It is the winter of 1649.
A bitter wind whips along the River Thames, howling through Traitor's Gate at the Tower of London.
A man named Sir Henry Mildmay, Master of the Jewels, nods to a warder who lets him enter the White Tower.
For the first time since the 9th century, England has no monarch.
Last year, King Charles I was beheaded following a civil war.
The parliamentarian Oliver Cromwell now rules a republic known as the Commonwealth of England.
It has been a year of upheaval, to say the least.
Sir Henry Mildmay enters a room that holds the precious and valuable object of state, the crown jewels.
A simple wooden trestle table is covered with gold, silver and bronze.
Pearls gleam in a shaft of morning sun.
The light plays on stones of every color, which adorn the treasures.
In a workshop next door, a team of goldsmiths are already at work despite the early hour.
Sir Henry is here to give the workers their instructions, but he lingers in the jewel house.
He picks up a crown that catches his eye.
He has been writing an inventory, evaluating the monetary value of these items.
In the midst of this administrative task, he forgot the beauty of these treasures crowns, swords and scepters.
Maybe it is the rare winter light, but today they cause him to catch his breath.
The crown in his hand is heavy made from silver gilded with gold.
He knows from the precise records he has been making that it holds 344 precious stones.
The headpiece is also adorned with miniature sculptures of saints and the virgin mary.
It belonged to henry viii, who wore it at his coronation 150 years ago.
Mildmay thinks it is a shame to destroy Henry's crown, but it must be done.
He carries the thing to the workshop and drops it onto the desk of a goldsmith.
The workman hesitates.
Mildmay orders him to get on with it.
So the goldsmith sighs, picks up a pair of clippers and starts to snap through the settings to free the precious stones.
Soon, sapphires, diamonds, rubies and pearls scatter across the worktop.
Only yesterday, the goldsmith had to break up the crown of Alfred the Great, an ancient treasure, 800 years old and studded with emeralds.
Before that, it was the crown of Edward the Confessor.
He might be a saint, but his relics were not spared.
Sir Henry Mildmay has lined up private buyers for the salvaged jewels.
Cromwell needs the cash.
Other items, like gold plates and silverware, are sold off to the nobility.
One aristocrat, named Clement Kinnesley, paid 16 shillings just for a spoon.
Mildmay leaves the goldsmiths to their work, reminding them to save any leftover metal, like the gold from Henry's crown.
When they're finished, it will be melted down and turned into coins by the royal mint.
The job is straightforward enough.
Destroy the crown jewels.
In this day and age, there is no need of souvenirs commemorating a line of succession that has been well and truly broken.
The days of the English monarchy are over.
The modern crown jewels is a collection of items gathered over 800 turbulent years.
The oldest piece, the spoon sold to Mr Kinnesley for 16 shillings, survived the purge that followed Charles I's execution and made its way back to the tower.
Now it plays an important role in the 21st century coronation of King Charles III.
Consisting of 100 objects decorated with 23000 gemstones.
The collection is still held at the Tower of London, protected by guards and high-tech security.
It is not insured because the items are priceless and irreplaceable.
But treasure attracts thieves.
And in popular culture as well as in real life, the crown jewels represent the holy grail for robbers.
And they haven't always been well-protected.
Once lost, once stolen, once destroyed.
But why did one thief put the crown jewels down his trousers?
Which king managed to lose his own crown?
And why is one diamond so controversial that it is not invited to the coronation?
I'm John Hopkins, and this is a short history of the crown jewels.
The collection of treasures known as the Crown Jewels is owned by King Charles III under a trust that means they can never be sold.
But the collection is not static.
It changes.
And the Windsors continue a tradition of royal adornment that stretches back into prehistory.
The earliest known English crown comes from the tomb of the Mill Hill Warrior buried around 200 BCE in the southern county of Kent.
When the grave was unearthed in 1988, the body was found to be wearing a diadem engraved with a swirling pattern on bronze that would have been burnished to a shine.
The simple construction belies its significance.
The wearer would have been a priest, military leader, or king.
Perhaps all three.
Anna Kay is a former curator at the Tower of London and author of several books about monarchy, including The Official Illustrated History of the Crown Jewels.
One of the things that's so extraordinary about the crown jewels is that as a collection, and the list of things that are in there is really really ancient.
So there were sort of three traditions which converged.
One was a sort of ancient Roman imperial idea of what being in charge, what being involved and what kind of equipment went with it.
One which was related to the tribes that essentially invaded the Barbarian tribes, as they were sometimes called during the period after the fall of Rome who were very kind of martial, very military.
And then the third is a Christian tradition.
So, for example, in the Roman tradition, having a sceptre or a baton that denoted your authority was something that went back to the Roman Senate.
In the Christian tradition, the idea of being anointed, of there being a holy oil was inherited.
And then through the barbarian tradition, if you like, the much more kind of fighty end of things.
For example, the wonderful burial at Sutton Hoo, which is so famous when that was dug up.
The collection of goods which are buried with that Anglo-Saxon king included as a military item.
So we have to think of our tradition and that, the kit that we've got in the Tower of London now being the sort of range of objects that you had being kind of formed at this point right back in the Middle Ages, with these three things colliding.
In Roman times, influential figures wear crowns that hark back to the laurel headgear of Rome.
And at an archaeological site in Norfolk in the east of England.
One plaque shows a Roman leader holding a sphere representing the world and an object resembling a shepherd's crook.
In time, these evolve into ceremonial objects called an orb and scepter.
But there is no permanent set of crown jewels.
Each monarch commissions their own new regalia.
The first detailed account of the coronation ceremony comes from the year 973, when King Edgar is crowned in Bath in the west of England.
His elaborate rituals, such as anointing the king with oil from the Holy Land, inspire a poem in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicles which lays down the tradition followed to this day.
The coronation, in its main constituent parts, has been with us since well before the Norman conquest, so well before 1066.
And we've got orders of service for it going right back.
And again, just like the objects themselves, it's a kind of amalgam of traditions.
So anointing was a very specific thing which sometimes happened on its own.
So King Offa, who was the king of Mercia back in the 9th century, he anointed his son.
That was a very important thing of kind of how do you pass on power?
You're a very successful, strong ruler on your own, but what do you do about your poor subjects? child who's quite young and vulnerable when you know that your time is coming to make sure that he can take over.
So anointing is a very good way of giving him a special status, then.
Actually, our coronation still includes a tradition of an oath, and that's something called the acclamation, which is essentially a kind of cheer that's given by the congregation to denote their kind of acceptance of the person who's there.
And we can see all these ingredients right back into the pre-conquest period, and the form that they take now is one that would be really entirely recognisable to William the Conqueror.
It is William the Conqueror in 1066 who sets a precedent of coronations taking place at Westminster Abbey.
The association is so strong that the crown jewels are divided into two parts, with the coronation regalia held at Westminster Abbey safeguarded by monks.
State regalia, on the other hand, is used for public events such as banquets or parades.
It is held by the monarch either in the security of the Tower of London or, more perilously, in the luggage of a travelling king.
It is September 1216.
King John's army is on the march.
After 17 years on the throne, he's becoming less popular by the day, after losing territory in France, imposing punishing taxes on his people and being excommunicated by the Pope.
He feels as though a great tide is against him.
Today, the monarch is in King's Lynn on the Norfolk coast in the east, where his cavalry and wagons have gathered after dealing with the latest rebel uprising.
And now he receives word that Alexander II is invading to the north.
John has no choice but to confront the Scottish king.
The safest way involves a long march around the coastline, or there's a more direct, if perilous, route across a massive estuary known as the Wash.
When the tide is out, the sea recedes for three miles, leaving mudflats that shimmer to the horizon.
Crossing here is known to be treacherous, with quicksand and tidal whirlpools.
But time is of the essence. and John needs to nip this Scottish invasion in the bud.
He gives the word, and his cavalry ride onto the mire that reeks of seaweed and worse.
A convoy of wagons brings up the rear.
Among them, the king's baggage train contains his valuables, including the crown jewels.
At first, they make good progress, and King John thinks his bold move will pay off.
But then he hears shouts from behind.
The wagon drivers are urging their horses on, but the tide is rising.
At first, the brown water seems to seep out of the mud.
Soon, it's ankle deep, and small waves are breaking against their wheels.
The animals grow skittish.
There are still miles of mudflats ahead.
In horror, John sees that the tide is racing in faster than a human runner.
His men push their horses as hard as they can, but it's getting deeper.
Then there's a shout.
Out to sea is a wall of water, a freak wave heading their way.
Looking back, he sees the wagon train stuck in the mud.
He braces himself.
The king coughs and splutters, but steers his horse to land and eventually reaches the shore.
Behind him is a scene of carnage.
Horses float in the waves.
Bedraggled soldiers, those who can swim, splash to safety.
But the wagons are lost, and among them, the precious luggage.
Though his men do their best to retrieve valuables from the water by nightfall, Jon must accept the inevitable.
The unpredictable tide has claimed the crown jewels.
A month after his disastrous shortcut across the wash, bad King John is dead.
His nine-year-old son, Henry III, has to be hastily crowned using his mother's bracelet.
Four years later, in 1220, young Henry performs the ceremony properly.
This time, at Westminster Abbey, he uses the sacred crown that belonged to Edward the Confessor, kept safe in the coronation regalia by the Abbey monks.
In the Bayeux Tapestry that commemorates the events of 1066, Edward the Confessor, who is later canonized, is shown wearing this crown.
By using it himself, Henry III assumes the political authority of an ancient line of English kings, as well as the spiritual power of a saint's holy relic.
St.
Edward's crown is used in coronations spanning the next 400 years.
That is, until 1649, when Oliver Cromwell's Parliament takes charge.
With King Charles I dead and England now a republic, Cromwell decrees that the items be totally broken to wipe out what he calls the detestable rule of kings.
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He demands that the coronation and state regalia are brought together in the Tower of London, but only to be inventoried and destroyed.
Among the objects is the Tudor crown of Henry VIII, more significantly the sacred St.
Edward's crown.
The things which were the oldest things, the things which were the ones which were thought to have belonged to Edward the Confessor.
The entries written for them in the sale particulars are really disparaging.
They say, you know, poor gold, very bad stones and so on, because it was really old.
Seeing these extraordinary objects.
Early medieval regalia the things that would have been on the head of Richard the Lionheart were regarded by the kind of inventory clerks in the mid 17th century as being a bit rubbish because they weren't as blingy, they weren't as fabulous as the modern things.
And yet of course those are the things.
If you could magic back anything off that list, It wouldn't be the 17th century stuff, it wouldn't be Henry VIII stuff, it would be that really early stuff, because it's so rare.
The whole point about all of this stuff is it's to do with saying this institution is ancient and I the descendant of this great tradition, this hereditary tradition of rulers, and my legitimacy and my right to rule sits with this great antiquity of my line.
And so wearing really old things is a very good expression of that.
Less than a decade later, Oliver Cromwell is dead.
Having condemned them as monuments of superstition and idolatry, he'd had the crown jewels either melted down or sold off.
But now, as he lies in state in September 1658, he's adorned with new objects reminiscent of the ones he destroyed.
His effigy holds an orb and a sceptre, while an imperial crown sits on a velvet cushion above his head.
By 1660, a new parliament restores the monarchy.
The son of the executed king returns from exile in France and becomes Charles II.
The collector, Mr Clement Kinnesley, who purchased a gold coronation spoon for 16 shillings when Cromwell flogged the crown jewels, returns the object to the new king.
Kinnesley unwittingly saves a 12th century treasure which is still used to anoint monarchs with holy oil during the coronation ceremony.
It is the oldest item in today's crown jewels collection by some 500 years.
But the rest of the regalia must be replaced.
The cost to Charles II is said to be the equivalent of three warships.
Charles II always dated his reign to 1649, the date of his father's execution never to 1660.
The whole approach was to behave as if it had never happened.
And so in 1660, clearly a coronation was going to need to happen.
And the jewel house, of course, was completely empty because of all this stuff having been sold.
So a kind of committee was set up to decide what equipment was going to be needed.
And amazingly, the minutes of these meetings still survive.
Again, the wonderful thing about English history is we're really good at paperwork.
There was clearly a conversation initially about is this the moment in which we're going to have a bit of a clear route of things and sort of do a bit of modernization?
Not a bit of it.
It's quite the opposite.
The instructions were very clear from the king himself that there should be careful examination of the records and there should be a new version, made a replica effectively, of everything that had been destroyed in 1649, even to the extent that a number of objects, the use of which, the function of which had long been forgotten and they had no actual sort of job in the coronation something called st edward's staff, for example those things were remade even though nobody knew quite what you were supposed to do with them.
The crown jewels are not museum pieces but a working collection.
Items are used at state events during the year, such as the opening of Parliament or banquets with foreign dignitaries.
But the most sacred objects play a role in the coronation of King Charles III, a ceremony that still recalls the rituals laid down by King Edgar in 973.
A coronation begins with a parade into Westminster Abbey.
The final resting place of 30 British monarchs, the cathedral echoes with antiquity.
Three swords are carried ahead of the monarch during the procession.
Two represent spiritual and temporal justice, while a third blunt blade is known as the sword of mercy.
Inside the abbey, the one and a half meter long walking stick known as St.
Edward's staff is laid on the altar as a holy relic.
It has long been forgotten what else it might be for.
Alongside it are golden chalices, flagons, candlesticks, and communion plates from the collections.
The Archbishop of Canterbury presents the king or queen to their subjects.
The monarch swears an oath and in return there is an acclamation, the people raising their voices to accept the new sovereign.
The monarch sits on the coronation chair made in 1308 to hold the Stone of Schoon, the legendary stone of destiny that was used to crown Scottish kings.
The stone now resides with the crown jewels of Scotland in Edinburgh Castle, but it is transported and placed inside the ancient chair for coronations.
In the most sacred part of the ceremony, the Archbishop of Canterbury anoints the new monarch with holy oil.
Pressed from olives harvested from the sacred hills where Christians believe Jesus ascended to heaven.
The oil is scented with rose, jasmine and other fragrances.
Before traveling to Westminster Abbey.
It has been sanctified in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and is now held in a golden eagle-shaped vessel or ampulla.
The archbishop pours oil from the bird's beak into a gold spoon, the same one that was sold off in 1649.
Dipping two fingers into the bowl of the spoon.
The archbishop performs the anointing in three places the hands, chest and head.
Then comes the investiture in symbolic garments such as the super tunica or cloth of gold, robes and gold bracelets called armills.
There's even a set of spurs, though nowadays they are only tapped against the heels of the monarch because there is simply too much paraphernalia to wear.
Again, the spurs, in a way, are the most obvious example of an utterly archaic bit of equipment.
We were talking about Anglo-Saxon kings and swords, the crucial bits of your being a victor in battle, and so on, your trappings as a knight and as a warrior.
So they're a kind of remnant, if you like, of that tradition.
There's something called the jeweled sword of offering, which is an amazing object, utterly dripping with diamonds and rubies and sapphires and so on.
And then the orb for the sovereign and the scepters, all of which are 1660 objects.
It's very much about the orb represents the world.
The cross, in symbolism terms, was added to it in the Middle Ages with the rise of Christianity, as a kind of articulation of Christ's command over the globe.
And yeah, and then these two amazing scepters.
In a way, the most physically impressive jewel in the whole collection is is the diamond at the top of the sovereign sceptre.
So two sceptres were made in 1660 because there had been two sceptres in 1649.
One had a cross at the top, one had a dove.
But in the beginning of the 20th century, in 1911, the top of the sovereign sceptre with cross was altered to accommodate this enormous diamond.
The first star of Africa, or sometimes called Cullinan I, which is the biggest of the stones cut from the great cullinan diamond, which is the largest diamond ever found at that point and still, in terms of its quality, unsurpassed as a diamond found in south africa and the principal stone of which, cut into an amazing, brilliant cut, was set in the top of that scepter.
That extraordinary diamond, i mean, it's the size of a small egg, it's absolutely enormous.
As the monarch holds the scepters, The St
Edward's crown is placed on their head to mark the moment of coronation.
The crown is gold and embellished with hundreds of small stones.
At 30 centimeters high, it weighs over two kilograms.
The St.
Edward's crown is worn only for a short time as state business requires a second crown, the imperial state crown.
The fact that there are two crowns harks back to the days when the regalia was divided between the abbey and the tower, the spiritual and the political.
The state crown or the imperial state crown.
Imperial just means it has arches that go over the top.
So it's not to do with empire in the sense of British Empire.
It's to do with a form of crown.
It is and was the object that was designed to be used day to day, if you like, in your ceremonial activities as a sovereign.
And as a consequence, the frames over time with use and so on, that can become weak.
And so the frame of the imperial state crown has been remade four or five times since 1660.
The stones are simply taken out, a new frame is made and the stones are reset.
So you've got kind of continuity and they're individual stones you can trace right back to the 17th century.
But as a consequence, as that has happened over time, modern jewelry and goldsmith techniques have come into play.
So whereas with St.
Edward's crown, when you look at it, it's a big gold object with stones, as it were, bolted onto it.
You look at the imperial state crown, you can't actually see the frame at all.
All you see is jewels.
That's why it's so sparkly, because it's got a lot of brilliant cut diamonds on it.
And you see all stones in their frame.
There's lots of lovely stories associated with the stones.
I mean a lot of them come with a bit of a health warning, because the truth is that any legend that's attached to any of these things that dates before 1649.
It is very difficult to be confident that the stones that you're talking about are the ones in the collection, because everything was sold.
So it's not impossible that objects were returned, and it's not impossible that stones that were sold were still in circulation and were re-bought at the restoration.
So, for example, at the top of the Imperial State Crown there's a wonderful sapphire known as the Edward Sapphire, which has certainly been on it since the early 19th century, maybe older, but that's how long it's been there for.
But that's associated with a wonderful story about Edward the Confessor giving a ring to a beggar who then turns out to be John the Baptist, and this stone being from that ring.
Again we can see the importance of antiquity, the association with it, but the confessor is the saint king from the early Middle Ages, being part of the mystique of these objects from many centuries ago.
One story that has some claim to truth concerns the origins of the Black Prince's ruby.
This gem also adorns the imperial state crown, set above another massive Cullinan diamond.
But the strangely shaped red stone is not actually a ruby at all.
It's an entirely different mineral, a cabochon spinel.
It was mined 400 years before the technology existed to tell apart different types of red gemstones.
Originating in the Himalayan mountains in the Belaskia region of Central Asia.
It is also known as a balas ruby.
Islamic traders on the Silk Route brought these precious stones to Europe.
The story of the Black Prince's ruby begins in the 1360s in Granada, Spain.
Documents show a 170-carat balas ruby roughly the size of a chicken's egg, in the treasury of Sultan Muhammad VI of the Alhambra Palace.
But the sultan's hold on power is slipping and in 1362 he travels to Seville to seek help from King Pedro.
But instead of offering assistance, Pedro kills the sultan and takes the huge red stone for himself.
By 1367, he has earned the name Pedro the Cruel and is himself in trouble.
He enlists the English nobleman Edward of Woodstock, better known as the Black Prince, to help restore him to the throne.
But when Pedro is unable to pay for his services, the Black Prince snatches the ballast ruby and returns to England.
The Black Prince becomes King Edward III and his gem enters the royal treasury.
It appears again in 1415, when Henry V rides into battle against the French at Agincourt.
He wears a helmet covered in gems, including a massive red stone that seems to be the Black Prince's ruby.
The king suffers a blow to the head, but survives, perhaps thanks to the stone.
In the following century, the inventory of Henry VIII mentions a ballast ruby.
The stone proves distinctive in the historical records because it has a small repair to a hole that was once drilled in the front, maybe to fix it to a turban, back in the days of the Sultan of Granada.
The fate of the gem when Cromwell sells off the crown jewels in 1649 is not recorded, but it makes its way back to the collection, possibly during the Restoration.
In 1838, Queen Victoria puts the gem in pride of place at the front of her Imperial State Crown, where it remains.
But a stone that doesn't feature in the coronation is the famous or infamous Koh-i-Noor diamond.
Long since part of the Queen Mother's crown.
The diamond that came to England during the colonial era remains locked up in the tower.
The Koh-i-Noor is a much older stone than the ones that we've been talking about, than the Cullinan diamond.
Before the 18th century, diamonds were only found in India.
So the very big stones that came later from deep mining in South Africa and actually in South America hadn't happened yet.
So all the diamonds that were around came from India.
And the Koh-i-Noor was a famous one long before it came to this country, because it was a sort of famous, big and beautiful stone.
But it seems quite likely it was the stone that belonged to the Mughal emperor Babur.
It's then taken from his descendants by the Persians, then later by someone called Nadir Shah, and then later seized in another moment of conquest by people who were based in what's now Afghanistan, someone called Ahmad Shah.
And then in the 19th century, a very powerful Sikh ruler of the Punjab, Ranjit Singh.
He captures it as part of conquest.
He's called the Lion of the Punjab.
And then the next lot of people to come along and grab dominions, and with it the stone, are essentially the British.
But the East India Company give it to Queen Victoria, having essentially extracted it, along with everything else, from the descendants of Ranjit Singh.
It remains in the collection in the Tower of London.
I think it would have been a provocative thing to do to use it in the coronation ceremony, which is a kind of present-day political as well as ceremonial occasion.
I mean, consorts' crowns, historically, they were often made new for each coronation.
Selections were made between the stones of what any particular consort wanted to wear.
They tended to be diamonds and pearls mostly, but not always.
So it's entirely consistent with that, that this choice has been made.
Today, the crown jewels at the Tower of London are protected by state-of-the-art security.
Treasures are stored behind bulletproof glass and surrounded by surveillance cameras.
The collection has its own security detail, known as the Tower Guard, made up of serving troops on detachment from the British Army.
In addition, yeoman warders have been guarding the tower since Tudor times.
Now, the team comprises 32 men and women, who are former military personnel and live at the tower.
But the crown jewels haven't always been kept so safe.
It's April 1303.
In the middle of the night, a man named Richard Pudlicoat is digging a deep tunnel under a wall of Westminster Abbey.
Pudlicoat is broke, in debt with moneylenders.
But locked inside the cathedral is the answer to his problems, the crown jewels.
He hears footsteps at the mouth of the tunnel and freezes.
A figure scurries past in the cloisters.
A moment later, Publicote resumes his work.
For months, he's been planning a heist.
First, he planted hemp seeds, a fast-growing weed that has sprung up to provide cover.
Then he put together a crack team of accomplices.
His partners in crime include monks on the inside of the abbey, a prison warden who may need to shelter him as he makes his escape, plus goldsmiths to fence the stolen goods.
But first, Pudlicoat has to get his hands on the treasure.
Finally, his shovel hits stone.
He throws it down and gets to work with a chisel.
Before Christmas, he started digging under the abbey walls, hidden by the long weeds.
Now it is almost Easter, and he is about to make the final breakthrough.
Pudlicoat removes the stone and squeezes through the gap.
He finds himself inside the Pix Chamber, a vaulted crypt where the king's valuables are kept under lock and key.
There is gold everywhere.
Crowns goblets plates, chests full of coin, a nation's wealth inside one room and it's his for the taking.
He squeezes back through the wall and covers his tracks so the tunnel isn't discovered.
Then he spends the rest of the night and the following day hidden inside the vault deciding what to take with him.
When he finally emerges, Pudlicoat stashes some of the loot in the bushes.
The rest he takes with him as he steals away into the night.
Richard Pudlicoat has carried out the most audacious heist of the 14th century and scored a king's ransom.
Pudlicoat doesn't take all of the crown jewels.
He's wise enough to leave behind the most distinctive items, like the king's crown.
Later.
The value of the stolen goods is estimated to be worth billions of pounds in today's money, an entire year's tax income for the Kingdom of England in 1303, arguably the largest haul of all time.
But Pudlicoat's glory is short-lived.
When items from the king's collection turn up for sale in pawnbrokers and brothels around the city or dumped in the River Thames, they're soon traced back to him.
He confesses and gives an account of the heist, how he planted the seeds and dug the tunnel, although he claims to have carried out the raid alone.
Historians conclude that his story is embellished to cover up for accomplices who may have helped him gain access to the crypt.
But a confession is a confession.
Richard Pudlicoat is sentenced to death and hanged in 1304.
The robbery means the state regalia is moved to the Tower of London, with only the holy coronation items staying at the Abbey.
In 1669, the crown jewels go on display at the Tower for the first time.
But this, once again, makes them vulnerable to a heist.
It is the 9th of May, 1671.
Around seven in the morning at the Tower of London a young woman is laying a breakfast table in the home of the Keeper of the Jewels.
They are expecting guests.
The Keeper, Talbot Edwards, has struck up a friendship with a local parson by the name of Dr Aleph, who came to visit the Crown Jewels a few months previously.
Since then they have grown close enough for Aleph to suggest that his nephew might make a good husband for the Keeper's daughter, Elizabeth.
This morning, they are due to make marriage arrangements.
The parson arrives with two companions.
But when Edwards invites him inside, Aleph asks a favor.
Might he and his friends see the crown jewels?
Keen to oblige, Edwards picks up the keys to the Martin Tower where the treasures are stored.
Elizabeth follows them into the yard and watches the men disappear up the tower.
She wants to catch a glimpse of the nephew and soon spots him keeping his distance from the others up on the tower walls.
Elizabeth notices that he seems more interested in the guards than his new bride.
Just then, she hears her name called.
Her brother, who has been away serving in the army, has returned home.
He runs to embrace her, then asks where their father is.
But when Elizabeth turns to point, she finds the parson's nephew staring down at her uniformed brother, a look of horror on his face.
The man who is supposed to be her suitor rushes away. almost as if he had been keeping watch.
Then she hears a shout and the crash of a door in the Martin Tower.
A moment later, there's the sound of hammering and a clang of metal.
Elizabeth runs inside the jewel house, but as she mounts the steps, she hears a chilling cry.
Her father's voice calls out, treason, murder.
The parson races with his two companions out of the Martin Tower.
They're covered in blood and carrying Hessian sacks.
Elizabeth realizes at once what has happened and shouts, Treason!
The crown is stolen!
Guards appear as the gang race around the White Tower, exchanging gunfire with a warder.
Elizabeth lets her brother and the guards deal with the thieves.
She is more concerned about her father.
She runs up the Martin Tower and finds the old man lying in a pool of blood beside the empty jewel cupboard.
Though he is bleeding from the head and stomach, he is more upset about the treasure and the deception.
Dr. Aleph is no parson.
He is Thomas Blood, a common thief and a vandal who smashed the crown and broke the Holy Scepter before carrying the lot away.
Once again, the crown jewels are gone.
Thomas Blood and the young man pretending to be his nephew don't get far.
They are captured and arrested by Edwards' son and the guards.
But the damage is done.
The thieves hammered down the crown with a mallet to make it easier to carry.
The scepter is broken in half, while the golden orb is dented from being shoved down his trousers.
And the keeper, Talbot Edwards, later dies from the stab wound in his stomach.
The damaged items are repaired and returned to the jewel house, but the silver-tongued Thomas Blood refuses to answer to anyone but the king.
Somehow, he charms his way out of any punishment at all.
The king grants Blood, a pardon and land in Ireland, some say, in return for acting as his spy at court.
Three centuries later, the crown jewels face a new threat.
During the Second World War, enemy aircraft bombard London.
The royal collection is moved to Windsor Castle on the outskirts of the city.
Here, valuable gemstones are removed from their settings in crowns and other regalia, wrapped in cotton wool and stored inside a biscuit tin that is hidden in the basement.
The plan, should the Nazis invade, is to smuggle the most precious and historically significant stones, or even bury the tin in the grounds.
This course of action is never necessary.
But the move does prove to be prescient when the tower is struck by a German bomb.
The crown jewels must be kept in a bank vault for two years while the jewel house is renovated.
The young queen who comes to the throne in the aftermath of the war is given a lavish coronation in 1953.
The gemstones are taken out of the biscuit tin and restored to the St.
Edward's crown, which is then placed on the head of Elizabeth II in the world's first televised coronation.
Seventy years later, in 2023, the same rituals are repeated for her son, King Charles III.
After almost a thousand years of change, the crown jewels hark back to traditions born long before the current collection was curated.
In the post-colonial era.
They prompt some to call for individual objects to be returned to their countries of origin.
But for others, they are a physical representation of a dynastic story.
Items that have been passed from protective hand to protective hand throughout a turbulent past.
I think what they aren't is the embodiment of absolute continuity, because one of the things that's so fascinating about them as a collection is that they kind of mirror and they reflect the vicissitudes and the ups and downs and the changes of the past, including the Civil War, our revolution, our republic.
There's a crown which we haven't talked about because it doesn't have a job anymore, which is the Imperial Crown of India.
That tells you a story about Britain's journey over the centuries.
So to me, what's so fascinating about them is that they are the expression of thousands of years of history and of tradition, but also of change.
And the fact that we still have a coronation ceremony that would have been utterly recognisable to William the Conqueror, in the same spaces, the same group of items following the same rubric, is amazing.
And the fact that that's still with us and we're not living in the Middle Ages, we are in the 21st century, is a kind of amazing monument really to how change and continuity and tradition and adaptation can all coexist.
Next time on Short History Of, we'll bring you a short history of Alexander the Great.
The nearest analogy I can think of is Game of Thrones.
It was a place where murder, assassination, rivalries, plots were constant.
And it was very dangerous to live in, because the king of Macedonia for generations more likely was going to die by a sword than die of old age in his bed.
That's next time on Short History Of.
