What sort of old things? Well, bones to be exact. Royal bones. Forget
what Bill Shakespeare told you, people, because there was no withered arm...and probably no fiendish cackling whilst plotting the murder of his nephews either. In a press conference today, a team from the University of Leicester announced that they were certain beyond any reasonable doubt that they had found the remains of Richard III.
Where was the poor bloke buried? Well, originally a church, but he ended up beneath a council car park in the end. You can check the full story in
this article from the BBC.
Want some more - slightly fictionalized - Tudor-era goodness? I'd highly recommend diving into some Phillipa Gregory. Or, just go a few generations along in history and check out Hillary Mantel's
Wolf Hall and
Bring Up the Bodies.
And if you're up for following the further developments, I'd also suggest the
Richard III Society. Call it revisionist history with a sneering tone if you like, but these people have refused to take Shakespeare's play at face value as historical fact and they make an interesting case for why Richard wasn't necessarily the moustache-twirling baddie that he's always been made out to be.
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