The star of Lancaster

THE PRINCE AND THE VIRGIN WIDOW

Harry was becoming very restless in Trim Castle, for on the orders of the King, a close watch was kept on him and Humphrey. They were not allowed to ride out which was a hardship scarcely to be endured. They played games until they were tired of them; Harry made all sorts of plans for escape which Humphrey dismissed as impossible. Harry knew this too but it helped a little to plan.

Then one day when they sat idly in a corner of the room they shared, they heard the sound of footsteps coming up the steep spiral staircase; the footsteps stopped at their door and they heard the clanking of keys as the door was being unlocked.

Two of the guards came into the room. They were looking at Harry and there was a distinct change in their demeanour. Not that they had been cruel. Richard would never have wanted that. But now there was respect in the bow they gave in Harry's direction and then in Humphrey's.

"Great news, my lord," said the guard looking straight at Harry who was beginning to feel a little light-headed with the possibility which had occurred to him.

"Yes, yes," cried Harry, impatient and imperious.

"We have a new King, God save him. King Henry IV of England.

"My ... my father!" gasped Harry.

"Your noble father, my lord, God save him."

"Then Richard .. "

"Has abdicated, my lord. He knew himself to be beaten."

Harry smiled to himself. This was the biggest thing that had ever happened. Yesterday he had been Harry of Monmouth, son of an exile, a hostage in the hands of the King. Today he was Prince Harry, heir to the throne.

He wanted to go home. He wanted to share in the triumph. This was the end of this dull and pointless life. A wild exultation took hold of him. Everyone was showing respect, even Humphrey. Heir to the throne. The words kept ringing in his ears.

"What news of my father the King?" he asked.

"Orders, my lord, that you and Duke Humphrey are to leave at once for England," was the answer.

"Come Humphrey," cried Harry. "Let us lose no time."

Nor did they. They would leave at once. There would be a ship waiting for them. His father had seen to that. He wanted his heir with him with all speed. He would be made the Prince of Wales, that was certain. A glorious life lay before him.

Humphrey was more cautious and very thoughtful.

Poor old Humphrey, it would make little difference to him. He was already the Duke of Gloucester and he could not go much higher than that. Still, he would have the distinction of having shared exile with the Prince of Wales.

When they were alone Humphrey said: "Harry, don't hope for too much."

"What do you mean? Hope for too much! I'm heir to the throne, am I not?"

"It must be very insecure as yet."

"Insecure! Depend upon it, my father had made it very secure."

"For one thing young Edmund Mortimer is the true heir."

"That's not a serious claim."

"You have to see things as they are, Harry. Edmund is descended from Lionel who was older than your grandfather."

"I know. I know. But he's only a child."

"Age makes no difference."

"Oh yes it does. My father has the people behind him. He is the one they want. They want no more child kings."

"Not even if they are the rightful heirs?"

"Enough, Humphrey. Remember ..."

"To whom I speak. The heir to the tottering throne. Don't hope for too much, Harry."

"Will you stop it or ... or ..."

"You'll send me to the Tower and have me lay my head on the block? You'll be a vindictive king, Harry, but you won't last long if you don't look the truth right in the face and accept it for what it is."

Harry seized him and the two of them wrestled together on the floor of the chamber as they loved to do. Harry often scored in these bouts although he was several years younger than Humphrey.

The tussle ended up in laughter as it always did and Harry cried: "What are we doing, wasting our time? Come, we must return to the scene of action with all speed. I am no longer a hostage, Humphrey. Think of that."

"I can think of nothing but how glad I am to leave this damp unfriendly land."

"Come, then, let us make ready. To England."

Within a few days they left Ireland. The crossing was rough and during it Humphrey became ill. Harry chaffed him and told him he was a poor sailor and commented that it was a mercy they were not going into battle. Humphrey smiled wanly and said he could never remember feeling so strange.

"You'll be well again as soon as you set foot on dry land," Harry promised him.

But this was not so and the crossing was so rough that it seemed at one time that they would never make it. It was a great relief when they were able to land in Anglesey. Oddly enough Humphrey was no better and it soon became clear that his malady had nothing to do with the sea.

He was in a fever and wandering in his mind. They had come to an inn which was nearest to the spot where they had landed and Harry had thought that after a brief rest there Humphrey would be himself again.

Humphrey was rambling about his father. He thought he was himself in an inn in Calais instead of Anglesey and that what had been done to his father would be done to him.

"Nonsense," cried Harry. Tm here with you, Humphrey. We're in Wales ... soon we shall be with my father. We are not Richard's prisoners any more."

Humphrey was soothed but he did not improve. In fact he was growing worse and a cold fear suddenly touched Harry.

Was this some sort of a plague which had attacked his companion?

He should ride on. His father was impatiently awaiting him, but he was not going to leave Humphrey.

That was to prove a sad homecoming for Harry in spite of the glory which awaited him. Within a few days of their landing Humphrey had died of the mysterious illness which had attacked him so suddenly.

When the Duchess of Gloucester heard of the death of her only son she was overcome with melancholy.

It was difficult to recognize in this grief-stricken lady the forceful Eleanor de Bohun who had once been so pleased with herself when she had married Thomas of Woodstock, and together they had planned to get their hands on the entire fortune left by her father.

Then she had had dreams of greatness. Becoming royal through marriage with one of the sons of Edward the Third she had been so proud. And when her son had been born and he had been given that good old de Bohun name of Humphrey she had doted on him.

Her only son! Her Humphrey! She had known what it meant to love something other than riches and power when he had been born, although she had never ceased to value those things and wanted them for Humphrey.

When her husband had been murdered that had been the end of her ambition for him and she had turned her thoughts more and more to this precious son.

He had accompanied his cousin Harry to Ireland at the command of Richard but it had not occurred to her that any harm could come to her son.

And now this news had shattered her. She had been robbed of that which was the meaning of life to her. She had three daughters; but it had been on Humphrey that her love and devotion was centred.

She went about Fleshy silent-footed and mournful. Her attendants watched her anxiously.

"She will die of a broken heart," they said.

She would sit in the window seat and look out across the country to where the grey walls of the convent rose and she thought of those days long before Humphrey's birth when her sister Mary was here and had made her journeys to and from the convent. How they had urged her to take up the life of the nun. And she might have done so had it not been for that meeting with Henry Bolingbroke—contrived of course by John of Gaunt. They had wanted Mary's fortune ... well so had she.

How different everything would have been if Mary had entered the convent. Harry of Monmouth would never have been born.

"Oh Humphrey" she mourned, "never to see you again ... Humphrey, my son, my boy ..."

She was tired in body and in mind. She had nothing now to live for.

Then she saw again the grey walls of the convent and it seemed to her that they offered peace. Could it be that she, Eleanor Duchess of Gloucester, who for years before had tried so hard to persuade her sister to enter that convent, should now be considering ending her own life there?

It was strange what peace the thought brought her. She could almost hear her own arguments with which she had bombarded Mary. The quiet. The peace. The life lived to a pattern of service to others.

There was comfort in it.

It was ironical that the Duchess, who had thought the convent life so suitable for her sister, should now want to embrace it herself.

As the days passed the more firm became the decision and finally she took the step.

She did not live long. She found that she must mourn her son within the convent walls as bitterly as she had in the castle.

She died very soon after entering the convent. Of a broken heart, it was said.

Harry realized that Humphrey had been right when he had talked about the insecurity of the new King's position; and none was more aware of this than Henry himself.

He was delighted to receive his son and to see that he was in good health, though somewhat melancholy still owing to the sudden death of his cousin.

There were other matters with which to concern themselves, Henry reminded his son, and because Harry was next in importance to himself he discussed matters candidly with him.

"Do not imagine" said the new King, "that we are as safe on the throne as if it had come to us through straight inheritance. Richard has been crowned King. He still lives. The people have shown they have had enough of him and he has agreed to abdicate, but it is a dangerous position."

"Richard's reign is over," cried Harry. "Should we concern ourselves with him?"

"Of a certainty we should, my son. I tell you this, I shall not rest easy while he lives. There is Edmund de Mortimer—that child. He does not add to my peace of mind. Harry, we must tread with the greatest care. You give yourself airs. Do not do so. Behave with modesty. Let it be as it was before."

"Did I ever behave with modesty?" asked Harry grinning.

"This is a serious matter. So much will depend on the next few weeks. I have not won the crown by conquest, for there has been scarcely any fighting. It is rather by election."

"Is that not a good thing?"

"Yes, but I want to make it firm. I want now and in the years to come people to say of me, "There is a true King and ruler". If we do not take care we shall have risings. There will be those ready to support Richard ... till he dies... Edmund de Mortimer's adherents ..."

" 'Twould be safer if we could prove in some way that you were the rightful heir."

"Well, there is the story you know, that Henry the Third's eldest son was not Edward who became the First of that name, but Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, he whom they called Crouch-back, and from whom we are directly descended. But because of the latter's weakness they substituted Edward the second son for the first-born and so he was brought up as the heir."

"Will any believe that, my lord?"

"I think very few would, but it would save a great deal of trouble if they could be persuaded to."

"Why do you not claim the throne because you have won it?"

"Claim it is mine through conquest! A dangerous situation, Harry. Someone one day might be taking it from me ... claiming it by conquest. Chief Justice Thyrnynge has warned me against that. But perhaps I could be said to have a greater claim because I am descended on both sides of the family from Henry the Third. You see that king was my father's great great grandfather and my mother's great great grandfather also. Edmund de Mortimer could not claim that."

"My lord," said Harry, "as I see it, you have the power; you have the riches; you have the crown in your hands. That makes you King. All you must concern yourself with is keeping that crown, until it comes to me and rest assured, my lord, that when it does I shall clamp it to my head with bars of iron."

Henry could not help smiling at his son. As soon as he possibly could he would create him Prince of Wales.

The new King rode through the teeming rain from the Tower on the traditional journey to Westminster for the next day would be that of his coronation.

The water streamed down his face, soaking his fine clothes but he laughed at it and so did the crowds of people who had come out in spite of the weather to welcome him.

With him rode his four sons, Harry who was to be created Prince of Wales within the next few days, just past his twelfth birthday, Thomas who was ten, John nine, and Humphrey eight. The sight of the boys warmed the people's hearts. Here was a man to rule them and he was strong and clever, the son of wily John of Gaunt, and already he had given proof that he could provide strong heirs to the throne. Young Harry's affable smiles and manner towards the crowd delighted all; and now everything would be different from the reign of Richard when they had been taxed to pay for his fine friends and general extravagances and he had shown them quite clearly that he was either unable or disinclined to produce an heir.

Harry thought the most magical sound in the world was that of the people's cheers and the words "God Save the King'. It was particularly exhilarating to think that this would one day be happening to him.

He was almost sorry to reach the dry comfort of Westminster Palace where they would lodge for the night in preparation for the next day's event.

His father had said: "I shall be uneasy until the coronation is over. When a man is crowned King people are less inclined to topple him from his throne."

Harry was beginning to think that his father worried too much and was not going to be uneasy merely till the coronation was over but would go on being so for ever. He should forget how the crown had come to him. He must put the image of an imprisoned Richard and the child Edmund Mortimer out of his mind. Richard had been deposed and nobody wanted a child on the throne.

Harry awoke early on coronation day.

In his own chamber the King prayed that nothing would go wrong. It did not occur to Harry that anything could.

Fortunately the rain had stopped. The people had been in the streets since early morning and had assembled in their thousands around the Palace and the Abbey.

There were wild cheers when the procession emerged led by Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland carrying in his hand the sword of Lancaster which Henry had said should always be preserved, as he had carried it when he landed in England. Northumberland was Constable of England and it was for this reason that he took such a prominent part in the coronation; moreover he reckoned that he and his son Hotspur had made it possible for Henry to gain the throne by offering their support when he arrived, without any army or the means to conduct a campaign the object of which at that time had been merely the regaining of the Lancaster estates.

Harry was entranced to play an important part in such a spectacle. It was his task to carry the curtana, that sword without a point which was always carried at coronations as a symbol of mercy.

He walked immediately behind his father who, dressed entirely in white, walked beneath a blue silk canopy which was carried by the barons of the Cinque Ports.

It was one of the most impressive ceremonies ever seen and if all the time Henry was uneasy wondering whether at the last moment some would protest that the country had a King already and this man who was being crowned was an impostor, he did not show it.

Nothing of the sort happened. It appeared that the country was well satisfied with its new King. But Henry's uneasiness continued all through the splendid banquet that followed and when Sir Thomas Dymoke, the traditional challenger, rode into the hall to demand that if any man present did not accept Henry as the righful King of England he must enter into single combat with Sir Thomas, Henry himself answered.

"If the need arises, Sir Thomas," he said in a clear voice, "I will myself take this office from you."

It was well spoken though it betrayed a departure from tradition—as indeed was this occasion. It was rare that a King was crowned while a crowned King lived and there was one other closer to the throne.

A moment's silence followed and then the cheering burst out.

There was no doubt that Henry the Fourth was King of England by will of the people.

A few days later Harry was created Prince of Wales.

It was inevitable that there should be some voices of dissent. Henry was wary; and when there was a plan to seize and kill him and his family and put Richard back on the throne he took firm action. He crushed the revolt but it was absolutely necessary that Richard must die. At Pontefract Castle Henry put him under the care of Sir Thomas Swynford, the son of Catherine the Duchess of Lancaster. Thomas had risen in the world and he owed his advancement to his mother's connection with the house of Lancaster. If Henry failed Thomas's fortunes would wane. Thomas was a man whom he could trust, he was a shrewd man who knew where his own advantage lay; he was aware that there would be rebellions and risings as long as Richard lived. It was up to Thomas to see that Richard did not live.

Nor did he. He died in Pontefract. Some said he had been starved to death; Thomas Swynford's story was that he had refused to eat. There was rumour that he had been attacked and had died defending himself. But the story which worried Henry most was that he was not dead at all and that a priest who bore a striking resemblance to him had taken his place in the castle while Richard escaped.

That was a story which must be denied at once. Richard must be shown to be dead, and Henry acted with his usual promptness. The late King must be accorded a burial worthy of his rank, he declared. True he had become merely Sir Richard of Bordeaux, but he had once been a king; and he was after all first cousin to the reigning monarch.

Henry gave orders that Richard's body should be placed on a litter and covered with black cloth. There should be a canopy over the litter of the same black cloth. Four horses should be harnessed to the carriage-litter and they also must be caparisoned in black. Grooms should ride the horses which drew the litter and four knights should follow it on its journey. Their demeanour must match their garments of mourning for it must be seen that all due respect was paid to the late King. His face should be exposed so that all might see who the dead man was that there might be no more tiresome rumours about his not being dead. In all the towns and villages through which the cortege passed the litter was to be left in the market square or some such public place where all might see it and satisfy themselves that it was indeed Richard who lay there.

In due course it arrived in London and it proceeded at a slow pace through the streets until it came to Cheapside and there it rested for two hours.

Twenty thousand men and women came to see it and gaze mournfully at the dead face which was all that could be seen of the King.

When the funeral litter left Cheapside it travelled to Langley and there Richard was buried.

Harry of Monmouth, Prince of Wales, was riding out to Havering Bower. He was in good spirits. Life was turning out to be very interesting indeed. Who would have believed it could have changed so quickly! It seemed only a week or so ago that he and Humphrey had been playing and fighting together, captives in Trim Castle, and his father had been an exile with little hope of returning to England for years. He did not wish to think too much of Trim Castle for that brought back thoughts of Humphrey which made him sad. If only Humphrey had been here now how he would have enjoyed boasting to him. But Humphrey was dead and Harry was Prince of Wales with a King for a father.

It was too exciting a prospect for him to entertain melancholy for long.

And he was almost a man. He chuckled too, contemplating his mission.

His father had come straight to the point in his customary manner.

"Harry, you're growing up. Moreover you are the Prince of Wales. It is time we considered a marriage for you."

Marriage! The thought excited Harry. He had already shown a certain fondness for women—and so far his attentions had been mainly for serving girls. They liked him and were ready to accept his attention with a giggle and a rather patronizing air which reminded him that he was "only a boy'.

Marriage would be different.

"Well, you will soon be thirteen and not over young for your years," went on his father. "I think there need be little delay. I see no reason why the marriage should not take place as soon as we have arranged all that will be necessary."

"Who is to be my bride?" asked Harry.

His father smiled at him. "One you have already met and I believe are inclined to admire. She is of the highest birth— in fact a queen. What do you think of that?" As Harry looked puzzled, his father went on: "Why, young Isabella of course."

"Richard's Queen!"

"A widow now—a virgin widow. Just about your age, Harry."

"Isabella!"

"Ah, I see the idea does not displease you."

"She is the prettiest girl I ever saw."

"That is exactly what you should say about your future wife."

"When shall I marry her?"

"Not quite so much haste, please. She is the daughter of the King of France. I don't want to let her go for he is sure to demand her dowry back, so it seems an excellent solution for you to marry her. In due time she should be reigning Queen of England again."

"I think she will like that."

"What is most important at the moment, Harry, is that she should like you."

"Oh she will like me," boasted Harry. "I will go and see her."

His father had thought that would be an excellent idea. Isabella was an imperious young person and as she had been far too much indulged by her late husband, she would need a certain amount of wooing, reasoned the King. He wanted the marriage to be acceptable to her.

Harry had no doubt whatsoever that he was carrying good news to Isabella and he arrived at Havering in good spirits.

When she heard who had come to see her Isabella was at first amazed and then angry. She was in a state of great melancholy mourning Richard. From the moment she had seen him she had loved him; he was so beautiful with his golden hair, blue eyes and delicate skin. He had always been so exquisitely dressed and perfumed and he had been as delighted with her as she was with him. She had been longing for the day when she would be old enough to live with him as his wife and now here she was nearly twelve years old and reaching that goal, and they had killed him.

She was certain they had killed him. She did not believe that he had starved himself to death. He had talked so glowingly of what their life would be together when she was grown up. He would never have killed himself. After all she was his wife and even if they robbed him of his crown and called him Sir Richard of Bordeaux instead of what he really was, King Richard, she was still his wife.

And now he was dead and she was alone and she did not know what would become of her—yet in her grief she did not care.

"I shall not see this braggart Harry," she said. "Why should he come here to see me?"

Her maids, Simonette and Marianne, whom she had brought with her from France and whom Richard had indulgently allowed her to keep, fluttered round her, one brushing her long dark hair and the other putting on her shoes.

"It is important, my lady," said Simonette. "He is the Prince of Wales now, this Harry."

"He is not the Prince of Wales," cried Isabella. "There is no Prince of Wales. He is the son of the usurper."

"Hush, hush, my lady," warned Marianne. "People listen. They say the King is very harsh with those who go against him."

"Let him be harsh with me. Let him kill me as he has killed my dear Richard. My father will come and fight him and perhaps kill him which would please me much, I tell you."

The two chambermaids shook their heads and looked sadly at each other. It was hardly likely that the King of France would come to England to rescue his daughter. He was at this time in one of his lost periods, which meant that he was kept shut away from the world, until his affliction left him and he was sane again.

The little Queen had been so indulged by her husband that she believed that the whole world would be ready to grant her whims.

"She has much to learn, that one," was Simonette's comment to Marianne.

Isabella could not refuse to see the Prince of Wales and now she did not want to because her hatred for his father—and that hatred extended to him—was so overpowering that she wanted to give vent to it.

She was dressed all in white for mourning and with her cheeks ablaze and her eyes alight with passion she made a very pretty picture and Harry's heart leaped with pleasure at the sight of her. She was indeed the loveliest creature he had ever met. The daughter of the King of France, a Queen already ! What luck that she was worthy of him.

He bowed in his best manner while she regarded him with haughty disdain.

"Well met, my lady," he said. "It is long since I have known such pleasure as this meeting between us gives me."

She remained silent. Wait till she knows, thought Harry. Pretty little Isabella, she is a prisoner here. She must have been wondering what will happen to her. I have come to rescue her. How she will love me when she knows.

"I have a matter of the greatest importance to discuss with you," he went on.

She said coolly: "I do not know what you and I could have to discuss."

"You will, sweet lady. You will. Such good news I bring to you that I will withhold it no longer. Is there somewhere where we could be quiet that we may talk?"

"State your business here and now, my lord," said Isabella. "You have a long journey back to Westminster."

Her manner made Harry laugh. Of course, she still thought of herself as the Queen. She had forgotten that Richard was dead, that he had been dethroned. Still, she still bore the title of Queen and she was the daughter of the King of France, madman though he might be.

"I shall go back with good news for my father, I doubt not. Come sit with me and I will tell you why I have come."

With reluctance she allowed him to conduct her to the window seat.

Then he took her hand and said, "Isabella, my father has created me Prince of Wales. That means I am heir to the throne. You never reigned with Richard. How would you like to do so one day with me?"

She refused to believe the implication.

"I do not understand, my lord," she said. "I know that the true King is dead and that there is a usurper on the throne. You mean that if the true King's loyal subjects do not displace this usurper you will one day be King."

"There is no usurper. My father reigns by the will of the people because Richard proved himself unable to do so. My father is the descendant of Kings on both sides of his family. England will be happier under him than it ever was under Richard. My father. King Henry, has given his consent to our match and I come here to give you this good news."

"Our ... match!"

"Isabella, my beautiful little Isabella, I love you. I want you to be my wife ... my Queen one day. My father ..."

She had sprung to her feet; her hands were clenched at her sides; her eyes stony.

"You ... the son of my husband's murderer ... You dare to come here and say this to me!"

"Isabella, you are mistaken. Richard was not murdered. He chose to die. He knew he was useless and he gave up the throne of his own free will. You were his bride ... his child bride ... you were never his wife in anything but name."

"Please do not speak of him. I do not wish to hear his name on your lips. Your father is a murderer, Harry of Monmouth. You have killed my husband. You make your crime worse by suggesting that I would marry you." Her voice had risen. "I hate you, Harry of Monmouth. I hate you. I hate you."

"Well," said Harry with a grin, "that need not prevent your marrying me."

"Go away. Never let me see you again."

"Now that is asking too much. A wife must see her husband now and then you know. How else are they going to get the heirs the country will expect of them?"

She tried to push past him but he held her fast.

"You are like a wild cat," he said. "I must tame you."

"I shall send to my father," she cried. "I will tell him how you insult me. He will make war on you."

"Sweet Isabella, dear child. Kings do not make war because of naughty little daughters. Your father will welcome this match as mine does. Come Isabella, I am a fine fellow really, and I am ready to prove it to you."

"Let me alone. Go away. Never talk to me like this again."

With that she gave him a push which sent him back to the window seat and she ran as fast as she could up the stairs to her bedchamber.

Harry looked after her ruefully. She would get used to the idea.

In her bedchamber Isabella found the Duchess of Ireland whom Richard had put in charge of her. The Duchess who had been Eleanor Holland before she married Roger de Mortimer had little cause to love the new self-styled King, for her son was Edmund de Mortimer whom many said was the true heir to the throne. The Duchess was still mourning the death of her husband who had died of his wounds in Ireland just before Richard had begun his campaign there.

Isabella turned the lock in the door and stood against it facing the Duchess.

"What do you think he has dared say?" she demanded. "This ... this boy ... who calls himself the Prince of Whales. He says his father wishes me to marry him."

"Oh, my child!" There was a bitter twist to the Duchess's lips. "He wastes little time, does he, this Henry of Lancaster."

"Eleanor, I refuse. I told him I hated him. I will never ... never marry him. Oh why did they kill Richard? I love Richard ... I'll always love him. Being dead doesn't make any difference."

"My dear lady, he is only a boy obeying his father."

"I hate him. He's just as bad as his father. I hate them both. I won't marry him. I'll run away. I'll go to my father. Eleanor, I want to send messengers to him at once ..."

The Duchess stroked Isabella's hair.

Poor child, she thought, she is just a counter in a game to them all ... to be moved this way and that as pleases them best.

Whatever the young Queen felt about her unwelcome visitor he could not be churlishly refused hospitality. He was after all the son of the King and must be treated as such. Everyone at Havering knew that his or her present position was precarious and that Isabella would not remain long at Havering. It had been believed that she would most likely return to France but the arrival of the Prince of Wales presented a new and exciting possibility for it was quickly learned what his purpose was in coming.

When Isabella recovered from the shock of Harry's proposal she was a little calmer and her attitude towards him was one of cold disdain.

At first this amused him. He would not have cared for an easy conquest; and the more aloof Isabella became the more he decided that he wanted to marry her.

He contrived to be with her as often as possible but as she was determined to avoid him he was not always successful.

In exasperation she tried to explain to him. "I will never marry you," she said. "I have been married once. I loved my husband, the true King, and I shall never love anyone else."

Harry tried to reason with her. "That is nonsense" he insisted. "Richard was never your husband. He was like an indulgent father and you were his little pet... like one of his dogs."

"I hate you, Monmouth Harry," she murmured.

"You were never a wife to him. You don't know what it means to be a wife."

"And you would teach me what it means?"

His eyes glowed in anticipation. "That would I do right gladly."

"You never will."

"Come, give me your promise."

"I will promise you one thing: I will never be your wife"

"I am not one who easily gives up."

"It takes two to make a bargain like this."

"Not always," he answered. "In fact royal marriages are arranged for us. My father is very willing. What if your father is too?"

She was cold with horror. She escaped from him as soon as she could and seeking out the Duchess she told her that she was sending a message to her father without delay. He must save her from the odious Harry and his murdering father.

The message was sent to France and at the same time an embassy arrived from Henry proposing the marriage of his son to Isabella. Charles the King of France was at the time suffering from one of his bouts of madness and his brother, Louis of Orleans, received the message. He certainly did not wish for the marriage. For one thing Henry was scarcely firm on the throne. There would be all kinds of murmurings against him, he was sure; moreover Louis had a son and it seemed to him that Isabella would be a very suitable bride for young Charles of Angouleme who was a year or so younger than she was.

Louis was pleased that Isabella had no wish for the match with Harry although of course if it had been expedient her feelings would not have been of paramount importance.

Louis's reply to Henry was that the King was at the moment suffering from one of his bouts of illness and it was impossible for the King's eldest daughter to be given away without consulting the King. Therefore no answer could be given at this time.

When Isabella heard she was grateful for a little respite; she believed that her father who had always been affectionate to her would listen to her pleas.

For some weeks after that Isabella lived quietly undisturbed by the visits of her would-be suitor. His father had decided that as Isabella felt so strongly about the marriage it was better to leave it for a while. In a few months it would be considered that she had reached a marriageable age and then it might be possible to perform the ceremony in spite of her objections. As yet it was too soon and Richard's death too recent.

The King of France came out of his madness as he had done on other occasions and as soon as his mental aberrations ceased he was quite normal again. His first thought was for his daughter and when he heard what was proposed for her and knew of her abhorrence for the match he decided to send the Count d'Albret with an embassy to England to see Henry and Isabella and discover what should be done. Isabella had gone to England with a magnificent dowry. If she returned to France that must come back with her and the King, like Louis of Orleans, felt that Henry's hold on the crown might not be very secure.

Isabella meanwhile had continued in some trepidation at Havering. Harry paid another visit during which she had remained cool towards him and avoided him as much as possible. He was however unabashed because he had thought that Isabella would relent in time, but he was beginning to realize that what he had at first regarded as an amusing game was a more serious matter which might end in defeat for him, for Isabella truly hated him, and was amazingly loyal to Richard. There was no doubt that she was a person of determination and unless the French were very eager for the match it might well not take place.

When the Count d'Albret arrived in England and presented himself. King Henry entertained him lavishly at Eltham. The Count said that he wished to see the young Queen to which Henry replied: "You will find her in a melancholy state. She mourns the late King. I should not wish you to speak of him when you see her."

"How can that be avoided, my lord?"

"If she mentions him you must indeed answer, but I insist though that you must not introduce the subject, nor must you discuss his abdication and death with her. I would need your oath on this."

The Count replied that he had not come here to talk of what was past. It was the future with which he was concerned, and he gave his promise.

The King then sent one of his guards to Isabella to extract the same promise from her. "The King is allowing the Count d'Albret to visit you," she was told, "on condition that you do not mention the late King to him."

Isabella was aghast. "How can I not speak of something that is in my thoughts night and day?"

The guard replied: "Unless you give this promise the Count will not see you. He has given his promise to the King."

Isabella was silent for a moment. She was a prisoner of the men she hated. There was nothing for her here—nothing but memories of her beloved Richard. She must go home. It was the only place where she could find peace of mind and escape from the odious attentions of Henry and his son.

She gave her promise.

The Count arrived at Havering where he was received by Isabella in the company of the Duchess of Ireland and a few other ladies.

Isabella plied the visitor with questions about her parents. Her father was well now, she was told; and so were Dauphin Louis and his two younger brothers and her sister.

"I long to see them," said Isabella, her tone meaningful.

"It seems, my lady, that you will do so ere long," was the answer.

It was an implication that the King was not eager to let his daughter marry into England.

The embassy returned to France but not until it had been made clear to Henry that there should be no marriage. The King of France wished to receive his daughter back at his Court. He would, of course, require that the jewels she had brought to England should be returned to France. She was young yet but at some time it might be necessary to provide another dowry for her. Charles wanted his daughter's valuable jewellery.

Henry was not very pleased by the turn of events but he wanted no trouble with France. Isabella was young. It might be better for her to return to France and a marriage between her and Harry could well be arranged at a later date. But what of the jewellery which must go with her? Henry had distributed that between the members of his family. He could only promise to return it and informed the French that he had commanded his children to send it to him. He intimated to them that he had not told the French that the jewellery would be returned but only that he had commanded it to be; and they were not to hurry to send it to him. In the meantime certain other items were put together—silver drinking cups and dishes and tapestries which she had brought with her— and these could be sent in her baggage. Now there was no doubt that Isabella was going to return to France.

It was a beautiful May morning when she set out on her way to Dover accompanied by the Duchess of Ireland and the Countesses of Hereford and March, Lady Mowbray and a few others of slightly lower rank. Isabella looked with some emotion at the countryside which was at its most beautiful now, alive with the promise of summer. The fields were so green and the banks blue and white with germander speedwell and ground-ivy, stitchwort and meadow-sweet. As she passed woods she caught a glimpse of misty bluebells waving under trees and she thought of the first day she had set foot on this land. She remembered her trepidation, her homesickness ... and then her first sight of Richard.

She must not go on thinking of him. But how could she help it, and she knew she would never be happy again.

Henry had determined that she should be treated with the utmost honour and she was met on the way by the Bishops of Durham and Hereford and the Earl of Somerset, who was the King's half-brother, one of the Beaufort sons of John of Gaunt and Catherine Swynford.

Isabella was insensible of the honour. She was bemused. She did not want to stay in England, nor did she wish to go to France. All she wanted was to go back in time to the day when she had first come and seen Richard. I would protect him, she thought angrily and illogically. I would never have allowed him to be murdered. I should have been with him. But it was all such nonsense. He was dead and she was alone, floating in limbo not wanting to look forward, hating to stay where she was; all she could do was look back to the bliss she had shared with Richard.

At Hackney she was met by Prince Thomas, Harry's brother, who was a year younger than he was and loathed by her because he was the son of his father. But at least he did not pester her as his brother did. She received him coldly.

The Lord Mayor and the aldermen had come out of London to greet her and to guard her as she rode into the city. They did not forget that she was Queen and they were gracious to her and reminded her of the tumultuous welcome she had received when she had entered this city with Richard, but she despised them all. They had stood by and allowed Richard to be murdered; they had accepted the usurper and called him King.

She was lodged in the Tower of London and there she stayed for a few days before making the journey to the coast, and it was late June before she set out. In due course she reached Dover; and when she had crossed the Channel in the company of Sir Thomas Percy, a member of that family which had played such a big part in putting Henry on the throne, she was escorted to the little town of Leulinghen which was in between Boulogne and Calais and there she was ceremoniously handed over to the Count St Pol to be conducted to her father's Court.

When she reached Paris her family awaited her. Her parents embraced her warmly while her brothers and little sister regarded her with frank appraisal.

Her father she noticed at once was different from the man she remembered. He looked haggard, which she supposed was natural after the illness he had undergone. But he was kind and calm and showed no sign of the mental stresses he must have suffered. Her mother too was different. Her beauty was breathtaking. Isabella had never seen anyone more beautiful. It was a glittering beauty, which made it impossible for people to stop looking at her. Her brothers and sister were just children, not so experienced of the world as she was. Had they been to England; had they been married and widowed and almost forced into hideous union with someone they hated! No, they were young, innocent, unmarked by time.

She soon discovered that there was something strange going on. She was aware of covert looks; of the manner in which her mother and the King's brother, Louis of Orleans, looked at each other. She was aware of many watching eyes; and it soon became clear to her that an adulterous intrigue was going on between her mother and her uncle.

Louis of Orleans was affable. He gave himself the airs of a King. Isabella recoiled because she could not stop thinking of her poor father with his bouts of madness and how her mother and her uncle were deceiving him and the aura of intrigue which surrounded the Court.

Her uncle Louis was very much aware of her she knew. He was planning something. So was her mother. And she felt afraid.

Uncle Louis said to her one day soon after her return: "How good it is to have you with us, sweet child. We are going to keep you with us. We shall find a husband worthy of you, never fear."

She wanted to shout: It is what I do fear. I had one husband. I shall never forget him. I want no more."

Then she began to wonder whether she would be any happier in France than in England. She longed to be a child again, with the belief that everything was good and beautiful and made for her pleasure. How sad that she must grow up and learn the truth. She had wanted to leave the English scene because to her it was stained red with the blood of her husband and had become hateful because of the blatant usurpation of the throne. And now she was in France and because she was older, more experienced, she could feel tragedy here, as intense as that which she had suffered in England.

What would become of her poor father who for long periods of time lost his sanity? What were her mother and Uncle Louis planning together? When would they force her to marry the man of their choice? Could she be any happier in France than she had been in England? But how could she be happy anywhere now that Richard was dead.