Текст книги "The Star of Lancaster"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

'He is too great an enemy to rest in obscurity,' said Henry. 'I want all the world to see what he has come to because he defied his King.*

Hotspur's head was cut off and the rest of his body cut into quarters and sent for prominent display to Newcastle, Chester, Bristol and London. As for the head he wanted that placed in York on the city's northern gate so that it was turned towards that part of the country over which for so long he had been a ruler.

The old Earl was mad with grief. He lived only for revenge. When he received a command from the King that if he came to York they would talk and settle their grievances he had no alternative but to accept the invitation. Henry knew that he would have to pass through the northern gate on which was the head of his son.

As Northumberland rode into York and saw that grisly relic he was filled with an all-consuming hatred against the King. 'A thousand curses on Bolingbroke,' he muttered.

He was soon to realize that he had been a fool to come. Henry had no intention of making terms with him as yet. He told the old man that several of his castles would be confiscated and he himself confined near Coventry until his case could be tried by his peers.

This was utter humiliation. And there was more to come. But it was no use allowing his pride to stand in the way of his purpose. He had to make a show of humility if he were going to save his life, and he intended to save it if only for the purpose of taking his revenge on Bolingbroke. It was finally decided that as he had not actually been in battle he could not be judged guilty of treason so would merely be fined; and if he swore to serve the King faithfully in future he might return to Northumberland.

Henry was a man who did not keep his promises; Northumberland would be the same.

Yes, he would agree to anything. But when he returned to Northumberland he would plot the downfall of the man who called himself the King.

Northumberland was determined. He was in communication with Owen Glendower; he had made a pact with the Scots, who now that he was against the English had a shared interest.

Henry was aware of this. He should have destroyed Northumberland when he had a chance. He might have known that the Earl would never forget nor forgive what Henry had done to the valiant Hotspur.

Henry marched north. It was winter and there had not been in living memory such a harsh one. The snow lay thick on the ground and in the northern part of the country particularly this would be known for years to come as the winter of frost and ice.

It was not the weather for fighting battles, but Northumberland was determined. He had to regain what had been taken from him and turn the usurper from the throne.

Henry had no alternative but to go into battle. This he did. His numbers were superior; his men were better equipped. The battle was brief and decisive and Northumberland fell from his horse when an arrow struck him wounding him fatally.

Henry was triumphant.

That must be an end to rebellion in the north. Men must understand what happened when they came against the King.

They had come to a small place called Green Hammerton and there it was decided they would stop for the night.

The King and his close attendants were lodged at a manor house while his company found lodging in the town and, cold as it was, some set up tents.

Henry was wet and cold; his limbs felt stiff and he wanted mulled wine, hot food and a bed on which to rest.

He removed some of his clothes and the wine was brought to him. Suddenly he threw the goblet from him screaming. 'What have you done? Who is the traitor? Who has thrown fire over me?'

Those about him recoiled in horror, for his face had grown a deep purple and they could see pustules appearing on his skin. He must have contracted some dreadful disease.

'What is this?' cried Henry. 'What is it?' He put his hands to his face. 'Why do you look at me like that? What has happened to me?'

'My lord,' said one of the attendants, 'we should send at once for your physician.*

Henry lay back on his bed. He touched the horror on his face. He knew it was the same which had been appearing on his body. Now he could hide it no longer.

There was one word which kept coming to his mind. Leprosy! He had seen it on his travels. Oh God, he prayed, let this pass from me. Anything I will endure ... Take my crown from me ... Do anything ... but do not afflict me with this. Richard's death can be laid at my door, I know it. But it was for the good of the country. No, Lord, for the good of myself. Take this from me ... and ask anything of me ... and I will do it. I will bear it... but not... leprosy ...

He could not leave his chamber. He could not be seen like this. He wondered what would become of him, of the country. Harry was too young yet. He kept praying incoherently. He touched his face. He knew that he looked hideous ...

The doctors came. They gave him potions and unguents, and in a few days' time the terrible pustules had almost disappeared. His face was still discoloured and the surface of his skin rough; but he could at least emerge.

The success of defeating Northumberland had become bitter. He turned his attention now to Glendower. Harry was on the Welsh front. Henry thanked God that his son was becoming a great soldier. He was doing good work in Wales and had already brought about the defection of several important noblemen who had been supporting Glendower.

Harry was successful in regaining Harlech and in capturing Glendower's daughter and her Mortimer children after Sir Edmund had died in the siege.

The battle left Glendower without an army. He escaped but was still free to roam in his mountains and attempt to gather together a force. Henry, however, was confident that this would never amount to much more than an occasional skirmish. They would have to be watchful, nothing more.

The success was due to the brilliant leadership of young

Harry. He was a son to be proud of. He was growing up. He was old enough in experience if not in years to command an army.

Henry could have felt more at peace than he had since he took the throne if it had not been that he was constantly on the watch for the greatest enemy of all, of whose identity he was not sure but which he greatly feared could be that dread disease leprosy.

Harry must marry. The sooner the better. He must get sons to follow him. The Lancastrian side of the Plantagenet tree must be strengthened.

Isabella of France was still unmarried. It might well be that after all this time the child had got over her obsession with Richard. She might be ready to consider a match—or her family might which was more to the point. And why should her bridegroom not be the once rejected Harry of Monmouth?

ISABELLA

AT THE COURT FRANCE

OF

When Isabella had returned to France she had quickly realized that something was very wrong at her father's Court, and gradually she began to understand what it was.

Her father had bouts of madness. People did not at first talk about this to her. She just heard that he had attacks. These attacks could last for months and when they were in progress he would be shut up in the Hotel St Pol, that Paris residence where she had spent much of her childhood. When he recovered her father was just as she had always remembered him, kindly and seeming in full possession of his senses, but she detected a wariness in both him and the people around him and she knew they were watching for the madness to break out again.

There was her mother—beautiful, and forceful so that she seemed to be the real ruler of France, with Uncle Louis of course.

Louis Due d'Orleans, her father's brother, had been appointed by the King to be Regent during his bouts of madness. The Queen who had great influence with the King had advised this and sometimes it seemed to Isabella that her mother and her uncle wanted her father to fall into madness, for when he did Uncle Louis behaved as though he were the King and it was obvious to everyone—even young Isabella—

that Isabeau acted as though Louis was not only the King on the throne but in her bed as well. The fact was that this adulterous intrigue between Queen Isabeau and Due Louis of Orleans was becoming a scandal not only throughout France but beyond.

Then there was her father's uncle the Duke of Burgundy, a serious-minded man, who deplored what was happening and made no secret of this.

It was a very unhealthy state of affairs and Isabella yearned as much as ever for the happy days at Windsor when Richard had ridden out to see her and they had been so happy together.

*I shall never be happy again,* she mourned.

She did however enjoy being reunited with her family. There were her three brothers and three sisters; for recently a new baby girl had been born. She was named Katherine.

The little girls were lodged at the Hotel St Pol and no one bothered very much about them. When the King was ill he would be taken to a part of the Hotel and shut in there with a few attendants. Isabella would often lie awake and listen for the strange sounds which came from her father's apartments. She did what she could to look after the little girls for their nurses were not always careful and when Isabella told her mother this, the Queen said they should be dismissed but did nothing about it. She was too busy with her own affairs which mainly consisted of entertaining and being entertained by the Due d'Orleans. Isabella thought the Due the most handsome man she had ever seen and that her mother was the most beautiful woman. It seemed inevitable that they should be lovers. She wondered whether her father knew. Everyone else seemed to, so perhaps he did too.

It was a strange life for one who had been a Queen of England; she clung to her memories of her life with Richard. Isabella would hold little Katherine in her lap and the others would cluster round her while she told them stories of her life at the English Court; and always Richard would appear in these stories, the knight in shining armour.

Isabella kept her ears open and discovered much of what was happening at her father's Court. As soon as Uncle Louis had the power he had levied a tax on the clergy as well as the people which made them very angry. Some said: *We will not endure the rule of this profligate young man and his shameless concubine any longer.'

And the shameless concubine was Isabella's mother!

Oh, it was a very unhealthy state of affairs.

It was difficult not to like Uncle Louis—who besides being handsome, was always good-tempered and generous; he was amusing and there was always laughter where he was; his clothes were exquisite and he was notorious for his extravagance. He always treated Isabella as though he were very fond of her and when she had first come to France he had professed himself to be very angry at the manner in which Richard had been treated. It had given her great comfort at that time to hear Richard's praises sung and the usurper King of England vilified. *He and his son Harry, I hate them both,' she said. *And they tried to marry me to Harry. I would have none of him.'

Uncle Louis said. Indeed not! She was far too beautiful and too important. What, a daughter of the King of France to marry the son of an impostor! True he held the title of King at this time, but how long would that last?

1 will go and fight him on your behalf,' he declared.

*How can you. Uncle Louis?'

*By challenging him, my dear. He has plundered you of your dowry and he has murdered your husband. I shall challenge him to face me in the lists.*

*You would not do this, Uncle,' she breathed.

*I would indeed, my dear. I shall send a challenge to him without delay.'

In the flamboyant grandiose manner in which Louis of Orleans did everything he sent his challenge.

Her mother was delighted.

'How like him!' she said. *He is a very gallant gentleman.' Then she added: 'Henry will not accept, I promise you.' But she was really promising herself. The last thing she wanted her lover to do was fight in a combat which could end in death.

She was right. Henry treated the challenge with scorn. *I know of no precedent which gives the example of a crowned King going into the lists to fight a duel with a subject,' was his cold reply. *No matter how high the rank of that subject.'

This made Louis fume and fret. Queen Isabeau was with him when he received the reply and she sent for her daughter that she might realize what a gallant champion her uncle was.

*I shall answer this!' cried Louis. 1 shall shame him.'

He sat down and wrote with Queen Isabeau standing over him, watching, applauding and stroking his neck as he wrote.

'How could you allow the Queen of England to return to her country desolate with the loss of her lord, robbed of her dowry and everything she carried with her at the time of her marriage? Those who seek to gain honour should espouse her cause. Are not noble knights bound to defend the rights of widows and virgins of virtuous life such as my niece was known to lead? It is for this reason that I challenge you.' He added with sarcasm: 'I must thank you for the care you have taken of me by refusing this combat which is more than you did for the health and the life of your royal and rightful King Richard.'

'That,' cried the Due, 'will upset him. I understand there is one thing that never fails to and that is to refer to the murder of Richard in Pontefract Castle. I'll swear the deed will haunt him for the rest of his life. Yet if he had never committed it, how could he have become King of England?'

The note did sting Henry into reply.

Louis laughed over it with Isabeau as he read it aloud. Most indignantly did Henry deny that he had had a hand in Richard's death. 'God knows how and by whom my cousin– whom may God absolve—met his death, but if you are hinting that that death was brought about by me then you lie and will lie foully whenever you say so.'

Nothing more was done about the matter and the months passed. It seemed to Isabella that there was a perpetual tension as though trouble was ready to burst out at any moment. Her mother and Uncle Louis were quite blatant in their relationship; her father was overcome with melancholy; her father's uncle, the Duke of Burgundy, was constantly urging the King to do something, threatening that if he did not he would lose his crown. Did he want to find himself in the position of the dead Richard of England? he demanded. Isabella wanted to protest. It was no fault of Richard, she wanted to cry out. It was due to the wicked ambitious men around him. But no one would listen to her, of course. She was afraid of the Duke's son, who was known as John the Fearless, Count of Nevers. He was a man of violence, not caring what he said and of whom he said it. He always seemed to be at the centre of some cause and vowing vengeance on someone. She was glad when he was not at Court.

The Duke of Burgundy was for ever trying to persuade the King to take the Regency out of the hands of his brother of Orleans during those periods when he was unable to govern himself. The King wavered, but Isabeau always managed to persuade him. She was a siren who could conduct her smouldering love affair with Louis of Orleans in her husband's presence and somehow delude him.

Isabella would never forget the day the Augustine monk came to the Court to preach. He was named James Legrand and noted for his writings, and the directness of his sermons, and the subject of his sermon was the corruption of power and licentiousness. It was clearly aimed at the Court.

During the sermon the King rose from his seat and went and sat closer to the preacher, being immediately opposite him so that he could watch him while he spoke and not miss a word.

'The King your father,' said Legrand, 'likewise taxed his people but he did so to build fortresses to defend his country. He saved his treasure and made himself the most powerful of kings. Now nothing of this kind is done. The nobility in this day spend the money on entertainments; they live in debauchery; they wear dresses with ornamental fringes and big cuffs.' He turned to the Queen and thundered: 'This is the shame of the court, oh Queen. If you do not believe me, dress as a peasant and go into the city and mingle with the people that you may listen to what they say.'

The Queen was incensed. She said that the preacher should be arrested. Let him rot in a dungeon and see what brave words he would have to utter then; but for once the King would have his own way.

'Nay,' he said. 'The man speaks some sense. It is true what he says of my father. I would I were more like him.'

The Duke of Burgundy was beside his nephew. 'Take warning,' he said. 'During your illnesses the country is being led to ruin. Your brother is too feckless, too frivolous. His morals are not of the highest standard. His wife frets about him. He has a good wife in Violante Visconti and how does he treat her? He is notoriously unfaithful to her. She is an unhappy woman. Sire, you must take from him the power to govern when you are stricken. There are others more suitable to the task.'

'You mean yourself, uncle/

*I am of a more sober age, nephew. You will find there are many who support me.*

The King had been so impressed by the sermon and the fact that it was true there were many to support the Duke of Burgundy that he gave way. He knew in his heart it was the right thing to do although he could not allow himself to believe what was so blatantly obvious and that was that his brother was his wife's lover.

When the Queen knew that power had been passed to Burgundy she was furious. So was Louis. They both disliked Burgundy who they knew would keep a firm hold on the reins once he had them in his grasp. Life was not going to be as amusing as it had been.

*A plague on Burgundy!' cried Louis of Orleans, but what was the use of words. It was a fact that under Burgundy a new rule of law and order was imposed. The great Duke set an example to the country by his exemplary family life. He surrounded himself with men of his own kind, whose great desire was to preserve the country, and the people were beginning to see what a difference a good ruler could make. There w^ere no longer the bacchanalian feasts in which the Queen had loved to indulge at the expense of the State. Burgundy could not stop the intrigue between herself and Louis of Orleans, but he could mend so much that was wrong and he had the people behind him.

Isabella was now seventeen years old. The day she had known Richard was lost to her was a long time ago but for her it was as fresh as ever. Never, she told herself, would she love anyone but Richard. He w^ould always be there in her thoughts to stand between her and whoever they married her to; and they would marry her. She would not be allowed to live long in her single state.

Matters came to a head when an embassy came from England. It contained surprising news. It was secret it seemed, but Henry of England stated that if the King of France would give him the hand of his daughter Isabella for his son Harry, Prince of Wales, he himself would abdicate in favour of his son.

This was astounding. Henry abdicate? Why? The rumours of the terrible disease which had taken possession of him must be true.

Could he really be suffering from leprosy? It was the disease

which had finished that great Scottish warrior, Robert the Bruce, years ago. Afflicted by it a man must become so unsightly to society that he had no alternative but to hide himself away.

Isabella Queen of England again! It was a glittering prospect.

It was necessary to convey the information to Isabella. There was a tradition that a woman who had once been married for reasons of state should be given a modicum of choice in her second marriage. Moreover Burgundy was not sure—nor were his advisers—that this match with England was the best possible at this time. If Henry were indeed incapable of ruling and was ready to be supplanted by his son, was that not an admission of weakness? If he wanted a marriage with France could that mean that he was seeking peace or at least a truce, because he feared his grasp was weakening? One country did not fight another when there was a marriage alliance between them.

The French were uncertain.

When the proposition was put to Isabella she was vehement in her denunciations of it.

*I will never go there. I will never live among the murderers of my husband. Anything ... anything but that.'

'Anything?' said the Due d'Orleans. *Dear niece, it is necessary that you marry, you know.'

*I know it,* she replied. 'But I will not marry Harry of Monmouth.'

Since Isabella was so determined and the council was so unsure, it seemed a good way out to let Isabella decide, but none knew better than she that had it been expedient to her country for her to marry Harry of Monmouth she would have been forced to do so.

It was then that her Uncle Louis spoke to her about his son Charles of Angouleme.

'He loves you dearly,' said Louis. 'It is a wish very close to my heart ... and to your mother's ... that you two should marry.'

'I do not think my mother cares very much what becomes of me,' said Isabella.

*Oh my dear dear child,' cried Louis, attempting to show deep concern, 'you must not say that. She cares for you so much ... you and your brothers and sisters.'

*I have not noticed it, sir,' replied Isabella coolly. 'My sisters are in need of new clothes. Their food is not of the best. I am told that the money is not available to feed and clothe them in a manner due to their rank. My mother of course needs it for her ornamental fringes and big cuffs.*

Louis laughed. Tou have been listening to the ramblings of that miserable preacher. If I had my way he would be thrust into an oubliette and left there.'

*I doubt that not,' replied Isabella. 'But know this. I have no wish to marry.'

'Oh come, dear child. You are not meant to waste the years. Why, you are a beauty. You will be like your mother one day.'

'I pray not.'

'She is the most beautiful woman in France.'

Isabella was silent. A terrible fear gripped her. They would pretend for a while that they wanted her consent and when she refused it they would force her. She knew their methods.

The possibility of a match was forgotten temporarily for to the great rejoicing of Orleans and the Queen, the Duke of Burgundy fell ill. Within a short time he was dead. The new Duke of Burgundy was his son John the Fearless, Count of Nevers.

The whole of France waited in trepidation for what would happen next.

Louis was more anxious than ever now to bring about the marriage of his son and Isabella and the Queen told her daughter firmly that there must be no more delay.

'Do you want us to send you to England?' she demanded. 'That is what will happen in time, depend upon it, if you delay much longer. There are some who believe it would be good to bring about a truce with England and they would do it with this marriage. The new Duke of Burgundy is against pursuing the war. You can guess what he has in mind. There is your cousin Charles. I know he is younger than you, but that will give you a chance to mould him in the way you want him to go. Come, Isabella, do not be foolish. Marry Charles. It is what I want for you and so does your Uncle Louis.'

'And what of my father? Does he want it?'

'Your poor father alas is in one of his twilight phases. He does not know what he wants. But when he is in good mind he would agree that this is right for you. Think, child, it will

keep you with us. Do you want to go to a foreign land? Do you want to be sent back to the son of your first husband's murderer? I hear rumours of the life young Harry leads. Roystering in taverns ... choosing the lowest companions. Not the sort of husband who would suit your sensitive nature and your refined tastes. If they wanted to find you a man as different from Richard as they could they would choose no better.'

So it went on and finally she agreed.

There was great rejoicing and her mother, delighted that her daughter had promised to marry the son of her lover, set about preparing the most lavish entertainments. They were cousins of course—first cousins at that—but never mind. The Pope would not dare to raise any objection and the dispensation was a foregone conclusion. Banquets and jousting, dancing, players ... everything that could be devised was included. The Queen excelled at arranging such occasions; and Louis of course was beside her. It was the best thing that had happened since Burgundy had ousted him from his position as Regent.

Only the prospective bride was unhappy. She sat mournfully through the festivities and she could only think of Richard.

She had little feeling for the boy to whom they were marrying her, but he seemed bewildered and she tried to comfort him as well as she could.

*You need not worry,' she told him. *It will be all right.'

He clung to her hand reassured; but she could only turn away to hide the tears which she could not hold back.

So she became the Countess of Angouleme and was no longer Richard's sorrowing widow.

The wedding did not arouse a great deal of interest throughout the country. People were more concerned with the scandalous behaviour of the Queen and her paramour and the growing tension between the Duke of Burgundy and Louis of Orleans.

There was a certain relief when Burgundy showed that he was seeking to placate Orleans. In the streets of Paris they said if these two could forget their differences, it would be to the advantage of France; and Burgundy, in order to show that the fault did not lie with him, invited Orleans to dine with him.

It was a dark November evening before the day fixed for the meeting between Orleans and Burgundy. Louis had dined with the Queen and he was in very high spirits. It was eight o'clock. He would join the Queen later but now he was returning to his apartments.

He was accompanied by two of his squires riding on one horse and by four menservants who carried torches. The Duke was singing as they walked along. As they came into the Vieille Rue du Temple, a band of armed men sprang out and surrounded the party.

Luckily for the squires their horse took fright and bolted with them on its back; the servants dropped their torches and closed in round the Duke, who cried out: 'What is this? I am the Due d'Orleans. What do you want of me?*

One of the assailants cried out: 'You are just the one we want. Ready friends.*

The man who had spoken struck at the Duke with an axe and another came at him with a sword. Louis fell fainting to the ground.

One of his servants attempted to defend him and was struck down but managed to crawl away, the others seeing it was useless to try to defend themselves escaped into a nearby shop.

By this time windows were flung open for many had heard the commotion and the shouts of the assassins.

'Murder!' screamed a woman from the window of a cobbler's shop.

'Hold your tongue, strumpet,' shouted one of the murderers and shot an arrow in her direction at which she immediately disappeared from sight.

'Out with all lights,' cried the leader of the band.

Then the murderers ran. By this time people had been wakened and were coming fearfully down onto the street; and now that the murderers had gone they came to look at that night's work.

The Due d'Orleans was dead. His body had been hacked and mutilated till there was no sign left of the handsome philanderer.

The Queen was in despair; so was Orleans* wife, Violante. There was no doubt that they loved the Duke dearly.

'Find his murderers,* cried the Queen. 'I swear I will take revenge of them.*

The Duke of Burgundy joined his voice with the Queen's.

'There was never a more wicked murder in the whole of the kingdom of France,' he declared.

The Provost of Paris, Sieur de Tignouville, was sent for. Nothing must be spared in the hunt for the murderers, he was told.

*My lord,' was his reply, 'if I may be granted permission to make my enquiries in the hostels of the King's servants and those of the Princes, I will discover the criminals.'

The answer was that whatever help the Provost needed was to be given to him. He was to have free entry into every palace, hotel, shop or house in Paris.

'Then,' cried Tignouville, *I think I shall be able to give you the murderers.'

The Duke of Burgundy showed obvious signs of stress at this pronouncement and the Due de Berri, his uncle, noticed this.

He drew him aside for a terrible suspicion had come to him.

'You know something I believe, John,' he said.

Burgundy could see that there was no point in denying that he was the instigator of the murder.

He answered: 'Orleans was bringing dishonour to the King's bed. He was a menace to the nation. Yes, it was I who hired the assassins to kill him.*

'Oh my God,* cried the Due de Berri. 'Now I have lost both my nephews. Louis murdered and you John his murderer.

'You should not go back to the council,* added Berri.

'Nor will I,' said Burgundy. 'My wish is that none shall be accused of murdering the Due d'Orleans, for it was I and none other who caused what has been done.'

With that he walked out, leaped onto his horse and taking only six of his attendants with him galloped away across the frontier to Flanders.

When it was known that he had escaped there was great indignation and a hundred of Orleans' men gave chase but they were too late and could not catch up with him.

The affair had shaken the Court. People talked of nothing else. There was nothing that could be done to bring Burgundy to justice; and people were beginning to say that Orleans had deserved his death. He had dishonoured his brother; he had

made no secret of his adulterous relationship with the Queen, he had imposed taxes on the people, his rule had nearly brought the country to ruin, whereas everyone knew that Burgundy was a strong man. Fierce he might be, ruthless, violent; but his father's rule had been good and he showed signs of his father's strength.

Violante Visconti, widow of Orleans, was determined that his murderer should not go unpunished. In spite of his infidelities she had loved the Due passionately, and she was eager to avenge him. She arrived in Paris with her children. The weather was bitterly cold—the worst Paris had experienced for several years. Nevertheless she came because the King was in the midst of one of his lucid periods and she believed that she would get justice from him.