by Jean Plaidy
‘So you may well owe your throne to him.’
‘I may well do that but all the same I do not care for a man who changes coats so easily.’
‘Then you must believe that he is not a strong enough man for you to waste your thoughts on. I swear to you that nothing has passed between us but that which you know of.’
‘I believe you.’
‘Then you must not pay attention to such trivialities.’
‘Nothing that touches you can be trivial to me.’
‘I know it,’ she said, with her voice soft and tender. ‘May God smile on you. May he preserve you in peace and happiness for as long as we both shall live.’
He was moved. He had not been wrong when he had taken her as his second wife. That she lacked Mary’s meekness did not disturb him. Mary had not been meant to be a Queen.
He was satisfied with his marriage. It was one of the few aspects of his life which was satisfactory and he was not going to have it even faintly tarnished by his amorous cousin. He would be watchful of him and at the first opportunity he would know how to deal with him.
They went out together to take their places at the joust which was being performed in the Queen’s honour. They acknowledged the rapturous greetings of the company and sat at the balcony where all could see them. The Queen was beautiful and in his royal velvet Henry himself made an impressive figure. From the distance it was not possible to see clearly the havoc the disease was causing to his skin.
The opportunity came. York was a reckless young man; the kind who would be embroiled in some plot or other if he were given the chance. It might be why he was a close friend of the Prince of Wales.
After the death of Richard and the fact that people no longer could believe the story that he lived – for if he had Henry would never have been so eager to marry his son to Richard’s queen Isabella – the greatest bogey in Henry’s life was the young Earl of March. The older he grew the more likelihood there would be of discontented men rallying round him and stating his claim to the throne.
That was why when news came of the plot to rescue the young Earl of March and his younger brother from Windsor, where they were kept under the eyes of the King’s guards, and the Duke of York was proved to be involved in it, Henry was able to act justifiably and none could attribute his action to a jealousy regarding the Queen.
It was a plot worthy of York, thought Henry grimly. He was involved with his sister Lady de Despenser who was not a woman of the highest character and they had bribed a blacksmith to make a set of keys to enable them to open the doors of the apartment where the young captives were kept.
There was a period of great consternation when Henry learned that the two boys had been taken from Windsor. Henry visualised armies in the name of the Earl of March coming against him. Henry imagined that many would flock to their banner simply because they disliked him. His infrequent public appearances did not endear him to the people; how could he tell them of the terrible anxieties he suffered and that sometimes his face was so inflamed that he could not venture out? They did not like his foreign Queen either. Sometimes he thought how popular he and Mary used to be when he was plain Bolingbroke, or Derby or Hereford. It was only when he had become Henry the King that the people had begun to dislike him.
York was no brilliant strategist and it was inevitable that any plot in which he was involved should fail. And so did this one.
After cleverly getting the boys out of Windsor he carelessly allowed their destination to be discovered, and it was not long before the two boys were sent back to Windsor and York was the King’s prisoner. Then the story came out. The blacksmith lost his life; it would have been unwise to allow York to suffer the same fate and make a martyr of him; he was sent to Pevensey Castle for safe keeping.
Henry had had his revenge. He had wanted York removed for he did not like the thought of a handsome young man writing verses to Joanna. Now was his chance. He could dismiss York from Court and no one could say he had not good reason for doing so, and Joanna would no longer be able to compare smooth-skinned York with her husband who grew more ill-favoured every day.
Joanna made no attempt to plead for him, which gratified Henry, and he was convinced that York meant nothing to her. York was one of those men who would always involve himself in dangerous situations in which he had little chance of achieving his goal.
There remained the matter of the Earl of March. The older he grew the more of a problem he would be.
Henry sent for Harry. When his son arrived Henry’s feelings fluctuated between pride and irritation. There was no question of his not being a fine specimen of manhood; all sign of that childhood weakness which had caused such anxiety to his mother had disappeared. He was less Plantagenet than de Bohun, but looks were the only characteristics he had inherited from his mother. Her gentle meekness, her main characteristic, was completely lacking in young Harry. He was dark, with thick smooth hair; his nose was long and straight, his face oval; his teeth were outstandingly white and well shaped and he had a cleft in his chin. He had a glowing complexion which indicated extreme good health; there was a reddish tinge in his brown eyes which could be sleepily good-humoured or fierce when he was angry. Yes, he was a son to be proud of, with his lean body, above normal height, his limbs well formed and his bearing already that of a King. There was a vitality in him which seemed to be fighting to get out. It was a pity he wasted his energies in low taverns surrounded by men of similar tastes.
‘I do not need to ask if you are in good health,’ said Henry.
Harry thought: I cannot say the same for you, old man.
‘I am well as I trust you are, my lord.’
Henry waved his hands. ‘You see me in sorry state. More and more responsibility will be put onto your shoulders, Harry.’
Harry stood up very straight, smiling, confident of his ability to carry it.
‘I would there were not these reports of you . . . carousing in low taverns.’
‘It is my way of meeting the people.’
‘You can do that satisfactorily at my Court.’
‘Which I do,’ said Harry. ‘But I would meet all sorts. What do most courtiers know of the villeins, water men, merchants and such like?’
‘What do they want to know of them?’
‘What they are thinking. That they are loyal subjects. We could depend on such as them to keep us on our thrones.’
‘You have not yet a throne, Harry.’
‘No, sir. But I am the heir to one.’
‘Take care.’
‘But it is what I do constantly, my lord.’
‘You are acquiring a reputation for low living.’
‘And for high living, my lord. I am living my life to the full.’
‘You give me cause for anxiety, my son.’
‘My lord, you give me cause for anxiety. You are not in good health.’
The King was silent.
‘Father,’ said Harry, ‘you may rely on me to stand beside you, to be your deputy, to take on those duties which you feel yourself unable to carry out.’
My God, thought Henry, his fingers itch to take the crown!
He said coldly: ‘I have no duties in low taverns.’
‘Why,’ laughed Harry, ‘it is my way of passing the time. Give me my tasks and I will carry them out to your satisfaction.’
‘I am going to put the Earl of March and his brother into your keeping.’
Harry’s eyes shone with pleasure.
‘Rest assured I shall keep them safe from interfering relations and their accommodating blacksmiths.’
‘See to it. And Harry . . . you have noticed this affliction of mine?’
Harry nodded.
‘And others?’
‘They do not speak to me of it.’
‘There will come a time when I fear it will be the undoing of me. But it is a slow process.’
Harry was silent.
‘There should be amity between us two, my son. I would have you
remember your position.’
‘I could never forget it, my lord.’
‘Our claim to the crown could be contested.’
‘Could and is,’ said Harry.
‘This matter of young March . . .’
‘Ah, we have our enemies.’
‘Surrounding us, my son. That is why we must stand together.’
‘And take great care.’
‘York is safe at Pevensey.’
‘He should not be kept long under restraint. He will become a martyr. Men will speak of him and perhaps say he had right on his side.’
‘What would you do then. Free him?’
‘After a while, yes. And restore his estates to him.’
‘As a reward for playing traitor?’
‘He is of our family. He had worked for us. He saved us remember when he was with the plotters at Windsor. But for him it might well be that you and I should not be here now discussing how to safeguard the crown. We shall get good service from him yet. He is a man governed by his emotions. Let him fret a while in prison. Then I will speak for him and guarantee his good behaviour. He will be a good servant to me then, I’ll promise you. He is one who will remember a service.’
‘Me-thinks you would already govern this realm.’
‘Think on it,’ said Harry with a smile. Then he bowed low and said: ‘At your service, my lord and father. Together we shall hold the crown against all who might come against us.’
After he had left Henry was thoughtful, and his apprehension and pride were stronger than ever.
Harry was right, they must not be vindictive to the Duke of York. The people might even say that he was jealous because of the Duke’s admiration of the Queen.
Four months after the Duke of York had been sent to Pevensey, he was released and his goods and lands restored to him.
Harry appeared to have judged correctly. The Duke was grateful. Henry believed that if there was another attempt to snatch the crown, York would be beside him and his son.
Two men swaggered over the cobbles of East Cheap and entered the Boar’s Head. They were an incongruous pair – one rotund, the other slender; and there was such a difference in their ages that they might have been father and son.
They sprawled together at a bench and called for wine. The girl who brought it, her hair hanging lankly over the tawdry ribbons of her none too clean gown, laid her hand on the young man’s shoulder and gave him an inviting smile.
He squeezed her thigh. ‘Some other time,’ he said with a wink at his companion. ‘Tonight mayhap.’
‘Nay,’ said the older man with a rumbling laugh, ‘have naught to do with these callow youths, lass. Take a man like me . . . a man who has travelled far and wide . . . in the French wars . . . in the German wars . . . and in any wars you can name.’
‘Listen not to him,’ said the younger one. ‘He is old and incapable.’
‘You two!’ said the woman with a flounce of her skirts. ‘If I know aught it’ll be talk and talk. That’s what you do best, mark my words.’
With this she left with a twirl of her musty skirts.
The older man sat back on the bench and surveyed the younger.
‘You effect a good disguise, my lord,’ he said. ‘I’d find good sport in standing on this bench and shouting to them all: Behold your Prince.’
‘I don’t doubt you would,’ replied Harry. ‘Would they believe you?’
‘A right good scandal it would make.’
‘Bless you, John, there are scandals enough about me.’
‘What’s for tonight?’
‘A little bit of robbery me-thinks.’
‘What have you in mind then?’
‘There are some about me who suspect my fondness for this place. I heard them whispering about the Boar’s Head in East Cheap. We’ll surprise him, they said. That’ll be good sport. I want to surprise them.’
‘You bring good custom to the Boar’s Head, my lord. The landlord should be pleased with you.’
‘His harlot of a daughter does not seem to be. God’s ear, John, I think she prefers you.’
‘Ah, there is a lot to be said for a man of experience.’
‘There’s more to be said for youth.’
‘Well you, my lord, are in good way of combining the two. But take care with the poxy wenches.’
‘Away dull care,’ cried Harry. ‘Care is for courts. Bawdry for the Boar’s Head, trickery for taverns . . . What say you, John, to this? Here we meet the people. We hear what they think of the King and his son. The King who filched Richard’s crown. The Prince who is itching to take it. The King who is mean and grasping. The Prince who wastes their money on debauchery. By God, I would it were true, John; I would I had it to waste on debauchery.’
‘You manage debauchery at a low price,’ replied Oldcastle.
‘’Tis to be had at all prices and cheaper here in the Boar’s Head than at Court.’
‘Tell me, what is this plan?’
‘Tonight we lurk in the streets. We play the footpad on these fine gentlemen from Court. We take their money. ’Twill be a new game. A good one too.’
‘Are you short of money again?’
‘Not of the kind they will have on their persons.’
‘They could harm you.’
‘God bless you, John, am I going to curb my inclinations because I am afraid of being hurt? Would you say, “Do not go into battle, my lord, you may be hurt?” Look at this scar here on my forehead. Battle honours, John. An arrow at Shrewsbury where we slew brave Hotspur. Enough of your caution. Out into the streets. We’ll lurk there and we will catch them on their way to the tavern.’
‘It seems a good sport,’ said Oldcastle.
Harry drew something from under his cloak. ‘Masks, John. They must not know it is a game.’
‘’Tis easier for you to disguise yourself than it is for me to do so. My bulk betrays me.’
‘Why, John, there are thousands of bulky men and where in England is a figure as neat and slender as mine. They look at me, no matter how I’m clad and say: “There goes noble Harry.’”
‘Nay. I shall be the better known.’
‘Would you start a quarrel now then, fat man?’
‘I would and I will it, boy.’
Harry laughed. ‘No time for private wars, old fellow. Come . . .’
‘Are you going then, fair sirs?’ It was the landlord’s daughter.
Harry took her by the shoulder and gave her a hearty kiss on the mouth.
‘I’ll be back, sweetheart,’ he said.
They came out into the streets. The flickering tallow candle in the tavern had given little light but it was some seconds before their eyes were adjusted to the gloom.
They picked their way carefully over the uneven ground avoiding the kennel in the middle of the road which would be overflowing with refuse, yet keeping from the walls in case someone threw out something which was even more obnoxious.
Harry loved the adventure of the streets by night. At any moment some cut-throat might spring out on them, or they might be accosted by some prostitute whom they would know must be hard-pressed since she had wandered out in the darkness. To Harry it was excitement. He liked the streets by day with their lively activity; he liked to mingle with apprentices and pretend to be one of them; he liked to bargain with the stallholders and talk of the iniquities of the tax laws; he liked to buy a ballad of a ballad singer and take it into the tavern and try it out; he would exchange banter with a milkmaid and parley with a madam who was trying to sell him one of her girls from the country. Sometimes he joined in fights when he could always give a good account of himself. ‘What do you lack?’ he would shout at the apprentices. He would stand and watch the craftsmen at work in their open shops. He would startle a beggar by the size of his contribution and then slink away quickly while the beggar called a blessing on him. He loved it all – the filth, the squalor and the grandeur of the London streets. It was a delight to mingle with these people, to
know how they thought, how they acted; he liked their pride and that certain dignity which was as ingrained in them as it was in the highest nobility.
It was men such as these merchants and their apprentices who would stand beside him against his enemies, he believed. He did not want them there because they feared not to join him; he wanted to understand them, to talk with them, to have them work for him and give him loyalty not because it was treason not to, but because they wanted to.
He wanted to know the people he would one day rule. That was one reason why he mingled with them. The other was that he enjoyed the sport of it. He liked to spend a night with a woman who thought he was a young apprentice and who had no idea that briefly she enjoyed the privilege of sharing her bed with the Prince of Wales.
It was adventure that appealed to his youth and high spirits; and because there was danger in it, he liked it the better.
‘Hist,’ said John Oldcastle. ‘I hear revellers.’
‘’Tis they,’ whispered Harry. ‘I know their voices. Let’s take them from behind.’
They crouched by the wall. Three young men came by, courtiers in their velvet. One held a pomander, sniffing it purposefully.
Harry laughed inwardly. He heard one say: ‘Me-thinks the Prince has little taste.’
‘He’ll have a surprise when he sees us,’ said another.
‘Now!’ whispered Harry.
They had caught two of the young men from behind. The one with the pomander dropped it and cried out: ‘Help. We are set upon. Thieves.’
Harry laughed. It showed how little he knew of the London streets. Such a cry was enough to set everyone bolting their doors.
There was a scuffle. They were after all three to two. Harry was agile but not agile enough. He caught a strong blow in the ribs which left him breathless, but he was quick to respond and sent his opponent down to the ground.
He then tackled the gentleman with the pomander, who was easy prey.
