by Teresa Cole
3
KING IN WAITING
1409–1413
Whether Henry IV was a keen or reluctant usurper of the English crown, it is certain that he got very little joy from his achievement; indeed, the first half-dozen years of his reign seem to have left him a broken man. In his youth he had been a vigorous and athletic figure, a bold huntsman, a champion in the lists with a taste, besides, for books and music. He had needed all that vigour to hold down his new kingdom, dashing from Scotland to Wales, from north to south, to stamp out the wildfires of rebellion and challenge. By 1406, though, the tide seemed to have turned in his favour. The French had left, Glendower had passed his peak of achievement and Northumberland was broken. A plot to abduct the young Earl of March and his brother and carry them away to Mortimer and Glendower in Wales had been thwarted the year before, and a happy accident had even given him sway over the Scots.
The Duke of Rothesay, heir to the Scottish throne, had been imprisoned by the Duke of Albany and subsequently died (probably murdered), leaving another son, eleven-year-old James, as the new heir. Recognising the danger to the boy, his father intended to send him abroad to France for his safety and education, but in the course of his already hazardous journey James was captured by English pirates and sent to the king. Henry naturally decided he could give the boy equal safety and education and held on to him. With Scotland still divided by factions, he could thus ensure a reasonable security for the border by threatening either to send back the lad or to keep him in England, according to the need at the time. In fact young James was to spend the next eighteen years of his life in England, sometimes in the Tower, but more usually in fairly relaxed captivity.
In 1407 things got even better, with the murder of Louis of Orleans setting the French factions at each other’s throats and removing any threat of an attack on England. Well before this time, however, Henry had fallen victim to a mystery illness that was to afflict him on and off for the rest of his life. What this was, or indeed if it was one illness or several, has been argued over by medical men ever since.
The first attack took place immediately after the trial and execution of Archbishop Scrope in 1405 and has been described as everything from a stroke to a nervous breakdown. For almost a month the king was gravely ill before apparently making a full recovery. From then on, however, he is recorded as suffering from a disfiguring skin disease, variously depicted as a rash, weeping sores, boils and a tumour under his nose. For writers at the time there was no mystery to this. The king had dared to lay hands on an archbishop and God had struck him down. The usual contemporary verdict was that the king had some form of leprosy.
What evidence there is, however, does not support that diagnosis, not least because there was never any attempt to treat the king as a leper. The skin disease often came at times of stress, and eczema or psoriasis have been suggested as causes, or even basic lack of hygiene. Nor would leprosy lead to the repeated bouts of ‘grave illness’ which left the king unable even to walk for weeks at a time.
The second of these is recorded in April 1406, and then again in June 1408, while in the winter of 1408/09 he was so ill that he sent for his sons to come to his bedside, and composed his will. Epilepsy, malaria and venereal disease have all been suggested diagnoses, while the king’s declaration that he felt his skin was on fire has led some to see this as St Anthony’s fire, another name for the bacterial skin infection erysipelas. This can attack through any break in the skin, causing a violent red inflammation (particularly of the face), fever, fatigue, weakness and even death.
Whatever the cause, one probable result of this repeated ill health was to draw Prince Henry into closer involvement in government than he might have expected during his father’s lifetime. He is first recorded as attending a meeting of the king’s council in December 1406, though he may have been present at earlier sessions in a less formal capacity. It is almost certain that he returned to London during the winter months even at the height of activity in Wales. Very little campaigning would be possible at such times, and, if Parliament was sitting, he was entitled to be present.
In fact the parliament of 1406 was the longest of Henry’s reign. Called in March, it sat through to December with breaks for Easter and the summer. It is on record that the prince was formally thanked for his work in Wales at the beginning of April, and was present in June and again in December, so we may conclude he was reasonably well experienced in such matters. It was a difficult year for the king, however, and it may be that he welcomed the presence of his eldest son as a moderating voice in that chamber.
Money was the issue. The commons in particular were determined to cut down the king’s expenditure and to be assured of value for money. At the very beginning of his reign Henry had put himself in a weak position. Criticising the extravagance of Richard and his money-raising methods, he had assured the commons he would not ask for money for the first year. This may have bought him some popularity, but it left him struggling for money ever after, and permanently in debt to nobles, the Church and even his own son.
Now, desperate for cash to pay for expensive wars, he found the commons determined to bargain hard before granting anything. Possibly weakened by his illness, the king was forced into concession after concession. He would limit his household. He would be advised by his council. He would name the council and, by implication, have it approved by Parliament. Worst of all, he would open his accounts to audit. No king of the time had ever yielded so much. Perhaps it is no wonder we find his son’s name among the council he nominated at the end of the year.
Archbishop Arundel became Lord Chancellor at the beginning of 1407 and immediately set about putting the royal finances in order. Much has been made about a division between the prince and archbishop, and the later ousting of the old guard by the new, but certainly at this point they seemed to work well in tandem. Although the prince was busy in Wales this year, still he found time to be present at about two-thirds of the council meetings. Indeed, the failure of the first siege at Aberystwyth has been ascribed to the fact that the prince, thinking the castle sure to surrender very shortly, left the conclusion in the hands of deputies while he returned to Westminster for council business.
One of the first acts of the king in 1407 was to confirm the legitimacy of his Beaufort half-brothers. Since this had already been done at least twice before it seems odd that it needed mentioning again. This time, however, there was a sting in the tail. The Beauforts were declared to be legitimate for all purposes except for any possible succession to the Crown. Such a possibility was remote anyway, as King Henry had four strong sons of his own and the succession had already been confirmed as to his heirs male. There is a suggestion that it was Archbishop Arundel who promoted the exception, thereby causing a degree of coolness in their future relations, but we can only speculate as to why. The rise of this late third family of John of Gaunt had not been popular with some of the older nobility, and the archbishop may simply have been reflecting that feeling.
It is certain, however, that their star was rising, along with that of the Prince of Wales. Family had always been favoured by King Henry – possibly in his position he felt that no one else was so trustworthy – and he had certainly put his children to work at an early age. Henry was sent to Wales at thirteen, and Thomas to rule Ireland at about the same time, while young John was given responsibility in the Scottish borders. Only Humphrey escaped this early burden, being given instead a scholar’s education. His daughters, too, were married off early to form alliances in Europe.
Prince Henry seemed to have the same idea. As he became more and more involved with the council, it was family he turned to – not his younger brothers, though their turn would come later, but his ‘uncles’, the Beauforts. The eldest, John Beaufort, became a regular attender at council meetings. So too did his brother, Henry, now Bishop of Winchester, who seems to have been a political mentor to the young prince in the same way as Hotspur had earlier been his military mentor. When P
arliament was called in October 1407, even the Speaker elected then was a cousin of the Beauforts, one Thomas Chaucer, son of the more famous Geoffrey.
This parliament, while still urging austerity on the part of the king, seemed well enough content to vote an increased grant of money for royal use, and in return Henry promised he would not call on them again for the next two years. In the meantime government would be by king and council, and, when the king was seriously ill, by council alone.
By some accounts the king became increasingly an invalid over the next few years and almost completely relinquished power. Others suggest this is overstated and that, apart from a few months of acute illness, his hand was still firmly on the tiller. Whichever is true, it is clear that it was during this period that Prince Henry came to prominence in the council, an apprenticeship in government to go along with his earlier apprenticeship in war.
Over this time, too, some divisions began to appear between the prince and the archbishop, who had worked so well together before. It may have been simply a generational problem. By this time Arundel was fifty-six with a lifetime of service behind him. Henry was in his early twenties and had already demonstrated in his principality that he had his own ideas and was not afraid to put them forward. His steady promotion of the Beauforts may also have irked the archbishop, and, while they agreed that royal finances urgently needed reforming, they may well have disagreed about how this was to be done. The fact that most accounts attribute any progress in this area to the prince may also have been hard for the older statesman to swallow.
One particular area seems to show how far the breakdown in relations had gone. It was a particular concern of the archbishop, as a churchman, to stamp out the heresy of the Lollards. When he discovered Lollard teachings were being studied at Oxford University, he took strong action to prevent this, and it may have been a surprise to him to find the prince in opposition to this action, supporting the freedoms of the university.
On 21 December 1409 Arundel’s chancellorship came to an end. By most accounts he resigned, though there is a suggestion that his hand was forced. What is clear is that the prince’s party, as it has been labelled, was now firmly in control of the council. After a gap of some four weeks, which may suggest the king had some sympathy for his old friend, a new Chancellor was appointed from among the Beauforts – not Bishop Henry, as might have been expected, but his younger brother Thomas, now joining the council for the first time.
In fact the council that was named in May 1410 was packed with the prince’s friends. Bishop Henry was there, along with two other bishops, of Durham and of Bath and Wells. Thomas, Earl of Arundel, son of the earl executed by Richard, had served the prince in Wales, as had Lord Burnell and Henry, Lord Scrope, nephew of the late archbishop. When these last two were later replaced, Henry Chichele, then Bishop of St Davids, joined the council, along with Richard, Earl of Warwick. The former had earlier been involved in diplomacy aimed at securing a bride for the prince, while the latter had fought with him at Shrewsbury and in Wales.
This was the council that would effectively govern the country for the next two years. It is probably a mistake to think that King Henry had completely retired from the scene, but to start with, at least, the relationship between king and prince seemed to help the council to work very smoothly.
The relationship with Parliament seemed equally smooth. This may have been down to the prince’s popularity in the country – he was repeatedly thanked for his efforts in Wales – or possibly because his policies and the demands of the commons happily coincided. It no doubt also helped that Thomas Chaucer was again elected Speaker.
The parliament of 1410 had two main concerns: finance and the defence of the realm. The king, they said, should husband his resources, not give away lands but use their revenues for the support of his household. The prince, too, had money as a priority. He had already learned how essential it was to ensure a regular supply in order to achieve anything in war or peace. He made it clear to the commons that the council would be prepared to resign en masse unless money was made available to them, and several times suggested that more was needed, but in general the aims of reform and efficiency were the same.
As for the defence of the realm, this again was a shared concern. Wales, Scotland, Ireland, all needed attention, as did the remnants of English territories in France, chiefly Calais and parts of Aquitaine, while piracy around the English coasts was a menace to both trade and to the coastal population. The parliament made a rather pointed demand that those with military responsibilities for these areas should take up residence there and do their duty. A contrast is noted here between Prince Henry and his brother Thomas, the former once again being thanked for his service while the latter was more or less told to go away and try harder. This seems unfair, since Thomas had been kept notoriously short of funds and probably had the harder task.
At about this time a breach occurred between the brothers, partly as a result of a dispute between Thomas and the Beauforts. He had recently married the widow of John Beaufort, and claimed through her a share in a substantial inheritance. This was contested by Bishop Henry. As a result, Thomas was not one of his brother’s ‘party’, and almost alone of the younger generation would side with his father and the recently ousted Archbishop Arundel in future matters.
The council members had been required to swear an oath to Parliament that they would give the king good and impartial advice so that his rule should be effective for his good and the good of the kingdom. The prince alone was exempted from this, due to the ‘highness and excellence of his honourable person’. Whether this was supposed to make the council answerable to Parliament as well as to the king is not clear, but as long as all proceeded harmoniously the question never arose. In the meantime the council, if not the government of the realm, was undoubtedly under the prince’s control, and both benefitted from a unity of purpose rare at the time.
The first clear divisions appeared in 1411 and France was the cause. Of the two factions fighting there for control, neither was strong enough to defeat the other, and both began casting around for allies. England, however, had its own agenda and support for either side would come at a price.
Initially it seemed as though Burgundy, led by John the Fearless, would be the beneficiary. Prince Henry certainly favoured the alliance. John offered his daughter as a bride, together with support for English interests in France, and the Flemish trade connection would have been helped as well.
There are two different versions of what happened next. In one the king decided that he himself would lead an expedition to France, maybe not exactly in support of Burgundy, but not against it either. This was ordered in August, but by the time the fleet and supplies had been assembled in September he had either changed his mind, or become too ill to pursue the campaign. In the other version the king remained uncommitted to any alliance and it was the prince who authorised the more limited expedition that set out at the end of September.
This was led by the Earl of Arundel, accompanied by the Earl of Warwick and Bishop Henry Chichele, and was specifically in support of Burgundy. With striking success they defeated the opposing Armagnac faction at St Cloud on 9 November, not only opening the way to Paris for the Burgundians, but also revealing the weakness of the French forces. By the time they returned triumphantly to England in December, however, they found that all had changed at home.
On 30 November King Henry had abruptly returned to the forefront of government, dismissed his Lord Chancellor, the prince and the majority of the prince’s friends from the council, and reinstated Archbishop Arundel. For the next eighteen months Prince Henry would have no role at all in government, even when the king suffered another bout of illness in December 1412, and his friends and supporters were likewise eclipsed.
Many reasons have been put forward for this sudden change, and probably all of them have some validity. At one extreme we are told the prince’s behaviour was so bad, his arrogance and assumption of power so bl
atant, that the king could no longer tolerate it. There is a suggestion that the prince had called on his father to abdicate, though in some accounts the suggestion came from Bishop Henry Beaufort, who also found himself in disgrace at this time. ‘Abdicate’ was, of course, a dangerous word to use to a king who had been so closely involved with the ‘abdication’ of his predecessor.
Both the prince and the bishop strenuously denied this claim, and the prince seems to have spent much of the next year apparently seeking a reconciliation with his father. Unless all his conduct during this time was one mighty charade – and there is a writer who accuses him of deliberately ‘harassing the last hours of his dying father’ – the rift seems to have been all on one side.
It may be that King Henry felt threatened by his son’s youth and popularity. He himself was at the time only in his mid-forties, but clearly aged by responsibilities and illness. The contrast may have been hard to bear. The prince’s way with Parliament might also have caused him alarm. In the reform of royal finances, too much may have been promised or given away. There is a sharp exchange recorded between the king and the Speaker of the Commons at that time assembled, where the king declared that, though they might speak their minds freely, he would tolerate no ‘novelleries’ nor any attack on the liberties and franchises of the monarch.
