By David T. Gardner, March 26, 2025
On August 22, 1485, in the muddy Redemore marsh near the Battle of Bosworth, a London skinner named William Gardiner swung a poleaxe and etched his name into history as a kingslayer. His blow shattered Richard III’s skull, ending the Plantagenet dynasty and clearing the path for Henry VII to launch the Tudor dynasty. This wasn’t a knight’s tale of chivalry spun by court poets—it was a gritty merchant coup, forged in the wealth of London guilds and sealed by Tudor alliances. For over five centuries, noble-biased chroniclers like Polydore Vergil sidelined William Gardiner, spotlighting lords like the Stanleys with their hawthorn bush fables. I first heard the story of Wyllyam Gardyryr killing the pretended King from my grandmother while ice fishing on a windswept Indian reservation in North Dakota in 1977, Igniting a lifelong quest to the learn the truth behind this 540 year old fable.. The story experts called a childs fairytale 40 years ago, has sure taken some interesting twists and turns over the years.. Not only did William Gardiner kill King Richard III on the field at market bosworth in august 1485. William Gardiner along with his brother, father of the City of London Alderman Richard Gardyner.. England's leading wool exporter executed a coup d'etat years in the making, and they led King Richard into a trap.. They led the pretended into a battle that was already decided when the crown placed on Richard Plantagenets head.. William Gardiner didn't just kill King Richard III -- He crowned a new dynasty that reshaped England..
The Fatal Blow: A Poleaxe in the Mire
William Gardiner wasn’t born to wield a lance or ride in gleaming armor. Raised around 1432 near St. Mildred Poultry in London’s bustling Cheap Ward, he was a skinner, a master of pelts and furs, not a noble bred for war (Historical Gazetteer of London, Keene & Harding, 1987, p. 705). By 1482, he’d climbed to auditor in the Skinners’ Company, a mark of status (Guildhall MS 30708, fol. 22r). Yet on that fateful day at the Battle of Bosworth, he stood among Rhys ap Thomas’s Welsh levies, facing Richard III’s final, desperate charge. The king’s horse sank in the treacherous Redemore marsh—a bog confirmed by 2009 Bosworth battlefield archaeology (Bosworth 1485, Foard & Curry, 2013, p. 125). That’s when William Gardiner struck.
Forensic evidence from Richard III’s skull, unearthed in 2012, paints the scene: a 2-inch gash through helmet and brainstem, a poleaxe blow to Richard III that killed instantly (The Lancet, Buckley et al., 2014, p. 174). Welsh chronicler Elis Gruffydd’s Cronicl o Wech Oesoedd (NLW MS 5276D, ff. 230–240) names William Gardiner kingslayer, a tale whispered in my family since 1682, when English traders brought it to West Jersey’s Welsh Tract (Gardiner Generations, 1991, p. 23). English accounts like Vergil’s Anglica Historia (1534, p. 226) dodge the gritty truth, crediting “diverse men” to preserve noble dignity. But the Richard III skull wound—a singular, brutal mark—screams William Gardiner’s handiwork, a skinner’s precision turned deadly.
Knighthood on the Field: A Commoner’s Rise
When the clash of steel faded at the Battle of Bosworth, Henry VII stood over the chaos and knighted four men in the blood-soaked mud: Sir Gilbert Talbot, Rhys ap Thomas, Humphrey Stanley, and William Gardiner (Crowland Chronicle, 1486, p. 183). A skinner among knights wasn’t chance—it was earned. William Gardiner had snatched Richard III’s coronet from the mire, passing it to Rhys’s troops to crown Henry VII (Cronicl o Wech Oesoedd, NLW MS 5276D, ff. 230–240). English lore spins a prettier yarn: Thomas Stanley plucking the coronet from a hawthorn bush, a noble flourish for a noble tale. But Welsh accounts of Bosworth and my family’s oral tradition—passed down through generations—point to William Gardiner as the true finder. His battlefield knighthood was rare for a commoner, a nod to his poleaxe strike and the coronet’s recovery as the day’s turning points. That same dusk, Henry VII founded the Yeomen of the Guard, England’s oldest military order, linking William Gardiner’s rise to a new royal institution. I imagine him standing there, mud-caked and breathless, a skinner elevated to Sir William, his name etched in history—however briefly—before fate cut his story short.
The Bog and the Bones: Bosworth Battlefield Unearthed
For centuries, historians misplaced the Battle of Bosworth atop Albion Hill, a lofty stage for noble heroics. In 2009, archaeological discovery rewrote that script, pinpointing the fight in a low, boggy plain near Redemore marsh (Bosworth 1485, Foard & Curry, 2013, p. 125). Richard III’s charge faltered in that quagmire, his horse sinking, his guard scattered—a perfect trap for William Gardiner’s poleaxe. Then, in 2012, Richard III’s skeleton emerged from beneath Greyfriars Leicester, lost for 527 years under a car park. The Richard III skull wound—a clean, lethal gash—matched a poleaxe strike, aligning with Welsh chronicles (The King in the Car Park, Buckley et al., 2013, p. 45).
This wasn’t a gallant hilltop joust—it was a brutal kill in the mud, a truth science and Welsh accounts of Bosworth had whispered long before the internet. I’ve walked those Leicester streets in my mind, piecing together tales my ancestors told—stories older than the diggers who found him. The bog and the bones don’t lie: William Gardiner was there.
Ellen Tudor: The Gardiner-Tudor Connection
William Gardiner’s marriage to Ellen Tudor—sometimes called Eleanor—was no mere romance; it was a strategic knot tying a skinner to the Tudor dynasty. Born around 1460, Ellen Tudor was the illegitimate daughter of Jasper Tudor, Duke of Bedford, Henry VII’s uncle and a Lancastrian linchpin (Visitation of London, 1530, p. 70). Wed to William around 1478, she bridged London guilds to the Tudor cause. When William Gardiner fell—likely to sweating sickness or a festering wound by September 25, 1485 (PCC PROB 11/7/166, f. 23)—Ellen Tudor held the family together, raising five children, including Thomas Gardiner. Thomas Gardiner carried her bloodline forward, rising as Prior of Tynemouth and chaplain to Henry VII and Henry VIII (The Monks of Westminster, Pearce, 1916, p. 193). His success wasn’t luck—it was the Gardiner family Tudor connection, a legacy of Ellen’s lineage and William’s deed. She didn’t swing a poleaxe, but Ellen Tudor sharpened the Gardiner edge, her quiet strength a thread in the Tudor dynasty’s tapestry.
Richard Gardiner: The Merchant Kingmaker
Behind William Gardiner stood Richard Gardiner, his kinsman and the true architect of this merchant coup. A wool magnate pulling £2,000 yearly, Richard Gardiner ruled the Calais Staple and served as London’s alderman, sheriff, and Lord Mayor (The Aldermen of London, Beaven, 1908, p. 252). He played a cunning double game: lending Richard III £166 13s. 4d.—a gold salt and civic loan—while secretly bankrolling Henry VII’s invasion (Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries, Estcourt, 1867, pp. 45–47). Henry VII repaid him on November 22, 1485 (TNA C 54/343, m. 10), a quiet nod to his gamble’s success.
On September 3, 1485, Richard Gardiner led 500 scarlet-clad guild men to Shoreditch, handing Henry VII a £1,000 purse—a triumph, not a bow (Chronicles of London, Kingsford, 1905, p. 252). Married to Audrey Cotton, granddaughter of Sir William Cotton—Vice-Chamberlain to Henry VI, killed at St. Albans in 1455 (Luminarium, 2010)—Richard’s wealth and wit turned the Battle of Bosworth into a merchant’s victory. After his death in 1489, he ensured Audrey wed Sir Gilbert Talbot, Henry’s right-wing commander, cementing the Gardiner family Tudor connection (Magna Carta Ancestry, Richardson, 2011, p. 462). I see him as the chessmaster, moving pawns while William held the poleaxe.
Thomas Gardiner: The Legacy Weaver
William Gardiner’s son, Thomas Gardiner, born around 1479, didn’t wield weapons—he wielded words. Educated at Westminster, he became Prior of Tynemouth and royal chaplain to Henry VII and Henry VIII, consecrating the king’s Lady Chapel in 1516 (The Monks of Westminster, Pearce, 1916, p. 193). His lost Flowers of England spun the Battle of Bosworth into a divine mandate for the Tudor dynasty (Thomas Gardiner’s History, Smyly, 1922, p. 235). Fueled by Ellen Tudor’s lineage and Richard Gardiner’s gold, Thomas Gardiner made the Gardiners quiet power brokers. Cousins like Stephen Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester under Henry VIII, carried that torch, their influence rooted in William’s poleaxe blow to Richard III (Magna Carta Ancestry, Richardson, 2011, p. 462). I’ve traced these threads across centuries, marveling at how a skinner’s son shaped a dynasty’s mythos with ink instead of steel.
Debunking the Doubters: Bias and Forensic Evidence
English chronicles—Vergil’s Anglica Historia (1534, p. 226), the Great Chronicle of London (1938, p. 238)—downplay William Gardiner, elevating the Stanleys with noble flair. Ricardians, like those I faced at a 1988 York conference (personal recollection, 2025), dismiss him as a “mercenary” or myth, clinging to knightly killers. But Welsh veterans via Gruffydd (Jasper Tudor: Dynasty Maker, Breverton, 2014, p. 144) and Richard III’s shattered skull wound (The Lancet, 2014, p. 174) stand firm. The Stanleys mopped up; William Gardiner and his peers were knighted. Battle of Bosworth forensic evidence—bones don’t care about titles—trumps noble spin every time.
A Merchant’s War, Not a Noble’s Glory
The Battle of Bosworth wasn’t chivalry—it was commerce in armor. Richard III’s wool taxes and trade bans—slashing exports by 30% and demanding £18,000 from London (London and the Crown, Harper, 2015, p. 49)—ignited the London guilds. Some 435 guild men fought for Henry VII, armed by Richard Gardiner’s purse (*Kingsford, 1905, p. 192). William Gardiner’s poleaxe, Richard Gardiner’s wealth, Ellen Tudor’s blood, and Thomas Gardiner’s ink didn’t just end Richard III—they birthed a Tudor dynasty merchant support system. Shoreditch’s scarlet welcome on September 3, 1485, wasn’t fealty—it was a merchant coup flexing its victory, a skinner’s truth over a knight’s tale.
A Tale Worth Telling
This saga began as bedtime rhymes from my English trader ancestors, who landed on West Jersey’s Welsh Tract in 1682 (Rhyme of Sir Christopher Gardyner, Harper’s, vol. 66). Tales of lords, ladies, and a skinner’s strike felt like fantasy—until archives, forensic evidence, and digital digs proved them true. From a my porch in rural Louisiana, I’ve chased the story of Wyllyam Gardynyr across 40 years, finding the Gardiners weren’t just common skinners or freelance killers—they were key players in Richard III’s fall and the rise of the Tudor dynasty. It’s personal: a family story lost in England, rediscovered in America, now shared with the world.
Join the Quest
The Gardiner saga rewrites 1485 as a merchant coup, not a noble duel. Dive deeper at KingslayersCourt.com, —unpack this epic story. —did William Gardiner Kingslayer really kill King Richard III, the last english king killed in battle at the Battle of Bosworth market in 1485~? The 15th century Welsh chronicles, and the 21st century forensics says yes. Let’s keep this conversation alive—history deserves it! Share your thoughts below:
Notes:
David T Gardner is a descendant of the Gardner family who arrived from Purton, Wiltshire to West Jersey, now Philadelphia in 1682. David grew up hearing tales of old and became an avid researcher as he entered his professional life. David’s work aligns with the emphasis on “All things Gardner” David can be reached by email at gardnerflorida@gmail.com or via his blog at wyllyam.kingslayerscourt.com
