Текст книги "The Star of Lancaster"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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1 want it,' cried Thomas hopefully.

'No, no,' replied their mother. 'Just be good friends always ... and never let a quarrel between you last.'

The two boys were surveying each other across the bed with intensity and Mary said quickly, 'You have a new sister.'

'We have one,' said Thomas.

'We did not really want another,' added Harry rather reproachfully. 'And you were so ill bringing her.'

'You mustn't hold that against her.'

'When will you be up?'

'Soon.'

'And shall we have a feast? And will my father come?*

'Yes, we shall and he will.'

She closed her eyes. Harry beckoned his brother and at that moment Joan came in.

'Come,' she said, 'your mother is tired.'

As she led them out Harry turned to her and said: 'I think she was trying to tell us that she is going away.'

There was a gloom in the castle and a terrible premonition of disaster.

Men and women walked about on tiptoe and spoke in whispers. The Countess was in a fever.

In the nursery the new baby thrived. A wet nurse had been found for her and it was not the baby who showed signs of her difficult entry into the world.

The question was whether a message should be sent to the Earl of Derby to tell him that the health of his Countess was causing grave anxiety and that since the birth of the Lady Philippa grave symptoms were beginning to show themselves. They hesitated, but as the days passed it was considered that he must be told.

Henry was alarmed. He came at once to Leicester.

In his heart he had known that Mary dreaded childbirth but he had looked upon it as one of the inevitable patterns of life.

Children were the very reason for marriage and he had delighted in the fact that he had six and w^as hoping for more.

And now Mary was ill. The after effects of childbirth, he assured himself. It was nothing. Those women about her fussed too much. They encouraged her fears.

Nevertheless he rode with all speed and when he arrived at the castle, a terrible depression came to him.

He went at once to his wife's bedchamber. The pale wan figure lying on the bed was scarcely recognizable. Her dark hair hung lank and limp about her emaciated features; only her eyes seemed the same; loving, earnest, eager to please.

'Henry, you came.'

*My love,' he said, 'what ails you?'

'It was too much, Henry ... too much.'

'The child is well.'

'Thank God, she is a fine child. It is your poor Mary who has changed, Henry.'

'You will soon get well. We'll have six more yet, Mary. You see.'

She smiled wanly, and shook her head.

'Well,' said Henry, 'we have our six. Oh Mary, I hate to see you like this.'

'I know. I did not wish you to see me so, but they would send for you.'

'I am happy to be with you.'

*I have not disappointed you?*

'My dearest, you have made me so happy. I have never ceased to love you from the day we first met in the forest. Do you remember?'

'It is something I shall never forget. I treasure the memory ... and I have given you six children, have I not? I did my duty as a wife ...'

'Oh speak not of duty. It has been for love has it not?'

'Yes,' she said, 'for love. Always remember that, Henry. For love.'

He sat long by her bed and she made him talk of the past, of those days at Arundel and then the birth of Harry and how they had been so happy in the early days of their marriage.

Afterwards he had been away so much and she had seen him rarely, just often enough to become pregnant and start the exhausting business of bringing another child into the world.

But they were her beloved family and blessings had to be paid for.

After a while he saw that she was sleeping and he crept away and left her.

Soon after his arrival it became clear that she was very ill. The finest doctors in the country were at her bedside, but there was nothing they could do. She was exhausted, worn out by too much childbearing. She was small and fragile and not meant for such an arduous life.

Henry was bewildered. The stark fact faced him. It need not have happened. If she had stopped in time this would not have happened.

The progress of the fever was rapid and a few days after his arrival Henry knew that this was the end.

He knelt by her bedside, for she seemed comforted to have him close. She was at peace now. A woman with her travail over. She did not send for the children for she did not wish them to see her thus.

'It will frighten them,' she said. *Let them remember me as I was. I am leaving them to you, Henry. You will care for them. Do not be harsh with Harry. I want him to love you. I want them all to love each other. No deadly quarrels. They must always work together. That is what I want .. /

*It shall be,' said Henry. *A11 that you ask I will do.'

*Stay with me then. It will not be long now.'

He was with her when she died.

He sat at her bedside, stunned with disbelief.

But he must rouse himself. Mary was dead. She was twenty-four years of age. Too young to die. But she was dead. It was the Year of Death—Constanza, the Queen and now Mary, and both the Queen and Mary had been struck down in the flower of their youth. He could understand his cousin's grief which had obsessed him and driven him mad for the time.

Sometimes he thought that his fate was entwined with that of his cousin. He had always thought that but for that quirk of fate he should have been in Richard's place. They had been born in the same year. They had been happily married and within a few weeks of each other they had lost their beloved partners.

He felt lost, bewildered. Although during the last years he had spent more time abroad than with her, he knew he was going to miss her sorely.

She must have a splendid funeral. Her mother would insist on that. She should be laid to rest with the de Bohuns

for that was what she had wanted.

It took his mind from his desolation to plan the grand funeral she should have, just as it had Richard's when he buried his Queen.

When it was over he must give thought to his family.

The children had all been together, cared for by their loving mother. Now he must make other plans for their future. He would be with them when he could but the political situation was such that it demanded his constant attention.

He was considering very carefully what must be done for the motherless boys and girls.

THE FORGET-ME-NOT

The children were now in the charge of Mary Hervey and Joan Waring and they lived mainly at Kenilworth and when that castle needed sweetening, they moved for a while to Tut-bury. Life went on for them very much in the same way as before their mother's death, but they missed her sorely. Blanche could not remember her of course, but all the boys did, even three year old Humphrey. As for Harry he was sobered for a while. He was seven and old for his years. He felt that in the absence of his father he was head of the family and his ascendancy over his brothers seemed stronger than ever.

He missed her more than Mary and Joan would have believed; and at times he was quiet and rather sad thinking of her. He remembered what she had said to him and he realized that she knew then that she was dying. He promised himself he would try to do what she wanted and in consequence took up a protective attitude towards his brothers.

In the winter of the following year he caught a chill and became so ill that everyone thought he was going to die. His father in an agony of apprehension had the best doctors sent down from London and very soon Harry was surprising them by his determination to live. His health began to improve and he would lie in his bed listening to the songs of Wilkin

Walkin, the minstrel whom their father had sent to them to teach them to sing. They were fond of music because their mother had always seen that there was plenty of it in the household. There were lessons with Mary Hervey and games with his brothers; he commanded them and tolerated his sisters and so life passed during the first year after his mother's death but none knew more than Harry that it would not remain as it was.

Henry was becoming more and more preoccupied with the country's affairs. Moreover, the King had gone to Ireland to attempt to sort out the troubles there and John of Gaunt went to Aquitaine with the same purpose in mind. This threw responsibilities on Henry, for the King had made him a member of the Council which ruled during his absence; and as his father was out of the country it was Henry's task to look after the Lancastrian estates.

Richard and John of Gaunt returned to England; and that year, the second after Mary's death, two important marriages took place in England.

John of Gaunt snapped his fingers at convention and did what he had wanted to do for a long time and that was marry Catherine Swynford. There were some members of the nobility who were horrified at this, but there were many who applauded it and thought the better of John of Gaunt for making Catherine his wife.

The King was one who approved of the match. He had always liked Catherine; moreover he was completely reconciled to his uncle Lancaster and as he relied on the advice the latter gave him, he was eager to please him. So not only did he show his approval of the match by receiving Catherine as the new Duchess, but he set his seal on it and won her eternal gratitude by legitimizing her children, the Beauforts, which next to marriage with the Duke was her dearest wish.

Henry was pleased. He had always looked upon Catherine as his stepmother and the Beauforts as his brothers. Now they were legally so.

The other marriage was that of Richard himself. Dearly as he had loved Anne he wanted to please his counsellors by marrying again, but he chose Isabella, the daughter of the King of France, much to the consternation of those about him, for Isabella was a child not quite ten years old. Perfect wife as she had been, Anne had failed in one respect. She had

not provided an heir to the throne. It seemed the utmost folly therefore for Richard, the main purpose of whose marriage should be the begetting of children, to marry a child who would not be ready for childbearing for some four years at the earliest.

The inference was that Richard did not greatly care for women, and he did not w^ant to replace Anne; and that the thought of a child wife who could be brought up in English ways and make no marital demands suited him very well.

Both John of Gaunt and Henry accompanied the King to France for the royal marriage. As Duchess of Lancaster Catherine Swynford was one of the ladies who would attend the new Queen, as were Mary's sister Eleanor and the Countess of Arundel. This Countess was Philippa, daughter of the Earl of March and therefore granddaughter of John of Gaunt's elder brother Lionel. She was very conscious of her royal blood and wished everyone about her to be.

Eleanor and Philippa created a sensation by their rudeness to Catherine and although the latter behaved as though she had failed to notice their bad manners, John of Gaunt was furious and determined to make them pay at some time for the insult.

There were however matters to occupy them other than this, and Lancaster was very eager that his son should understand the significance of what was happening.

'What can this marriage of Richard's mean?' he asked. 'Obviously that there can be no heir to the throne for years. Anne could not get one either. The fault may have lain with Richard. The fact that he has chosen this marriage may be a key to the situation. But think what it means, Henry. When he dies who will follow him?'

'Lionel's heirs ...'

John of Gaunt snapped his fingers. 'Too remote,' he said. 'You stand well in line, Henry.'

1 am the same age as Richard and he seems in good health.'

*He is unpredictable. At one time he showed signs of becoming a great King. He stood up to the rebels at Blackheath and Smithfield. He was a hero then. But where is the hero now? He faced the rebels because he did not realize what danger he was in. He was a child then. It worked, but it might easily not have done and then instead of a heroic act it would have been judged as one of folly. I see great events looming,

Henry, and I want you to be prepared when they come. No more travels. You must stay near home. You must defend our estates. You must see that when the time comes you are at hand.'

So when they returned to England Henry abandoned all thought of further travel and kept a watchful eye on what was happening about the King. There was peace with France but instead of easing the situation this seemed to aggravate it. The people were still complaining about the heavy taxes which were levied on them; and now that there was peace with France—if only temporary—for what reason did the exchequer need so much money? The answer was clear. Their King lived most extravagantly; he was constantly giving lavish banquets and entertainments to his friends; large sums were spent on his clothes which were bedecked with valuable jewels; the fact was that the people were expected to pay heavily for the upkeep of a Court which was far too luxurious to be paid for without their support.

Would Richard never learn? wondered John of Gaunt. There was trouble brewing.

Richard was aware that revolt was in the air; he knew that the leaders of it were his uncle Thomas of Gloucester, and the Earls of Arundel and Warwick. He decided to act and for once did so promptly. He invited them all to a banquet, his intention being to arrest them when they came. Gloucester and Arundel scented danger and did not appear. Warwick came and was arrested. But Warwick was of less importance than the other two and he was sent to the Tower where he remained. Arundel was lured to London, arrested on a charge of treason and John of Gaunt, as Seneschal of England, presided at his trial and sentenced him to death with some relish as he remembered the insults he had thrown at Catherine.

There remained Gloucester who was eventually captured and sent to Calais where he died mysteriously in an inn, said to have been smothered by feather beds being pressed upon him.

John of Gaunt was very disturbed. Thomas was after all his brother. There had never been great friendship between them even when they were young but when John had arranged for his son to get the coveted Garter award by ousting Thomas he had aroused his vitriolic brother's enmity; and even more so when he had snatched Mary from his control

I

and married her fortune to his son Henry.

Still he was a brother and, as he confided to Henry, it was interesting to note that the three who had been pursued so relentlessly by the King—Gloucester, Arundel and Warwick —were three of the five Lords Appellant who had some years before confronted the King arms linked to show solidarity and wrung concessions from him.

The other two were Thomas Mowbray and Henry himself.

'You see,' said the wise Duke of Lancaster, *it is necessary to tread very warily. Richard does not forget what he considers to be an insult. You and Mowbray should be watchful.'

Richard however seemed to be fond of his cousin. He made him a Duke and Henry was now Duke of Hereford and Thomas Mowbray was Duke of Norfolk, so it seemed that long-ago incident was forgotten.

When he had bestowed the honour, Richard showed his friendship towards Henry by asking about his family and condoling with him on the death of his wife.

'We share a misfortune,' he said, and went on to extol the virtues of his beloved Anne. It was true he had a little Queen of whom he was already fond. A child merely; but he was going to cherish her and bring her up to love England and to be its Queen.

'In some ways you are more fortunate than I,' said the King. Tou have your boys and girls. How many is it now? Four boys, I hear.'

'Yes, I have four and two girls.'

'And how old is your heir—young Harry of Monmouth is it not?'

'He is ten years old.*

'And bright for his age, I hear. I want to meet Harry of Monmouth. I'll tell you what, cousin, he shall come to Court.'

'I am overwhelmed by the honour,' said Henry trying to hide his uneasiness. 'He is now at Oxford in the care of my half-brother Henry Beaufort. He is Chancellor of the University, as you know, and it is good for Harry to be under his tuition.'

'He would learn more at Court, cousin.'

'You are too kind to the boy, my lord. He is over young to be a courtier.'

'I am determined to have him here. I hear he is something of a rogue.'

'My lord, he is but a child.'

*But able to give a good account of himself. I like the sound of young Harry of Monmouth. I will send word that he is to come to Court.'

It was clear that Richard was determined, and with a sinking heart Henry went to his father to tell him what had taken place between him and Richard.

Lancaster was at first disturbed by the news and then he said: It may well be that Richard wishes to show friendship. He has made you a Duke. He relies on me and has come to trust me. I think he is perhaps merely showing favour to my grandson.'

In any case,' replied Henry. 'There is nothing we can do about it/

Harry was not sorry to leave Oxford for the Court. The King received him with a show of affection. *My good uncle's grandson,' he said. 'You are welcome, Harry.'

Harry responded with genuine pleasure. He liked this good looking, sumptuously attired man with the delicate hands and the pink and white skin which coloured so pleasantly when he showed excitement, with the glittering garments and delicate perfume which hung about him.

And he is the King, thought Harry; and from that moment he wanted to be a king himself.

There was so much to see at Court. He first went to Eltham where the King was at that time and he was enchanted by the place. It was very different from gloomy Tutbury and even Kenilworth suffered by comparison. Richard, about whom everything must be elegant and in what he considered perfect taste which meant a reflection of his own delight in the combinations of colour and patterns, was amused to see how overawed his young kinsman was and for a while kept him close to him.

He showed him the rebuilding he had done at Eltham– the new bath house. 'Never neglect to bathe, Harry,' he said. 'The practice gives pleasure to yourself as well as those about you. I abhor unsavoury odours.* It was a practice the King carried out regularly. His person was always exquisite. He gave as much thought to the cut of his long-sleeved coats, the new houpelandes, his high collars, the padded shoulders of

his jackets, his skin tight hose and his long pointed shoes as he did to matters of state. There was also the painted chamber and the dancing chamber—for the King loved to dance—and he had made new gardens for his recreation and alfresco entertainments.

It was a new world for Harry. He had been given a cote hardie decorated with the badge of the white hart which showed he was of the King's household; and when the Court travelled he travelled with it.

His days were full. He longed to be a knight and take part in the jousts but he was ten years old and others did not forget it if he did. He must attend his lessons with others of his age, for there were boys like himself from noble households at Court; then he must learn to ride and use his sword, practise archery so that when the time came for him to win his spurs he would be able to give a good account of himself.

It was a very different life from that he had lived under his mother's care or when he had been at Oxford. Harry absorbed what was going on around him and it excited him. Life at the King's Court was the life for him.

After he had been at Court for a week or so the King lost interest in him and he was just one of the boys who was being brought up there. He did not mind. There was enough to absorb him and he was more interested in the outdoor life than the books and music and fine clothes which the King set such store by.

The Court had moved to Windsor and the King was in good spirits. It was because the little Queen was there Harry was told, and Richard very much enjoyed the company of the little girl.

Harry was interested in the Queen because she was about his age and he thought how wonderful it must be to be so important.

Sometimes he would see the riders going off into the forest led by the King and beside him would ride the most beautiful girl Harry had ever seen. She was vivacious and added gesticulations to her persistent chatter. Her dark long hair hung loose about her shoulders and she wore the most elegant clothes which Harry learned had been chosen by the King.

One day when he was having a dancing lesson, which he was obliged to tolerate, she came into the room to watch. There were two other girls and two boys as well as himself

and his partner and they were practising the newest Court dances. He felt more awkward than ever for those sparkling dark eyes had selected him for her special attention and it did not help matters when the dancing instructor pointed out another false step he had made.

Then the little Queen ran to him and taking his hand cried: 'Come, dance with me, clumsy boy. I will show you the way.'

He was overcome with embarrassment and disliked her in spite of her beauty which excited him and made him want to keep looking at her.

1 do not wish it, Madam,' he said with a haughty bow.

*My lord,' said the instructor. 'The Queen honours you/

Harry said: *I am not honoured.'

She began to laugh.

*He has no grace, this one,' she said in rather halting English.

'The Queen commands you to dance with her/ said the instructor glaring at him and trying to convey some message.

'No, no,' cried Isabella. 'I do not command. If he does not wish ...' She lifted her shoulders and set her features in an expression of mock tragedy. She turned to one of the other boys and took his hand, as she said, 'Music, please.'

The musicians began to play. Harry refused to dance and his partner and the girl who had danced with the boy whom Isabella had chosen, danced together while Harry stood by sullenly watching.

There was no doubt that the Queen danced beautifully. She had a special grace all her own. Now and then she glanced Harry's way and caught his eyes on her. That seemed to please her.

When the dance was over, she seemed to lose interest in the incident and laughing ran out of the room but not without first throwing a mocking glance in Harry's direction.

As soon as she had gone the instructor cried at Harry: 'You are a fool. I never saw such behaviour in all my life. This could cost me my position and you your place at Court. Am I not supposed to be teaching you courtly manners as well as dancing and have I not just seen the worst display of bad manners that have ever been seen at Court? Do you realize she is the Queen?'

*I knew she was the Queen, of course,' muttered Harry.

*And you refused to dance with her when she did you the honour of selecting you!'

'She was laughing at me/

'You refused to dance with the Queen! Rest assured, my lord, this is not the end of the matter. She will tell the King and you will be sent back to the country where you belong.*

*I do not care,* said Harry contemptuously.

But he did care. He very much enjoyed Court life. He could not bear to think of going back to the country to the care of Mary Hervey or return to Oxford to work under the stern eye of uncle Beaufort.

He kept thinking about her. She gave herself airs. Well, why shouldn't she? She was the Queen. And she was very beautiful. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. Her way of speaking was fascinating, as was her manner.

He had made her angry—although she had pretended not to be. She would tell the King and everyone said that the King denied her nothing for he loved her dearly and treated her like some precious little pet. She would only have to say I want that ill-mannered Harry of Monmouth sent away from Court and he would be dismissed.

All through the day he kept realizing how much he enjoyed Court life. He noticed too how elegant and charming some of the women were. None of them had the style of the Queen of course, although she was only a child. But she had changed him in some way. She had made him aware of things which he had never noticed before.

He was desolate, calling himself stupid to have antagonized her. At any moment the dismissal would come. His father would be angry with him; his grandfather would despise him. What hope would he have of rising if he was going to let his silly pride govern his actions?

He should have danced with the Queen; he should have flattered her. He should have made her like him. He could see it clearly, now that it was too late.

The summons did not come, however, and in a few weeks he ceased to expect it although he did not forget the Queen and whenever he could he took the opportunity of watching her, though she never noticed him again.

Everyone at Court was talking about the combat which was to take place between the Dukes of Hereford and Norfolk and as the Duke of Hereford was the title which had recently been bestowed on Harry's father this matter was of especial interest to him.

As far as Harry could understand, Thomas Mowbray, recently created Duke of Norfolk—at the same time as Henry of Lancaster had been made Duke of Hereford—had made a suggestion to Hereford which the latter construed as treason and which he had laid before the King.

Norfolk had retaliated by declaring that he was no traitor and that Hereford was bringing the accusation to cover up his own nefarious intentions.

The outcome of the matter was that the King had agreed that the two men should meet in combat. There was a great deal of whispering at Court and Harry had what Joan Waring had called long ears. If one of these men was a traitor, it was asked, what was the point in having a combat to settle it? A traitor might be the victor and an innocent man killed. It was all very strange. But the excitement grew as the days passed. The Court had moved to Coventry, a fair city surrounded by thick walls mounted by thirty-two towers. There were twelve gates into the city and it was consequently one of the strongest fortifications in the country.

Outside the city walls there was great activity while pavilions were erected. Harry watched the work with mixed feelings for his father would be one of the chief actors in this drama which was about to be played on this glittering field and if his father were to die ...

The thought bewildered him. He saw little of his father and he had found him stern and undemonstrative—very different from his mother who although long since dead lingered on in his memory. He would never forget the beatings his father had given him. For his own good, his mother had told him; but he had always felt that he would have been better without them, for when he felt the urge to do something which would incur punishment he never stopped to think of the consequences. That came after. In the castle they were gambling on the life or death of the Dukes of Hereford and Norfolk—for this was no joust a Plaisance but the culmination of a bitter quarrel, which would mean the end of one of them.

His grandfather arrived. Harry noticed with satisfaction that his pavilion, flying its pennants and lions and leopards, was almost as fine as the King's. They would be his emblem one day. His grandfather summoned him to his presence. He was a very old man and he seemed to have aged since Harry had last seen him.

Tour father will triumph over the traitor Norfolk,' he told Harry.

'Of a certainty,' replied Harry loyally.

But he could see that his grandfather was no more sure of this than he was.

'You will sit with the Duchess and myself,' said John of Gaunt. 'It is well that you will be here to see this day.'

He is afraid, thought Harry; and he is reminding me that if my father is killed I shall be my grandfather's heir. He is a very old man. It could not be long before I would be head of the House of Lancaster.

But Harry was not yet to be head of the House of Lancaster. It was the most extraordinary gathering that had ever been.

Harry saw his father ride out. He looked magnificent on his big white horse caparisoned in green and blue velvet decorated with gold swans and antelopes. His armour, Harry had heard, had been made in Milan where the best armour was made.

Then came the Duke of Norfolk who looked almost as splendid; his colours were red and the velvet was embroidered with lions and mulberry trees.

Then the strangest thing happened. The heralds on orders from the King suddenly dashed forward shouting: 'Ho! Ho!' which meant that a halt was to be called to the proceedings.

The King disappeared from his pavilion.

'Where has he gone?' whispered Harry.

His grandfather said: 'This is a strange business. I think he is going to stop the combat.*

Harry could hear the relief in his grandfather's voice. He knew then how frightened he had been.

There was great tension in the crowd of spectators who felt they were about to witness unusual events. They had come to see a life and death struggle between two of the highest in the land, but whatever was going to happen now could be equally exciting.

Two hours passed before one of the King's advisers came

out to announce to the crowd that there would be no combat. The King and his counsellors had decided the issue could not be settled in this way, and it had been agreed that since there was a doubt of the loyalty of both contestants they would be exiled from the country. Hereford would not return for ten years; Norfolk would never return.

A hushed silence fell on the crowd. Harry saw that his grandfather's face had turned a greyish colour. He gripped his seat and whispered: 'Oh God help us. Not this. Not this.'

Everyone was talking about the exiles and Harry noticed that when he appeared there was an abrupt termination of the conversation. As son of one of the leading players in the drama, care had to be taken as to what was said in his hearing.

His father w^as going away. He would be away for ten years. I shall be twenty when he comes back! thought Henry. Would the King send him away? Was the family in disgrace? It must be so if the King suspected his father of treachery and was sending him out of the country.