Passage to Pontefract (22 page)

With all haste he rode to the Savoy. Some of the mob were inside the palace. The noise was deafening, and he found it difficult to make himself heard.

Then a cry went up. ‘The Bishop!’ And there was silence.

He addressed them in a voice of thunder.

‘My people. What is this I find? It grieves me. Take heed, I say. I would speak with you. Do you want to bring the wrath of God down on your heads?’

A hushed silence fell on the crowd.

‘This is the season of Lent,’ went on the Bishop. ‘You have killed one of my priests. May God forgive you. This is a time when you should be repenting of your sins. And you add to them. Go home, and entreat God for mercy. You have need of it. This is not the way to right your wrongs.’

He rode through the crowd. There was something noble about him and his clerical vestments lent him a grandeur. He knew that one of them might have raised a hand against him and set the mood of the mob, but he showed no fear.

They were overawed. He was more than a mere man. He was their Bishop.

‘Disperse quietly,’ he said. ‘Go to your homes and pray for forgiveness. Remember this is the season of Lent.’

He watched them.

One by one they went away.

The Bishop had quelled the riot.

  Chapter VII  

THE END OF A REIGN

T
o return to Kennington after all the pomp and glory of the Court where he was a very important person indeed was somewhat disconcerting for young Richard. The proclamation that he was the King’s heir and the banquet which had followed had given him a taste for such pleasures; and now here he was back under the care of Sir Simon Burley and Sir Guichard d’Angle who, although he was very fond of them both, did treat him as though he were a little boy.

His mother was the same; she was always afraid that something was going to happen to him. His father had always chided her for pampering him. It was different with his half-brothers, Thomas and John Holland. They liked to play rough games and were always trying out practical jokes. He was not always pleased with such horseplay and his mother’s constant hovering to make sure he was not hurt.

It was not that he regretted not indulging in the sports that his elder brothers did, for he was not very interested in them. Besides Thomas and John were years older than he was; and they were wild. They took after their father, their mother said. He was the sort of man who took what he wanted and counted the cost after, whereas Richard’s father had been serious, deeply concerned with doing the right thing.

‘You must be like your father.’ That was what he was constantly told until he grew tired of hearing how wonderful his father had been. The great hero. The Black Prince. The tale of how he had won his spurs at Crécy and how he had brought back the French King after Poitiers were stories which grew a little tiresome, especially when they were always followed by the injunction that he must try to be like his father.

Now his half-brothers were talking about Wycliffe who was being examined by the Bishop of London in St Paul’s. Richard had heard a great deal of talk about this man John Wycliffe. He was one who had very strong views about religion and did not mind giving voice to them.

His mother was inclined to favour the man. She thought the Pope had too much power and Richard was agreeing with her now that he had tasted the sweets of coming kingship. The King was the ruler of the country, said his mother, and there should be none above him but God. The Pope set himself up as God’s Deputy on Earth. God did not need a deputy, said his mother.

Richard was beginning to take an interest in what was going on in the country. After all, soon he would be ruling over it.

‘The old man grows more and more feeble every day,’ said Thomas Holland.

Richard admired Thomas very much. He was always so sure of himself and he had always been particularly friendly with Richard. Thomas was in fact the Earl of Kent, a title he had inherited when his father had died and which had come through his mother. Thomas made no secret of the fact that he could not wait for the old King to die. ‘Then,’ he had whispered to Richard, ‘you will be our King.’

He made it sound very exciting. They would always be good friends, said Thomas.

‘Oh yes,’ Richard had cried. ‘When I am King you shall be beside me.’

‘I’ll keep you to that,’ Thomas replied.

John said he would be there too.

It was comforting to have such brothers.

‘He cannot last much longer,’ said Thomas. ‘Poor Alice, she diverts him too much. She keeps her place by her skills and yet those very skills could hasten him to the grave. What a quandary for Alice.’

Their mother joined them. ‘What is this?’ she asked; she must have caught Alice’s name and she did not like such matters to be discussed before Richard.

‘We were talking of Wycliffe,’ said Thomas with a wink at Richard.

Richard enjoyed being in the conspiracy with this man of the world. It made him feel adult. His mother began to talk of Wycliffe and how interesting it was to listen to the views of thinkers such as he was; and then suddenly they could hear the sounds of shouting coming from the river.

‘Listen,’ said Joan.

They were silent. There it was, growing louder.

‘Something is happening in the City,’ said Thomas. ‘I’ll swear it concerns yesterday’s trouble at Wycliffe’s trial.’

‘The people are in revolt,’ said Joan. She had turned pale. She was afraid of the people when they raised their voices and were in protest. Mobs were terrifying. Even when their causes were just they lost all sense of reason when they were massed together. There could be bloodshed.

She was thankful that Richard was here with her.

They stood by the window watching. Thomas pointed out the thread of smoke which was rising to the sky.

‘They are rioting,’ said Joan. ‘Oh, my God, what does this mean?’

‘It must be something to do with Wycliffe.’

‘The people were for him, I am sure.’

‘Look,’ cried Richard. ‘It is my uncle’s barge.’

It was indeed and in it was John of Gaunt with Lord Percy, the Marshal. The speed with which the barge came along the river indicated that they were in flight.

They all ran out of the palace and down to the river steps.

As John of Gaunt leaped out of the barge, Joan seized his hand and cried: ‘What news? What news?’

‘There is a riot. The people have gone mad.’

‘Against Wycliffe?’

‘Nay. They have nothing against Wycliffe. They are threatening to kill me.’

‘You are safe here,’ said Joan.

How strange, thought Richard, that they should hate this uncle who looked so splendid always in his beautiful clothes. Richard could not help noticing his clothes even at a moment like this. His short tunic of rich velvet, the girdle at his waist in which was a dagger, and a purse of leather most beautifully embossed. The tippets which hung from his sleeves reached to his knees. They were most elegant and it was hard to believe that such grace could have suffered the indignity of flight from the mob.

‘They hate me, Joan,’ said Uncle John. ‘They have made up their minds to hate me. Any crime they can think of they accuse me of. They insist on believing that I am some sort of changeling.’

‘No one of any sense believes such lies,’ said Joan. ‘But you are distraught. Did this begin in the church?’

‘It is that stiff-necked Courtenay. I’ll not forget this.’

He is proud, thought Richard. He hates me to see him thus, in flight from the mob.

‘Let us go in quickly,’ said Joan. She is afraid, thought Richard, that they will seek him here.

If they did come he would go out to meet them. He would say: ‘I am Richard of Bordeaux. I shall be your King. Hear me!’ or something brave like that. And when they saw him all their anger would melt away and they would love him and shout blessings on him.

‘Come along, Richard,’ said his mother.

She always looked to him first and had taken him by the arm. She seemed to forget that he would soon be a king.

Later news was brought to Kennington of how the rioters had gone to the Marshalsea and sacked it. Shortly afterwards came the news that they had marched on the Savoy Palace.

John was horrified, but thankful that Catherine had had the foresight to leave with the children.

It was ironical that William Courtenay should have been the one to stop the mob from doing more damage at the Savoy. He must be grateful to the Bishop but even in the midst of his relief he wished it had been someone else whom he must thank.

It had been an ugly scene though. It showed clearly how the resentment of the people was ready to flow over at the slightest provocation.

Nor did the matter end there. This quarrel between the Duke of Lancaster and the City of London could not be allowed to fester. There must at least be some outward sign of reconciliation. If the matter was not settled in a satisfactory manner it would mean that at any moment another riot such as that just experienced could take place.

Joan anxiously discussed the matter with her brother-in-law. How she needed her strong purposeful honourable husband beside her now! Her fears were all for Richard. He was going to inherit a country not only impoverished by the Black Death and the French wars but torn by internal strife.

‘You could help to bring about a reconciliation,’ said John. ‘The people like you. You are the mother of the heir whom they have taken to their hearts. There must be a meeting between myself and the representatives of the City. I must let them know that I wish to be their friend and they must give an undertaking that there shall be no more wanton destruction as that which has just occurred.’

Joan saw the point of this. She did not like the role assigned to her but she realised it must be played for the sake of Richard.

She sent for Sir Simon Burley whom she trusted more than any and asked him what could be done. He saw the point at once. There must be no more riots. It must be made clear to the citizens of London that no encroachment on their liberties was planned.

‘Simon, you could explain this. Select two of my knights. Go to the Mayor and talk to him. Please do this, for my sake … for Richard’s sake.’

Simon set out for London accompanied by Sir Aubrey de Vere and Sir Lewis Clifford.

He was received graciously but was told that London demanded the release of Peter de la Mare and William of Wykeham. They wanted to hear from the lips of the King and from his only that their conditions were acceptable.

Lancaster went with all speed to Westminster where he found the King even more feeble than when he had last seen him.

‘What is this trouble?’ he asked testily.

John explained.

‘You shouldn’t be bothered with these people, my love,’ said Alice.

‘I will see them for you,’ replied John.

‘You’re my good son,’ said the King. ‘I do not know what I should do without you … and Alice.’

John was content. This John Philipot whom the Londoners had chosen for their spokesman would have a surprise when he found that instead of having an interview with the King he was faced with the Duke of Lancaster.

But John Philipot was not to be brushed aside.

He bowed and said: ‘My lord, I came to see the King. My instructions are that I shall see none other.’

‘The King is too ill to see you. I am acting for the King.’

A cynical smile touched the man’s lips. John of Gaunt was certainly not the man to arrange the settlement of the quarrel between himself and the people of London.

‘Then I will return and we will see what the citizens have to say,’ he replied, and he left.

It soon became clear that the citizens were determined. They would see the King and none other.

It was at times such as this that Edward could arouse himself from the lethargy which had taken possession of him.

For a few hours he was like the old King.

He received Philipot and how different was the man’s attitude towards his King from what it had been to John of Gaunt. He might be the sickly lecher, but he was still the great King under whom the country had grown rich and prosperous, who had brought home booty from France – though never the Crown. He was still Great Edward and even now that could be apparent.

He knew how to disarm Philipot; he knew how to placate the Londoners.

Of course de la Mare should have a fair trial. So also should the Bishop of Winchester. They need have no fear of that. The Mayor to be replaced by a Captain! This might have been suggested in Parliament but they could rest assured that that was something he would never give his consent to.