Henry V

by Robert Swindells

  HENRY V

  Retold by Robert Swindells

  Illustrated by Mark Oldfield

  For John Ramsden

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Act One

  Act Two

  Act Three

  Act Four

  Act Five

  About the Author

  Imprint

  List of characters

  Henry the fifth, King of England

  Duke of Bedford, brother to the king

  Duke of Gloucester, brother to the king

  Duke of Exeter, uncle to the king

  Duke of Westmoreland, cousin to the king

  Duke of York

  Earl of Salisbury

  Earl of Warwick

  Archbishop of Canterbury

  Bishop of Ely

  Earl of Cambridge, conspirator against the king

  Lord Scroop, conspirator against the king

  Sir Thomas Gray, conspirator against the king

  Fluellen, officer in the king’s army

  Macmorris, officer in the king’s army

  Gower, officer in the king’s army

  Sir Thomas Erpingham, officer in the king’s army

  Bardolph, soldier in the king’s army

  Nym, soldier in the king’s army

  Pistol, soldier in the king’s army

  Bates, soldier in the king’s army

  Court, soldier in the king’s army

  Williams, soldier in the king’s army

  Boy

  Charles the sixth, King of France

  Lewis, the dauphin

  The Constable of France

  Duke of Britaine

  Duke of Orleans

  Grandpre, a French lord

  Governor of Harfleur

  Montjoy, a herald

  Ambassadors to the King of France

  Le Fer, French prisoner

  Katherine, daughter to Charles

  Alice, her maid

  Nell Quickly, married to Pistol

  Act One

  Imagine kings and soldiers, rogues and lovers

  Compressed like microcircuits ’twixt these covers.

  Here too are seas, and battlefields and horses:

  The serried ranks of two opposing forces.

  Now, having scanned the pages of our book,

  To view the action, close your eyes and look.

  One day, during the reign of King Henry the fifth, two worried men were talking in a side room at the king’s palace. One was the Archbishop of Canterbury, his companion, the Bishop of Ely.

  ‘Listen,’ growled the archbishop, ‘there’s talk of reviving that confounded Bill aimed at stripping the Church of half its wealth.’

  Ely looked at him. ‘What Bill, my lord? When was this?’

  The archbishop spoke impatiently. ‘Surely you remember – during the last king’s reign. Luckily, those were troubled times and his late Majesty had more urgent things to think about. Now the blessed thing’s back to haunt us.’

  Ely pulled a face. ‘So how might we resist it, my lord?’

  The archbishop shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Ely, but resist it we must: the Bill would ruin us.’

  ‘Will the king support us, d’you think?’

  ‘Well,’ said the archbishop, ‘he’s a good Christian and a level-headed monarch.’

  Ely nodded. ‘And he seems to love the Church.’

  His companion smiled. ‘Never thought we’d be saying that about him, Ely. Was he a wild youth or what?’

  ‘I’ll say,’ chuckled Ely. ‘I remember him in Henry the Fourth – both parts.’ He grinned, then looked grave. ‘But the Bill – is his Majesty for or against?’

  The archbishop frowned. ‘Well, Ely, the king’s thinking of pressing certain claims in France that might lead to fighting, and fighting costs money, and I made him an offer – the biggest advance of Church money ever made to a king.’

  ‘And how did he react?’ asked Ely, eagerly.

  The archbishop sighed. ‘I think it swayed him towards us, but we were interrupted…’

  ‘Interrupted?’

  ‘Yes. The French ambassador chose that moment to request an audience with His Majesty. Is it four o’clock?’

  ‘It is, my lord.’

  ‘The king is due, then. Let’s go in and find out what he wants.’ The archbishop smiled. ‘Not that I haven’t a pretty fair idea already.’

  As the two churchmen made their way towards the Presence Chamber from one direction, the king and five nobles entered it from another.

  The king looked around. ‘Where’s the archbishop?’ he asked.

  ‘Not here,’ said his uncle, the Duke of Exeter.

  ‘Then send for him, Uncle.’

  The Duke of Westmoreland looked at Henry. ‘Shall we have the French ambassadors in, too, my lord?’

  The king shook his head. ‘Not yet, cousin. I need the archbishop to clear up a couple of points for me first.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Having claimed dukedoms in France, I don’t want to have it turn out I’m not entitled to them.’

  As King Henry spoke, the two churchmen entered the chamber. The archbishop spoke a loyal greeting. The king thanked him and said, ‘There’s a law, known as the Salic Law, which some say bars me from claiming the throne of France. I’d appreciate your opinion on it, and I want you to bear in mind that what you tell me might well lead to war, with all its dreadful consequences. Therefore, I want you to speak plainly and refrain from putting a spin on your advice. I don’t want to be responsible for the death or destitution of thousands of my innocent subjects, in pursuit of an unjust claim.’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ replied the archbishop, ‘the territories covered by this Salic Law lie in Germany, not France. The French are trying to bamboozle you with legalistic nonsense.’

  The king gazed at the churchman. ‘So you’re saying I have right on my side in the matter of this claim?’

  The archbishop nodded. ‘Certainly.’ And while you’re busy fighting the French, he thought, but didn’t say, you won’t have time to bother with this Bill the Commons seem so keen to resurrect. He went on: ‘Remember your illustrious ancestors, Majesty – your great-grandfather; your great uncle the Black Prince, how fiercely they fought in France; their glorious victories. You are their heir – you sit on their throne.’

  ‘Remind your people of these valiant heroes,’ put in Ely. ‘Do what they did – make England great again.’

  The Dukes of Exeter and Westmoreland weighed in with the same enthusiasm.

  The king held up his hand. ‘Whoa, just a minute!’ He looked at the eager faces of his supporters. ‘It’s all very well rushing off to fight in France, but remember what always happens here in England while our armies are abroad.’

  ‘What?’ asked a noble.

  ‘The Scots,’ said Henry. ‘Whenever England is left undefended, the Scots take the opportunity to invade. And I’m not talking about border raiders here, I mean full-scale invasion.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Remember the old saying: If that you will France win, then with Scotland first begin.’

  Thinking the king was wavering, the archbishop spoke. ‘Bees, Majesty,’ he said. ‘Consider honeybees. They share a basic aim, that of building and protecting the hive, but they divide their forces in order to accomplish a variety of tasks. Some build, some forage, some are soldiers, some tend the young. We must imitate the bees, dividing our armies into attackers and defenders. A quarter of an English army is enough to defeat the French, and the other three quarters will certainly deter the Scots.’

  This generated patriotic fervour all round, and the king cried, ‘Call in the dauphin’s messengers.’

  The French ambassad
ors were ushered in.

  ‘Right,’ said Henry. ‘Let’s hear what the dauphin has to say – I understand it was he, and not your king, who sent you?’

  The first ambassador stepped forward. ‘Yes, that’s right. May we speak plainly, your Majesty?’

  ‘Of course you may, you’re not in the presence of savages. Speak!’

  ‘Very well. You have laid claim to certain dukedoms in our country. The dauphin knows something of your Majesty’s past conduct, and wants you to understand that there’s nothing in France that can be won by skill on the dance floor. You’ll find you can’t booze your way into a dukedom, nor win a throne at the gaming table. He’s sent you this gift, which he hopes will do instead.’

  The king looked at the Frenchman through narrowed eyes. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Tennis balls, my liege.’

  ‘How kind of the dauphin,’ spat Henry. ‘We thank him for his gift, and you for your pains. You may tell him his picture of me is out of date, and that I’ll be over there shortly to play a game that’ll make him wish he’d kept his balls to himself.’

  Gesturing to attendants, the king told them to give the messengers safe conduct. Then he turned to the nobles. ‘Prepare my army,’ he snapped. ‘Begin today. Spare no expense, waste no time, and by God we’ll teach this dauphin what it means to jest with us.’

  As news spread of Henry’s thirst for action against France, war fever gripped England. People of all ranks and stations put aside their everyday concerns in order to ready themselves for the struggle. The very air tingled with expectation.

  When reports of England’s mood reached France, there was a sense that the dauphin’s insult to Henry had unleashed something unstoppable. The King of France and his advisers, deeply worried, attempted to restore normal relations between the kingdoms, but it was too late. England’s blood was up, and only the sight of French blood would cool King Henry’s rage.

  Among those flocking to the king’s colours in London were three disreputable characters who had been boozing pals to Henry in his wild, irresponsible youth. Henry had since changed beyond recognition, but his former cronies had not. Their names were Bardolph, Nym and Pistol, and they were a worthless trio. By chance, Bardolph and Nym bumped into each other outside the Boar’s Head Tavern in Eastcheap.

  ‘What you doing here, Nym, you peasant?’ cried Bardolph.

  ‘Same as you, I shouldn’t wonder,’ retorted Nym. ‘Joining the army to serve the king wot used to be our boozing-mate, till the crown made him all hoity-toity.’

  Bardolph laughed. ‘We’ll serve the king, and we’ll serve ourselves while we’re at it, Nym. Think of the looting – the stores and equipment lying around, just asking to be pinched.’

  ‘Not pinched, mate,’ protested Nym. ‘Liberated. Us soldiers says liberated.’ He leered. ‘There’ll be French wenches needs liberating as well, and don’t forget stripping the dead.’

  ‘Of both sides,’ amended Bardolph.

  Nym nodded. ‘Boaf sides, goes wivout saying. So you better call me Corporal Nym, and you can be Lootenant Bardolph – how’s that?’

  ‘Perfick,’ purred Bardolph. ‘Hey, are you talking to whatsisface yet – Pistol?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ growled Nym.

  ‘He pinched your girlfriend, didn’t he – Nell Quickly? They got married.’

  ‘I’m not bovvered. Not enough to stick one on him, anyway. Life’s too short, innit? Mind you, I’m not saying I might not do him in one of these days while he’s asleep, but that’ll be down to rendezvous or whatsit – serendipity.’

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ chuckled Bardolph, ‘here’s the man himself, and his lady wife. Stay cool, Corporal Nym.’

  As Pistol and Nell drew near, Nym eyeballed his former friend. ‘How’s it going, my old flower?’

  ‘I’m not your old flower, airhead,’ snarled Pistol.

  ‘Mebbe not, but she is.’ Nym nodded at Nell and drew his sword.

  ‘Don’t!’ cried Bardolph. ‘Either of you. Put up your swords, we’re all on the same side here.’

  ‘Same side as him?’ sneered Pistol. ‘Why, I’d as soon be comrade to a pig; to a toad. I’d as soon march beside a foul, festering tunneldwarf as be on the same side as that loser.’

  Bardolph brandished his rapier. ‘I swear,’ he roared, ‘if either of you goes to strike a blow I’ll run him through with this.’

  At that moment, a boy came running up. ‘Mine host, Pistol,’ he cried, ‘come quick. You too, mistress. It’s my master, John Falstaff. He’s took ill. Very ill. In fact, I think he might die.’ He noticed Bardolph’s flushed face. ‘Your cheeks’d do him for a hot-water bottle, if you shoved your head under his sheets.’

  ‘Get lost!’ cried Bardolph. ‘Go on, boy, or I’ll…’

  ‘I’ll come to poor John,’ said Nell. ‘He’s never been the same since he ran into the king and Henry pretended not to know him, though they’d caroused together on many a merry night. It killed his heart. Follow soon, husband.’

  The woman hurried away, and Bardolph resumed his efforts to heal the rift between Nym and Pistol. After more fratching, Pistol agreed to pay a gambling debt he owed Nym, and the pair shook hands. Only then did the three rogues set off to bid farewell to their dying friend.

  As Bardolph, Nym and Pistol stood at Falstaff’s bedside, three other rogues were exercising the minds of some of the king’s loyal nobles at Southampton. Diplomacy having failed, the French had adopted a different tactic. Their agents had found three men who, in exchange for gold, would betray their king and asassinate him at Southampton as he prepared to embark with his army for France. But three loyal nobles – Exeter, Bedford and Westmorland – had uncovered the plot and met in a council chamber to discuss the treacherous trio.

  ‘Have you seen ’em,’ growled Westmoreland, ‘acting the faithful followers for all their worth, like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ spat Exeter. ‘His Majesty’s not easily fooled. Those three are history if they did but know it.’

  The men under discussion were Richard, Earl of Cambridge, Henry, Lord Scroop of Masham and Sir Thomas Grey, a knight of Northumberland. As the nobles discussed them, trumpets sounded and the three traitors appeared in the company of the king, who was asking their opinion on the army he’d assembled.

  ‘D’you think we’ve got the beating of the French with this force?’ he inquired.

  ‘Aye,’ nodded Scroop. ‘If every man does his best.’

  ‘Oh, they’ll do their best,’ said Henry. ‘I haven’t recruited any man who isn’t as keen on achieving victory as I am myself.’

  ‘Your people love you,’ fawned Cambridge.

  Grey agreed. ‘Even your father’s former enemies rally to your cause, sire.’

  ‘I’m thankful for it, sir knight. And I shan’t forget to reward those who serve me faithfully.’

  Grey smiled. ‘Then every man will certainly strive to do so.’

  Henry remembered something, and turned to his uncle, Exeter. ‘That soldier who disrespected me yesterday, Uncle. He’d been drinking, and I think it was the drink talking. I want him pardoned and released.’

  Scroop looked at the king. ‘Is that wise, your Grace? I think you ought to punish him, or others might be tempted to follow his example.’

  ‘Oh, let us yet be merciful!’ said Henry.

  ‘You may be merciful and punish, too,’ put in Cambridge.

  ‘Absolutely, sire,’ said Grey. ‘To spare the fellow’s life after inflicting much pain on him is more mercy than he deserves.’

  ‘Oh, come,’ rejoined the king. ‘Your concern for me makes you too hard on the poor wretch.’ He shrugged. ‘If we deal harshly with small offences such as this, how shall we punish real iniquities when they arise?’ He smiled. ‘Anyway, it’s time to concentrate on our French causes. The three of you applied for commissions in my army, I believe?’

  The traitors nodded. ‘Well,’ said the king, ‘I have th
em here. Richard, Earl of Cambridge, here’s yours. And yours, Lord Scroop of Masham. And this one, sir knight, Grey of Northumberland, is for you.’ He gazed at the three men. ‘Read them, and you’ll know I know what you’re worth.’ He turned to speak to his uncle, then broke off and looked again at the traitors. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘You’ve gone pale. Is it something I said, or something you’ve read in those papers?’

  Cambridge gulped. ‘I … I confess my guilt,’ he croaked, ‘and beg you be merciful.’

  ‘We beg mercy, too,’ said Scroop and Grey together.

  ‘You may recall,’ said Henry, ‘that I was inclined a short while ago to show mercy, and the three of you advised against it. I’m inclined now to heed your advice, and since your crime is that of high treason, you must die.’

  As the three disgraced nobles were led away, the king addressed his lords. ‘By exposing this plot, God has shown that He blesses our enterprise, which therefore cannot fail. Cheerly to sea, the signs of war advance; No King of England, if not King of France!’

  Act Two

  Some men, when called to arms, take up their station

  Out of duty, love for monarch, pride in nation.

  Though low-born, they hold their heads on high,

  Ennobled by their readiness to die.

  For many though, a darker, sadder story:

  Some come for plunder, others for vain glory.

  As King Henry prepared to embark his army at Southampton, Pistol, Nym and Bardolph made ready to leave London. Their old friend Falstaff had just died and the three rogues, together with Mistress Quickly and the boy, were discussing where he might be now. Was his soul in heaven, or in hell?

  Nym thought this irrelevant. ‘I think we ought to be making a move,’ he said. ‘The king’ll sail for France any time now.’

  ‘Right,’ said Pistol. ‘Let’s go.’ He turned to his wife, whom he was leaving in charge of the tavern. ‘Kiss me goodbye,’ he said, ‘and see that you keep my property safe till I get back. Don’t trust anybody. Remember – no cards, no cheques. Cash only – that’s the way to go.’