Текст книги "The Star of Lancaster"
Автор книги: Jean Plaidy
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The two Dukes had been given fifteen days in which to make their preparations and leave the country. After that time they would be arrested if they remained.
A harsh sentence was the comment.
*Do you wonder?' Harry overheard someone say. 'These are the last two of the Lords Appellant. The other three are taken care of. Now exile for these two. Richard never forgets an insult. Depend upon it he has been waiting to take his revenge on these two.'
*He seemed to have trusted both Mowbray and Boling-broke.'
'Seemed to. But Richard never forgets.'
Harry knew about the Lords Appellant. He learned such matters with absolute ease because they concerned his father and family and that meant himself.
He heard that his father was coming to say good-bye to him before he left the country and he steeled himself for the farew^ell.
His grandfather arrived with his father. They were both very sober.
His father embraced him and told him that he must grow
quickly now. He must remember that in the absence of his father he must take his place. 'Thank God your grandfather is here to protect you,' he said.
Tou will be leaving Court and coming with me/ went on the great Duke. Tour father and I think that best. The Duchess is looking forward to welcoming you. We shall go to Leicester after we have accompanied your father to the coast.'
*Yes/ said Harry quietly.
*I think Harry is old enough to understand,' went on the Duke. 'Your father will not be allowed to come back to this country, and you must learn how to look after our interests. That is what I shall teach you. And if you are thinking that I am an old man, you are right. I am. I could die at any time and we must be prepared for that. I have seen the King and he has agreed that when I die my estates will not be confiscated. The Lancastrian inheritance will be for your father and in due course for you, Harry. You understand?'
*Yes,' repeated Harry.
'This is a sorry matter for our family but we stand together and never fear or doubt that we shall emerge triumphant in the end.'
While they were talking the King came in.
They were all startled because it was rarely that he was seen without attendants. They were there now ... but waiting outside the room.
*You are saying good-bye to the boy,' said Richard.
His father and grandfather stood back uncertainly.
'You need have no fear for your son, cousin,' said the King.
'He will be well cared for,' said his grandfather. 'I shall take him with me when I leave.'
The King smiled slowly. 'I have grown fond of Harry. You know that don't you, boy?'
Harry murmured that his good lord had always been gracious to him.
'So much so that I cannot part with him.'
Harry heard his grandfather catch his breath and saw him put out his hand to touch a chair to steady himself.
'It is good of you to say so,' said his father, 'but in view of my sad state you will wish to be rid of him.'
'There you are wrong, cousin. I have interested myself in Harry. I like him well. In fact he interests me so much that I have decided to keep him with me.'
'He is young,' said his grandfather in a quiet voice. *He needs to be with his family/
*Well he is to some measure. Are you not my uncle and is he not your grandson? At Court he can be with his King and his kinsman.' The next words were ominous. *It is what I want and I shall not change my mind. Come, Harry, say goodbye to your father. You shall be at my table this night.'
The King turned and went out of the room.
Harry looked from his white-faced father to his stricken grandfather. He understood.
He had become a hostage.
Harry did not see his grandfather again. Four months after his son had been exiled John of Gaunt died in Leicester Castle. He was nearly sixty years old and he had led a full and adventurous life. His great ambition had been to wear a crown and he had never achieved it, although his daughter by Constanza of Castile was now a Queen and the son Blanche of Lancaster had borne and those of Catherine Swynford would, he was sure, make their mark in the world.
But he would not see it; and he died, with his son in exile and his grandson a boy who would not be twelve years old until the summer.
His body was carried from Leicester to London and the cavalcade stopped one night to rest at St Albans where that other son, Henry Beaufort, now Bishop of Lincoln, celebrated a requiem for his father.
The name of John of Gaunt was on every lip. Now that he was dead it was forgotten that he had been the most unpopular man in the country and only good was remembered of him.
When the King seized his estates, a number of people were shocked, for it was known that Richard had promised that the estates should go to the rightful heir even though he was an exile. Solemnly the King had promised this to John of Gaunt. It was unwise to break promises given to the dead.
*No good will come of this,' was the prophecy. 'Richard should take care.'
Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, exiled from his native land, arrived disconsolate in France and made up his mind that he had no alternative but to throw himself on the mercy of the King of France, hoping that since Richard had sent him away he might find some favour in that quarter.
Even this was questionable for Charles's daughter Isabella was now the wife of Richard and the two countries were at peace. All the same it would be naive to assume that there was true friendship between them and it was almost certain that the King of France would be ready to receive a notable exile from England, if only to learn what was happening in that country.
Henry was right. No sooner had he arrived in Paris than King Charles expressed his willingness to receive him, and did so with such a show of friendship that Henry's spirits rose, especially when the King presented him with the very fine Hotel Clisson which was to be his while he stayed in Fiance.
He was received at Court presided over by Queen Isabeau, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen and, if rumour was correct, one of the most evil. In spite of the outward appearance of elegance and wealth there was a distinct uneasiness throughout the Court and it was not long before Henry heard of those mental aberrations which the King suffered and which robbed him of reason. These lasted for varying periods of time—none could be sure how long—and when they ended the King would emerge remembering nothing or very little of what had happened during his periods of insanity.
Henry began to fret. Richard had, under pressure from John of Gaunt, reduced the sentence of ten years to six. But six years away from home! How could he endure that! His father was ageing, young Harry was but a boy, and exile was the most disastrous thing that could have happened. Moreover, although he had been warmly welcomed at the French Court, he knew how quickly enthusiasm for men in his position waned. He was thrown into melancholy.
One day, however, there were visitors at the Hotel Clisson who were to cheer him considerably.
He could scarcely believe his eyes when the two men arrived asking for audience with the Duke of Hereford. He received them with caution for the elder of the men was Thomas of
Canterbury and the younger the Earl of Arundel whose father had been executed for treason.
It was natural that exiles should work together against a common enemy but the first thought that struck Henry was that his father John of Gaunt as Seneschal of England had been the one to pronounce sentence on the unfortunate Earl of Arundel—and how could he guess what the Arundels' feelings would be towards the son of John of Gaunt.
It soon became clear that past grievances must be forgotten. After all, although Henry had been a member of the court which had condemned the Earl of Arundel, he himself had not actually passed the fatal sentence; now they were all exiles from England and must join against the common enemy, Richard the King.
So Henry could draw comfort from the arrival of these two and in Paris they could discuss the fate which had overtaken them, through the misgovernment of Richard, and ponder as to what could be done about it.
The Archbishop had come from Rome where he had exhorted the Pope to request Richard to allow him to return, alas to no avail.
'One day,' he said, *I shall return. I am the Archbishop no matter whom the King should set up in my place.'
Henry agreed. It was comforting to have Englishmen of standing to share his fate. Oh yes indeed, let bygones be bygones. They had the future to think of.
Young Thomas Fitzalan the Earl of Arundel was the only surviving son of the executed Earl. He had been only sixteen when his father had died; it was not very long ago and he remembered it vividly. How could he forget? Not only had he lost his father, but the way of life to which he had been accustomed was drastically changed.
He told Henry what had happened to him. It had made him very bitter.
*My father's estates were confiscated. I had nothing ... nothing at all. The greatest misfortune of all was to be handed over to John Holland. Duke of Exeter now! He is greatly enriched but not through merit, simply because he is the King's half-brother. How I hate that man! He takes pleasure in humiliating those better than himself. Richard knows this and yet he goes on honouring him. He is unfit to move in noble circles. How he delighted in humiliating me. "You
would call yourself my lord Earl, would you?" he said to me. "Now your father has lost his head you would take his place, eh? Have a care that you do not follow too closely in his footsteps, my young brave." Then he took off his boots, threw them at me and bade me clean them. I was treated as a servant, I tell you. I'll have my revenge on Holland one day.'
Yes, it was comforting talk, and each day the exiled Archbishop cast aside more of his grievances against the House of Lancaster. The three of them talked often and earnestly about events in England. They could do nothing as yet, but when the opportunity came they would be ready.
One day the great Due de Berri, uncle of the King, called at the Hotel Clisson. He was affable and showed signs of friendship towards Henry. He too talked of affairs in England. He had his spies in that country and he knew that the King's conduct was finding less and less favour with his people.
'The English have a way of chastising their kings if they do not please them, is that not so?' The Due laughed. 'Mon Dieu, England came very near to having a King from France in the reign of John, remember? Henry the Third, Edward the Second ... they had their troubles. It could well be the same with Richard. And then ... Ah, but we look too far ahead.'
Such talk created great excitement in Henry; but he had learned not to betray his feelings. At what was Berri hinting? That Richard might fall and then ... and then ...
His next words made his thoughts quite clear. Tou are a widower. You lost your good Countess. You are too young a man to remain unmarried eh? Particularly in view of your position. I have a daughter. Marie is a pretty girl. Well, perhaps you would consider this. If you were agreeable, I should raise no objections.'
He was decidedly agreeable. He felt exultant. Berri could only believe that Richard's throne was tottering and—oh intoxicating thought—that he, Henry of Lancaster, had a chance of attaining it. Only such a hope and a good chance of its becoming a certainty could have brought Berri to this.
Henry replied quietly, for he was determined not to appear too eager and it might be dangerous to utter a word which could be used against him, that he had not thought of remarrying as yet. He had been devoted to his countess; her death had been a great shock from which he had not yet recovered. He had four fine boys and two daughters so he need not
worry at this stage about his heirs. But he appreciated the honour done to him and if the Due de Berri would give him a little time ...
*A little, my friend/ cried the Due, 'but not too much. A girl such as my daughter has many suitors as you can imagine. You will let me know your answer within the week.*
When he had left Henry considered this. Marriage into the royal house of France. Richard would be deeply disturbed and Henry would be delighted to put Richard into that state.
He discussed the matter with the Archbishop and the Earl of Arundel.
*It can only mean one thing,' said the Archbishop. 'They know something of what is happening in England. Richard's crown is becoming more and more insecurely fixed on his head. It may well be that we shall not be long exiled from our native land.'
*Then you think I should accept this offer of Berri's daughter?'
'Undoubtedly yes.*
*I will appear to hesitate. I do not want him to think I am over eager.'
The Arundels agreed that this was the best way and they were excited guessing what events had come to the ears of the Due de Berri.
A few days later John Montacute, Earl of Salisbury arrived in Paris. He had come on an embassy from Richard and spent a good deal of time with the King and the Due de Berri.
He did not visit the Hotel Clisson which was perhaps to be expected as Henry was in exile and Montacute was the King's messenger.
Henry meanwhile had decided to agree to the suggested marriage but when he called on the Due de Berri he was told that it was impossible for him to have an audience. As the Due had advised him that there must be no delay in agreeing to the marriage with his daughter and he must have known that this was the reason for Henry's call, this was decidedly odd.
During the weeks which followed the Due was extremely cool to Henry whose pride forbade him to demand an explanation.
Eventually he did get one, though not from the Due de Berri.
Berri had decided that he no longer wished to receive Henry into his family and he had come to this conclusion after the arrival from England of the Earl of Salisbury. It was obvious. Richard had heard of the suggested marriage, had determined to stop it, and had sent Salisbury to Paris for that purpose. No doubt he had given the Due de Berri an account of the shortcomings of Henry of Bolingbroke, and done so so successfully that Berri no longer sought the alliance. It might have been that he was so impressed by Richard's prompt action that he thought it would be no easy matter to push him from his throne and if that was the case, of what use was the marriage of his daughter to a pretender to the crown of England?
Henry was despondent and was to be even more so for the King of France himself sent for him and when he stood before him bade him be seated for he was forced to say something which was very painful to him.
*As you know,' he said, *I have a great regard for the House of Lancaster and have been happy to welcome you at my Court. However, I have heard word from King Richard that he regards my hospitality to you as an unfriendly act towards himself. He says that he will be very disturbed unless I ask you to leave.'
'Does this mean that you are asking me to leave?' demanded Henry.
*I am afraid that is so.'
Following on the affair with the Due de Berri this was indeed a blow. His hopes had been too high. Now they had come crashing to earth.
He raised his head haughtily. 'You may rest assured, sire, that I shall lose no time in leaving Paris.'
The King looked mournful but he could not hide his relief. It appeared that Richard was as firmly on his throne as ever and what hope had a poor exile of returning to his country let alone to be its King!
With his few attendants Henry rode disconsolately out of Paris. Where could he go? He did not know. It would be the same story everywhere. He would be received at first and then if he became too comfortable Richard would show his disapproval and he would have to go wandering again.
He was making his way towards Brittany. Duke John of that land was by no means young but was noted for his
valour—^he was known as John the Valiant—and his violent temper. His Duchess was his third wife and many years younger than he was; she was Joanna, the daughter of Charles d'Albret, King of Navarre, whose reputation was so bad that he was known as Charles the Bad. Charles was related to the royal house of France through his mother who had been the only child of Louis X. He could not of course inherit the throne because of the Salic law which prevailed in France but, as was inevitable, Charles the Bad longed to attain that crown, a desire which had led to perpetual trouble.
Henry had no wish to arrive in Brittany to be told that Richard objected to his being there, so before he entered the Duke's land he sent a messenger on to ask him if he would be welcome if he came.
When the messenger arrived, the Duke burst out almost angrily: 'Why does he think it necessary to ask? I have always been on excellent terms with the House of Lancaster. Ride back and tell him he may expect a hearty welcome.'
Henry was overjoyed to receive the news. It solved his problem for the time being. Even so he could not rid himself of his melancholy. Am I always going to be an exile wandering over the face of Europe, never sure of my reception, knowing that I have vast estates in England which I can never see? he asked himself.
The Duke of Brittany determined to live up to his promise and rode out to meet him. This was a great honour and Henry expressed his deep appreciation of it.
The Duke was very old but he still retained a certain vitality. Not for nothing had he been called the Valiant, and Henry returned his greeting with a warmth to match the Duke's. And then he was aware of a very beautiful woman who rode beside the Duke.
She was young; she glowed with health and she was smiling at him.
*My Duchess would give you as warm a welcome as I give you myself,' the Duke told him.
'Welcome to Brittany,' said the Duchess. *We shall do our best to make you happy while you stay with us.'
The old Duke looked at his glowing young wife with doting tenderness and Henry was charmed not only by his welcome but by the fascinating Duchess Joanna; and during the weeks that followed, when banquets and jousts were given in his
honour, he did not have to pretend that he was enjoying his stay in Brittany and this was not only because for a man in his position it was good to have a sanctuary. It was something more. He found the society of the Duchess Joanna very de-hghtful indeed.
Joanna was a woman of great strength of character. Perhaps a childhood such as hers had been helped to develop this. Because of her father's recklessness and his attempts to claim the throne of France the family had lived in constant danger.
Her grandmother, daughter and only child of Louis X, had married the Count of Evreux and through him had come the kingdom of Navarre which her father Charles had inherited. But what was the kingdom of Navarre when but for this Salic law he would have been the King of France. Charles had married Joanna, the daughter of King John of France, and to them were born two boys, Charles and Pierre, and the girl who was Joanna.
The children had had a stormy childhood all three having spent some time as hostages for their father's behaviour. They had been held by the regents of France, the Dues de Berri and Burgundy; and they had been in great peril when their reckless father made an attempt to poison their captors. This was foiled and Charles' agent was discovered and put to death. Charles himself, however, escaped punishment. It seemed possible then that the retaliation demanded would be the death of the hostages but the Dues had no wish to be revenged on children. All the same they had been in a desperate situation.
When Joanna was sixteen she had been married to the old Duke of Brittany. The Dues of Berri and Burgundy had thought this advisable for their great dread at that time had been that the Duke might make an alliance with England and this seemed a good use to which they could put their hostage. So Joanna was duly presented to the old Duke who immediately fell victim to her youthful charms. Joanna was not displeased. It was comforting to be made to feel so important as she was and to have gifts showered on her and fine jewel-encrusted clothes to wear. She was determined to enjoy being Duchess of Brittany and if it meant taking the old Duke as
well, as long as he continued to dote on her she could endure that.
Then it had seemed that Joanna was settled, her future secure. The old Duke was more and more devoted and whenever he was parted from his bride he was restive and eager to return to her.
Her father was pleased by the match but he had no intention of paying the enormous dowry which he had promised. *The old Duke is so infatuated by my daughter he won't miss a few pieces of gold,' he reasoned. And he was right, for the Duke was indeed so delighted with his marriage that he made light of the missing dowry.
Charles seemed almost disappointed. He so much enjoyed a quarrel and the last thing he wanted was a peaceful existence. He had for some years been suffering from a distressing complaint which stiffened his limbs and gave him considerable pain and the only way in which he could take his mind from his suffering was to create alarming situations that caused others stress.
Being amused by the Duke's devotion to his daughter, he thought it would be fun to prod the self-confidence of the uxorious husband.
There was one knight at his Court of whom Duke John had once been particularly fond. This was Oliver de Clisson, a great nobleman who had brought honour to Brittany through his chivalry and bravery both on the battlefield and in the jousts. He was of tall stature and exceedingly handsome in spite of the fact that he had lost an eye in battle in the Duke's cause. At that time there was a certain restraint between the Duke and Clisson which was due to the Duke's tendency towards friendship with England, while Clisson felt that it was better for Brittany to support France. Recently Clisson had been to Paris to discuss plans for a possible invasion of England should the opportunity arise and the Duke was displeased that he had done this.
It seemed to his wicked father-in-law, Charles the Bad, that now was the opportunity to play an amusing game. The Duke of Brittany was turning from Clisson on political issues, so Charles thought he would introduce an element of mystery and romance into the situation.
It was easy. He talked of his daughter to the Duke and there was no subject which pleased the Duke more.
•It delights me/ said Charles, *to see your fondness for the girl. She is handsome, would you say?'
*I would indeed,* replied the complacent husband. 1 would go farther. I'd say you would not find a more handsome lady if you searched the whole breadth of France aye and of England too.'
'It is good to see a man so pleased with his marriage. I hope it may remain so. Aye, that is my earnest prayer/
'I thank you,' said the Duke. 'I intend to see that it does remain so.'
'It is always well to hope,* replied Charles with a hint of warning in his voice which startled the Duke as it was meant to.
'Why do you speak so?*
'Well, my friend, she is young and lusty I'll warrant. She is of my family and I know what we are. You are a fine man for your age ... for your age, my lord Duke.*
Now the Duke was beginning to be really alarmed. 'You know something. What are you trying to tell me?' he demanded.
'Well, perhaps I should say nothing ... It is just out of friendship .. /
The Duke, who could lose his temper, began to do so now. 'Tell me what you know I' he cried and he faced the King of Navarre with an expression which clearly indicated he would do him some mischief if he did not speak quickly.
*I hasten to say my daughter is entirely innocent/
'What!' screamed the Duke.
'But there is no doubt in my mind how Clisson feels towards her. He is a bold fellow. He is capable of anything. Why he might even try to abduct her. It's clear to see what a passion he has for her.'
The Duke was so furious that he could have struck the King down there and then.
Charles moved away with a helpless shrug of the shoulders. It was no use blaming him for the misdemeanours of the subjects of the dukedom. Perhaps he had been wrong to betray Clisson. He had thought in his friendship ...
'You did right to tell me,' snapped the Duke; and Charles left him with his anger.
He was determined to curb his rage. He wanted to plan calmly. Clisson was already out of favour because of his poli-
cies and the fact that there had once been great accord between them only strengthened the Duke's anger.
He invited Clisson with two great friends of his, Laval and Beaumanoir, to dine with him at the Chateau de la Motte. They came unsuspecting and after the meal, at which the Duke had impressed them all with his affability, he told them that he wanted to show them some alteration he had made to the palace for the pleasure of his bride.
They expressed great interest.
1 particularly wish to show you the tower,' he said and when they reached a narrow spiral staircase he let Clisson go ahead. The Duke was immediately behind and he paused to point out some delicate piece of tracery on the wall to Laval and Beaumanoir.
As he did so there was a shout from above. Guards had emerged to seize and fetter Clisson.
Both Laval and Beaumanoir were immediately aware that they had walked into a trap. Tor God's sake, my lord Duke,' cried Laval, 'do not use violence against Clisson.'
'You would do well to go to your home while you are safe/ retorted the Duke.
Beaumanoir protested: 'What are you doing to Clisson? He is your guest.'
*Do you wish to be like him?' demanded the Duke.
*He is a great man,' was Beaumanoir's answer. *I should be honoured to be like him.
The Duke drew a dagger and held it to his face. 'Then/ he cried venomously, 1 must put out one of your eyes.'
Beaumanoir drew back in alarm. He and Laval saw that they were caught. If they attempted to rescue Clisson, they would find themselves the Duke's prisoners also. All the same Beaumanoir stood firmly and demanded to know on what grounds Clisson was arrested.
In a burst of fury the Duke shouted for guards to come and take Beaumanoir which they did. Meanwhile Laval slipped quietly away and out of the castle.
The Duke went to his private apartments and, still enraged, sent for the Sieur Bazvalen, a man who had served him well through the years and whose loyalty was without question.
'Bazvalen, my good friend,' he said, 1 want Clisson to die at once, and I want you to see that this is done/
Bazvalen drew back in horror. He knew Clisson well. This demand was too much to ask. He was no murderer. He had killed men in battle, it was true, but this was different.
'My lord ...' he began.
But the Duke waved his hand imperiously. 'Let him be taken t^ a dungeon. Kill him, I care not by what means, and then open the trap door and let his body go into the moat.'
Bazvalen could see that it was no use arguing with the Duke in his present mood or he would find himself in danger, but he was determined not to have the death of Clisson on his conscience so he went to Clisson and warned him of what he had been ordered to do and planned that he would return to the Duke and tell him that Clisson was dead and his body in the moat. In the meantime they would plan some means of getting Clisson out of the castle.
But when Bazvalen reported to the Duke he was overcome by remorse. His anger faded and he realized that he had condemned Clisson without proving his guilt. 'You are without blame, Bazvalen,' he cried. 'You but obeyed orders. The sin is on my conscience. I have murdered Clisson.'
He would not eat. He would never sleep in peace again, he said, and when he declared that he would give anything to have another chance, Bazvalen could hold back the truth no longer and confessed that he had been unable to murder Clisson who still lived. The Duke then threw his arms about Bazvalen's neck. 'My good good servant,' he cried, 'you knew me better than I knew myself.'
The Duke's anger had faded but he was always one to seek an advantage. His mischievous father-in-law had made evil suggestions which might be false but Clisson had been working with the French and therefore he could not be released until certain conditions had been filled. The Duke demanded the surrender of several towns which were in Clisson's possession as well as a hundred thousand florins.
Clisson, delighted to escape with his life, was only too pleased to pay what was demanded and so bring about his release.
Joanna was annoyed when she heard that her husband had suspected Clisson of wishing to be her lover, especially as she was now pregnant, a fact which made her even more attractive in the eyes of the Duke. She was cool to him and when he humbly asked the cause of her displeasure, she cried:
*You have suspected me of infidelity with Clisson. This has made me very disturbed at a time when you should do everything for my comfort/
He was beside himself with grief. 'Never for one moment did I doubt you, my love,' he assured her. 1 know you to be perfect ... in every way perfect. You are my very reason for living. Without you I would die tomorrow and gladly. And the thought of that... that... monster ...'
*You think I would be attracted by a one eyed varlet .. .*
*They say he is very attractive to women .. /
*So you would compare me with ... women,*
'Never! Never I You stand above them all. I will give anything ... anything I have .. .*
Joanna smiled at him. It was good to render him humble.
*I know it...' she answered. 'But I beg of you do not again insult me by linking me with such as Clisson. I am the Duchess of Brittany. My great grandfather was the King of France.'
'My love ... how can I win your forgiveness?'
She smiled sweetly. 'I know it is all the measure of your love for me,* she told him.
She knew too that now there would be even richer presents than before.
Her child was born soon after that, a daughter who died after a few weeks. The Duke was desolate. He wondered whether the Clisson affair was responsible.
