Passage to Pontefract (19 page)

His efforts had taken great toll of his strength and Joan was beside herself with anxiety. He grew excited as he told her what he had been able to achieve. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I must live long enough to see Richard proclaimed as true heir to the throne.’

‘None could deny that he is.’

‘John is wily. I know not what is in his mind.’

‘Surely he can’t have plans to take the throne, to make that Henry of his Prince of Wales!’

‘I do not know what goes on in his mind. I think what he wants is to rule the country and if he cannot wear a crown while he is doing so he will rule without it.’

‘You mean he would take charge of Richard?’

‘I think that is his idea. Jeanette, you will have to guard our boy.’

‘He is not going to be King for many many years. We shall both be here to train him and guide him.’

‘You were always one to deceive yourself when you felt happier doing so.’

‘I was always one to believe in the good that could come to those who sought it. Remember how I married you.’

‘I shall never forget that, dear Jeanette, nor could I forget the years we have had together. They have been good. They gave us our Richard. Oh my Jeanette, that boy fills my thoughts. To think that one day, ere long I know, a crown will be placed on his golden head.’

She stooped and kissed him. ‘Not for many many years, I promise you.’

He sighed. It was no use trying to convince Jeanette.

He had other work to do. He must keep the Good Parliament in power. He must let all those right-thinking men know that he stood with them.

He sent for William of Wykeham, the Bishop of Winchester, who had risen from comparatively humble beginnings and who had always been a close friend of his. Wykeham was a man come to office through his brilliant mind. The Prince had always respected him and he turned to him now because he wished to muster as many trusted men as he could that he might enlist their help for his son when the time came.

Wykeham swore that he would stand by young Richard.

‘I thank you, my lord Bishop,’ said the Prince. ‘As you see I am in a poor state, I cannot believe that many more weeks are left to me.’

The Bishop did not attempt to deny this. He believed it was true and he deplored the fact that such a great man should be so low in health and spirit. He promised to pray for the Prince and he added that he was sure that such a man as he would be received into Heaven.

The Prince replied: ‘That might have been so. I have served my country and would willingly at any time have given my life for it. There was a time though, when the devil took possession of me. Limoges. I shall never get it out of my mind.’

‘Many of us have one black spot on our souls, my lord. Pray for forgiveness. It may be that in recompense for the good you have done the evil will be forgiven.’

‘I feel that all my prayers must be for my son. He is very young, Lord Bishop. I tremble when I contemplate his youth.’

‘Burley is a good man. His mother is devoted to him. You yourself, my lord, have done him much good. Fear not for your son. The Lord will provide.’

When the Bishop had gone the Prince sank back on his bed exhausted and none of the possets Joan brought him did anything to alleviate his pain.

It was obvious now that the end was near.

‘Jeanette,’ he said, ‘my only love, the time is near now. No, it is no use hiding from the truth. It has come and we must needs face it. Send a message to my father. I would he could be here at my bedside.’

‘I will send to him immediately,’ she said. ‘But it may be he will be too ill to come.’

‘I fancy he will if he can.’

The King made all haste to reach Kennington. This was his beloved son, the child who had brought so much joy to him and Philippa in the early days of their marriage when each had been all that the other had desired. Edward the Black Prince and hero, destined to follow his father, the pride of the nation, now a sick man asking his father to come to his death bed!

What had happened to the world!

How, thought the King, have I offended God?

The tears ran down his sunken cheeks as he knelt by the bed.

The years slipped away and he was there with Philippa – dear good Philippa who had never known how to titillate his senses as Alice did; but Philippa who had been good and steady, had always stood beside him, firmly supporting him, and the people had loved her. A wonderful marriage. Yet he had sullied it. Alice had been there before Philippa had died and Philippa had known it.

Life was cruel. And we hurt most those we love best, thought the King.

And there was Joan standing there, bereft, with the strange blank look in those eyes which had once been so bright and provocative and had sent his heart pounding and wondering … Joan the wife of the Black Prince, royal herself, one of the sprigs from the great Plantagenet tree.

‘Joan,’ murmured the King, ‘so it has come to this …’

Joan nodded, unable to speak.

She was leaning over the bed. She laid her lips on that clammy forehead and gently pushed aside the hair thick still and with a touch of gold in it. ‘My dear love, the King is here.’

Edward opened his eyes. ‘Father …’

The King buried his face in his hands and his body heaved with his sobs.

‘My lord, my lord,’ whispered Joan restrainingly.

‘My son, my son,’ moaned the King.

‘He would speak with you, my lord,’ said Joan. ‘And the time is passing.’

Her voice broke on a sob and she turned away fearful lest the Prince should see her grief.

‘Father, I must speak …’

‘My son, speak. I listen. What you ask of me I will endeavour to do.’

‘Confirm my gifts, pay my debts, Father.’

‘It shall be done, my dear son.’

‘And Richard … my boy Richard. You will protect him. He is young yet. A boy, no more. So young … too young. Father, promise me you will look to him.’

‘I swear it,’ said the King. ‘He shall have my protection. Have no fear, son. Richard will be looked after. I give my word to it.’

‘Jeanette … the boy …’

He was brought in, wide-eyed, pale of skin and very beautiful, such a contrast to the dying man on the bed and the poor broken one who knelt beside it … yet so clearly one of them.

‘Richard, come here.’

Richard came to the bed.

‘My lord, take his hand. Swear to me …’

The King took the boy’s hand and said: ‘I swear to you on my soul that I shall protect this boy. With my life I will protect him. He is my heir. I swear it.’

The Prince nodded, satisfied.

‘Richard,’ said the Prince, ‘do not attempt to take away any of the gifts I have bestowed.’

‘I promise, Father,’ said the boy.

‘You would be cursed if you did so.’

Richard looked bewildered and Joan, laying her hand on his shoulder, drew him away from the bedside.

The King was looking at her anxiously and said: ‘It is time to send for the priest.’

She nodded and taking her son by the hand led him away.

The priest was with the Prince who asked forgiveness of his sins. The word Limoges kept rising to his lips.

And so he died.

The King was bewildered. His son dead and he still living! And his heir a young boy just nine years old!

He gave orders that the Prince should be buried with great ceremony and he was laid to rest in Canterbury Cathedral and above his tomb was hung his surcoat and helmet, his shield and his gauntlet that all might remember that great and glorious warrior who was known as the Black Prince.

  Chapter VI  

RIOT AT THE SAVOY

T
he death of the Black Prince, although expected, had brought home to men such as Peter de la Mare and William of Wykeham the precarious position in which they had placed themselves. They had succeeded in getting Alice Perrers dismissed from Court; they had put a curb on bribery; but they had only been able to do so because of the Support of the Prince.

Now he was dead and the most powerful man in the country was John of Gaunt – their sworn enemy.

It was Peter de la Mare who decided on prompt action. He pointed out that there was a little time left to them before the Parliament could be dissolved and they must make full use of it.

First, agreed William of Wykeham, they must obtain the King’s permission to add twelve bishops and lords to the Council; and he, William of Wykeham, would be one of them. And secondly and most important they must have Richard of Bordeaux publicly acknowledged as his heir by the King.

When this last matter was laid before the King he declared with tears in his eyes that he had sworn to his son the Black Prince to protect Richard and so would he do. Richard should be publicly acknowledged as the true heir to the throne as he undoubtedly was.

One of the selected members of the Council was Edmund de Mortimer, Earl of March, the husband of Lionel’s daughter Philippa who, since Lionel was older than John of Gaunt, would come before him in the claim to the throne if Richard were to die.

Mortimer and John of Gaunt had been wary of each other for a long time. Mortimer had been behind the Black Prince in his determination to bring about reforms; his old guardian had been William of Wykeham so there was a strong tie between the two of them. Thus when the committee were selected to be close to the King and advise him, Edmund, Earl of March had been a natural choice and he with William Courtenay, Bishop of London, and William of Wykeham were the most influential of them all and every one of them was opposed to John of Gaunt and all he stood for.

The ambitions of John were made very apparent when he sought to introduce a bill to bring in the Salic law, as it was in France. If this were passed it would mean that the throne could not be inherited by a woman and John of Gaunt would come immediately behind Richard of Bordeaux in the succession.

Parliament dismissed the idea without considering it, and John was afraid to press it because of the bearing it had on his father’s claim to the throne of France.

Parliament was dissolved in July – only a few weeks after the death of the Black Prince; and then the might of John of Gaunt was realised.

He had his supporters all over the country. The Londoners might detest him, but it was being said elsewhere that a child could never bring stability to the country; and it was clear that John of Gaunt – now the King’s eldest living son – was going to take over the government. Therefore it was wise to stand well with him. John determined to rid himself of his enemies and the first attack came on Edmund de Mortimer who held the office of Marshal. He was ordered to proceed to Calais, and there report on the defences.

Mortimer knew that this meant he was dismissed from the King’s Council, and he was certain, too, that when he reached Calais it would be easy for him to be killed. The country would not introduce the Salic law; and if he were dead there would be none to support his daughter’s claim to the throne.

No, said Mortimer, I prefer to lay down my staff than my life, and solved the matter by resigning his post as Marshal which was immediately given to Lord Henry Percy, a strong supporter of John of Gaunt.

The next act was to bring a case against William of Wykeham who was accused of governing badly during the term of his Chancellorship, of embezzlement, extorting money and extracting bribes.

‘I can prove all these accusations false,’ he cried to his accusers. ‘I need time.’

‘You did not give Lord Latimer time to prove the charges against him false,’ he was reminded.

John was alert, watching the mood of the people. He realised that he could not go too far with Wykeham and he declared that he should be granted time to prove his case. He was however determined to find Wykeham guilty.

When he came to stand before the Council that judgement might be passed, he was accompanied by William Courtenay, the Bishop of London, which implied that the Church was watching how one of its members was treated.

Wykeham declared that he would take his oath that never had he used funds for his advantage. The Council was not interested in oaths, was the retort, but facts.

John said: ‘This man is guilty. I demand he pay the full penalty.’

Courtenay reminded him that William of Wykeham was a Bishop and therefore he could not be sentenced by a secular Court.

John was furious but he realised he could at this stage do nothing. If he had his way he would curtail the power of the Church considerably.

So the outcome of the trial was that William of Wykeham’s goods should be confiscated to the Crown and the trial would be adjourned to a later date.

With the power of March and Wykeham clipped John was able to take immediate action. De la Mare was made a prisoner and Lord Latimer was released. The people of London discussed this turn of affairs together and de la Mare became a hero. Ballad singers in the streets sang songs about him. A great resentment was growing against John of Gaunt and his friends and this was increased when Alice Perrers was allowed to come back to Court.

The King was overjoyed to see her. He could not thank his dear son John enough for being so careful of his comfort.

There was no doubt that at this time John of Gaunt was the most powerful man in the country. Then the scandal broke.

In the taverns the story was being whispered. It seemed incredible but there were so many who wanted it to be true for if it were John of Gaunt would be disqualified for ever.

Heads were close together; at first it was spoken of in whispers and then people grew bolder. The Londoners had never been noted for their fear of authority and had always regarded themselves outside the laws which must be obeyed by the rest of the country. They said what they thought and nothing was going to stop them.

John was first aware of what was happening when he came riding from Westminster to the Savoy.

‘Bastard!’ The name was flung at him. It was one word which meant so much.

He was soon to discover how much.

The story was that he was not the true son of King Edward and Queen Philippa. There was some mystery about his birth which had come out now through William of Wykeham who had been present at the deathbed of Good Queen Philippa and had it from her dying lips.

It appeared that while she lay in Ghent in child-bed a daughter had been born to the Queen. Now it was well known that the King longed for a son. It was true at this time he already had two, Edward and Lionel; there had been a third, though, little William who had died soon after his birth.

The King was away in the wars and Philippa wanted to surprise him when he returned, so it was with great chagrin that she learned the child she had borne was a girl. She had other girls and the King was devoted to them so this did not seem too great a tragedy. However, as the child lay beside her she slept and overlaid it. The child was suffocated and died.

Terrified of the King’s wrath – for all knew that, great man though he was in those days, he possessed the Plantagenet temper which struck terror into all when it was aroused – she called to her a Flemish woman who had given birth to a healthy boy at the same time as she had had her child.

‘Give me your child,’ the Queen was reputed to have said, ‘and he shall be brought up as the son of a King. He shall be educated, live in luxury and never want.’

This was too much of a temptation for the humble Flemish woman and she gave her child to the Queen – that child was known to the world as John of Gaunt.

And who would believe it? There was a good reason for believing it. The Queen had confessed on her deathbed. In her last moments she had sent for William of Wykeham and told the story to him, with the injunction that he was not to divulge it, unless there was a chance of John of Gaunt’s coming to the throne.

Now the story was being allowed to seep out for John of Gaunt’s ambitions were carrying him very near to the crown.

That the story would not bear scrutiny mattered not. The people wanted to believe it and they were going to. That Philippa already had two healthy sons and would not have been greatly put out by giving birth to another daughter was brushed aside. That the King, loving his sons as he did, was besottedly fond of his daughters, could be forgotten. That Philippa, the most tender of mothers, was hardly likely to overlay a child – in any case it would be the duty of the nurses to take the child when its mother wished to sleep – all this was of no importance.

The people liked the story because it was against John of Gaunt and they were going to believe it.

John was furious. He paced through his apartments and shouted his anger.

Catherine tried to calm him. But he would not listen to her.

‘Wykeham is at the back of this!’ he cried. ‘He wants to destroy me.’

‘It is the most stupid story I ever heard,’ said Catherine.

‘Stupid it undoubtedly is but it has to be disproved. Isolda would have put an end to it. Who would know better than she did? My mother would tell the world what a stupid lie it is. But they are dead … The fabricators of this … of this … outrage know it and that is why they bring the charge.’

‘What of Wykeham? She is supposed to have made her confession to him.’

‘Wykeham is my enemy.’

‘Even so he is a man of the Church. He would not lie merely to harm you.’

John burst out laughing. ‘You know little of the ways of men, Catherine. My enemies would do anything to ruin me.’

Catherine tried to soothe him. She wished as so many others did that the Black Prince had not died. If only he had lived there would not be all this fear and suspicion. It was a great tragedy for England that God had taken the Prince who was the natural heir to the throne and so suited to the role.

John was ambitious, she had always known it. Power was at the very essence of his being. It was one of the attributes which attracted her so vitally. The strength of him – the awareness that this man who was clearly destined for greatness had need of her.