Tracy Borman recently claimed in her 2025 book “The Stolen Crown”:

“It’s a big statement, but it’s a statement I stand by because technically, legally, he [James I] did steal it. Elizabeth didn’t name him her heir. His accession to the throne was against the acts of succession laid down by Henry VIII, and it went contrary to Henry VIII’s will.”

This interpretation, whilst provocative, fundamentally misunderstands the nature of constitutional succession. Borman’s central error lies in her failure to grasp that theft requires a victim – someone from whom something is being stolen.

Her argument that James’s accession violated Henry VIII’s will overlooks a crucial reality: that will, though ratified by Parliament under the Third Succession Act of 1543, was not legally binding in perpetuity. Its enforcement depended on the Privy Council – a body that had transformed significantly in the sixty years since Henry’s death. By 1603, it reflected entirely different political interests and priorities. More importantly, Parliament – the supreme legislative authority – did not oppose James’s accession but ratified it swiftly and without objection.

Her claim that Elizabeth’s failure to name a successor somehow constitutes “theft” reveals a profound misunderstanding of both law and logic. By this tortured reasoning, every inheritance where the deceased dies intestate becomes “theft” by the legal heir. When someone dies without a will, the law determines inheritance. In 1603, the “law” was England’s constitutional practice, which allowed succession to be resolved through council decision, parliamentary assent, and political consensus.The absence of a named successor left the succession open to proper resolution through established constitutional mechanisms – not “stolen property” in need of restoration to its rightful owner.

Borman’s central argument from her book rests on her analysis of William Camden’s manuscript, claiming that key passages were altered to create a false narrative of Elizabeth endorsing James on her deathbed. However, this focus on manuscript authenticity deflects from the fundamental reality of what happened in the hours after Elizabeth’s death – and from more fundamental questions about constitutional legitimacy and the nature of succession itself.

The historical evidence contradicts the assertion of illegal seizure. James’s succession was peaceful, uncontested, and broadly supported – hardly the characteristics of a stolen throne. English politicians, notably chief minister Robert Cecil, had maintained secret correspondence with James for years to ensure a smooth transition. When Elizabeth died on 24 March 1603, James was proclaimed king approximately seven hours later, and Parliament moved quickly to formalise his accession.

Contemporary sources provide precise details of this transition. John Manningham, a barrister at the Middle Temple who kept a detailed diary, recorded that Elizabeth died “about three at clocke” in the morning, and that “about ten at clocke the Counsel and diverse noblemen having bin a while in consultacion, proclaymed James the 6, King of Scots, the King of England, Fraunce, and Irland.” This seven-hour interval – rapid by seventeenth-century standards – demonstrates careful preparation rather than hasty improvisation.

More crucially, seizure or theft by definition means to take from someone what is not rightfully yours – yet there was no one else from whom James was taking the crown, and there were definitively no active contenders in March 1603. James possessed a legitimate blood claim to the English throne as the great-great-grandson of Henry VII through Margaret Tudor, making him Elizabeth’s closest living relative.

If anything, the swift and orderly transfer of power – with Elizabeth’s councillors, Parliament, and the broader political establishment in agreement – demonstrates constitutional approval rather than usurpation. To suggest James “stole” the crown ignores the historical reality that no other viable claimant contested his succession, and that legitimacy through political and popular consent was the de facto mechanism that had secured monarchical transitions throughout the Tudor period.

The constitutional precedent was clear: when statutory provisions became impractical or obsolete, political consensus determined succession. James’s peaceful accession, rapidly endorsed by all the key institutions of English government, represents the successful operation of this unwritten constitutional principle rather than any form of theft.