Passage to Pontefract (46 page)

It was decided that Windsor was the best place for her to live. Apartments were prepared for her and these were so sumptuous that those about the little Queen declared they had never seen such magnificence. It was on the King’s orders. His great pleasure was in delighting his little Queen.

He could not be with her all the time of course, but he was a constant visitor to the castle and when she heard his approach she would fly down to the great hall and fling herself into his arms. He was her beautiful King, and she was his pet, his darling. She would hurry him to the stables that she might show him her new horse – a gift from him of course. He must watch her ride, so they must go into the forest together. He must tell her stories of the forest, of Herne the Hunter who had hanged himself on one of the oaks because he had committed some sin and feared he would be condemned to die. She listened intently, she loved the stories, the more gruesome the better. She said she would like to come face to face with the Hunter.

‘Never say that, little one,’ cried Richard. ‘It would mean that you were to die.’

And how pleasant it was to see his deep concern at the thought of losing her!

She was as avid as ever at listening. Once she said to him: ‘Do you wish I were older so that I could be a real wife to you?’

She had overheard something of that nature, it was certain.

‘No,’ he cried vehemently. ‘I want you just as you are.’

And as that was just what she had wanted to hear she was content.

She was very happy at Windsor. She had to do lessons, of course, but that was no hardship to her; she was bright and liked to amaze her teachers with her cleverness.

She delighted in the rich garments she wore. Richard used to spend hours with her and the seamstresses saying how her clothes should be cut and how embroidered.

He would clasp his hands together in an ecstasy of delight when she paraded before him in her fine garments. She liked to ride out with him and see the people crowd round and marvel at her.

‘The little darling!’ they would cry.

Richard would pretend to be jealous. ‘By St John the Baptist,’ he would cry, ‘I’ll swear they will depose me and make you their ruler.’

It was an enchanted life and she thought it would go on for ever. She could not be expected to know of the rumbling discontent which was brewing around her.

She was crowned with great pomp and ceremony at Westminster by the Archbishop of Canterbury and that seemed the very pinnacle of glory.

At Windsor she was put in charge of the Lady de Couci, a lively woman, the second wife of the Lord de Couci whom he had married after the death of that Isabella who was the daughter of Edward the Third and therefore aunt to the King.

There was little the Lady de Couci enjoyed as much as lavish spending and consequently the little Queen’s household was run on somewhat extravagant lines.

The Duchess of Lancaster, for whom the little Queen had taken a great fancy, visited Windsor and they were very happy occasions. But the most frequent visitor was the King who so often rode out to Windsor and there they would play music together, dance a measure and he would read to her, sitting in the window seat with her curled up beside him.

He was eager for her comfort. When the winter set in there must be fur-lined garments for her and fur covers for her bed. He could not have his little darling uncomfortable. As she so loved pageants he constantly contrived them for her.

They lived very lavishly. She had brought a good dowry with her from France but even that would not last indefinitely.

  Chapter XV  

THE KING’S REVENGE

T
he Duke of Gloucester was fuming in secret. He was often
I
with those other discontented people, the Earl of
Arundel and the Earl of Warwick.

It seemed to Gloucester that everything was going against him; Arundel and Warwick were almost equally disgruntled. Arundel was prodded by his Countess who continued incensed by the acceptance of Catherine Swynford at Court and Warwick because a case in which he was involved with the Earl of Nottingham concerning some land had been decided against him.

Gloucester was intent on action. He could see himself being displaced and denied that goal on which he had set his heart. What he wanted more than anything was to step into the King’s shoes. But how could this be? There were too many ahead of him.

He had been against the French marriage, and the only joy in that for him was that the Queen was too young to provide an heir. Richard was now on very good terms with Lancaster. Not only had he accepted the Duchess at Court and given her access to the Queen who had grown very fond of her, but he had legitimised all the Beaufort bastards.

Of the two eldest sons John Beaufort was made Earl of Somerset and Richard promised that he should in due course come to the office of Admiral. Henry, who had shown signs of more than average cleverness, was to go into the Church. He was only in his teens as yet but as soon as possible a bishopric should be found for him. Richard had assured his uncle that the other Beauforts should receive like honours when the time came.

This was very gratifying to Lancaster who had settled into a happy life of maturity. He was behind the King but was discreet enough not to impose too much of his will.

If only Gloucester had been the same.

But Gloucester was bent on mischief. How much longer, he demanded, was the country going to accept Richard’s ineffectual rule? He had made this peace with France and saddled himself with a child who could not produce an heir for years; he had frittered away her dowry. He was useless and the sooner he was deposed and someone else wore the crown the better.

The King had named Roger de Mortimer, Earl of March, as his heir if he should die without a child of his own body to follow him, and Roger, who was a son of Philippa the daughter of Lionel who was the second son of Edward the Third coming after the Black Prince, was accepted generally as the next in line of succession.

Thomas who could never wait patiently for events to happen sought out Roger to sound him, for it seemed to him that Roger would make a good figure-head.

It was a great mistake, he quickly realised.

Roger was a young man who had been brought up to believe that he owed his first loyalty to the crown. He was heavily committed to Ireland for Richard had some time before appointed him lord lieutenant of that turbulent country.

He was twenty years old, idealistic, eager to prove himself and when Gloucester told him what he had in mind he was not only astounded but horrified.

‘My dear Roger,’ said Gloucester, ‘you are heir to the throne. Depend upon it, we cannot wait for the time to come when it shall fall naturally to you.’

Roger was bewildered. ‘What does this mean?’ he asked.

The boy was a simpleton, thought Gloucester. Was it not obvious?

‘An army would follow you,’ persisted Gloucester. ‘You are beloved of the people. They are weary of Richard’s feeble rule. His extravagances must be stemmed or the country will suffer.’

Roger still said nothing; he was too bewildered for speech. What was Gloucester suggesting? Revolution? War? And against the King!

‘An army would rally to your banner. We should secure the King and his French wife and they would be kept in confinement till Richard agreed to resign his crown. We should have to seize my brothers Lancaster and York. But that should not be difficult. You are so pale. Why so? I tell you this plan cannot fail.’

‘This … this is treason!’ stammered Mortimer.

Gloucester seized his arms and glared into his face.

‘You mean you would not join us?’

‘I would not take up arms against the King. That is treason.’

Gloucester then realised that he had made one of the biggest blunders of his life. If Roger de Mortimer reported what he had suggested that would be the end of him.

‘By God,’ he said, ‘you are a man who does not know what is good for him.’

‘I know, my lord Gloucester, that no good could come to me if I were a traitor to the King.’

Gloucester’s hand was on his sword. Kill him. It was the only way. He had betrayed his schemes to this young man and if he went to the King …

Still, Richard could not be victorious. There was too much against him.

‘You shall not whisper a word of this to any,’ cried Gloucester.

‘Heads would fall if I did,’ replied Roger.

‘Aye. And yours would not be too safe.’

‘I have spoken no treason.’

‘There would be those to say you had shared in the plot.’

The young man was disturbed. There was no doubt about that.

‘Listen to me,’ said Gloucester. ‘You are not with us. But it will go ill for you as with us if you breathe a word of what I have said to you.’

Roger understood that. He was thoughtful and Gloucester went on: ‘Say nothing of what you have heard. It is the best way.’

Roger nodded. Of course it was the best way. It was the only way.

And shortly he would be leaving for Ireland.

They were uneasy days before he left. Gloucester was no more relieved to see him leave than Roger was to go.

So there was a plot afoot to take his crown from him. Richard knew it. Rumour was rife throughout London and the countryside. Gloucester was determined to stir up the people against him. They were whispering about him. He was enamoured of the little girl who was his Queen, they said. Why had he chosen a child? It was because he had no love for women. He was like his great-grandfather Edward the Second. Everyone remembered how he had surrounded himself with men favourites, pampered them, wasted the country’s money on them. Richard had spent money so extravagantly that the royal coffers were fast emptying. They had all witnessed the lavish manner in which he spent on his Queen. His table was filled with rich foods when there were many going hungry.

This was no way to rule.

Gloucester was fomenting trouble, and Richard knew why. There was something else. Why had Roger de Mortimer been so eager to get back to Ireland? What had Gloucester proposed to him?

Richard could guess.

There had been a time when there had been an attempt to depose him; and the head of that rebellion had been Gloucester, Arundel, Warwick and his cousin Bolingbroke with Thomas Mowbray.

Richard was never one to forget an insult and he would remember that five as long as he lived. Now it seemed that three of them had banded together – Gloucester, Warwick and Arundel; and those were the three he intended to deal with.

Having had experience of rebellion he was not going to make the same mistakes again. Then he had been a boy; now he was a man who knew how to rule. He was going to strike first before they could.

He came to London and with him was his troop of archers. The Lord Mayor of London, Richard Whittington, viewed the troops who filled the streets with some apprehension, and gave secret orders that the London trained bands should be ready for action.

Richard’s operations began by summoning a meeting of Parliament which would bring all the nobles to London and he sent special invitations to Gloucester, Warwick and Arundel to dine with him at the house of the Bishop of Exeter in Temple Bar.

Gloucester was not without his spies, nor was Arundel. Neither of them liked the sound of that invitation. Moreover they knew that Richard had his archers in London.

Gloucester sent word from his castle of Pleshy that he was too ill to attend. Arundel sent no word but all the same he returned to his castle at Reigate and put it in a state of siege.

Warwick, failing to realise the true position, arrived at Temple Bar.

The King received him graciously and talked of domestic matters so that Warwick had no idea that anything unusual was happening.

They sat drinking wine and talking in desultory fashion of the Parliament which was to assemble shortly.

Then suddenly Richard rose and called to his guards. Warwick was on his feet wondering what the change in the King’s attitude could mean.

‘You are under arrest,’ he said.

‘My lord …’ stammered Warwick.

‘I know of your plots,’ Richard told him. ‘You had better admit that you were planning with Gloucester and Arundel to come against me.’

‘It is false …’ stammered Warwick unconvincingly.

‘Let him be taken to the Tower,’ said Richard. ‘He will tell us all in time I doubt not.’

The protesting Warwick was taken away.

That takes care of Warwick, said Richard to himself. Now for Arundel.

Arundel was skulking in Reigate, but Richard did not want to take up arms and go out to his castle to get him, which would be to declare open warfare. The best plan was to lure him to London and once there he could easily be put under arrest.

Richard sent for Thomas Arundel, now Archbishop of Canterbury, and when the Archbishop arrived Richard told him that he had a request to make.

‘I wish the Earl, your brother, to come to me here in London, and you must bring him to me.’

The Archbishop looked startled. He did not know yet that Warwick had been arrested but he was filled with alarm by the King’s words.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘would he not come more readily at your bidding than mine?’

‘I think he has some notion that I am displeased with him. I have requested him to dine with me but he does not answer my invitation.’

‘My brother must have some reason, my lord. He must be sick.’

‘I think he needs a little assurance and that will come best from you. I promise this – by St John the Baptist I swear it – if he will come to me of his own accord no harm shall come to him. But I wish him to come peacefully. You understand, my lord Archbishop, I do not wish to go to his castle and take him. All I wish is to have speech with him. Persuade him to come in peace.’