Succession (11 page)

‘How dare he?’ she said.

She had snatched the letter from him when she had seen the seal. Now she was white and her head was shaking. ‘How dare he?’ she repeated. The king looked at her in some alarm.

‘My love –’

‘He is dictating to you!’

‘Margaret –’

‘He writes as if he were king!’

‘He wants to clear his name.’

‘By transferring all the blame on to our cousin.’

He did not point out that the Duke of York was also his cousin.

‘
The Duke of Somerset should be brought to trial …
Why do you not summon York to trial?’

The king ventured the opinion that he had done nothing wrong.

‘Nothing? Except incite your people to rebellion against you!’

‘There is no proof –’

‘An Irishman called Mortimer leads an insurrection against you – and you say there is no proof!’

‘Jack Cade –’

‘Mortimer! His name was John Mortimer.’ She scanned the letter again. Her head was still shaking. ‘He asks for money – hah!
I will pursue this matter to completion –
how dare he speak so!’

‘Give it back to me. Please.’

‘It was another Irishman who murdered the Duke of Suffolk,’ she said in low, shaking tones. ‘Our dearest friend.’

The king was worried about his wife. She had not been the same
since the murder of the Duke of Suffolk. At his funeral, which had finally been arranged, she had wept inconsolably, without caring what people might think. She was so passionate; it was one of the things he had always loved about her. But since that day she had seemed … fragile.

‘Will you let him murder another dear friend?’

The king remonstrated with her. She was too extreme. There was nothing to implicate the Duke of York in the murder of their friend. He was not even in the country at the time.

‘Exactly! He was in Ireland. And while he has been in Ireland two Irishmen have inflicted untold damage on this land.’

‘He cannot be held to blame for the actions of all Irishmen.’

‘Then let him stand trial. Let him prove his innocence.’

‘The people would never stand for it. They are on his side –’

‘Yes! That was always his plan – to gather the people around him. He thinks you will not dare to stand against him while he has their support. We will show him otherwise.’

The king closed his eyes. ‘The situation is too … difficult,’ he said.

‘That’s what he thinks.’

‘And he is right. If anything, we need him on our side.’

‘So we give in to him? We let him dictate his terms?’

‘For now, perhaps –’

But the queen turned on him furiously. He had already lost France, she said. Was he preparing to lose England also?

She meant to wound him, but inexplicably the king was filled with tenderness for her. He was reminded piercingly of the first time they had talked together, when he had seen that same combination of trepidation and courage, or defiance. Since then she had suffered one blow after another, and he had wished, many times, that he could make it better, but he could not. He wished he could hold her, but he knew her in this mood and she would not be held.

‘I will stand between you and your enemies,’ he had said to Suffolk. Unexpectedly, his eyes filled with tears. She registered this at once.

‘See how he distresses you,’ she said. ‘But you must show him your strength, not your weakness. He wants to bring your dearest friend down – you must raise him up.’

The king released a long, shaking sigh.

‘And if he comes into this country, my lord, you must arrest him.’

The king stared at her.

‘You
must
! Or he will destroy everyone around us! He will lead all the people in a coup and overthrow you.’

There was a note of hysteria in her voice. It took little, these days, to induce it. People thought she ruled him with her strength; sometimes he thought he was the only one who could see her weakness. He was not afraid of her, but
for
her. He stretched out his hands towards her; she regarded them warily, without moving.

Once, at communion, the king thought he had seen a tiny figure of Christ in each of his cupped palms, shining with the promise of peace. When he had pressed his hands together the light had streamed upwards from his fingertips. He wished now, as the queen somewhat reluctantly came towards him, that light from God would pour towards her through his hands and bring her peace. He wanted to bless her as he placed his hands on her hair. She stood unresisting, but did not yield either.

‘Do not let him destroy us,’ she said, somewhat feverishly. ‘You must act at once.’

The king closed his eyes and lowered his face to her hair.

‘I will see what I can do,’ he said.

11th September 1450: appointment of Edmund Duke of Somerset as Constable of England.

Calendar of Patent Rolls

 

And about the Feast of the Nativity of the Blessed Mary [8th September] the Duke of York came back from Ireland and landed in Wales.

John Benet’s Chronicle

 

He had taken a circuitous route from Wales to avoid the agents of the king who had tried to intercept him at Beaumaris, Chester and Shrewsbury. He had travelled mainly by night, skirting the great forests, though it was hardly possible to hide the progress of so large an army, and he had known, on more than one occasion, that they were being followed. Then, on reaching London, he had been appalled by the unrest in the city. All through the streets men were rioting and looting. The warden of Newgate had released all the prisoners from their cells; they were throwing stones and injuring as many as they could. But as the duke progressed through the city many of these people cried out to him for blessings or aid, and several, including the prisoners, fell in behind him, chanting, ‘Hail to the Duke of York; true lord of this land!’ The duke neither encouraged nor prevented them, but rode ahead of them with a set face. More and more of them joined his ranks, so that it was a great army that approached Westminster Palace.

The king’s expression was serious as the duke knelt before him. Then, with a sudden smile, he said, ‘Welcome, dearest cousin. We thank you for your assistance.’

The duke did not look up. ‘I and my sword, and everything I have, are always at your service, my lord,’ he said distinctly.

He lodged that night at the house of the Bishop of Salisbury, but when he learned of the promotion of the Duke of Somerset he returned at once to the palace. He demanded to speak to the king, but was told that the king was at prayer and did not wish to be disturbed.

‘He will be disturbed,’ said the duke. ‘I will disturb him.’

He strode past the guards along the corridor and rapped sharply on the door of the king’s privy chamber. And when there was no answer he hammered on the door.

It finally opened and the king himself stood there, clutching the front of his gown.

‘What – what is it?’ he said.

He was wearing a rough shirt, open at the neck, that hung below his knees. Some cloth was bound around his legs and feet, from which his yellowing toenails protruded. The duke took in his appearance at once, and registered it with an absolute dislike.

‘There are some matters I must discuss with you,’ he said, quietly enough.

‘I was praying,’ the king said, and the duke almost told him that God could wait, but instead said that the business was urgent.

The king looked left and right along the corridor where the guards gathered anxiously, but then he retreated into his room, indicating with the slightest motion of his head that the duke might follow.

Only two candles were burning beneath a crucifix. The king took some time to light a third, then he turned to the duke and lifted his hands and let them fall.

‘You see I am alone.’

He
was
alone. It was not usual for any king to be entirely alone, but this king spent so much time in prayer that he regularly insisted upon solitude. And suddenly it was the duke who was uncomfortable with the situation: he had grown used to ensuring that there were witnesses to any interaction between him and the king.

‘Do you want to send for – someone?’

‘Am I not safe?’

The duke gave the king a searching look, but all he said was, ‘Your majesty has nothing to fear from me.’

He saw that the king was, in fact, afraid. His hands shook as he lit a fourth candle. The duke hesitated for a moment, then knelt.

‘I am your servant and I will always be obedient to your command.’

‘Then there is nothing to fear,’ said the king.

‘But there are things I have to say.’

The king said nothing, so the duke remained on his knees.

‘Your majesty must see that there is a great sickness in this country – it is being brought to ruin. Certain reforms must be made. And they will never be made while the country is run by a coven of corrupt councillors!’

He stood up suddenly, without waiting for permission.

‘What is this that I have heard about the Duke of Somerset?’ he demanded. ‘He has lost all Normandy and been promoted? To Lord High Constable of England?’

Moments earlier the king had been praying, following a thread of light through the inner reaches of his consciousness. He had felt, briefly, the sensation of hands on his head. Now the duke’s short sentences fell like hammer blows on the same place. Fortunately, York was not waiting for an answer.

‘All the people cry out against it – you have heard them! If they cannot have justice, they will have blood.’

‘Do you threaten me with the people?’

‘I do not threaten you at
all
. But the people are crying out to you and you must listen – you must be
seen
to be listening. You must dismiss your current advisors and bring as many as possible to trial. I advise you, my lord, to summon a parliament immediately. Make it known that you are dealing with the abuses in government.’

‘Is that all?’

‘No,’ York said. ‘It is not all. You have excluded me from your council for long enough. I am your cousin, and the first magnate of this land.’

This, they both knew, was the crux of the matter. Behind York’s
words were other, unspoken words, concerning his ancestry, and the king’s. For it was not clear by lineage who had the greater right to the throne.

‘You have not been excluded,’ the king said faintly. ‘You have been made Lieutenant of Ireland.’

‘And now that I am back from Ireland,’ York said, equally quietly, ‘you may consult with me on matters of state.’

Each could hear the other breathing. Then Henry said, ‘I am your king.’

And before the duke could reply to this, Henry continued, ‘I have always been king. I was a few months old when my father died, and suddenly I was king of both England and France. I did not choose it – how could I have chosen it when I could neither walk nor talk? God chose it for me. Yes,’ the king said, nodding as the duke began to speak. ‘God chose for me and I accepted it – as I will always accept God’s will. If He wills it, I will stop being king. But I will never, of my own volition, give up the task that God has given me.’

The duke was silent. He understood, of course. To any other man the fact that he had not chosen his high office might mean that he could give it up. But not to the king. If it had been of his own choosing he might have given up the crown. But it was not his choice; it was God’s will.

From time to time, it seemed, God did choose entirely unsuitable men to be king, but that was the mystery of His will, and His divine right. Only God had the right to determine who was king.

Both men understood this, and so neither spoke nor moved, impaled upon their concept of kingship. In the last century two unsuitable kings had been deposed; the king’s grandfather and the duke’s ancestor had been the deposers. But neither man wanted to speak of deposition, aware of the tragedy involved and the immensity of the crisis that would follow.

In the shadows thrown by the candlelight they were two men facing each other, stripped to their naked intent. But one of them was king.

It was York who spoke first, breathing so heavily that all the candle flames guttered.

‘No one is asking you to give it up,’ he said. ‘I ask only that I am allowed to serve you as is my right. I should not be excluded any more, and I will not be treated as a criminal!’

His voice was rising again, but it was no longer clear who he was angry at. ‘I will not stand by and watch the Duke of Somerset ruin all England as well as France – he must be brought to trial!’

The king started to protest, but the duke cut him short.

‘Summon a parliament,’ he said. ‘I will present my petitions there.’

Sometimes, lately, the king thought he could see a white light from the corner of his vision, surrounding people or objects. Such a light had now formed around the Duke of York, but it did not appear beneficent. It was livid and oppressive, and the king turned away from it.

‘I will see what I can do,’ he said, and without waiting for dismissal York left the room, passing the grooms and guards and courtiers who had now gathered outside. Some looked outraged and others terrified, but he strode past them all, ignoring the apprehension on their faces.

All the king’s household was and is afraid right sore, and my lord has desired many things which are after the desire of the common people, and all is upon justice and to put all those who are indicted under arrest … to be tried by law.

Paston Letters

 

The Duke of York stayed in London at the lodging of the Bishop of Salisbury until the feast of Dionysus [9th October]. And about that time the King of France launched an assault against Gascony.

John Benet’s Chronicle

 

On 6th November parliament began at Westminster and the commons chose Sir William Oldhall, knight with the Duke of York, as Speaker … at the same time it was ordained in various parts of the city that chains should be drawn across the
ways to keep the city safe, for people stood in great fear and doubt on account of the discord between lords …

On the 23rd day of November the Duke of York, with 3,000 men and more, came riding through the city, his sword borne before him, and rode to parliament and to the king. And on the following morning came riding through the city the Duke of Norfolk with a great crowd of men in full armour and six trumpets blowing before him. Then on the following morning the Earl of Warwick came through the city with a great company arrayed for war.

 

Bale’s Chronicle

 

On St Andrew’s Day, when they realized that neither the king nor his counsellors were punishing those who had so scandalized the whole nation by their treason, and chiefly the Duke of Somerset who had so negligently and shamefully lost Normandy, the men who had come with their lords to parliament made a huge uproar in the Hall of Westminster and called upon the king three times to provide justice against the traitors and punish them, and the king and his lords were seriously terrified …

The following afternoon almost 1,000 well-armed men attacked the Duke of Somerset without warning and would have slain him. But at the request of the Duke of York, the Earl of Devon calmed them and prudently seized the duke and led him secretly from Blackfriars to the Thames and thence to the Tower of London.

 

John Benet’s Chronicle

 

And on the 18th of December parliament was prorogued until the 20th of January. And the king and queen spent Christmas at Westminster …

John Benet’s Chronicle