Gloucester was bluffing: there was in fact no statute authorizing the deposition of a King, and Edward II's dethronement had been unconstitutional. But the precedent, legal or not, was plain enough, and those last two words had their effect. It was only sixty years since the King's great-grandfather Edward II, having been found manifestly unfit to rule, had been forcibly removed from his throne. He too had been brought low by his favourites, and Richard had no desire to follow in the same path. Sullenly he returned to Westminster, attended Parliament on 23 October and dismissed Suffolk and Fordham, replacing them with the Bishops of Ely and Hereford respectively. Suffolk was impeached, but the seven charges against him were so trivial as to be almost derisory, four of them being dismissed and the other three upheld only on technicalities. His nominal prison sentence was served at Windsor Castle, and was soon forgotten altogether.
So far the King had escaped comparatively lightly; but worse was to follow. On 20 November 1386 Parliament appointed 'a Great and Continual Council', with the declared object of getting rid of the favourites once and for all, reforming the administration and taking whatever measures might be thought necessary against the enemy. Its composition was in fact moderate enough. Of its fourteen commissioners only three — Gloucester and the two Arundels — were implacably opposed to the King; the Archbishop of York, Alexander Nevill, was a committed royalist, and the other ten were reasonable men with whom accommodation should not have been difficult. Far more worrying was the extent of its powers. It had full control over the great and privy seals and everything relating to finance; the King, moreover, was forced to swear that he would abide by all its ordinances, even if voted by a bare majority, and that he would immediately denounce anyone who advised him to move against it. There was one small consolation: the Council had been empowered to act for twelve months only. If Richard had agreed to accept it with a good grace, there is every likelihood that it would have dissolved itself when its term was completed.
But he did not accept it. Instead, he made a formal protest, insisting that neither he nor his Crown should be in any way prejudiced by Parliament or Council, nominating his friend Sir John Beauchamp as Steward of his Household - thereby breaking his promise that this appointment should be made only with the Council's advice and consent - and spending Christmas with the theoretically disgraced Suffolk at Windsor. In February 1387 he left Westminster for an extended tour of the Midlands and the North, there to rally supporters and to establish a strong royalist army based on Cheshire and North Wales. Ostensibly this recruiting was in connection with de Vere's new Duchy of Ireland, which Richard had every intention of exploiting in any way he could; in fact, however, it gave rise to that invaluable army of Cheshire archers and Welsh pikemen that was to constitute his principal support in the years ahead. And it was during this tour, in August 1387, first at Shrewsbury and a week later at Nottingham, that he sought - and obtained - legal advice against the Council.
The judges who gave this advice - and they included some of the highest in the land, including Sir Robert Tresilian, Chief Justice of the King's Bench, Sir Robert Belknap, Chief Justice of the Common Bench, and three of the latter's colleagues, Sir William Burgh, Sir John Holt and Sir Roger Fulthorp - were to claim in the following year that they had been coerced into giving the judgement they did; but since in 1386 they risked virtually nothing (whereas in 1387 their lives were in grave danger) we do not need to take their evidence too seriously. Besides, that judgement was perfectly reasonable. It could certainly have been argued that the Council was injurious to the royal prerogative, while the impeachment of the King's servants had been declared illegal as recently as 1377. The judges accordingly pronounced that the King had indeed been impeded in the exercise of his prerogative, and that those responsible for such impediments as had 'accroached the royal power' should be punished as traitors.
The decision was exactly what Richard had hoped for; but he was not yet ready to use it. Judges and witnesses alike were sworn to secrecy until such moment, after his return to London, as he could publish it to most startling effect. That return took place on 10 November 1387. Even the King was surprised by the warmth of his reception by the Londoners, who escorted him in procession, like a triumphant hero, first to St Paul's and then to Westminster. The reasons for their enthusiasm are unclear. The English fleet under the Earls of Arundel and Nottingham had indeed gained a splendid victory against the French and Spanish off Margate, had gone on to destroy the fortifications of Brest and had returned with huge quantities of wine, which had been sold off cheaply at home; but that had been almost a year ago, and it is unlikely that the euphoria — far less the wine — would have lasted quite so long. More significant, perhaps, was the fact that the King had been away for nearly ten months. He always tended to be more popular during his absence; and the Londoners had perhaps begun to despair of ever seeing him again.
The general excitement at the King's return was not shared by his two chief antagonists, the Duke of Gloucester and the Earl of Arundel. Despite the secrecy on which he had insisted, it was not long before they heard of the recent judgement against them; and they resolved to strike first. Refusing to obey the royal summons on the grounds that the King had surrounded himself with their enemies, they withdrew first to Haringey, a few miles to the north of the capital — where they were joined by Thomas Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick - and thence to Waltham Cross in Hertfordshire, where they began to rally their forces in earnest, issuing proclamations and circulating letters to the leading citizens of London and the principal religious houses, setting out the case against the King and calling for support. The response, coming as it did so soon after his enthusiastic reception only a few days before, was enough to cause Richard serious alarm. His favourites, including the Archbishop of York, urged him to fight; but there were all too many others, like old Sir Ralph Basset of Drayton, who maintained that though they would be happy to die for the King, they were rather less keen to do so for the Duke of Ireland and his friends. Fortunately, eight of the fourteen members of the hated Council were also in favour of a settlement: and it was they who rode on 14 November to Waltham, where they invited Gloucester, Arundel and Warwick to lay down their arms. The three responded with a formal Appeal (accusatio) against five of Richard's closest associates - Suffolk, de Vere, Tresilian, the Archbishop of York and Sir Nicholas Brembre, a former Mayor of London from whom the King had borrowed over £1,300; and the eight Councillors thereupon invited them to return with them to Westminster, where the King was waiting to receive them.
In the circumstances, such an invitation could hardly be refused; and three days later, on 17 November, the three Appellants presented themselves before the King in Westminster Hall. Their troops, however, were not disbanded. They were negotiating from strength, and they made their demands clear: the five favourites against whom they were appealing must be arrested and held until the next Parliament, when they must stand trial for offences under common law. A little to their surprise, perhaps, Richard accepted at once, even going so far as to appoint 3 February 1388 for the opening of the sitting; but he had no intention of seeing the five brought to trial. Whatever his other faults, he was loyal to his friends, for whom the next eleven weeks would allow him plenty of time to make the appropriate arrangements. As for the Appellants, he had plans for them also; but for the moment he gave no sign. Instead, he bore all three of them off to his chamber to celebrate the reconciliation.
Within days, his bad faith became evident. The writs of summons to Parliament issued in his name specifically provided that all those elected must be 'indifferent to the recent disputes'. As to the five accused, it is doubtful whether they were even arrested. They were certainly not held for long, and only Brembre remained to face his judges. Tresilian went into hiding in London; the Archbishop of York fled to the north, dressed as a simple parish priest; while Suffolk crossed the Channel to Calais disguised as a pedlar, hoping to find refuge with his brother, who was in command of the castle. He su
ffered a brief setback when he fell into the hands of the Governor, Warwick's brother Sir William Beauchamp, who put him on to a ship bound for Hull; but he was soon back on the Continent, and never returned to England. That left: only de Vere, who headed for Chester with letters from the King instructing the Constable, Sir Thomas Molyneux, to muster all available reservists. As soon as they heard of his departure, Gloucester and his friends set about raising troops of their own, under the command of John of Gaunt's son, the twenty-year-old Henry Bolingbroke,1 Earl of Derby, and Arundel's son-in-law Thomas Mowbray, Earl of Nottingham - two young noblemen of whom we shall be hearing a good deal more in due course.
The ensuing campaign was over in a matter of days. When de Vere, attempting to return to London, learned that the Appellants had blocked the main road near Northampton, he decided to make his way from the valley of the Severn to that of the upper Thames, following the Fosseway to Stow-on-the Wold. From there he could either take the road to Cirencester, which would be relatively safe but would distance him still further from London, or alternatively make a dash through Burford for Radcot Bridge. He chose the latter - and fell straight into the trap that had been set for him. Bolingbroke was lying in wait at the river, and before de Vere had recovered from his surprise Gloucester appeared in his rear. Abandoning his men to save themselves as best they might, he fled downstream and was soon lost in the gathering December dark. A day or two later he too was safely across the Channel. He was to live another five years, but he never saw England again.
After Radcot Bridge there could no longer be any question of accommodation between the two sides, nor - the twelve months' authority granted to the Council having expired the previous November - of any legal justification for the actions of Gloucester and his friends. The army that marched through Oxford to London just after Christmas 1387 to pitch its camp in Clerkenwell Fields was now in open rebellion against the King. Richard, badly frightened, shut himself up in the Tower; and on 28 or 29 December, after careful negotiations mediated by the Archbishop of Canterbury - for by now neither side trusted the
Like so many princes at this period, Henry Bolingbroke derived his name from the place in which he was born - his father's castle of Bolingbroke in Lincolnshire.
other an inch - the Appellant lords issued their ultimatum, while 500 of their armed supporters waited within the gates. They had hinted before at the possibility of deposition; now, for the first time, the suggestion became a threat.1
Richard no longer had any fight left in him. Thinking only of keeping his throne, he issued new writs of summons to the forthcoming Parliament omitting the offending proviso, ordered his sheriffs to round up the five accused and ensure their appearance, and made no objection when the commissioners, disempowered as they were, instituted a thorough purge of his entire household - where, in the buttery alone, they found a hundred superfluous servants. Nor were the warrants for arrest confined to the original five. Others were issued in the names of Sir Simon Burley, who lost not only the office of Vice-Chamberlain but also that of Warden of the Cinque Ports (and Dover Castle which went with it); of the King's Steward, Sir John Beauchamp; and of six of the judges who had subscribed to the Nottingham declaration, all of whom were removed from the bench. Vast numbers of courtiers, male and female, of all ranks and conditions, were summarily dismissed.
Few parliamentary sessions can have been more dramatic than that which opened in the White Hall of the Palace of Westminster2 on 3 February 1388. The King seated himself on his throne at the far end, with the prelates on his right, the secular lords on his left, and the Bishop ofEly on the woolsack.3 Then, at his signal, the great doors were flung open and the five Appellants—Gloucester, Arundel, Warwick, Derby and Nottingham - in surcoats of gold, marched arm in arm into the Hall. At the very outset, they sounded a note of warning. Gloucester, stepping forward,
M. V. Clarke (Fourteenth Century Studies, pp. 91-5) suggests that Richard was actually deposed, but that Gloucester and Bolingbroke, unable to agree on his successor, finally reinstated him and pretended that the deposition had never occurred.
The name survives in London's Whitehall, which runs from Trafalgar Square in the north to Parliament Square in the south. The Hall itself, however, was to be largely rebuilt, on Richard's orders, between 1394 and 1401 (see p. 102).
The large square bag filled with wool which had been in existence since the reign of Edward III as a symbol of the country's staple trade and as the official seat of certain high dignitaries, such as the Lords of the Exchequer and the Masters in Chancery. Today only one remains: the seat of the Lord Chancellor when he presides in the House of Lords.
disclaimed any intention of personally deposing the King and usurping his throne; in such matters, he announced - and here was the sting — he would abide by the judgement of his peers. Deposition, in other words, remained a possibility. The long preamble of the appeal was then read, in French, followed by no less than thirty-nine separate accusations — the whole reading took two hours — after which the defendants were summoned by proclamation and, when four of the five failed to appear, the Appellants demanded judgement by default. At this point the King's spokesmen struck back: before there could be any question, they claimed, of the guilt or innocence of the accused, there was the legality of the appeal to be considered. The Appellants had spoken of treason; there was, however, a perfectly good statute of 1352 on this subject, and it was clear that none of its provisions applied to any of the present charges. Moreover, though an appeal of the kind now being made was a recognized process in common law, no precedent existed for its being heard in Parliament. In these circumstances the King's advisers had thought it their duty to consult a number of judges, Serjeants and other experts in both civil and common law — including several justices recently appointed by the Appellants themselves. Every single expert consulted had declared the appeal invalid.
Richard's grim satisfaction as he heard these words can well be imagined; but his enemies were ready for him. Neither civil nor common law, they retorted, had any relevance, for these were merely the creations of Parliament, which remained supreme. Thus crimes which affected the person of the sovereign, committed by persons many of whom were themselves peers, could be tried only by the Lords of Parliament themselves, with the King's assent. Whether this was, as some historians have suggested, the first great declaration of the ultimate sovereignty of Parliament over the law of the land or whether the Appellants were merely working on the Lords' natural vanity to further their own interests is beyond the scope of this narrative; but the appeal was upheld.
Now at last the charges could be considered. The defendants, it was averred, had taken advantage of the King's youth and inexperience to usurp his power. They had prevented him from attending Parliament. They had enriched themselves and their associates. They had suborned judges and perverted the law. They had conspired against the Duke of Lancaster and other nobles, including the Appellants themselves. They had induced the King to negotiate with the King of France. They had adversely influenced the loyalty of the people of London. They had led the King to pack the Commons with his followers. They had neglected, and caused the King to neglect, the defence of the realm. They had been responsible for the quasi-regal status conferred upon Robert de Vere in Ireland, without English or Irish consent, while de Vere himself had been guilty of perverting justice in Chester and had finally incited civil war.
The four fugitives were sentenced first. The life of the Archbishop of York was saved by his cloth. He was outlawed, with all his possessions declared confiscate; then, at the Appellants' insistence, his case was referred to Pope Urban, who decreed that he should be sent off in partes infidelium and soon afterwards, somewhat surprisingly, appointed him to the see of St Andrews.1 The other three were condemned to death in absentia. Next came Brembre. When he pleaded not guilty on all charges and offered to undergo trial by battle, over three hundred of those present, including the five Appellants, flung down their gloves in challen
ge - 'like a fall of snow', according to one eyewitness; but this procedure was disallowed. A committee of twelve peers was then appointed to investigate the charges further, and - to the fury of the Appellants - reported that the former mayor had done nothing deserving of death; and tempers on both sides were running high when the news was brought that Sir Robert Tresilian had been captured. On being discovered, he had first taken refuge in Westminster Abbey; but Gloucester had personally given orders for the traditional right of sanctuary to be ignored. He was brought to the White Hall to hear his sentence which, despite his emphatic protestations of innocence, was immediately carried out. The former Chief Justice of England was lashed to a hurdle and dragged to Tyburn, where he was hanged on the spot. Attention now turned back to the luckless Brembre. Determined to destroy him, the Appellants summoned the mayor, recorder, guild members and aldermen of London to give further evidence of his crimes.2 Once again the answers they received were unsatisfactory—no witness was prepared
Shakespeare's Kings Page 11