by Jean Plaidy
The Prince nodded. ‘I see that we understand each other. My lord, we must act with speed. Would you be prepared to do so?’
‘With you behind me, my lord, yes, I would.’
‘Then you must move Parliament to act.’
‘That would not be difficult. The country is restive on account of excessive taxation and when it is considered that much of what is taken from them is bestowed on Alice Perrers, they are ready to revolt.’
‘Then go to it!’ said the Prince. ‘I see no reason why Alice Perrers should not be dismissed.’
‘There is Latimer, the King’s Chamberlain. He works closely for your brother. He is also responsible for the growth of bribery about the Court. I fear that nothing much can be done while he holds his position.’
‘Then Latimer must be deprived of his office. Summon the Parliament and attend to these matters.’
‘It means that we are going against John of Gaunt.’
‘It means that you are standing with the Black Prince.’
‘When they know that you are with them, my lord, methinks that will decide them.’
Sir Peter de la Mare left the Prince and went with all haste to his home that he might prepare his speech to the House of Commons.
The Prince lay on his bed. The pain had returned in full force. He was even more tormented by his thoughts.
Conflict in the family. It was always unwise, and now that the country was so weak it was a danger.
He had always known John was ambitious. What did he want?
The crown! Of course he wanted a crown. He had married Constanza of Castile for one and it was hardly likely that he would ever get it. No, his eyes were on the crown of England. And that was going to be planted firmly on the head of little Richard.
Oh God, prayed the Prince, let me live long enough to see my son safely come into his own.
Sir Peter de la Mare’s speech caused an uproar in the House of Commons. He was an eloquent man which was why he had risen to his present post and he was expressing sentiments which were applauded by the majority of them – those who were not the close friends and supporters of John of Gaunt.
The Black Prince was behind them. De la Mare had made that clear. The Prince might be a sick man but he was still a power in the land.
His first attack was on the King’s mistress. He wanted her banished from Court. He knew that the House was with him as regarded this woman; there was one other who must be removed – and indeed perhaps impeached – and that was the King’s Chamberlain who was guilty of bribery among other misfeasances. This brought storms of applause.
The Commons was hopeful. The rot was about to be stopped. They all knew that there was one powerful man who might stand in their way. The Duke of Lancaster. But they had the backing of his elder brother. The Black Prince still lived and from his sick bed he was going to bring the country back to reason and prosperity.
Riding to his Palace of the Savoy, thinking of the welcome that awaited him there, John was a happy man. Catherine was installed as his mistress and the governess of his children. There was a nursery full now. Her own four little Beauforts as she called them – she had a daughter Joan as well as the three boys – the most loved of all the children because they were her own. Then there were Philippa and Elizabeth, Blanche’s girls, and of course young Henry, his heir, and the most important of them all in the eyes of the world of course. Constanza’s girl Catherine was with her mother but Swynford’s son and daughter, Thomas and Blanche, had joined them now because Catherine had wanted them there, which was natural. He could never really like them because they were Swynford’s he supposed, but the boy was bright and handsome and the girl attractive as was to be expected of any child of Catherine’s.
He was more satisfied than he had been for some time. His triumph at home had grown since he had overcome his repugnance for Alice Perrers and had shown the King that he was ready to accept her in exchange for his confidence. From then on it had been easy. He had his friends such as Lord Latimer and other influential men in Parliament. If the King were to die and the Prince with him, and Richard became King, it would be his uncle, John of Gaunt, who would be the real ruler.
Success at home had wiped out the sour taste of defeat abroad. He never wanted to go back to Bordeaux as long as he lived.
No, what he wanted was England. He did not now want the crown of Castile, that glittering bauble which had proved to be so unattainable. He wanted what he always had wanted, the crown of England. And with a young boy on the throne and himself guiding the country’s policy he would be its virtual ruler.
Once the King was dead Alice could be dismissed. That would make everything so much easier. And how long could the King live? How long the Black Prince?
As he approached the Savoy Palace he saw a crowd of men watching him and his party.
He heard the shout: ‘John of Gaunt. Down with John of Gaunt. Edward, the Black Prince for ever. Banish Alice Perrers. Impeach Latimer. God bless the Black Prince.’
He spurred his horse. He hoped none of the mob was armed. He galloped past them towards the palace. They made no attempt to follow.
His elation had completely passed. The Black Prince was not dead by any means. He was making his presence felt. And he had come out into the open as the enemy of Alice Perrers and his brother.
There was nothing to be done. He must accept it. There would be revolution otherwise. He by no means shared his brother’s popularity. The people had always been against him – and particularly the people of London. How he hated them – these merchants who believed because they were rich they had a right to say how the country should be ruled.
‘Down with John of Gaunt.’ Those words were like the tolling of a warning bell.
He knew as he rode into the palace that bad news awaited him.
It seemed that the Parliament had prevailed; the people were with them. They were called the Good Parliament and the reason was that they had succeeded in removing Latimer from office and banished Alice Perrers from the Court.
The King might weep senile tears for Alice. He might mourn the loss of Latimer but even in his feeble state he could sense the mood of the people.
‘What have they done to us, John?’ he mourned. ‘They have taken away our friends.’
Yes, thought John, they have shown us that the Black Prince is still alive and that while he continues to live we must do as the people wish.
‘What shall I do without Alice?’ moaned the King.
John wanted to say: Find another whore. But he restrained himself. His strength lay in placating his father and by the look of the old man it seemed as though he would not be long for this land.
Nor would the Black Prince.
It was a waiting game, but waiting was something which ambitious men had to accept.
After his meeting with de la Mare the Black Prince had gone to the palace of Kennington. It was closer to Westminster than Berkhamsted and he was eager to be as near London as possible.
His efforts had taken great toll of his strength and Joan was beside herself with anxiety. He grew excited as he told her what he had been able to achieve. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I must live long enough to see Richard proclaimed as true heir to the throne.’
‘None could deny that he is.’
‘John is wily. I know not what is in his mind.’
‘Surely he can’t have plans to take the throne, to make that Henry of his Prince of Wales!’
‘I do not know what goes on in his mind. I think what he wants is to rule the country and if he cannot wear a crown while he is doing so he will rule without it.’
‘You mean he would take charge of Richard?’
‘I think that is his idea. Jeanette, you will have to guard our boy.’
‘He is not going to be King for many many years. We shall both be here to train him and guide him.’
‘You were always one to deceive yourself when you felt happier doing so.’
‘I was always one to be
lieve in the good that could come to those who sought it. Remember how I married you.’
‘I shall never forget that, dear Jeanette, nor could I forget the years we have had together. They have been good. They gave us our Richard. Oh my Jeanette, that boy fills my thoughts. To think that one day, ere long I know, a crown will be placed on his golden head.’
She stooped and kissed him. ‘Not for many many years, I promise you.’
He sighed. It was no use trying to convince Jeanette.
He had other work to do. He must keep the Good Parliament in power. He must let all those right-thinking men know that he stood with them.
He sent for William of Wykeham, the Bishop of Winchester, who had risen from comparatively humble beginnings and who had always been a close friend of his. Wykeham was a man come to office through his brilliant mind. The Prince had always respected him and he turned to him now because he wished to muster as many trusted men as he could that he might enlist their help for his son when the time came.
Wykeham swore that he would stand by young Richard.
‘I thank you, my lord Bishop,’ said the Prince. ‘As you see I am in a poor state, I cannot believe that many more weeks are left to me.’
The Bishop did not attempt to deny this. He believed it was true and he deplored the fact that such a great man should be so low in health and spirit. He promised to pray for the Prince and he added that he was sure that such a man as he would be received into Heaven.
The Prince replied: ‘That might have been so. I have served my country and would willingly at any time have given my life for it. There was a time though, when the devil took possession of me. Limoges. I shall never get it out of my mind.’
‘Many of us have one black spot on our souls, my lord. Pray for forgiveness. It may be that in recompense for the good you have done the evil will be forgiven.’
‘I feel that all my prayers must be for my son. He is very young, Lord Bishop. I tremble when I contemplate his youth.’
‘Burley is a good man. His mother is devoted to him. You yourself, my lord, have done him much good. Fear not for your son. The Lord will provide.’
When the Bishop had gone the Prince sank back on his bed exhausted and none of the possets Joan brought him did anything to alleviate his pain.
It was obvious now that the end was near.
‘Jeanette,’ he said, ‘my only love, the time is near now. No, it is no use hiding from the truth. It has come and we must needs face it. Send a message to my father. I would he could be here at my bedside.’
‘I will send to him immediately,’ she said. ‘But it may be he will be too ill to come.’
‘I fancy he will if he can.’
The King made all haste to reach Kennington. This was his beloved son, the child who had brought so much joy to him and Philippa in the early days of their marriage when each had been all that the other had desired. Edward the Black Prince and hero, destined to follow his father, the pride of the nation, now a sick man asking his father to come to his death bed!
What had happened to the world!
How, thought the King, have I offended God?
The tears ran down his sunken cheeks as he knelt by the bed.
The years slipped away and he was there with Philippa – dear good Philippa who had never known how to titillate his senses as Alice did; but Philippa who had been good and steady, had always stood beside him, firmly supporting him, and the people had loved her. A wonderful marriage. Yet he had sullied it. Alice had been there before Philippa had died and Philippa had known it.
Life was cruel. And we hurt most those we love best, thought the King.
And there was Joan standing there, bereft, with the strange blank look in those eyes which had once been so bright and provocative and had sent his heart pounding and wondering … Joan the wife of the Black Prince, royal herself, one of the sprigs from the great Plantagenet tree.
‘Joan,’ murmured the King, ‘so it has come to this …’
Joan nodded, unable to speak.
She was leaning over the bed. She laid her lips on that clammy forehead and gently pushed aside the hair thick still and with a touch of gold in it. ‘My dear love, the King is here.’
Edward opened his eyes. ‘Father …’
The King buried his face in his hands and his body heaved with his sobs.
‘My lord, my lord,’ whispered Joan restrainingly.
‘My son, my son,’ moaned the King.
‘He would speak with you, my lord,’ said Joan. ‘And the time is passing.’
Her voice broke on a sob and she turned away fearful lest the Prince should see her grief.
‘Father, I must speak …’
‘My son, speak. I listen. What you ask of me I will endeavour to do.’
‘Confirm my gifts, pay my debts, Father.’
‘It shall be done, my dear son.’
‘And Richard … my boy Richard. You will protect him. He is young yet. A boy, no more. So young … too young. Father, promise me you will look to him.’
‘I swear it,’ said the King. ‘He shall have my protection. Have no fear, son. Richard will be looked after. I give my word to it.’
‘Jeanette … the boy …’
He was brought in, wide-eyed, pale of skin and very beautiful, such a contrast to the dying man on the bed and the poor broken one who knelt beside it … yet so clearly one of them.
‘Richard, come here.’
Richard came to the bed.
‘My lord, take his hand. Swear to me …’
The King took the boy’s hand and said: ‘I swear to you on my soul that I shall protect this boy. With my life I will protect him. He is my heir. I swear it.’
The Prince nodded, satisfied.
‘Richard,’ said the Prince, ‘do not attempt to take away any of the gifts I have bestowed.’
‘I promise, Father,’ said the boy.
‘You would be cursed if you did so.’
Richard looked bewildered and Joan, laying her hand on his shoulder, drew him away from the bedside.
The King was looking at her anxiously and said: ‘It is time to send for the priest.’
She nodded and taking her son by the hand led him away.
The priest was with the Prince who asked forgiveness of his sins. The word Limoges kept rising to his lips.
And so he died.
The King was bewildered. His son dead and he still living! And his heir a young boy just nine years old!
He gave orders that the Prince should be buried with great ceremony and he was laid to rest in Canterbury Cathedral and above his tomb was hung his surcoat and helmet, his shield and his gauntlet that all might remember that great and glorious warrior who was known as the Black Prince.
Chapter VI
RIOT AT THE SAVOY
The death of the Black Prince, although expected, had brought home to men such as Peter de la Mare and William of Wykeham the precarious position in which they had placed themselves. They had succeeded in getting Alice Perrers dismissed from Court; they had put a curb on bribery; but they had only been able to do so because of the Support of the Prince.
Now he was dead and the most powerful man in the country was John of Gaunt – their sworn enemy.
It was Peter de la Mare who decided on prompt action. He pointed out that there was a little time left to them before the Parliament could be dissolved and they must make full use of it.
First, agreed William of Wykeham, they must obtain the King’s permission to add twelve bishops and lords to the Council; and he, William of Wykeham, would be one of them. And secondly and most important they must have Richard of Bordeaux publicly acknowledged as his heir by the King.
When this last matter was laid before the King he declared with tears in his eyes that he had sworn to his son the Black Prince to protect Richard and so would he do. Richard should be publicly acknowledged as the true heir to the throne as he undoubtedly was.
One of the selected memb
ers of the Council was Edmund de Mortimer, Earl of March, the husband of Lionel’s daughter Philippa who, since Lionel was older than John of Gaunt, would come before him in the claim to the throne if Richard were to die.
Mortimer and John of Gaunt had been wary of each other for a long time. Mortimer had been behind the Black Prince in his determination to bring about reforms; his old guardian had been William of Wykeham so there was a strong tie between the two of them. Thus when the committee were selected to be close to the King and advise him, Edmund, Earl of March had been a natural choice and he with William Courtenay, Bishop of London, and William of Wykeham were the most influential of them all and every one of them was opposed to John of Gaunt and all he stood for.
The ambitions of John were made very apparent when he sought to introduce a bill to bring in the Salic law, as it was in France. If this were passed it would mean that the throne could not be inherited by a woman and John of Gaunt would come immediately behind Richard of Bordeaux in the succession.
Parliament dismissed the idea without considering it, and John was afraid to press it because of the bearing it had on his father’s claim to the throne of France.
Parliament was dissolved in July – only a few weeks after the death of the Black Prince; and then the might of John of Gaunt was realised.
He had his supporters all over the country. The Londoners might detest him, but it was being said elsewhere that a child could never bring stability to the country; and it was clear that John of Gaunt – now the King’s eldest living son – was going to take over the government. Therefore it was wise to stand well with him. John determined to rid himself of his enemies and the first attack came on Edmund de Mortimer who held the office of Marshal. He was ordered to proceed to Calais, and there report on the defences.
Mortimer knew that this meant he was dismissed from the King’s Council, and he was certain, too, that when he reached Calais it would be easy for him to be killed. The country would not introduce the Salic law; and if he were dead there would be none to support his daughter’s claim to the throne.
No, said Mortimer, I prefer to lay down my staff than my life, and solved the matter by resigning his post as Marshal which was immediately given to Lord Henry Percy, a strong supporter of John of Gaunt.
