The Star of Lancaster (32 page)

It seemed then that the victory was going to Hotspur. Shouts for him filled the air. Harry stood firm. This was battle and he knew he was meant for it. He could scarcely feel the wound on his face.

He rallied his men about him and all forgot that he was but fifteen years old.

Hotspur was certain of victory. He was going to dethrone Henry. He was going to see the rightful heir on the throne; he was going to avenge Richard’s death.

‘Hotspur!’ shouted the triumphant voices about him.

Then it happened. Flushed with imminent victory as he was, he did not see the arrow until it struck him. It pierced his brain and he fell from his horse a – dead man.

He did not hear the triumphant cry from the King’s forces.

Hotspur was dead and his death decided the day.

It was the end of the battle and triumph for Henry.

The Duke of Brittany was dying. The Duchess Joanna nursed him herself but as she did so she could not prevent her thoughts straying to Henry of Lancaster and wondering how he was faring in England.

She had pressed the little blue flower he had given her. Forget-me-not. That was what he had called it and she never would forget him.

He had on several occasions indicated the warmth of his feelings towards her and implied that had she not been the wife of the Duke there might have been a match between them. He was King now. Well, she was the daughter of a King and her mother had been the daughter of the King of France. There could be no question of her worthiness to become Queen of England.

News came now and then to Brittany of what was happening overseas. She knew that Henry had not married again. His time had been taken up first with seizing the throne
and then holding it; and this she believed he was doing now.

There had been rumours about Richard’s death. Some said he had been murdered. One version was that men had entered his cell and killed him. Another was that he had been starved to death. But the murderer in both cases had been named as Henry, for though, it was said, he may not have done the deed himself, he would have ordered others to do it.

It would have been necessary, argued Joanna.

She wondered whether he ever thought of her or whether his mind was completely taken up with the stirring events about him.

Suppose he sent for her, would she have been able to go to him? It would not be possible at this stage. She was forgetting her young son, now the Duke of Brittany and a minor. She could not leave him.

She feared Clisson; she knew that he had a very ambitious daughter, the wife of the Count of Penthievres, who believed that through him she had a greater claim to the throne of Brittany than Joanna’s son.

Glisson was an honourable man, and although the rival claimant to the throne had married his daughter he had regarded the late Duke as the true heir to Brittany. Joanna believed she could treat with him.

In this she was proved right. She would promise concessions to Clisson; she would remain Regent and with his help rule the Duchy until her son was in a position to do so. The Duke of Burgundy, who was Joanna’s uncle, and the King of France were to have guardianship of the Duchy and the young members of the family until they came of age.

Joanna had in fact shown great shrewdness in bringing about this reconciliation for the power, wealth and popularity
of Clisson if used against her could have robbed her son of his inheritance.

But once Clisson had given his word and signed the treaty he was as strong a supporter of the little Duke as Joanna could wish, which was proved when his daughter Marguerite, who had wanted the Dukedom for her husband, went to her father in a state of great agitation and asked him why he worked against his own family. ‘So much could depend on you,’ she said. ‘You could give us Brittany. It is my children’s inheritance.’

‘You ask too much,’ Clisson had replied. ‘The Duke of Burgundy is coming here. It may be he will take the children with him to the French Court. He is one of their guardians now.’

‘Father,’ cried the ambitious Marguerite, ‘there is still time to remove them.’

‘Remove them?’ he answered. ‘Are you mad?’

‘You could have them killed. If they were no more, our path would be clear.’

Clisson was so overcome with horror that he cried out: ‘What a wicked woman you are! You ask me to kill these innocent children. I would rather kill you.’ And so great was his disgust that momentarily he meant it and drew his sword.

She, seeing the purpose in his eyes, turned and fled and in doing so fell headlong down a flight of stairs. She was always to remember that encounter for she broke her thigh bone which never healed properly and made her lame for the rest of her life.

The Duke of Burgundy arrived in Brittany and twelve-year-old Pierre who was now called John was invested with the ducal habit, circlet and sword and in the same ceremony his younger brothers Arthur and Jules were knighted.

Now that her son had been proclaimed Duke and he had the powerful Duke of Burgundy and King of France as his guardians, and Oliver Clisson had sworn to uphold him, Joanna felt herself to be free.

If Henry were to send for her she could go to him; but the Pope would never agree to the marriage she knew and how to bring it about without that approval?

The fact was that the papal schism now existed and England supported Boniface who was called the anti-pope by those who gave their allegiance to Benedict as Brittany did.

But Joanna was not of a nature to accept obstacles.

Henry had not yet suggested marriage and only he and she were aware of the feelings they had aroused in each other. She hit on a plan to ask the Pope’s permission to marry anyone of her choice within the fourth degree of consanguinity. She had not very long been widowed; she was quite young so it seemed reasonable to predict that she might wish to marry again. So carefully was her plea to the Pope worded that he saw no reason why he should not give his consent and this he did, having no notion at all that the bridegroom she had in mind was that King whom Benedict would call a rebel.

Joanna was amused by her own cleverness.

When she sent word to Henry to tell him what she had done, he responded with alacrity. Let them be married by proxy without delay. Joanna then sent one of her squires, a certain Antoine Riczi, to England and there in the palace of Eltham the proxy marriage took place.

It was impossible to keep secret for long such an event as the marriage of the King of England and the widowed Duchess of Brittany and the Papal Court at Avignon heard word and
immediately sent word to Joanna that in being a party to this marriage she had committed a deadly sin. She had promised to live in matrimony with a supporter of Boniface.

Joanna however was not going to allow such a decree to stop her marrying the man of her choice and when she made this clear Benedict, realising that he might lose her support, gave his permission for her to live with Henry as long as she did not swerve in her allegiance to himself, the true Pope. It might well be that she could turn her husband from the error of his ways and bring him back into the fold.

Joanna herself was delighted with this show of friendship – clever woman to have got the better of the Pope.

The Duke of Burgundy had arrived in France with rich gifts for the Duchess and her family. She had shown by her forceful acts that she was a woman to be reckoned with and it was disconcerting to contemplate that she was going to be allied with that old enemy Henry of England.

Joanna felt that she could with a good conscience leave her sons in the guardianship of the powerful Duke of Burgundy.

She said good-bye to her sons and watched their departure to the Court of France knowing that the King of France would keep the peace of Brittany and preserve the Duchy for her son. Her two daughters, Blanche and Marguerite, should travel with her to England.

It was a rough crossing and at one time Joanna thought she would never see England; the intention had been to land at Southampton, but so strong was the gale that their vessel was blown along the coast. They were lucky to be able to land at Falmouth.

At the head of her party she rode inland and at Winchester she had the pleasure of seeing Henry who, when he heard
that she had landed at Falmouth, came to meet her with all speed.

It was a moment of great joy for her when they were face to face.

He took her hand and kissed it.

‘It seems long since we last met,’ he said.

She answered: ‘But I kept the flower you gave me. Do you remember?’

‘You may be sure I do. Forget me not was its message.’

‘Then all is as it was . . .’

‘And shall be as long as we two live.’

They rode side by side into the city; and the next day their marriage was solemnised in the Church of St Swithin with great pomp and ceremony.

Henry was determined to honour his bride.

The old Earl of Northumberland was stricken with grief when he heard of the death of his son. Hotspur had been a great name; he was his father’s favourite son and his defeat and death must plunge the house of Northumberland into deep and bitter mourning.

But not for long. The old Earl cried out for vengeance. He was going to get it and he would not rest until he had driven Henry of Lancaster from the throne he had no right to possess.

He was still in touch with Owen Glendower. The Mortimers were with them. They had a right to the throne. Their cause was just. Together they would go on fighting and to hell with the usurpers.

The power of the Percys was great; they were more than
border barons; they were the border kings. ‘We have been defending that border at our own expense for years,’ declared the Earl. ‘Are we going on doing it for the benefit of Henry of Lancaster?’

Northumberland was stricken with furious grief when he heard that his son’s body, which had been given decent burial at Whitchurch, had been dug up on the King’s orders. That it had been taken in a rough cart to Shrewsbury, and had been salted to prevent decomposition and set up between two millstones close to the pillory so that all might see to what end proud Hotspur had come.

‘He is too great an enemy to rest in obscurity,’ said Henry. ‘I want all the world to see what he has come to because he defied his King.’

Hotspur’s head was cut off and the rest of his body cut into quarters and sent for prominent display to Newcastle, Chester, Bristol and London. As for the head he wanted that placed in York on the city’s northern gate so that it was turned towards that part of the country over which for so long he had been a ruler.

The old Earl was mad with grief. He lived only for revenge. When he received a command from the King that if he came to York they would talk and settle their grievances he had no alternative but to accept the invitation. Henry knew that he would have to pass through the northern gate on which was the head of his son.

As Northumberland rode into York and saw that grisly relic he was filled with an all-consuming hatred against the King. ‘A thousand curses on Bolingbroke,’ he muttered.

He was soon to realise that he had been a fool to come. Henry had no intention of making terms with him as yet. He told the old man that several of his castles would be confiscated
and he himself confined near Coventry until his case could be tried by his peers.

This was utter humiliation. And there was more to come. But it was no use allowing his pride to stand in the way of his purpose. He had to make a show of humility if he were going to save his life, and he intended to save it if only for the purpose of taking his revenge on Bolingbroke. It was finally decided that as he had not actually been in battle he could not be judged guilty of treason so would merely be fined; and if he swore to serve the King faithfully in future he might return to Northumberland.

Henry was a man who did not keep his promises; Northumberland would be the same.

Yes, he would agree to anything. But when he returned to Northumberland he would plot the downfall of the man who called himself the King.