The Tudors weren't exactly known for restraint. They executed wives, burned heretics, and grabbed power with both hands. But sometimes, just sometimes, they did things that left their contemporaries stunned. Here are ten decisions that broke the mould of what everyone expected from Tudor monarchs.
The Setup: A ten-year-old boy named Lambert Simnel was crowned "King Edward VI" in Dublin, backed by Irish nobles, German mercenaries, and genuine Yorkist claimants. He led an actual invasion of England with 8,000 troops.
The Twist: After crushing the rebellion at the Battle of Stoke Field, Henry VII pardoned the boy and gave him a job as a kitchen spit-turner. Later, Simnel was promoted to royal falconer.
Why It's Surprising: Henry VII was famously suspicious and ruthless with anyone who threatened his shaky claim to the throne. This was a king who had legitimate Yorkist claimants locked up "just in case." But when faced with a literal pretender to his throne who'd been crowned by his enemies, Henry showed sardonic mercy. He recognized Simnel as a harmless puppet manipulated by adults and turned him into a living symbol of royal clemency, and a walking reminder that rebellions end badly. It was brilliant propaganda: "Look how unthreatened I am by this 'king.'" The real punishment? Making a boy who'd been crowned in a cathedral spend his days turning meat over a fire while genuine royals ate upstairs.
The Setup: From the moment she took the throne at age 25, everyone (Parliament, her Privy Council, foreign monarchs) pressured Elizabeth to marry and produce an heir. The Tudor dynasty's survival depended on it.
The Twist: She never married. Not once. Not even close, despite multiple serious suitors including Robert Dudley (her true love) and the Duke of Anjou (whom she actually seemed to like).
Why It's Surprising: Her father had literally torn apart the Church, executed wives, and destabilized the realm in pursuit of a male heir. Elizabeth knew that by remaining unmarried she was ending the Tudor line, the dynasty that had clawed its way to power barely sixty years earlier. Yet she chose independence over dynastic survival. In an era when women's primary value was producing heirs, when queens regnant were almost unprecedented, when her council repeatedly begged her to secure the succession, Elizabeth decided her personal autonomy and political control mattered more. She weaponised courtship, using the possibility of marriage as diplomatic leverage while never actually committing. She turned what society saw as a woman's obligation into a source of royal power. The Virgin Queen wasn't just refusing marriage, she was rewriting the rules of monarchy itself.
The Setup: Mary I faced immediate pressure to marry after becoming England's first (official) queen regnant. Her Privy Council, Parliament, and the public all wanted her to marry an Englishman, specifically Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon (see Insurrection).
The Twist: Despite fierce opposition, massive public protests, and an actual rebellion (Wyatt's Rebellion) that nearly succeeded in overthrowing her, Mary married Philip II of Spain.
Why It's Surprising: This wasn't just unpopular, it sparked armed revolt and came close to costing Mary her throne. The House of Commons petitioned her not to marry a foreigner. When she ignored them, thousands took up arms. Yet this supposedly weak, emotionally fragile queen (as history often portrays her) stood firm. She told Parliament they were "not accustomed to use such language to the Kings of England" and that in her marriage "she would choose as God inspired her." For a woman who'd spent years powerless under Edward VI's Protestant regime, who'd nearly been executed as a traitor, this was a stunning assertion of royal authority. Mary was 37, eleven years older than Philip, and she knew exactly what she was doing: she wanted a Catholic heir and a powerful Catholic alliance. She gambled her crown on this marriage, and while it failed (no heir, Philip stayed abroad, and England was dragged into a war with France), her willingness to risk everything for her choice was remarkable.
The Setup: Edward VI, Henry VIII's only legitimate son, was dying of tuberculosis at age fifteen. His father's will clearly stated the line of succession: if Edward died without heirs, Mary would inherit, then Elizabeth.
The Twist: Edward drafted a "Devise for the Succession" that cut out both his half-sisters (one Catholic, one Protestant) and left the throne to his Protestant cousin, Lady Jane Grey.
Why It's Surprising: This boy was fifteen and dying, yet he attempted to overturn his father's will and Parliament's established succession laws. Most dying teenagers might focus on, well, not dying. Edward was obsessed with preventing England's return to Catholicism. He'd been raised by Protestant tutors and had become a zealot; contemporaries called him a "godly imp" who read twelve chapters of scripture daily. But this wasn't just piety; it was political calculation. He knew that his devoted reforms (the Book of Common Prayer, the destruction of Catholic imagery, the allowance of clerical marriage) would all be reversed under Mary. So this sickly fifteen-year-old attempted to rewrite England's future from his deathbed. It didn't work (Mary took the throne and Jane Grey was executed), but the audacity was breathtaking. Imagine being that age, in agony, knowing you're dying, and still trying to control your country's destiny after your death.
The Setup: Henry VIII wanted to divorce Catherine of Aragon (who'd failed to give him a male heir) to marry Anne Boleyn. The Pope refused to grant an annulment.
The Twist: Rather than accept the Pope's decision like every other Catholic monarch, Henry declared himself Supreme Head of the Church of England, severed England from Rome, and dissolved hundreds of monasteries.
Why It's Surprising: This wasn't a religious decision, Henry remained doctrinally Catholic until his death. He literally tore Christendom apart for a divorce. In 1521, he'd written a treatise defending the Catholic faith against Martin Luther and received the title "Defender of the Faith" from the Pope. Thirteen years later, he was defying that same papacy and dismantling a thousand years of religious tradition. The Reformation across Europe was driven by genuine theological conviction. England's Reformation? Driven by a middle-aged king's obsession with a younger woman and his desperate need for a son. Henry's contemporaries were shocked; this was the king who'd persecuted Protestants and burned heretics after all. The ramifications were enormous: England would spend the next century torn apart by religious conflict, thousands would die in rebellions and persecutions, and all because Henry VIII couldn't accept "no" as an answer.
The Setup: The Cornish Rebellion saw 15,000 men march 300 miles from Cornwall to London to protest Henry VII's war taxes for a Scottish conflict. This was an enormous, organized uprising.
The Twist: Before the decisive battle, Henry offered pardons to known rebels to encourage defections and weaken the rebellion's resolve.
The Twist Within the Twist: After crushing them at the Battle of Deptford Bridge, he executed the leaders but was relatively merciful to the common soldiers.
Why It's Surprising: Pre-battle pardons? From Henry VII, the king famous for extracting every penny from his nobles and maintaining an iron grip on power? This was strategic brilliance masquerading as mercy. By offering pardons before the battle, he drove wedges into the rebel ranks, making them doubt each other. Would your neighbor take the pardon and run? Could you trust the man beside you? It was psychological warfare at its finest. And after victory, Henry showed restraint, he executed the ringleaders (the blacksmith, lawyer, and turncoat noble) but didn't massacre the rank-and-file. For a king known for fiscal oppression and political paranoia, this demonstrated a sophisticated understanding of when mercy served his interests better than terror.
The Setup: Mary I deeply distrusted her Protestant half-sister Elizabeth, who represented everything Mary opposed. After Wyatt's Rebellion (which aimed to prevent Mary's marriage to Philip of Spain), Elizabeth was imprisoned in the Tower under suspicion of involvement.
The Twist: Before her marriage to Philip, Mary began a partial reconciliation with Elizabeth, calling her "sister" and even restoring her portrait to the palace gallery next to her own.
Why It's Surprising: This was during one of the most dangerous moments of Mary's reign. Rebels had marched on London specifically to stop her Spanish marriage and install Elizabeth instead. Elizabeth should have been executed, there was circumstantial evidence of her involvement, and Mary's advisors definitely wanted her dead. But Mary, perhaps advised by Philip (who feared France more than Protestantism and knew Elizabeth's death would make Mary Queen of Scots the heir), pulled back from the brink. For a queen portrayed as "Bloody Mary," this moment of restraint toward the sister who embodied everything she fought against (and who would ultimately undo her entire legacy) showed surprising political calculation. Mary knew that killing Elizabeth without solid proof would make her a martyr. Better to keep her close and controllable.
The Setup: Elizabeth I, the Protestant Queen who'd spent two decades fending off marriage proposals, began serious negotiations to marry Francis, Duke of Anjou, a Catholic, eleven years her junior.
The Twist: She seemed genuinely attracted to him and eager to marry. She called him her "frog" (affectionately), and courtiers reported she almost "talked love-talk" with him.
Why It's Surprising: This was the woman who'd built her identity around the Virgin Queen image, who'd rejected suitor after suitor for political reasons, who'd made her unmarried state a source of strength. And at age 46, well past childbearing years, she suddenly wanted to marry a Catholic Frenchman? It was political (the Anglo-French alliance had benefits), but witnesses reported genuine affection. Her council was horrified and deeply divided. When John Stubbs published a pamphlet criticizing the match, Elizabeth had his right hand cut off with a cleaver, a shocking overreaction that revealed her emotional investment. Ultimately, political pressure forced her to abandon the courtship. But this glimpse of Elizabeth as a woman willing to risk public criticism for personal happiness, at an age when everyone knew she couldn't produce an heir, humanised the carefully constructed icon. The Virgin Queen wanted love after all.
The Setup: Henry VIII inherited a kingdom his father had ruled through financial oppression and paranoid suspicion. Henry VII had imprisoned nobles, extracted massive fines, and created a climate of fear.
The Twist: Within days of his accession at age seventeen, Henry VIII proclaimed a general pardon, releasing prisoners and lightening the "old grudges and rumours" that had darkened his father's final years.
Why It's Surprising: This wasn't just mercy, it was a deliberate repudiation of his father's methods. Young Henry wanted to be seen as a new kind of king: generous, chivalrous, magnanimous. A chronicler recorded that the pardon "confirmed their new joy by the new grant of his pardon." The son who would become history's most notorious tyrant began his reign by opening prison doors. He even ratified his father's deathbed pardon before issuing his own. This early Henry, athletic, educated, genuinely popular, seemed like he might be a golden age monarch. And for about fifteen years, before paranoia, obesity, and desperation for a male heir warped his personality, he actually was. This opening gesture of mercy reminds us that the monster who executed wives and advisors started as an idealistic teenager trying to be better than his father.
The Setup: Edward VI's uncle, Thomas Seymour (the Lord Admiral), attempted to gain control over the young king by persuading him to sign a document giving Seymour co-Protector status alongside Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset (the actual Lord Protector and Edward's other uncle). Interested in Thomas Seymour and his plotting? See Divination, Speculation and Restitution.
The Twist: Edward, age twelve, refused. He recognised the political manipulation and declined to sign.
Why It's Surprising: He was twelve. A child surrounded by powerful adults maneuvering for control of the kingdom. Thomas Seymour had been his beloved stepfather (husband to Catherine Parr) and had influence with the boy. But Edward saw through the scheme. When Thomas was later arrested for treason (including attempting to kidnap Edward), the young king showed no emotion beyond noting in his journal: "The Duke of Somerset had his head cut off upon Tower Hill." This wasn't just precocious intelligence, it was political ruthlessness from a pre-teen. Edward's education under Protestant reformers had made him intellectually formidable, and his understanding of power dynamics was chilling. By age fifteen, he was actively engaged in religious reform and attempting to rewrite the succession. This early demonstration of independent judgment showed that despite his youth, Edward knew exactly what was happening around him and refused to be anyone's puppet.
Looking at these ten moments, patterns emerge that complicate our understanding of the Tudors:
Gender mattered, but not how you'd expect. Mary I surprised her advisors, incuding Simon (the Fox) Renard, by taking the throne in the first place (see Proclamation) and defied everyone to marry whom she chose (see Insurrection), showing that the "weak" female monarch could be just as stubborn as any king. Elizabeth weaponized the expectation that she should marry into a tool of power by refusing to comply. Both women used society's assumptions about female monarchs against those who tried to control them.
Youth was no barrier to ruthlessness, or wisdom. Edward VI showed political sophistication at twelve and ideological commitment unto death at fifteen. These weren't puppet kings; these were frighteningly precocious children making decisions that shaped England's future.
Mercy could be strategic. Henry VII's pardons weren't soft-heartedness; they were calculated moves that made him look magnanimous while actually strengthening his position. Showing mercy to a pretender like Lambert Simnel was better propaganda than execution.
Even tyrants had moments of restraint. The man who'd become Henry VIII (executor of wives, destroyer of monasteries, persecutor of those who opposed him) began his reign by throwing open prison doors. Mary I, "Bloody Mary," pulled back from executing her sister when many expected her to strike.
Personal desires could trump political logic. Elizabeth's near-marriage to Anjou, Mary's determination to wed Philip despite rebellion, Henry VIII's shattering of Christendom for Anne Boleyn, all showed that even absolute monarchs were human, driven by emotion as much as calculation.
Breaking expectations could be a power move. When Elizabeth refused to marry, when Henry VII pardoned a would-be usurper, when Mary defied her council's choice of husband, they were asserting that they made the rules, not tradition or expectation.
The Tudors weren't just famous for what they did, they're memorable for how often they did the unexpected. Whether from brilliance, stubbornness, genuine emotion, or calculated risk, these monarchs kept everyone guessing. And five hundred years later, we're still fascinated by the moments when they broke their own patterns and reminded everyone that crowns don't make people predictable, they just make their unpredictability more consequential.