BOOKS BY THOMAS B. COSTAIN
THE LAST PLANTAGENETS:
The Pageant of England
THE CHORD OF STEEL
THE DARKNESS AND THE DAWN
THE THREE EDWARDS:
The Pageant of England
BELOW THE SALT
STORIES TO REMEMBER
(with John Beecroft)
MORE STORIES TO REMEMBER
(with John Beecroft)
THE TONTINE
THE MISSISSIPPI BUBBLE
THE WHITE AND THE GOLD:
The French Regime in Canada
THE SILVER CHALICE
THE MAGNIFICENT CENTURY:
The Pageant of England
SON OF A HUNDRED KINGS
THE CONQUERORS:
The Pageant of England
HIGH TOWERS
THE MONEYMAN
THE BLACK ROSE
RIDE WITH ME
JOSHUA: A BIOGRAPHY
(with Rogers MacVeagh)
FOR MY GREAT FOLLY
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER 62–7616
COPYRIGHT © 1962 BY THOMAS B. COSTAIN
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
eISBN: 978-0-307-80955-1
v3.1
CONTENTS
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
PART ONE: THE KING WHO LOST A SHOE
I A Prince Is Born
II The Struggle over the Succession
III The King Who Lost a Shoe
IV Passed Over, Tolerated, Winked At!
V The First English Bible
VI When the Bell Was Rungen
VII The Blaze Spreads
VIII The Voice of John Ball
IX Not a Blow Struck, Not a Head Broken
X The Boy King Takes Hold
XI “I Will Be Your Chief and Captain”
XII The Days of Retribution
XIII The Gay Court of the Young King
XIV Good Queen Anne
XV The Bully of Woodstock
XVI The Daring Grocer
XVII The King’s Favorite
XVIII England Faces Invasion
XIX The Merciless Parliament
XX The King Raises a Hand
XXI The Death of Good Queen Anne
XXII The Days of Development
XXIII “I Shall Then Be a Great Lady”
XXIV The King Strikes
XXV “Vengeance Is Mine, I Will Repay”
XXVI The Absolute King
XXVII Two of the Five
XXVIII The Great Mistakes
XXIX The King Had No Horses and No Men
XXX The Little Queen Fights for the Throne
XXXI The King Who Lost His Life
PART TWO: THE RED AND THE WHITE
I A Sick King and a Dull Reign
II The Welsh Magician
III The King and Fair Kate
IV The Red and the White
V The Gentle Henry
VI The Fourth Edward
VII The Kingmaker
VIII The Queen of Sorrows and Enmities
IX The Butt of Malmsey
X William Caxton
PART THREE: THE GREAT MYSTERY
I The Whipping Boy
II How It Began
III Throwing the Book
IV The King Is Dead, Long Live the King
V Richard Takes the Throne
VI A Short and Unhappy Reign
VII On Bosworth Field
VIII Some Curious Measures and Omissions
IX The Murder of the Princes
X The Great Impersonations
XI The Hired Historian
XII The Bones in the Tower
XIII The Evidence of an Eyewitness
A Personal Postscript
PART ONE
THE KING WHO LOST A SHOE
CHAPTER I
A Prince Is Born
1
A PRINCE was born to the royal line of England on January 6, 1367, in the abbey of St. André at Bordeaux and given the name of Richard. His mother, who had been a widow when she dazzled and cajoled the seemingly impervious bachelor, Edward the Black Prince, into marrying her, had no doubts at all that the boy was the most beautiful baby ever born in a royal bed and then laid to sleep in an ermine-lined cradle. Somewhat limp and exhausted after the ordeal of motherhood, for she was thirty-nine years old, she gazed through her window at the highest spire in all France, that of St. Michel, and the thought may have been in her mind that she herself had climbed to an equal height. She had done her duty and now none of the sly councilors of the old king nor the sour dowagers of the court at Westminster could have anything more to say. She would soon be the Queen of England and, after that, she would see a son of hers on the throne.
It should be told that, after her marriage to Prince Edward in the face of parental disapproval, the vivacious Joan (who is called in history the Fair Maid of Kent) and her somewhat taciturn husband had been glad to get away from the frowns and fogs of London to settle down to the government of the Aquitanian possessions in this beautiful city where the sun shone all the year round, or nearly all, and the plane trees sighed in the cool breezes from the sea, and life was very romantic and very gay. Three years earlier a son had been born to them and named Edward, who was the apple of his great father’s eye. Now, with the arrival of little Richard, who was to become known as Richard of Bordeaux, the succession was assured.
The father of the new arrival shared this satisfaction, but it was not his custom to unbend and so he had little to say as he towered above the cradle. Lying very still, his face neither wrinkled nor mottled in the way of newly borns but pale and handsomely composed, Richard gave the impression of being delicate enough to be wafted away by any careless whisk of a midwife’s arm. His father may have been disappointed in one respect, for what he most admired in male children was the promise of massive thews like his own or the strong frame of his great-uncle Richard (four times removed), who had been called the Lion-hearted. Would this undeniably beautiful boy prove to be of stout heart? Would he have a firm seat in the saddle to ride the shocks of conflict? Such thoughts must have been in the father’s mind, for he began at once to make plans for a Spartan upbringing. Richard’s lullabies must be the ballads of chivalry, his toys must be swords and bows, his tutors must not be learned priests but the stoutest of warriors.
The court at Bordeaux was acknowledged to be the most brilliant in Europe and, at the moment when the second son arrived, it was crowded with visitors. King James of Majorca had arrived to act as chief sponsor, and Pedro of Castile was there with Constance and Isabella, the two daughters born to him by a mistress. Pedro, who was called “The Cruel,” had been removed from the throne by his angry subjects, led by an illegitimate brother, Henry of Trastamara. The purpose of Pedro’s visit to Bordeaux was to solicit the aid of the great English warrior in winning back his crown, and the Black Prince had decided to take the adventure in hand, although he was in poor health and seemingly incapable of conducting a vigorous campaign. Edward’s reasons for taking this rash step, which would plunge him deep into debt, were typical of this grandly aloof and determined prince. He would fight for a brother knight or undertake the rescue of a degenerate king like Pedro even if it cost the lives of thousands of common men and hopelessly entangled his affairs at home. For the benefit of his councilors, all of whom seemed opposed to the step, he had written: “I do not think it either decent or proper that a bastard should possess a kingdom as an inheritance, nor drive out of his realm his own brother, heir to the throne by lawful marriage; and no king or king’s son ought ever to suffer it as being of the greatest prejudice to royalty.” He had other reasons, but t
his was enough to indicate how his mind worked. His plans for the organization of an army to march down through the Valley of Roncesvalles into Spain were already complete and he, Edward, planned to leave for Dax in a matter of days.
The arrival of little Richard of Bordeaux was, therefore, badly timed. Back of the stern façade with which he faced the world, the Black Prince was concerned with problems of equipment and provisions and not with this frail son that his plump, middle-aged wife had added to his other and greater responsibilities. The event, nevertheless, was to create a considerable stir. A hum of excited talk started the instant the prince stalked into his wife’s chamber, accompanied by his two royal visitors. It was true that James of Majorca was a mere cantlet of a king (he also had been shoved off his miniature throne and was seeking aid) and Pedro the Cruel was a fugitive from his Spanish dominions. Neither visitor was a wise man and that adjective was not one to be applied loosely to the Black Prince. But there were gifts in the hands of all three; and was it not Twelfth Night? By’r Lady, here was the scene at Bethlehem repeated! Everyone at court, and later throughout the civilized world, knew this meant that the child would become a man of greatness and power and that his deeds would resound throughout Christendom.
The prince acted promptly because he had not more than a few hours left before he started on his costly and injudicious Spanish adventure. He announced that two of his favorite campaign companions, Sir Guichard d’Angle and Sir Simon Burley, would share the tutoring of the little prince as soon as the promises to the ex-King of Castile had been fulfilled. They were both held in high esteem by all men, but the appointment was destined to provide the link in a chain of events that would involve the little prince in disastrous conflicts in the years to follow.
2
A ray of light can sometimes be turned on blank periods in history through events which follow after. Little is actually known of the early boyhood of Richard of Bordeaux, but certain conclusions may reasonably be drawn from subsequent developments. During the four years at Bordeaux he was in his mother’s care and the bond of affection between them was maintained until the last sad days that the Fair Maid of Kent spent on earth. This needs no documentary proof, for all the men were off to the wars, the Black Prince himself, such of his brothers as were in France, and all of his knights and attendants, including the gallant and gentle Sir John Chandos, who always rode beside him, and the two favored companions already appointed as the boy’s tutors. From his brief contacts with his father later, and the things he learned about that unbending parent, Richard absorbed ideas which were prevalent enough in all branches of royalty but were not likely to form a good character foundation for a future king. From the atmosphere of the court he also developed other tastes which, though admirable in themselves, were not likely to fit him for the task of handling the proud but unlettered baronage of England.
Bordeaux was, of course, completely under Gallic influences. Although France was impoverished and exhausted by the English wars and the depredations of the Free Companies, Paris was still a center of the culture born in the Magnificent Century, the thirteenth, and which had been growing and spreading ever since. Richard was a perceptive child and even in his most tender years he acquired a taste for the artistic aspects of life.
When the bones of Richard II were disinterred and examined in 1871, it was found that he had been almost six feet in height. It was apparent from the first, however, that he would not be of powerful build. His limbs, slender and gracefully turned, lacked the knotted muscles of the warrior. His face was round and his features were delicately modeled, making him appear slightly effeminate. At first he was of a gentle disposition.
In the household at Bordeaux were his brother, Edward, three years his senior, and two sons of his mother by her first marriage. Thomas Holland was fifteen and John twelve. Little is known about Edward, who died four years later, but the Holland sons were typical of the age—noisy, swift in temper, addicted to horseplay, and rough in games. Little Richard, who liked music and took pleasure in paintings and the songs of minstrels, was out of his element in this group. His mother looked after her quiet son with true maternal solicitude, protecting him from the wild antics and practical jokes of her earlier brood.
The young prince’s spirits were high and from the first he demonstrated that he possessed a full share of the passionate pride of the Plantagenets. His few contacts with his father strengthened in him the feeling that life was shaped to the glory of kings and that the prerogatives of royalty must be free of the meddling of vulgar fingers. The Black Prince returned after winning the Battle of Navarrete, which placed the base Pedro back on his throne for a brief period. It had been a disillusioning experience, for Pedro had dishonored all his promises, and the army, made up of stout Englishmen and loyal Gascons, had been decimated in the fighting and by the spread of unfamiliar diseases. A sick man when he started off, the prince knew beyond all doubt when he returned that the fateful wings had brushed his shoulder. Two years later little Edward died, and this meant that the bright white light had shifted its focus and was beaming now on the little prince with the long golden curls and the thoughtful manners. The boy Richard would be the next King of England.
Richard seems to have had a liking for Sir Simon Burley from the very beginning. When he returned from Spain, his face tanned to a walnut hue from exposure to the Castilian sun, Burley took his small charge in hand for a very brief period. He talked to him about horses and the handling of a sword, and he told him tales which brought an excited glow to the boy’s cheeks. Unfortunately for Richard, the French war was resumed almost immediately and Burley was plunged into the thick of it. The small boy saw him leave with a lump in his throat. The absence of the bachelor knight (for Burley never seems to have had the time or the inclination for matrimony) was to prove a long one. Leading a small force in the Lusignan country, he was attacked by superior French forces and made prisoner. He was held in captivity for a year and on his release found that the Black Prince, who was now barely capable of sitting in a saddle, was setting about the siege of Limoges, a military venture destined to leave a stain on the princely reputation for all time. And, of course, Burley rode in his royal master’s train.
It was apparent to all that the days of the great warrior were numbered. His eyes were sunk deep between protruding cheek bones, his fine color had deserted him for the tallowy hue of illness, he frequently stumbled as he walked. His physicians advised that he give up all responsibilities and return home at once. Accordingly he prepared reluctantly to leave the softer airs of Bordeaux for what he remembered as the rigors of England. He turned over all his offices to his brother John, now called Lancaster but best known in history as John of Gaunt. This he did in a saddened mood for he knew that now the tide would turn more swiftly in favor of the French. Although a man of parts, and with his share of military capacity, Lancaster had never acquired somehow the habit of success. Edward III had it and so had the Black Prince. Luck had combined with boldness to win battles for them. But Lancaster, an able enough planner and a knight of courage, had acquired nothing but the habit of failure.
Biscay waters in the winter are boisterous and unsafe and so it is certain that the royal party which set out in January 1371 embarked in the largest cogs available. The cog was a type of vessel much used in England because of its stoutness of construction. It was round of prow and stern, which made for a measure of security but accelerated the tendency to pitch and toss when winds were high; safe, but not to be recommended for those of weak stomach. The health of Edward did not improve under these conditions and it may also be taken for granted that his lady wife seldom deserted the comparative comfort of her accommodations below for the flooded decks and the bitter winds whistling through the rigging. Little Richard may not have been a good sailor either, but when he found his sea legs, as any boy will in time, he spent his days almost exclusively in the company of stout Sir Simon.
Burley was a sailor as well as a soldier. He had pl
ayed his part in the naval battle of Sluys which had started Edward III’s string of victories. He walked the decks, even when awash as they almost invariably were, with a rolling gait and a solid planting of heels. When the boy prince ventured up to join him, they splashed along together through the water which rolled from scupper to scupper, little Richard grappling the knight’s hand with a desperate tightness. Burley was able, therefore, to begin the tuition of his future king, which he did no doubt by telling what they would find when they reached England.
The knight would unquestionably consider it necessary to inform the boy that he would find his grandfather no longer the brilliant monarch who had dazzled Europe, but an old and ailing man, surrounded by the wrong kind of state officers. No mention of names would be wise but a wink and a sly allusion might plant the supposition that certain royal uncles were not above suspicion. Burley would explain also that English man power had been cut in half by the Black Death and he would hint darkly that the survivors were being misled by base hedge priests into demanding what they called their rights, an absurdity in men who had no rights, and one which must be crushed under iron heels. Nor must the prince expect to find in England the courtly airs and bodily comfort of Bordeaux. The English did not even dress the same but were for the most part attired sadly in plain cloth. This might elicit a question, for the boy was much interested in questions of dress. Did they not wear the fine new houppelandes? No, just the old-fashioned tunics and somber cloaks. Never seen were parti-colored hose or doublets and never puffed sleeves. But shoes, surely, with high curling toes? The little prince had none but shoes of the latest style and the toes invariably curled up so high that it was necessary to attach them with silken cords to the calves of his legs. Even at this early age, Richard had some knowledge of such matters, and he must have sighed at the prospect of dressing in such dull ways.
When it became evident that he was giving the prince too poor a picture of the land which would now be his home, the knight would hasten to explain that England was, after all, a country of the stoutest soldiers and the most daring sailors, and that the land was bountiful beyond belief. Enough wool was raised on the backs of fat sheep to supply cloth to most of Europe. No, there was nothing wrong with England that a better knowledge of foreign ways would not correct.
The Last Plantagenet Page 1
