by Jean Plaidy
Gloucester was growing more and more resentful and he was not keeping his discontent to himself.
The climax came with events in Ireland from which country urgent messages were constantly being received. The Irish were now being helped by the Scots and the Spaniards and they were determined to drive out the English colony. Action was needed. It was necessary to nominate some energetic man of high standing and ability to settle the disputes and show the Irish that the English could be as forceful within the country as on the high seas.
There was a great deal of controversy as to who would be the best man to send.
Gloucester and his friends were also complaining against Richard’s Chancellor, Michael de la Pole, whom he had created Earl of Suffolk. The new Earl was disliked largely because he was not of the same high birth as those who sought to overrule him. He had the King’s favour, they complained; Richard listened to him when he should have been paying attention to them. Meanwhile Suffolk’s wealth was growing. He was an able man but like the rest he had to look after himself, his future and his family.
Gloucester wanted him out.
He went to see the King with the object of putting this suggestion to him.
Gloucester had never treated the King with the respect which Richard now expected. He still kept up the old attitude of the uncle talking to the nephew who was only a boy. There was little that could irritate Richard more.
Gloucester said in a hectoring way: ‘Richard, there must be changes. Suffolk must go.’
‘Who says so?’ demanded Richard.
‘I say so.’
‘You, my lord? I have yet to learn that the Duke of Gloucester commands the King?’
‘Come now, Richard. This is between us of the family – the wise old uncle to the young nephew, you understand.’
‘It so happens,’ retorted Richard, ‘that the nephew happens to be your King.’
‘I know that full well. Have I not done homage to you with my peers? There is unrest in the country. You must dismiss Suffolk. The man is an upstart. Who is he? Is he of noble birth? He has climbed to his special position through sharp practice.’
‘That is a lie,’ said Richard.
‘I seem to remember one John Cavendish fishmonger …’
‘That was all cleared up. Cavendish was a rogue.’
‘My dear nephew, it is not good for you to have for your friends those who consort with fishmongers! Dismiss this man. It is what the country and your ministers want.’
‘Gloucester,’ said Richard, his voice rising on a note of anger, ‘I would not dismiss the meanest varlet in my kitchen at your bidding.’
Even Gloucester could see the Plantagenet temper rising – and as he had had his full share of it he knew how far it could carry them.
‘You should think of my words,’ he said, and bowing went out.
Richard was fuming with rage. Robert de Vere was close at hand. He had been listening to the interview.
‘Your uncle gives himself airs,’ he said. ‘By God’s teeth, there is an arrogant fellow.’
‘I think he’s worse than Lancaster.’
‘We feared Lancaster more,’ Robert reminded him.
‘I will show him,’ cried Richard. ‘Yes, I will. I will show him he had better stop interfering with me. I shall dissolve Parliament and we will go to Eltham and we will stay there. See how they like that. The Parliament conspires against me, Robert. Why should I allow them to do that? Yes, let us go to Eltham. We’ll amuse ourselves there.’
Richard began to laugh suddenly.
‘Robert, I have an idea. How would you like to be Duke of Ireland?’
‘A Duke, Richard! Do you mean it?’
‘Duke of Ireland.’
Robert was thoughtful. ‘I should have to go to Ireland. That would mean leaving you … unless you came with me.’
‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Robert. We’ll make you the Duke of that country. Then perhaps you can send your deputy to sort out its troubles. Oh Robert, imagine their faces when they hear.’
They were convulsed with laughter considering it. It had soothed the King’s temper. He was merry again.
Gloucester came to Eltham accompanied by Thomas Arundel – the younger brother of the naval hero – who was Bishop of Ely.
Richard wanted to refuse to see them but he thought better of that when he heard that they had not come on their own decision but had behind them the backing of the Parliament which did not like Richard’s attempt to dissolve them, nor did they appreciate his leaving Westminster for Eltham.
When Gloucester and the Bishop were received by the King, they intimated that they wished to be entirely alone with him, without even the presence of the Queen and certainly not de Vere.
Richard, feeling obliged to grant this request, faced his uncle and the Bishop and haughtily asked what they wanted.
‘We have come here to tell you, my lord, that the Parliament requires your presence at Westminster.’
‘And shall I tell you, my lord, that I prefer to be here.’
‘This is a State matter, my lord.’
‘It would be well to remember it.’
Gloucester made an impatient gesture.
‘Richard, I appeal to you as your uncle and one who has your welfare as deeply at heart as any. You cannot rule without your Parliament. Others have tried to do it and failed. I beg of you take heed.’
‘I have never been able to rule,’ cried Richard, ‘except once when the rebels were at our gates and the rest of you were cowering behind the walls of the Tower. Do you remember that, my lord?’
Gloucester did remember. That had been a terrifying time and he knew that he – like so many – had not distinguished himself by his bravery, whereas this boy – a stripling – had ridden out to face the mob. It was true. And because of that, great deeds had been expected of him. It had been his hour of glory – but alas a brief one.
Gloucester said: ‘I remember it well, my lord. Who will ever forget? But you cannot live for ever on one brief spell of glory. You have a country to rule and a country is not a mob of unlettered peasants. You must listen to your Parliament. You must return to Westminster. You must not give your ear to favourites. Suffolk must go. The Parliament is demanding that.’
‘It is not for them to demand.’
‘Richard, I would like to remind you of what befell your great-grandfather.’
‘I have heard it before.’
‘Yes, but have you ever thought how easily it could happen to you? Imagine him … in his chamber of terror. They say they used a red hot poker …’
‘Stop it!’ cried Richard. ‘I have heard it. I do not wish to hear it again.’
‘Then remember it only as an example of what can happen to Kings who do not please their people. We shall expect you in Westminster within the next few days.’
‘Get out from my sight!’ shouted Richard.
Gloucester and Arundel bowed and departed.
Both Robert and the Queen tried to divert Richard, but they could not. He kept thinking of his tragic great-grandfather. That night he was awakened by nightmares. He screamed in his sleep.
It was almost as though the ghost of his great-grandfather was at his bedside warning him.
The next day he returned to Westminster. In due course, Suffolk was impeached and fined. There was a list of charges against him, among them that he had received grants from the King to which he was not entitled and that he had misappropriated funds. They were clearly trumped up that he might be banished from his office.
Richard had given way, terrified by the ghost of his great-grandfather.
The Queen had been watching events with some trepidation. Like Richard she was very wary of Gloucester and she knew that until Richard came of age one or other of the uncles would always attempt to overshadow him.
One of her favourite attendants was a Bohemian girl whom she had brought with her when she came to England. The girl was clever and, although not strikingly good
looking, her vivacity made her one of the most attractive girls at Court.
Anne certainly enjoyed chatting with her. Some said that she was low born. The trouble with some people at Court was that they thought anyone who was not royal was far beneath their notice. As Anne had said to Richard – and he had agreed with her whole-heartedly in this – it was not birth that made an interesting person but character.
Robert agreed with them. He was very amusing and he enjoyed imitating some of the more pompous of the people who inhabited the Court. They could be riotously gay together. Launcecrona, the Queen’s attractive attendant, was also a marvellous mimic and often Anne made her perform before the King and Robert.
Mimicry was rather a dangerous weapon. Robert said: ‘Do you know the best way to defeat your enemies? It is to ridicule them.’
There was a great deal in that. So they had to be careful, and being careful had resulted in the four of them being together alone which was frowned on; but Richard had taught Anne that some of the most exciting things in life were those of which others did not approve.
Lately Anne had noticed that Robert’s eyes were often on La Lancegrove as he called Launcecrona. She had seen their hands touch now and then; she had watched their lingering glances.
She thought it best to speak to Launcecrona and took the first opportunity.
‘You have not forgotten, my dear,’ she said, ‘that Robert de Vere is married.’
‘No, I had not forgotten it,’ answered Launcecrona.
‘And his wife happens to be a lady from a very noble family.’
‘I know. Robert says that the King was determined to honour him and gave him Philippa de Couci to show his affection for him.’
‘And the match was very beneficial to him. So Robert is irrevocably married.’
‘My lady,’ said Launcecrona, ‘is anything in this life irrevocable?’
‘Marriage with the royal family could well be,’ said Anne, and when she saw Launcecrona’s sly smile she continued to be uneasy.
It was not long after that when Launcecrona confided in the Queen that Robert was determined to put away his wife and marry her.
‘How can he possibly do so?’ asked the Queen.
‘He says there are ways. He thinks that the King will help him.’
‘The King!’
‘Yes, you know how Richard loves him.’
‘But on what grounds …’
‘Robert says that grounds can be found. They are rarely together, are they? He wants Richard to write to the Pope.’
Anne was horrified. She knew that if Richard did any such thing a great many people would be displeased. There was no reason whatsoever why Robert should divorce his wife except that he had fallen in love with another woman and wanted to marry her. She doubted whether that would be considered sufficient reason for divorce.
Richard talked to her about it.
‘Robert is quite determined,’ he said. ‘He talks of little else. La Lancegrove is very amusing. They suit each other very well.’
‘But what of his wife?’
‘He asked me to do what I can with the Pope.’
‘Richard … can you?’
‘I have always told Robert that I will do anything … just anything for him.’
‘I know, but you were not thinking of anything like this.’
‘I shall do what I can for him, Anne.’
She was astounded. She had not realised the extent of Richard’s devotion to his friend. Richard was watching her intently. ‘I want you to do something too, Anne.’
She waited, her heart beating faster.
‘I want you also to write to the Pope. I want you to tell him how important it is that there should be a dispensation, that Robert should marry Launcecrona.’
‘On what grounds?’ asked Anne.
‘We must think of something which makes it very necessary.’
For the first time since she had come to England Anne wanted to disagree with her husband.
Before she had been eager to love him and be loved by him. She had understood how easily his temper was aroused and had determined it never should be against her.
They had been so happy together. But now he was asking her to do something of which she could not approve.
For one thing they could hold nothing against Robert’s wife. It was true she and her husband saw little of each other but then it had been a marriage of convenience and as such had seemed satisfactory. If Robert had not fallen under the spell of the gay Bohemian there would never have been any question of divorce.
And they were drawing her into it. Little had she thought when the four of them had been so merry together that this would be the result.
They were all persuading her – Richard and the two lovers. Launcecrona was her attendant, her friend. She must do this for her.
Perhaps she was foolish. Perhaps it was a momentary weakness. Usually she liked to stand up for her own opinions. But they were all persuading her. ‘Come, Anne, what difference does it make to you? Your opinion will mean so much. Urban wants all the support he can get. He will want it from Bohemia as well as England.’
So she gave way.
How merry they were together then. Launcecrona and Robert danced round the apartment. Richard took her hand and they joined in. The four friends. Richard was contented. These were the people he loved best. He was happy with them; and he had so many cares.
It was not as though Philippa had loved her husband, Anne reasoned with herself, and Robert and Lancegrove were so happy together.
When it was known that Robert de Vere was seeking to put his wife away simply because he wanted another woman, the fury and resentment against him burned more fiercely than ever.
Was there nothing the King would not do for this man?
When the news reached Gloucester he grew pale with rage. This was an insult to his niece. How dared this fellow put aside a royal princess for the sake of a low-born Bohemian!
He would not forget this insult; but, hating Robert de Vere as he did, it was Richard whom he blamed.
He must go, he vowed secretly. He shall go.
The matrimonial affairs of Robert de Vere were like a spark which set off the conflagration. Since de Vere had become Duke of Ireland, it was asked, why did he not take action in that troublesome country? What was he doing lounging at Court, sporting with his concubine and the King and the Queen? There was work to be done.
‘Gloucester is the enemy,’ said Richard. ‘I seem to be plagued by uncles. Gloucester is worse than Lancaster. Listen. You will have to make a feint of going to Ireland, Robert. We will leave London together for I shall come to see you off. But you will not go to Ireland. We will march back to London surrounded by an army and there we shall denounce Gloucester as the traitor he is.’
It was a wild plan, as all Richard’s plans were.
They left London and made their way to Wales where they were joined by Suffolk, Sir Robert Tresilian, the harsh judge of those peasants who had been brought to trial after the great revolt, and Alexander Neville who was the Archbishop of York and had always shown allegiance to the King in his conflict with his uncles.
They were to march on London and having made sure of the Londoners’ support, summon the King’s adversaries to face a charge of treason.
Richard was welcomed in London but when it was known that Gloucester, Warwick and Arundel, realising what was happening, had gathered together a rival force and were waiting near Highgate, the Londoners changed their minds.
They were not, they declared, going to risk having their heads broken for the sake of the Duke of Ireland.
The result was that the three lords, Gloucester, Warwick and Arundel came to see the King.
Gloucester cried out that he had intended no treason against the King. It was his advisers who were making the trouble and he should rid himself of them.
Richard and his uncle faced each other, each trying to curb his anger, each wondering how far he could go.
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Gloucester cried: ‘We are asking for the trial of your advisers. Nothing else will satisfy the lords.’
Richard was silent. They meant Robert de Vere, de la Pole who was the Earl of Suffolk, Alexander Neville, Archbishop of York, and Robert Tresilian, the Lord Chief Justice.
There was silence in the chamber. Richard felt fear suddenly grip him. He could not get out of his mind those nightmares which had haunted him of his great-grandfather, Edward the Second. He knew his history. It had begun with him rather like this.
When those fears came on him he felt a compulsion to give way … or appear to give way.
He relented suddenly. Gloucester and his friends must have their way. He would agree to the parliamentary impeachment of his friends.
As soon as they had gone he despatched messengers to them all.
Escape, was his command. Get away while there is time.
The wrath of Gloucester was great when he realised that the King’s favourites had escaped.
He went to Huntingdon and there was met by Henry of Bolingbroke. It was the first time the son of John of Gaunt had stepped into prominence, and none at that time – least of all Richard – was aware of the significance of this.
‘By God’s eyes,’ cried Gloucester to Henry of Bolingbroke, ‘Richard is heading for disaster. Can you see that he is setting out on the path taken by our ancestor? This man de Vere is another Gaveston. If he continues in this way he could lose him his crown.’
And if he lost his crown who then would take it?
There were lights in Gloucester’s eyes, and they were reflected in those of Henry of Bolingbroke.
Richard was desolate. There was nothing but disaster everywhere he looked. The forces against him were too strong.
He wept with Anne. ‘I am a King who has never been allowed to rule,’ he said. ‘If I had been older when I came to the throne how different everything would have been!’
She comforted him, but she knew there was little comfort to offer.
Even the people did not love them as they once had. They were fond of Richard in a way but they were not prepared to fight to keep him on the throne. As for her, she had been their mild and meek little Queen but they now blamed her for Robert de Vere’s divorce for they knew that she had written to the Pope and asked him to grant it, and they would never feel the same towards her again.
