Henry was travelling westwards from Lichfield on the 24th and would have heard news of Burnell’s victory as he approached Shrewsbury. It meant that he could afford to pause there to deliberate his next move carefully. He had already decided to put off the forthcoming parliament until November; now he prorogued it until the New Year. A Welshman who had espoused Glendower’s cause was brought to him and executed as a traitor, the four corners of his body being sent to Bristol, London, Chester and Hereford. After this the king set out with his knights, archers and cannon, riding north to Chester and then westwards through North Wales along the coast road. Everywhere the Welsh forces followed the example of the Scots and withdrew into the mountains. On 7 October Henry was at Bangor. Two days later he entered Carnarvon Castle.4 A week later he was back in England, riding to London. He granted Glendower’s confiscated estates to John Beaufort, earl of Somerset. Glendower himself and seven companions hid all winter in the woods of North Wales.
On the face of it, Henry’s campaign in Wales had much in common with his unsuccessful campaign in Scotland. In both countries he failed to bring the enemy to battle, and in neither place was the nationalist leader brought to the diplomatic table. In both cases there were victories – Hugh Burnell’s against Glendower and Richard Umfraville’s against the Scots – but these were won by the king’s officers, not by the king himself. Yet the Welsh and Scottish campaigns of 1400 were very different. Henry went to Scotland with a huge army and the clear aim of making the Scots pay for breaking the truce the previous year. He failed completely. In Wales, on the other hand, he reacted quickly and decisively to news of a revolt. Although no English king had led an army through North Wales for more than a century, he speedily gathered sufficient force to make a show of strength there within a month of Glendower’s proclamation. That in itself was enough to quieten the rebels, and to stifle declarations of Welsh independence. Following Burnell’s victory, Henry himself had no need to bring Glendower to battle. If the self-proclaimed Welsh prince had had several thousand men at his command, it would have been a different matter; but, with a handful of outlaws in his entourage, there was no enemy force to be destroyed. In October 1400 it was reasonable to suppose that the Welsh rising had been nipped in the bud. Time would prove it had not, of course, but it certainly would have been unwise for Henry to spend weeks or months hunting down the fugitive. Likewise it would have been undignified for him to seek to address Glendower’s grievances – as some historians have suggested he should have done – after the Welshman had confessed himself to be a thief and had proved himself guilty of treason.5 Just as modern governments cannot be seen to negotiate with terrorists, neither could medieval kings be seen to deal with traitors, especially not those whose methods included armed insurrection.
Henry could thus be satisfied that he had done well in North Wales. Nevertheless, it is unlikely that he was complacent. There had been two full-scale revolts against his kingship in the first year of his reign – one of which had nearly resulted in his assassination – and he had been diplomatically forced to withdraw from Scotland. He had also been forced to order Richard’s starvation and to execute a number of traitors. What a contrast from the enthusiasm and the declarations of justice and mercy at his coronation! What a blow to his hopes of being a magnanimous and victorious warrior-king. The distrust and disappointment were driven home to him with further force the following month when he was the subject of a second assassination attempt. A plot was uncovered to smear the saddle of his horse with a poisonous ointment which would have caused him to swell up and die before he had ridden ten miles.6 The implication for Henry’s supporters was that their king was under threat. For the rest of the country, it meant that Henry’s very survival was open to question.
*
Still the deadlock with France continued. King Charles demanded that his daughter Isabella be returned. Henry detained her at Havering, a victim of the slow diplomatic process and a hostage against French aggression. He had agreed in March to the principle of her return, but many questions remained, including whether she could keep the jewels and gifts which she had received as queen since arriving in England. There was also the question of her dowry. Apart from the 300,000 francs which Charles had paid at the time of her wedding, his officers had handed over two further instalments of 100,000 francs which were repayable in the event of Richard’s death. Henry could not afford to repay such sums – he was dangerously short of money – and so his negotiators argued that, as there were still sums outstanding from the ransom of King John II of France, who had been captured by the Black Prince in 1356, the 200,000 francs should be written off against that debt.
To counter this hardening diplomatic position, on 6 September Charles despatched two of his negotiators to England in person to tell Isabella that under no circumstances should she agree to marry without her father’s permission, and to try to arrange her return as soon as possible. Henry’s campaign in North Wales prevented the Frenchmen from approaching him directly, and in the intervening period one of the diplomats died. The other, Jean de Hangest, went to Windsor in October. He was honourably lodged in the keep, and invited to enter Henry’s presence after dinner. But the French king had still not recognised Henry as king of England. Hangest was not so foolish as to pretend that he could insult the English king by failing to acknowledge him, so he made a bow and presented himself as a private citizen of France. Henry asked to see his letters of authority. On hearing that he had none, he was told to withdraw. After discussing the problem with members of his council, Henry readmitted him and said that if he came as a representative of a man who refused to recognise him as king, he could not listen to him; but if he had anything to say as Jean de Hangest, lord of Hugueville, he could speak. Hangest must have felt as if the floor of Windsor Castle was about to swallow him up, but he stood his ground and stated that he represented the king of France, and if Henry would not listen to him in that capacity, he would have to return home. At that Henry became angry, and spoke in a fierce and proud manner, and told the Frenchman to withdraw again.7
Henry had good reason to be angry. Charles could not have it both ways; he could not refuse to recognise Henry as king and at the same time expect him to listen to his requests. But Henry was not an unreasonable man, and what happened next offers us a small but telling insight into his character. He readmitted Hangest and told the experienced diplomat that it was extraordinary that the king of France could have expected him to do his bidding in this manner. Hangest was left in no doubt that he did not deserve to have an audience. Nevertheless, when the time came for him to speak, he resolutely announced Charles’s demand that Isabella be returned by 1 November. Henry was astounded, and asked whether this message was supposed to be good for their two nations. Hangest affirmed that it was, and explained that it was because of a promise Henry had himself made – to return Isabella – and added that ‘there is no greater good for a prince or anyone than to be faithful to his promises’.8
Henry might have reacted badly to having this philosophy flung in his face. Instead he invited the Frenchman to dine with him the following evening. The two men ate together again the evening after that, and were able to have a long conversation. On the second evening, when Henry had discussed the matter with his council, it was announced by Thomas Percy that the king had decided to keep his promise to return Isabella. He would also keep the 200,000 francs. Hangest then found himself shaking hands with the king, something he could hardly have expected on first being admitted into his presence. In the event, Isabella was not returned to France until the following year, but the episode is a rare detailed example of Henry in action, and reveals a streak of pragmatism in him, and even forbearance, despite his injured pride.
*
Henry’s problems were growing. Men who had served on his abortive Scottish mission were aware both of its failure and the slowness to pay them their wages for serving. Those with interests in Wales were concerned that they were prey to Welsh outlaws an
d insurgents. In England, clergymen were mindful that heresy was on the increase, despite Henry’s promises to defend the Church. The most important problem facing him – his financial chaos – was far from being solved. As the second parliament of the reign approached, people began to look at the Lancastrian servants whom Henry had brought into government and to question whether they were the right men to occupy high office.
Henry was thus on the political back foot when he received a visit from a man who had travelled several thousand miles to see him. This was the emperor of Byzantium, Manuel II, whom he met on Blackheath, just south of London, on 21 December 1400. Manuel’s hope was that Henry would live up to his chivalric reputation and lead an army to Constantinople to defend the eastern half of Christendom against the sultan, Bayezid. Reports of Henry’s chivalric deeds in his youth had no doubt reached the emperor from King Sigismund of Hungary and King Wenceslas of Bohemia. Boucicaut had gone to Constantinople the previous year (1399) and had accompanied Manuel to Paris to beg the help of the French.9 Manuel broached the idea of travelling to England in the summer of 1400, but his visit was deferred on account of Henry’s campaigns in Scotland and Wales.
The visit of an emperor was an exceptionally rare occasion; there were only two ‘emperors’ in medieval Europe (the Holy Roman Emperor being the other one). Never before had the emperor of Byzantium visited England. Crowds gathered to see the strange potentate and his companions, all dressed in long white tabards, almost puritan by comparison with the colourful, extravagant clothes of the English court.10 The long-haired and bearded Eastern priests contrasted sharply with the tonsured English clerics. Prayers were said daily by the Byzantines, and the English witnesses paid due attention to their strange rites. In an effort to please the English, the Byzantines declared that three British princes, Trehern, Llywelyn and Meric – uncles of the Emperor Constantine, founder of Constantinople – were among the common ancestors of the Byzantine nobility, and thus there was a distant bond of kinship between the people of the East and those of Britain. Notwithstanding the unlikelihood of this, Henry entered the city of London in a procession along with the emperor, and led him to Eltham to spend the Christmas season.
For Henry, the emperor’s visit presented an opportunity to promote himself as a splendid king, worthy of his guest. At Eltham, in the outer court of the palace, tournaments, hunts and plays were held to entertain the imperial company. Pennons and standards bearing the royal arms were painted for the occasion, and the emperor was maintained in the highest standards of luxury. Twelve aldermen of London performed as mummers. Henry’s eight-year-old daughter, Blanche, presided over the thirteen jousts (which took place on 1 January, with blunt lances). All the ladies represented by their challengers took honourable and romantic names – Venus, Virtue, Nature, Penelope, Delilah and Cleopatra – and the knights who took part similarly drew their names from chivalric literature, such as Ardent Desirous, Lancelot, Ferombras and Lost Wisdom.11 Henry himself was variously described as ‘the king of Albion’, ‘the lord of the land of wonders’ or ‘the king of Great Britain’. English witnesses declared Henry to be a deserving successor to Charlemagne and Arthur, and the ‘worthy successor of King Saint Louis’ (from whom he was descended). The emperor himself wrote that Henry was the smartest man in his dress, and witty too.12 He added that Henry outdid all other men in personal strength (presumably in the jousting), and made many friends through his good sense. He was ‘the one man of all the company who blushed at not doing enough for his guests – good at the start, good at the finish, and getting better every day’. For visiting emperors, Henry could be the very embodiment of chivalric courtesy.
Whatever the appearances of his court, and however many compliments were paid to him, Henry was in dire financial difficulties. He could barely afford to pay for the emperor’s visit, let alone finance an expensive overseas war. Besides, with men prepared to assassinate him in England, an insecure Scottish border and a rebellion in Wales, he could not afford to leave his realm. It would be too easy for a Ricardian sympathiser or a supporter of the Mortimers to oust him, just as he himself had removed Richard. He made arrangements for the emperor to stay at Eltham until February, and gave him £2,000 towards fighting the Turks.13 But that was all he could do – that and make his apologies.
*
Henry’s second parliament met at Westminster on 20 January 1401. He knew it was going to be a bruising occasion. Certain representatives had approached him privately in advance with requests for his attention, which had irritated him. But there was a deeper unease. Throughout all the estates of the realm – nobility, clergy and commons – there was growing concern that he had promised everything and delivered nothing but large debts.
Chief Justice Thirning delivered the opening address. Wishing to put a positive gloss on the reasons for calling the parliament, he declared that its prime purpose was the maintenance and support of the Church. He followed it with a declaration that the king was determined to see that the law should apply equally to the rich as well as the poor, as he had sworn at his coronation. Then came the sting. Thirning recounted the many reasons for the king’s impoverishment, namely his campaign to save the realm from Richard’s tyranny, the costs of putting down the Epiphany Rising, the campaigns in Scotland and Wales, the necessity of returning Princess Isabella, the defence of Calais, and the likelihood of war in Gascony. The commons would be required to pay for all these, and to reimburse the loans which Henry had had to take out. It marked the failure of his promise not to levy taxation except in wartime, after only fifteen months of his reign.
The elected Speaker, Sir Arnold Savage, was an experienced representative from Kent. In a bold move, Savage declared that the commons should not be burdened by taxes and tallages, such as Henry now proposed. Savage’s speech was the first of a number of such confrontations. Over the next six weeks the commons adopted the most flattering, polite language and yet demanded reforms far beyond those which Henry himself would have wanted to grant. Several times Savage was required, or felt it necessary, to apologise for the commons’ presumption. The commons even requested that in future the king should address their petitions before they agreed to render the taxation demanded. From Henry’s point of view, this was tantamount to holding him to ransom.
Henry was alarmed. He was facing a crisis, and it showed every sign of worsening. In explaining why he needed more money he could not help but draw attention to his failure in Scotland and his unpopularity in Wales. The four offices of his household (wardrobe, great wardrobe, privy wardrobe and chamber) had spent a total of nearly £60,000 over the first year of his reign, and much of this had been in Wales and Scotland.14 The commons saw an opportunity to take the initiative. With regard to Wales, they submitted no fewer than eleven petitions for action. These included such measures as barring Welshmen from buying land in England, from holding public office in the border towns and from prosecuting an Englishman in Wales. Although Henry tried to minimise the extent of the anti-Welsh legislation, and refused to rule out granting a general pardon for those involved in Glendower’s rising, he could not resist the swell of anti-Welsh sentiment around him, and was forced to agree to most of the commons’ demands.
Such were the circumstances when, on 26 February, Henry was presented with a petition on behalf of the prelates, proposed by Thomas Arundel, archbishop of Canterbury. A relapsed heretic, William Sawtre, had been tried in convocation and deemed guilty, whereupon the clergy demanded the ‘customary’ death sentence of burning at the stake. This was unusual; it certainly was not customary in England to burn people for lapsing into heretical ways. It was customary to burn women for petty treason – attempting to kill their husbands or lords – but burning heretics had previously only been known on the Continent and in Ireland.15 Nevertheless, on 26 February Henry issued the order for the mayor of London to burn Sawtre in a public place in the city. The horrific sentence was carried out on 2 March. Sawtre thus became the first man in England officially to
suffer death by burning for heresy, being packed into a barrel and set upon a great fire.16
At the end of February the commons tackled Henry over the key issue of the parliament. His officers were nearly all friends from the Lancastrian household, with little or no experience of national government. Henry was trying to run the country as if it was a large extension of the duchy of Lancaster. Henry’s view was that he had appointed officers whom he could trust absolutely: men who had already shown they were prepared to follow him on crusades, into exile and even into a revolution. But that was just the point: they served Henry, not England. It made his kingship resemble Richard’s in that it was a personal form of government. Over the subsequent days he was forced to remove his faithful Lancastrian officers, including Thomas Rempston, Thomas Tutbury, Thomas Erpingham and John Scarle, and replace them with men who had gained their experience under Richard II. None of these men fell from favour; all remained close to Henry and were found other positions in the royal household. Nevertheless, the key positions of government were now vested in men who were of sufficient experience to manage affairs of state and of sufficient rank to resist Henry’s personal commands.17
The new chancellor was Edmund Stafford, bishop of Exeter, who had served as chancellor to Richard II. Thomas Percy, earl of Worcester, became the new royal steward, just as he had been under Richard II. Thomas More and Thomas Brounflete, respectively treasurer and controller of the royal household, had also been civil servants in Richard II’s reign. Such appointments were a severe correction to Henry’s government. Yet the commons went even further, and presented a petition that the king should name his officers in parliament, and define their duties, and not replace them before the following parliament. In addition, they requested that he should do the same with the royal council.18 It was a sharp attack on Henry’s authority, being an attempt by the commons to hold Henry’s officers and the council to account. Although their petition was not granted, Henry’s new officers were indeed sworn in before the king in parliament. As for the council, the more powerful magnates began to take a greater role, at the cost of Henry’s Lancastrian officers.19 The encroachment on the royal prerogative was obvious, and there was nothing Henry could do.
The Fears of Henry IV: The Life of England's Self-Made King Page 33
