by Jean Plaidy
He would never forget those five Lords Appellant standing before him arms linked to show that they came together and were against him. No, he had determined on revenge from the moment they had stood there. And he had it. Gloucester dead, smothered by feathers, Arundel beheaded, Warwick in prison, Norfolk and Hereford exiled. So they should remain. And if Hereford decided to make trouble he had young Harry in his grasp. Harry the hostage.
‘You will be wondering why I sent for you,’ he said. ‘Is that so?’
‘My lord, you have guessed aright,’ replied Harry. There was just a trace of insolence in the young voice but the smile was disarming. One could never be sure with Harry.
‘’Twas no great conundrum,’ said the King shortly. ‘You are to prepare to leave for Ireland.’
‘Ireland, my lord!’ cried Harry.
‘I said Ireland,’ replied the King. ‘The death of the Earl of March has made it necessary for me to take an army there. You will be with us.’
The boys heard the news with mixed feelings. They liked the thought of adventure – but Ireland! They would rather have gone to France. Harry’s father was in France. Suppose . . .
The King was saying, ‘You will wish to make some preparations, I do not doubt. You will be instructed when we are to leave.’
Math watched them sleepily while they bowed and retired.
‘To Ireland,’ murmured Humphrey. ‘I wonder why we are going.’
‘Because the King will not let me out of his sight, I am a hostage for my father’s good conduct towards him. That is why I am going.’
‘But why am I?’
‘Because he does not wish to make the fact of my going too pointed. If we both go . . . well then we are part of the Court retinue. I see it clearly, cousin Humphrey.’
‘Yes,’ said Humphrey, ‘so do I. I wonder how long you will go on being a hostage?’
Harry was thoughtful. He knew the King had confiscated his father’s estates.
He thought such an event might make a difference.
The two boys enjoyed the excitement of making the journey to Ireland. The boisterous sea crossing which so many found distressing did not affect them. They paced the decks in the drizzling rain and felt that they were really men now going into battle.
‘Of course it is only the Irish,’ said Harry disconsolately. ‘I wish it were the French.’
Ireland was a disappointment. There seemed to be little but miles of bog land which could be treacherous; there were stark mountains, sullen people who lived very poorly, and above all rain, perpetual rain.
Richard at the head of his armies looked very splendid indeed and he created a certain wonder among the Irish which was not without its effect. Harry noticed this. Richard had no real qualities as a leader but he had an aura of royalty which served him in a certain way. Harry had often heard of the manner in which he had faced the rebellious peasants at Blackheath and Smithfield and he understood why he had been able to quell them. He was extraordinarily handsome; so fair and light-skinned with an almost ethereal air. He was the man to ride out among his subjects and win them with his charm; but he was not the King to lead them into battle. If there was no real fighting Richard’s campaign might be successful. If there was it would fail. Harry was learning a good deal about leadership. One day he would have his own men and he would know how to lead them then.
The army grew more and more disgruntled. There was nodiing more calculated to sap the spirits of soldiers than inaction and perpetual rain. They were homesick; they hated Ireland. There was no real fighting to excite them and no booty in this poverty-stricken land to make their journey worthwhile.
Back home in England Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, was acting as Regent. Although he was the son of Edward III he was quite without ambition and asked only for a quiet and peaceful life. Perhaps that was why Richard had appointed him as Regent. The King had chosen four men to help him, William Scrope, Earl of Wiltshire, Sir William Bagot, Sir John Bushby and Sir Henry Green. He could not have chosen four more unpopular men. Young as he was, Harry was amazed at the carelessness of the King.
It was a wretched campaign made even more so by the weather. The high seas made it impossible for stores to cross the water so lines of communication were cut off. The men were weary of the struggle, and although the Irish could not put up an army they had other ways of harassing the invaders. They destroyed even the little there would have been to leave behind them as they fled from the enemy and by the time Richard reached Dublin his army had one thought and that was to get back to their firesides as quickly as possible. They had had enough of senseless wars which brought them no profit.
There were messengers awaiting Richard in Dublin and the news they brought was catastrophic. Henry of Lancaster had landed in England; he had come to regain his inheritance, and men were rallying to his banner.
Richard had always been afraid of his cousin. He saw then that he had made a major mistake. First by exiling Henry and then by confiscating the Lancaster estates.
It was too late now to turn back.
He had two alternatives; to stay in Ireland and conduct a campaign against Henry from that country or to return and face him. He must, of course, return to England, but there would necessarily be some delay. He sent John Montacute, Earl of Salisbury back to England immediately to raise the people of Wales against Lancaster. He would follow at the earliest possible moment when he had made some arrangements here in Ireland.
Then he remembered Harry of Monmouth, son of the invader, who was in his hands.
He should be able to turn that to advantage.
He laughed aloud at the thought. The son and heir of the enemy in his hands!
He sent for young Harry, who came, a little truculently, having heard the news of his father’s landing of course. He had to admire the boy. He was in a dangerous position and he knew it.
‘So you are the son of a traitor, eh?’ said Richard.
‘No, my lord, indeed I am not. My father is no traitor.’
‘Have you heard that he has landed in England although I have put him in exile?’
‘He comes to regain his estates I doubt not,’ said Harry. ‘Those which you promised my grandfather should not be forfeit.’
‘You make bold, my young bantam. I hold you my prisoner, you know.’
‘I know I have been and still am a hostage.’
‘For your father’s good behaviour.’
‘Then I have nothing to fear for my father does not act as a traitor. He comes but to take the estates which are his by right of inheritance.’
‘You will have to learn to curb your tongue, Harry.’
‘And lie . . . as others do.’
Richard flushed. ‘You’re a young fool,’ he said.
‘Better that than a knave,’ retorted Harry.
Richard cried: ‘Get out of my sight, or I’ll have that saucy tongue of yours cut out.’
Inwardly Harry quailed at the thought, but he showed no fear. He bowed and retired.
Richard buried his face in his hands. A thousand curses on Henry Bolingbroke! What a fool he had been to let that man live, to have sent him abroad to plot with his enemies, to have taken his estates. He had brought this on himself.
Young Harry knew it. He was a shrewd, clever boy. Richard hated violence. That was why he was so loth to go to war. Why could not people all enjoy the things that he did – music, literature, art, good food in moderation, fine wines, sweet perfumes, rich clothes, sparkling jewels, a clean and beautiful body . . . ? They thought him unkingly because he cared for these things. And now Lancaster was forcing a war on him; and Harry, his son, was defiant, almost insolent because he knew in his heart that to harm him would be loathsome to Richard who abhorred violence. What to do with Harry?
He summoned two of his guards. ‘Let the Lord Harry of Monmouth be taken to the castle of Trim and with him his cousin Gloucester. There they shall remain until I have settled this matter with the traitor Lancaster.’
So the two boys were sent to Trim Castle, there to fret away the days playing chess and games they contrived with their playing cards, while they waited for news from England.
Henry had decided to make for that part of the country which he expected would be most loyal to him, so instead of landing at Dover or Folkestone as he would have been expected to, he set a northerly course and finally arrived at Bridlington. He was amazed at the numbers who flocked to his banner. They were welcoming him because they were tired of Richard. He made his own castle of Pickering his temporary headquarters and from there he marched to Doncaster, his following growing more numerous every day.
At Doncaster he was joined by the Earl of Westmorland, and Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland with his son Sir Henry Percy known as Hotspur. The Percys were a powerful family who helped to keep watch on the Scottish border for any trouble which might flare up. They were like kings of the northern provinces. With them they had brought the Lords of Greystock and Willoughby, a formidable force.
The Earl of Northumberland called together a council which he asked Henry to attend and when they were all assembled, he said, ‘It is important to know what your intentions are, and why you have returned to England.’
Henry replied promptly that his intentions were to regain his estates which had been unjustly forfeited. He had no other intentions.
The company was relieved. They implied that they had no desire to take part in a campaign to take the crown from Richard and put it on his cousin’s head. But being men of property themselves they had very strong views about the seizure of estates. The King had acted foolishly in breaking his promise to John of Gaunt and they agreed that there had been only one course open to Henry of Lancaster. He must come to England and take back what was his.
So these powerful earls of the North joined with Henry of Lancaster in a righteous course.
The next week saw the complete débâcle. Richard’s followers deserted him one by one, and they flocked to Henry’s banner. The King was at first bewildered, then resigned. What he had always feared had come to pass. The people were tired of him; they no longer loved the bright and handsome boy they had cheered so wildly at Blackheath and Smithfield. They had had enough of him and they thought that Henry of Lancaster would serve them better.
When Richard was left with but six loyal men he knew that it was only a matter of days before he was captured. He wandered from castle to castle until he came to Conway and there he rested for he had no heart to continue the futile struggle.
His old enemy Archbishop Arundel came to him there and extracted from him a promise to give up the crown.
He did so, almost with alacrity. He was tired of the crown, tired of his life. He did regret though that he was parted from his little Queen.
The young Isabella had brought him what he had lacked in his life since the death of Queen Anne. He wanted to love and be loved; and this exquisite little girl who adored him and whom he could regard as a beloved child – wife though she was to him – had supplied that.
Poor sweet Isabella what would become of her now!
As for Henry he had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations.
He had seen that Richard must give up the throne from his own desire to do so. Henry did not want trouble which would be inevitable if Richard were forced to abdicate. Henry wanted to be persuaded to take that which his hands had itched to grasp for many years.
Richard was obstinate at first when the irrevocable step had to be taken but eventually he gave in.
There was a new King on the throne. Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster had become King Henry the Fourth of England.
Chapter VI
THE PRINCE AND THE VIRGIN WIDOW
Harry was becoming very restless in Trim Castle, for on the orders of the King, a close watch was kept on him and Humphrey. They were not allowed to ride out which was a hardship scarcely to be endured. They played games until they were tired of them; Harry made all sorts of plans for escape which Humphrey dismissed as impossible. Harry knew this too but it helped a little to plan.
Then one day when they sat idly in a corner of the room they shared, they heard the sound of footsteps coming up the steep spiral staircase; the footsteps stopped at their door and they heard the clanking of keys as the door was being unlocked.
Two of the guards came into the room. They were looking at Harry and there was a distinct change in their demeanour. Not that they had been cruel. Richard would never have wanted that. But now there was respect in the bow they gave in Harry’s direction and then in Humphrey’s.
‘Great news, my lord,’ said the guard looking straight at Harry who was beginning to feel a little light-headed with the possibility which had occurred to him.
‘Yes, yes,’ cried Harry, impatient and imperious.
‘We have a new King, God save him. King Henry IV of England.
‘My . . . my father!’ gasped Harry.
‘Your noble father, my lord, God save him.’
‘Then Richard . . .’
‘Has abdicated, my lord. He knew himself to be beaten.’
Harry smiled to himself. This was the biggest thing that had ever happened. Yesterday he had been Harry of Monmouth, son of an exile, a hostage in the hands of the King. Today he was Prince Harry, heir to the throne.
He wanted to go home. He wanted to share in the triumph. This was the end of this dull and pointless life. A wild exultation took hold of him. Everyone was showing respect, even Humphrey. Heir to the throne. The words kept ringing in his ears.
‘What news of my father the King?’ he asked.
‘Orders, my lord, that you and Duke Humphrey are to leave at once for England,’ was the answer.
‘Come, Humphrey,’ cried Harry. ‘Let us lose no time.’
Nor did they. They would leave at once. There would be a ship waiting for them. His father had seen to that. He wanted his heir with him with all speed. He would be made the Prince of Wales, that was certain. A glorious life lay before him.
Humphrey was more cautious and very thoughtful.
Poor old Humphrey, it would make little difference to him. He was already the Duke of Gloucester and he could not go much higher than that. Still, he would have the distinction of having shared exile with the Prince of Wales.
When they were alone Humphrey said: ‘Harry, don’t hope for too much.’
‘What do you mean? Hope for too much! I’m heir to the throne, am I not?’
‘It must be very insecure as yet.’
‘Insecure! Depend upon it, my father had made it very secure.’
‘For one thing young Edmund Mortimer is the true heir.’
‘That’s not a serious claim.’
‘You have to see things as they are, Harry. Edmund is descended from Lionel who was older than your grandfather.’
‘I know. I know. But he’s only a child.’
‘Age makes no difference.’
‘Oh yes it does. My father has the people behind him. He is the one they want. They want no more child kings.’
‘Not even if they are the rightful heirs?’
‘Enough, Humphrey. Remember . . .’
‘To whom I speak. The heir to the tottering throne. Don’t hope for too much, Harry.’
‘Will you stop it or . . . or . . .’
‘You’ll send me to the Tower and have me lay my head on the block? You’ll be a vindictive king, Harry, but you won’t last long if you don’t look the truth right in the face and accept it for what it is.’
Harry seized him and the two of them wrestled together on the floor of the chamber as they loved to do. Harry often scored in these bouts although he was several years younger than Humphrey.
The tussle ended up in laughter as it always did and Harry cried: ‘What are we doing, wasting our time? Come, we must return to the scene of action with all speed. I am no longer a hostage, Humphrey. Think of that.’
‘I can think of nothing but how glad I am to leave this damp
unfriendly land.’
‘Come, then, let us make ready. To England.’
Within a few days they left Ireland. The crossing was rough and during it Humphrey became ill. Harry chaffed him and told him he was a poor sailor and commented that it was a mercy they were not going into battle. Humphrey smiled wanly and said he could never remember feeling so strange.
‘You’ll be well again as soon as you set foot on dry land,’ Harry promised him.
But this was not so and the crossing was so rough that it seemed at one time that they would never make it. It was a great relief when they were able to land in Anglesey. Oddly enough Humphrey was no better and it soon became clear that his malady had nothing to do with the sea.
He was in a fever and wandering in his mind. They had come to an inn which was nearest to the spot where they had landed and Harry had thought that after a brief rest there Humphrey would be himself again.
Humphrey was rambling about his father. He thought he was himself in an inn in Calais instead of Anglesey and that what had been done to his father would be done to him.
‘Nonsense,’ cried Harry. ‘I’m here with you, Humphrey. We’re in Wales . . . soon we shall be with my father. We are not Richard’s prisoners any more.’
Humphrey was soothed but he did not improve. In fact he was growing worse and a cold fear suddenly touched Harry.
Was this some sort of a plague which had attacked his companion?
He should ride on. His father was impatiently awaiting him, but he was not going to leave Humphrey.
That was to prove a sad homecoming for Harry in spite of the glory which awaited him. Within a few days of their landing Humphrey had died of the mysterious illness which had attacked him so suddenly.
When the Duchess of Gloucester heard of the death of her only son she was overcome with melancholy.
It was difficult to recognise in this grief-stricken lady the forceful Eleanor de Bohun who had once been so pleased with herself when she had married Thomas of Woodstock, and together they had planned to get their hands on the entire fortune left by her father.