The King had left the larger part of his force hidden in a thicket with instructions to come to him at a given signal.
Richard hoped that Gloucester had not yet heard of the arrests of Warwick and Arundel. If so he would be preparing himself for a siege and in such a fortress he could hold out for a long time.
The sound of the approaching party had brought the guards to their posts and because it was a small party no suspicion was raised. Richard was exultant when he heard the shout of ‘The King!’ And the portcullis was immediately raised.
Gloucester came quickly to welcome his nephew. It was clear that he had heard nothing.
Richard shouted: ‘Prepare to leave at once. You are to return with me to London.’
‘My lord … for what purpose?’
‘Oh just a little matter for our good … yours and mine. You will learn in time. Now I and my men are hungry; we would eat before setting out.’
While food was served, Gloucester was growing more and more uneasy.
When they had finished eating the King expressed his wish to leave at once. The horses were waiting and Richard and his uncle rode out side by side.
‘What a fine morning!’ cried Richard. He felt exultant. Everything was working out neatly as he had planned it. It had been a simple matter to catch them in the net. He had made Arundel his prisoner through a trick but he cared nothing for that. He was ready to achieve his ends no matter by what means. He thought of Robert de Vere driven from his country; he thought of his good friend Simon Burley hunted to his death; he thought of Anne on her knees pleading for the life of their beloved friend. Oh, he had much to avenge, and he was going to do it.
He chatted in a seemingly light-hearted manner to his uncle. He wished him to come up for this sitting of Parliament. There were certain matters which had to be discussed and naturally he did not want this done without the attendance of his uncle.
Gloucester who had been apprehensive at the sudden appearance of the King felt a little better. He had feared that news of his plotting might have come to the King’s ears but Richard’s manner, which was so affable, was lulling his fears. Therefore he was startled when as they were passing a thicket a party of armed men rode out at the head of whom was the Earl of Nottingham.
The Earl rode straight up to the Duke and laying a hand on his shoulder cried: ‘My lord Duke you are under arrest. In the name of the King.’
The Duke turned angrily on the Earl. Smiling the King rode on.
‘My lord,’ cried Gloucester.’ My lord King! Richard! This fellow is seized with madness. I beg you, nephew, come back.’
But Richard rode on; and Gloucester then realised that he was the victim of a plot. He should have realised this when the King came to Pleshy. He should have discovered his business before he meekly rode out with him.
He was silent for a while – all his bombast seemed to have deserted him.
The King was out of sight and he realised that they were not making for London but for the coast.
‘Where are you taking me?’ he demanded.
‘The King’s orders are that you shall be taken to Calais,’ was the answer.
‘To Calais! For what purpose? How dare you treat me thus? By God’s ear, Nottingham, you will be sorry for this. What have I done to merit such treatment?’
‘That you will be able to answer better than any, my lord Duke,’ was the cynical answer.
* * *
Excitement was high in the City of London. The Earl of Arundel was to be brought to trial. It was not so long ago that he had been the hero of the country, when he had beaten the French in such a spectacular fashion that he had made the seas safe for England and saved the country from threatened invasion. And now here he was to be tried as a traitor.
With great dignity, clad in his scarlet cloak and hood, he came before the assembled Parliament, walking calmly through the ranks of archers.
He was aware of his enemies ranged round him, like dogs straining for the kill. The chief of these was the Duke of Lancaster who was the High Steward for this day; and with him was his son Henry of Bolingbroke.
There would be little mercy shown him this day, thought Arundel.
John of Gaunt gave the order for the charges against the Earl to be read out. Arundel listened to the list of his crimes, the most damning of which was of course his recent activities which were summed up as having taken up arms with the Duke of Gloucester and the Earl of Warwick against the King.
Arundel had little hope. He knew his days were numbered. He had heard that his brother, the Archbishop, was to be impeached. They would not kill him, of course, he being a member of the Church, but his career would be at an end. He would doubtless be banished from England, but his life would be left to him.
He spoke in a loud clear voice declaring that what had been done was with no ill intent against the King’s person. It was all for the benefit of the King and the country.
He was aware of Lancaster’s eyes upon him. Lancaster would be remembering the way he, Arundel, and his wife had slighted Catherine Swynford. He could imagine that Lancaster had avowed revenge for that slight on his wife and Arundel would pay for it.
‘You are a traitor,’ cried Lancaster.
‘You lie,’ retorted the Earl. ‘I was never traitor to the King. I was pardoned when I was accused before.’
‘Why should you have needed pardon if you were not guilty?’ demanded Lancaster.
‘To put a stop to malicious accusations by those who did not love me or the King but were my implacable enemies. You were one of them. You have more reason to ask pardon than I have.’ He turned to face the assembly. ‘You are gathered together,’ he went on, ‘but not to do justice.’
Bolingbroke had risen and demanded: ‘Did you when we first drew together, when there was first talk of an insurrection say that the best method was to seize the person of the King?’
‘I never entertained a thought for my sovereign that was not intended to serve him well.’
Richard cried out then. ‘Once you said to me that Sir Simon Burley deserved death and I made answer that I saw no reason why he did. And yet you and your friends killed that good man.’
Richard was momentarily overcome by emotion at the thought of the man he had loved and whom the Queen had loved and pleaded for.
Everyone knew then that Arundel would pay the price not only for plotting against the King but for his part in the murder of the King’s friend and tutor.
Lancaster in due course pronounced the sentence.
‘I, John, Steward of England, adjudge thee Richard Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, a traitor and condemn you to be hanged, drawn and quartered …’
There was a deep silence. This was the most barbarous sentence known in the land. Arundel heard it without changing his expression. Then it was seen that the verdict had already been decided on before the trial had begun for Lancaster went on: ‘The King, our sovereign lord, of his mercy and favour has remitted all other parts of the sentence but the last and you shall lose only your head.’
There was no reason for delay. The Earl was immediately taken to Tower Hill, but to reach this spot he must pass through the streets of London and there the crowds came out to watch him. There was an awed silence. This was Arundel, the hero of the great sea battle, the man they had cheered and called their saviour. And here he was walking to his death with, as they said, no more shrinking or changing of colour than if he were going to a banquet.
He stood boldly by the block and turning to the executioner he said: ‘I forgive you for what you are about to do. And this I ask you. Do not torment me further. Strike off my head in one blow.’
Arundel then ran his fingers along the edge of the axe.
‘It is sharp,’ he said. ‘Let it be quick.’
He laid his head on the block and at one blow his head was severed from his body.
* * *
After the Channel crossing and his incarceration in the Castle of Calais, Gloucester had lost
something of his arrogance. He realised that he was in a desperate position. The King was no longer a boy to be told to do this and that; he was clearly capable of acting with guile and his ruse to capture his wily uncle had succeeded. Gloucester knew too that Arundel and Warwick had both been taken.
What next? Gloucester asked himself.
The King would never have the courage to kill him. After all he was his own uncle. Lancaster would never allow it. His brother had no love for him but no royal Duke liked to see another destroyed.
He would come out of this. He must; and then he would have to act very cautiously for some time.
The castle was a grim fortress built mainly for defence, though he was housed comfortably enough there; but each morning when he awoke he wondered what the day would bring.
He was not kept long in suspense. Sir William Rickhill, who was a justice of the Common Pleas, arrived from England and he told Gloucester that he had come to question him and take a statement from him.
Gloucester was almost relieved. It was better for something to happen than to go on in this state of suspense.
Sir William Rickhill was surprised when he came face to face with the Duke. He knew of his bombastic manner and how in the past he had behaved with great arrogance as though he were the King, instead of his nephew.
He found a changed man. Even Gloucester’s ruddy complexion had turned sallow and there was an anxious brooding in his eyes. He was clearly a very worried man.
He talked freely to Sir William. He admitted that he had held the King in restraint ten years before and had threatened to depose him. It was no use trying to pretend otherwise for Richard knew this was true. Yes, it could be said that he had looked upon his nephew as a boy and had not shown him the respect a subject should show to his King. He could only beg the King’s pardon.
Rickhill returned to England and Gloucester tried to settle himself to wait patiently for the verdict.
* * *
There was no news from England. Each day Gloucester looked from the castle window of his apartment which was well guarded by his jailers, out over the stormy sea awaiting the arrival of the King’s messenger.
They would come. He would be pardoned. The King could not put his uncle to death.
He had a new servant, a man named John Halle who told him that he had once served the Earl of Nottingham.
There was something sly about the man and often Gloucester would find his eyes on him as though there was some plan forming in his head. Gloucester was indeed changing since he concerned himself with the mood of servants. Not that there was anything to complain of in Halle. He was subservient enough. And there was another named William Serle who admitted that he had once served in the King’s chamber.
Gloucester asked John Halle why they were here. The answer was that they had been sent.
‘We but obey the orders that are given us, my lord Duke,’ said William Serle.
One day John Halle came to the Duke and told him that he was to prepare himself to leave the castle.
Gloucester cried out in his joy. He was going home. Of course Richard could not hold out for long against his own uncle. His brothers Lancaster and York might not exactly love him, but they would remember that they were the sons of the same royal father. Families should stand together and that was of particular importance if they were royal.
He was ready. Waiting for him was a small band of guards — among them were Halle and Serle to escort him, as he supposed, to the coast.
In the midst of them he rode out of the castle, but to his dismay instead of going to the shore where he had expected a ship would be waiting for them, they went into the town of Calais.
‘Where are we going?’ he demanded.
It was William Serle who answered: ‘To a new lodging for you, my lord Duke.’
‘A new lodging! Here in Calais?’
They had pulled up before an inn. Gloucester looked up at the sign swinging over the door. The Prince’s Inn. It looked an ill-kept place.
‘I like this not,’ said Gloucester. ‘Why do you bring me here?’
‘My lord Duke, you should not ask us. We but obey the orders that are given.’
‘I do not understand …’
They took him inside. It was dark and gloomy. An evil ill-smelling place.
He turned to leave but he was surrounded by the guards.
‘Have you the room ready?’ said William Serle who seemed to be their leader.
An unkempt man in a filthy jerkin appeared out of the dimness.
‘All ready, good sirs,’ he answered.
‘Then to it,’ said Serle.
‘I shall not ascend those stairs,’ cried Gloucester.
‘My lord Duke, we have orders.’
They were pressing round him so that it was clear he must obey.
A door was opened, he was led forward. He stood in the middle of a room on the floor of which was a pallet. The closeness of the place and the rank odour nauseated him.
‘Take me out of here,’ he shouted.
Serle sadly shook his head.
‘It won’t be long, my lord Duke. I can promise you that. But I’m just doing as I’m told.’
The men who had brought him here were outside the room. Serle stepped back. The door was shut and he was alone.
He had never felt such despair in his life. On whose orders had he been brought here? On Richard’s? What did they intend to do with him? To leave him here, to starve him to death, to go away and forget him?
He sat down on the pallet. He buried his face in his hands. He wanted to shut out the sight of this evil room.
He could sense the doom all around him. He would never escape. They had brought him here to die.
But why? Why? Why had they not despatched him in the castle? Some evil fate was intended for him, he felt sure.
He could hear the rats in a corner of the room. One of them ran across close to him … boldly looking at him with baleful eyes.
‘Oh God,’ he prayed, ‘get me out of here. I’ll do anything … but get me out of here.’
Then he thought back over his life, of his anger because he was the youngest of his father’s sons, of all his dreams and longing for power. And it had brought him to this!
Did Lancaster know? He was his brother. Did York know? Edmund had always been the quiet one, never seeking power, living in the shadows. He had hardly ever thought of Edmund in the last years. It seemed Edmund was perhaps the wisest of them all. And Lancaster had lost his fire lately. Who would ever have believed that the ambitious John of Gaunt would have been content to live quietly with his low-born wife.
And that this could happen to me! He wanted to scream, to shout to them to come and let him out. He knew it was useless.
Instinct told him that he had been brought to this room to die. Now he was praying silently: ‘Let it be soon, oh Lord. Let it come quickly.’
He seemed to have sunk into a stupor. The darkness was closing in on him. He thought: At night the rats will come out.
He felt numb and he could only pray: ‘Oh Lord, let it come soon!’
It seemed as though his prayer was about to be answered. He heard footsteps on the stairs – quiet stealthy footsteps. The door was being opened quietly, slowly. There were men in the room. He recognised William Serle.
He stood up and as he did so he was seized.
They were carrying something. He did not know what it was. It looked like feather-beds.
God had answered his prayers. It was happening quickly. He was thrown face downwards onto the pallet and the feather-beds were placed on top of him.
They were held firmly down on him. There was no air. He could not breathe.
So died the proud Duke of Gloucester.
* * *
Richard congratulated himself on his prompt action. The three main protagonists were all taken care of. Only one of them lived – the Earl of Warwick – and he had never been the menace that the other two had presented. Warwick had been dra
wn into the conspiracy almost against his will. At his trial he had confessed to his guilt and had implored the King’s pardon. There was no point in sending him to his death. There had been enough death already and after the manner of the people, death was the accolade of saintliness. They were even saying that miracles were being performed on Arundel’s grave now.
No, let Warwick be sentenced to forfeiture and imprisonment for life. He had been sent to the Isle of Man where he would be under the control of the governor there, William le Scrope, who was not the man to show much leniency to a self-confessed traitor to the King.
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.
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