Текст книги "The Star of Lancaster"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

There were messengers awaiting Richard in Dublin and the news they brought was catastrophic. Henry of Lancaster had landed in England; he had come to regain his inheritance, and men were rallying to his banner.

Richard had always been afraid of his cousin. He saw then that he had made a major mistake. First by exiling Henry and then by confiscating the Lancaster estates.

It was too late now to turn back.

He had two alternatives; to stay in Ireland and conduct a campaign against Henry from that country or to return and face him. He must, of course, return to England, but there would necessarily be some delay. He sent John Montacute, Earl of Salisbury back to England immediately to raise the people of Wales against Lancaster. He would follow at the earliest possible moment when he had made some arrangements here in Ireland.

Then he remembered Harry of Monmouth, son of the invader, who was in his hands.

He should be able to turn that to advantage.

He laughed aloud at the thought. The son and heir of the enemy in his hands!

He sent for young Harry, who came, a little truculently, having heard the news of his father's landing of course. He had to admire the boy. He was in a dangerous position and he knew it.

*So you are the son of a traitor, eh?' said Richard.

*No, my lord, indeed I am not. My father is no traitor.'

*Have you heard that he has landed in England although I have put him in exile?*

*He comes to regain his estates I doubt not,' said Harry. 'Those which you promised my grandfather should not be forfeit/

Tou make bold, my young bantam. I hold you my prisoner, you know.'

*I know I have been and still am a hostage.'

Tor your father's good behaviour.'

*Then I have nothing to fear for my father does not act as a traitor. He comes but to take the estates which are his by right of inheritance.'

Tou will have to learn to curb your tongue, Harry.'

'And lie ... as others do.*

Richard flushed. 'You're a young fool,' he said.

'Better that than a knave,' retorted Harry.

Richard cried: 'Get out of my sight, or I'll have that saucy tongue of yours cut out.'

Inwardly Harry quailed at the thought, but he showed no fear. He bowed and retired.

Richard buried his face in his hands. A thousand curses on Henry Bolingbroke I What a fool he had been to let that man live, to have sent him abroad to plot with his enemies, to have taken his estates. He had brought this on himself.

Young Harry knew it. He was a shrewd, clever boy. Richard hated violence. That was why he was so loth to go to war. Why could not people all enjoy the things that he did—music, literature, art, good food in moderation, fine wines, sweet perfumes, rich clothes, sparkling jewels, a clean and beautiful body ... ? They thought him unkingly because he cared for these things. And now Lancaster was forcing a war on him; and Harry, his son, was defiant, almost insolent because he knew in his heart that to harm him would be loathsome to Richard who abhorred violence. What to do with Harry?

He summoned two of his guards. 'Let the Lord Harry of Monmouth be taken to the castle of Trim and with him his cousin Gloucester. There they shall remain until I have settled this matter with the traitor Lancaster.'

So the two boys were sent to Trim Castle, there to fret away the days playing chess and games they contrived with their playing cards, while they waited for news from England.

Henry had decided to make for that part of the country which he expected would be most loyal to him, so instead of landing at Dover or Folkestone as he would have been expected to, he set a northerly course and finally arrived at Bridlington. He was amazed at the numbers who flocked to his banner. They were welcoming him because they were tired of Richard. He made his own castle of Pickering his temporary headquarters and from there he marched to Doncaster, his following growing more numerous every day.

At Doncaster he was joined by the Earl of Westmorland, and Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland with his son Sir Henry Percy known as Hotspur. The Percys were a powerful family who helped to keep watch on the Scottish border for any trouble which might flare up. They were like kings of the northern provinces. With them they had brought the Lords of Greystock and Willoughby, a formidable force.

The Earl of Northumberland called together a council which he asked Henry to attend and when they were all assembled, he said, It is important to know what your intentions are, and why you have returned to England.'

Henry replied promptly that his intentions w^ere to regain his estates which had been unjustly forfeited. He had no other intentions.

The company was relieved. They implied that they had no desire to take part in a campaign to take the crow^n from Richard and put it on his cousin's head. But being men of property themselves they had very strong views about the seizure of estates. The King had acted foolishly in breaking his promise to John of Gaunt and they agreed that there had been only one course open to Henry of Lancaster. He must come to England and take back what was his.

So these powerful earls of the North joined with Henry of Lancaster in a righteous course.

The next w^ek saw the complete debacle. Richard's followers deserted him one by one, and they flocked to Henry's banner. The King was at first bewildered, then resigned. What he had ahvays feared had come to pass. The people were tired of him; they no longer loved the bright and handsome boy they had cheered so w^ildly at Blackheath and Smithfield. They had had enough of him and they thought that Henry

of Lancaster would serve them better.

When Richard was left with but six loyal men he knew that it was only a matter of days before he was captured. He wandered from castle to castle until he came to Conway and there he rested for he had no heart to continue the futile struggle.

His old enemy Archbishop Arundel came to him there and extracted from him a promise to give up the crown.

He did so, almost with alacrity. He was tired of the crown, tired of his life. He did regret though that he was parted from his little Queen.

The young Isabella had brought him what he had lacked in his life since the death of Queen Anne. He wanted to love and be loved; and this exquisite little girl who adored him and whom he could regard as a beloved child—wife though she was to him—had supplied that.

Poor sweet Isabella, what would become of her now I

As for Henry he had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations.

He had seen that Richard must give up the throne from his own desire to do so. Henry did not want trouble which would be inevitable if Richard were forced to abdicate. Henry wanted to be persuaded to take that whicli his hands had itched to grasp for many years.

Richard was obstinate at first when the irrevocable step had to be taken but eventually he gave in.

There was a new King on the throne. Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster had become King Henry the Fourth of England.

THE PRINCE AND THE VIRGIN WIDOW

Harry was becoming very restless in Trim Castle, for on the orders of the King, a close watch was kept on him and Humphrey. They were not allowed to ride out which was a hardship scarcely to be endured. They played games until they were tired of them; Harry made all sorts of plans for escape which Humphrey dismissed as impossible. Harry knew this too but it helped a little to plan.

Then one day when they sat idly in a corner of the room they shared, they heard the sound of footsteps coming up the steep spiral staircase; the footsteps stopped at their door and they heard the clanking of keys as the door was being unlocked.

Two of the guards came into the room. They were looking at Harry and there was a distinct change in their demeanour. Not that they had been cruel. Richard would never have wanted that. But now there was respect in the bow they gave in Harry's direction and then in Humphrey's.

'Great news, my lord,' said the guard looking straight at Harry who was beginning to feel a little light-headed with the possibility which had occurred to him.

'Yes, yes,' cried Harry, impatient and imperious.

'We have a new King, God save him. King Henry IV of England.

'My ... my father!' gasped Harry.

'Your noble father, my lord, God save him.'

'Then Richard .. /

'Has abdicated, my lord. He knew himself to be beaten.'

Harry smiled to himself. This was the biggest thing that had ever happened. Yesterday he had been Harry of Monmouth, son of an exile, a hostage in the hands of the King. Today he was Prince Harry, heir to the throne.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to share in the triumph. This was the end of this dull and pointless life. A wild exultation took hold of him. Everyone was showing respect, even Humphrey. Heir to the throne. The words kept ringing in his ears.

'What news of my father the King?' he asked.

'Orders, my lord, that you and Duke Humphrey are to leave at once for England,' was the answer.

'Come Humphrey,' cried Harry. 'Let us lose no time.'

Nor did they. They would leave at once. There would be a ship waiting for them. His father had seen to that. He wanted his heir with him with all speed. He would be made the Prince of Wales, that was certain. A glorious life lay before him.

Humphrey was more cautious and very thoughtful.

Poor old Humphrey, it would make little difference to him. He was already the Duke of Gloucester and he could not go much higher than that. Still, he would have the distinction of having shared exile with the Prince of Wales.

When they were alone Humphrey said: 'Harry, don't hope for too much.'

'What do you mean? Hope for too much! I'm heir to the throne, am I not?'

'It must be very insecure as yet.'

'Insecure! Depend upon it, my father had made it very secure.'

'For one thing young Edmund Mortimer is the true heir.'

'That's not a serious claim.'

'You have to see things as they are, Harry. Edmund is descended from Lionel who was older than your grandfather.'

*I know. I know. But he's only a child.'

'Age makes no difference.'

'Oh yes it does. My father has the people behind him. He is the one they want. They want no more child kings.'

'Not even if they are the rightful heirs?'

'Enough, Humphrey. Remember ...'

*To whom I speak. The heir to the tottering throne. Don't hope for too much, Harry.'

*Will you stop it or ... or ...'

'You'll send me to the Tower and have me lay my head on the block? You'll be a vindictive king, Harry, but you won't last long if you don't look the truth right in the face and accept it for what it is.*

Harry seized him and the two of them wrestled together on the floor of the chamber as they loved to do. Harry often scored in these bouts although he was several years younger than Humphrey.

The tussle ended up in laughter as it always did and Harry cried: 'What are we doing, wasting our time? Come, we must return to the scene of action with all speed. I am no longer a hostage, Humphrey. Think of that.'

'I can think of nothing but how glad I am to leave this damp unfriendly land.'

'Come, then, let us make ready. To England.'

Within a few days they left Ireland. The crossing was rough and during it Humphrey became ill. Harry chaffed him and told him he was a poor sailor and commented that it w^as a mercy they were not going into battle. Humphrey smiled wanly and said he could never remember feeling so strange.

'You'll be well again as soon as you set foot on dry land,' Harry promised him.

But this was not so and the crossing w^as so rough that it seemed at one time that they would never make it. It was a great relief when they were able to land in Anglesey. Oddly enough Humphrey w^as no better and it soon became clear that his malady had nothing to do with the sea.

He was in a fever and wandering in his mind. They had come to an inn which was nearest to the spot where they had landed and Harry had thought that after a brief rest there Humphrey would be himself again.

Hum^phrey was rambling about his father. He thought he was himself in an inn in Calais instead of Anglesey and that what had been done to his father would be done to him.

'Nonsense,' cried Harry. Tm here with you, Humphrey. We're in Wales ... soon w^e shall be with my father. We are not Richard's prisoners any more.'

Humphrey was soothed but he did not improve. In fact he was growing worse and a cold fear suddenly touched Harry.

Was this some sort of a plague which had attacked his companion?

He should ride on. His father was impatiently awaiting him, but he was not going to leave Humphrey.

That was to prove a sad homecoming for Harry in spite of the glory which awaited him. Within a few days of their landing Humphrey had died of the mysterious illness which had attacked him so suddenly.

When the Duchess of Gloucester heard of the death of her only son she was overcome with melancholy.

It was difficult to recognize in this grief-stricken lady the forceful Eleanor de Bohun who had once been so pleased with herself when she had married Thomas of Woodstock, and together they had planned to get their hands on the entire fortune left by her father.

Then she had had dreams of greatness. Becoming royal through marriage with one of the sons of Edward the Third she had been so proud. And when her son had been born and he had been given that good old de Bohun name of Humphrey she had doted on him.

Her only son! Her Humphrey! She had known what it meant to love something other than riches and power when he had been born, although she had never ceased to value those things and wanted them for Humphrey.

When her husband had been murdered that had been the end of her ambition for him and she had turned her thoughts more and more to this precious son.

He had accompanied his cousin Harry to Ireland at the command of Richard but it had not occurred to her that any harm could come to her son.

And now this news had shattered her. She had been robbed of that which was the meaning of life to her. She had three daughters; but it had been on Humphrey that her love and devotion was centred.

She went about Fleshy silent-footed and mournful. Her attendants watched her anxiously.

'She will die of a broken heart,' they said.

She would sit in the window seat and look out across the country to where the grey walls of the convent rose and she thought of those days long before Humphrey's birth when her

sister Mary was here and had made her journeys to and from the convent. How they had urged her to take up the life of the nun. And she might have done so had it not been for that meeting with Henry Bolingbroke—contrived of course by John of Gaunt. They had wanted Mary's fortune ... well so had she.

How different everything would have been if Mary had entered the convent. Harry of Monmouth would never have been born.

'Oh Humphrey/ she mourned, 'never to see you again ... Humphrey, my son, my boy ...'

She was tired in body and in mind. She had nothing now to live for.

Then she saw again the grey walls of the convent and it seemed to her that they offered peace. Could it be that she, Eleanor Duchess of Gloucester, who for years before had tried so hard to persuade her sister to enter that convent, should now be considering ending her own life there?

It was strange what peace the thought brought her. She could almost hear her own arguments with which she had bombarded Mary. The quiet. The peace. The life lived to a pattern of service to others.

There was comfort in it.

It was ironical that the Duchess, who had thought the convent life so suitable for her sister, should now want to embrace it herself.

As the days passed the more firm became the decision and finally she took the step.

She did not live long. She found that she must mourn her son within the convent walls as bitterly as she had in the castle.

She died very soon after entering the convent. Of a broken heart, it was said.

Harry realized that Humphrey had been right when he had talked about the insecurity of the new King's position; and none was more aware of this than Henry himself.

He was delighted to receive his son and to see that he was in good health, though somewhat melancholy still owing to the sudden death of his cousin.

There were other matters with which to concern them-

selves, Henry reminded his son, and because Harry was next in importance to himself he discussed matters candidly with him.

'Do not imagine/ said the new King, 'that we are as safe on the throne as if it had come to us through straight inheritance. Richard has been crowned King. He still lives. The people have shown they have had enough of him and he has agreed to abdicate, but it is a dangerous position.'

'Richard's reign is over,' cried Harry. 'Should we concern ourselves with him?'

'Of a certainty we should, my son. I tell you this, I shall not rest easy while he lives. There is Edmund de Mortimer—that child. He does not add to my peace of mind. Harry, we must tread with the greatest care. You give yourself airs. Do not do so. Behave with modesty. Let it be as it was before.'

'Did I ever behave with modesty?' asked Harry grinning.

'This is a serious matter. So much will depend on the next few weeks. I have not won the crown by conquest, for there has been scarcely any fighting. It is rather by election.'

'Is that not a good thing?'

'Yes, but I want to make it firm. I want now and in the years to come people to say of me, "There is a true King and ruler". If we do not take care we shall have risings. There will be those ready to support Richard ... till he dies... Edmund de Mortimer's adherents ...'

* 'Twould be safer if we could prove in some way that you were the rightful heir.'

'Well, there is the story you know, that Henry the Third's eldest son was not Edward who became the First of that name, but Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, he whom they called Crouch-back, and from whom we are directly descended. But because of the latter's weakness they substituted Edward the second son for the first-born and so he was brought up as the heir.'

'Will any believe that, my lord?'

'I think very few would, but it would save a great deal of trouble if they could be persuaded to.'

'Why do you not claim the throne because you have won it?'

'Claim it is mine through conquest! A dangerous situation, Harry. Someone one day might be taking it from me ... claiming it by conquest. Chief Justice Thyrnynge has warned me against that. But perhaps I could be said to have a greater

claim because I am descended on both sides of the family from Henry the Third. You see that king was my father's great great grandfather and my mother's great great grandfather also. Edmund de Mortimer could not claim that.'

'My lord,' said Harry, 'as I see it, you have the power; you have the riches; you have the crown in your hands. That makes you King. All you must concern yourself with is keeping that crown, until it comes to me and rest assured, my lord, that when it does I shall clamp it to my head with bars of iron.'

Henry could not help smiling at his son. As soon as he possibly could he would create him Prince of Wales.

The new King rode through the teeming rain from the Tower on the traditional journey to Westminster for the next day would be that of his coronation.

The water streamed down his face, soaking his fine clothes but he laughed at it and so did the crowds of people who had come out in spite of the weather to welcome him.

With him rode his four sons, Harry who was to be created Prince of Wales within the next few days, just past his twelfth birthday, Thomas who was ten, John nine, and Humphrey eight. The sight of the boys warmed the people's hearts. Here was a man to rule them and he was strong and clever, the son of wily John of Gaunt, and already he had given proof that he could provide strong heirs to the throne. Young Harry's affable smiles and manner towards the crowd delighted all; and now everything would be different from the reign of Richard when they had been taxed to pay for his fine friends and general extravagances and he had shown them quite clearly that he was either unable or disinclined to produce an heir.

Harry thought the most magical sound in the world was that of the people's cheers and the words 'God Save the King'. It was particularly exhilarating to think that this would one day be happening to him.

He was almost sorry to reach the dry comfort of Westminster Palace where they would lodge for the night in preparation for the next day's event.

His father had said: *I shall be uneasy until the coronation is over. When a man is crowned King people are less inclined to topple him from his throne.'

Harry was beginning to think that his father worried too much and was not going to be uneasy merely till the coronation was over but would go on being so for ever. He should forget how the crown had come to him. He must put the image of an imprisoned Richard and the child Edmund Mortimer out of his mind. Richard had been deposed and nobody wanted a child on the throne.

Harry awoke early on coronation day.

In his own chamber the King prayed that nothing would go wrong. It did not occur to Harry that anything could.

Fortunately the rain had stopped. The people had been in the streets since early morning and had assembled in their thousands around the Palace and the Abbey.

There were wild cheers when the procession emerged led by Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland carrying in his hand the sword of Lancaster which Henry had said should always be preserved, as he had carried it when he landed in England. Northumberland was Constable of England and it was for this reason that he took such a prominent part in the coronation; moreover he reckoned that he and his son Hotspur had made it possible for Henry to gain the throne by offering their support when he arrived, without any army or the means to conduct a campaign the object of which at that time had been merely the regaining of the Lancaster estates.

Harry was entranced to play an important part in such a spectacle. It was his task to carry the curtana, that sword without a point which was always carried at coronations as a symbol of mercy.

He walked immediately behind his father who, dressed entirely in white, walked beneath a blue silk canopy which was carried by the barons of the Cinque Ports.

It was one of the most impressive ceremonies ever seen and if all the time Henry was uneasy wondering whether at the last moment some would protest that the country had a King already and this man who was being crowned was an impostor, he did not show it.

Nothing of the sort happened. It appeared that the country was well satisfied with its new King. But Henry's uneasiness continued all through the splendid banquet that followed and when Sir Thomas Dymoke, the traditional challenger, rode into the hall to demand that if any man present did not accept Henry as the righful King of England he must enter

into single combat with Sir Thomas, Henry himself answered.

*If the need arises, Sir Thomas,' he said in a clear voice, 1 will myself take this office from you.*

It was well spoken though it betrayed a departure from tradition—as indeed was this occasion. It was rare that a King was crowned while a crowned King lived and there was one other closer to the throne.

A moment's silence followed and then the cheering burst out.

There was no doubt that Henry the Fourth was King of England by will of the people.

A few days later Harry was created Prince of Wales.

It was inevitable that there should be some voices of dissent. Henry was wary; and when there was a plan to seize and kill him and his family and put Richard back on the throne he took firm action. He crushed the revolt but it was absolutely necessary that Richard must die. At Pontefract Castle Henry put him under the care of Sir Thomas Swynford, the son of Catherine the Duchess of Lancaster. Thomas had risen in the world and he owed his advancement to his mother's connection with the house of Lancaster. If Henry failed Thomas's fortunes would wane. Thomas was a man whom he could trust, he was a shrewd man who knew where his own advantage lay; he was aware that there would be rebellions and risings as long as Richard lived. It was up to Thomas to see that Richard did not live.

Nor did he. He died in Pontefract. Some said he had been starved to death; Thomas Swynford's story was that he had refused to eat. There was rumour that he had been attacked and had died defending himself. But the story which worried Henry most was that he was not dead at all and that a priest who bore a striking resemblance to him had taken his place in the castle while Richard escaped.

That was a story which must be denied at once. Richard must be shown to be dead, and Henry acted with his usual promptness. The late King must be accorded a burial worthy of his rank, he declared. True he had become merely Sir Richard of Bordeaux, but he had once been a king; and he was after all first cousin to the reigning monarch.

Henry gave orders that Richard's body should be placed

on a litter and covered with black cloth. There should be a canopy over the litter of the same black cloth. Four horses should be harnessed to the carriage-litter and they also must be caparisoned in black. Grooms should ride the horses which drew the litter and four knights should follow it on its journey. Their demeanour must match their garments of mourning for it must be seen that all due respect was paid to the late King. His face should be exposed so that all might see who the dead man was that there might be no more tiresome rumours about his not being dead. In all the towns and villages through which the cortege passed the litter was to be left in the market square or some such public place where all might see it and satisfy themselves that it was indeed Richard who lay there.

In due course it arrived in London and it proceeded at a slow pace through the streets until it came to Cheapside and there it rested for two hours.

Twenty thousand men and women came to see it and gaze mournfully at the dead face which was all that could be seen of the King.

When the funeral litter left Cheapside it travelled to Lang-ley and there Richard was buried.

Harry of Monmouth, Prince of Wales, was riding out to Havering Bower. He was in good spirits. Life was turning out to be very interesting indeed. Who would have believed it could have changed so quickly! It seemed only a week or so ago that he and Humphrey had been playing and fighting together, captives in Trim Castle, and his father had been an exile with little hope of returning to England for years. He did not wish to think too much of Trim Castle for that brought back thoughts of Humphrey which made him sad. If only Humphrey had been here now how he would have enjoyed boasting to him. But Humphrey was dead and Harry was Prince of Wales with a King for a father.

It was too exciting a prospect for him to entertain melancholy for long.

And he was almost a man. He chuckled too, contemplating his mission.

His father had come straight to the point in his customary manner.

^

'Harry, you're growing up. Moreover you are the Prince of Wales. It is time we considered a marriage for you.*

Marriage! The thought excited Harry. He had already shown a certain fondness for w^omen—and so far his attentions had been mainly for serving girls. They liked him and were ready to accept his attention with a giggle and a rather patronizing air which reminded him that he was 'only a boy'.

Marriage would be different.

'Well, you will soon be thirteen and not over young for your years,' went on his father. *I think there need be little delay. I see no reason why the marriage should not take place as soon as we have arranged all that will be necessary.'

'Who is to be my bride?' asked Harry.

His father smiled at him. 'One you have already met and I believe are inclined to admire. She is of the highest birth– in fact a queen. What do you think of that?' As Harry looked puzzled, his father went on: 'Why, young Isabella of course.*

'Richard's Queen!'

*A widow now—a virgin widow. Just about your age, Harry.*

'Isabella!*

*Ah, I see the idea does not displease you.*

'She is the prettiest girl I ever saw.*

'That is exactly what you should say about your future wife.*

'When shall I marry her?*

'Not quite so much haste, please. She is the daughter of the King of France. I don't want to let her go for he is sure to demand her dowry back, so it seems an excellent solution for you to marry her. In due time she should be reigning Queen of England again.*

'I think she will like that.*

'What is most important at the moment, Harry, is that she should like you.*

'Oh she will like me,* boasted Harry. 'I will go and see her.*

His father had thought that would be an excellent idea. Isabella was an imperious young person and as she had been far too much indulged by her late husband, she would need a certain amount of wooing, reasoned the King. He wanted the marriage to be acceptable to her.

Harry had no doubt whatsoever that he was carrying

good news to Isabella and he arrived at Havering in good spirits.

When she heard who had come to see her Isabella was at first amazed and then angry. She was in a state of great melancholy mourning Richard. From the moment she had seen him she had loved him; he was so beautiful with his golden hair, blue eyes and delicate skin. He had always been so exquisitely dressed and perfumed and he had been as delighted with her as she was with him. She had been longing for the day when she would be old enough to live with him as his wife and now here she was nearly twelve years old and reaching that goal, and they had killed him.

She was certain they had killed him. She did not believe that he had starved himself to death. He had talked so glowingly of what their life would be together when she was grown up. He would never have killed himself. After all she was his wife and even if they robbed him of his crown and called him Sir Richard of Bordeaux instead of what he really was, King Richard, she was still his wife.