by Jean Plaidy
Louis of Orléans was affable. He gave himself the airs of a King. Isabella recoiled because she could not stop thinking of her poor father with his bouts of madness and how her mother and her uncle were deceiving him and the aura of intrigue which surrounded the Court.
Her uncle Louis was very much aware of her she knew. He was planning something. So was her mother. And she felt afraid.
Uncle Louis said to her one day soon after her return: ‘How good it is to have you with us, sweet child. We are going to keep you with us. We shall find a husband worthy of you, never fear.’
She wanted to shout: ‘It is what I do fear. I had one husband. I shall never forget him. I want no more.’
Then she began to wonder whether she would be any happier in France than in England. She longed to be a child again, with the belief that everything was good and beautiful and made for her pleasure. How sad that she must grow up and learn the truth. She had wanted to leave the English scene because to her it was stained red with the blood of her husband and had become hateful because of the blatant usurpation of the throne. And now she was in France and because she was older, more experienced, she could feel tragedy here, as intense as that which she had suffered in England.
What would become of her poor father who for long periods of time lost his sanity? What were her mother and Uncle Louis planning together? When would they force her to marry the man of their choice? Could she be any happier in France than she had been in England? But how could she be happy anywhere now that Richard was dead.
Chapter VII
HOTSPUR
It had quickly become clear to the King that though he had won his crown with comparative ease, he was going to find it a more difficult task to hold it.
Richard’s mysterious death and the knowledge that the priest Maudelyn had borne an almost uncanny resemblance to him made a good foundation for rumour. Henry feared that for years to come there would be those who declared Richard still lived and the body they had seen paraded through the streets had been that of the priest. Another cause of concern was the existence of Edmund Mortimer whose claim came before that of Henry. None knew more than he that the crown which had been put on his head with such ready hands was very precariously balanced there.
The first real trouble came from Wales and there he discovered a formidable enemy in a man called Owain ab Gruffydd, lord of Glyndyvrdwy or as he was becoming known throughout England, Owen Glendower.
Owen had been a student of English law at Westminster and at one time was squire to the Earl of Arundel who had estates in Wales. When Arundel took sides with Henry of Lancaster Owen was with him, although Wales in general supported Richard and there was murmuring throughout that country when Harry was created Prince of Wales.
The trouble really started when Owen quarrelled with Reginald Lord Grey of Ruthin over certain lands which they both claimed, and Owen came to Westminster for the case between them to be tried. There he was treated with a certain amount of contempt but he managed to get the case brought before the King and Parliament. ‘The man is bent on getting what he calls justice,’ the King was told. Henry impatiently waved the matter on one side. ‘What care we for these barefooted scrubs,’ he cried contemptuously. The King’s words were reported to Owen who went fuming back to Wales.
Henry had made an enemy for life.
When a Scottish expedition was planned Owen should have been a member of it, but out of revenge Grey of Ruthin failed to deliver the summons until it was too late for Glendower to comply, and, as he did not join the expedition, Grey denounced him as a traitor. This was too much for a man like Owen to tolerate and if he could not get satisfaction at Westminster over the matter of his lands, what justice could he hope for now. He decided to take the law into his own hands. He made war against Grey, plundered his lands, killed some members of his household and declared publicly that the Welsh would never receive justice, that they were treated with contempt by the English and if any Welshman would march under his banner they would do something about it.
Henry heard the news with dismay and at first thought this was but a local rising but he was soon to learn his mistake. The Welsh were on the march. The cry was Liberty and Independence. Not only did the inhabitants of Wales rally to Owen Glendower’s banner, but Welshmen in England left their homes to travel to Wales.
It was necessary to put an end to this rebellion and Henry marched in person to the Welsh border. Owen Glendower might have rallied a great force but it would not stand out long against the trained bands of English archers. There he was wrong, for Owen Glendower was too cunning to meet Henry’s army in a confrontation. Instead he and his men retreated to the mountains where it was impossible to follow them. They knew every rock and crevice.
Those mountains were impassable and had defeated others before Henry. They provided the perfect stronghold. Moreover the weather was treacherous and the Welsh had their successes, the chief of which was the capture of Lord Grey and Sir Edmund Mortimer, the uncle and guardian of the young Earl of March whom so many believed had more right to the throne than Henry. It was simply not possible to bring the conflict to a speedy end. The Welsh could not be conquered as easily as that and what could have been settled by law – if Owen Glendower had been treated with justice – developed into a war which neither side could bring to a satisfactory conclusion.
Henry left a company in Wales and went to Oxford where he saw his son.
Harry had been sent to study under his uncle, Henry Beaufort, who was Chancellor of the University, but he was tired of Queen’s College and chafed against his youth, therefore when he heard what his father had to say he was delighted.
Harry noticed his father had lost some of his healthy colour. Being a King had its responsibilities, that was obvious, but Henry was clearly delighted with his son’s appearance. Harry had grown and he was a picture of glowing health.
When they had embraced Henry said: ‘I have come to talk to you very seriously, Harry. I think it is time you gave up Oxford. There is work for you to do.’
Harry’s eyes shone at the prospect. ‘Right gladly will I leave Oxford,’ he said. ‘I am no scholar, my lord, and nothing will make me one. I want to fight beside you.’
‘That is exactly what I want you to do, Harry.’ The King touched his forehead in a weary gesture. ‘There is so much trouble everywhere. The Welsh . . . the Scots. And can we ever trust the French?’
‘It is no time for me to be poring over books in college,’ agreed Harry.
‘That is a view we share, my son. The truth is I need you. Would to God you were a little older.’
‘I am fifteen now, Father.’
‘Fifteen. God’s truth, Harry, you look three years older.’
Harry beamed with pleasure. ‘Where would you have me go?’
‘To the Welsh border. Perhaps later to Scotland. You have to learn, Harry. You have to learn fast.’
‘Never fear, my lord. I have learned much already.’
‘You have to learn how to defend us. We have to hold what we have. My God, Harry, we shall have to hold on to it firmly.’
‘I have always known it. I shall be ready, never fear. I shall leave at once.’
The King held up his hand. ‘Not quite so fast. Remember you are the heir to the throne. I will speak to the Chancellor. He will understand. You will have to do with what education you have. Your task now is to learn to be a soldier.’
‘I am ready, my lord,’ said Harry.
Yes, he was. And a son to be proud of. I thank God for him, thought Henry. Would he were older.
He hesitated. Should he tell Harry of the strange malady which he feared might be threatening him? He decided not. He did not want to show him the discoloration of his skin and thanked God that he could so far hide it. It came and went and when it was there a terrible lassitude came over him.
He hoped it was not some dreaded disease.
Harry must be prepared.
When Harry arrived in North Wales
he was greeted by Sir Henry Percy, known as Hotspur and a man some twenty years his senior with one of the most formidable reputations in the country. He had in fact been born in the same year as those two Kings, Henry the reigning one and Richard the dead one, and his attitude towards young Harry was inclined to be paternal. A great soldier himself Hotspur recognised those qualities in Harry; but Harry had much to learn. No matter, he would learn.
Hotspur’s home was in the north. His father was the great Earl of Northumberland and his family looked upon themselves as the lords of the North and of no less importance than the King. They were very much aware that it had been their power which had put Henry on the throne; and they were determined that Henry should remember it.
Harry recognised Hotspur’s qualities and was ready to learn from him. This was the life for him. He was born to be a soldier. He won immediate popularity with the men, his manners were free and easy and while he retained a certain dignity he could talk with them on equal terms; he had an affability which his father lacked, yet at the same time there was in him that which suggested it would be unwise to take advantage of his nature or his youth. Hotspur recognised in him the gift of leadership; and this pleased him.
There was another man who was attracted by the character of the Prince and Harry himself could not help liking this man; consequently they would often find themselves in each other’s company. They made a somewhat incongruous pair – Harry the young Prince fifteen years old and Sir John Oldcastle who was thirty years his senior – the fresh young boy and the cynical old warrior had no sooner met than they were friends.
They would sit together while Sir John talked of his adventures, of which he had had many. His conversation was racy and illuminating and it gave Harry a fresh glimpse into soldiering.
‘It is not all glory, my Prince,’ Sir John told him. ‘There’s blood too . . . plenty of it. No use being squeamish in war, my young lord. You’ve got to get in first and skewer the guts of your enemy before he gets yours. Always be one step ahead . . . that’s war. But there’s another side to it.’ Sir John nudged Harry. ‘Oh yes, my little lordling, there’s another side to it. Spoils . . . there’s wine and good meat and there’s something better still. Can you guess what it is? It’s women.’
Harry was already very interested in women and Sir John knew it.
‘I can see you’re another such as myself,’ he commented comfortably. ‘I couldn’t get along without them . . . nor will you. Well, ’tis a good and noble sport . . . pleasuring here and pleasuring there and always with an eye for the next one. Always on the lookout. There’ll be all sorts to your taste, I don’t doubt. The dark and the fair . . . and not forgetting the redheads. I knew a redhead once . . . the best I ever knew. Warm-natured, redheads are. You’ll know that one day, my lord, for you’re like old John Oldcastle, you’ve got a warm and loving nature. And it’s the sort that’ll not be wasted.’
Harry greatly enjoyed these conversations. They were in contrast with his association with Henry Percy. Percy was very much the great nobleman, as proud of his name as a king might be. In fact, Harry thought, Hotspur looked upon himself as a king. He expected to rule; he could endure no interference. He had once said the Northumberlands were the Kings of the North and no King of England could rule without them. If anyone failed to show the respect he considered his due, Hotspur’s fury could be roused. The men went in fear of him while at the same time respecting him for the excellent leader he was.
Harry found that he could work well with Hotspur and learn from him, because in Harry there was a certain military instinct which he recognised, and so did Hotspur and Oldcastle. The Prince could enjoy the company of these men and draw enlightenment from both of them. From Hotspur he learned how to conduct a campaign while Oldcastle made him see the needs of the men and to understand how to treat them.
Thus Harry applied himself to learning the art of war with more enthusiasm than he had been able to give to his studies at Oxford.
Hotspur had been appointed Constable of the castles of Chester, Flint, Conway and Caernarvon; he was also justiciary of Cheshire and Sheriff of Flintshire in addition to all his commitments in Northumberland which were his natural heritage. He wanted to settle the Welsh troubles as quickly as possible so that he could return to his native country and he applied his energies to this; however even such an energetic warrior as Hotspur could not be everywhere at once and one day – it was a Good Friday – he was dismayed to learn that Conway Castle, one of the strongest fortresses in his care, had been captured by Rhys and Gwilym ab Tudor.
Hotspur immediately called a conference over which Harry presided as he was, in name, the head of the English in Wales although none knew better than Harry that this was but a title.
‘We must immediately regain this stronghold,’ declared Hotspur. ‘It is too important a place to be let go lightly. I suggest, my lord . . .’ he had turned in deference to Harry . . . ‘that we send an armed force to surround the castle. When we have regained it we will show leniency and promise there shall be no recriminations. It is my firm opinion that this is the way to deal with the matter.’
‘My lord Percy, you are right,’ agreed Harry. ‘Let us act in this way, and the sooner we get Conway back into our hands, the better.’
‘Then the matter is agreed,’ said Hotspur. ‘It remains now to put this plan into action.’
Sir John Oldcastle told Harry that Hotspur was right. ‘Now there is a man,’ he commented, ‘who will invariably be right in his judgements, but he’s got flaws. But then, my lord, you’ll say and who hasn’t got flaws? Which one of us, eh? And you’ll be right. But Percy is hot in the head as well as the spurs and though his judgement in battle is heaven-sent there’s the devil at his elbow reminding him when he’s not getting all that a Percy should. He’d never forget a slight, our Hotspur, and to get even he’d risk his head. That’s not calm judgement, is it, for where’s the sense in avenging a slight if it costs your head to do it? You can’t enjoy your pride if you have no head to do it with.’
‘We’ll take Conway in a week, I’ll warrant,’ cried Harry.
‘And I’ll not be one to deny it, my young bantam. Why with you there to crow us to victory and Percy to spur us on, it’s in our hands before we start.’
Oldcastle was right. Within a very short time they had regained the castle; and they put into action their plan to show leniency to those who had given way to the Welsh.
While they were congratulating themselves on their success they received a despatch from the King.
He rejoiced that the castle had been regained but considered that it should never have been lost in the first place. Moreover he did not believe in showing leniency to those who had so easily given over the castle to the enemy. ‘If men are to be rewarded for betraying us when we, at some cost, have recovered what was lost, they will take this easy course when besieged again,’ was his comment.
Hotspur was angry. He could not endure criticism. He had planned the operation with great care and considerable skill. The suggestion that his negligence had lost them the castle in the first place was unfair. Moreover he was reminded that he had not received money from the King which was due to him and in order to carry out the recent operation he had been obliged to provide much of the expenses himself.
Anger smouldered in Hotspur’s mind and Harry was disturbed by this resentment which he knew Hotspur bore towards his father. He wished that he could explain to the King what a great commander Hotspur was and how in his opinion it was unwise to cast criticism on what, had the King been present, he must have seen to be a very skilful operation.
John Oldcastle talked to Harry about the matter and he talked recklessly and as Harry knew this he liked him the more for it, because it showed that there was trust between them.
‘Hotspur is falling out of love with your royal father and falling fast, my young Prince,’ was his comment.
‘I want to tell my father what a great leader he is. He’s the best w
e have, you know, Sir John. My father cannot afford to offend such as Hotspur.’
‘Your father cannot afford these wars but he makes them, my lord.’
‘He has to. But he does not have to make an enemy of Hotspur. He should send the money that Hotspur has spent on these campaigns. The soldiers on the Scottish border have not been paid either.’
‘Ah, war, war . . . matters of state.’ Oldcastle put his face close to the Prince’s. ‘A notion occurs to me. Your father is a wily man. He likes not the power of the Percys, I’ll warrant. No great king wants little kings in his kingdom. Wise kings find a means to curb the power of those little rulers. And your father is a wise king, me thinks.’
‘Do you mean, old fellow, that he’s trying to curb the Percys’ power?’
‘Why not? Why not? And how better than by making them pay for his wars, eh? Now that’s what one would expect from a clever king.’
Oldcastle gave the Prince a sharp nudge in the ribs. Harry nodded. He liked to think that his father was shrewd and wily. All the same he did not believe that a fine soldier like Hotspur should be so exploited.
Hotspur meanwhile nursed his grievances.
He was growing more and more disillusioned with the King and tired of waging war on the Welsh. He wanted to be back with his own people in Northumberland. That was his land and he wanted to be with his father and defend it. The quarrel with the Welsh was the King’s quarrel and if the King could not appreciate what was done for him then why should Henry Percy bother to do it.
There was another matter. Sir Edmund Mortimer had been captured by the Welsh and Hotspur wanted to bring about his release. He had a sentimental reason for this. Sir Edmund was the brother of Hotspur’s wife and he knew she was anxious about him. He wanted to go to tell her that he had brought about her brother’s release. Sir Edmund was a very important prisoner. He was the uncle and guardian of the Earl of March who many said was the true heir to the throne.
Hotspur therefore wished to treat with the Welsh for the return of Mortimer, and to Hotspur’s fury the King would have none of it.
