Passage to Pontefract

by Jean Plaidy

  Anne thought him charming; she could not at that stage be expected to know that his friendliness was a façade.

  Thomas of Woodstock was in fact far from the benign avuncular figure he was portraying for the Princess’s benefit.

  He had always resented his nephew. Thomas’s life was one resentment after another. To be the youngest son was an irritation in itself. He possessed the family ambition; and it rankled that this slender effeminate boy should be the King. True he was the only remaining son of the eldest but such a boy when there were three uncles, all sons of King Edward, all grown men, experienced in the art of ruling. It was bad luck, and he resented it.

  He had not wished to come to Canterbury to greet the bride. It was not his place to. John should have come. He was the eldest of the uncles. But there was at this time not a more unpopular man in England than John of Gaunt.

  John had said to him: ‘You must go to Canterbury to bring the bride to London. If I go who knows what would happen? The people might show their dislike of me which would not be a good start for the Princess. Edmund is abroad so it is up to you.’

  Thomas agreed that this was so, not without some smug satisfaction. He was jealous of his brother and was not sorry that his unpopularity was so obvious. Moreover he harboured a special grievance against him at the moment.

  John was for ever pushing his son, young Bolingbroke; he had always done so. He would have liked to bring Catherine Swynford’s Beaufort bastards to the fore too, if that were possible; but that would not be tolerated. It was brazen enough to take Catherine about with him and expect people to do honour to her; but to ennoble their bastards – that would be too much even for John.

  But it did not stop him as far as young Henry was concerned. Well, Henry was the son of Blanche of Lancaster – royal on both maternal and paternal sides, so it was to be expected. John fumed inwards because Henry was not heir to the throne; but he tried all the time to load his son with honours. He was already the Earl of Derby though people still called him Bolingbroke after the place where he had been born. Thomas had disliked the boy from the time – it must have been five years ago – when he had been made Knight of the Garter. He, Thomas, had hoped to be chosen, but it was like John to push everyone aside for his own advancement; and at that time he had had the ear of their father.

  But there was an even greater resentment now; and that was Bolingbroke’s recent marriage.

  Thomas’s father in an attempt to provide handsomely for him – because with so many sons there were not enough estates to go round – had arranged a brilliant marriage for him.

  The bride chosen for Thomas when he had been nineteen years of age was Eleanor Bohun, the daughter of the Earl of Hereford, Essex and Northampton. Eleanor was a very rich heiress, but there was one flaw in the arrangement; she had a younger sister Mary.

  For some time he and Eleanor had been trying to persuade Mary to go into a convent. Mary was a very pretty girl and mild enough, and she was very much influenced by the elder less beautiful but more forceful Eleanor. They had taken her to live in the Castle of Pleshy which was very close to one of the female branches of the Franciscans known as the Poor Clares.

  Mary therefore had had ample opportunity to observe the piety of the nuns of this order; Eleanor was constantly extolling their virtues and it was clear that Mary was greatly impressed by them. Their lives were dedicated to the care of the poor and the sick.

  ‘Ah,’ Eleanor would sigh, ‘I almost envy them. What beautiful lives they lead. Do you not agree, Mary?’

  Mary did agree. Yes, it must be wonderful to be so virtuous. She would not greatly care to dress in that loose rough grey with the knotted girdles – four knots to represent the four vows they had taken.

  ‘They are more becoming in God’s eyes than the finest raiment,’ said Eleanor sternly.

  ‘Perhaps it is not too late for you to give up the world and join them,’ suggested Mary.

  Eleanor was angry. Mary was changing. She was growing up.

  It was unfortunate that King Edward having given Eleanor to his son should have given the guardianship of the younger daughter to his other son, John of Gaunt. Being the guardian of heirs to rich fortunes was always a profitable matter and such guardianships were greatly sought after and given as rewards to those to whom the King owed some reward.

  John of Gaunt now and then visited his ward to assure himself of her well-being and for some time an idea had been brewing in his mind.

  The Bohun fortune was great; there was no reason why Eleanor should have it all. He arranged, with the help of Mary’s aunt, the Countess of Arundel, that the young girl should pay a visit to Arundel.

  ‘She has all but decided to end her days with the Poor Clares,’ Eleanor had explained; but it was not possible to prevent Mary’s going off with her aunt for a brief visit to Arundel. ‘We might have known,’ Thomas had said to Eleanor afterwards. ‘John is sly. He arranged, this, you may be sure.’

  For at Arundel Mary met the young Earl of Derby who most certainly had been told by his father that he must make himself agreeable to the young girl.

  Henry obeyed. Very soon John was riding to Pleshy. By this time Thomas had gone abroad and it was to Eleanor that he broke the news.

  ‘It seemed inevitable,’ he said. ‘It is charming to see young people fall in love. Of course they are young, but I have no wish to stand in Henry’s way.’

  Eleanor spluttered with rage. ‘You cannot mean … It is quite impossible. Mary …’

  ‘Mary and Henry wish to marry. It is a good match for your sister.’

  Eleanor was frantic. All her scheming had come to nothing. And Thomas was not there to fight with her.

  ‘I cannot allow it. She wishes to go into a convent.’

  ‘My dear sister, it is not for you to allow or refuse. She certainly does not wish to go into a convent. She wishes to marry and I can see no reason why there should be any resistance to such a match. I have none.’

  It was no use raging. The objections were brushed aside by the powerful John of Gaunt. He had his way and Mary, the rich heiress, had become the wife of Henry of Bolingbroke.

  When Thomas returned and heard the news he was furious. The fortune which had come to him through his wife was only half what it would have been if Mary had gone into a convent and relinquished the greater part of her share. It was true that the Bohuns were immensely rich but he would now have only half of that which he had expected.

  Disgruntled as he was he must needs pretend to show friendship to his brother, and he had to pay lip service to the boy King. And now here he was paying homage to this young girl who had come to marry Richard.

  She brought no dowry. That was amusing.

  He wished Richard joy of her.

  He set out from Canterbury with her and they turned towards London.

  Outside the City she was met by a party of knights at the head of which rode her future husband.

  For a few breathless moments, seated on their horses, they faced each other.

  She felt a great joy at the sight of him – his fair hair hanging to his shoulders and a golden crown on his head. His fine skin was flushed with the excitement of the encounter and was delicately pink. His eyes were intensely blue; his teeth white; all that she had heard of his good looks was true.

  His loose-fitting robe with its long loose sleeves which she was to learn was called a houppelande was lined with vair. The wide sleeves falling back disclosed other sleeves of the cote hardie he wore beneath it. The belt about his waist glittered with so many jewels that it was dazzling to behold; and indeed the young King’s entire person scintillated.

  She had been told that he loved fine clothes and that was obviously true.

  But he was beautiful. He was godlike in appearance. She had never seen such a beautiful being and she loved him on sight.

  As for Richard he was delighted by this fresh-faced girl with the lively eyes. If she was not exactly beautiful that was unimportant. She woul
d admire him all the more for his good looks if she did not possess so many herself. She was smiling and her expression was one of deep interest and that she liked what she saw was clear to him. Her face was rather long though narrow; she had a long upper lip but her teeth were good. But it was her smile which was captivating; and her youth was naturally appealing. She looked a little strange in English eyes but that was because of her head-dress which was shaped rather like the horns of a cow.

  However it was a happy meeting. The King and his bride were young and the people were determined to love them.

  The Londoners, relieved now that their City had been saved by the prompt action of the King, were determined to show their new Queen what a splendid welcome they were capable of giving her.

  The Lord Mayor and leading merchants had decked themselves in their finery and had ridden to Blackheath that they might escort her into the City, and with them came minstrels. So Anne made her triumphant entry into the City of London.

  In Cheapside a pageant was awaiting her. A castle had been erected there and from this ran fountains of wine. On the towers of the castle stood beautiful girls and as the royal pair approached they showered gilded leaves on them.

  The next day Anne and Richard were married in the Chapel Royal of the Palace of Westminster.

  The ceremony was followed by feasting and much revelry in the streets. The people seemed to go wild with joy. They wanted to put as far behind them as possible that fearful time when it appeared that the City would fall to the rebels.

  After the marriage Richard took his bride to Windsor. They were clearly enchanted with each other. Richard loved her cool precise judgements and her knowledge of affairs which seemed incongruous in one so young and so recently come to the country. She was delighted with his good looks, his courtly manners, his love of poetry and books of all kinds. He showed her a copy of the Romance of the Rose which he had acquired when he was thirteen years old. He also possessed the romances of Gawain and Perceval, as well as a Bible in French.

  Anne was greatly impressed; she could see that they would be happy reading together, and afterwards discussing what they had read.

  She was amused by his delight in his clothes and she made him show her some of the jewel-encrusted garments of which he was so proud. She asked him to put them on and she loved to see him parade and preen before her.

  He was vain of his appearance; and had cause to be, she defended him to herself. There could never have been such a handsome King.

  He was fastidious in his appearance. He bathed every day to the astonishment of those about him. She sensed that they felt such a habit to be effeminate, but she liked it. He was always so fresh, so beautifully dressed.

  He liked food, but it had to be delicate food. He was not a great trencherman. He picked daintily at his dishes and was enormously interested in the way they were cooked.

  Chiefly though she liked to hear about the country. She made him tell her of the peasants’ revolt in all its horror. When he described how he had gone out to face the rebels she listened entranced. She could see him – so handsome, so young – facing those unkempt men. And how brave he had been.

  ‘They could have killed you,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t think of that. I thought of my mother in the Tower and later in the Wardrobe and I was terrified of what they might do to her. I knew I had to send them home because if I did not they would kill my friends and myself too, I supposed, though I didn’t think much of that. They had never showed any great animosity towards me.’

  ‘So you dispersed them by promising to give them what they wanted. You rode to them when the tyler was killed and offered to be their leader.’

  ‘Yes, I did that.’

  She was thoughtful. ‘But the promises were not kept.’

  ‘It was impossible to keep them.’

  ‘Yet you promised.’

  ‘I had to promise to save London … to save my kingdom.’

  She could see that. Anne could always see a logical point quickly. But she was uneasy because he had promised.

  She came back to the subject and she wanted to know what was happening to those of the rebels who were still in prisons awaiting trial.

  He said that they would suffer the reward of traitors he doubted not. Many had gone free, but it was not wise to let the people think they could rise against their rulers and then be sent home when they were defeated as though it was unimportant.

  She saw that too. But she said: ‘Pardon these people for me, Richard. Let it be your wedding gift to me.’

  What could he do but give her her wish.

  The rebels were pardoned. The people heard of this. They liked her the more for her compassion, and they were quick to respond.

  Within a few months of her arrival in England she was known as Good Queen Anne.

  Chapter XI

  THE END OF THE FAIR MAID OF KENT

  The Queen Mother was feeling her age. She had grown very fat in the last years and it was becoming an intolerable burden to drag herself around.

  She had at length become reconciled to taking second place in her son’s life. At first she had been a little jealous of his absorption with his new Queen. Before her coming it had always been his mother to whom he turned but in a few months Anne had firmly taken first place in his affections.

  Well, mused Joan, that was perhaps the best thing that could have happened. She could not but admire the new Queen. She was a sensible girl; she loved Richard and Richard loved her; and if he listened to Anne’s advice she could be sure it would be worth listening to.

  The fact that Anne was a year older than the King was all to the good. She was serious-minded and yet able to share the King’s pleasures. Although the people had not been very pleased with the match in the beginning for Anne had brought no dowry and a substantial sum had had to be given to Bohemia from the English treasury and it could not really be seen that any great political advantage had been gained, Anne’s good-natured smile, her ready response to the goodwill of the people together with the freshness of her youth had gained her popularity.

  The marriage had been arranged in the hope of making an alliance with the Emperor against the French, but it seemed that this battle for the crown of France which King Edward had started was no nearer to its end than it had been years ago. Joan wondered whether it ever would be. The very best thing that could happen would be to make peace, to concentrate on the governing of England and forget France where so much English blood had already been spilt in battles which had proved to be useless because they had decided nothing.

  Well perhaps, as the Black Prince would have said, that was a woman’s point of view. But Joan believed that it was the most sensible for all that, or perhaps for that very reason.

  It had seemed that every attempt on land and sea was doomed to failure. People still talked of the great victories of Edward the Third and the Black Prince but Joan knew that there was no leader at this time who was capable of such successes. The late King and his eldest son had had a rare quality and this was not apparent in anyone living at this time. Richard would never be a great fighter. She had always known that. It was something which had worried her considerably and living with one of the greatest generals of his or any age, she had recognised the necessary qualities. The Black Prince and his father were men who could arouse in their soldiers a certainty of victory just by appearing. There was no one like that today.

  John of Gaunt might be the nearest, but he lacked something. Everything he entered into seemed to fail. It was not bad luck all the time. He lacked that quality which appealed to men. Edward the King and the Black Prince had been loved. John of Gaunt was loathed. Edmund of Langley was handsome and charming but he was no great soldier; nor was Thomas of Woodstock. Perhaps Bolingbroke might be one day … but he was young as yet and he was overshadowed by his hated father.

  Joan often worried about the future. Edward would have laughed at her had he been alive. She had always been supposed to be rather
frivolous. But perhaps during their marriage Edward had begun to realise that it was otherwise.

  So now she must rejoice because of her son’s happy marriage and graciously step back into second place.

  They were uneasy times though. Richard was impressionable and quickly came under the influence of certain people.

  Michael de la Pole and Richard Fitzalan were two of them. They had been selected to act as his counsellors. Now that John of Gaunt had left the country (he was still making war in Castile for since the death of Henry of Trastamare the question of the succession had risen again) there was a clear field for them and they took advantage of it.

  But his greatest friend of all was Robert de Vere, the Earl of Oxford, and this friendship was so close – for the King could scarcely bear the young man out of his sight – that it was beginning to be noticed and commented on.

  De Vere was of course connected with the royal family for he had married Philippa de Couci, daughter of Isabella, who was Edward the Third’s eldest daughter. Thus it seemed reasonable at first that Richard and de Vere should see a great deal of each other; but as the weeks had passed their devotion had grown.

  It was a sign of Anne’s good sense that she did not show any jealousy of de Vere. Rather did she appear to enjoy his company; and the three of them were often together.

  A wise girl, thought Joan, and remembered what she had heard of Edward the Second who had indulged in passionate friendships with men of the Court and how his wife had resented it to such an extent that she had taken up arms against him.

  Yes, Joan could rejoice in the marriage. It was a good day for Richard when Anne of Bohemia became his wife.

  She was often uneasy about the sons of her first marriage. They had always been rather violent. They took after their father. She could smile remembering him and the passion they had shared in their youth. Thomas Holland had been irresistible all those years ago in the Salisbury household where she was supposed to be betrothed to young Salisbury. Exciting days – carefree days when she had been quite unaware of how very reckless she had been.