by Robert Irwin
At this point the sergeant pauses and he runs his finger and his eyes down the long list of those who are so condemned. Reading is difficult for him and he tries again. His lips move as he struggles with one name after another. Then, ‘You say you are the Lord Scales?’
‘I am Lord Scales.’
‘Your name is not here.’ The sergeant hesitates before going from the chapel to confer with some of his comrades who are mustered outside.
When the sergeant returns, he is smiling, ‘All is well. You were thought to be slain on the field, but, if by God’s mercy you were to be found alive, then our orders are to bring you before King Edward and your father, the High Constable of England, Lord Rivers.’
This makes no sense. As Anthony closes his eyes, he hears the priest exclaim, ‘Now you have bested Lazarus, for this is the second time that you have risen from the grave!’
A little later Anthony is helped onto a cart which will carry him to York. Though it is undignified, there is no help for it since he is very weak from his wounds. The roads are rutted and the way is painful. The wound in his side reopens and has to be dressed once more. Anthony is often feverish, but in his lucid intervals he learns of the extent of Edward’s victory and of the battle’s aftermath. It is thought that there were 200,000 men at the Battle of Palm Sunday and a great proportion of this number were slain. But were there ever so many men in England? Welles, Morley and John Neville were among those dead on the battlefield and, though gentlemen, they were pitched into mass graves with the commoners. Northumberland has died of his wounds in York. King Henry, Queen Margaret and the Duke of Somerset are fled to Scotland. Wiltshire is also fled. The cause of Lancaster is judged to be at an end. But Anthony’s escort has no detailed knowledge of Lord Rivers and his place in the new order.
As they travel, he asks the sergeant to let him see the bill of attainder. Not only is his name not on it, but neither is that of the military adviser to the Duke of Somerset, Sir Andrew Trollope. Anthony knew Andrew from of old. Andrew had started out as a man-at-arms and risen from the ranks under the command of Earl Rivers in the French war. Later he had fought at Wakefield and had been knighted after St Albans. If only Anthony can find him, he can learn the name of the castle.
He asks the sergeant if he has had word of where Sir Andrew is now and learns that Andrew was another of those slain on the battlefield. Andrew had continued to fight until both his arms were severed. Anthony should be sad, but instead he is angry with the spectral dream figure which had so deceived him and invited him to what he now knows would have been an insubstantial feast. Then, recollecting himself, he feels angry with himself at having been so easily deceived. Dreams are for people who have failed to find enough excitement in their waking lives. The mysterious procession he witnessed in the unnamed castle had no meaning.
Though the feverish spells diminish, he still has occasional visions in bright heraldic colours of arms rising from the water, of a passage up a mountain through a forest that is on fire, of a table laden with rotting food, and he awakes from these visions full of foreboding. The way is slow, but Anthony is not impatient to reach his destination, for he dreads seeing his father once again. This should be a joyous occasion, but he knows that it will be no such thing and he tries to rehearse the argument that they must have.
Once in York, he is helped out of the cart. A crutch has been found for him and he is supported into the cathedral close where he finds his father sitting under a blossoming hawthorn tree. His father rises and they embrace. His father looks hard at him and runs his hand over Anthony’s face and torso as if to reassure himself that this is his son and he is still alive. Then his father sinks down back to the ground and the recriminations begin.
‘I lost sight of you on the field,’ says Anthony. He cannot stop himself. ‘Where did you go? Had you already gone to sell your sword to the Duke of York?’
His father slumps back down, resumes his resting place against the tree and gestures that Anthony should join him on the ground, but he will not and instead, though it is painful for him to be propping himself upright, stands looking down on his father.
‘The sun of York has brought us better weather. You must learn to call Edward King… And it was not like that,’ says his father. ‘Seeing that Northumberland was in trouble, I went to his assistance, or tried to, but was unable to cut my way through to his banner and when I realised that I could not, I then saw that all around me were retreating and I did what they did, but I was captured before I could reach the horse park. After such a battle I knew that the cause of Lancaster was forever lost, so, when I was brought before Edward, I submitted to him and begged for pardon and that great prince showed me mercy and even favour and so it is that I remain High Constable of England. If I have sold my sword, I have bought your head with it, Anthony. Edward has spared your life also and you may find preferment with him. I thought that I had already lost you. To lose –’
But Anthony is impatient, ‘Then I should be forsworn as you are forsworn. Forsworn and damned.’
‘You should smile and thank your father for your life. Now tell me how you think you are forsworn.’
By now they were shouting at one another. Attracted perhaps by the shouting, a man comes and stands close enough to listen to the argument. He wears a jerkin crudely stitched together from sackcloth and his legs are sheathed in scuffed brown leather. His narrow bony face is clouded with anxiety and he makes a supplicatory gesture, as if he is about to ask Anthony and his father to calm down, or at least lower their voices. But perhaps he is merely about to beg for money. They decide to ignore him.
‘It is not what I think, but what I know. We both knelt and swore before God fealty to King Henry. It is a fearful thing to break an oath given before God.’
But his father has anticipated this.
‘Yes, it is so,’ he agrees. ‘An oath before God indeed! Then how must it be with King Henry who on the day of his coronation swore before God’s power to cause Law and Justice in Mercy to be executed in all his judgements and to keep peace in the kingdom? This he has not done.
Do you remember how young Rutland was slaughtered? And do you remember how the Earl of Devonshire’s men surrounded the house of the lawyer, Nicholas Radford and entreated him to come down from his chamber, promising him that he should endure no bodily harm. So Radford descended. His rooms were looted and he was told that he must go to talk with the Duke and Radford said that he would ride there straightaway, whereupon he was told that all his horses were taken away. Then Radford said to the Duke’s son, who was their leader, “Sir, your men have robbed my chamber, and they have my horses that I may not ride with you to my Lord your father. Wherefore I pray you let me ride, for I am old and cannot walk.” But he was told that he must walk and when he was just a slingshot from his house, nine men fell upon the old man and cut his throat…’
Now the man in sackcloth butts in, ‘A certain gentleman was getting drunk in a tavern and his companions decided to play a prank upon him. So one of them slipped out and turned the saddle on his horse the other way about. Then, when they all met in the tavern the following evening they asked him how he had got home the previous night. ‘You do well to ask,’ he replied. ‘When I got out I found that some evil-minded person had cut my horse’s head off and I had to guide the horse home with my finger stuck up its windpipe… Ah hah hah hah! You must laugh, yet, gentle sirs, you both look so grim and glum.’
He pauses to pull an exaggeratedly gloomy face before continuing, ‘Scoggin is the name! It is sure that all that befell Radford was long ago and old Scoggin thinks that now it is the Maytime, it is time for us all to be jolly.’
Earl Rivers waves his hand as if he would swat a fly.
‘Go away. We are busy and have no time for beggars.’
‘But, my lord, forgive Scoggin, for you are mistaken. Scoggin is no beggar. He is here to entertain you with a hundred merry jests and capers. He does not beg for money, for everyone knows that a fool and h
is money are easily parted. Instead he seeks for livery and maintenance, for he presents himself here to be your household fool. Ta ra!’
Rivers ignores Scoggin and continues, ‘Was Radford’s end not pitiful? Where then was the King’s justice? And think on how the Duke of Suffolk was betrayed on his way to Calais and his head cut off with half a dozen strokes from a rusty sword and that head left on the sand at Dover. How many crimes and atrocities must I list? Under Henry, misgovernance, unrest, inward war and trouble, foolish counsels, shedding and effusion of innocent blood, abuse of laws, partiality, riot, extortion, murder, rape and vicious living have been the guiders and leaders of the noble realm of England. Moreover, he has lost us our kingdom in France. A King cannot seat himself on a throne and think to himself “Now that I am King, I can do whatever I want”, for a coronation is in truth a contract that is binding on both parties.’
Scoggin cannot contain himself, ‘Once a King always a King: once a knight is enough! Ah ha ha ha!’
He is ignored. Rivers continues, ‘Henry owed his subjects good lordship and this he has failed to provide. Moreover, he has broken the Act of Accord that was ratified by the lords and parliament last year. According to that Act, Edward’s father Richard and Edward after him were declared to be Henry’s heirs and successors to the crown when Henry should die or abdicate. Now, Henry broke his oath and did not conform to the Act of Accord and indeed he had Richard of York slain and his severed head wearing a paper crown, impaled on the Micklegate Bar at York. So no oaths taken to such a perjured King can be binding.’
‘Perjured or not, Henry is still King. He has not died or abdicated.’
‘Oh, but he has abdicated. He has abandoned his kingdom, for by his flight to the Scots, who are England’s enemies,Henry must be deemed to have abdicated his rule.’
Before Anthony can interrupt, his father hurries on, ‘The rule of the house of Lancaster was from the first based on violence not blood-right. All the line of Lancaster must be deemed usurpers, as more than half a century ago, Henry IV rose against King Richard II and had him murdered. When King Richard died, his heir should have been Edmund Mortimer, the grandson of the second son of Edward III and since then it is from the line of Mortimer that York, his cousin, derives his true right to the throne. In this world a man who is ignorant of genealogy is lost. Genealogy and heraldry are the only two sciences worth knowing.’
‘This is wise. Scoggin wishes that he was so clever,’ says the would-be jester, stroking his chin. Then he continues, ‘Sirs, though I am nobody who comes from nowhere, yet through your good lordship I can become somebody. Though I have no past, you can give me a future.’ And to Anthony, he says, ‘You have a most pretty face. Surely it betokens kindness?’
Richard had been speaking urgently, for he knows that he is speaking for the life of his son. But now he pauses, distracted by Scoggin’s interruption and momentarily at a loss for further arguments.
Then Anthony rushes in, ‘It is a great shame to depose such a holy man, for Henry is a sainted King whose prayers have sustained and protected the kingdom.’
‘Ha ha!’
Richard’s laugh is mirthless. Anthony realises that he has never heard his father laugh at anything humorous. After the rhetorical laugh, Richard continues, ‘So we have known government by a sainted innocent, have we? How many miracles has our saint performed? The truth is that Henry is capricious, cruel, cowardly and mad. Because of Henry Bolingbroke’s usurpation, God has made the kingdom desolate and cursed his grandson with madness, just as he cursed Nebuchadnezzar, who was “made to eat grass as oxen” and “his hairs were grown like eagles’ feathers, and his nails were like birds’ claws”. As for sainted Henry, his wits are gone and he can scarcely remember how to walk. He drools and, when he speaks, he speaks like a child…’
The image of a man propped up on a pallet and wearing a crown awry rose up in Anthony’s mind. His father continued in full spate, ‘Whereas Edward… Edward is the man who God has made King. At six feet and three inches, he is every inch a King, vigorous, courageous, resolute and generous. Edward does not skulk in a chapel, but he leads in battle.’
Now Scoggin has the impertinence to shake his finger in Earl Rivers’s face.
‘Edward is up and Henry is down. That is the way of the wheel of fortune, for it turns and turns. Watch and let Scoggin’s shiny head be Edward and Scoggin’s dirty feet be Henry.’
Then the grotesque creature begins a series of cartwheels that are designed to show that he who is on top shall one day be down and he who is beneath shall one day be above. Then he pauses to catch his breath before continuing, ‘It is the same with Scoggin. You see how poorly he is apparelled. He does not have a cap and bells, nor his garb of motley, nor his pig’s bladder. All the wherewithal of foolery are lacking to him, but one day it shall be different, his feet shall be above his head and he shall be acclaimed the King of Buffoons and it shall be Scoggin who presides over the Council of Fools.’
And the fool does a few more cartwheels to bring home his point.
But his father turns away and addresses Anthony, ‘Those who are wise will follow the man who is born to lead. There is no reward for stupidity, unless it be the gallows or the headsman’s block. Are you hearing me, Anthony? Could you not stop shifting about for a single moment?’
Now Scoggin, who brightens at the word ‘stupidity’, jumps in with a new interruption, ‘Scoggin was not always thus. He has spent seven years as a hermit telling his beads and hoping for visions, at the end of which he had a vision of an angel who spoke to him, saying, “God has listened to your prayers and is minded to reward you for your piety. He offers you a choice between beauty and stupidity. Which will you have?” ’
But Rivers has no interest in what might have been Scoggin’s choice, ‘Be off with you or I shall have you seized and whipped.’
‘Scoggin shall go. But over the years Scoggin has noticed that those he thinks ill of always come to a bad end. We will meet again in different circumstances and up shall be down and down shall be up.’ And with that prophecy the would-be fool starts to shuffle off. But suddenly he turns and points a finger at Anthony and says, ‘No man knows for sure whether he serves God or the Devil!’
Anthony wonders if this observation can possibly have been meant as a joke, as he watches Scoggin shuffle away.
Anthony who has come back from the dead has seen no cause for laughter. He watches the scrounging maledictory beggar depart before resuming the argument.
‘I have heard you, but I am thinking that only three weeks ago you were happy enough to follow the man that you now denounce as a perjured imbecile. You were preaching no quarter to those who have now become your fellows. Have you forgotten that the Yorkists have slaughtered our friends? You are become the servant of those who killed Northumberland, Welles and Trollope, who were our companions. All that you have said is very clever, but that does not mean that you are right. If you were so minded, you could easily make a better case for Henry and a worse one for Edward – and, if the tide of war turns again, perhaps you will. Of course, you are cleverer than me and you will always be able to batter me down with your words, but you cannot make me believe you.’
‘Will you not sit down? My neck hurts from gazing up at you. This century had barely started when I was born and I am now an old man. I am too old to face exile in France or, worse, seek refuge in the desolate wilds of Scotland. As a youth I served in France with the Duke of Suffolk and with Richard of York. They have both lost their heads, but I am still here, sitting in the sun and ready and able to serve the kingdom. If you will not pay homage to the new King, you too will be beheaded and I will be forced to watch. No man should have to witness the death of his child. Not only that, but if you should run off to Lancaster, then I will be incriminated and my head will be cut off. It is true that I am cleverer than you and it is because of this and because I am your father and because you must be sensible of the obedience that a son owes his father that you w
ill obey me and make your peace with Edward.’
So it is that Anthony drops to the ground and joins his father under the hawthorn.
‘You are young and it will soon be summer,’ says his father comfortably. ‘Now we must reunite you with your wife.’
Chapter Two: Crowland
Homage has been paid to King Edward and Anthony has bound himself to attend the coronation that will soon be held in London. Now he rides out of York heading south to Doncaster and from there to Lincoln and on into Norfolk. The estates of the Barony of Scales are scattered round Bishop’s Lynn. The county and the Scales estates within the county have become rich from the wool trade. A woman’s beauty can receive an extra sheen from money and so it was with Elizabeth de Scales, sole daughter and heiress of Thomas Lord Scales, widow of Henry Bourchier, and now Anthony’s wife. When Anthony had set out from the Manor of Middleton on his way to muster with the Duke of Somerset before the great battle, Elizabeth, or Beth rather, had still been dressing in black in deep mourning for Bourchier and she had denied Anthony her bed.
‘It is too soon,’ she had said. ‘I need to grieve and pray that his soul is at peace.’
Heavy spring showers make the journey south difficult as well as painful. Happily his horse, a courser he has named Black Saladin, is sure-footed. Anthony travels through a ravaged land. Everywhere he notes abandoned farmsteads, cold harbours and forests that encroach again on land that had been theirs a century or more ago. He knows that there had once been more people in England. But then came the plagues and these were followed by the blood-letting at the battles of St Albans, then Blore Heath, Ludford, Northampton, Wakefield, Mortimer’s Cross and Palm Sunday. When will this curse be lifted from the kingdom? Perhaps those battles are the prelude to the End of the World.
