Passage to Pontefract

by Jean Plaidy

  With Arundel dead and Warwick imprisoned and Gloucester dying rather mysteriously in Calais there remained only one thing to be done. Gloucester’s body must be brought to England and given decent burial.

  There were rumours about the cause of his death for at the time of his arrest Gloucester had been a healthy man. Richard wanted no martyrdom for this far from saintly uncle.

  He sent for one of the priests that he might give him personal instructions as to how his uncle’s body was to be dealt with.

  The priest came to the King and when they faced each other Richard was struck with amazement, for the priest was so like himself that had they been dressed in similar clothes it would scarcely have been possible to tell them apart.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Richard.

  ‘Richard Maudelyn at your service, my lord.’

  Richard said: ‘I am struck with amazement. It must be obvious to you that we resemble each other very closely.’

  The priest smiled. ‘My lord, all my life I have been told that I bear a close resemblance to you.’

  ‘It is remarkable,’ Richard smiled. ‘There must be some blood tie.’

  ‘I have often thought so, my lord.’

  ‘Your parents …’

  ‘My parents are dead, sir.’

  ‘I wonder …’

  ‘It is possible, my lord.’

  Richard was thoughtful. His father had been a faithful husband but Richard knew that he had at least one illegitimate son, who had been born before he married. Richard Maudelyn was about ten years older than he was. It was possible.

  ‘I am so overwhelmed by this unusual resemblance,’ said the King, ‘that I forgot the reason why I sent for you. You know that the Duke of Gloucester has died in Calais. I want you to see that his body is taken to his widow for burial in Westminster Abbey.’

  ‘It shall be done, my lord.’

  ‘And, Richard Maudelyn, when it is done, I would have you wait on me again.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  Richard had taken such a fancy to his double that he gave him a post in his household.

  They became great friends and everyone was startled by the resemblance. Richard Maudelyn’s voice was even like the King’s and he could with the utmost ease give an impersonation of his master which was indistinguishable to many of his courtiers.

  Richard was amused and liked to play little tricks on them, changing clothes with Maudelyn. Sometimes they did not let people into the deception, and Richard began to realise that Maudelyn could often take his place. He had even ridden through the city and acknowledged the greetings of the people.

  It occurred to Richard and those close to him that there might come a time when this strange quirk of fate could be put to good use.

  Thomas Mowbray was uneasy. It was true that as Earl of Nottingham he had helped bring Warwick, Arundel and Gloucester to justice and for his services he had been created Duke of Norfolk. The King though had shown himself to be one who would not easily forget an insult. And Mowbray, though now Duke of Norfolk, had been one of the five who had confronted Richard on that memorable occasion years ago. The King had had his revenge on three of them. Two remained, himself and Bolingbroke, now Duke of Hereford.

  Norfolk remembered the King’s outburst against Arundel when he reminded him of his implacable and relentless pursuit of Simon Burley. To bring it up after all those years showed how it had rankled. Richard was one who would never forget an injury; and it was logical to assume that that occasion when the five lords had faced him and made him their prisoner, was something which would remain in his memory. And he would want revenge on all five.

  There was one other who had been present on that occasion – one of the five – and that was Bolingbroke.

  One day when Norfolk was travelling between Brentford and London he met Hereford. They stopped at an inn and drank some ale and during their conversation Norfolk broached the subject which had been uppermost in his mind.

  ‘Do you think,’ he said, ‘that the King is ever going to forget that you and I were each one of the five Lords Appellant?’

  ‘My dear Norfolk,’ replied Hereford, ‘that happened years ago.’

  ‘But the King is not one to forget and forgive.’

  ‘The matter is over and done with.’

  ‘What of Gloucester? What of Warwick and Arundel?’

  ‘They plotted recently. We have our pardons.’

  ‘What are you proposing?’ asked Hereford.

  ‘That we should consider this matter very carefully. We have our enemies. They could be advising the King to take action against us.’

  ‘You are suggesting that we take some action?’

  ‘I would suggest you think of it, my lord.’

  Hereford was thoughtful. He was wary of Norfolk who had had too many honours bestowed on him and was becoming too powerful.

  He decided to see his father, tell him what had happened and ask his advice.

  Lancaster was at Ely House in Holborn with his Duchess and it was here that his son came to see him.

  He had aged considerably in the last years, but there was a serenity about him which he had lacked before. He was undoubtedly happy in his marriage and Catherine was assiduous in her care of him.

  She welcomed Henry warmly but at the same time she was uneasy and when she heard why he had come her apprehension increased.

  It had seemed terrible to her that Gloucester and Arundel should have died as they did. She had little cause to love them, it was true; it was their wives who had done everything they could to discomfort her. They were spiteful women but she bore no rancour towards them. They did not know the happiness she did; and she would never cease to be proud of the fact that John had flouted them all for her sake.

  And now Henry’s coming meant trouble.

  He recounted what Norfolk had said.

  ‘What should be done?’ he asked his father.

  ‘You stand well with the King,’ replied Lancaster. ‘But who can say that Norfolk’s words and your reply were not overheard. It may well be that someone has already carried an account of them to Richard. Words can be misconstrued and this could be dangerous. My son, there is one thing you must do with all speed, and that is to go to the King and tell him of this conversation between you and Norfolk.’

  Henry nodded. ‘I think it is the wisest course of action,’ he agreed. ‘I will go to him at once before he can hear another account of it.’

  ‘Go with all speed,’ advised Lancaster.

  He stood with Catherine watching his son ride away.

  ‘We live in dangerous times,’ he said.

  Catherine shuddered.

  ‘There is no need to fear for me,’ he went on, smiling tenderly at her. ‘I have learned my lessons well, Catherine, and I think Henry is learning his.’

  She was unsure. Henry she knew had a burning ambition which was to possess the crown. John had been plagued by the same deep feelings; but looking back she could see that he had lacked that certain ruthless determination which she sometimes glimpsed in Henry.

  Once again she was set wondering how it would all end.

  The King listened to what Hereford had to tell him. He had always been wary of this cousin of his, and a little jealous of him too. Henry was popular with the people. He was rich and powerful. He was the father of four sons and two daughters and the eldest was known as young Harry of Monmouth because of the place of his birth. He was now some ten years old and a sturdy, bright boy of whom anyone could be proud. It was true Hereford’s wife had died, but he had a fine family.

  There was one thing which Richard could not forget – and Norfolk had been right in this – Hereford and Norfolk had once stood with those three who had been brought to justice. Yes, they had been pardoned, but Richard could not forget.

  Now he regarded his cousin through narrowed eyes and he said: ‘I wish to hear Norfolk’s version of this tale. For that reason, you will remain here under restraint until he is brought
to us.’

  Henry was nothing loth. He was sure his father had been right when he had advised him to tell the King exactly what had been said.

  The meeting took place before the Parliament at Oswestry where Hereford in the presence of the King accused Norfolk of making traitorous suggestions to him.

  ‘You are false and disloyal to the King,’ he announced. ‘You are an enemy of this realm.’

  ‘You are a liar,’ retorted Norfolk. ‘You are the false and disloyal traitor.’

  Richard was bemused. He did not know what to believe. That these two hated each other was clear. For what reason? How much truth was there in Hereford’s accusations and Norfolk’s denials and counter-accusations?

  Richard placed them both under arrest while he considered how best to deal with them.

  What was behind this quarrel between these two powerful men? Richard kept reminding himself that they had been two of the five lords who had come against him ten years before.

  Hereford was now accusing Norfolk of receiving eight thousand nobles to pay the soldiers who were guarding Calais and not using the money for the purpose for which it was intended but putting it to his own use.

  Norfolk refuted the accusation with vehemence. He swore he had not appropriated the money, but he had used it all in the defence of Calais.

  Richard sent for them once more and advised them to forget their differences; but the two men declared that they would never do this and the only thing that would satisfy them would be for them to meet in single combat.

  Richard considered this. It would probably mean death for one of them; and the other might not come well out of the affray. Perhaps it was not a bad idea. They had been against him once; who knew when they would be again? It was not such a bad notion to let them destroy themselves in a petty personal quarrel.

  There should be this combat. The people would enjoy it and it was always a good idea to give them lavish entertainment when they were restive.

  The contest was to be held at Coventry and it was to be a very splendid occasion. Richard had ordered that a very luxurious pavilion be erected for him and his Court. Lancaster had another – equally magnificent – put up for him and his family.

  Hereford had ordered a special suit of armour for the occasion and this was supplied by his friend, the Duke of Milan. Not to be outdone Norfolk sent to Germany for his for everyone knew that the Milanese and the Germans were expert armourers and it was a matter of opinion who was the better.

  The day of the tournament arrived and all through the previous day people had been arriving to take their places in order to ensure a good view.

  There was a gasp of delight when Hereford appeared mounted on a white horse very elaborately caparisoned with green and blue velvet embroidered with swans and antelopes in gold.

  The ceremony began with the Marshal’s demanding who he was.

  ‘I am Henry of Lancaster, Duke of Hereford,’ was the reply, ‘which am come hither to challenge Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, as traitor unto God, the King, the realm and to me.’

  ‘Do you swear upon the Holy Ghost that your quarrel be just?’ asked the Marshal.

  ‘I do,’ cried Hereford in a loud ringing voice as he sheathed his sword and dropped his visor; and crossing himself and taking his lance in his hand he moved forward.

  Norfolk then appeared, his charger caparisoned with equal splendour in red velvet embroidered with lions and mulberry trees.

  He gave the same assurance and cried out: ‘God aid him that hath the right.’

  All was ready now for the signal to begin.

  Richard had been waiting for this moment. He had made up his mind before his arrival at the field. He did not trust either of these two; they had come against him once, they would do so again. It was true one might kill the other but there would still be one left. He had come to the conclusion that here was a heaven-sent chance to rid himself of the two of them.

  He had allowed the preparations for combat to continue because he knew that the people would have been angry if it had been cancelled. Now they had seen the splendours and had witnessed the arrival of the two protagonists; and although they were not going to see the actual combat, they would have the thrill of being present at the dénouement.

  It was a dramatic moment as Hereford and Norfolk, lances ready, were about to move forward. Then Richard rose in his seat and threw down his staff. This was a sign to call an immediate halt to the proceedings.

  The heralds gave the traditional shout of ‘Ho! Ho!’ while the crowd waited, tense with excitement. Richard ordered that the Dukes should give up their lances and return to their places.

  It was then announced that the King wished to discuss the case of this quarrel with his Council and they would retire to the royal pavilion to do so. Meanwhile all must wait for their decision as to whether the combat should go on.

  It was two hours later when the decision was given.

  The King and his Council had come to the conclusion that no good purpose could be served by this combat. It was not a matter of which man could acquit himself best in the lists, but which was a traitor to the King and the realm; and as neither of them had assured the King of his loyalty and he lacked trust in either, he was going to send them into exile, Norfolk for life and Hereford for ten years.

  There was a great sigh in the crowd and then a deathly silence.

  The horror of the two men was apparent. Exile! It was the most dreaded word. And why should the King have given such stern sentences? One thing was clear. He was very uneasy and he saw something more in this than a petty quarrel between two proud men.

  During the time of their exile they were not to see each other or to communicate in any way.

  There was a great deal of murmuring among the crowd as it dispersed. It had been robbed of one excitement but another perhaps even greater had replaced it. They had little sympathy for Norfolk; he was not popular but Hereford was one of their heroes. He had lost his wife recently – a young and beautiful woman; he had a family the eldest of which was a bright boy known as Harry of Monmouth. They could not understand why both men should be punished. Surely Hereford had done the right thing in disclosing what Norfolk had said to him.

  It was all very mysterious. But not to Richard. There had been five knights who had come against him and this would mark his vengeance on them all. Hereford had given him the opportunity when he had made his complaints against Norfolk.

  Fifteen days in which to settle affairs and leave the country!

  It was a drastic sentence and clearly showed the spite in Richard’s nature.

  He did not wish to see either of them again, he said. Let them look to their affairs and be gone.

  Hereford rode to Leicester Castle to see his father. John of Gaunt had aged considerably. When he had heard the news he could scarcely believe it. His son, Henry, who was the hope of the Lancastrian cause, to be sent into exile! There could not have been a greater blow.

  He embraced him with great sorrow.

  ‘My son,’ he cried, ‘what does this mean?’

  ‘It’s Richard’s revenge,’ said Henry. ‘He has never really forgiven me.’

  ‘But because of that stupid affair … I blame myself for advising you to go to him.’

  ‘It was the only thing. Norfolk was up to some trick I know. He was trying to destroy me.’

  John nodded. Henry was wise and he was dedicated to one purpose. He wanted the crown as John had once wanted it; but Henry was more subtle than his father. He worked with more caution and with a more ruthless determination.

  ‘’Tis done,’ said John. ‘We must make the best of it. One thing we must make certain of. When I die my estates must not be forfeited to the crown but must go where they belong … to you.’

  ‘I pray you do not talk of death.’

  ‘Sometimes I feel it close. Do not mention this to Catherine. She watches over me like a mother with an ailing child. I would not have her distressed.’

 
; ‘You have many years left to you.’

  ‘My son, you say what you think I should like to hear. It may be that I shall not die for years but we must make my estates secure. Richard must swear that they shall not be forfeit to the crown, for if you are not here to claim them and are still living in banishment he could take them.’

  ‘Do you think he will agree?’

  ‘He is going to agree,’ said John. ‘Before you leave, you and I shall visit him.’

  ‘Do you think he will see me? He has told me to leave in fifteen days. Two of them have already passed.’

  ‘He will see me and you will be with me,’ said John with a flash of his old spirit. ‘Never fear, he will grant this. I shall see to it. His position is not such a happy one as he could wish. The people have great regard for you, Henry, and for young Harry too. That boy has a way of winning hearts.’

  ‘The King is never seen without his bodyguard of Cheshire archers. It seems as though he fears attack.’

  ‘It is unwise of him for they do not make the people love him. They have an evil reputation, those archers. They behave as if they are at war. They are like soldiers pillaging the enemy’s towns and villages as they march through our own. But these are the King’s own subjects. They rape and murder and are not brought to account. The King will not be loved for his archers.’

  ‘Richard is a fool, Father. One of these days he will be brought face to face with his folly.’ Henry’s eyes glowed with determination as he said that.

  ‘Take care, my son,’ warned John of Gaunt. ‘Do nothing until you are ready. Await the opportunity.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Henry. ‘You must trust me to do that.’

  ‘And what of the children?’

  ‘I want you and Catherine to take the three eldest.’

  ‘Indeed we shall. Harry is at Court, is he not?’

  ‘Yes, I have sent for him,’ said Henry, ‘but he has not yet come.’

  John looked grave. ‘We must see the King,’ he said. ‘And what of Humphrey and the girls?’

  ‘My friend, Hugh Waterton, is taking them. He will care for them and I have asked that they attend Mass each day to pray for the repose of their mother’s soul.’