Passage to Pontefract (35 page)

It was unfortunate that the plot against John of Gaunt had failed. The friar was an innocent man who had been trapped into being the betrayer of the ‘plot’. He had been a simple man and it had been easy to play subtly on his incredulity. Robert had banked on Richard’s losing his temper and acting on impulse as he so often did. Then John of Gaunt would have been taken away and executed before enquiries were made. It had happened like that more than once.

But here he was with a failed plot and yet not entirely failed. Not while the miracles continued and they must make sure that there was no falling off of those for while they persisted feeling ran high against John of Gaunt.

Thomas Mowbray, Earl of Nottingham, another favourite of the King’s though none could compare with Robert of course, was equally eager to be rid of John of Gaunt. Nor were they the only ones. They had their supporters.

He discussed the matter with Mowbray. ‘This time,’ he said, ‘we must make sure of our man. We have agreed that it will not be difficult to get him arrested and accused. Feeling is running high. People really do believe in those miracles. He shall be summoned to a meeting of the Council at Waltham and there accused. This time he shall stand trial.’

‘And you think judges would dare convict him?’

‘My dear Mowbray, judges we shall choose will. They will be as anxious to see the end of him as we are.’

‘And Richard?’ asked Mowbray.

‘Leave Richard to me.’

‘He will be present, you know.’

‘My dear fellow, I know how to play on Richard’s fears. He is already half convinced that he should have listened to the friar. He has nightmares, dreams of the tortures. He has a very delicate mind, our King. He does not like to contemplate torture, even that of men who would be plotting against him. A nice quick stroke of the sword or the axe, that is Richard’s idea of despatching his enemies. He is very suspicious of Uncle John and of Uncle Thomas. Thomas rushing in like that and flourishing his sword was playing right into our hands. Rest assured, my dear Nottingham, that this time it will be the end of John of Gaunt.’

Robert was right. It was easy to convince Richard. ‘There are rumours,’ he whispered to him. ‘It is said that there
was
a plot and that John of Gaunt cleverly extricated himself as he has done so often before.’

‘There are times when I could bring myself to believe that,’ said Richard.

‘There was another miracle at the friar’s tomb yesterday,’ went on Robert. ‘My lord if treason were proved against John of Gaunt you would not hesitate …’

‘Whoever commits treason must pay the penalty,’ answered Richard firmly.

That there was some plot afoot was obvious to all who surrounded the King; and that Robert de Vere was at the heart of it seemed more than likely.

One man who was particularly suspicious was Michael de la Pole. He had become Chancellor and the King could not help being impressed by his management of affairs, for he had decreased Court expenditure considerably. His enemies had tried to bring charges of peculation against him but he had been able to rebut them. It was an absurd charge which had been brought against him. A fishmonger had accused him of taking a bribe when he, the fishmonger, was coming up for trial. This fishmonger, a certain John Cavendish, declared that he had been told that if he paid forty pounds to the Chancellor he would get judgement in his favour. Lacking the money the fishmonger declared he had sent a present of fish, but Michael de la Pole was able to prove that he had paid for the fish and the fishmonger was condemned for defamation of character.

De la Pole was very well aware how a man’s enemies could take a trivial incident, distort it and bring it against him.

He was now suspicious at the emphasis which was being placed on the so-called miracles and he guessed this meant a plot against John of Gaunt.

De la Pole was a patriotic man, and what he wanted was to bring about peace with France, for England needed peace not only beyond the seas but in England and while there was strife between the King and his uncles this could never be. Moreover it was a danger. The uncles were powerful men. It was true that John of Gaunt had distinguished himself rather by failure than success; but he was a man who must be regarded with respect. Edmund of Langley was of a milder disposition but it was very likely that he would stand with his brothers rather than his nephew; as for Thomas of Woodstock, there was a choleric man, a man ready to act rashly without fear of the consequences.

But de la Pole
did
fear the consequences, not only for himself but for England.

John of Gaunt was by no means loved by the people. In fact there was not a more unpopular man in the country – unless it was Robert de Vere. Even so if he were murdered doubtless he would become a martyr.

This plot must not be allowed to reach fruition.

At Hertford John of Gaunt received the summons to attend the Council.

He stood in the great hall with the letter in his hand, long after the messengers had retired to the kitchens to be refreshed.

Catherine found him there, and noticed at once that something was wrong. Their affection had not waned with the passing of the years. She was installed here in his house as the one who meant a great deal to him. He needed Catherine and she knew it and revelled in the knowledge.

Hers was a beauty which did not diminish with age. It was true that it had changed; and instead of the flames of passion which had flared between them in their youth there now burned a steady light which was more important to him than anything else.

It astonished him more than it astonished her.

He was to her her lover and her child. She often marvelled to think of this great man and herself. Who was she, the daughter of a humble man who had managed to get a knighthood on a battlefield, the widow of another knight, a simple country woman, to be the companion of the great John of Gaunt? But such was love, and theirs was enduring.

It was a life of thrills and terrors she had chosen. She knew that he was in constant danger and when she was not with him she was full of fear for his safety. Every time a messenger arrived she was afraid he was bringing some bad news. She longed for messengers to bring her news of him but always she feared what it might be.

And the happy times were when he was with her. They were the high peaks of her life, but she knew she had to pay for them and she spent most of her days in the valleys of fear.

Recently there had been this terrible affair of the Carmelite who had brought charges against him. She thanked God that was over.

She slipped her arm through his. ‘What news?’ she asked fearfully.

‘A summons to the Council at Waltham.’

Her heart missed a beat.

‘What is it, sweetheart?’ he asked.

She answered: ‘I felt as though someone was walking over my grave.’

‘Ah, Catherine, you have these fears now and then, my love.’

‘I fear greatly for you, John.’

‘You must not. Do you doubt that I can give a good account of myself?’

‘I doubt it not, but there are evil men who would do you ill. I can never trust de Vere.’

‘Who does? Except the King and he is besotted. Catherine, sometimes I think my nephew is going to be my grandfather all over again. People are already comparing de Vere with Gaveston.’

‘It cannot be so. What of the Queen?’

‘The Queen knows of this friendship and joins in it. She appears to find de Vere’s company diverting.’

Catherine shook her head. ‘Their ménage does not concern me. Let them live as they will as long as you are safe. What of this summons to Waltham?’

‘I must go. I shall be needed there. I am the King’s first counsellor whatever de Vere may think.’

‘I like it not.’

‘Oh Catherine, you fear too much.’

‘Methinks I love too much,’ she answered.

‘Nay that is something you can never do. Rest easy, sweetheart. I am as good a match for them as they for me … aye better.’

‘That Carmelite affair … It could so easily have …’

‘No, no, no. I can handle my nephew. He is a boy, nothing more … a weak boy.’

‘Which makes it all the more easy for wicked men to handle him. There is a warning in my heart, John. You must not go to Waltham.’

He tried to soothe her. There was nothing he would rather do than stay here with her in peace. But there was no peace. His life had brought him along a strange path. Sometimes he was unworldly enough to wish that on the death of Blanche he had married Catherine. Impossible. He could well imagine what an outcry there would have been. The King’s son and the widow of a man of no importance! And she had gone up in the social scale by marrying Swynford. No, he had to marry Constanza and the marriage had been a failure from the start, although it would bring him the crown of Castile one day he was sure. He and Constanza did not live together. He had done his duty and they had one daughter. There was an end of it. But his claim to Castile remained. One day he would be a king in truth.

The desire for a crown! It had haunted his life. And he might have had the crown of England too if he had been born earlier. He was born too late. That was the theme of his life. Too late.

Too late he had realised that he would have been a happier man if he had married Catherine and lived the life of a nobleman – adviser to the King yes, but not for ever dogged by this accursed ambition.

Now he had to soothe her. She was obsessed by this council at Waltham.

He talked to her a great deal – when they walked in the gardens, when they were alone indoors, when she lay beside him at night and they both marvelled in the wonder of their relationship which they knew would go on until one or the other died.

‘Don’t go,’ were the last words she said that night but his answer was: ‘I must.’

He was preparing to leave. Whatever was in store – and Catherine’s apprehension had communicated itself to him – he must go.

She would watch him ride away and then she would go to the topmost tower so that she might see the last of him; and he would turn and wave to her and his heart would be sick with longing to stay with her.

But he must go. He could not say good-bye to ambition now. He could not say: I, John of Gaunt, will no longer fight for the crown of Castile. I will stay on my estates and live in comfort for the rest of my life beside my mistress.

There were sounds of arrival in the courtyard.

He hurried down to the hall. A man was there. He was talking to some of the startled guards.

‘Take me at once to the Duke.’

John cried out in amazement for the man who stood there was Michael de la Pole.

‘What has happened?’ asked John.

De la Pole looked around him.

‘Come with me,’ said John, and took him to a private chamber. Catherine came in, her eyes fearful.

John took her arm and said to de la Pole, ‘You may speak before Lady Swynford.’

De la Pole said: ‘You must not go to Waltham.’

‘Why so?’

‘They are planning to arrest you before the Council and bring you to trial for plotting against the King.’

‘What nonsense! They could never prove a thing against me … for nothing exists.’