The Star of Lancaster (29 page)

Henry was not very pleased by the turn of events but he wanted no trouble with France. Isabella was young. It might be better for her to return to France and a marriage between her and Harry could well be arranged at a later date. But what of the jewellery which must go with her? Henry had distributed that between the members of his family. He could only promise to return it and informed the French that he had commanded his children to send it to him. He intimated to them that he had not told the French that the jewellery would be returned but only that he had commanded it to be; and they were not to hurry to send it to him. In the meantime certain other items were put together – silver drinking cups and dishes and tapestries which she had brought with her – and these could be sent in her baggage. Now there was no doubt that Isabella was going to return to France.

It was a beautiful May morning when she set out on her way to Dover accompanied by the Duchess of Ireland and the Countesses of Hereford and March, Lady Mowbray and a few others of slightly lower rank. Isabella looked with some emotion at the countryside which was at its most beautiful now, alive with the promise of summer. The fields were so green and the banks blue and white with germander speedwell and ground-ivy, stitchwort and meadow-sweet. As she passed woods she caught a glimpse of misty bluebells waving under trees and she thought of the first day she had set foot on this land. She remembered her trepidation, her homesickness . . . and then her first sight of Richard.

She must not go on thinking of him. But how could she help it, and she knew she would never be happy again.

Henry had determined that she should be treated with the utmost honour and she was met on the way by the Bishops of Durham and Hereford and the Earl of Somerset, who was the King’s half-brother, one of the Beaufort sons of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford.

Isabella was insensible of the honour. She was bemused. She did not want to stay in England, nor did she wish to go to France. All she wanted was to go back in time to the day when she had first come and seen Richard. I would protect him, she thought angrily and illogically. I would never have allowed him to be murdered. I should have been with him. But it was all such nonsense. He was dead and she was alone, floating in limbo not wanting to look forward, hating to stay where she was; all she could do was look back to the bliss she had shared with Richard.

At Hackney she was met by Prince Thomas, Harry’s brother, who was a year younger than he was and loathed by her because he was the son of his father. But at least he did not pester her as his brother did. She received him coldly.

The Lord Mayor and the aldermen had come out of London to greet her and to guard her as she rode into the city. They did not forget that she was Queen and they were gracious to her and reminded her of the tumultuous welcome she had received when she had entered this city with Richard, but she despised them all. They had stood by and allowed Richard to be murdered; they had accepted the usurper and called him King.

She was lodged in the Tower of London and there she stayed for a few days before making the journey to the coast, and it was late June before she set out. In due course she
reached Dover; and when she had crossed the Channel in the company of Sir Thomas Percy, a member of that family which had played such a big part in putting Henry on the throne, she was escorted to the little town of Leulinghen which was in between Boulogne and Calais and there she was ceremoniously handed over to the Count St Pol to be conducted to her father’s Court.

When she reached Paris her family awaited her. Her parents embraced her warmly while her brothers and little sister regarded her with frank appraisal.

Her father she noticed at once was different from the man she remembered. He looked haggard, which she supposed was natural after the illness he had undergone. But he was kind and calm and showed no sign of the mental stresses he must have suffered. Her mother too was different. Her beauty was breathtaking. Isabella had never seen anyone more beautiful. It was a glittering beauty, which made it impossible for people to stop looking at her. Her brothers and sister were just children, not so experienced of the world as she was. Had they been to England; had they been married and widowed and almost forced into hideous union with someone they hated! No, they were young, innocent, unmarked by time.

She soon discovered that there was something strange going on. She was aware of covert looks; of the manner in which her mother and the King’s brother, Louis of Orléans, looked at each other. She was aware of many watching eyes; and it soon became clear to her that an adulterous intrigue was going on between her mother and her uncle.

Louis of Orléans was affable. He gave himself the airs of a King. Isabella recoiled because she could not stop thinking of her poor father with his bouts of madness and how her mother
and her uncle were deceiving him and the aura of intrigue which surrounded the Court.

Her uncle Louis was very much aware of her she knew. He was planning something. So was her mother. And she felt afraid.

Uncle Louis said to her one day soon after her return: ‘How good it is to have you with us, sweet child. We are going to keep you with us. We shall find a husband worthy of you, never fear.’

She wanted to shout: ‘It is what I do fear. I had one husband. I shall never forget him. I want no more.’

Then she began to wonder whether she would be any happier in France than in England. She longed to be a child again, with the belief that everything was good and beautiful and made for her pleasure. How sad that she must grow up and learn the truth. She had wanted to leave the English scene because to her it was stained red with the blood of her husband and had become hateful because of the blatant usurpation of the throne. And now she was in France and because she was older, more experienced, she could feel tragedy here, as intense as that which she had suffered in England.

What would become of her poor father who for long periods of time lost his sanity? What were her mother and Uncle Louis planning together? When would they force her to marry the man of their choice? Could she be any happier in France than she had been in England? But how could she be happy anywhere now that Richard was dead.

Chapter VII

I
t had quickly become clear to the King that though he had won his crown with comparative ease, he was going to find it a more difficult task to hold it.

Richard’s mysterious death and the knowledge that the priest Maudelyn had borne an almost uncanny resemblance to him made a good foundation for rumour. Henry feared that for years to come there would be those who declared Richard still lived and the body they had seen paraded through the streets had been that of the priest. Another cause of concern was the existence of Edmund Mortimer whose claim came before that of Henry. None knew more than he that the crown which had been put on his head with such ready hands was very precariously balanced there.

The first real trouble came from Wales and there he discovered a formidable enemy in a man called Owain ab Gruffydd, lord of Glyndyvrdwy or as he was becoming known throughout England, Owen Glendower.

Owen had been a student of English law at Westminster and at one time was squire to the Earl of Arundel who had estates in Wales. When Arundel took sides with Henry of Lancaster
Owen was with him, although Wales in general supported Richard and there was murmuring throughout that country when Harry was created Prince of Wales.

The trouble really started when Owen quarrelled with Reginald Lord Grey of Ruthin over certain lands which they both claimed, and Owen came to Westminster for the case between them to be tried. There he was treated with a certain amount of contempt but he managed to get the case brought before the King and Parliament. ‘The man is bent on getting what he calls justice,’ the King was told. Henry impatiently waved the matter on one side. ‘What care we for these barefooted scrubs,’ he cried contemptuously. The King’s words were reported to Owen who went fuming back to Wales.

Henry had made an enemy for life.

When a Scottish expedition was planned Owen should have been a member of it, but out of revenge Grey of Ruthin failed to deliver the summons until it was too late for Glendower to comply, and, as he did not join the expedition, Grey denounced him as a traitor. This was too much for a man like Owen to tolerate and if he could not get satisfaction at Westminster over the matter of his lands, what justice could he hope for now. He decided to take the law into his own hands. He made war against Grey, plundered his lands, killed some members of his household and declared publicly that the Welsh would never receive justice, that they were treated with contempt by the English and if any Welshman would march under his banner they would do something about it.

Henry heard the news with dismay and at first thought this was but a local rising but he was soon to learn his mistake. The Welsh were on the march. The cry was Liberty and
Independence. Not only did the inhabitants of Wales rally to Owen Glendower’s banner, but Welshmen in England left their homes to travel to Wales.

It was necessary to put an end to this rebellion and Henry marched in person to the Welsh border. Owen Glendower might have rallied a great force but it would not stand out long against the trained bands of English archers. There he was wrong, for Owen Glendower was too cunning to meet Henry’s army in a confrontation. Instead he and his men retreated to the mountains where it was impossible to follow them. They knew every rock and crevice.

Those mountains were impassable and had defeated others before Henry. They provided the perfect stronghold. Moreover the weather was treacherous and the Welsh had their successes, the chief of which was the capture of Lord Grey and Sir Edmund Mortimer, the uncle and guardian of the young Earl of March whom so many believed had more right to the throne than Henry. It was simply not possible to bring the conflict to a speedy end. The Welsh could not be conquered as easily as that and what could have been settled by law – if Owen Glendower had been treated with justice – developed into a war which neither side could bring to a satisfactory conclusion.

Henry left a company in Wales and went to Oxford where he saw his son.

Harry had been sent to study under his uncle, Henry Beaufort, who was Chancellor of the University, but he was tired of Queen’s College and chafed against his youth, therefore when he heard what his father had to say he was delighted.

Harry noticed his father had lost some of his healthy colour.
Being a King had its responsibilities, that was obvious, but Henry was clearly delighted with his son’s appearance. Harry had grown and he was a picture of glowing health.

When they had embraced Henry said: ‘I have come to talk to you very seriously, Harry. I think it is time you gave up Oxford. There is work for you to do.’

Harry’s eyes shone at the prospect. ‘Right gladly will I leave Oxford,’ he said. ‘I am no scholar, my lord, and nothing will make me one. I want to fight beside you.’

‘That is exactly what I want you to do, Harry.’ The King touched his forehead in a weary gesture. ‘There is so much trouble everywhere. The Welsh . . . the Scots. And can we ever trust the French?’

‘It is no time for me to be poring over books in college,’ agreed Harry.

‘That is a view we share, my son. The truth is I need you. Would to God you were a little older.’

‘I am fifteen now, Father.’

‘Fifteen. God’s truth, Harry, you look three years older.’

Harry beamed with pleasure. ‘Where would you have me go?’

‘To the Welsh border. Perhaps later to Scotland. You have to learn, Harry. You have to learn fast.’

‘Never fear, my lord. I have learned much already.’

‘You have to learn how to defend us. We have to hold what we have. My God, Harry, we shall have to hold on to it firmly.’

‘I have always known it. I shall be ready, never fear. I shall leave at once.’

The King held up his hand. ‘Not quite so fast. Remember you are the heir to the throne. I will speak to the Chancellor. He will understand. You will have to do with what education you have. Your task now is to learn to be a soldier.’