The Lord of Greenwich (The Plantagenets Book 5)

by Juliet Dymoke

  He went out and Humfrey lay quiet, thinking of his talk with Beckington only last night. Tom did not speak, busy with his writing, but it must, Humfrey imagined, be in his mind also. To the scratching of Beckington's pen he began a Te Deum in his head but it soon got lost in visions of Harry's triumphant return home.

  He was not, however, destined to see that triumph. The journey to Calais, lying in a baggage wagon, was agonizing, one of his wounds festered, and he was carried to a bed in the castle with a high fever. By the time he recovered enough to return to England the last fragments of the decorations had been taken down, the costumes packed away, the fantastic pageant that had welcomed the victorious King back to his capital only a glowing memory of a mild November day. The pride of it lived with all Englishmen and those who fought at Agincourt boasted of it in the taverns and shops and would do so to their dying day, the tales growing longer in the telling.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  'I dine with Uncle Thomas,' John said. 'Do you come too? If so, I have my barge at St Botolph's wharf.'

  'Yes, I'm coming.' Humfrey had joined him on the steps of St Paul's after a solemn High Mass sung by the Archbishop of Canterbury. 'Harry is taking the Emperor to dine at the Tower and I've no desire to sit and listen to more talk – Harry has excused me. I'd rather endure Uncle Thomas's long tales of his campaigns yet again.'

  Together they made their way to the waiting horses and Humfrey went on, 'What do you make of the Emperor?'

  'A man adept at verbal fencing.' John steadied his great roan round a mound of insanitary rubbish, and as they turned down a busy lane that led through to Thames Street he added, 'He wants Harry for his crusade against the Turks.'

  'Harry won't go until he's brought the French madman to terms. But he's treated Sigismund lavishly enough. I've never entered so many jousts in such a short time.'

  'You quitted yourself remarkably well, brother.'

  Praise from John was rare and to be savoured. Humfrey grinned at him. 'Well, we were brought up to know what we were about at the tournay. Harry must think well of the Emperor to make him a Knight of the Garter.'

  'Policy,' John said. 'You know as well as I do that Sigismund can make peace between us and Burgundy and we need Burgundy for our ally if we are to achieve anything in France.'

  'I suppose so.' Humfrey wondered just how much their bushy-haired guest was really prepared to commit himself. Sigismund thought himself as Holy Roman Emperor the most eminent personage in Europe but how far he really influenced anyone seemed to be doubtful. However Humfrey supposed his friendship must be of value or Harry would not have gone to such lengths to make the visit a success. A little smile crossed Humfrey's face. He himself had rather theatrically ridden into the water with a drawn sword at Dover and withheld permission to land until the Emperor swore he had no claim upon either property or persons in England. He had enjoyed that, exercising his power as Constable of Dover, but the ensuing talks he found tedious.

  'Statecraft can be a tiresome affair,' he said now as they passed the crowded entrance to London Bridge, John's herald clearing a way for them. At the wharf John's barge was riding gently by the landing stage and the brothers settled themselves under the brightly coloured awning while their attendants sat in the stern. Slowly the oarsmen pulled away and John continued the conversation.

  'In our position it is necessary we should understand Harry's policy. You dismiss affairs of state too easily.'

  Humfrey yawned. 'Not easily enough to suit my liking. I hope Uncle Thomas has a good dinner for us, that long Mass has made me mighty sharp-set.'

  John gave his brother a searching look. 'What do you want, Humfrey? I've often wondered. You joust well, but you don't care greatly whether you win or not. You excel at the chase but you're not obsessed by it as Edward used to be. And yet with your passion for books and scholars you've not only proved yourself a fighting man but you've found new ways to use the bombards.'

  'A little of everything and nothing to perfection?' Humfrey queried. 'Oh, I have ideas in my head, brother, and if you really want to know I'll tell you what I want.' He looked over John's shoulder at the great span of London Bridge at the jumble of buildings along the banks. 'I shall never be King of this realm, nor anything but the last of old Hal's brood. You and Harry and Thomas will doubtless beget heirs in plenty, so why should policy or government bother me? I want,' he paused as the oars dipped and fell, watching the ripple of the water, the river busy with craft, the royal barge commanding a passage, 'I want a house somewhere on this river, with room for a library large enough to hold all the books I mean to collect. I want a palace that will be a centre for scholars and learned doctors, I want to live as I saw men of culture live in Italy.'

  'Holy Cross!' John was genuinely surprised. 'That is an odd ambition for a Plantagenet. We've always been men of action.'

  'Life is more than knowing how to wield a sword.'

  'I remember,' John said suddenly, 'how we talked on the night of Harry's crowning. You wanted Coldharbour then. Was it for this reason?'

  'I was beginning to think of it. But you have that.'

  'And you have other manors. Harry has been generous to you since Agincourt.'

  'I know,' Humfrey admitted, 'but nothing that is really suitable. Hadleigh is too remote, Cookham is too small, Dover is a sea fortress, my Welsh manors too far away and the Isle of Wight is too inaccessible. I want to be near Westminster, near the heart of things, where visitors of note will always come.'

  'Baynards?' John cocked an eyebrow. 'That's always been a royal lodging.'

  'It would be well enough, but I need space for a park, gardens, where a man could live graciously.' Humfrey paused. He had hardly thought all this out even to himself but the conversation with John was clearing his own mind, and now he was looking across at the far bank where a house was coming into view. It was of grey stone, a long low building beneath a grassy hill, with its own landing stage and space for a number of boats. 'You see?' he pointed across the water, 'there is only one place that really answers. Greenwich would serve all my needs.'

  John leaned back in his seat and regarded him with amusement. 'It happens to belong to Uncle Thomas.'

  'And Harry gave it to him for life! I know. But look at it – see how the land is close by the priory there. I'm sure the Cistercian brothers would sell some acres for a park and if the house were walled and extended, a tower at each end perhaps, what a fine place it would be. Uncle Thomas does nothing to it or with it.'

  'And you would turn it into an Italian palace and live like a Venetian princeling?'

  'You may laugh at me all you wish but you did ask what I wanted. Well, I want Greenwich and I want to fill it with men of my own tastes. Of what use to be a royal prince if one does not make the most of one's talents and opportunities?'

  John paused while his bargemaster saw the boat tied up securely and then together he and Humfrey landed and walked in a leisurely manner up to the impressive door. 'What are you going to do then? Ask Uncle Thomas to give it to you? Or are you going to offer to buy it? I presume you don't intend to ride up with an army at your back and seize it.'

  Humfrey took his teasing good-naturedly. 'No, I can't do any of those things. Uncle Thomas would huff and puff and not even listen. Besides it would offend Harry.'

  Their host was now out on the steps to greet them and presently they sat down to a rich and satisfying dinner. Abstemious himself, still with his lean soldier's body, Exeter liked entertaining and he was fond of his nephews, but as Humfrey had predicted the topics of conversation were restricted mainly to military anecdotes.

  Humfrey listened with only half his attention, having heard most of the stories before. They were dining in a long, rather dark room, hung with dusty souvenirs of the Duke of Exeter's past exploits and after the meal Humfrey excused himself, expressing the need to stretch his legs. With Reginald Cobham for company he proceeded to stroll through the house, noting a fine room which faced on to the water. It made him think
again of Venice and a palace where he had once dined. There was a shelf in one corner and Humfrey went to it, inspecting the three books there. 'Ah, St Jerome, and Athanasius,' he remarked to his companion, 'and judging by the dust unopened. And Master Froissart's Chronicles – that at least has been much read. Predictable, eh? But I would have this whole room shelved. What a library it would make.'

  'Are you to come here?' Reginald asked in surprise. 'I had not heard. Is my lord of Exeter –'

  'No, he is not,' Humfrey interrupted, 'and I dream only of what I would do if it were mine.' He wandered on, indulging his imagination and turning the dusty place into a magnificent palace. Harry might have his service any time it was need, but what more was likely to be demanded of him? Little enough surely, and there would be, must be time to spend on his own desires. It was frustrating in the extreme that here was the very house he needed and in just the right position, owned and neglected by a prosy old soldier.

  When he and John separated later he said as much but the only answer he got from John was, 'Greenwich is not yours, brother, nor likely to be. I advise you to look elsewhere.'

  But though they said no more on the subject, the place began to obsess Humfrey's thoughts. He did not look elsewhere but made up his mind that somehow, some day, he would own the manor of Greenwich. A week later Harry summoned him to lay before him a request that drove all thought of the Duke of Exeter's house out of his head.

  He heard Harry out in stunned silence. Then he demanded, 'Good God, why me? Harry, are you witless? Send Warwick or our uncle Henry or . . . or Orléans!'

  'Orléans?' the King queried. 'It is not I who am witless, brother. What do you think the Dauphin and the Armagnacs would make of that? It would be provocative to say the least. No, I'm afraid it must be you.'

  Humfrey scowled and sat down astride a stool in his favourite posture. 'I can't see why anyone has to go. If Burgundy wants peace on our terms let him come without a hostage.'

  'I'm not sure that he does want peace. Was it a man of peace who let his ragtail following slaughter all the Armagnac people they could find in Paris and did naught to stop it?'

  'That was three years ago.'

  'I doubt his character has changed. I'd not trust him out of my sight but if we are to make good use of our victory in France I need his support.'

  'Well, I suppose he's preferable to the Count of Armagnac.'

  'Anyone is preferable to that man,' the King said in a spurt of cold anger. 'How dared he attack Harfleur while we talk terms?'

  'Well, John put a stop to his hopes there by beating the French navy. I'd never thought of John as a sailor!'

  'He is becoming a commander I can trust whether on land or sea. At any rate it sent the Armagnacs scuttling away from Harfleur.'

  'The Count is grown too choleric to be deterred by one defeat,' Humfrey said, 'especially now that he has the new Dauphin under his wing. They say young Charles's knees knock when he walks, that his face is like a blank parchment and he has fits. God, what a family! I'd not go so far to put a French chamber pot under my bed.'

  The King was frowning at this piece of flippancy, 'I mean to wed the Princess Catherine. It is the way to achieve my end.'

  Humfrey made him a swift bow of the head. 'Your pardon, Harry. Perhaps the lady is more likeable than the rest of them. I pray so for your sake. Do you remember the King had one of Queen Isabeau's lovers sewn in a sack and thrown in the Seine?'

  'I remember.'

  'A barbarous lot.'

  'Then the sooner they are civilized by English blood and English rule the better. Humfrey, you served me well at Agincourt, will you not serve me in this?'

  Humfrey pulled a face at him. 'You know I will. When have I ever refused you what you want? But I can't like it.'

  'It won't be for long,' Harry said and smiled at him. 'Ten days maybe, long enough for the Emperor and Burgundy and myself to talk terms, but he won't come without a hostage.'

  'Very well,' Humfrey agreed resignedly. 'When must I go?'

  'The Emperor has already sailed for Calais. We'll follow him tomorrow.'

  'Oh. Well, if I am to go I'd best set my household by the ears. I never travel light, and even though it is not to battle this time, I have other needs. Books – and other means of beguiling my time. But no, on second thoughts no doubt my host will provide some sort of gentle company.'

  'You are incorrigible,' Harry said, but as Humfrey left the room he had the satisfaction of seeing his brother smile. Yet it was odd, he thought, how Harry had changed. They said he had become a priests' King and it was true. He had kept to his intention of chastity and still waited for the bride he had set his mind on though he had not seen her – Humfrey did not envy him if Catherine had the Valois features – and he seemed absorbed in Church affairs, taking a great interest in the Council at Constance, and reading lengthy reports which seemed to say nothing in a vast amount of words.

  Humfrey went down the stairs two at a time, oddly annoyed with himself for loving Harry too well to deny him anything, and out in the court, coming from the great west door of the Cathedral, encountered his uncle Henry. He would have merely acknowledged him and passed on but the Bishop halted right in his path.

  'Well, nephew,' he said, 'I hope you realize it is important that you play your part well.'

  'Oh?' Humfrey queried. He became sharply aware that his uncle must already know and take for granted what only a few moments ago Harry had asked of him. His annoyance grew. 'To what do you refer, Uncle? Are we to have another tournament at Calais for the pleasure of the Emperor, or perhaps a hunt to show off our English bowmen?'

  Bishop Beaufort looked pardonably irritated. 'Don't play with me. You know what I mean. You must remember you act as your brother's representative and bear yourself well towards the Count of Charolais.'

  'Oh, is he to be my guardian?' Humfrey asked carelessly and wished that Harry had thought to tell him so. 'I suppose the Duke of Burgundy's son must be considered suitable to entertain a duke. Do you go with us, Uncle?'

  'I do,' the Bishop answered coolly. 'I make a pilgrimage.'

  'To Constance, no doubt. I did not think you could keep away from such a council. Let us hope at the end of it we have one Pope and not three. In fact St Peter's stomach needs some physic – shall we say twenty-four cardinals, a number of archbishops, all immersed in good Rhine water and left submerged for three days. That would cure the disease, eh?'

  'Nephew, you are impertinent,' the Bishop's eyes flashed angrily. 'Your humour ill becomes you. Have your new offices so gone to your head that you dare poke fun at Holy Church?'

  'Mea culpa!' Humfrey made him a mock bow. 'But if you want me to serve your purpose, Uncle, you must tolerate my humour, such as it is. Someone once said, I forget who but I think it was a monk, that it is not unbecoming for a man of honour to indulge occasionally in reasonable mirth.'

  'John of Salisbury,' the Bishop retorted so swiftly that he took Humfrey by surprise. 'I too read widely, nephew. He also said that excessive indulgence of it could lower a man's dignity and bring him into disgrace.'

  'You may leave me to care for my own dignity,' Humfrey retorted, 'at least my mission is plain for all to see and not hidden beneath a pilgrim's hat and a scallop shell.'

  He stalked off, leaving the Bishop fuming, and feeling he had come off best in the encounter after all. He was lodging in a house in Friar Street where he had stayed once or twice before. It was owned by a merchant in a good way of business who had the sense, Humfrey thought, not to object when a royal duke cast a glance on his fifteen-year-old daughter. She was remarkably pretty and when Humfrey had dangled a fat purse under his nose and suggested she might grace the ducal bed his host merely bowed obsequiously. It would not ruin her marriage prospects that she had been so favoured.

  Supper was rich that night to celebrate the signing of the treaty, and sitting beside Warwick Humfrey remembered their conversation at Dover and remarked, 'German steel nearly didn't stay in its scabbard
. Did you hear about the affair with Count William of Holland last week?'

  'No,' Richard Beauchamp answered. He had been to his own great castle of Warwick on private business and only just rejoined the Court. 'What happened? I do not see him here. Did he leave with the Emperor?'

  'Before that. He asked Sigismund to allow him to vest all his inheritance in his daughter.'

  'I recall he only has a daughter, but not her name.'

  'Jacqueline,' Humfrey told him. 'She's quite an heiress, with Holland and Hainault and Zealand to come to her on the Count's death.' He helped himself to some salmon poached in almond milk.

  'It's as well the Dauphin Jean died,' Warwick said. 'As her husband he would have received all that and such a gain would not have pleased Harry.'

  'It was as well for her. No doubt the Count looks for another husband for her now.'

  'You or John?' Edmund Mortimer queried from his place opposite. Since Agincourt he had lost his shyness and now never forwent a chance to put himself on equal terms with his cousins.

  'I haven't given it a thought,' Humfrey retorted. 'Nor has John, I'll warrant, nor Harry for that matter. In any case the Emperor refused and he and the Count had strong words. I looked to see the Count's blade out, I can tell you.'

  Warwick was shocked. 'Against his overlord? And on a visit here? That would have been scandalous.'

  'Well, it did not come to that but Count William went off in a mighty huff.'

  'I wonder what the Lady Jacqueline is like?' Mortimer asked, but as no one had seen her no one answered.

  Humfrey attacked his fish, but the thought played in his mind. When he married it would have to be a woman of high standing and the prospect of being Count of Flanders was interesting. For the moment, however, he concentrated on enjoying the feast. Presently he became aware that someone was staring at him. He looked across at a table slightly below the dais and saw that it was a girl. She was about fourteen, on the verge of womanhood he judged, and there seemed to be something familiar about her darkly fascinating face, though he could not remember if he had seen her before. He smiled slightly and raised his cup. She did not smile in response but neither did her eyes leave his face, and his curiosity was aroused.