by Jean Plaidy
‘Their purses,’ he whispered to Oldcastle. And in a few seconds they were running through the dark streets with three purses in their possession.
Harry leaned against a wall and burst out laughing. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘they will tell a fine tale.’
They did not go back to the tavern that night.
The next day Harry enquired how his friends had received their bruises and expressed deep concern when they told him they had been set upon in East Cheap by a pack of ruffians.
‘The streets are unsafe by night,’ said Harry with a show of concern.
Oldcastle added: ‘’Tis unsafe to wander in them unarmed. Did you have nothing to defend yourself?’
‘My good sir, try to defend yourself when set on by a gang.’
‘Were there many of them?’ asked Harry solemnly.
‘I’d say we were outnumbered three to one.’
‘No chance against so many,’ muttered Oldcastle.
‘A plague on them, they had our purses.’
‘And you cannot afford the loss, I’ll swear,’ said Harry. ‘Who of us can? I’ll be generous. You’re good fellows and brave. I’ll swear you gave a good account of yourself. You will allow me to reimburse you.’
The three adventurers declared themselves reluctant to rob the Prince.
‘Come, come. You have been robbed.’
Harry was almost hysterical with suppressed mirth as he handed back their own money.
When they were alone Sir John said: ‘I believe you gave more to one of them than the other two.’
‘You know why. He was the one who hit me in the ribs. I thought he should be rewarded for showing more fight than the others.’
They had enjoyed the adventure so much that they decided to repeat it. Secrecy was a necessity.
‘It’s dangerous,’ said Sir John. ‘Who knows, someone of them may get the better of us.’
‘That’s why it is exciting, you old buffoon.’
Sometimes there was some rough fighting, but the more the attacked fought back the better Harry liked it.
It was his favourite game until someone detected that he was the instigator. From then on the game had lost its savour.
But there were always ways of amusing themselves in the taverns and the streets of London.
Harry had a servant of whom he was somewhat fond. He knew the fellow for a rogue but he was a merry one; and his unscrupulous behaviour amused the Prince. One day it occurred to him that he had not seen Bardolph for a few days and he asked where he was.
‘My lord,’ was the answer, ‘he has been arrested.’
‘Arrested for what cause?’
‘Some felony, my lord. It was of a certainty that he would be caught one day.’
‘Why was I not told? Is he not my servant?’
‘’Twas an offence which brought him before the Chief Justice, my lord.’
‘Before Gascoigne! Why he stands a chance of hanging then. I won’t lose Bardolph to a hangman, that I swear.’
‘My lord, he comes up for trial this day.’
‘Then I shall leave at once for the courts.’
He was as good as his word and impetuously he rode out. At the King’s Bench sat Sir William Gascoigne – a man in his late fifties, dignified, deeply aware of the importance of his office and known throughout the country for his incorruptible determination to administer justice to high and low alike.
There was a commotion in court as Harry appeared and the judge called for order.
Harry went forward. He had seen his servant Bardolph.
‘There stands my servant,’ he said. ‘I wish him to be released at once. If he has done aught which deserves punishment it is for me to administer it.’
The judge surveyed the heated face of the young Prince calmly.
‘You are wrong, my lord. This man’s crime is one against society and it comes within my jurisdiction.’
‘You forget, my lord judge, to whom you speak.’
‘I speak in the name of the King,’ replied Sir William Gascoigne, ‘and I order you, his subject, to leave the court.’
Harry was furious. He drew his sword and advanced on the judge, who sat still calmly watching him. There was a hushed silence. Many thought they were about to witness the murder of the Chief Justice by the Prince of Wales.
Then Sir William spoke. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘remember I keep here the place of your sovereign lord and father to whom you owe double obedience. I charge you in his name, desist from your wilfulness and unlawful conduct. From henceforth, I beg of you, give a good example to those who in the future shall be your subjects. For your contempt and disobedience of the King’s Bench you will go to prison where I shall commit you, and remain there until the pleasure of your father the King shall be known.’
Harry was startled into silence. All he had to do was thrust his sword through the heart of this judge who had gone so far as to commit him, the Prince of Wales, to prison, yet he hesitated.
His anger faded suddenly as he began to see this incident clearly through the eyes of a bystander. If a King was going to maintain justice his courts must not be held in contempt. No one, whatever his rank, should burst in and demand the release of a prisoner. That way lay anarchy and as one who was going to wear the crown, his first duty was to maintain the laws of the land.
He laid down his sword and bowing to the judge he said: ‘You are right. You must do with me as you will. I ask your pardon and that of the court.’
Sir William was clearly impressed by the wisdom of the Prince. His voice was gentle as he said: ‘You will wait here in this court until I know the will of the King. Messengers shall go to him with all speed. In the meantime we will continue with the business of the court.’
The King was in his bedchamber when the messenger arrived. He was in a melancholy mood; he was looking truth straight in the face and he believed he was not going to live very long. Nor did he want to with this terrible affliction which had come to him. That was not all. There was another ailment – or perhaps the two were connected. At times he would go into a swoon or it might be a trance and be unaware of where he was or what was going on about him. One night his attendants had thought he was dead.
In his heart he wondered whether it was a retribution, a punishment for taking the crown. He was haunted by memories of Richard and he often dreamed of his cousin starving and freezing to death in his cell at Pontefract.
A crown, he thought, what men will do for it. And when they get it, what joy does it bring them?
His father had longed for it and died a frustrated man; his grandfather had rightfully inherited it and had worn it nobly – at least until his last days. And he . . . Joyfully had he grasped it but it had weighed him down with trouble ever since it had been his.
Soon it would be Harry’s turn – Harry with his wild life and his fondness for low companions, profligates like himself. What would become of the country?
And now a messenger to see him. He roused himself. Not ill news he trusted.
‘My lord,’ said the messenger, ‘I come from the King’s Bench.’
He then related what had happened.
Henry listening, smiled slowly to himself. Yes, he thought, it is good news.
Then he lifted his eyes and said: ‘Oh merciful God, I thank you for a judge who feared not to administer justice and a son who can nobly submit to it.’
He felt better than he had for a long time. It might well be that Harry would reform his ways. He could so easily have slain the judge, have caused havoc in the court. But he had submitted to justice.
It was a sign from heaven. His sins were forgiven. He might, after all his fears, be leaving England a worthy King.
He immediately sent his compliments and thanks to Sir William Gascoigne. He applauded his action. His son should be released. He was pleased that he had realised in time that justice must stand supreme in England.
Bardolph received a short term of imprisonment which fitted his crime and
the Prince left the court on the best of terms with the judge; and the matter was said to be over.
But men talked of it and they marvelled at the Prince’s behaviour. They were beginning to realise that in spite of his frivolous and reckless way of life there was within him a streak of seriousness.
The incident in the courts had without doubt had its sobering influence on Harry; and it seemed that his mood communicated itself to his crony John Oldcastle.
One day as they sat together in one of their favourite taverns, Oldcastle said to Harry: ‘I have been disturbed for some time and meaning to talk to you.’
‘You, disturbed? What ails you, John? Not some pox, I hope.’
‘You never thought of me as a religious man, my Prince.’
‘You have never shown me much evidence of your piety.’
‘I think a lot, you know; and since my marriage . . .’
‘Ah, the lady Cobham is having her effect on you, I see.’
‘Like you, my Prince, I was always deeply affected by the ladies.’
‘They render you frivolous, amorous, reckless yes . . . but this lady makes you think. What strange alchemy has she to bring about this wondrous feat?’
‘She is my wife, my lord.’
‘I know it well and through her you have discarded the comparatively humble Sir John Oldcastle and become Lord Cobham.’
‘Should you blame me? One day you will discard the comparatively humble title of Prince of Wales and become King of England. But enough of banter. What think you of the Lollards, Hal?’
‘Lollards? In truth I have thought little of them. My grandfather supported their leader Wycliffe for a while and I think little came of it.’
‘Mayhap not through him, but they are a rising power. There is much that is good in them.’
‘I like their name. Lollards, what means it, John?’
‘Some say it comes from the German word lollen, to sing.’
‘They have a habit of singing hymns, I believe.’
‘A good habit to sing of what one believes. But I have also heard, now I come to remember, that they have been named from a good English word. Loller – an idler.’
‘Well, what is in a name? It is what they stand for which is important. They are a dangerous group, John. I remember Archbishop Arundel’s saying that they were behind the Peasants’ Revolt.’
‘Some say the peasant had good reason to revolt.’
‘You always loved a discourse. God’s truth, I believe you take a view with which you know I will not agree just to bait me.’
‘Mayhap,’ agreed John. ‘It makes a good pastime.’
Harry was watching one of the serving women.
‘I can think of a better at this moment,’ he said.
John sighed and the subject was dropped, but he brought it up again at their next meeting.
‘The Lollards believe that no human law not founded on the scriptures ought to be obeyed.’
‘There are crimes not mentioned in the scriptures.’
‘Is it right,’ persisted John, ‘that popes, cardinals, prelates and the like should live in luxury while the people who struggle day and night to feed themselves and their families should pay them rich dues?’
‘John, you talk like a preacher.’
‘I feel deeply on this matter.’
‘You do indeed, I see. John, you alarm me. You know my father does not think kindly of the Lollards.’
‘I think in his heart he may . . . as his father did. But when he came to the throne he promised Archbishop Arundel to persecute them and this he did . . . for the sake of Arundel’s support.’
‘What’s come over you, John? You should not talk thus of the King.’
‘To you, I speak without thought.’
‘It is a dangerous habit, old fellow. Do you remember a man named William Sawtre?’
‘Would I forget the first martyr to this cause? He was a poor curate and they made an example of him. He said he would not worship the cross but only Christ that suffered on it. He would rather worship a man who was truly contrite than the piece of wood which was all the cross was. The bread used in the sacrament remained bread whatever a priest mumbled over it. He was burned to death as a heretic. The first to be so treated. His death was a dark blot on our history.’
The Prince was looking in astonishment at his friend.
‘What has come over you? You’ve changed, John.’
‘Nay, I am the same. As you are, my Prince. We frivol away the hours but when we are quiet we think of other things. As it is with you, it is with me. I look ahead, Hal. We shall not spend our lives roystering in taverns. We have other work to do.’
‘I know what mine is. I thought yours was to serve me.’
‘So it is, lord King-to-be. But not in taverns.’
‘You’ve put me in a sober mood, John. I fear the wenches will be disappointed.’
‘Cast off your gloom. I humbly ask pardon for creating it.’
‘Nay, John, nay. You have put me in the mood for serious thought. Let us leave this place. I have no stomach for it now.
One thing I would say to you. Have a care. Do not become embroiled in sects and reforming companies. They could bring you to disaster.’
‘I am not of a nature to fear what may come to me . . . even as you are. Would this close friendship – with which you honour me – have existed if we had not been two of a kind? I shall do what I think right . . . as you will always. It is the nature of us.’
‘Then take care, John. I am not sure that I like the serious thinker half as much as my lewd old roystering rogue.’
The King lay in his bed. His face was distorted by the hideous pustules which stood out all over it; his body was shrunken and there was a stiffness in his hands and feet so that he feared he was losing the use of them.
He dared not show himself. He relied on his closest friends and his sons. Thomas was his favourite and he wished that he had been the eldest, although there were times when he recognised a certain strength in Harry which the others did not possess, and then he would feel that the realm would be safe in his hands. Thomas was milder than Harry although he too had been involved in riotous conflict in East Cheap, which created something of a scandal. John, who was by far the most sober of the family, had been involved but that was only because he was accompanying his brother. Even young Humphrey was developing a taste for the night life of London. They were a wild brood, his sons. Odd to think that gentle little Mary had produced them.
At least he had something to be thankful for. He had produced sons – wild though they might be; and both his marriages had been happy ones. He could not have chosen better than Joanna, except for the fact that her family – by the nature of their geographical position – were inclined towards France. But there were internal difficulties in that country now – with Burgundy and the mad King and the wanton Queen. Fortunately, thought Henry, for they were causing little concern to England now; and he had no great wish to go to war, unlike Harry who was straining at the leash. Harry was ambitious. He wanted not only the crown of England but the crown of France.
Peace, thought Henry, that is what I long for now. Would to God I were well enough to go on a pilgrimage. God knows I have sins enough to wash away. There had been a prophecy made years ago that he would die in Jerusalem. There seemed little likelihood of that now, unless his health improved and he abdicated in favour of Harry. But if he were granted the miracle of good health, he would not dream of leaving the country.
The people loved Harry. He had noticed it when they were together. All the cheers were for Harry. He had that certain quality which drew men to him. A Plantagenet quality although he had the looks of a de Bohun. His father had never had it, for all his strength and power; Edward the King had had it, so had the Black Prince.
He felt angry because it had been denied him.
They never liked me, he thought. If I said I would abdicate tomorrow they would cheer themselves hoarse for Harry.
‘Never will I give up, my son,’ he murmured. ‘Death’s is the only hand which will place the crown on your head.’
Harry was hand in glove with his Beaufort relations. Trust them to go where the pastures looked greenest. It was an indication that they thought there was not much time left to him.
They had supported him whole-heartedly at one time. Of course they had. Their fortunes were firmly tied up with those of the House of Lancaster. His half-brothers – result of his father’s abiding passion for Catherine Swynford. Clever men all of them. And now they veered to Harry. They were going to uphold him, even if it meant going against the King – for the old King was not long for this world.
‘The King is dead!’ they would cry. ‘Long live the King.’
He was sad; he was in pain. He had committed a great sin in compassing the crown and it had brought him nothing but bitterness.
Harry liked to discuss his plans with John, who was his favourite brother, and his uncles Henry and Thomas Beaufort. Henry had been made Bishop of Winchester and Thomas, Duke of Exeter and Chancellor of England; they had been specially favoured as the sons of John of Gaunt and they had inherited a good deal of their father’s shrewdness.
Their elder brother John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, was dead and there had been a rift in the family when the King’s son Thomas had married Somerset’s widow for when Thomas had demanded her estates Henry Beaufort had refused to give them up.
In the quarrel, the Prince had taken sides and was in favour of his uncle rather than his brother and this had, of course, made a great coolness between them, and Thomas, knowing that their father was not on the best of terms with the Prince of Wales, did his best to turn the King still more away from the heir to the throne.
It was an uneasy situation. It brought Harry closer to the Beauforts who as Bishop and Chancellor were powerful men; and as everyone knew now of the King’s fearsome disease which often kept him out of sight for long periods, an uneasy tension was growing up in Court circles. It was working towards a rift and it seemed that before long there would be a King’s circle and one made up of the Prince’s supporters.