Passage to Pontefract (17 page)

And what then? Who would have believed a few years ago that it could have come to this.

They had had a great and glorious King but he had been seduced by a harpy; they had had a Prince who had seemed like a god come down to serve them. And what had happened? He had become a sick man who was clearly fighting now to stave off death.

The heir to the throne was a slender young boy – his father’s son, possessed of the Plantagenet handsome looks but lacking the robustness which was a feature of the race; and overshadowing him was his uncle, John of Gaunt.

John of Gaunt! That was the name which was whispered in the streets and the meadows. ‘He seeks to rule us,’ it was murmured. ‘He is waiting for his brother to die. Then he will attempt to take the crown from little Richard and there will be war.’

John of Gaunt! His very name proclaimed his foreign birth. What had he done? He had conducted an unsuccessful campaign in France which had resulted in great losses and they had paid taxes that this campaign might be carried out.

Rumour had it that he kept his mistress over there. Catherine Swynford, the wife – widow now – of one of his men. They were raising a little family of Beauforts. Three boys and a girl. And his wife the poor Queen of Castile was ignored. He had married her for her crown but before she could gain it it had to be won and they would be expected to pay for his adventures. John of Gaunt was not noted for his generalship. He was not like the hero of Crécy and Poitiers. Oh, what an ill fate for England when the great Black Prince had been stricken with sickness! The only hope for the country was that he would live a little longer, or that the King himself would not die for a while.

But the King had disappointed them. He appeared in public with that harlot Alice Perrers beside him, decked in fine satins and velvets and wearing the royal jewels. Those who remembered good Queen Philippa cursed her. No good could come of a family which flaunted its immorality, openly defying the laws of Holy Church. The King could be forgiven by some. He was old, he was senile, they said; he had once been great and England had loved him. There had rarely been a King who had been so loved as Edward the Third. Yes, they could find it in their hearts to overlook his lapse from virtue. But John of Gaunt, with his harlot Catherine Swynford, no! London did not want this man. They would not tolerate his rule.

He had returned to England after the disastrous campaign and he had been going back and forth to France for the last two years, staying in Ghent and Bruges and attempting to persuade the French to agree to a truce. On his knees almost to the French! They had come a long way from Poitiers when the Black Prince had returned with the King of France as his captive.

Sad days had come to England and at such times it was natural to look for a scapegoat. The people had looked and found one. His name was John of Gaunt.

In his Palace of Berkhamsted the Black Prince was often confined to his chamber and there he fretted about what was happening at Court.

Joan was growing more and more anxious about the state of affairs. Even her optimism was beginning to wane. She could no longer deceive herself that the Prince’s health was improving. As he grew older the attacks were becoming not only more frequent but more virulent. There was one consolation. As time passed Richard was growing older. He was now nine years old; she thanked God that he was clever and had such a good mentor as Sir Simon Burley who was so obviously devoted to him.

The Prince talked to her constantly about the state of the country. His great fear – as hers was too – was what would become of Richard if his grandfather and father were to die and he become King.

‘While I live,’ said the Prince, ‘feeble as I am, I can still look after him.’

‘The people are with you.’

‘Yes, the people have always been faithful. But, Joan, I fear my brother.’

‘John has always been the most ambitious of you all, but I cannot believe he would harm Richard.’

‘He might not try to take his place on the throne. The people would never agree to that and John knows it. What he will seek to do – as he is doing now – is to become my father’s chief adviser. The Parliament consists of those who are working for him; he has agreed to tolerate Alice Perrers, even make a friend of her. My dear Joan, any who can do that is to be suspected.’

‘I know. If only you were well how different everything would be.’

‘Had I been well, Joan, we should never have suffered such losses in France; England would be as strong as she was in my father’s heyday. I must go to Westminster. I cannot lie here and see my brother take over the government of this country.’

She knew it was no use trying to dissuade him.

‘You must wait a few days,’ she insisted, ‘and we will try and get you ready for the ordeal.’

At length he agreed to wait and so determined was he to go that in a few days his health did improve enough for him to make the journey.

Richard was fully aware of the tensions all round him and it was particularly disturbing to know that he was concerned in them. He was very much aware of his father’s anxious eyes which seemed to follow him whenever they were together. The King would make him sit by his chair or by his bed and would talk to him of the responsibilities of kingship.

It was very necessary always to keep the affection of the people. One must never forget that one was a king. Always the dignity of the throne must be preserved. The country must come first; a king must serve it even though it meant hardship and unselfish devotion.

Richard was beginning to think that kings did not have a very good time.

He broached the matter with Sir Simon Burley whom, next to his mother, he loved best in the world.

‘If the life of a king is such a hard one, sacrificing all the time and doing not what he wants but what others want him to do, why do so many people want to be a king?’

‘It is because of power. A king is the head of the state. He has greater power than anyone else …’

Richard’s eyes began to shine with excitement and Simon said quickly: ‘He can lose it quickly if he does not use it wisely.’

‘How will he know what is wisely?’

‘His conscience will tell him and also his ministers.’

‘Is my grandfather wise?’

Simon was silent for a few seconds and he was conscious of Richard’s awareness of the silence, Richard was very sharp. It was a good sign. He was a clever boy. He would make a good king.

‘Your grandfather was the most brilliant monarch in Europe.’

‘Was?’ said Richard quickly. ‘
Was
, did you say, Simon?’

‘Your grandfather is now an old man. He is surrounded by people who may not be as wise as we could wish.’

‘Like Alice Perrers?’

‘What do you know of her?’

‘I listen, Simon. I always listened. I learn more by listening and piecing the information together. Yes, I learn more that way because when you or my mother or my father tell me what it seems good for me to know, you don’t tell all … and unless I know everything it is not always easy for very often the important bits are those which are left out.’

‘My lord,’ said Simon, ‘I know this. You profit from your books.’

‘I love my books because with them I can do well. I do not love outdoor sports in the same way because there will always be those about me, who without much effort can do better than I. We like that at which we excel.’

‘We do indeed and right glad am I that you learn so quickly.’

Richard was watching his tutor intently. He knew that he was coming to the conclusion that Richard’s tender years should be forgotten. It must be remembered that here was a clever boy who might within a year or so be the King of England.

He said soberly: ‘The kingdom has come to a sorry state. Not so long ago we were progressing to such prosperity as we had not known before but a series of mishaps befell us. The chief of those was the Black Death which carried off more than half of our people. Can you imagine what it was like when this scourge descended on us? There were not enough men left to till the fields; those who could do it demanded such high payment as it was impossible to give. Your grandfather was strong in those days. He set the country working in good order again – but we could never make up for all those we had lost. Then there was the French war – which took our men and our treasure. The people grow restive when taxes are high. They see their hard-earned money going on the battlefields of France. The King has grown old …’

‘And,’ put in Richard, ‘surrounds himself with unwise counsellors.’

‘We must always guard our tongues, my lord.’

‘Never fear, Simon, I shall guard mine until such time as I may safely use it.’

‘Your father who was a great strong man is stricken by illness. The people had looked to him as their next king. There is a great melancholy in the country because of your father’s illness.’

‘He is going to die, Simon.’

Simon did not answer. It was no use offering this bright boy lies.

‘And when he dies and my grandfather dies … I shall be King.’

‘That may well be some years yet. I pray God it will be.’

‘Why, Simon? If my grandfather is surrounded by unwise counsellors it is better for him to die.’

‘You talk too glibly of death, my lord. It is for God to decide.’

‘He decided to send the Black Death so you never know what evil will come through Him.’

‘We must accept what He sends as best for us. He sends great mercy too.’

‘He took my brother Edward. He did that suddenly. They were not expecting Edward to die. If he had not died
he
would have been the King.’

‘We must accept God’s ways,’ said Simon.

‘It would be better,’ replied Richard, ‘if we could understand them. The people want my father, do they not. Whereever he goes they shout for him. They love him dearly.’

‘He is a great hero … a great Prince.’

‘They like his name. They like Edwards.’

‘There was one Edward they did not like.’

‘Oh yes, my great-grandfather. They hated him and he was an Edward. Perhaps they will not mind a Richard after all.’

‘My lord, my lord, a name is of no importance. When the time comes you will show them that a Richard can be the best King they have ever had.’

The boy stood up suddenly, his eyes shining. ‘I will. Simon, I will.’

‘God bless you,’ murmured Simon.

The Black Prince was carried in his litter from Berkhamsted to London.

When the people heard that he was on his way they thronged the streets to welcome him.

He was glad he was in his litter so that they could not see how swollen his body was with the dropsy which persisted and which had killed his mother. He smiled as he acknowledged their cheers and tried to look as though he were not in pain. Indeed, the exhilaration of their affection for him comforted him so much that he felt better for it.

He first went to the King. A sorry sight. He himself had to be carried in. What have we come to the Prince asked himself. Great Edward and his mighty son, the Black Prince, two decrepit old men, their glory long past. Are these the heroes who made Frenchmen tremble at their approach? If they could see us now, they would snap their fingers at us. They would be very saucy. And they had been. They had shown what they thought of an England which had lost its mighty leaders.

The King’s eyes were full of tears as he beheld his son.

‘I thank God,’ he said, ‘that your mother is not alive to see us thus.’

‘I thank God she is not alive to see who has usurped her place beside you.’

The Prince had always spoken frankly, and what had he to lose now?

‘Alice is my only comfort in these sad days,’ said the King.

‘My lord, when comfort has to be so dearly bought it is oft-times better to do without it.’

The King sighed and looked pathetic. ‘John understands,’ he said. ‘He and Alice are good friends now.’

‘And for a clear reason,’ said the Prince. ‘John it seems would be the friend of the devil if by so doing he could advance his ambition.’

‘My son, let us talk of more pleasant matters.’

‘We must talk of England, my lord. And that I’ll grant you is not the pleasant matter it once was.’