah, I really do think. Anyway, that's quite a lot on Frederick III's leg, and I appreciate you may be wondering how on earth all this ties into the tutors. Well, the answer is this. In early December 1493, Frederick's body, and, by the way, his amputated leg, are taken for burial at St. Stephen's Cathedral Inn. Vienna. He's placed in a magnificent tomb and mourned by big crowds, honouring his long life and 53-year reign. Many dignitaries turn up for the funeral and among them is the King of England. The English monarch is greeted with all the respect befitting his position, and he's acknowledged as a peer by the man who's going to be the new Holy Roman Emperor, who's a million the first. The trouble is, the King of England being bowed and scraped to isn't Henry VII, who won his throne from the last Plantagenet Richard III at Bosworth in 1485. It's a flimish kid called Perkin Warbeck, who has latterly been set up as a pretender to the Tudor throne. Perkin has been schooled by a circle of Henry's enemies, old loyalists to the House of York, deposed as Richard of Shrewsbury, that is to say the youngest of the missing, presumed dead, princes in the tower. Now that circle of enemies slash loyalists includes very prominently a woman who hates the Tudors with every tingling fibre of her being. That's Edward IV's sister Margaret of Burgundy. She's harbored Perkin, inspected him physically and declared him her nephew, and vouched for him with the great and good of Europe. It's with her backing that he's getting invites to events like Frederick III's funeral, where he's being addressed not as Perkin Warbeck, high archduke of telling Porkeys, but Richard IV, rightful King of England, which is a major problem for the actual King of England, Henry Tudor. In 1487, Henry saw off the challenge of one pretender, Lambert Simnal, who was captured at the Battle of Stoke. In 1492, he thought he'd squished the campaign of Perkin Warbeck by taking an army across the English Channel to threaten the King of France, which convinced Charles VIII to stick a fork in his own support for Warbeck and kick him out of France. Yet, in 1493, Henry's finding that not only can he not strangle the life out of the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy, it's getting more dangerous by the day. The kid is being acknowledged by a number of foreign potentates, and rumors are growing that the true believers of the Warbeck camp can be found lurking all over the Tudor Royal Court, with some of them in the most senior positions. In the summer of 1494, Richard IV, aka Perkin Warbeck, is taken to the Burgundian lands in the Netherlands by Maximilian. There, he hangs out at another swanky European royal ceremony. Maximilian's son, who's also Margaret of Burgundy's step-grandson, is publicly acclaimed as ruler of those territories. Richard, Perkin, is an honoured guest at this important family occasion. The insult to Tudor Dynastic honour is considerable, and back in England, Henry VII has to come up with some way of dampening the growing public interest in Perkin Warbeck's fairy story. The trouble is, what can he do? Using military force to kick Warbeck out of France was supposed to be the solution, but since it hasn't worked, Henry tries to pull another lever of government. First, he has his young son, Henry, aged just three, invested as Duke of York, a title that ought to belong to the phony king Warbeck says he is. Then, he doubles his attempts to sniff out traitors at his own court, casting his BDI on everyone, even supporters who've been down with the Tudor cause from day one. Finally, he decides to try and hit Warbeck's chief supporters, the Burgundians, where it will hurt them the most, not on the battlefield, but in the pocket. Henry sets plans in train for a trade war with Burgundy, which he hopes will bring them to their senses. The question is, who will this medicine hurt more? The Burgundian merchants? What's it like to buy a car from Carvano or 100% online and get it delivered to your door? Let me tell you, your car is here, Mr. Shack. Thank you, Mr. Carvano guy. Can't wait to take it for a spin. Only the best for you, Mr. Shack. Hey, have you always been so big tall and handsome? Not always. I was six, ten once. Seven days to live and return it, Mr. Shack. That I would. You never do. No, I never do. So buy your car today on Carvano. Delivery fees may apply. See our seven day return policy at Carvano.com. In the last days of winter in February 1495, a shivering condemned man is led out of the Tower of London to the well-used execution spot at Tower Hill. It's around midday, and he's been preparing to meet his maker all night, making confession and getting ready to face all the horrors of a traitor's death. But as the victim is led to his death, word arrives by royal messenger that there is to be a reprieve, or at least a partial one. Rather than being treated like an ordinary traitor, that is, being dragged around behind a horse, strung up, castrated and disemboweled, so William Stanley is to be mercifully beheaded. Stanley served as one of Henry's top two household servants, the Lord Chamberlain. You don't get much closer to the throne than that. He's also brother to Lord Thomas Stanley, husband of Henry's mother Margaret Beaufort, and it was Thomas who directed his men to support Henry at Bosworth, securing the Tudor Crown. But now, the younger Stanley has been caught in a web of conspiracy, connected to none other than Margaret of Burgundy, and her young pretender king, Perkin Warbeck, aka Richard IV. With security tensions as high as they are in England right now, there's no getting away with that. So, close as he has always been to the king, Stanley has to die. And die he does. The axe man doing his job well enough that he later gets the handsome sum of ten quid from the king for making it a swift dispatch. But this public spectacle does nothing very much to dampen Perkin Warbeck's enthusiasm for mischief, nor that of his supporters overseas. In fact, his supporters overseas can't get enough of Warbeck. Margaret of Burgundy continues to indulge his ambitions, and just as keen on this pretender is the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian. In fact, right about now, his Holy Romanness is well and truly Warbeck Maxing. Why? Well, partly this is to stick it to Henry over a disagreement that has blown up regarding high diplomatic politics. In March 1495, an anti-French alliance is pulled together against the King of France Charles VIII, who's been sending troops marauding into Italy. The alliance, led by the papacy and signed up to by Maximilian, is known as the League of Venice. Henry won't join, and Maximilian wants to teach him a lesson. But there seems to be more in it than simple spite. There's also greed, because Warbeck has agreed to name the Holy Roman Emperor elect as heir to the English throne when he finally replaces the tutors. If Henry thought things were complicated when Warbeck was in France, they're even more complicated now he's the toast of the town in Burgundy and the Holy Roman Empire. On top of all that, there's an economic incentive too, because in 1495, England and Burgundy are in the middle of a full-blown trade war. It's a trade war Henry specifically launched to punish Maximilian and Margaret for encouraging pretender nonsense, but it's causing untold numbers of people incredible amounts of financial pain. The trade war, like all trade wars, is complicated, and in brief, here's what's going on. One of England's most lucrative exports is woolen cloth, which is sold on Burgundian markets to artisans in the low countries who die and finish it then sell it on to other European merchants. In 1493, riled by the constant plotting emanating from Burgundy, Henry bans all sale of English cloth to Burgundian merchants. He reckons this will put pressure on all the artisans in Burgundy who work in cloth-related industries, and to an extent it does, but Maximilian soon hits back. He ups the empty, banning [BLANK_AUDIO] merchants from even transporting cloth through his territories, and forbidding third-party merchants to sell it. That makes it almost impossible for England to do any trade on the continent. And that's not all of it, because Henry is learning about what happens when you half-ass things. Despite his cloth ban, he still allows raw wool, like the stuff from the sheep that isn't yet spun into cloth, to continue to be sold into Burgundy. So in response, Burgundian artisans open cloth-making workshops, which reduces the impact of the trade war on them, while hurting English industry in the long run. To put it another way, Henry's economic weapon misfires. In fact, it doesn't just misfire, it blows up in his face. Why? Well, it's a spectacular own goal. The people who hurt the most are merchants and ordinary citizens in England. The costs of import start to rise. People are out of work, and soon they make their feelings heard. Henry has to deal with riots in London and attacks on foreign workers. The mayor of London has to bring out troops with guns to disperse hooligans in the streets. The inquest that follows into the causes of the disorder makes uncomfortable reading for Henry. The ring leaders lay the blame for their rioting at his door. It's restraints made by the king too long and too often that kick-started the trouble, they say. The economic pain is causing England's honest workers to decay and whax-erk of the world. The whole thing seems to be turning into a gigantic mess. No matter how hard Henry tries, he can't stomp on the Perkin War-Bet problem. He has spies keeping their eyes and ears open at court, alert even to the slightest hint of disloyalty or plotting. But this just seems to turn up bad news. Apparently, there are traitors everywhere. Meanwhile, Henry's doing everything he can think of to put diplomatic and economic pressure on his enemies abroad who keep meddling in his business by sponsoring Perkin War-Bet. But whatever he tries just seems to make the situation in England worse, creating miserable conditions that will eventually start to raise questions about the effectiveness of his kingship. What's a Tudor King to do? Well, for Henry, the name of the game is the same as it always has been, survival. And in the summer of 1495, just a few months after William Stanley's execution for plotting, Henry's survival instinct is going to be tested again. Because from the continent comes the news that Henry lives in pretty much permanent dread of hearing. Perkin War-Bet has got Margaret of Burgundy and Maximilian to agree to do more than just invite him to all the funnest parties and treat him like their own little pet king of England. They're going to advance him the funds he needs to take a fleet of ships, sail to England and knock Henry Tudor right off his perch. Another Yorkist invasion army is coming. And Henry, with his trust in his allies at an all-time low and the realms mood-curdling against him, has to hope that he'll have what it takes to stand firm. Whatever they're preparing to throw at him. The returning English exiles stand on the shingle of the beach at Diel in Kent, and gesture vigorously at the locals who gathered Earth's safe distance away. It's early July 1495, and these invaders are armed to the teeth. They're carrying crossbows and axes, spears and other sharp spiky things, but they come bearing carrots as well as sticks. They've also brought a few heavy duty barrels of ale. It looks rather like they've come for a boozing session as well as a fight. This booze-toting landing party of fun-loving criminals are a bunch of Yorkist renegades. They're also the business end of what seems to be a growing international anti-Tudor coalition. They've crossed the channel in a little fleet of ships paid for by Margaret of Burgundy, the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian, and the 22-year-old King of Scotland, James IV. Even the Pope, the wildly corrupt Alexander VI, has been asked to get in on the act. Margaret of Burgundy has written to him slacking off Henry in no uncertain terms, calling him the product of many adulteries committed on both sides of his parentage. Now, Alexander VI is probably the last person to complain about that. Despite being Pope, he has at least half a dozen children by various mistresses. So it's not clear that he ever replies. All the same, this is the nature of the army that's now pulling up on the shores of England. It has ships, it has famous foreign backers, it has cash in a war chest, and, as the first landing squadron is proudly proclaiming to the locals, it has more beer than you could drink in a week. How will the men of Kent react to this? Will they be annoyed to see foreign-backed invaders landing on their nice beaches? Or are they enticed by the prospect of joining them for a free piss-up? That question is answered quickly and comprehensively when a local dignitary arrives on the scene. It's the mayor of the next town along the coast, Sandwich, and this cat has no interest whatever in a bout of day-drinking and paddling in sea. As the leader of a coastal town, his number one priority at any time of the day is to protect these shores from hostile ships. He has no intention of waiting for a royal army to come and do the job for him. To that end, he's brought as many armed men as he can round up. All of them equipped with bows and arrows. As soon as they clap eyes on the invaders, he orders them to attack. You can forget free beer and hippie love. The mayor of Sandwich regards Warbeck as a joke, a famed duke and a painted image who's only supported by aliens and strange people. He gives the order and his men go to work. The beach at deal rapidly becomes the scene of free death and absolute overkill. The mayor of Sandwich's men shoot and kill 150 of the invaders with their bows and arrows and hack others to bits with axes. As one account puts it, the strangers are at one stroke vanquished. The mayor of Sandwich manages to take another 150 men prisoner, at which point everyone who's been bright or fast enough to get back on the ships decides this invasion has not been a roaring success. They rig their ship's sails and get going, leaving their pals behind either bleeding out on the beach or squealing under interrogation. It's a pretty lame attempt at conquering Tudor England and the defenders of the coast deserve big, hard pats on the back for standing their ground under both provocation and temptation. Henry sends them his personal thanks for what he calls their true services. All the same, he knows he still has a lot of work to do if he wants to keep his bony ass on the throne long term. The prisoners who are taken in the Kent invasion are bust up to London by horse and cart and Henry takes a hard line with them. At the start of his reign, after Bosworth, he tended to be pretty lenient. Back in 1487, when Lambert Simnall was captured at Stoke, he gave the kid work experience in the royal kitchens. But now, in the 1490s, Henry's patience has rubbed very thin. Just as he's taken a tough line with the trade war and a tough line with the traitor William Stanley, so he shows that he's done going easy on rebels and renegades. In the last week of July 1495, dozens of the prisoners captured during the Kent invasion are hanged. 50 are hanged at Tyburn in London. Others are killed on gallows spread out along the coastline of England's southeast counties of Essex and Kent, as well as other possible landing spots, including Norfolk and Sussex. Anymore would be Tudor Bashers approaching by sea will be forced to take a good long look at these dangling corpses. Henry hopes it'll make them think twice. Just three weeks on from this spate of hangings, Henry passes the 10th anniversary of his victory over Richard III at Bosworth. Against all the odds he's hung on to the English crown for an entire decade. But no one could possibly pretend that it's been an easy one. He's faced constant rebellions, a lurching economy, and scheming from his foreign enemies. And that Tudor claimed to the throne, which he tried so hard to lay down at the start of his reign in law, in marriage, in propaganda still feels as shaky as it always did. Henry has to be wondering when God or the fates are going to let him rest. But if he is, he must also know that the signs aren't very promising. He's seen off plotting at court and an invasion in Kent, but the pretender Perkin Warbeck wasn't one of the invaders, shot, caught, or hanged on the beaches. Warbeck is still out there. And in fact, in the late summer of 1495, he's casting his eye around the British Isles, figuring out where next to cause trouble for the Tudors. In 1496, he makes his decision. If he can't take England from the south by sea, then why not try it on from the north by land. In November, Perkin Warbeck takes himself off to Scotland. And once again, Henry Tudor's reign, and the whole future of his dynasty, is plunged into a state of terrible crisis. But that's for next time. On this is history. Well, there you go, friends. It's just another beautiful day in Tudor, England, complete with death by hanging, death by beheading, and death by overconsumption of sweet juicy gourd. And if all the mad deaths we've featured over the years on this is history, I think the prize for the most unfortunate may well go to Frederick III. Surviving a no more phen amputation than having everyone agree that you succumbed to an overdose of finger food. So, yes, I really do think that that was an ironic end to a grand life, and it makes me wonder, royal favourites, what's the most ironic death you've ever heard of? Write it in at patreon.com/thisishistory you never know who's going to show up on For the Love with Jin Hatmaker from Mel Robbins to Tignitaro Kate Bollard is Stanley Tucci. I'm Jin Hatmaker and every week my dear friend Amy and I dive deep with incredible guests who make us laugh, and cry and think a little bigger about life in the middle years. For the love where great stories meet unforgettable people. Follow and listen wherever you get your podcasts.