The Star of Lancaster (14 page)

‘Then let us do it.’

Louis de Clermont was overjoyed at their promise to join his expedition and as soon as the tide permitted they set sail for Dover.

Henry was back in England in time for the birth of his third son. He was named John. So now he and Mary had three boys and their grandfather was delighted to have this one named after him. Young Harry was three years old and showing a decidedly rebellious character. The fact that he still had a
tendency to be delicate meant that he was spoilt a little by Joan Waring who rarely let him out of her sight. He was undoubtedly the king of the nursery, which was understandable on account of his seniority, but there was that about Master Harry which implied that nothing would deter him in the business of getting his own way.

Mary was disturbed when Henry told her that he was going to attack the Barbary pirates. She had been pleased for him to go to the joust at St Inglebert. He had stressed that it had been
á Plaisance
and she had thought, It is just a game really, jousting with blunted lances or those fitted with special heads which rendered them harmless. Why could they not always fight like that – if fight they must? But the Barbary pirates were different. They were desperate men. There was real danger there.

Henry tried to soothe her; he gave her an account of the jousts at St Inglebert and stressed his own success and that of his half-brother, in the hope of implying that they would know how they would defend themselves. But Mary could not be comforted and was very uneasy, although she tried to hide this.

While Henry was mustering the knights he would take with him and giving instructions to Richard Kyngeston, the man whom he called his ‘treasurer of war’, as to what weapons and stores would be needed, he did manage to spend a little time with his family.

He delighted in his sons and in particular in Harry. This eldest son of his was so bright, a boy to be proud of. The fact that he was constantly in some kind of mischief amused his father. Of course the child, being of a quick and lively mind, had already grasped his importance. Joan Waring might scold and even deliver the occasional slap but she was always ready
to follow that with a cuddle and an assurance that naughty as he was he was her very special Lord Harry.

He would climb onto his father’s knee and Henry told him about the joust, and how he had tilted his lance at his opponent and thundered to meet him.

Harry listened, brown eyes alight with excitement. He was dark for a Plantagenet, but handsome none the less, with an oval-shaped face and a nose which was long and straight. He was too thin but Joan Waring had reported that he was the most lively agile child she had ever encountered and it was her opinion that he would grow out of his childhood delicacy.

‘Go on. Go on!’ Harry would shout if his father paused and even went so far as to thump him on the chest if he were not quick enough, which should have brought a reproof but Henry was so pleased to see his son excited that he let that pass and obeyed him.

‘We scored a great victory over the French. We were honoured throughout the country. I and your uncle John Beaufort were the heroes of the hour.’

Harry did not take his eyes from his father’s face and Henry wondered how much of what he was told he understood. He had a notion that Harry just liked to be seated on his father’s knee because his father was the most important person in the castle – apart from Harry himself of course – and Harry liked to be made much of by him.

His father watched him ride his little pony, on a leading rein naturally. There must be no risk to the heir of Lancaster even though he had two sturdy young brothers. Henry, like everyone else in the household, felt that there was something rather special about young Harry.

His father went down to the field to watch him ride with his
riding-master. Round and round the field they went. Harry was flushed with excitement and every time he rode past his father he looked at him sharply to see whether his full attention was given to the marvellous prowess of his son.

One day Henry was standing with one or two of his men watching the riding lesson when Richard Kyngeston came out to speak to him. There had been a hold up of some of the supplies and they would not be leaving for Dover for a week.

Henry turned aside to discuss this with Kyngeston just as Harry rode by and seeing that his father’s attention was not on him, Harry suddenly, by some trick which he had obviously learned, disengaged himself from the riding-master, and broke into a gallop.

The riding-master cried out in great alarm as he went after the boy, and Henry immediately forgot Kyngeston as he saw his son making straight for the hedge.

‘Oh God help us,’ he cried. ‘The boy will be killed.’

Harry was still ahead of the riding-master. Henry started to run. The boy had reached the hedge and turning and slackening speed began to canter across the field. He was smiling triumphantly as the riding-master caught up with him.

Henry said coldly: ‘You are a wicked boy.’

Harry looked defiant and still pleased with himself.

‘You know you are forbidden to do that.’ The boy just regarded him rather insolently, Henry thought. ‘Do you not?’ he shouted.

Harry nodded.

‘Answer me when I speak to you.’

Harry paused. He was a little afraid of the coldness in his father’s voice and eyes.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘And yet you deliberately disobeyed. You defied orders. Do you know what happens to people who defy their masters?’

Harry was silent.

‘So you do not know, eh. They are punished. Get down from your horse. Go to your room and wait there.’

Harry dismounted and went into the castle.

Henry was far from as calm as he seemed. He had been deeply shaken by the sight of his son in danger; that had passed and he was confronted by another danger. This boy was rebellious by nature and that rebellion had to be curbed. He must be beaten. And who would administer the punishment? Joan Waring? She would never do it. She would never be able to forget that this was her precious charge. He must not be hurt, she would say, he is too delicate. Mary? Mary would be quite incapable of inflicting a beating. He knew that he would have to do it himself. Soon the boy should have a tutor and he would have to perform these unpleasant duties – for it seemed likely that there would be the need for chastisement in the future.

He took a stout stick and went to the nursery. Harry was there sitting on Joan Waring’s lap telling her a woeful story of his cruel father.

Joan was horrified and trembling with agitation.

It is time, thought Henry, that the boy was taken away from a parcel of women.

Joan stood up when he came in and Harry clung to her skirts burying his head in them.

‘Leave us,’ said Henry curtly to Joan.

Harry turned and glared balefully at his father as Joan gently prised his hands away from her skirt.

‘No,’ cried Harry. ‘Don’t listen to him, Joannie. Don’t go.’

‘Leave us at once,’ commanded Henry.

Joan murmured as she passed: ‘My lord, he is so young . . . and remember he is delicate.’

Harry’s eyes were on the stick, and Henry felt his heart quail. He loved this boy. The child would never understand that this was no less painful to him than it was going to be to Harry himself.

‘You were a wicked boy,’ he said trying to force a cold note into his voice for he was secretly full of admiration for the manner in which the child had managed the horse and it was obvious that he had been quite fearless. ‘You have to learn obedience.’

‘Why?’ asked Harry defiantly.

‘Because we all have to.’

‘You don’t,’ he said.

‘Of course I do.’

‘Whom do you obey?’

‘Those above me.’

‘Nobody’s above you . . . except the King. Do you obey the King?’

For a moment Henry thought of himself standing before Richard with the other four Lords Appellant. The boy was making him uncomfortable, instead of the other way round.

‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

He tried to make him lie across a stool. Harry wriggled so fiercely that there was only one thing to do and that was pick him up and put him across his knee. He felt like a foolish old man. Nevertheless he brought down the stick and it was effective to judge by Harry’s yells.

He was glad he could not see his face.

Not too much, he thought, just enough to teach him a
lesson. He threw down the stick and pushed Harry off his knees.

The child glared at him. There were no tears, he noticed, though the little face was scarlet with rage.

Henry said: ‘That will teach you a lesson.’

The fine brown eyes were narrowed. Never had hatred been so obvious as that which Henry saw in the face of his son.

Mary was upset that Henry had been obliged to chastise Harry.

‘It had to be, my dear,’ Henry explained to her. ‘He is too wilful. We shall have trouble with him later unless a firm hand is taken.’

‘I trust you did not beat him too hard. Joan said his screams were terrible.’

‘He was screaming with rage. He did not shed a tear,’ he added with pride.

‘He is not four years old yet.’

‘He cannot learn discipline too young. I want him to go to Oxford when he is a little older. His uncle Henry Beaufort will look after him.’

‘I do not want him to leave me too soon,’ said Mary. ‘Let me keep my babies for a while.’

‘Of course, of course,’ soothed Henry. ‘But not too much coddling of the child. Joan pampers him.’

‘She is very good with him. He is so fond of her.’

‘I don’t doubt it when he twists her round his little finger.’

‘Oh come, she can be severe. She will slap him if he needs it.’

‘He is a child who is in constant need of correction. Well, he has now had something which will remind him for some time to come.’

The following day Harry was riding round the meadow but his father did not go to watch him. Instead he spent the time with his wife and younger sons. Harry seemed to take this philosophically though when Henry went into the nursery the child eyed his father with caution, but in a moment or two he seemed to have forgotten the beating and was intent on drawing his father’s attention from his brothers to himself by asking about the Barbary pirates.

Within a short time Henry said good-bye to his family and set out for the coast. Mary took Harry and. Thomas up to the topmost turret to watch him go.

‘I want to go too,’ declared Harry. ‘I want to go and fight the pirates.’

‘You must wait until you’re older,’ replied his mother.

‘I don’t want to wait. I want to go now.’

‘Little boys don’t go and fight pirates.’

‘Yes, they do.’

‘Now, Harry dear, don’t be silly.’

Harry stamped his foot and narrowed his eyes in the way he did when he was angry.

He snatched his hand out of hers and ran round the spiral staircase ahead of her.

He went into the bedchamber which she shared with his father. He was not allowed to go there unless especially summoned but there was no one to stop him now. His father had gone to fight Barbary pirates and had not taken him with him. He touched his buttocks. He could still feel the effects of the stick. It made him angry, not so much because it hurt his body as his pride. He hated to think that he, Lord Harry – his mother’s darling, Joan’s little precious mite – had to be at the mercy of a strong arm. He was not sure whether he hated
his father or not. He did sometimes. At others he wanted to be like him particularly if it meant fighting the Barbary pirates.

But they wouldn’t take him and they were all saying how clever his father was and they were not taking enough notice of Lord Harry.

He saw the popinjay in its cage. How pretty it was with its brightly coloured feathers. Sometimes his mother let him talk to it and put the seeds into the cage.

Harry was suddenly angry because they were all making a fuss about his father, and they wouldn’t let him go and fight the pirates.

On a sudden impulse he opened the cage.

‘Come out, pretty bird,’ he said. ‘Come and see Harry.’

The bird flew out. He watched it fluttering round the room. Then it went out through the door.