The star of Lancaster

THE FORGET-ME-NOT

The children were now in the charge of Mary Hervey and Joan Waring and they lived mainly at Kenilworth and when that castle needed sweetening, they moved for a while to Tut-bury. Life went on for them very much in the same way as before their mother's death, but they missed her sorely. Blanche could not remember her of course, but all the boys did, even three year old Humphrey. As for Harry he was sobered for a while. He was seven and old for his years. He felt that in the absence of his father he was head of the family and his ascendancy over his brothers seemed stronger than ever.

He missed her more than Mary and Joan would have believed; and at times he was quiet and rather sad thinking of her. He remembered what she had said to him and he realized that she knew then that she was dying. He promised himself he would try to do what she wanted and in consequence took up a protective attitude towards his brothers.

In the winter of the following year he caught a chill and became so ill that everyone thought he was going to die. His father in an agony of apprehension had the best doctors sent down from London and very soon Harry was surprising them by his determination to live. His health began to improve and he would lie in his bed listening to the songs of Wilkin.

Walkin, the minstrel whom their father had sent to them to teach them to sing. They were fond of music because their mother had always seen that there was plenty of it in the household. There were lessons with Mary Hervey and games with his brothers; he commanded them and tolerated his sisters and so life passed during the first year after his mother's death but none knew more than Harry that it would not remain as it was.

Henry was becoming more and more preoccupied with the country's affairs. Moreover, the King had gone to Ireland to attempt to sort out the troubles there and John of Gaunt went to Aquitaine with the same purpose in mind. This threw responsibilities on Henry, for the King had made him a member of the Council which ruled during his absence; and as his father was out of the country it was Henry's task to look after the Lancastrian estates.

Richard and John of Gaunt returned to England; and that year, the second after Mary's death, two important marriages took place in England.

John of Gaunt snapped his fingers at convention and did what he had wanted to do for a long time and that was marry Catherine Swynford. There were some members of the nobility who were horrified at this, but there were many who applauded it and thought the better of John of Gaunt for making Catherine his wife.

The King was one who approved of the match. He had always liked Catherine; moreover he was completely reconciled to his uncle Lancaster and as he relied on the advice the latter gave him, he was eager to please him. So not only did he show his approval of the match by receiving Catherine as the new Duchess, but he set his seal on it and won her eternal gratitude by legitimizing her children, the Beauforts, which next to marriage with the Duke was her dearest wish.

Henry was pleased. He had always looked upon Catherine as his stepmother and the Beauforts as his brothers. Now they were legally so.

The other marriage was that of Richard himself. Dearly as he had loved Anne he wanted to please his counsellors by marrying again, but he chose Isabella, the daughter of the King of France, much to the consternation of those about him, for Isabella was a child not quite ten years old. Perfect wife as she had been, Anne had failed in one respect. She had not provided an heir to the throne. It seemed the utmost folly therefore for Richard, the main purpose of whose marriage should be the begetting of children, to marry a child who would not be ready for childbearing for some four years at the earliest.

The inference was that Richard did not greatly care for women, and he did not want to replace Anne; and that the thought of a child wife who could be brought up in English ways and make no marital demands suited him very well.

Both John of Gaunt and Henry accompanied the King to France for the royal marriage. As Duchess of Lancaster Catherine Swynford was one of the ladies who would attend the new Queen, as were Mary's sister Eleanor and the Countess of Arundel. This Countess was Philippa, daughter of the Earl of March and therefore granddaughter of John of Gaunt's elder brother Lionel. She was very conscious of her royal blood and wished everyone about her to be.

Eleanor and Philippa created a sensation by their rudeness to Catherine and although the latter behaved as though she had failed to notice their bad manners, John of Gaunt was furious and determined to make them pay at some time for the insult.

There were however matters to occupy them other than this, and Lancaster was very eager that his son should understand the significance of what was happening.

"What can this marriage of Richard's mean?" he asked. "Obviously that there can be no heir to the throne for years. Anne could not get one either. The fault may have lain with Richard. The fact that he has chosen this marriage may be a key to the situation. But think what it means, Henry. When he dies who will follow him?"

"Lionel's heirs ..."

John of Gaunt snapped his fingers. "Too remote," he said. "You stand well in line, Henry."

"I am the same age as Richard and he seems in good health."

"He is unpredictable. At one time he showed signs of becoming a great King. He stood up to the rebels at Blackheath and Smithfield. He was a hero then. But where is the hero now? He faced the rebels because he did not realize what danger he was in. He was a child then. It worked, but it might easily not have done and then instead of a heroic act it would have been judged as one of folly. I see great events looming, Henry, and I want you to be prepared when they come. No more travels. You must stay near home. You must defend our estates. You must see that when the time comes you are at hand."

So when they returned to England Henry abandoned all thought of further travel and kept a watchful eye on what was happening about the King. There was peace with France but instead of easing the situation this seemed to aggravate it. The people were still complaining about the heavy taxes which were levied on them; and now that there was peace with France—if only temporary—for what reason did the exchequer need so much money? The answer was clear. Their King lived most extravagantly; he was constantly giving lavish banquets and entertainments to his friends; large sums were spent on his clothes which were bedecked with valuable jewels; the fact was that the people were expected to pay heavily for the upkeep of a Court which was far too luxurious to be paid for without their support.

Would Richard never learn? wondered John of Gaunt. There was trouble brewing.

Richard was aware that revolt was in the air; he knew that the leaders of it were his uncle Thomas of Gloucester, and the Earls of Arundel and Warwick. He decided to act and for once did so promptly. He invited them all to a banquet, his intention being to arrest them when they came. Gloucester and Arundel scented danger and did not appear. Warwick came and was arrested. But Warwick was of less importance than the other two and he was sent to the Tower where he remained. Arundel was lured to London, arrested on a charge of treason and John of Gaunt, as Seneschal of England, presided at his trial and sentenced him to death with some relish as he remembered the insults he had thrown at Catherine.

There remained Gloucester who was eventually captured and sent to Calais where he died mysteriously in an inn, said to have been smothered by feather beds being pressed upon him.

John of Gaunt was very disturbed. Thomas was after all his brother. There had never been great friendship between them even when they were young but when John had arranged for his son to get the coveted Garter award by ousting Thomas he had aroused his vitriolic brother's enmity; and even more so when he had snatched Mary from his control and married her fortune to his son Henry.

Still he was a brother and, as he confided to Henry, it was interesting to note that the three who had been pursued so relentlessly by the King—Gloucester, Arundel and Warwick —were three of the five Lords Appellant who had some years before confronted the King arms linked to show solidarity and wrung concessions from him.

The other two were Thomas Mowbray and Henry himself.

"You see," said the wise Duke of Lancaster, "it is necessary to tread very warily. Richard does not forget what he considers to be an insult. You and Mowbray should be watchful."

Richard however seemed to be fond of his cousin. He made him a Duke and Henry was now Duke of Hereford and Thomas Mowbray was Duke of Norfolk, so it seemed that long-ago incident was forgotten.

When he had bestowed the honour, Richard showed his friendship towards Henry by asking about his family and condoling with him on the death of his wife.

"We share a misfortune," he said, and went on to extol the virtues of his beloved Anne. It was true he had a little Queen of whom he was already fond. A child merely; but he was going to cherish her and bring her up to love England and to be its Queen.

"In some ways you are more fortunate than I," said the King. "You have your boys and girls. How many is it now? Four boys, I hear."

"Yes, I have four and two girls."

"And how old is your heir—young Harry of Monmouth is it not?"

"He is ten years old."

"And bright for his age, I hear. I want to meet Harry of Monmouth. I'll tell you what, cousin, he shall come to Court."

"I am overwhelmed by the honour," said Henry trying to hide his uneasiness. "He is now at Oxford in the care of my half-brother Henry Beaufort. He is Chancellor of the University, as you know, and it is good for Harry to be under his tuition."

"He would learn more at Court, cousin."

"You are too kind to the boy, my lord. He is over young to be a courtier."

"I am determined to have him here. I hear he is something of a rogue."

"My lord, he is but a child."

"But able to give a good account of himself. I like the sound of young Harry of Monmouth. I will send word that he is to come to Court."

It was clear that Richard was determined, and with a sinking heart Henry went to his father to tell him what had taken place between him and Richard.

Lancaster was at first disturbed by the news and then he said: It may well be that Richard wishes to show friendship. He has made you a Duke. He relies on me and has come to trust me. I think he is perhaps merely showing favour to my grandson."

In any case," replied Henry. "There is nothing we can do about it"

Harry was not sorry to leave Oxford for the Court. The King received him with a show of affection. "My good uncle's grandson," he said. "You are welcome, Harry."

Harry responded with genuine pleasure. He liked this good looking, sumptuously attired man with the delicate hands and the pink and white skin which coloured so pleasantly when he showed excitement, with the glittering garments and delicate perfume which hung about him.

And he is the King, thought Harry; and from that moment he wanted to be a king himself.

There was so much to see at Court. He first went to Eltham where the King was at that time and he was enchanted by the place. It was very different from gloomy Tutbury and even Kenilworth suffered by comparison. Richard, about whom everything must be elegant and in what he considered perfect taste which meant a reflection of his own delight in the combinations of colour and patterns, was amused to see how overawed his young kinsman was and for a while kept him close to him.

He showed him the rebuilding he had done at Eltham — the new bath house. "Never neglect to bathe, Harry," he said. "The practice gives pleasure to yourself as well as those about you. I abhor unsavoury odours." It was a practice the King carried out regularly. His person was always exquisite. He gave as much thought to the cut of his long-sleeved coats, the new houpelandes, his high collars, the padded shoulders of his jackets, his skin tight hose and his long pointed shoes as he did to matters of state. There was also the painted chamber and the dancing chamber—for the King loved to dance—and he had made new gardens for his recreation and alfresco entertainments.

It was a new world for Harry. He had been given a cote hardie decorated with the badge of the white hart which showed he was of the King's household; and when the Court travelled he travelled with it.

His days were full. He longed to be a knight and take part in the jousts but he was ten years old and others did not forget it if he did. He must attend his lessons with others of his age, for there were boys like himself from noble households at Court; then he must learn to ride and use his sword, practise archery so that when the time came for him to win his spurs he would be able to give a good account of himself.

It was a very different life from that he had lived under his mother's care or when he had been at Oxford. Harry absorbed what was going on around him and it excited him. Life at the King's Court was the life for him.

After he had been at Court for a week or so the King lost interest in him and he was just one of the boys who was being brought up there. He did not mind. There was enough to absorb him and he was more interested in the outdoor life than the books and music and fine clothes which the King set such store by.

The Court had moved to Windsor and the King was in good spirits. It was because the little Queen was there Harry was told, and Richard very much enjoyed the company of the little girl.

Harry was interested in the Queen because she was about his age and he thought how wonderful it must be to be so important.

Sometimes he would see the riders going off into the forest led by the King and beside him would ride the most beautiful girl Harry had ever seen. She was vivacious and added gesticulations to her persistent chatter. Her dark long hair hung loose about her shoulders and she wore the most elegant clothes which Harry learned had been chosen by the King.

One day when he was having a dancing lesson, which he was obliged to tolerate, she came into the room to watch. There were two other girls and two boys as well as himself and his partner and they were practising the newest Court dances. He felt more awkward than ever for those sparkling dark eyes had selected him for her special attention and it did not help matters when the dancing instructor pointed out another false step he had made.

Then the little Queen ran to him and taking his hand cried: "Come, dance with me, clumsy boy. I will show you the way."

He was overcome with embarrassment and disliked her in spite of her beauty which excited him and made him want to keep looking at her.

"I do not wish it, Madam," he said with a haughty bow.

"My lord," said the instructor. "The Queen honours you"

Harry said: "I am not honoured."

She began to laugh.

"He has no grace, this one," she said in rather halting English.

"The Queen commands you to dance with her" said the instructor glaring at him and trying to convey some message.

"No, no," cried Isabella. "I do not command. If he does not wish ..." She lifted her shoulders and set her features in an expression of mock tragedy. She turned to one of the other boys and took his hand, as she said, "Music, please."

The musicians began to play. Harry refused to dance and his partner and the girl who had danced with the boy whom Isabella had chosen, danced together while Harry stood by sullenly watching.

There was no doubt that the Queen danced beautifully. She had a special grace all her own. Now and then she glanced Harry's way and caught his eyes on her. That seemed to please her.

When the dance was over, she seemed to lose interest in the incident and laughing ran out of the room but not without first throwing a mocking glance in Harry's direction.

As soon as she had gone the instructor cried at Harry: "You are a fool. I never saw such behaviour in all my life. This could cost me my position and you your place at Court. Am I not supposed to be teaching you courtly manners as well as dancing and have I not just seen the worst display of bad manners that have ever been seen at Court? Do you realize she is the Queen?"

"I knew she was the Queen, of course," muttered Harry.

"And you refused to dance with her when she did you the honour of selecting you!"

"She was laughing at me"

"You refused to dance with the Queen! Rest assured, my lord, this is not the end of the matter. She will tell the King and you will be sent back to the country where you belong."

"I do not care," said Harry contemptuously.

But he did care. He very much enjoyed Court life. He could not bear to think of going back to the country to the care of Mary Hervey or return to Oxford to work under the stern eye of uncle Beaufort.

He kept thinking about her. She gave herself airs. Well, why shouldn't she? She was the Queen. And she was very beautiful. He had never seen anyone so beautiful. Her way of speaking was fascinating, as was her manner.

He had made her angry—although she had pretended not to be. She would tell the King and everyone said that the King denied her nothing for he loved her dearly and treated her like some precious little pet. She would only have to say I want that ill-mannered Harry of Monmouth sent away from Court and he would be dismissed.

All through the day he kept realizing how much he enjoyed Court life. He noticed too how elegant and charming some of the women were. None of them had the style of the Queen of course, although she was only a child. But she had changed him in some way. She had made him aware of things which he had never noticed before.

He was desolate, calling himself stupid to have antagonized her. At any moment the dismissal would come. His father would be angry with him; his grandfather would despise him. What hope would he have of rising if he was going to let his silly pride govern his actions?

He should have danced with the Queen; he should have flattered her. He should have made her like him. He could see it clearly, now that it was too late.

The summons did not come, however, and in a few weeks he ceased to expect it although he did not forget the Queen and whenever he could he took the opportunity of watching her, though she never noticed him again.

Everyone at Court was talking about the combat which was to take place between the Dukes of Hereford and Norfolk and as the Duke of Hereford was the title which had recently been bestowed on Harry's father this matter was of especial interest to him.

As far as Harry could understand, Thomas Mowbray, recently created Duke of Norfolk—at the same time as Henry of Lancaster had been made Duke of Hereford—had made a suggestion to Hereford which the latter construed as treason and which he had laid before the King.

Norfolk had retaliated by declaring that he was no traitor and that Hereford was bringing the accusation to cover up his own nefarious intentions.

The outcome of the matter was that the King had agreed that the two men should meet in combat. There was a great deal of whispering at Court and Harry had what Joan Waring had called long ears. If one of these men was a traitor, it was asked, what was the point in having a combat to settle it? A traitor might be the victor and an innocent man killed. It was all very strange. But the excitement grew as the days passed. The Court had moved to Coventry, a fair city surrounded by thick walls mounted by thirty-two towers. There were twelve gates into the city and it was consequently one of the strongest fortifications in the country.

Outside the city walls there was great activity while pavilions were erected. Harry watched the work with mixed feelings for his father would be one of the chief actors in this drama which was about to be played on this glittering field and if his father were to die ...

The thought bewildered him. He saw little of his father and he had found him stern and undemonstrative—very different from his mother who although long since dead lingered on in his memory. He would never forget the beatings his father had given him. For his own good, his mother had told him; but he had always felt that he would have been better without them, for when he felt the urge to do something which would incur punishment he never stopped to think of the consequences. That came after. In the castle they were gambling on the life or death of the Dukes of Hereford and Norfolk—for this was no joust a Plaisance but the culmination of a bitter quarrel, which would mean the end of one of them.

His grandfather arrived. Harry noticed with satisfaction that his pavilion, flying its pennants and lions and leopards, was almost as fine as the King's. They would be his emblem one day. His grandfather summoned him to his presence. He was a very old man and he seemed to have aged since Harry had last seen him.

Tour father will triumph over the traitor Norfolk," he told Harry.

"Of a certainty," replied Harry loyally.

But he could see that his grandfather was no more sure of this than he was.

"You will sit with the Duchess and myself," said John of Gaunt. "It is well that you will be here to see this day."

He is afraid, thought Harry; and he is reminding me that if my father is killed I shall be my grandfather's heir. He is a very old man. It could not be long before I would be head of the House of Lancaster.

But Harry was not yet to be head of the House of Lancaster. It was the most extraordinary gathering that had ever been.

Harry saw his father ride out. He looked magnificent on his big white horse caparisoned in green and blue velvet decorated with gold swans and antelopes. His armour, Harry had heard, had been made in Milan where the best armour was made.

Then came the Duke of Norfolk who looked almost as splendid; his colours were red and the velvet was embroidered with lions and mulberry trees.

Then the strangest thing happened. The heralds on orders from the King suddenly dashed forward shouting: "Ho! Ho!" which meant that a halt was to be called to the proceedings.

The King disappeared from his pavilion.

"Where has he gone?" whispered Harry.

His grandfather said: "This is a strange business. I think he is going to stop the combat."

Harry could hear the relief in his grandfather's voice. He knew then how frightened he had been.

There was great tension in the crowd of spectators who felt they were about to witness unusual events. They had come to see a life and death struggle between two of the highest in the land, but whatever was going to happen now could be equally exciting.

Two hours passed before one of the King's advisers came out to announce to the crowd that there would be no combat. The King and his counsellors had decided the issue could not be settled in this way, and it had been agreed that since there was a doubt of the loyalty of both contestants they would be exiled from the country. Hereford would not return for ten years; Norfolk would never return.

A hushed silence fell on the crowd. Harry saw that his grandfather's face had turned a greyish colour. He gripped his seat and whispered: "Oh God help us. Not this. Not this."

Everyone was talking about the exiles and Harry noticed that when he appeared there was an abrupt termination of the conversation. As son of one of the leading players in the drama, care had to be taken as to what was said in his hearing.

His father was going away. He would be away for ten years. I shall be twenty when he comes back! thought Henry. Would the King send him away? Was the family in disgrace? It must be so if the King suspected his father of treachery and was sending him out of the country.

The two Dukes had been given fifteen days in which to make their preparations and leave the country. After that time they would be arrested if they remained.

A harsh sentence was the comment.

"Do you wonder?" Harry overheard someone say. "These are the last two of the Lords Appellant. The other three are taken care of. Now exile for these two. Richard never forgets an insult. Depend upon it he has been waiting to take his revenge on these two."

"He seemed to have trusted both Mowbray and Bolingbroke."

"Seemed to. But Richard never forgets."

Harry knew about the Lords Appellant. He learned such matters with absolute ease because they concerned his father and family and that meant himself.

He heard that his father was coming to say good-bye to him before he left the country and he steeled himself for the farewell.

His grandfather arrived with his father. They were both very sober.

His father embraced him and told him that he must grow quickly now. He must remember that in the absence of his father he must take his place. "Thank God your grandfather is here to protect you," he said.

"You will be leaving Court and coming with me" went on the great Duke. Tour father and I think that best. The Duchess is looking forward to welcoming you. We shall go to Leicester after we have accompanied your father to the coast."

"Yes" said Harry quietly.

"I think Harry is old enough to understand," went on the Duke. "Your father will not be allowed to come back to this country, and you must learn how to look after our interests. That is what I shall teach you. And if you are thinking that I am an old man, you are right. I am. I could die at any time and we must be prepared for that. I have seen the King and he has agreed that when I die my estates will not be confiscated. The Lancastrian inheritance will be for your father and in due course for you, Harry. You understand?"

"Yes," repeated Harry.

"This is a sorry matter for our family but we stand together and never fear or doubt that we shall emerge triumphant in the end."

While they were talking the King came in.

They were all startled because it was rarely that he was seen without attendants. They were there now ... but waiting outside the room.

"You are saying good-bye to the boy," said Richard.

His father and grandfather stood back uncertainly.

"You need have no fear for your son, cousin," said the King.

"He will be well cared for," said his grandfather. "I shall take him with me when I leave."

The King smiled slowly. "I have grown fond of Harry. You know that don't you, boy?"

Harry murmured that his good lord had always been gracious to him.

"So much so that I cannot part with him."

Harry heard his grandfather catch his breath and saw him put out his hand to touch a chair to steady himself.

"It is good of you to say so," said his father, "but in view of my sad state you will wish to be rid of him."

"There you are wrong, cousin. I have interested myself in Harry. I like him well. In fact he interests me so much that I have decided to keep him with me."

"He is young," said his grandfather in a quiet voice. "He needs to be with his family"

"Well he is to some measure. Are you not my uncle and is he not your grandson? At Court he can be with his King and his kinsman." The next words were ominous. "It is what I want and I shall not change my mind. Come, Harry, say goodbye to your father. You shall be at my table this night."

The King turned and went out of the room.

Harry looked from his white-faced father to his stricken grandfather. He understood.

He had become a hostage.

Harry did not see his grandfather again. Four months after his son had been exiled John of Gaunt died in Leicester Castle. He was nearly sixty years old and he had led a full and adventurous life. His great ambition had been to wear a crown and he had never achieved it, although his daughter by Constanza of Castile was now a Queen and the son Blanche of Lancaster had borne and those of Catherine Swynford would, he was sure, make their mark in the world.

But he would not see it; and he died, with his son in exile and his grandson a boy who would not be twelve years old until the summer.

His body was carried from Leicester to London and the cavalcade stopped one night to rest at St Albans where that other son, Henry Beaufort, now Bishop of Lincoln, celebrated a requiem for his father.

The name of John of Gaunt was on every lip. Now that he was dead it was forgotten that he had been the most unpopular man in the country and only good was remembered of him.

When the King seized his estates, a number of people were shocked, for it was known that Richard had promised that the estates should go to the rightful heir even though he was an exile. Solemnly the King had promised this to John of Gaunt. It was unwise to break promises given to the dead.

"No good will come of this," was the prophecy. "Richard should take care."

Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, exiled from his native land, arrived disconsolate in France and made up his mind that he had no alternative but to throw himself on the mercy of the King of France, hoping that since Richard had sent him away he might find some favour in that quarter.

Even this was questionable for Charles's daughter Isabella was now the wife of Richard and the two countries were at peace. All the same it would be naive to assume that there was true friendship between them and it was almost certain that the King of France would be ready to receive a notable exile from England, if only to learn what was happening in that country.

Henry was right. No sooner had he arrived in Paris than King Charles expressed his willingness to receive him, and did so with such a show of friendship that Henry's spirits rose, especially when the King presented him with the very fine Hotel Clisson which was to be his while he stayed in Fiance.

He was received at Court presided over by Queen Isabeau, one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen and, if rumour was correct, one of the most evil. In spite of the outward appearance of elegance and wealth there was a distinct uneasiness throughout the Court and it was not long before Henry heard of those mental aberrations which the King suffered and which robbed him of reason. These lasted for varying periods of time—none could be sure how long—and when they ended the King would emerge remembering nothing or very little of what had happened during his periods of insanity.

Henry began to fret. Richard had, under pressure from John of Gaunt, reduced the sentence of ten years to six. But six years away from home! How could he endure that! His father was ageing, young Harry was but a boy, and exile was the most disastrous thing that could have happened. Moreover, although he had been warmly welcomed at the French Court, he knew how quickly enthusiasm for men in his position waned. He was thrown into melancholy.

One day, however, there were visitors at the Hotel Clisson who were to cheer him considerably.

He could scarcely believe his eyes when the two men arrived asking for audience with the Duke of Hereford. He received them with caution for the elder of the men was Thomas of Canterbury and the younger the Earl of Arundel whose father had been executed for treason.

It was natural that exiles should work together against a common enemy but the first thought that struck Henry was that his father John of Gaunt as Seneschal of England had been the one to pronounce sentence on the unfortunate Earl of Arundel—and how could he guess what the Arundels' feelings would be towards the son of John of Gaunt.

It soon became clear that past grievances must be forgotten. After all, although Henry had been a member of the court which had condemned the Earl of Arundel, he himself had not actually passed the fatal sentence; now they were all exiles from England and must join against the common enemy, Richard the King.

So Henry could draw comfort from the arrival of these two and in Paris they could discuss the fate which had overtaken them, through the misgovernment of Richard, and ponder as to what could be done about it.

The Archbishop had come from Rome where he had exhorted the Pope to request Richard to allow him to return, alas to no avail.

"One day," he said, "I shall return. I am the Archbishop no matter whom the King should set up in my place."

Henry agreed. It was comforting to have Englishmen of standing to share his fate. Oh yes indeed, let bygones be bygones. They had the future to think of.

Young Thomas Fitzalan the Earl of Arundel was the only surviving son of the executed Earl. He had been only sixteen when his father had died; it was not very long ago and he remembered it vividly. How could he forget? Not only had he lost his father, but the way of life to which he had been accustomed was drastically changed.

He told Henry what had happened to him. It had made him very bitter.

"My father's estates were confiscated. I had nothing ... nothing at all. The greatest misfortune of all was to be handed over to John Holland. Duke of Exeter now! He is greatly enriched but not through merit, simply because he is the King's half-brother. How I hate that man! He takes pleasure in humiliating those better than himself. Richard knows this and yet he goes on honouring him. He is unfit to move in noble circles. How he delighted in humiliating me. "You would call yourself my lord Earl, would you?" he said to me. "Now your father has lost his head you would take his place, eh? Have a care that you do not follow too closely in his footsteps, my young brave." Then he took off his boots, threw them at me and bade me clean them. I was treated as a servant, I tell you. I'll have my revenge on Holland one day."

Yes, it was comforting talk, and each day the exiled Archbishop cast aside more of his grievances against the House of Lancaster. The three of them talked often and earnestly about events in England. They could do nothing as yet, but when the opportunity came they would be ready.

One day the great Duc de Berri, uncle of the King, called at the Hotel Clisson. He was affable and showed signs of friendship towards Henry. He too talked of affairs in England. He had his spies in that country and he knew that the King's conduct was finding less and less favour with his people.

"The English have a way of chastising their kings if they do not please them, is that not so?" The Duc laughed. "Mon Dieu, England came very near to having a King from France in the reign of John, remember? Henry the Third, Edward the Second ... they had their troubles. It could well be the same with Richard. And then ... Ah, but we look too far ahead."

Such talk created great excitement in Henry; but he had learned not to betray his feelings. At what was Berri hinting? That Richard might fall and then ... and then ...

His next words made his thoughts quite clear. "You are a widower. You lost your good Countess. You are too young a man to remain unmarried eh? Particularly in view of your position. I have a daughter. Marie is a pretty girl. Well, perhaps you would consider this. If you were agreeable, I should raise no objections."

He was decidedly agreeable. He felt exultant. Berri could only believe that Richard's throne was tottering and—oh intoxicating thought—that he, Henry of Lancaster, had a chance of attaining it. Only such a hope and a good chance of its becoming a certainty could have brought Berri to this.

Henry replied quietly, for he was determined not to appear too eager and it might be dangerous to utter a word which could be used against him, that he had not thought of remarrying as yet. He had been devoted to his countess; her death had been a great shock from which he had not yet recovered. He had four fine boys and two daughters so he need not worry at this stage about his heirs. But he appreciated the honour done to him and if the Duc de Berri would give him a little time ...

"A little, my friend" cried the Duc, "but not too much. A girl such as my daughter has many suitors as you can imagine. You will let me know your answer within the week."

When he had left Henry considered this. Marriage into the royal house of France. Richard would be deeply disturbed and Henry would be delighted to put Richard into that state.

He discussed the matter with the Archbishop and the Earl of Arundel.

"It can only mean one thing," said the Archbishop. "They know something of what is happening in England. Richard's crown is becoming more and more insecurely fixed on his head. It may well be that we shall not be long exiled from our native land."

"Then you think I should accept this offer of Berri's daughter?"

"Undoubtedly yes."

"I will appear to hesitate. I do not want him to think I am over eager."

The Arundels agreed that this was the best way and they were excited guessing what events had come to the ears of the Duc de Berri.

A few days later John Montacute, Earl of Salisbury arrived in Paris. He had come on an embassy from Richard and spent a good deal of time with the King and the Duc de Berri.

He did not visit the Hotel Clisson which was perhaps to be expected as Henry was in exile and Montacute was the King's messenger.

Henry meanwhile had decided to agree to the suggested marriage but when he called on the Duc de Berri he was told that it was impossible for him to have an audience. As the Duc had advised him that there must be no delay in agreeing to the marriage with his daughter and he must have known that this was the reason for Henry's call, this was decidedly odd.

During the weeks which followed the Duc was extremely cool to Henry whose pride forbade him to demand an explanation.

Eventually he did get one, though not from the Duc de Berri.

Berri had decided that he no longer wished to receive Henry into his family and he had come to this conclusion after the arrival from England of the Earl of Salisbury. It was obvious. Richard had heard of the suggested marriage, had determined to stop it, and had sent Salisbury to Paris for that purpose. No doubt he had given the Duc de Berri an account of the shortcomings of Henry of Bolingbroke, and done so so successfully that Berri no longer sought the alliance. It might have been that he was so impressed by Richard's prompt action that he thought it would be no easy matter to push him from his throne and if that was the case, of what use was the marriage of his daughter to a pretender to the crown of England?

Henry was despondent and was to be even more so for the King of France himself sent for him and when he stood before him bade him be seated for he was forced to say something which was very painful to him.

"As you know," he said, "I have a great regard for the House of Lancaster and have been happy to welcome you at my Court. However, I have heard word from King Richard that he regards my hospitality to you as an unfriendly act towards himself. He says that he will be very disturbed unless I ask you to leave."

"Does this mean that you are asking me to leave?" demanded Henry.

"I am afraid that is so."

Following on the affair with the Duc de Berri this was indeed a blow. His hopes had been too high. Now they had come crashing to earth.

He raised his head haughtily. "You may rest assured, sire, that I shall lose no time in leaving Paris."

The King looked mournful but he could not hide his relief. It appeared that Richard was as firmly on his throne as ever and what hope had a poor exile of returning to his country let alone to be its King!

With his few attendants Henry rode disconsolately out of Paris. Where could he go? He did not know. It would be the same story everywhere. He would be received at first and then if he became too comfortable Richard would show his disapproval and he would have to go wandering again.

He was making his way towards Brittany. Duke John of that land was by no means young but was noted for his valour—he was known as John the Valiant—and his violent temper. His Duchess was his third wife and many years younger than he was; she was Joanna, the daughter of Charles d'Albret, King of Navarre, whose reputation was so bad that he was known as Charles the Bad. Charles was related to the royal house of France through his mother who had been the only child of Louis X. He could not of course inherit the throne because of the Salic law which prevailed in France but, as was inevitable, Charles the Bad longed to attain that crown, a desire which had led to perpetual trouble.

Henry had no wish to arrive in Brittany to be told that Richard objected to his being there, so before he entered the Duke's land he sent a messenger on to ask him if he would be welcome if he came.

When the messenger arrived, the Duke burst out almost angrily: "Why does he think it necessary to ask? I have always been on excellent terms with the House of Lancaster. Ride back and tell him he may expect a hearty welcome."

Henry was overjoyed to receive the news. It solved his problem for the time being. Even so he could not rid himself of his melancholy. Am I always going to be an exile wandering over the face of Europe, never sure of my reception, knowing that I have vast estates in England which I can never see? he asked himself.

The Duke of Brittany determined to live up to his promise and rode out to meet him. This was a great honour and Henry expressed his deep appreciation of it.

The Duke was very old but he still retained a certain vitality. Not for nothing had he been called the Valiant, and Henry returned his greeting with a warmth to match the Duke's. And then he was aware of a very beautiful woman who rode beside the Duke.

She was young; she glowed with health and she was smiling at him.

"My Duchess would give you as warm a welcome as I give you myself," the Duke told him.

"Welcome to Brittany," said the Duchess. "We shall do our best to make you happy while you stay with us."

The old Duke looked at his glowing young wife with doting tenderness and Henry was charmed not only by his welcome but by the fascinating Duchess Joanna; and during the weeks that followed, when banquets and jousts were given in his honour, he did not have to pretend that he was enjoying his stay in Brittany and this was not only because for a man in his position it was good to have a sanctuary. It was something more. He found the society of the Duchess Joanna very delightful indeed.

Joanna was a woman of great strength of character. Perhaps a childhood such as hers had been helped to develop this. Because of her father's recklessness and his attempts to claim the throne of France the family had lived in constant danger.

Her grandmother, daughter and only child of Louis X, had married the Count of Evreux and through him had come the kingdom of Navarre which her father Charles had inherited. But what was the kingdom of Navarre when but for this Salic law he would have been the King of France. Charles had married Joanna, the daughter of King John of France, and to them were born two boys, Charles and Pierre, and the girl who was Joanna.

The children had had a stormy childhood all three having spent some time as hostages for their father's behaviour. They had been held by the regents of France, the Dues de Berri and Burgundy; and they had been in great peril when their reckless father made an attempt to poison their captors. This was foiled and Charles' agent was discovered and put to death. Charles himself, however, escaped punishment. It seemed possible then that the retaliation demanded would be the death of the hostages but the Dues had no wish to be revenged on children. All the same they had been in a desperate situation.

When Joanna was sixteen she had been married to the old Duke of Brittany. The Dues of Berri and Burgundy had thought this advisable for their great dread at that time had been that the Duke might make an alliance with England and this seemed a good use to which they could put their hostage. So Joanna was duly presented to the old Duke who immediately fell victim to her youthful charms. Joanna was not displeased. It was comforting to be made to feel so important as she was and to have gifts showered on her and fine jewel-encrusted clothes to wear. She was determined to enjoy being Duchess of Brittany and if it meant taking the old Duke as well, as long as he continued to dote on her she could endure that.

Then it had seemed that Joanna was settled, her future secure. The old Duke was more and more devoted and whenever he was parted from his bride he was restive and eager to return to her.

Her father was pleased by the match but he had no intention of paying the enormous dowry which he had promised. "The old Duke is so infatuated by my daughter he won't miss a few pieces of gold," he reasoned. And he was right, for the Duke was indeed so delighted with his marriage that he made light of the missing dowry.

Charles seemed almost disappointed. He so much enjoyed a quarrel and the last thing he wanted was a peaceful existence. He had for some years been suffering from a distressing complaint which stiffened his limbs and gave him considerable pain and the only way in which he could take his mind from his suffering was to create alarming situations that caused others stress.

Being amused by the Duke's devotion to his daughter, he thought it would be fun to prod the self-confidence of the uxorious husband.

There was one knight at his Court of whom Duke John had once been particularly fond. This was Oliver de Clisson, a great nobleman who had brought honour to Brittany through his chivalry and bravery both on the battlefield and in the jousts. He was of tall stature and exceedingly handsome in spite of the fact that he had lost an eye in battle in the Duke's cause. At that time there was a certain restraint between the Duke and Clisson which was due to the Duke's tendency towards friendship with England, while Clisson felt that it was better for Brittany to support France. Recently Clisson had been to Paris to discuss plans for a possible invasion of England should the opportunity arise and the Duke was displeased that he had done this.

It seemed to his wicked father-in-law, Charles the Bad, that now was the opportunity to play an amusing game. The Duke of Brittany was turning from Clisson on political issues, so Charles thought he would introduce an element of mystery and romance into the situation.

It was easy. He talked of his daughter to the Duke and there was no subject which pleased the Duke more.

"It delights me" said Charles, "to see your fondness for the girl. She is handsome, would you say?"

"I would indeed," replied the complacent husband. "I would go farther. I'd say you would not find a more handsome lady if you searched the whole breadth of France aye and of England too."

"It is good to see a man so pleased with his marriage. I hope it may remain so. Aye, that is my earnest prayer"

"I thank you," said the Duke. "I intend to see that it does remain so."

"It is always well to hope," replied Charles with a hint of warning in his voice which startled the Duke as it was meant to.

"Why do you speak so?"

"Well, my friend, she is young and lusty I'll warrant. She is of my family and I know what we are. You are a fine man for your age ... for your age, my lord Duke."

Now the Duke was beginning to be really alarmed. "You know something. What are you trying to tell me?" he demanded.

"Well, perhaps I should say nothing ... It is just out of friendship .. "

The Duke, who could lose his temper, began to do so now. "Tell me what you know I" he cried and he faced the King of Navarre with an expression which clearly indicated he would do him some mischief if he did not speak quickly.

"I hasten to say my daughter is entirely innocent"

"What!" screamed the Duke.

"But there is no doubt in my mind how Clisson feels towards her. He is a bold fellow. He is capable of anything. Why he might even try to abduct her. It's clear to see what a passion he has for her."

The Duke was so furious that he could have struck the King down there and then.

Charles moved away with a helpless shrug of the shoulders. It was no use blaming him for the misdemeanours of the subjects of the dukedom. Perhaps he had been wrong to betray Clisson. He had thought in his friendship ...

"You did right to tell me," snapped the Duke; and Charles left him with his anger.

He was determined to curb his rage. He wanted to plan calmly. Clisson was already out of favour because of his policies and the fact that there had once been great accord between them only strengthened the Duke's anger.

He invited Clisson with two great friends of his, Laval and Beaumanoir, to dine with him at the Chateau de la Motte. They came unsuspecting and after the meal, at which the Duke had impressed them all with his affability, he told them that he wanted to show them some alteration he had made to the palace for the pleasure of his bride.

They expressed great interest.

"I particularly wish to show you the tower," he said and when they reached a narrow spiral staircase he let Clisson go ahead. The Duke was immediately behind and he paused to point out some delicate piece of tracery on the wall to Laval and Beaumanoir.

As he did so there was a shout from above. Guards had emerged to seize and fetter Clisson.

Both Laval and Beaumanoir were immediately aware that they had walked into a trap. Tor God's sake, my lord Duke," cried Laval, "do not use violence against Clisson."

"You would do well to go to your home while you are safe" retorted the Duke.

Beaumanoir protested: "What are you doing to Clisson? He is your guest."

"Do you wish to be like him?" demanded the Duke.

"He is a great man," was Beaumanoir's answer. "I should be honoured to be like him.

The Duke drew a dagger and held it to his face. "Then" he cried venomously, "I must put out one of your eyes."

Beaumanoir drew back in alarm. He and Laval saw that they were caught. If they attempted to rescue Clisson, they would find themselves the Duke's prisoners also. All the same Beaumanoir stood firmly and demanded to know on what grounds Clisson was arrested.

In a burst of fury the Duke shouted for guards to come and take Beaumanoir which they did. Meanwhile Laval slipped quietly away and out of the castle.

The Duke went to his private apartments and, still enraged, sent for the Sieur Bazvalen, a man who had served him well through the years and whose loyalty was without question.

"Bazvalen, my good friend," he said, "I want Clisson to die at once, and I want you to see that this is done"

Bazvalen drew back in horror. He knew Clisson well. This demand was too much to ask. He was no murderer. He had killed men in battle, it was true, but this was different.

"My lord ..." he began.

But the Duke waved his hand imperiously. "Let him be taken to a dungeon. Kill him, I care not by what means, and then open the trap door and let his body go into the moat."

Bazvalen could see that it was no use arguing with the Duke in his present mood or he would find himself in danger, but he was determined not to have the death of Clisson on his conscience so he went to Clisson and warned him of what he had been ordered to do and planned that he would return to the Duke and tell him that Clisson was dead and his body in the moat. In the meantime they would plan some means of getting Clisson out of the castle.

But when Bazvalen reported to the Duke he was overcome by remorse. His anger faded and he realized that he had condemned Clisson without proving his guilt. "You are without blame, Bazvalen," he cried. "You but obeyed orders. The sin is on my conscience. I have murdered Clisson."

He would not eat. He would never sleep in peace again, he said, and when he declared that he would give anything to have another chance, Bazvalen could hold back the truth no longer and confessed that he had been unable to murder Clisson who still lived. The Duke then threw his arms about Bazvalen's neck. "My good good servant," he cried, "you knew me better than I knew myself."

The Duke's anger had faded but he was always one to seek an advantage. His mischievous father-in-law had made evil suggestions which might be false but Clisson had been working with the French and therefore he could not be released until certain conditions had been filled. The Duke demanded the surrender of several towns which were in Clisson's possession as well as a hundred thousand florins.

Clisson, delighted to escape with his life, was only too pleased to pay what was demanded and so bring about his release.

Joanna was annoyed when she heard that her husband had suspected Clisson of wishing to be her lover, especially as she was now pregnant, a fact which made her even more attractive in the eyes of the Duke. She was cool to him and when he humbly asked the cause of her displeasure, she cried:

"You have suspected me of infidelity with Clisson. This has made me very disturbed at a time when you should do everything for my comfort"

He was beside himself with grief. "Never for one moment did I doubt you, my love," he assured her. "I know you to be perfect ... in every way perfect. You are my very reason for living. Without you I would die tomorrow and gladly. And the thought of that... that... monster ..."

"You think I would be attracted by a one eyed varlet .. ."

"They say he is very attractive to women .. "

"So you would compare me with ... women,"

"Never! Never I You stand above them all. I will give anything ... anything I have .. ."

Joanna smiled at him. It was good to render him humble.

"I know it..." she answered. "But I beg of you do not again insult me by linking me with such as Clisson. I am the Duchess of Brittany. My great grandfather was the King of France."

"My love ... how can I win your forgiveness?"

She smiled sweetly. "I know it is all the measure of your love for me," she told him.

She knew too that now there would be even richer presents than before.

Her child was born soon after that, a daughter who died after a few weeks. The Duke was desolate. He wondered whether the Clisson affair was responsible.

Charles the Bad, the cause of the trouble, suffered a further bout of his painful illness. One of his doctors produced a remedy which gave him a little relief. Bandages were soaked in a solution of wine and sulphur and it was the task of one of his servants to wrap his limbs in them and sew the bandages together to keep them secure. When this was done he looked as though his body was wrapped in a shroud.

One night when a new man was sewing the bandages, which was a difficult task for Charles disliked being trussed up, he became even more irritable than usual for the man fumbled and the more Charles roared the more nervous he became. "I am like a pig being trussed up for the roasting spit I" he cried in fury. Little did he realize the aptness of his simile. The servant became more and more clumsy and when he came to sever the thread he found he had mislaid the knife he needed to cut it. Charles was growing exasperated and in desperation the servant picked up a lighted candle to burn the thread and so release the needle. The effect was instantaneous and disastrous. The wine ignited and very soon Charles was wrapped in a cocoon of fire. He screamed in agony as servants rushed in. He was rolled in his bed and smothered with heavy bed coverings, and in time the fire was put out, but not before Charles was so badly burned that it seemed unlikely that he would survive. He died a few days later.

It cannot be said that he was greatly mourned and when his son, Charles, became the King of Navarre there was general rejoicing for Charles had not been known as the Bad for nothing; and his son, another Charles, having shared his sister's harsh childhood showed every sign of being the exact opposite of his father.

Joanna who had become pregnant immediately after the death of her first child gave birth to a son who was baptized Pierre and this birth, to the delight of the parents, was quickly followed by the arrival of a girl child, little Marie.

The Duke was beside himself with joy. He thought Joanna more wonderful than ever. Not only was she young and beautiful but she was fertile too and for a man of his age that meant a good deal. He could scarcely tear himself away from her and no sooner was one child born than she was pregnant with another. There followed after Pierre - who since he was the heir had become known as John - Marie, Arthur, Gilles, Richard, Blanche and Margaret. Eight children in all, counting little Joanna who had died soon after her birth.

This was the happy state of affairs when Henry arrived at the Court of Brittany.

There the Duke was determined to show his pleasure in his guest. One thing he wished to do was to stress his contempt not only for the King of England but for the King of France as well.

He delighted too in Henry's admiration for the Duchess.

Joanna was very different from little Mary de Bohun and perhaps for that reason Henry found her attractive. Her conversation was lively; she was a woman of strong character; in truth she was the main reason for making his stay in Brittany so delightful.

If she had been a widow, he being a widower they would have made a perfect match. They were neither of them too old, nor were they immature, and they both had a largish family. Her intelligence on the state of affairs in Europe, and that included England, was remarkable. Henry could see that she advised the Duke with a wisdom which the Duke himself did not possess.

Yes, Joanna was an admirable woman.

He did not exactly mention his feelings to Joanna, but she was a very sensible and sensitive woman and she was aware of them; and she saw no reason to hide the fact that she found Henry attractive. There was nothing she liked better than to sit alone with him and talk. Not entirely alone of course, that would have been indiscreet and there was nothing indiscreet about Joanna. There would be attendants but Joanna could always see that they were not too close.

She told him about the affair of Clisson. It was a cautionary tale. The Duke had a fiery temper and he was capable of very rash acts when it took possession of him.

Joanna liked to hear about his children and his accounts of them seemed to be dominated by the amusing and very lively Lord Harry. He was concerned about Harry who was at the Court of King Richard. "I wished my father to take him," said Henry, "but the King would not let him go."

That made him fearful, he admitted. The boy was in truth a hostage.

To her he could explain how he felt shut out from his country. It was sad to be an exile even when one was offered such hospitality as that which he had received in Brittany.

It will not always be so," she soothed. "I have a notion that Richard will not long remain on his throne. And then ..."

"And then ... yes ... ?"

"Well, you will no longer be an exile, will you? You will go away from us, and it would not surprise me if ... But I talk too much."

"Sometimes it is good to talk of one's dreams," said Henry.

"They can be dangerous." She looked at him with glowing eyes. "Who can be sure of what will happen? You may be a King ere long, Henry of Lancaster."

He said almost breathlessly, "There is a possibility."

"And I ... What shall I be? My husband is not in good health you know."

They were both silent. They felt the air was heavy with suggestion.

"I think about it," she said. "He was an old man when I married him. He had had two wives and outlived them. I was given to him. There was no choice for me. But he has always been good to me."

"You have made him very happy."

"I have borne him children and he has always treated me with great care and affection."

"So should he do."

"But he cannot live long, I know"

His hand had placed itself over hers.

"Who knows what the future may hold?" he said.

It was almost like a declaration.

She spoke in a louder voice, saying: "This son of yours, this Harry, he needs a wife."

"He will have one ere long."

"What of my daughter? That would link our families in a way which would be very agreeable to me."

"My son ... your daughter ... Yes. It would be ... a beginning."

She looked at him intently, her eyes sparkling. Yes, there was indeed an understanding between them.

The Duke was agreeable that their daughter Marie should be betrothed to Harry of Monmouth, for as he confided to Joanna when they were alone he was certain that there was deep dissatisfaction in England with the reigning King.

"Richard will be off the throne before long. You will see, my dear. And then ... it is up to Lancaster."

"There is another before him. Mortimer ..."

The Duke snapped his fingers. "A strong arm and a steady head will decide. I think Henry is the one with those."

He pressed her arm. "We have done well to make him our friend. We will strengthen our alliance by betrothing our girl to the young Lord Harry. She shall have a dowry of one hundred and fifty thousand francs."

Preparations went ahead. The nuptials were to be celebrated in the Castle of Brest which should be a gift to the bride and bridegroom. It was doubtful whether Harry would be allowed to come to France. Indeed it was most unlikely since he had not been allowed to go to his grandfather. However, the marriage could take place by proxy.

While these preparations were in progress there was a message from the King of France who wished for an immediate meeting with the Duke of Brittany concerning a matter of importance to them both. Duke John was now somewhat infirm; he did not want to become involved in trouble, and he could not disobey the King's summons unless he wanted to create a dangerous incident.

So he went. He was soon back. The King of France did not approve of Marie's marriage to Harry. He had another bridegroom for her. He had offered the heir of Alenson, and to marry this noble prince the Duke would not be asked for nearly such a large dowry as the English were asking.

"I could do nothing but accept," said the Duke morosely, thereby proclaiming that he felt his age sadly for earlier he would never have allowed anyone to force him into such a situation.

It was about this time that a messenger arrived in Brittany from the Duchess of Lancaster. The Duke had died, and Henry had now inherited the title and estates; he was head of the House of Lancaster and one of the richest men in England.

"How this must make you chafe against exile," said Joanna.

But it was not long before there was another messenger. The King had waived aside the promise he had made to John of Gaunt and had confiscated the Lancaster estates.

It is treachery I " cried Henry when he heard. "I will never accept this."

Richard was a cheat and a liar. He was unworthy to govern. He had given his solemn oath that the estates should come to Henry of Lancaster on his father's death. That was a promise John of Gaunt had insisted on.

Henry talked the matter over with Joanna and the Duke of Brittany, as well as with the Arundels who had been his close companions in exile.

They were tense days that followed.

Was Henry going to lose his inheritance? There was only one way of regaining it and that would be by going to England and wresting it from Richard. He grew excited at the prospect for he guessed that it would be more than the Lancaster estates which he would take from Richard. It was clear to him that those about him were expecting him to make some decision. He had been given an opportunity. Richard had broken his word. Why should Henry be expected to keep to his? He knew that the time was drawing near when he must return to England to claim his estates.

The Duke was full of advice. He was too old to campaign for himself now but he could be interested in enterprises such as this one.

"Richard will be on the alert," he said. "He will be wondering what you will do. Put up a pretence. Make believe that you are so engaged on your rounds of pleasure that you have no energy for a fight."

"That makes sense," said Joanna; and Henry agreed.

But the excitement grew. Day and night he thought of little else.

The Duke, prompted by Joanna, said he would do what he could to raise an army. Henry was thoughtful. Attractive as that proposition was, he decided against it.

It would be folly to take a foreign army onto English soil. He knew his fellow countrymen. They would rise up against the foreigner. No. If what he heard was true—and both he and the Arundels had their spies in England and messengers were constantly travelling to and fro—Richard was growing increasingly unpopular. He, Henry, would return to England, yes, but he would go on the pretext of regaining his rights. There should be no hint that it was the crown he sought. He would land quietly in England.

"No one must know that I am coming," he said and the Arundels agreed with him.

It was Joanna who suggested that they should pretend to plan a visit to Spain. Let them travel to Paris and let it be known that they were there; and when they left they should go a few miles south, and then turn and go with all speed to Boulogne. The Duke of Brittany would put the necessary ships at their disposal and they could slip quietly across the Channel.

It appeared that the ruse was effective for soon they heard that Roger Mortimer, Earl of March, who was looking after affairs in Ireland, had been killed near Kells in the county of Kilkenny. Richard himself decided that he must go out there to continue the struggle, which he certainly would not have done if he had had an inkling of Henry's plans. Roger Mortimer—grandson of Lionel Duke of Clarence, son of Edward the Third and Philippa, elder brother of John of Gaunt— had been named heir to the throne in the event of Richard's having no children. So before he set out for Ireland Richard named Edmund, Roger's son, as his successor. Edmund, however, was a boy of eight and the people would not want a child as their king. They had had a taste of that when Richard came to the throne. Edmund was an obstacle, for of course he did come before the son of John of Gaunt, but Henry was sure that Edmund's youth was against him and that if it were proved that the people had had enough of Richard, they would look to the son of Gaunt, none other than Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, head of the House of Lancaster.

It was a comforting thought.

Joanna showed a little sadness at the parting although he knew that she was eager for him to win a crown. There was a far away look in her eyes which he thought he understood.

They took a last walk together in the small garden within the precincts of the castle.

"I have been so happy in Brittany," said Henry, "that I almost forgot my reason for being here."

"I am glad you came to us," she told him.

"How can I repay you for your goodness to me?" he asked.

"Perhaps," she said, "by not forgetting us."

He stooped and picked a little blue flower and held it in the palm of his hands.

"Do you know what it is?" he asked.

"It is called myosotis arvensis" she answered.

"It is beautiful, is it not? When I see it I shall think of you. I shall have it embroidered on my emblem, and henceforth it shall be known as the forget-me-not."

A few days later he left the court of Brittany. He found an opportunity of giving Joanna the little blue flower which she pressed between the pages of a book and often she looked at it in the months to come ...

Harry was becoming increasingly conscious of his somewhat invidious position at Court. He was closely related to the King but everyone knew that his father was in exile and that his presence at Court was regarded as a safeguard for his father's good behaviour. It was not very pleasant for one of Harry's disposition to be a captive.

He knew very well that if he asked permission to visit his brothers and sisters or his step-grandmother or his Beaufort relations, permission would not be granted. No. The King wanted Harry where he could seize him at a moment's notice if the need should arise.

Richard was always affable with Harry. He really did like the boy. He was amused by Harry—who was so different from himself. Harry was impatient with such preoccupations as dress and jewels and epicurean meals. He chafed against life at Court. He wanted adventure.

Moreover he was anxious about his father, particularly since his grandfather had died.

His cousin Humphrey was at Court. He was not in a very happy position either. They were very closely related for Humphrey's father had been the Duke of Gloucester who had been smothered by feather beds in a sleazy Calais inn (doubtless on the King's orders) and the Duke was the brother of Harry's grandfather, John of Gaunt, and as his mother was Eleanor de Bohun, sister of Henry's mother, it was a double relationship.

It had been brought home to both boys that their safety was somewhat precarious, for the fate of their fathers was a constant warning to them that anything could happen at any moment.

They kept their ears open for news and talked in secret. Henry was sure that his father would come back to England now that the King had confiscated the Lancaster estates.

"When he does," he said, "there will be many who will help him regain them. The nobles do not like one of their kind to suffer such forfeiture because they say if it can happen to one it can happen to others."

"He will have to take care," said Humphrey.

"My father was always one to take care. He was not reckless like yours."

Humphrey was silent thinking of that terrible day when he had heard that his father had been taken. It had been unbelievable. Thomas of Gloucester had always been a blustering reckless man, certain of his power to succeed. He would never forget how his forthright mother, who had never seemed to be at a loss before, suddenly collapsed and became a sad, silent woman. She had been so sure of herself; she had believed so completely that her husband would achieve all his ambitions and that she would rise with him; and then suddenly it was all finished. His father had been taken away. How had he died? What did it feel like to have two or three strong men pressing a feather bed down upon you until you were gasping for breath ... and then could breathe no more?

He must not think of these things. He must be like Harry, who laughed a great deal and followed the serving wenches with lustful eyes and even allowed himself to comment on the charms—or lack of them—of the ladies of the Court.

Now they were playing with the cards that fascinated them both. These had been invented a few years before for the amusement of the King of France, and were becoming very fashionable in England. Many people at Court played with them and with their kings, queens, jacks and aces, they seemed suited to Court life.

Harry was smiling at the fanlike array in his hands and looking slyly across at Humphrey. One never knew what cards Harry held, thought Humphrey. He put on a face to bemuse one.

But before the game began one of the King's attendants came to them to tell them that their presence was required in the royal chamber, so they laid down their cards and went at once to obey the King's command.

Richard was lounging in his chair rather informally with his favourite greyhound, Math, at his feet. The dog watched the boys suspiciously as they approached.

Harry had tried to entice the dog to come to him but Math gave him nothing but disdain. It was almost as though he was saying, I am the King's dog, I will accept none but a King as my master.

"Ah, my cousins" said Richard, smiling at them, "I have news for you."

He watched them with narrowed eyes. Harry was going to be a wild fellow, he could see that. He would be everything that he, Richard, was not. Yet he liked the boy. It gratified him to keep him at Court and within calling distance. That was how it was going to remain.

These two boys were both sons of men whom he had hated —closely related to him though they were. Humphrey was now Duke of Gloucester and Richard had hated his father more than anyone. He had been one of the uncles who had made his life so fraught with irritation when he was very young. He had liked John of Gaunt, Harry's grandfather, once the old man had accepted his age and given up his fruitless struggle for a crown of some sort. But Harry's father, Henry of Bolingbroke, he would always be suspicious of.

He would never forget those five Lords Appellant standing before him arms linked to show that they came together and were against him. No, he had determined on revenge from the moment they had stood there. And he had it. Gloucester dead, smothered by feathers, Arundel beheaded, Warwick in prison, Norfolk and Hereford exiled. So they should remain. And if Hereford decided to make trouble he had young Harry in his grasp. Harry the hostage.

"You will be wondering why I sent for you" he said. "Is that so?"

"My lord, you have guessed aright," replied Harry. There was just a trace of insolence in the young voice but the smile was disarming. One could never be sure with Harry.

" 'Twas no great conundrum," said the King shortly. "You are to prepare to leave for Ireland."

"Ireland, my lord I" cried Harry.

"I said Ireland," replied the King. "The death of the Earl of March has made it necessary for me to take an army there. You will be with us."

The boys heard the news with mixed feelings. They liked the thought of adventure—but Ireland! They would rather have gone to France. Harry's father was in France. Suppose ...

The King was saying, "You will wish to make some preparations, I do not doubt. You will be instructed when we are to leave."

Math watched them sleepily while they bowed and retired.

"To Ireland," murmured Humphrey. "I wonder why we are going."

"Because the King will not let me out of his sight. I am a hostage for my father's good conduct towards him. That is why I am going,"

"But why am I?"

"Because he does not wish to make the fact of my going too pointed. If we both go ... well then we are part of the Court retinue. I see it clearly, cousin Humphrey."

"Yes," said Humphrey, "so do I. I wonder how long you will go on being a hostage?"

Harry was thoughtful. He knew the King had confiscated his father's estates.

He thought such an event might make a difference.

The two boys enjoyed the excitement of making the journey to Ireland. The boisterous sea crossing which so many found distressing did not affect them. They paced the decks in the drizzling rain and felt that they were really men now going into battle.

"Of course it is only the Irish" said Harry disconsolately. "I wish it were the French."

Ireland was a disappointment. There seemed to be little but miles of bog land which could be treacherous; there were stark mountains, sullen people who lived very poorly, and above all rain, perpetual rain.

Richard at the head of his armies looked very splendid indeed and he created a certain wonder among the Irish which was not without its effect. Harry noticed this. Richard had no real qualities as a leader but he had an aura of royalty which served him in a certain way. Harry had often heard of the manner in which he had faced the rebellious peasants at Blackheath and Smithfield and he understood why he had been able to quell them. He was extraordinarily handsome; so fair and light-skinned with an almost ethereal air. He was the man to ride out among his subjects and win them with his charm; but he was not the King to lead them into battle. If there was no real fighting Richard's campaign might be successful. If there was it would fail. Harry was learning a good deal about leadership. One day he would have his own men and he would know how to lead them then.

The army grew more and more disgruntled. There was nothing more calculated to sap the spirits of soldiers than inaction and perpetual rain. They were homesick; they hated Ireland. There was no real fighting to excite them and no booty in this poverty-stricken land to make their journey worth while.

Back home in England Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, was acting as Regent. Although he was the son of Edward III he was quite without ambition and asked only for a quiet and peaceful life. Perhaps that was why Richard had appointed him as Regent. The King had chosen four men to help him, William Scrope, Earl of Wiltshire, Sir William Bagot, Sir John Bushby and Sir Henry Green. He could not have chosen four more unpopular men. Young as he was, Harry was amazed at the carelessness of the King.

It was a wretched campaign made even more so by the weather. The high seas made it impossible for stores to cross the water so lines of communication were cut off. The men were weary of the struggle, and although the Irish could not put up an army they had other ways of harassing the invaders. They destroyed even the little there would have been to leave behind them as they fled from the enemy and by the time Richard reached Dublin his army had one thought and that was to get back to their firesides as quickly as possible. They had had enough of senseless wars which brought them no profit.

There were messengers awaiting Richard in Dublin and the news they brought was catastrophic. Henry of Lancaster had landed in England; he had come to regain his inheritance, and men were rallying to his banner.

Richard had always been afraid of his cousin. He saw then that he had made a major mistake. First by exiling Henry and then by confiscating the Lancaster estates.

It was too late now to turn back.

He had two alternatives; to stay in Ireland and conduct a campaign against Henry from that country or to return and face him. He must, of course, return to England, but there would necessarily be some delay. He sent John Montacute, Earl of Salisbury back to England immediately to raise the people of Wales against Lancaster. He would follow at the earliest possible moment when he had made some arrangements here in Ireland.

Then he remembered Harry of Monmouth, son of the invader, who was in his hands.

He should be able to turn that to advantage.

He laughed aloud at the thought. The son and heir of the enemy in his hands!

He sent for young Harry, who came, a little truculently, having heard the news of his father's landing of course. He had to admire the boy. He was in a dangerous position and he knew it.

"So you are the son of a traitor, eh?" said Richard.

"No, my lord, indeed I am not. My father is no traitor."

"Have you heard that he has landed in England although I have put him in exile?"

"He comes to regain his estates I doubt not," said Harry. "Those which you promised my grandfather should not be forfeit"

"ou make bold, my young bantam. I hold you my prisoner, you know."

"I know I have been and still am a hostage."

Tor your father's good behaviour."

"Then I have nothing to fear for my father does not act as a traitor. He comes but to take the estates which are his by right of inheritance."

"You will have to learn to curb your tongue, Harry."

"And lie ... as others do."

Richard flushed. "You're a young fool," he said.

"Better that than a knave," retorted Harry.

Richard cried: "Get out of my sight, or I'll have that saucy tongue of yours cut out."

Inwardly Harry quailed at the thought, but he showed no fear. He bowed and retired.

Richard buried his face in his hands. A thousand curses on Henry Bolingbroke I What a fool he had been to let that man live, to have sent him abroad to plot with his enemies, to have taken his estates. He had brought this on himself.

Young Harry knew it. He was a shrewd, clever boy. Richard hated violence. That was why he was so loth to go to war. Why could not people all enjoy the things that he did—music, literature, art, good food in moderation, fine wines, sweet perfumes, rich clothes, sparkling jewels, a clean and beautiful body ... ? They thought him unkingly because he cared for these things. And now Lancaster was forcing a war on him; and Harry, his son, was defiant, almost insolent because he knew in his heart that to harm him would be loathsome to Richard who abhorred violence. What to do with Harry?

He summoned two of his guards. "Let the Lord Harry of Monmouth be taken to the castle of Trim and with him his cousin Gloucester. There they shall remain until I have settled this matter with the traitor Lancaster."

So the two boys were sent to Trim Castle, there to fret away the days playing chess and games they contrived with their playing cards, while they waited for news from England.

Henry had decided to make for that part of the country which he expected would be most loyal to him, so instead of landing at Dover or Folkestone as he would have been expected to, he set a northerly course and finally arrived at Bridlington. He was amazed at the numbers who flocked to his banner. They were welcoming him because they were tired of Richard. He made his own castle of Pickering his temporary headquarters and from there he marched to Doncaster, his following growing more numerous every day.

At Doncaster he was joined by the Earl of Westmorland, and Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland with his son Sir Henry Percy known as Hotspur. The Percys were a powerful family who helped to keep watch on the Scottish border for any trouble which might flare up. They were like kings of the northern provinces. With them they had brought the Lords of Greystock and Willoughby, a formidable force.

The Earl of Northumberland called together a council which he asked Henry to attend and when they were all assembled, he said, It is important to know what your intentions are, and why you have returned to England."

Henry replied promptly that his intentions were to regain his estates which had been unjustly forfeited. He had no other intentions.

The company was relieved. They implied that they had no desire to take part in a campaign to take the crown from Richard and put it on his cousin's head. But being men of property themselves they had very strong views about the seizure of estates. The King had acted foolishly in breaking his promise to John of Gaunt and they agreed that there had been only one course open to Henry of Lancaster. He must come to England and take back what was his.

So these powerful earls of the North joined with Henry of Lancaster in a righteous course.

The next week saw the complete debacle. Richard's followers deserted him one by one, and they flocked to Henry's banner. The King was at first bewildered, then resigned. What he had ahvays feared had come to pass. The people were tired of him; they no longer loved the bright and handsome boy they had cheered so wildly at Blackheath and Smithfield. They had had enough of him and they thought that Henry of Lancaster would serve them better.

When Richard was left with but six loyal men he knew that it was only a matter of days before he was captured. He wandered from castle to castle until he came to Conway and there he rested for he had no heart to continue the futile struggle.

His old enemy Archbishop Arundel came to him there and extracted from him a promise to give up the crown.

He did so, almost with alacrity. He was tired of the crown, tired of his life. He did regret though that he was parted from his little Queen.

The young Isabella had brought him what he had lacked in his life since the death of Queen Anne. He wanted to love and be loved; and this exquisite little girl who adored him and whom he could regard as a beloved child—wife though she was to him—had supplied that.

Poor sweet Isabella, what would become of her now !

As for Henry he had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations.

He had seen that Richard must give up the throne from his own desire to do so. Henry did not want trouble which would be inevitable if Richard were forced to abdicate. Henry wanted to be persuaded to take that which his hands had itched to grasp for many years.

Richard was obstinate at first when the irrevocable step had to be taken but eventually he gave in.

There was a new King on the throne. Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Lancaster had become King Henry the Fourth of England.