The Star of Lancaster (24 page)

It was about this time that a messenger arrived in Brittany from the Duchess of Lancaster. The Duke had died, and Henry had now inherited the title and estates; he was head of the House of Lancaster and one of the richest men in England.

‘How this must make you chafe against exile,’ said Joanna.

But it was not long before there was another messenger. The King had waived aside the promise he had made to John of Gaunt and had confiscated the Lancaster estates.

‘It is treachery!’ cried Henry when he heard. ‘I will never accept this.’

Richard was a cheat and a liar. He was unworthy to govern. He had given his solemn oath that the estates should come to Henry of Lancaster on his father’s death. That was a promise John of Gaunt had insisted on.

Henry talked the matter over with Joanna and the Duke of Brittany, as well as with the Arundels who had been his close companions in exile.

They were tense days that followed.

Was Henry going to lose his inheritance? There was only one way of regaining it and that would be by going to England and wresting it from Richard. He grew excited at the prospect for he guessed that it would be more than the Lancaster estates which he would take from Richard. It was clear to him that those about him were expecting him to make some decision. He had been given an opportunity. Richard had broken his word. Why should Henry be expected to keep to his? He knew that the time was drawing near when he must return to England to claim his estates.

The Duke was full of advice. He was too old to campaign for himself now but he could be interested in enterprises such as this one.

‘Richard will be on the alert,’ he said. ‘He will be wondering what you will do. Put up a pretence. Make believe that you are so engaged on your rounds of pleasure that you have no energy for a fight.’

‘That makes sense,’ said Joanna; and Henry agreed.

But the excitement grew. Day and night he thought of little else.

The Duke, prompted by Joanna, said he would do what he could to raise an army. Henry was thoughtful. Attractive as that proposition was, he decided against it.

It would be folly to take a foreign army onto English soil. He knew his fellow countrymen. They would rise up against the foreigner. No. If what he heard was true – and both he and the Arundels had their spies in England and messengers were constantly travelling to and fro – Richard was growing increasingly unpopular. He, Henry, would return to England, yes, but he would go on the pretext of regaining his rights.
There should be no hint that it was the crown he sought. He would land quietly in England.

‘No one must know that I am coming,’ he said and the Arundels agreed with him.

It was Joanna who suggested that they should pretend to plan a visit to Spain. Let them travel to Paris and let it be known that they were there; and when they left they should go a few miles south, and then turn and go with all speed to Boulogne. The Duke of Brittany would put the necessary ships at their disposal and they could slip quietly across the Channel.

It appeared that the ruse was effective for soon they heard that Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, who was looking after affairs in Ireland, had been killed near Kells in the county of Kilkenny. Richard himself decided that he must go out there to continue the struggle, which he certainly would not have done if he had had an inkling of Henry’s plans. Roger Mortimer – grandson of Lionel Duke of Clarence, son of Edward the Third and Philippa, elder brother of John of Gaunt – had been named heir to the throne in the event of Richard’s having no children. So before he set out for Ireland Richard named Edmund, Roger’s son, as his successor. Edmund, however, was a boy of eight and the people would not want a child as their king. They had had a taste of that when Richard came to the throne. Edmund was an obstacle, for of course he did come before the son of John of Gaunt, but Henry was sure that Edmund’s youth was against him and that if it were proved that the people had had enough of Richard, they would look to the son of Gaunt, none other than Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, head of the House of Lancaster.

It was a comforting thought.

Joanna showed a little sadness at the parting although he
knew that she was eager for him to win a crown. There was a faraway look in her eyes which he thought he understood.

They took a last walk together in the small garden within the precincts of the castle.

‘I have been so happy in Brittany,’ said Henry, ‘that I almost forgot my reason for being here.’

‘I am glad you came to us,’ she told him.

‘How can I repay you for your goodness to me?’ he asked.

‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘by not forgetting us.’

He stooped and picked a little blue flower and held it in the palm of his hands.

‘Do you know what it is?’ he asked.

‘It is called
myosotis arvensis
,’ she answered.

‘It is beautiful, is it not? When I see it I shall think of you. I shall have it embroidered on my emblem, and henceforth it shall be known as the forget-me-not.’

A few days later he left the Court of Brittany. He found an opportunity of giving Joanna the little blue flower which she pressed between the pages of a book and often she looked at it in the months to come . . .

Harry was becoming increasingly conscious of his somewhat invidious position at Court. He was closely related to the King but everyone knew that his father was in exile and that his presence at Court was regarded as a safeguard for his father’s good behaviour. It was not very pleasant for one of Harry’s disposition to be a captive.

He knew very well that if he asked permission to visit his brothers and sisters or his step-grandmother or his Beaufort relations, permission would not be granted. No. The King
wanted Harry where he could seize him at a moment’s notice if the need should arise.

Richard was always affable with Harry. He really did like the boy. He was amused by Harry – who was so different from himself. Harry was impatient with such preoccupations as dress and jewels and epicurean meals. He chafed against life at Court. He wanted adventure.

Moreover he was anxious about his father, particularly since his grandfather had died.

His cousin Humphrey was at Court. He was not in a very happy position either. They were very closely related for Humphrey’s father had been the Duke of Gloucester who had been smothered by feather beds in a sleazy Calais inn (doubtless on the King’s orders) and the Duke was the brother of Harry’s grandfather, John of Gaunt, and as his mother was Eleanor de Bohun, sister of Henry’s mother, it was a double relationship.

It had been brought home to both boys that their safety was somewhat precarious, for the fate of their fathers was a constant warning to them that anything could happen at any moment.

They kept their ears open for news and talked in secret. Harry was sure that his father would come back to England now that the King had confiscated the Lancaster estates.

‘When he does,’ he said, ‘there will be many who will help him regain them. The nobles do not like one of their kind to suffer such forfeiture because they say if it can happen to one it can happen to others.’

‘He will have to take care,’ said Humphrey.

‘My father was always one to take care. He was not reckless like yours.’

Humphrey was silent thinking of that terrible day when he had heard that his father had been taken. It had been unbelievable. Thomas of Gloucester had always been a blustering reckless man, certain of his power to succeed. He would never forget how his forthright mother, who had never seemed to be at a loss before, suddenly collapsed and became a sad, silent woman. She had been so sure of herself; she had believed so completely that her husband would achieve all his ambitions and that she would rise with him; and then suddenly it was all finished. His father had been taken away. How had he died? What did it feel like to have two or three strong men pressing a feather bed down upon you until you were gasping for breath . . . and then could breathe no more?

He must not think of these things. He must be like Harry, who laughed a great deal and followed the serving wenches with lustful eyes and even allowed himself to comment on the charms – or lack of them – of the ladies of the Court.

Now they were playing with the cards that fascinated them both. These had been invented a few years before for the amusement of the King of France, and were becoming very fashionable in England. Many people at Court played with them and with their kings, queens, jacks and aces, they seemed suited to Court life.

Harry was smiling at the fanlike array in his hands and looking slyly across at Humphrey. One never knew what cards Harry held, thought Humphrey. He put on a face to bemuse one.

But before the game began one of the King’s attendants came to them to tell them that their presence was required in the royal chamber, so they laid down their cards and went at once to obey the King’s command.

Richard was lounging in his chair rather informally with his favourite greyhound, Math, at his feet. The dog watched the boys suspiciously as they approached.

Harry had tried to entice the dog to come to him but Math gave him nothing but disdain. It was almost as though he was saying, I am the King’s dog, I will accept none but a King as my master.

‘Ah, my cousins,’ said Richard, smiling at them, ‘I have news for you.’

He watched them with narrowed eyes. Harry was going to be a wild fellow, he could see that. He would be everything that he, Richard, was not. Yet he liked the boy. It gratified him to keep him at Court and within calling distance. That was how it was going to remain.

These two boys were both sons of men whom he had hated – closely related to him though they were. Humphrey was now Duke of Gloucester and Richard had hated his father more than anyone. He had been one of the uncles who had made his life so fraught with irritation when he was very young. He had liked John of Gaunt, Harry’s grandfather, once the old man had accepted his age and given up his fruitless struggle for a crown of some sort. But Harry’s father, Henry of Bolingbroke, he would always be suspicious of.

He would never forget those five Lords Appellant standing before him arms linked to show that they came together and were against him. No, he had determined on revenge from the moment they had stood there. And he had it. Gloucester dead, smothered by feathers, Arundel beheaded, Warwick in prison, Norfolk and Hereford exiled. So they should remain. And if Hereford decided to make trouble he had young Harry in his grasp. Harry the hostage.

‘You will be wondering why I sent for you,’ he said. ‘Is that so?’

‘My lord, you have guessed aright,’ replied Harry. There was just a trace of insolence in the young voice but the smile was disarming. One could never be sure with Harry.

‘’Twas no great conundrum,’ said the King shortly. ‘You are to prepare to leave for Ireland.’

‘Ireland, my lord!’ cried Harry.

‘I said Ireland,’ replied the King. ‘The death of the Earl of March has made it necessary for me to take an army there. You will be with us.’

The boys heard the news with mixed feelings. They liked the thought of adventure – but Ireland! They would rather have gone to France. Harry’s father was in France. Suppose . . .

The King was saying, ‘You will wish to make some preparations, I do not doubt. You will be instructed when we are to leave.’

Math watched them sleepily while they bowed and retired.

‘To Ireland,’ murmured Humphrey. ‘I wonder why we are going.’

‘Because the King will not let me out of his sight, I am a hostage for my father’s good conduct towards him. That is why
I
am going.’

‘But why am I?’

‘Because he does not wish to make the fact of my going too pointed. If we both go . . . well then we are part of the Court retinue. I see it clearly, cousin Humphrey.’

‘Yes,’ said Humphrey, ‘so do I. I wonder how long you will go on being a hostage?’

Harry was thoughtful. He knew the King had confiscated his father’s estates.

He thought such an event might make a difference.

The two boys enjoyed the excitement of making the journey to Ireland. The boisterous sea crossing which so many found distressing did not affect them. They paced the decks in the drizzling rain and felt that they were really men now going into battle.