The Lord of Greenwich (The Plantagenets Book 5)

by Juliet Dymoke

  Humfrey went to stand beside the Duke of York and asked in a low voice if the Queen had been sent for.

  Edward snuffled into his sleeve and said she had. 'It will be a great shock for her. There was the King at prayer in the Abbey, but the shrine of the Confessor, and suddenly he gave a groan and fell –'

  'I know,' Humfrey said. 'John told me. Were you there?'

  'No,' Edward whispered hoarsely. 'I'd my hawk on my wrist when I heard. Another minute and I'd have been gone to Windsor. I'd a mind to spend a few nights there.'

  Humfrey smiled a little. Nothing but a crisis ever kept Edward of York from the chase. On the whole he preferred Cousin Edward, bluff and simple, to his younger brother who had shared their revels last night and hardly surprisingly was not in the sick room. His own head was heavy for it must have been dawn before he and Betty slept and he had drunk a great deal of ozey. Rich sweet stuff, he thought, he'd have been much better with a cool Rhenish wine that sat gently on the stomach. Then he recollected himself and added a hasty amen to the Bishop's prayer.

  The king stirred and his eyes opened. Slowly he looked round the assembled men. 'I am not dying,' he said clearly. 'I cannot die yet. It was foretold I should die in Jerusalem. When I am well . . . I will journey there. Warwick . . . you'll come with me, eh? You've been . . . to the Holy Land.'

  'Willingly, sire.' The Earl went to the bed and knelt by it. After a moment's hesitation he took the prematurely gnarled and disfigured hand in his own. 'Rest, my lord.'

  'Yes, yes . . . I'll rest, but you . . . you will make preparations . . .' his eyes closed again but after a moment he opened them and saw the Abbot standing at the foot of the bed. 'Where am I? What is . . . this room?'

  'It is in my lodgings, sire,' the Abbot answered and added in a low voice, 'We call it the Jerusalem chamber.'

  'Sweet Jesu!' The King made a hoarse gobbling sound while the men about him glanced at one another, the implication lost on none of them except Edward who looked slightly puzzled. Henry tried to raise himself. 'Then am I lost. The prophecy was right . . . I am dying in Jerusalem, but not . . .' His voice failed momentarily and then suddenly he cried out loudly. 'I want Thomas. Where is Thomas?'

  Someone said, 'He is not here, sire. You remember, he is in France.'

  The King's eyes screwed up and two tears oozed down his pitted cheeks. 'Then I'll not see him again . . . the best of my brood.' He gave a shuddering sigh and then began to ramble in a low broken voice. 'They said that Archbishop Scrope would have his revenge . . . did I do so evil a thing when I had him headed? He was a traitor . . . a traitor.' He looked up at his eldest son without seeming to see him, talking to someone far in the past. 'What would you do with a man who comes in arms against you, eh? The Pope asked how I . . . dared to slay his spiritual son and I . . .' His sudden laugh cast a chill over the room and Edward hastily crossed himself. 'I sent him the Archbishop's jack all covered with blood. Is this your son? I asked . . . but he won in the end. Mother of God, it all turned sour on me . . . I began with right on my side and now . . . now . . .' his head fell back.

  One of the monks bent over him and after only a short pause laid a white cloth over the face. 'My lord the King is dead.'

  There was a tense silence and then every man knelt, crossing himself, Humfrey with the rest. He felt little grief for he had seldom seen his father in his youth when he might have formed an attachment. Henry of Bolingbroke was always travelling, Prussia, France, even as far as Palestine, busy with endless energetic exploits. Even when he became King he seldom seemed to have leisure for his sons – except Thomas, Humfrey thought. But it was Harry who mattered now.

  He looked up and saw Harry rise and slowly take the crown with both hands, his eyes fixed on it. By God, Harry was King! But even as Humfrey opened his mouth, determined to make the first declaration of loyalty, there was a sudden stir on the bed, the cloth fluttered and a hand came up to remove it.

  A murmur of horror went round the room as they saw King Henry's lips move, heard his indrawn breath. The monk who had pronounced him dead went very pink in the face, glancing fearfully at his Abbot as Bishop Beaufort broke off the commendatory prayer.

  The King turned his gaze on his heir. 'Well,' he said harshly and his voice was surprisingly clear, 'would you rob me while I still live?'

  Shaken though he was Harry kept his self-possession. 'My lord, I was told you had departed this life and grieve as I may the crown and the Kingdom should be claimed, as you well know, at once and by me. I have the right.'

  'The right?' The glazing eyes stared beyond Harry to the wall beyond and a tapestry depicting the Holy City which had given its name to this room. 'God pity me, I had no right.'

  'You held it by your sword and by the wish of the people and so shall I,' his son retorted, but Henry seemed not to hear.

  'So many sins . . . and I have been bitterly punished . . . Will it never end?'

  The Abbot, kneeling close to him said, 'Sire, renew your repentance and all will be forgiven, even the killing of Archbishop Scrope.'

  To their astonishment the King sat up, a wolfish look on his once handsome face. 'I won't say it again. I tell you, the Pope absolved me from that . . . years ago.' Sharply he called his sons to come to him and then lay back to look closely from one to the other. 'Yes, you will be King, Harry, but forget your past follies and wild japes. Rule to God's glory and England's good, not your own. And be at peace with your brother Thomas – it is my dying wish. John will serve you well. He has my trust. As for you, Humfrey, perhaps the years will lend you a wiser head. Indulgence does not become us once we have left our green days behind.'

  Annoyance flared in Humfrey but for once he suppressed it. A dying father commanded obedience and he said meekly, 'No, sire.'

  Henry seemed exhausted by this last effort and lay back on the bed, his eyes on the crown which his son had replaced. They remained fixed until some ten minutes later when there was a long and deep exhalation of breath followed by utter stillness. The Abbot leaned forward to draw down the lids and Edward of York broke into loud sobbing as the monks began to sing dirige.

  Harry lifted the crown once more and left the room.

  Harry was crowned on the second day of April. Instead of the spring weather all London hoped for there was a sudden snowstorm. Humfrey wrapped a cloak about Master Heap's new creation for the occasion and cursed the weather. But the ceremony within the abbey was glittering. Archbishop Arundel placed the crown on that erect head, and Humfrey shouted his acclamation with the rest. What did it matter if there were a few odd murmurs; there were always trouble-mongers, and the old tale was being whispered again that King Richard II was alive, and that even if he were not Edmund Earl of March had a better claim. Edmund had spent most of his youth in pleasant but definite custody and though he was free now, Humfrey thought contemptuously that he was too spineless to want to contest the throne. Perhaps he was even too admiring of Harry, too grateful for his freedom to think of it.

  The Earl Marshall, John Mowbray, was in charge of the organization of this royal day, and was desperately anxious that his duties should be carried out properly. There was a harrassed frown on his face for he was meticulous over small details, but the feast was smoothly set in hand in St Stephen's Hall. There, every kind of embellishment the cooks could devise had been set on laden tables, honoured officials on horseback carrying in the most spectacular dishes. Confections in marchpane had been wrought in many colours into the King's various badges; the swan and the antelope among his favourites, with one jelly even surrounded with blue forget-me-nots in memory of his father's emblem when he had been Henry of Bolingbroke without the thought of a crown on his head.

  No one had been forgotten, even their old nurse. Other royal servants from the prince's childhood sat at a table at the far end of the hall. The upper tables were occupied by the nobility. The captive King of Scotland, young James Stewart, sat by Edward Duke of York who had launched into an interminable tale of a deer that ha
d eluded him and taken a whole day to ride down. While James listened he had his gaze fixed on Somerset's sister Joan – much good it would do him, poor fellow, Humfrey thought, for Harry was unlikely to bestow her upon a King whose present state consisted of one small room. Joan was growing into something of a beauty and Humfrey watched her for a moment, considering how she had matured since he had last seen her, until his attention was attracted by a much younger face. A girl was sitting between Joan and Lady Cobham, a girl with very dark hair, her eyes a greenish-grey. There was little warmth in her striking colouring but she returned his stare with one equally curious and he wondered if there would be fire there when she grew to womanhood. He was well aware by now that as a royal prince if he chose to turn his charm on a lady he was not often met with a refusal. But this girl was too young to merit serious consideration and as the Duke of York paused for breath, he turned to ask James if he had had time to look at the book he had lent him.

  The Scot turned in his seat, his expression half sad, half humorous. 'As you know, my lord Humfrey, I have little else but time. Yes, I have read the fables.'

  'And found much in Aesop to entertain you, I hope.' Humfrey gave him an encouraging smile. 'At least you have the sense to employ your unfortunate captivity to some purpose. And now Harry is King he will no doubt come to some terms with your countrymen.'

  'I pray so,' James answered. 'It is a wearisome thing to be without a purpose to one's days.'

  'I'll send you some more books,' Humfrey said and added, 'but not love poems to stir your blood!' He saw the sombre look return to James' face, the determination not to let his eyes seek the pretty face of Joan Beaufort. 'Trust Harry,' he repeated and turned to look at his brother.

  Harry had eaten little, Humfrey saw and he waved away the butler holding the royal ewer, more intent on serious conversation with their uncle Henry, whom he had made his new chancellor. On his other side Richard Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, who was to be on his Council, listened gravely and answered in a low voice when Harry turned to him.

  'I hope,' Humfrey said to his close friend, Lord Berkeley, 'that Harry is not going to put my uncle in a place above us all. He dabbles too much in secular affairs.'

  Berkeley gave a shrug. 'Few churchmen do not. Bishop Beaufort is a shrewd man and if we go to war doubtless the King will need his help.'

  'His money chests, you mean.' Humfrey said scathingly. He nodded to another friend, Roger Courtney, who was sliding his narrow body between Humfrey's and the young Earl of March. 'A little room, if you please, my lord Edmund. Is there a lord or his lady who is not here?'

  His aunt Elizabeth overheard this remark. 'Who would miss a new king's crowning? But it is a pity Philippa is not here.'

  'My sister could hardly have travelled from Denmark in time,' Humfrey pointed out.

  'Perhaps not. Anyway I don't suppose her royal spouse would allow it; from what I hear he is a jealous man.'

  Humfrey had not seen Philippa for years and they had never been close, but for his aunt he had a considerable respect. Her lively wit and her quick tongue matched his own. She had in her day been the subject of much gossip and scandal that ended in a hasty wedding to Sir John Holland. He had risen to be a Duke before ending his life on a scaffold for treachery to her brother, King Henry, but that was many years ago now and she was often at court, concerned for the future of her son John Holland. Her determination to have his rights and title restored was so blatant that Humfrey could not resist remarking to the comfortable middle­aged lady on his other side, 'What do you think, Aunt Joan? Shall we have all the greedy ragtails with but one shirt to their backs besieging Harry for advancement?'

  Lady Westmorland smiled indulgently at him. 'Are you teasing us, Humfrey?'

  'Of course he is,' Elizabeth answered. 'With nine step-children and fourteen of your own you must be even more eager than I to catch our nephew's ear.'

  Lady Westmorland folded her hands complacently. 'We have it already, I think.' Her gaze took in her brother Bishop Beaufort sitting beside the King, before it wandered onto the portly figure of Queen Joanna. 'Her grace presides merrily over her son's table despite her grief. I swear I could not do so had I lost my own dear lord but two weeks since.'

  Lady Westmorland was without doubt Humfrey's favourite relative, his affection for her in proportion to his dislike to her brother, his uncle Henry. He knew she had never liked Queen Joanna, who had been Duchess of Brittany before she had married his father, but in a detached way Humfrey was fond of his step-mother. 'My dear Aunt,' he said, 'you have a tender heart. The Queen was bred in a harder school.'

  'A rough place, Brittany,' Lady Elizabeth agreed. 'Humfrey, you have not been to see me these many weeks. I hear you spend your time in too much carousing and setting the town at odds.'

  'I don't know how such tales reach your ears,' he said in mock surprise. 'No doubt we shall all be about more sober matters soon.'

  The young Earl of Somerset asked, 'Do you think we will go to war, Cousin Humfrey?'

  'How should I know? It is too soon for anything of that importance to be decided, and anyway you are still demoiseau.'

  'I am nearly thirteen,' Somerset retorted, 'and shall be older before the King is ready. I shall ask him if I can ride in his train.'

  'Contain yourself,' Humfrey said. He considered John Beaufort too forward since the boy had inherited his father's place. 'The king has more to think of than a pert youth.'

  Having suffered before from Humfrey's quick tongue, Somerset subsided and Lady Westmorland said kindly, 'There will be time enough for all lads to win their spurs with Harry on the throne. I doubt I could do better than put my Richard under your care, Humfrey. Have you room for another page?'

  'To please you, my dear aunt, of course.' Humfrey said courteously and Lord Berkeley, who was a slow thinker and was still considering the possibility of war with France interrupted to say, 'I'm minded that I have a gift for you, my lord. I have had Vegetius's treatise on things military put into English and a copy made for you.'

  'That's good of you, Tom,' Humfrey said warmly. 'I see I shall have to look for a larger house to make room for my books, and my pages! Perhaps the King will let me have Coldharbour House now that he has so many palaces at his disposal.' At the coronation this morning when he had followed his elder brothers to do homage Harry had held his hands hard and said in a low voice, 'I shall have need of you all, Humfrey. My brothers must be closest to me.' And Humfrey had backed down the steps from the throne well aware of the link between service and reward.

  'Haven't you heard?' From several seats away Thomas of Clarence leaned across his neighbours to say, 'John is to have it. You must wait your turn. Anyway I thought you had an inn in the city.' Thomas had only arrived back from France the previous day, and grief accentuated the deep cleft between his brows, but even at Harry's feast, Humfrey thought, he must needs remind him he was the youngest. With studied negligence he said, 'It is too small for my needs. My household grows with men seeking my patronage.'

  'Oho!' Thomas's tone was mocking. 'I heard you had set yourself up as a scholar. Have you a copy of Cousin Edward's book on the chase?'

  'The only book you've read? Aye, I have, and most of that he copied from a French manual.'

  'Your conceit seems to grow every time I come home,' Thomas said, but without malice. 'I wonder you didn't go into the Church –I'm sure you would have seen yourself as Pope some day.'

  Humfrey grinned at him. 'You must be wool­gathering if you think that life for me. Well, come and see for yourself how I live. I've a better cook than the fellow Harry keeps at Coldharbour. And bring your lady,' he added, well aware that Thomas in his new state would not appreciate a carouse with the kind of female company that often graced his table. 'I'll ask Aunt Joan and Aunt Elizabeth as well. A supper party for the aunts, eh?' He saw that his brother was not amused by his flippancy but considerably ruffled walked off to talk to Sir John Oldcastle.

  The dancing began and Humfrey led out
Oldcastle's wife, Lady Cobham, whom he always found entertaining. She had brought her husband a barony as well as a considerable fortune. It occurred to Humfrey suddenly to ask who was the child who had sat so demurely beside her during the banquet.

  'Ah, you must mean my young cousin,' she said, matching her steps to his. 'Eleanor is only ten years old but I think she will have great beauty when she is grown.'

  'So I thought,' Humfrey said absently and laughed when Lady Cobham said with mock sternness, 'Pray, my Lord Humfrey, do not turn your thoughts in that direction yet. She is a mere babe.'

  He wondered why she had chosen to use the word 'yet'. A mere slip of the tongue probably, and when he looked again for Eleanor Cobham he saw that she had gone.

  The dance ended and he wandered along the hall looking for pleasant company. He found one of the Queen Dowager's attendants standing shyly with lowered head by a pillar and paused beside her.

  'What, all alone sweeting?' he asked and saw a blush heighten her colouring. She was young and very pretty and he slid an arm about her waist.

  'I am new to court, my lord,' she said and stood very stiffly, too much in awe of him to raise her eyes, but very much aware of the pressure of his arm. 'I know no one except the Queen and the other ladies.'

  'Well, you know me now. I am Humfrey –'

  'I have seen you sir. You are the King's brother.'

  'Ah, so you lifted your head long enough to observe that?' he asked teasingly and let his hand move upward to cover one breast. 'I shall have to teach you about court life.'