Passage to Pontefract (47 page)

‘He must have heard some warning …’

‘My lord Archbishop, you know how these things happen. Go to him. Persuade him. I have sworn, have I not?’

The Archbishop then said that he would go to his brother, which he did.

The Earl was pleased to see his brother but alarmed when he heard the cause of his visit.

‘He has heard some rumour,’ said the Earl. ‘He wishes me some harm.’

‘He has sworn by St John the Baptist that no harm shall befall you.’

‘Nevertheless I would not trust him.’

‘Come, brother. You should return to London with me. If you do not come you will anger the King. He will come here to get you and he has a troop of archers with him.’

‘But why should he come to take me unless he wishes me ill?’

‘Because he is young and is still new to power. He asked for obedience. Give it to him and he is your friend. I tell you he has sworn not to harm you.’

At length the Earl was persuaded and he returned to London with his brother where the two spent the night at Lambeth.

The next day they were rowed across the river in the Archbishop’s barge to Westminster where the brothers said goodbye to each other and the Archbishop was rowed back to Lambeth.

The Earl was taken to the King’s chamber where Richard was in conversation with several of his ministers and when he saw who had come he merely looked at him, giving no welcome. Arundel felt his confidence ebbing away.

The traitor! thought Richard. You were one of those who hurried my dear friend, Simon Burley, to the scaffold. There shall be no mercy for you now. Anne wept for Burley … she pleaded for him on her knees. My dear sweet Queen, who never harmed any. And you spurned her! You turned away from her pleas. By St John the Baptist, Arundel, there shall be no mercy for you now.

‘Take my lord Arundel away,’ he cried.

So they took him to the Tower and later to the Isle of Wight where, Richard said, he was to be held a prisoner until Parliament met.

That, said the King, accounts for two of them.

Two of the enemies were where he wanted them; there remained the third and most dangerous of them all.

It was beginning to grow dark when the King with an armed guard set out for Pleshy in Essex, Gloucester’s favourite residence.

All through the night they rode. There had been a light rain falling but as they came in sight of the magnificent Pleshy towers the sun came out. It was a strong fortress that castle with thick walls and moat surrounding it.

The King had left the larger part of his force hidden in a thicket with instructions to come to him at a given signal.

Richard hoped that Gloucester had not yet heard of the arrests of Warwick and Arundel. If so he would be preparing himself for a siege and in such a fortress he could hold out for a long time.

The sound of the approaching party had brought the guards to their posts and because it was a small party no suspicion was raised. Richard was exultant when he heard the shout of ‘The King!’ And the portcullis was immediately raised.

Gloucester came quickly to welcome his nephew. It was clear that he had heard nothing.

Richard shouted: ‘Prepare to leave at once. You are to return with me to London.’

‘My lord … for what purpose?’

‘Oh just a little matter for our good … yours and mine. You will learn in time. Now I and my men are hungry; we would eat before setting out.’

While food was served, Gloucester was growing more and more uneasy.

When they had finished eating the King expressed his wish to leave at once. The horses were waiting and Richard and his uncle rode out side by side.

‘What a fine morning!’ cried Richard. He felt exultant. Everything was working out neatly as he had planned it. It had been a simple matter to catch them in the net. He had made Arundel his prisoner through a trick but he cared nothing for that. He was ready to achieve his ends no matter by what means. He thought of Robert de Vere driven from his country; he thought of his good friend Simon Burley hunted to his death; he thought of Anne on her knees pleading for the life of their beloved friend. Oh, he had much to avenge, and he was going to do it.

He chatted in a seemingly light-hearted manner to his uncle. He wished him to come up for this sitting of Parliament. There were certain matters which had to be discussed and naturally he did not want this done without the attendance of his uncle.

Gloucester who had been apprehensive at the sudden appearance of the King felt a little better. He had feared that news of his plotting might have come to the King’s ears but Richard’s manner, which was so affable, was lulling his fears. Therefore he was startled when as they were passing a thicket a party of armed men rode out at the head of whom was the Earl of Nottingham.

The Earl rode straight up to the Duke and laying a hand on his shoulder cried: ‘My lord Duke you are under arrest. In the name of the King.’

The Duke turned angrily on the Earl. Smiling the King rode on.

‘My lord,’ cried Gloucester.’ My lord King! Richard! This fellow is seized with madness. I beg you, nephew, come back.’

But Richard rode on; and Gloucester then realised that he was the victim of a plot. He should have realised this when the King came to Pleshy. He should have discovered his business before he meekly rode out with him.

He was silent for a while – all his bombast seemed to have deserted him.

The King was out of sight and he realised that they were not making for London but for the coast.

‘Where are you taking me?’ he demanded.

‘The King’s orders are that you shall be taken to Calais,’ was the answer.

‘To Calais! For what purpose? How dare you treat me thus? By God’s ear, Nottingham, you will be sorry for this. What have I done to merit such treatment?’

‘That you will be able to answer better than any, my lord Duke,’ was the cynical answer.

Excitement was high in the City of London. The Earl of Arundel was to be brought to trial. It was not so long ago that he had been the hero of the country, when he had beaten the French in such a spectacular fashion that he had made the seas safe for England and saved the country from threatened invasion. And now here he was to be tried as a traitor.

With great dignity, clad in his scarlet cloak and hood, he came before the assembled Parliament, walking calmly through the ranks of archers.

He was aware of his enemies ranged round him, like dogs straining for the kill. The chief of these was the Duke of Lancaster who was the High Steward for this day; and with him was his son Henry of Bolingbroke.

There would be little mercy shown him this day, thought Arundel.

John of Gaunt gave the order for the charges against the Earl to be read out. Arundel listened to the list of his crimes, the most damning of which was of course his recent activities which were summed up as having taken up arms with the Duke of Gloucester and the Earl of Warwick against the King.

Arundel had little hope. He knew his days were numbered. He had heard that his brother, the Archbishop, was to be impeached. They would not kill him, of course, he being a member of the Church, but his career would be at an end. He would doubtless be banished from England, but his life would be left to him.

He spoke in a loud clear voice declaring that what had been done was with no ill intent against the King’s person. It was all for the benefit of the King and the country.

He was aware of Lancaster’s eyes upon him. Lancaster would be remembering the way he, Arundel, and his wife had slighted Catherine Swynford. He could imagine that Lancaster had avowed revenge for that slight on his wife and Arundel would pay for it.

‘You are a traitor,’ cried Lancaster.

‘You lie,’ retorted the Earl. ‘I was never traitor to the King. I was pardoned when I was accused before.’

‘Why should you have needed pardon if you were not guilty?’ demanded Lancaster.

‘To put a stop to malicious accusations by those who did not love me or the King but were my implacable enemies. You were one of them. You have more reason to ask pardon than I have.’ He turned to face the assembly. ‘You are gathered together,’ he went on, ‘but not to do justice.’

Bolingbroke had risen and demanded: ‘Did you when we first drew together, when there was first talk of an insurrection say that the best method was to seize the person of the King?’

‘I never entertained a thought for my sovereign that was not intended to serve him well.’

Richard cried out then. ‘Once you said to me that Sir Simon Burley deserved death and I made answer that I saw no reason why he did. And yet you and your friends killed that good man.’

Richard was momentarily overcome by emotion at the thought of the man he had loved and whom the Queen had loved and pleaded for.

Everyone knew then that Arundel would pay the price not only for plotting against the King but for his part in the murder of the King’s friend and tutor.

Lancaster in due course pronounced the sentence.

‘I, John, Steward of England, adjudge thee Richard Fitzalan, Earl of Arundel, a traitor and condemn you to be hanged, drawn and quartered …’

There was a deep silence. This was the most barbarous sentence known in the land. Arundel heard it without changing his expression. Then it was seen that the verdict had already been decided on before the trial had begun for Lancaster went on: ‘The King, our sovereign lord, of his mercy and favour has remitted all other parts of the sentence but the last and you shall lose only your head.’

There was no reason for delay. The Earl was immediately taken to Tower Hill, but to reach this spot he must pass through the streets of London and there the crowds came out to watch him. There was an awed silence. This was Arundel, the hero of the great sea battle, the man they had cheered and called their saviour. And here he was walking to his death with, as they said, no more shrinking or changing of colour than if he were going to a banquet.

He stood boldly by the block and turning to the executioner he said: ‘I forgive you for what you are about to do. And this I ask you. Do not torment me further. Strike off my head in one blow.’

Arundel then ran his fingers along the edge of the axe.

‘It is sharp,’ he said. ‘Let it be quick.’

He laid his head on the block and at one blow his head was severed from his body.

After the Channel crossing and his incarceration in the Castle of Calais, Gloucester had lost something of his arrogance. He realised that he was in a desperate position. The King was no longer a boy to be told to do this and that; he was clearly capable of acting with guile and his ruse to capture his wily uncle had succeeded. Gloucester knew too that Arundel and Warwick had both been taken.

What next? Gloucester asked himself.

The King would never have the courage to kill him. After all he was his own uncle. Lancaster would never allow it. His brother had no love for him but no royal Duke liked to see another destroyed.

He would come out of this. He must; and then he would have to act very cautiously for some time.

The castle was a grim fortress built mainly for defence, though he was housed comfortably enough there; but each morning when he awoke he wondered what the day would bring.