Passage to Pontefract

by Jean Plaidy

  The next act was to bring a case against William of Wykeham who was accused of governing badly during the term of his Chancellorship, of embezzlement, extorting money and extracting bribes.

  ‘I can prove all these accusations false,’ he cried to his accusers. ‘I need time.’

  ‘You did not give Lord Latimer time to prove the charges against him false,’ he was reminded.

  John was alert, watching the mood of the people. He realised that he could not go too far with Wykeham and he declared that he should be granted time to prove his case. He was however determined to find Wykeham guilty.

  When he came to stand before the Council that judgement might be passed, he was accompanied by William Courtenay, the Bishop of London, which implied that the Church was watching how one of its members was treated.

  Wykeham declared that he would take his oath that never had he used funds for his advantage. The Council was not interested in oaths, was the retort, but facts.

  John said: ‘This man is guilty. I demand he pay the full penalty.’

  Courtenay reminded him that William of Wykeham was a Bishop and therefore he could not be sentenced by a secular Court.

  John was furious but he realised he could at this stage do nothing. If he had his way he would curtail the power of the Church considerably.

  So the outcome of the trial was that William of Wykeham’s goods should be confiscated to the Crown and the trial would be adjourned to a later date.

  With the power of March and Wykeham clipped John was able to take immediate action. De la Mare was made a prisoner and Lord Latimer was released. The people of London discussed this turn of affairs together and de la Mare became a hero. Ballad singers in the streets sang songs about him. A great resentment was growing against John of Gaunt and his friends and this was increased when Alice Perrers was allowed to come back to Court.

  The King was overjoyed to see her. He could not thank his dear son John enough for being so careful of his comfort.

  There was no doubt that at this time John of Gaunt was the most powerful man in the country. Then the scandal broke.

  In the taverns the story was being whispered. It seemed incredible but there were so many who wanted it to be true for if it were John of Gaunt would be disqualified for ever.

  Heads were close together; at first it was spoken of in whispers and then people grew bolder. The Londoners had never been noted for their fear of authority and had always regarded themselves outside the laws which must be obeyed by the rest of the country. They said what they thought and nothing was going to stop them.

  John was first aware of what was happening when he came riding from Westminster to the Savoy.

  ‘Bastard!’ The name was flung at him. It was one word which meant so much.

  He was soon to discover how much.

  The story was that he was not the true son of King Edward and Queen Philippa. There was some mystery about his birth which had come out now through William of Wykeham who had been present at the deathbed of Good Queen Philippa and had it from her dying lips.

  It appeared that while she lay in Ghent in child-bed a daughter had been born to the Queen. Now it was well known that the King longed for a son. It was true at this time he already had two, Edward and Lionel; there had been a third, though, little William who had died soon after his birth.

  The King was away in the wars and Philippa wanted to surprise him when he returned, so it was with great chagrin that she learned the child she had borne was a girl. She had other girls and the King was devoted to them so this did not seem too great a tragedy. However, as the child lay beside her she slept and overlaid it. The child was suffocated and died.

  Terrified of the King’s wrath – for all knew that, great man though he was in those days, he possessed the Plantagenet temper which struck terror into all when it was aroused – she called to her a Flemish woman who had given birth to a healthy boy at the same time as she had had her child.

  ‘Give me your child,’ the Queen was reputed to have said, ‘and he shall be brought up as the son of a King. He shall be educated, live in luxury and never want.’

  This was too much of a temptation for the humble Flemish woman and she gave her child to the Queen – that child was known to the world as John of Gaunt.

  And who would believe it? There was a good reason for believing it. The Queen had confessed on her deathbed. In her last moments she had sent for William of Wykeham and told the story to him, with the injunction that he was not to divulge it, unless there was a chance of John of Gaunt’s coming to the throne.

  Now the story was being allowed to seep out for John of Gaunt’s ambitions were carrying him very near to the crown.

  That the story would not bear scrutiny mattered not. The people wanted to believe it and they were going to. That Philippa already had two healthy sons and would not have been greatly put out by giving birth to another daughter was brushed aside. That the King, loving his sons as he did, was besottedly fond of his daughters, could be forgotten. That Philippa, the most tender of mothers, was hardly likely to overlay a child – in any case it would be the duty of the nurses to take the child when its mother wished to sleep – all this was of no importance.

  The people liked the story because it was against John of Gaunt and they were going to believe it.

  John was furious. He paced through his apartments and shouted his anger.

  Catherine tried to calm him. But he would not listen to her.

  ‘Wykeham is at the back of this!’ he cried. ‘He wants to destroy me.’

  ‘It is the most stupid story I ever heard,’ said Catherine.

  ‘Stupid it undoubtedly is but it has to be disproved. Isolda would have put an end to it. Who would know better than she did? My mother would tell the world what a stupid lie it is. But they are dead … The fabricators of this … of this … outrage know it and that is why they bring the charge.’

  ‘What of Wykeham? She is supposed to have made her confession to him.’

  ‘Wykeham is my enemy.’

  ‘Even so he is a man of the Church. He would not lie merely to harm you.’

  John burst out laughing. ‘You know little of the ways of men, Catherine. My enemies would do anything to ruin me.’

  Catherine tried to soothe him. She wished as so many others did that the Black Prince had not died. If only he had lived there would not be all this fear and suspicion. It was a great tragedy for England that God had taken the Prince who was the natural heir to the throne and so suited to the role.

  John was ambitious, she had always known it. Power was at the very essence of his being. It was one of the attributes which attracted her so vitally. The strength of him – the awareness that this man who was clearly destined for greatness had need of her.

  Their children were growing up. She wanted a good future for the little Beauforts. The higher John rose the more bright would be that future. And now there was this cruel scandal. It was obviously lies and yet it was none the less hurtful for that. There were so many who would harm John if they dared.

  ‘It is clear,’ raged John. ‘This is Wykeham’s revenge on me. How I hate that man. How dare he! Does he think I have no power in this land?’

  Catherine said: ‘Have a care, John. It has always been dangerous when the Church and the State are in conflict.’

  ‘The Church has too much power. One day I shall curb that. There was a man I met in Bruges. A certain John Wycliffe. He was raging against the power of the Church. He wants to curb it. They were saying he was a fanatic. But I am inclined to agree with him.’

  ‘Has Wykeham publicly declared this story to be true?’

  ‘Nay. He is too clever for that. He declares that it does not stem from him. He has said nothing. But the story is being bruited around and Wykeham is said to be the one who was at my mother’s bedside when she died.’

  ‘No one can possibly believe it,’ said Catherine.

  ‘None with good sense can.’

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nbsp; ‘You are so like your father and brothers. None could doubt even by merely glancing at you, that you are a true Plantagenet.’

  ‘People often believe what they want to believe, Catherine, and, by God, there are many in this land who are trying to pull me down.’

  ‘Never fear, it will soon be forgotten.’

  ‘My dearest it will be remembered as long as men continue to hate me. There were rumours about my father and the Black Prince and they were greatly loved.’

  ‘As you will be.’

  He shook his head at her.

  ‘Love blinds you,’ he said softly. Then his rage was back.

  ‘Wykeham has given no credence to this story so we hear, but I tell you this, I shall hate Wykeham for as long as I live and I shall have my revenge on him.’

  At Kennington Joan was preparing her son for a very important occasion.

  ‘You understand what this means, Richard?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘The King is going to accept me formally as his heir.’

  ‘That is right. All the highest in the land will be present. They will all pay homage to you.’

  ‘Am I as important as that?’

  ‘It is not you who are so important. It is the Crown. You must always remember that when people bow before you it is to the Crown to which they are paying homage.’

  ‘Yes, I shall remember,’ said Richard.

  His mother kissed him fondly. She was fearful because he was so young; and he needed his father as he had never needed him before.

  Sir Simon Burley who was standing by read her thoughts.

  ‘We’ll pray for him, Simon,’ she said.

  Excitement had put colour into Richard’s cheeks. Tall, slender, with his Plantagenet colouring – golden curly hair and bright blue eyes – he was very beautiful.

  The people who had lined the road to see him pass were enchanted by his youth and grace.

  ‘God bless you, Richard of Bordeaux,’ they cried.

  He acknowledged their greetings with a modest charm which immediately won their hearts. The Londoners were wildly enthusiastic. Their hatred of John of Gaunt made them love him all the more.

  Richard was exultant. This was the prelude to kingship. He thought there was nothing quite so exciting as the sound of the people’s cheers. They expressed their love for him. They wanted him to be their next King.

  ‘What a beautiful boy!’ said the people. ‘Young and lovely and innocent. There is a King in the making. God bless him.’

  It was even more exciting in the House of Commons. All those solemn men – the greatest in the land, and all proclaiming him the true heir to the throne.

  That was not all. Afterwards they must go to Westminster where the King was waiting for him.

  Richard knelt before his grandfather and the King bade him rise that he might embrace him before the assembled company and let the whole world know that next to himself he, Richard, was the most important in the land.

  Now he must sit on the right hand of the King and all his uncles were there and they must do homage to him. Uncle John of Gaunt was affable but his eyes glittered with speculation; he was ingratiating, implying that he would always be there beside him, to help him, to guide, to advise him. He had heard whispers about his uncle John; it was difficult to believe them of this splendid man who assured him of his wish to serve him. With his uncle John were his uncles Edmund and Thomas, and they too assured him of their loyalty and devotion to him. Uncle Edmund was tall and handsome; he had been abroad with John and they were good friends; they had even married sisters. Richard liked Uncle Edmund the best of all the uncles. He smiled so often and there was an air of great kindliness about him. Simon had said he was not an energetic man and thereby implied a criticism. But he was certainly pleasant to be with. Then there was Uncle Thomas, the youngest of the uncles. He was not sure of Uncle Thomas. Simon had been somewhat reticent when his name was mentioned and this Richard construed as meaning that Simon was not quite sure of him either. He did not smile as ingratiatingly as Uncle John did; nor as pleasantly and unconcernedly as Uncle Edmund. But he paid his homage just the same. He was obliged to, for the whole purpose of this occasion was to swear loyalty to the true heir to the throne.

  There was one present who interested Richard more than any of the others and that was his cousin Henry, the eldest son of John of Gaunt. This was because Henry was more or less the same age as he was. He himself as a matter of fact was a few months older. He knew this because Henry had been born on the day the battle of Nájara had been won – that battle which his mother had said brought no good to anyone not even Pedro the Cruel who gained his throne through it, because he was soon after done to death as he deserved to be – and it was at that battle, so his mother always declared, that the Prince’s sickness began in earnest.

  Richard was somewhat pleased to see that he was much taller than Henry; but in spite of the fact that he did not match up to the Plantagenet stature, Henry was sturdy and well formed; moreover he had inherited the family good looks, though he was slightly darker than most of them. His hair was more russet than gold but he had the Plantagenet features.

  He too had been brought to pay homage to the future King.

  The two boys regarded each other solemnly. Richard smiled slowly and Henry returned the smile.

  John of Gaunt was watching the two boys. Henry knew what was in his father’s mind. He is angry, thought Henry, as he always is, because he is not the heir to the throne.

  The King took Richard to sit beside him and showed how eager he was to honour him.

  He saw the notorious Alice Perrers. She was sumptuously clad and she was wearing jewels which must be worth a fortune.

  She made much of him. She told him he was a beautiful boy and that he should be proud of his grandfather who was a great King.

  Richard listened haughtily but he did not turn from Alice because he knew that would have offended his grandfather.

  He had heard a great deal about her, for his parents had spoken of her, and so much was her conduct talked of that the servants too discussed her at great length.

  Richard had heard her called a harpy and a harlot and that the King was far gone in senility to let her govern him.

  I should never allow her to behave like that if I were King, thought Richard.

  If I were King! It was an intoxicating thought.

  And the knowledge that the old King was going to die soon and the crown would be placed on his own golden head, set him tingling with anticipation.

  Of all his enemies John of Gaunt realised that William of Wykeham was the greatest. William it was true had not confirmed the scandal about the Flemish woman’s baby; he had in fact declared that such a story had not started with him. But John would not forgive him. Wykeham’s fortunes had sunk very low now; his possessions had been confiscated but he could not be dismissed and sooner or later some of his Church cronies would rise and make trouble. He was not the sort of man who could be pushed aside and forgotten. The Church for one thing would not allow that.

  The Church! A thorn in the side of any monarch … or would-be monarch!

  If John ever ruled, one of the first things he would do would be to curb the power of the Church. Some of his ancestors had attempted it, the most outstanding case being that of Henry the Second and Thomas à Becket.

  John had been impressed by the reformer John Wycliffe whom he had first met in Bruges. The man was a fanatic and John did not favour men of his kind; but they did share one important point of view: they both deplored the power of the Church, John Wycliffe because as he said there was only one Lord in Chief and that was God. The Pope behaved as though he were God’s Deputy on Earth and in fact a god himself. He possessed too much power and in Wycliffe’s opinion it should be curtailed.

  John could agree whole-heartedly with this. He thought that power should be in the hands of the King and that there should be no authority over him. Kings went in fear of excommunication; the Pope had the power to
harm them. That should not be.

  It was for this reason that John of Gaunt was prepared to defend Wycliffe.

  For some time Wycliffe had been fulminating against the Mendicant Friars, and had written a treatise against them. Their chief sin, according to him, was that they granted pardons which had to be bought with gifts to the Church.

  ‘There is no pardon,’ Wycliffe had thundered, ‘that does not come from God. Spiritual good begins and ends in charity. It may not be bought or sold, as chattering priests would say. He who is rich in charity will be best heard by God be he but a mere shepherd or a worker in the fields. There could be more holiness in such a man than in Mendicant Friars, whose worst abuse is that they pretend to purify those who confess. Will a man shrink from acts of licentiousness and fraud if he believes that soon after, by the aid of a little money bestowed on a friar, an entire absolution of the sin he has committed will be obtained? There is no greater heresy than for a man to believe that he is absolutely resolved from his sins if he gives money. Think not if you give a penny to a pardoner, you will be forgiven for breaking God’s commandments.

  ‘The indulgences of the Pope, if they are what they are said to be, are a manifest blasphemy. The friars give colour to this blasphemy by saying that Christ is omnipotent and that the Pope is his plenary Vicar, and so possesses in everything, the same power as Christ in his humanity.’

  It was inevitable of course that a man who went about giving voice to such opinions should soon be called upon to give an account of himself, and it was shortly after the formal recognition of Richard as the true heir that Wycliffe was cited by William Courtenay, the Bishop of London, to answer respecting his opinions and teachings.

  Wycliffe arrived in London to do this and John at once invited him to come to the Savoy Palace.

  There he greeted him as a friend and told him that he agreed with his view that there was too much power in the hands of the Church and he, too, would like to see it curtailed.