Passage to Pontefract

by Jean Plaidy

  A boy of eight or nine! He would need guidance. There would have to be a Regent. A Regent, of course, had the power of a ruler.

  If there was to be a king who was a minor the natural regent would be his uncle. John knew that it was imperative for him to be in England.

  He talked of this with Catherine. She understood perfectly. She would be ready to leave when he wished to go.

  But he wanted her to remain for a while at Beaufort. If the situation was now as he believed it might be, he would have to come out again so he thought it was better for her to remain at Beaufort, particularly as she was once more pregnant. If he were going to stay in England he would send for her; if not he would soon be with her again.

  John and his army left for England. He had forgotten his arrangement to meet Anjou at Moissac.

  April came. This, said the French, was a breach of faith and there was no reason why they should not march into Aquitaine.

  With the exception of Bayonne and Bordeaux the whole of Aquitaine passed into the hands of the French.

  The campaign had been an utter disaster.

  Catherine gave birth to another boy. This was Thomas. John had two Henrys; she would have two Thomases. The joys of motherhood had settled on her and she intended to make up to Thomas and Blanche Swynford for her neglect of them when she was back in England.

  In Beaufort Castle she settled down to wait for the return of John.

  There was a growing tension in the streets of London. In the fields beyond Clerkenwell and Holborn, in the meadows of Marylebone and on Hampstead Heath and Tyburn Fields people gathered to listen to those who had made themselves spokesmen for there was not a man or woman who was not aware of the change that was coming.

  Within the City walls where merchants and their apprentices shouted the virtues of their wares as they stood beside their stalls in Cheapside under the big signs which proclaimed their trade, there were whispers. Eyes turned towards that Palace of Westminster set among the fields and marshes outside the City and they asked themselves how long the King could last.

  And what then? Who would have believed a few years ago that it could have come to this.

  They had had a great and glorious King but he had been seduced by a harpy; they had had a Prince who had seemed like a god come down to serve them. And what had happened? He had become a sick man who was clearly fighting now to stave off death.

  The heir to the throne was a slender young boy – his father’s son, possessed of the Plantagenet handsome looks but lacking the robustness which was a feature of the race; and overshadowing him was his uncle, John of Gaunt.

  John of Gaunt! That was the name which was whispered in the streets and the meadows. ‘He seeks to rule us,’ it was murmured. ‘He is waiting for his brother to die. Then he will attempt to take the crown from little Richard and there will be war.’

  John of Gaunt! His very name proclaimed his foreign birth. What had he done? He had conducted an unsuccessful campaign in France which had resulted in great losses and they had paid taxes that this campaign might be carried out.

  Rumour had it that he kept his mistress over there. Catherine Swynford, the wife – widow now – of one of his men. They were raising a little family of Beauforts. Three boys and a girl. And his wife the poor Queen of Castile was ignored. He had married her for her crown but before she could gain it it had to be won and they would be expected to pay for his adventures. John of Gaunt was not noted for his generalship. He was not like the hero of Crécy and Poitiers. Oh, what an ill fate for England when the great Black Prince had been stricken with sickness! The only hope for the country was that he would live a little longer, or that the King himself would not die for a while.

  But the King had disappointed them. He appeared in public with that harlot Alice Perrers beside him, decked in fine satins and velvets and wearing the royal jewels. Those who remembered good Queen Philippa cursed her. No good could come of a family which flaunted its immorality, openly defying the laws of Holy Church. The King could be forgiven by some. He was old, he was senile, they said; he had once been great and England had loved him. There had rarely been a King who had been so loved as Edward the Third. Yes, they could find it in their hearts to overlook his lapse from virtue. But John of Gaunt, with his harlot Catherine Swynford, no! London did not want this man. They would not tolerate his rule.

  He had returned to England after the disastrous campaign and he had been going back and forth to France for the last two years, staying in Ghent and Bruges and attempting to persuade the French to agree to a truce. On his knees almost to the French! They had come a long way from Poitiers when the Black Prince had returned with the King of France as his captive.

  Sad days had come to England and at such times it was natural to look for a scapegoat. The people had looked and found one. His name was John of Gaunt.

  In his Palace of Berkhamsted the Black Prince was often confined to his chamber and there he fretted about what was happening at Court.

  Joan was growing more and more anxious about the state of affairs. Even her optimism was beginning to wane. She could no longer deceive herself that the Prince’s health was improving. As he grew older the attacks were becoming not only more frequent but more virulent. There was one consolation. As time passed Richard was growing older. He was now nine years old; she thanked God that he was clever and had such a good mentor as Sir Simon Burley who was so obviously devoted to him.

  The Prince talked to her constantly about the state of the country. His great fear – as hers was too – was what would become of Richard if his grandfather and father were to die and he become King.

  ‘While I live,’ said the Prince, ‘feeble as I am, I can still look after him.’

  ‘The people are with you.’

  ‘Yes, the people have always been faithful. But, Joan, I fear my brother.’

  ‘John has always been the most ambitious of you all, but I cannot believe he would harm Richard.’

  ‘He might not try to take his place on the throne. The people would never agree to that and John knows it. What he will seek to do – as he is doing now – is to become my father’s chief adviser. The Parliament consists of those who are working for him; he has agreed to tolerate Alice Perrers, even make a friend of her. My dear Joan, any who can do that is to be suspected.’

  ‘I know. If only you were well how different everything would be.’

  ‘Had I been well, Joan, we should never have suffered such losses in France; England would be as strong as she was in my father’s heyday. I must go to Westminster. I cannot lie here and see my brother take over the government of this country.’

  She knew it was no use trying to dissuade him.

  ‘You must wait a few days,’ she insisted, ‘and we will try and get you ready for the ordeal.’

  At length he agreed to wait and so determined was he to go that in a few days his health did improve enough for him to make the journey.

  Richard was fully aware of the tensions all round him and it was particularly disturbing to know that he was concerned in them. He was very much aware of his father’s anxious eyes which seemed to follow him whenever they were together. The King would make him sit by his chair or by his bed and would talk to him of the responsibilities of kingship.

  It was very necessary always to keep the affection of the people. One must never forget that one was a king. Always the dignity of the throne must be preserved. The country must come first; a king must serve it even though it meant hardship and unselfish devotion.

  Richard was beginning to think that kings did not have a very good time.

  He broached the matter with Sir Simon Burley whom, next to his mother, he loved best in the world.

  ‘If the life of a king is such a hard one, sacrificing all the time and doing not what he wants but what others want him to do, why do so many people want to be a king?’

  ‘It is because of power. A king is the head of the state. He has greater power than anyone else …’<
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  Richard’s eyes began to shine with excitement and Simon said quickly: ‘He can lose it quickly if he does not use it wisely.’

  ‘How will he know what is wisely?’

  ‘His conscience will tell him and also his ministers.’

  ‘Is my grandfather wise?’

  Simon was silent for a few seconds and he was conscious of Richard’s awareness of the silence, Richard was very sharp. It was a good sign. He was a clever boy. He would make a good king.

  ‘Your grandfather was the most brilliant monarch in Europe.’

  ‘Was?’ said Richard quickly. ‘Was, did you say, Simon?’

  ‘Your grandfather is now an old man. He is surrounded by people who may not be as wise as we could wish.’

  ‘Like Alice Perrers?’

  ‘What do you know of her?’

  ‘I listen, Simon. I always listened. I learn more by listening and piecing the information together. Yes, I learn more that way because when you or my mother or my father tell me what it seems good for me to know, you don’t tell all … and unless I know everything it is not always easy for very often the important bits are those which are left out.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Simon, ‘I know this. You profit from your books.’

  ‘I love my books because with them I can do well. I do not love outdoor sports in the same way because there will always be those about me, who without much effort can do better than I. We like that at which we excel.’

  ‘We do indeed and right glad am I that you learn so quickly.’

  Richard was watching his tutor intently. He knew that he was coming to the conclusion that Richard’s tender years should be forgotten. It must be remembered that here was a clever boy who might within a year or so be the King of England.

  He said soberly: ‘The kingdom has come to a sorry state. Not so long ago we were progressing to such prosperity as we had not known before but a series of mishaps befell us. The chief of those was the Black Death which carried off more than half of our people. Can you imagine what it was like when this scourge descended on us? There were not enough men left to till the fields; those who could do it demanded such high payment as it was impossible to give. Your grandfather was strong in those days. He set the country working in good order again – but we could never make up for all those we had lost. Then there was the French war – which took our men and our treasure. The people grow restive when taxes are high. They see their hard-earned money going on the battlefields of France. The King has grown old …’

  ‘And,’ put in Richard, ‘surrounds himself with unwise counsellors.’

  ‘We must always guard our tongues, my lord.’

  ‘Never fear, Simon, I shall guard mine until such time as I may safely use it.’

  ‘Your father who was a great strong man is stricken by illness. The people had looked to him as their next king. There is a great melancholy in the country because of your father’s illness.’

  ‘He is going to die, Simon.’

  Simon did not answer. It was no use offering this bright boy lies.

  ‘And when he dies and my grandfather dies … I shall be King.’

  ‘That may well be some years yet. I pray God it will be.’

  ‘Why, Simon? If my grandfather is surrounded by unwise counsellors it is better for him to die.’

  ‘You talk too glibly of death, my lord. It is for God to decide.’

  ‘He decided to send the Black Death so you never know what evil will come through Him.’

  ‘We must accept what He sends as best for us. He sends great mercy too.’

  ‘He took my brother Edward. He did that suddenly. They were not expecting Edward to die. If he had not died he would have been the King.’

  ‘We must accept God’s ways,’ said Simon.

  ‘It would be better,’ replied Richard, ‘if we could understand them. The people want my father, do they not. Whereever he goes they shout for him. They love him dearly.’

  ‘He is a great hero … a great Prince.’

  ‘They like his name. They like Edwards.’

  ‘There was one Edward they did not like.’

  ‘Oh yes, my great-grandfather. They hated him and he was an Edward. Perhaps they will not mind a Richard after all.’

  ‘My lord, my lord, a name is of no importance. When the time comes you will show them that a Richard can be the best King they have ever had.’

  The boy stood up suddenly, his eyes shining. ‘I will. Simon, I will.’

  ‘God bless you,’ murmured Simon.

  The Black Prince was carried in his litter from Berkhamsted to London.

  When the people heard that he was on his way they thronged the streets to welcome him.

  He was glad he was in his litter so that they could not see how swollen his body was with the dropsy which persisted and which had killed his mother. He smiled as he acknowledged their cheers and tried to look as though he were not in pain. Indeed, the exhilaration of their affection for him comforted him so much that he felt better for it.

  He first went to the King. A sorry sight. He himself had to be carried in. What have we come to the Prince asked himself. Great Edward and his mighty son, the Black Prince, two decrepit old men, their glory long past. Are these the heroes who made Frenchmen tremble at their approach? If they could see us now, they would snap their fingers at us. They would be very saucy. And they had been. They had shown what they thought of an England which had lost its mighty leaders.

  The King’s eyes were full of tears as he beheld his son.

  ‘I thank God,’ he said, ‘that your mother is not alive to see us thus.’

  ‘I thank God she is not alive to see who has usurped her place beside you.’

  The Prince had always spoken frankly, and what had he to lose now?

  ‘Alice is my only comfort in these sad days,’ said the King.

  ‘My lord, when comfort has to be so dearly bought it is oft-times better to do without it.’

  The King sighed and looked pathetic. ‘John understands,’ he said. ‘He and Alice are good friends now.’

  ‘And for a clear reason,’ said the Prince. ‘John it seems would be the friend of the devil if by so doing he could advance his ambition.’

  ‘My son, let us talk of more pleasant matters.’

  ‘We must talk of England, my lord. And that I’ll grant you is not the pleasant matter it once was.’

  ‘The old days … I think of them constantly. Do you know, Edward, sometimes I lie abed and I think I am young again … on the field. I’ll never forget Crécy. Oh what joy you gave me then.’

  ‘Past glories, my lord. They are behind us. What is to be done now? That is what I have come to ask. There are stories of bribery and corruption throughout the Court. Your leman Alice Perrers has dared to appear on the bench at Westminster and tell the judges how to act, which depends on what bribe she has received from the prisoner or his friends.’

  ‘Alice is a clever minx,’ said the King fondly.

  ‘My lord, think back, think to those days when you were a lion among your people. You would never have allowed such anomalies then. For God’s sake, Father, stop it before it is too late!’

  ‘If you have come here to try to persuade me to give up my only comfort in life you must go away, Edward.’

  ‘Your comfort! The whole country is appalled by your lechery.’

  ‘How dare you speak to me thus. I am your King!’

  ‘I will say what I feel. I am the heir to the throne and I will not see it sent tottering by imbecility and lechery.’

  ‘You must leave me, Edward. I had thought you had come to comfort me.’

  ‘There is only one comfort for you … so you have told me. This harlot is the one who knows how to provide it. What a confession for a great King to make! To think that you … you were once held up to me as a shining example of all that was great and noble in kingship … to think that you have come to this!’

  The King was in tears. Poor sen
ile old man! And the pain in the Prince’s body was beginning to throb, and torture him unbearably.

  ‘You must see John,’ muttered the King. ‘He will talk to you.’

  The Prince shouted for his servants.

  ‘Take me to my apartments,’ he said. And he was thinking: No, I will not see John. I will see those who will help me to stifle John’s ambitions.

  The Prince summoned Sir Peter de la Mare, the Speaker of the House of Commons, to his apartments in the palace and as soon as he arrived he came immediately to the point.

  ‘I have travelled from the country at great discomfort,’ said the Prince, ‘because I am suffering much disquiet at the manner in which the affairs of this country are being conducted. I am convinced that there are a few good men who deplore this state of affairs even as I do.’

  ‘That is so, my lord.’

  ‘You need not hesitate to speak frankly to me because what you have to say might be disloyal to members of my family,’ went on the Prince. ‘Speak freely. Nothing you say shall be held against you and it would seem to me that on certain matters men such as you think as I do. But let us say this: It grows late but it may not be too late.’

  ‘Since you ask me, my lord Prince, to speak frankly, so will I do. The country is being ruined and the chief enemy is the King’s mistress. She has introduced bribery and corruption into the Court. She is an evil woman and no good can come to this country while she remains at the King’s side.’

  ‘And the Duke of Lancaster?’

  De la Mare hesitated. It was one thing to speak against the King’s mistress but to speak against his son was quite different.

  ‘Come,’ said the Prince, ‘I have asked you to speak frankly.’

  ‘The Duke of Lancaster has become the friend of Alice Perrers, my lord, for the purpose I am sure of gaining influence with the King.’