Текст книги "The Star of Lancaster"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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*I was so proud of you, my Earl of Richmond.'

'Alas, Mother.'

'Henry will treat you well. I would I could keep you here with me.'

*I come as a prisoner, my lady.*

Joanna nodded.

'Come, tell me of home. Tell me of your brother and your sister ... She has lost her husband.'

'Agincourt was disastrous for us.'

'And such a victory here. They are still having their pageants and their revelries, their thanksgiving services. The bells are ringing all over the country.'

'One King's victory must be another's defeat. Mother.*

'And you were on the ^vTong side.'

'It seemed so impossible that the English could triumph.*

'Nothing is certain in war/ said Joanna. 'Now we must make the best of what is left to us. It will not be long, I feel sure.'

She was right.

That day Arthur was taken back to his prison in the Tower. The brief reunion was over.

The King kept Christmas at Lambeth.

He was restive. He had won a brilliant victory at Agincourt but all it had brought him was Harfleur. He was no nearer to the crown of France than his predecessors had been.

After Agincourt it would have been the utmost folly to have marched to Paris. Wretched and defeated as it was, what was left of the French army could have stopped him. If the French were in a sad state so were the English. Many of his soldiers were suffering from dysentery. They had fought magnificently but they were in no shape to endure another battle for a while. Good general that he was he had seen there was only one thing he could do and that was return home and get together more men and more stores before he began another campaign.

He could be proud of the achievement. The French had suffered a shattering defeat and they would be demoralized. No more barrels of tennis balls would be sent by the arrogant Dauphin. It was good to contemplate what his feelings must be at this time. It was a glorious moment, there was no doubt about that, but he must not be blinded by his success.

He needed men restored to health; he needed supplies; and raising an army was a costly matter.

But Agincourt had made Englishmen proud again. They had a King whom they could admire. It was like the days of great Edward all over again. The people loved a King who was a great soldier and could bring conquests to the honour of the country and spoils of course to add to its riches.

Celebrations there must be to remind the people what he had brought them; before they were asked to provide money for more conquests they must be allowed to celebrate those which had been won. But the King was impatient. Agincourt had been a revelation. He could almost feel the crown of France on his head.

So at Christmas while he feasted and joked with his friends

and danced and watched the mummers, his thoughts were of war. Plans were forming in his mind. He must go on. It would be foolish not to follow up the victory while the French were in such a low state and the English intoxicated by victory.

The new Archbishop Chicheley w^as growing fanatical about the Lollards and was pursuing them relentlessly. The King often thought of John Oldcastle and wondered where he was hiding himself. How much more satisfactory it would be if he were to come and fight with his King. There were few better soldiers.

If he would come back and fight with me, thought the King, all this Lollardry would be forgotten.

But John did not come. He remained in hiding, no doubt plotting. He was as fixed in his determination to uphold the Lollards as Henry was to gain the crown of France.

Henry must raise money and continue. He was wasting time here.

The people were with him. They wanted more conquests. They were looking forward to prosperity and the end of the war with France and their King firmly established on that throne.

They were living now in the euphoria of great victory. Life seemed more prosperous. It was not, but it seemed so and thought Henry with a certain amount of cynicism, one that was as good as the truth until they woke up to reality. He had ordered that the streets of Holborn be paved. This had never been done before and the Lord Mayor of London, Sir Henry Burton, had brought in improvements to the streets of London by hanging lanthorns which were kept burning throughout the night.

The people were grateful. They loved their King.

But it was the eternal cry of Money. Money to pay the soldiers, money to pay for the arrows and all the weapons of war. Money for the food they would need. Money! Money!

The King rode to Havering to see his stepmother. She greeted him with affection and he talked to her of his plans.

She listened, feigning an enthusiasm which she could not feel. Her family were on the opposing side. It was an irritation between them. How could he boast to her of the glories of Agincourt when that battle had brought disaster for so many members of her family?

The affection he had hitherto felt towards her was tinged with a mild dislike.

She had come to England as his father's second wife and grown rich here. He had heard it said that she was one of the richest women in the country, but like many rich people who had taken delight in garnering their wealth, she was rather loth to part with it.

*My son visited me here,' she said.

*I know,' he answered. 1 gave orders that he should be allowed to do so.'

'Thank you, my lord. It was good of you. Your goodness makes me venture to ask if I might see him again.'

*My lady, he is a prisoner. He is your son but he is also a traitor. We cannot allow traitors to roam freely about our land. That would be folly, you must realize.'

She was silent.

*I intend to carry on the war in France until I have brought it to a satisfactory conclusion,' he went on. *I should be there now ... but first I have to build up stores, equipment, pay my soldiers and so much more.'

'War is a costly business in treasure and more tragically in blood,' said Joanna sombrely.

'So we have seen. Madam,' said the King. 'But my cause is just and I am determined on victory. I need money.'

Her eyes strayed round the chamber. She lived well. She liked luxury. She was indeed a very rich woman.

*I am relying on those who love me and a just cause to come forward with their offerings,' he said.

She nodded.

'I have always looked upon you as a friend.'

1 will ask my treasurer what can be supplied,' she said cautiously; she was already making plans to have the finest of her treasures placed in great chests and hidden in the vaults. *I have given much to the poor,' she went on. 'I am not as rich as I once was.'

You lie, he thought. My God, the woman is on the side of the French. She is all ready to turn traitor, as her son was.

He took his leave shortly. He was in a resentful mood. She amassed wealth under my father, he thought, and she will not give up to me what I so desperately need.

As he rode away he said to his brother Bedford: 'I do not trust the Queen.'

Bedford replied: *I was talking to John Randolf her confessor. He says she is in constant private talk with those two sorcerers Colles and Brocart. He does not like them nor their influence with the Queen.'

'Does he think she practises their evil arts?*

'It is strange how she has become so rich.'

The King frowned. 'It might be that there is some sorcery in it,' he replied.

He felt a sudden surge of anger against her. She had won her wealth through dabbling in dark arts then; and she was very reluctant to part with a penny of it.

His thoughts were occupied with how he could raise money.

'When he returned to London he had decided to pawn his crown and jewels. His uncle, the Bishop of ^Vinchester, would advance him one hundred thousand marks for them; and he would sell a part of the royal jewels to the City of London for ten thousand pounds.

In the month of July two years after the battle of Agincourt Henry was ready to sail to France again. He left with twenty-six thousand men on board a fleet of one thousand five hundred ships.

He took among other strategic places, Caen and Falaise. But the war was not yet won.

John Oldcastle with his band of faithful followers had for four years been wandering in the Velsh mountains. During the summer they lived out of doors and would sit round a camp fire when darkness fell and talk of the days when they would establish their faith throughout England and bring a better life to many poor people. ^Vith the coming of winter there must be an end to this life which had an appeal for all of them; then they must find shelter by night in any inn or wayside cottage where someone would give them a place to lie down. All the day John was trying to recruit men to his banner; but it was amazing how difficult it was to arouse enthusiasm for battle even amongst the AVelsh who like the Irish and Scots were usually ready to attack the English.

He heard news of Agincourt and it pleased him to know that Henry had won renown throughout the country.

Great Harry they called him affectionately and there was grudging admiration even from his enemies.

John smiled, recalling the braggart youth sprawling on his tavern chair drinking, eyeing the women, singing tavern songs. Those had been good days; but they could not have gone on for ever. Neither he nor Henry were of a kind to spend all their lives in riotous living, seeking their excitement in tavern brawls.

Somehow he had always known that there was more to both of them than that. Harry had found it in the quest for a crown; as soon as he had taken that alluring object in his hands, he had changed. As for John, he had changed too. His had been a yearning for spiritual matters. How strange that religion should have become the whole meaning of life to him.

He talked to his followers and all who would listen. He had always been an eloquent talker. That was what had attracted Henry to him. Then he had used his quick wits to provoke laughter. It was different now.

All that mattered to him was that he should make men understand what was in his mind. There must be reforms in Church. Men must worship God, not the trappings of ceremony. All the money which was poured into maintaining the splendours of the Church should be used to improve the life of the villeins, he believed. He wanted a simple religion; he wanted spiritual humility and peace for men and a more dignified physical existence.

As poor Sawtre had said the cross was a piece of wood. Yes, a better piece of wood than others of its kind because Christ had died on it. But it was not to be worshipped as such. Salvation came not through the cross but from Christ who died on it.

He had come to Wales after being surprised in a house in St Albans. He had sought shelter of a villein there who greatly admired him and was ready to risk his life by giving him a bed in his house. His was a personality which could not be hidden. In time people were coming to the villein's house just to hear him talk. So in due course as seemed inevitable he was betrayed and the Abbot of St Albans sent his servants to surround the house; but he had his friends and an hour before the servants came he was riding towards Wales.

It was a lesson and brought home to him the realization of how easily he could be captured.

There in the Welsh Marches among the hills which lay

between the Severn and the Vyrnwy he had found his refuge. But he would have to emerge when the spring came. It was not his intention merely to keep hidden from his enemies. He must rally friends to his cause.

He had found the perfect hide-out and decided that he would make this his refuge. It should be the place to which he returned if he were pursued; he believed he would always find shelter there. There was an inn nearby which was owned by ardent supporters, people on whom he could rely. He was safe here to work out his plans. Moel-y-sant offered beauty as well as security; it became known as Cobham's garden.

He had always been reckless; he could not change his entire nature in so short a time. He trusted the innkeeper and his wife and family; he had forgotten that servants came and went and he might not find the same loyalty among them. He had forgotten that there was a possibility that he might be traced to this spot and there might be a plan to capture him.

Lord Charlton, on whose estate John was sheltering, in due course learned that he was there. A reward was offered for the capture of Oldcastle who, because of his connections and eloquence, was considered a great menace not only to the Church but to society; and Charlton thought it could do him no harm—on the contrary much good—if he delivered Oldcastle to his enemies.

He therefore began to plan. He placed one of his servants in the inn which he suspected Oldcastle frequented. The spy soon confirmed the truth of this and one night when John was seated in the inn parlour discoursing to his friends and disciples, there was a shout of 'The inn is surrounded'. And then the armed men of Charlton's retinue burst in.

John stood up dashing his tankard to the floor, but he realized that he was trapped. However he was not going to be taken without a fight, and a battle ensued.

John was big and strong and it was not easy to take him; but while he was struggling with an assailant, one of the serving girls who had become friendly with Charlton's spy picked up a stool and threw it with such force against John that it broke his leg, thus rendering him helpless and he fell to the ground—a prey to his enemies.

It was the end. What could he do, being unable to stand? He was seized in triumph and carried off to Welshpool Castle,

the home of Charlton, who was overcome with delight by the capture.

The first thing he did was to send a messenger to the Court. The King was in France and the Regent was his brother the Duke of Bedford.

Charlton received a delighted reply from Bedford. Let Oldcastle be brought at once to London without delay.

The injuries which he had received in the fight, chief of which was his broken leg, made it impossible for him to ride, but Bedford was in no mood to delay. It occurred to him that if the King were to hear of his old friend's predicament he might out of sentimental feeling find some way of pardoning him. If, reasoned Bedford, Oldcastle had not been allowed to escape from the Tower—and sometimes Bedford wondered whether Henry had connived in that facile escape—they would have been spared a great deal of trouble.

No, bring Oldcastle to London. Let him be speedily tried and sentenced to the heretic's death.

'Send him at once,' he ordered. 'Even if he has to travel in a whirlicote.'

So John was placed in a horse-litter and brought to London.

'Let there be no delay,' said Bedford. 'This man should be tried at once.*

John knew that this was the end. There could be no escape now. If he could but see the King, if they could indulge in a discussion such as they had so much enjoyed in the old days, he would have been able, he was sure, to make Henry understand.

But Henry was abroad in France bent on winning his crown. And John was here in London, in the hands of his enemy.

He was immediately brought before his judges and condemned to die the heretic's death.

He held his head high; he faced his judges and cried: 'Though you judge my body which is a WTetched thing, yet I am certain and sure that you can do no harm to my soul, no more than Satan could upon the soul of Job. He who created that will, of His infinite mercy and promise, save it. Of this I have no doubt. I will stand by my beliefs to the very death by the grace of my eternal God.'

The very same day he was taken by hurdle to St Giles's Fields to what was now known as the Lollards' Gallows. He

Death at Lollards' Gallows 293

saw the fire being laid below the chains in which they would hang him; and he knew then that his last hours had come.

A multitude had gathered to see him die. He had many supporters but none who there in St Giles's would dare to come forward and claim him as a friend. The acrid smell of smoke, the writhing agony of sufferers, set them shuddering. He was a great man, John Oldcastle called Lord Cobham; he was ready to die for his beliefs. But there would be few who would want to share the martyr's crown.

He addressed the spectators as he was being put in chains.

'Good Christian people,' he said, 'beware of these men, for they will beguile you and lead you blindly into hell with themselves. Christ says plainly unto you: "If one blind man leadeth another, they are like both to fall into a ditch."' He was now hanging horizontally above the flames which were rising to lick his body.

'Lord God Eternal,' he cried, 'I beseech Thee of Thy great mercy's sake to forgive my enemies if it be Thy will.'

There was a hush on the crowd. They heard his cry as the flames reached him.

Then the smoke hid him from view.

A CHARGE OF WITCHCRAFT

Henry was determined to complete the conquest of France and what he needed more than anything was money.

He was obsessed by the thought of attaining the crown and was convinced that it was his by right and he would let nothing stand in the way of attaining it. He was certain that if his great-grandfather Edward the Third had carried on with the fight after Poitiers he would have won it. He had given up too soon; he had become lethargic, obsessed by lust; and the Black Prince, who would have won it, had become ill and died.

He, Henry, was the chosen one.

It was agreed now that he was a great warrior—to rank with William the Conqueror and Richard Coeur de Lion. Such men were all-soldier. They allowed nothing to come between them and their objective. Henry was not cruel for the sake of cruelty but if it was necessary to the outcome of a battle he would kill without mercy. He was a soldier first; everything was subordinated to his cause. He never sought to evade any duty; he should share hardship with his men; he made it clear to them that even though he was their King and leader he was one of them, ready to suffer cold or die with them. He had the power to make them follow him. He was good to them; he was proud of his image; he knew that his

men would follow him to the jaws of death if he commanded them to do so.

With such an army and such a leader, he knew he could not fail.

When he heard how Oldcastle had died he was overcome with grief but then he grew angry. John had been a fool. Why had he given up the glorious life of a soldier to campaign for his Lollard views? John, becoming spiritual, a reformer I It was nonsense. He should have been with him at Harfleur and Agincourt.

And now he was dead ... and had died in such a way. Foolish John I

There was no time to regret the fat old martyr. God rest his soul, said Henry; and was glad that he had been out of England when it had happened.

How could he have passed judgment on the old bufEoon? Yet it was a just sentence. John had been a self-confessed heretic and so it was right that he should die the heretic's death.

But it was over now. No looking back. No remembrance of old tavern days and the tricks they had played. John had gone his way and the King had gone his.

And there was a crown to be won.

Money! Money I He needed money. He had left Bedford to govern England. He could trust his brother. Bedford was a fine soldier, loyal too. Almost the man his brother the King was, he had heard it said, but not quite.

No, not quite. But a brother to be grateful for.

'You must find me money,' he had told Bedford.

And Bedford had said: 'Our stepmother is a very rich woman. She does not help as she should.*

'Ah, our stepmother. Her heart is in France/

'By God,' Bedford had cried. 'Then she would be a traitor to our lord the King. I'll find a means, brother.'

Bedford would find a means. He had rid the country of Oldcastle. It was right of course. The old fellow was a heretic and he had earned the heretic's death.

Yes, Bedford was a good brother. He would look after affairs in England while Henry was winning France.

He could trust Bedford.

There was something wrong in the Queen's household at Havering Bower. Servants of the Duke of Bedford had arrived the previous day and Joanna had presumed that this meant their master was on the way to see her.

She was always apprehensive now. Arthur was still a prisoner though they had moved him from the Tower to Fotheringay Castle and she hoped he was in less rigorous confinement there. Whenever members of the King's or Regent's household visited her she feared what reason they had for coming.

She knew that the King was in France and she guessed that he would be constantly urging Bedford to find him money. Perhaps she should have offered more to the King when he had come to her. That would not have helped. He would still have wanted more.

Roger Colles and Petronel Brocart had warned her that she should be extra watchful for she was passing into a dangerous period. She did not need to be told that. She was aware of it more every day. The longer this war continued and the more success Henry had in France the more dangerous her position would become.

Colles and Brocart were in constant attendance on her and although their prognostications were becoming more and more gloomy she wanted to hear them. There was dissension between them and John Randolf. There always had been but it seemed to have deepened of late. She had never really liked John Randolf; there was an air of self righteousness about the man which had not appealed to her; she would have dismissed him from his post but for the growing apprehension all round her. This did not seem the time.

She sent for John Randolf.

Her servants returned with the information that he was closeted with the men from the Duke of Bedford and had been so for some hours.

This made her very uneasy.

She sat with her women and they worked together on the tapestry they were making. They were more silent than usual. They were aware that something extraordinary was going on.

'My Lord Bedford will be here this day, I believe,' she said.

Tes, my lady,' was the answer. 'They are preparing for him in the kitchens.'

'Where is Randolf? I would speak with him.'

'He is talking to the men from London/

'What! Still talking.'

'Yes, my lady. None knows of what they speak. They have been closeted these last two hours and there are guards outside the door.'