Foundation (History of England Vol 1) (49 page)

The woods and forests of England are a token of its ancient life, and as such have been feared and protected in equal measure. The charters of the Anglo-Saxons reveal the presence of woods that still exist. ‘Westgraf’, mentioned in 703 as part of the topography of Shottery in Warwickshire, is now Westgrove Wood in the parish of Haselor. Wanelund, a word the Vikings used when they came to Norfolk, has become Wayland Wood a little south of Watton. A charter of 682 refers to ‘the famous wood known as Cantocwudu’; it is now known as Quantockwood in Somerset. There are many other examples of an ancient presence.

Sire-wode, later known as Sherwood, stretched from Nottingham to the centre of Yorkshire. The present Birklands contains the last remnant of the medieval oak forest that covered this region; the trees are now gnarled and dry. The other forest connected to Robin, Inglewood, was also of great extent and lay between Penrith and Carlisle. These had become the natural refuge of outlaws from the king’s justice, those who were deemed to wear ‘the wolf’s head’ and could thus be instantly cut down. Yet the English have always made heroes out of robbers and cutpurses; as a result the outlaws of the forest became representative of national freedom and equality. Robin Hood is supposed in legend to have died at Kirklees in Yorkshire. But in truth he did not die. He became part of England’s mythography.

27

The suffering king

Henry Bolingbroke, now distinguished by the title of Henry IV, had obtained the throne by violence and perhaps by fraudulence. The crown on such a head will not sit easily or securely. He himself had proved that kings can be removed at will, and gain legitimacy by popular acclamation. Henry therefore courted the Lords and Commons. He promised that he would not levy taxes, and repealed some of the previous king’s more oppressive legislation. He resumed the mantle of the warrior, pledging to lead armies into Scotland and into France, and thus adopted the style of previous martial kings. He also attempted to bring God on his side, by promising the bishops that he would be the hammer of heretics.

Yet many still believed Henry to be a usurper. From the beginning of the reign rumour spread that Richard II still lived – that he was in Scotland, that he was in Wales, that he was everywhere. Dominican and Franciscan friars preached open sedition in marketplaces and taverns, with the news that the deposed king had survived. One Franciscan friar was brought before the king.

Another interesting exchange took place with a friar.

At the conclusion of this spirited interview the king lost his temper and cried out, ‘By my head I shall have your head!’ So it proved.

The fact that Henry felt it necessary and expedient to confront these friars in person suggests how seriously he considered any such rumour or rumours to be. He could not be safe – he could not be an anointed king – if Richard were believed to be alive.

In the early months of 1400 some Ricardian loyalists attempted an insurrection by riding on Windsor. They were dispersed and fled westwards, where eventually they were surrounded and despatched by the citizens of Cirencester and Bristol. The king’s punishment was no more merciful. One of the accused, Sir Thomas
Blount, was hanged at Smithfield for a minute or so before being cut down; he was then ordered to sit in front of a great fire while the executioner came to him with a razor in his hand. After begging the prisoner’s pardon he knelt down, opened up his stomach with his razor, and took out the bowels. Blount was asked if he would like a drink. ‘No,’ he replied, ‘for I do not know where I should put it.’ The executioner tied the bowels with a string so that, in the words of a contemporary, ‘the wind of the heart should not escape’; then he threw them into the fire. One of the bystanders shouted out in derision, ‘Go seek a master that can save you’. Blount cried that ‘I shall die in the service of my sovereign lord, the noble king Richard!’ The executioner cut off his head.

Yet the severity of the punishment did not deter other rebels. In the autumn of 1401 an attempt was made to assassinate Henry, by means of an ‘infernal machine’ with poisoned spikes placed in his bed. The plan fared no better than the attempt by another assassin to smear his saddle with a deadly poison. Yet Henry was aware that dangerous forces were working against him.

Protests grew of a different kind. Despite the king’s early promise to avoid taxation, he was soon obliged to break his word. In the parliament of 1401 the chief justice revealed that the deposed king’s ‘treasure’, if such it was, had disappeared into thin air. The real costs of defending and administering the realm were increasing to such an extent that the king was already heavily in debt. The Commons eventually granted his request for aid by taxation, but in return they submitted various petitions and complaints; only when these appeals were granted was their consent to taxation obtained. This would be the pattern for all of Henry’s parliaments. He would receive money only when he satisfied the demands of the Commons. In that sense he was not a strong king. The parliament of 1399, however illegally assembled and constituted, had in effect sanctioned the coronation of a new sovereign. Why should it not now attempt to curb that monarch’s power?

In the summer of 1403 his erstwhile allies, the Percy family, rebelled against his rule. They joined a Welsh prince, Owen Glendower, who had formally defied the English king. Henry Percy, the earl of Northumberland, and his son, Hotspur, had been charged with the defence of the north against Scottish raiders.
They had hoped by their early support of Henry’s invasion to enjoy the spoils of victory. To their surprise and alarm, however, they found themselves obliged to maintain the defences of their northern lands without any proportionate help from Henry. It had been rumoured in the parliament house that the Percy family had been granted £60,000 from the king. They denied this, claiming that they had received only £20,000. Where had the money gone?

Hotspur had come to Westminster, at the end of 1402, and demanded more money in the presence of the king. The result was a bitter confrontation. One chronicler asserts that the king punched Hotspur in the face, while another reports that he drew a dagger upon him. Whatever the truth of the matter, their alliance was broken. The Percys had another grievance against the king, in theory more serious but in practice a convenient excuse for their rebellion. They accused the king of betraying his oath. He had promised them, on first landing in Yorkshire, that he had no designs on the throne. This was in later weeks found to be a palpable fiction. But from the beginning they must have been at least aware of the possibility of Richard’s overthrow.

In the summer of 1403 Hotspur gathered an army at Chester, and proclaimed that King Richard was still alive. This was the familiar rallying cry for all those who opposed the king. Owen Glendower was poised to move from Wales, and Henry Percy was mustering his forces in the north. The king moved rapidly and expeditiously. He sent an army to Shrewsbury, the town where the rebels were supposed to muster. When Hotspur arrived there, he found the gates shut against him. While he paused outside the town, the king’s army advanced. The opposing forces met at Berwick Field, 2 miles (3 kilometres) outside Shrewsbury. Hotspur had with him 1,000 archers, and he placed them on top of a ridge from which they would be able to see the king’s men approaching. Henry had taken the precaution of asking two of his prominent supporters to wear his livery, since he knew well enough that he was the real target of Hotspur; if three Henries were on the field, it might prove confusing.

The king’s men advanced up the slope, and were met by thousands of arrows shot from the longbows of the Cheshire men. The sky grew dark, and the carnage began. The king’s men fell,
according to one chronicler, ‘as fast as autumn leaves fall in autumn after the hoar frost’. On the death of one of the king’s commanders, the earl of Stafford, the vanguard of the royal army gave way and began to flee. Henry now had to act promptly to prevent a rout and bloody defeat. So he gave orders for the main body of the army to advance, and he threw himself into the action.

‘There was such slaughter’, one chronicler wrote, ‘that the like had not been seen in England for a long time.’ The royal soldiers seemed to prevail, and Hotspur staked everything on a charge against the king. Henry fell back, so that Hotspur and his followers were lost in the general mêlée. When they faltered, they were cut down. Hotspur was among the dead. The king’s son, Henry, received a wound to his skull. Yet he lived. He was one of the victors to celebrate the king’s triumph. It seemed that Henry IV had truly been anointed by God.

Two years after the battle of Berwick Field, however, another insurrection emerged in the north. The archbishop of York, Richard Scrope, rose up against royal government and issued a manifesto or list of grievances to the effect that Henry was demanding too much taxation; the burden upon his subjects, secular and clerical, had become insupportable.

It was not a successful rebellion, and within a few days the forces of the archbishop forsook him or were taken into custody. The earl of Northumberland, having survived his son’s defeat outside Shrewsbury, was again implicated in the uprising and fled to Scotland. Scrope himself was captured and beheaded, part of Henry’s crude and brutal attempt to beat off all opposition. Yet the murder of an archbishop was, in the context of the time, an act of blasphemy; it invited comparisons with the murder of Thomas Becket in the thirteenth century. Henry IV avoided much of the public obloquy that fell upon Henry II, but his private character was more severely affected. To the insecurity of his throne was added the impurity of sacrilege.

The death of the archbishop weighed on his conscience. He was riding his horse on the afternoon of 8 June 1405 – the day of Richard Scrope’s execution – when he was struck by some force so powerful that ‘it seemed to him that he had felt an actual blow’. That night he suffered a nightmare in which he cried out ‘Traitors!
Traitors! You have thrown fire over me!’ When his attendants reached him, he complained that his skin was burning. This was the time when he became afflicted with a mysterious illness that was rumoured to be leprosy; since the sickness came and went over the next few years, that is unlikely to be the true diagnosis. It is more probable that Henry had contracted syphilis. As a young man he had gone on crusade to the Holy Land, and the crusaders were notorious for carrying back the venereal disease.

Yet he had passed through the fire, and from 1406 onwards there were no serious attempts to take the throne. He remained cautious; he remained stubborn; he was ever vigilant. He realized, unlike his predecessor, that he did not have the power or the resources to confront the great magnates of the land; so he equivocated, and he compromised. He permitted his nobles to enjoy a measure of independence and influence that had been denied to them in Richard’s reign. He allowed himself to be in part ruled by a council of notables. He was a good manager of men. The Crown was poor, and the treasury all but exhausted; local law was not kept, and the districts of the country were ruled by local faction. The possibility of riot and robbery was always close. Yet the king did not fall. It might be said that he muddled through, were it not for the fact that his abiding aim was to preserve his own authority and to maintain a new national dynasty. In these respects, he was successful.