The star of Lancaster

PRINCE HAL

The Queen of England was thoughtful as her women dressed her. She was beautiful, everyone had agreed with that; but she had to grow accustomed to the fact that the people did not like her. She was not very sure that they liked the King himself. They called her the Foreigner and some whispered of him: Usurper. Coming to the throne as he had would naturally mean that there would always be some to raise their voices against him.

Her hair hung in thick curls; and her close-fitting gown accentuated the excellence of her figure. She did not look as if she had had several children. Her women placed the tall Syrian cap on her head. It became her. She would have changed the fashion if it had not done so; she herself arranged the transparent veil.

Life had not been quite what she had expected in England. She supposed that after her arranged marriage to the ageing Duke of Brittany it had seemed romantic when Henry of Lancaster had come to the Court—an exile needing comfort and help, and with a throne to win. And a far ofE lover ... that had been very romantic. Both of them waiting on fate. And when fate had worked in their favour it had seemed like a miracle.

Well, the reality was somehow different.

Kings and Queens could not expect life to run smoothly for them. They were neither of them in their first flush of youth; she was thirty-three years old, Henry four years older; both had known other marriages—fruitful ones. She had her daughters here with her. More important perhaps was the existence of her sons, and their interests, closely allied with France, might not always be the same as those of Henry.

Henry's daughter Blanche was married to Louis, son and heir of the Duke of Bavaria and Elector Palatine of the Rhine. The child had already left England when Joanna arrived. His second daughter, Philippa, would soon be departing for her marriage with Eric of Sweden, and Joanna's own daughters would have to marry sooner or later.

There were too many cares in their lives for romance.

She was fortunate in having been able to form a friendly relationship with the Prince of Wales and she had been greeted warmly by other members of the family.

There was one in particular. She smiled at the thought of him. Joanna liked admiration—who does not?—and coming from such a person as the royal Duke of York it was very welcome.

Henry was deeply immersed in the affairs of the country. He had a great deal to occupy and worry him, and he was often morose. There was a reason for this which she had soon discovered.

It had alarmed her.

She remembered the scene in their bedchamber when he dismissed the servants and would not allow them to assist in his disrobing.

He had had to confess to her for she might easily discover his affliction for herself.

"Joanna," he said, "a terrible misfortune has come upon me."

His face had turned grey as he talked to her and that made more noticeable the marks on his skin which she had thought till then were due to cold winds or sitting too close to the fire, and that they would pass with the aid of balmy weather and unguents.

"I am afflicted by a disease. I know not what it is. I had thought it would pass. But it does not. It affects my skin and at times I feel as though I have been doused in fire. The irritation is sometimes unbearable. Once it showed itself on my face ..." He touched his wrinkled skin. "It disappeared ... or almost did. But I dread its return and it never goes completely away."

She had looked at the marks on his body with growing uneasiness and tried to comfort him. She would consult the keeper of her stillroom. She believed there were ointments which could cure such afflictions.

But she was disturbed and so was Henry.

This man with the fear of a horrible disease which was advancing on him was very different from the romantic lover who had given her a forget-me-not to remember him by.

She had found unguents but they had no effect on him. A terrible thought kept occurring to her. Could it be leprosy?

As she mused one of her women thrust a paper into her hands.

"The Duke of York himself gave it to me," whispered the woman. "He would have me swear to deliver it to no one but you."

"Oh, he becomes too foolish," said Joanna.

"And reckless, too, my lady," giggled the woman. " 'Tis to be hoped this does not come to the King's ears."

Joanna gave the woman a sharp push. "There is no need to fear that," she said sharply. "I may show it to the King myself. There is nothing wrong, my good woman, in writing a verse to a lady of the Court, which is what the Duke has done. In the Courts of Provence and such places it was the natural order of the day."

"Yes, my lady," said the woman quietly.

Joanna looked at the paper.

It was verses, as she had expected it would be, and from that foolish young man. She must warn him. It was gallant of him to find her so beautiful that he sighed for her love, but he must remember that she was the wife of the King and such writing could be dangerous.

She would warn him when next she saw him, not to write so to her again.

She left her women and went to join the King. They would sit side by side in the royal box and watch the jousts. Young Harry would give a good account of himself she doubted not and the people would shout for him. There was something about the boy which won cheers wherever he went.

Henry's face was grey beneath the velvet cap looped up at the side with a fleur de lys. His furred velvet mantle hung loosely on him. Joanna dared not ask him whether more spots had appeared on his skin. She could see a redness on his neck and she wondered what would happen when his face began to be really disfigured.

"I see you looking in good health" he said.

She smiled warmly and heartily wished she could say the same for him.

"Have you seen Harry?" he asked.

"No, but I look forward to his performance. I am sure he will be the champion."

"No doubt of it. The boy gives me cause for alarm, Joanna."

"Has he been in further trouble?"

"I hear stories. They think they ought to tell me. I know he will be the champion. I know that he can lead an army. But there is more to kingship than that."

"He can win the applause of the people," Joanna reminded him. "They love him."

"The people love today and hate tomorrow," said the King ruefully. "Not that they have ever shown much adulation for me. I always had my enemies. I came to the throne through a back door you might say. That is never good for a king."

"You came because the people wanted you. They were tired of Richard. And you were the next..."

"There was the young Earl of March, remember."

"A boy I They wanted you, Henry. You were King by election. You have done well for them."

"They do not like me. Perhaps they will like Harry better ... that is if he mends his ways."

"What have you heard now?"

"That he visits the taverns of London. That he spends hours in the company of low people. That he throws off his royalty and is one of them. It will not serve him well, Joanna."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"I have in the past. There is an insolence about him. He is the Prince of Wales. He has the people with him. He implies that he does not need me. I believe he would be ready to take the throne from me."

"Never. He is high spirited, that is all. He chafes against the bonds of royalty. Give him time. He will be a great king when the time comes ... and I pray he will be a sober old greybeard by that time."

"You bring me comfort, Joanna," he said. "But there is one other matter which causes me concern ... and were I to believe what is whispered it would bring me greater unhappiness than I suffer from the bad habits of my son."

"What is that?" asked Joanna in surprise.

"It concerns you ... and my cousin of York."

Joanna flushed slightly. "Oh you have been listening to tales. He is a foolish young man."

"And you are a beautiful young woman."

"Not so young. But this is nonsense. He fancies himself as a poet and I am a good target for his verse."

"He sends them to you?"

"Yes, he does."

"And you?"

"I read them and tell him he has much to learn."

"Of what matters?"

"Of how to write verse for one; and of me for another."

"I like it not," said Henry.

"My dear husband, trust me. I loved you when I was the wife of the Duke of Brittany but I did not tell you so. Never a word of what we felt for each other passed between us. I am a woman who respects her marriage vows and even if I felt a tenderness towards this man—which I hasten to tell you I do not—there would never be anything but friendship between us."

"I believe you," said the King. "But I do not trust him. There was a time when he was ready to support Richard against me. I might have lost my crown. Oddly enough he saved it for me. He was one of the conspirators who planned to rescue Richard and set him on the throne. He was then Rutland for his father was alive and he had not yet acquired the title of York, and suddenly he was afraid and confided in his father. My good uncle of York saw at once what must be done. I was informed by both father and son of what was afoot and so the plot did not succeed."

"So you may well owe your throne to him."

"I may well do that but all the same I do not care for a man who changes coats so easily."

"Then you must believe that he is not a strong enough man for you to waste your thoughts on. I swear to you that nothing has passed between us but that which you know of."

"I believe you."

"Then you must not pay attention to such trivialities."

"Nothing that touches you can be trivial to me."

"I know it," she said, with her voice soft and tender. "May God smile on you. May he preserve you in peace and happiness for as long as we both shall live."

He was moved. He had not been wrong when he had taken her as his second wife. That she lacked Mary's meekness did not disturb him. Mary had not been meant to be a Queen.

He was satisfied with his marriage. It was one of the few aspects of his life which was satisfactory and he was not going to have it even faintly tarnished by his amorous cousin. He would be watchful of him and at the first opportunity he would know how to deal with him.

They went out together to take their places at the joust which was being performed in the Queen's honour. They acknowledged the rapturous greetings of the company and sat at the balcony where all could see them. The Queen was beautiful and in his royal velvet Henry himself made an impressive figure. From the distance it was not possible to see clearly the havoc the disease was causing to his skin.

The opportunity came. York was a reckless young man; the kind who would be embroiled in some plot or other if he were given the chance. It might be why he was a close friend of the Prince of Wales.

After the death of Richard and the fact that people no longer could believe the story that he lived—for if he had Henry would never have been so eager to marry his son to Richard's queen Isabella—the greatest bogey in Henry's life was the young Earl of March. The older he grew the more likelihood there would be of discontented men rallying round him and stating his claim to the throne.

That was why when news came of the plot to rescue the young Earl of March and his younger brother from Windsor, where they were kept under the eyes of the King's guards, and the Duke of York was proved to be involved in it, Henry was able to act justifiably and none could attribute his action to a jealousy regarding the Queen.

It was a plot worthy of York, thought Henry grimly. He was involved with his sister Lady de Despenser who was not a woman of the highest character and they had bribed a blacksmith to make a set of keys to enable them to open the doors of the apartment where the young captives were kept.

There was a period of great consternation when Henry learned that the two boys had been taken from Windsor. Henry visualized armies in the name of the Earl of March coming against him. Henry imagined that many would flock to their banner simply because they disliked him. His infrequent public appearances did not endear him to the people; how could he tell them of the terrible anxieties he suffered and that sometimes his face was so inflamed that he could not venture out? They did not like his foreign Queen either. Sometimes he thought how popular he and Mary used to be when he was plain Bolingbroke, or Derby or Hereford. It was only when he had become Henry the King that the people had begun to dislike him.

York was no brilliant strategist and it was inevitable that any plot in which he was involved should fail. And so did this one.

After cleverly getting the boys out of Windsor he carelessly allowed their destination to be discovered, and it was not long before the two boys were sent back to Windsor and York was the King's prisoner. Then the story came out. The blacksmith lost his life; it would have been unwise to allow York to suffer the same fate and make a martyr of him; he was sent to Pevensey Castle for safe keeping.

Henry had had his revenge. He had wanted York removed for he did not like the thought of a handsome young man writing verses to Joanna. Now was his chance. He could dismiss York from Court and no one could say he had not good reason for doing so, and Joanna would no longer be able to compare smooth-skinned York with her husband who grew more ill-favoured every day.

Joanna made no attempt to plead for him, which gratified Henry, and he was convinced that York meant nothing to her. York was one of those men who would always involve himself in dangerous situations in which he had little chance of achieving his goal.

There remained the matter of the Earl of March. The older he grew the more of a problem he would be.

Henry sent for Harry. When his son arrived Henry's feelings fluctuated between pride and irritation. There was no question of his not being a fine specimen of manhood; all sign of that childhood weakness which had caused such anxiety to his mother had disappeared. He was less Plantagenet than de Bohun, but looks were the only characteristics he had inherited from his mother. Her gentle meekness, her main characteristic, was completely lacking in young Harry. He was dark, with thick smooth hair; his nose was long and straight, his face oval; his teeth were outstandingly white and well shaped and he had a cleft in his chin. He had a glowing complexion which indicated extreme good health; there was a reddish tinge in his brown eyes which could be sleepily good-humoured or fierce when he was angry. Yes, he was a son to be proud of, with his lean body, above normal height, his limbs well formed and his bearing already that of a King. There was a vitality in him which seemed to be fighting to get out. It was a pity he wasted his energies in low taverns surrounded by men of similar tastes.

"I do not need to ask if you are in good health," said Henry.

Harry thought: I cannot say the same for you, old man.

"I am well as I trust you are, my lord."

Henry waved his hands. "You see me in sorry state. More and more responsibility will be put onto your shoulders, Harry."

Harry stood up very straight, smiling, confident of his ability to carry it.

"I would there were not these reports of you ... carousing in low taverns."

"It is my way of meeting the people."

"You can do that satisfactorily at my Court."

"Which I do," said Harry. "But I would meet all sorts. What do most courtiers know of the villeins, water men, merchants and such like?"

"What do they want to know of them?"

"What they are thinking. That they are loyal subjects. We could depend on such as them to keep us on our thrones."

"You have not yet a throne, Harry."

"No, sir. But I am the heir to one."

"Take care."

"But it is what I do constantly, my lord."

"You are acquiring a reputation for low living."

"And for high living, my lord. I am living my life to the full."

"You give me cause for anxiety, my son."

"My lord, you give me cause for anxiety. You are not in good health."

The King was silent.

"Father," said Harry, "you may rely on me to stand beside you, to be your deputy, to take on those duties which you feel yourself unable to carry out"

My God, thought Henry, his fingers itch to take the crown!

He said coldly: "I have no duties in low taverns"

"Why," laughed Harry, "it is my way of passing the time. Give me my tasks and I will carry them out to your satisfaction"

"I am going to put the Earl of March and his brother into your keeping"

Harry's eyes shone with pleasure.

"Rest assured I shall keep them safe from interfering relations and their accommodating blacksmiths."

"See to it. And Harry ... you have noticed this affliction of mine?"

Harry nodded.

"And others?"

"They do not speak to me of it."

"There will come a time when I fear it will be the undoing of me. But it is a slow process."

Harry was silent.

"There should be amity between us two, my son. I would have you remember your position."

"I could never forget it, my lord."

"Our claim to the crown could be contested"

"Could and is," said Harry.

"This matter of young March ..."

"Ah, we have our enemies."

"Surrounding us, my son. That is why we must stand together."

"And take great care."

"York is safe at Pevensey."

"He should not be kept long under restraint. He will become a martyr. Men will speak of him and perhaps say he had right on his side."

"What would you do then. Free him?"

"After a while, yes. And restore his estates to him"

"As a reward for playing traitor?"

"He is of our family. He had worked for us. He saved us remember when he was with the plotters at Windsor. But for him it might well be that you and I should not be here now discussing how to safeguard the crown. We shall get good service from him yet. He is a man governed by his emotions.

Let him fret a while in prison. Then I will speak for him and guarantee his good behaviour. He will be a good servant to me then, I'll promise you. He is one who will remember a service."

"Methinks you would already govern this realm."

"Think on it," said Harry with a smile. Then he bowed low and said: "At your service, my lord and father. Together we shall hold the crown against all who might come against us."

After he had left Henry was thoughtful, and his apprehension and pride were stronger than ever.

Harry was right, they must not be vindictive to the Duke of York. The people might even say that he was jealous because of the Duke's admiration of the Queen.

Four months after the Duke of York had been sent to Pevensey, he was released and his goods and lands restored to him.

Harry appeared to have judged correctly. The Duke was grateful. Henry believed that if there was another attempt to snatch the crown, York would be beside him and his son.

Two men swaggered over the cobbles of East Cheap and entered the Boar's Head. They were an incongruous pair— one rotund, the other slender; and there was such a difference in their ages that they might have been father and son.

They sprawled together at a bench and called for wine. The girl who brought it, her hair hanging lankly over the tawdry ribbons of her none too clean gown, laid her hand on the young man's shoulder and gave him an inviting smile.

He squeezed her thigh. "Some other time," he said with a wink at his companion. "Tonight mayhap."

"Nay," said the older man with a rumbling laugh, "have naught to do with these callow youths, lass. Take a man like me ... a man who has travelled far and wide ... in the French wars ... in the German wars ... and in any wars you can name."

"Listen not to him," said the younger one. "He is old and incapable."

"You two!" said the woman with a flounce of her skirts. "If I know aught it'll be talk and talk. That's what you do best, mark my words.

With this she left with a twirl of her musty skirts.

The older man sat back on the bench and surveyed the younger.

"You effect a good disguise, my lord," he said. "I'd find good sport in standing on this bench and shouting to them all: Behold your Prince."

"I don't doubt you would," replied Harry. "Would they believe you?"

"A right good scandal it would make."

"Bless you, John, there are scandals enough about me."

"What's for tonight?"

"A little bit of robbery methinks."

"What have you in mind then?"

"There are some about me who suspect my fondness for this place. I heard them whispering about the Boar's Head in East Cheap. We'll surprise him, they said. That'll be good sport. I want to surprise them."

"You bring good custom to the Boar's Head, my lord. The landlord should be pleased with you."

"His harlot of a daughter does not seem to be. God's ear, John, I think she prefers you."

"Ah, there is a lot to be said for a man of experience."

"There's more to be said for youth."

"Well you, my lord, are in good way of combining the two. But take care with the poxy wenches."

"Away dull care," cried Harry. "Care is for courts. Bawdry for the Boar's Head, trickery for taverns ... What say you, John, to this? Here we meet the people. We hear what they think of the King and his son. The King who filched Richard's crown. The Prince who is itching to take it. The King who is mean and grasping. The Prince who wastes their money on debauchery. By God, I would it were true, John; I would I had it to waste on debauchery."

"You manage debauchery at a low price," replied Oldcastle.

" 'Tis to be had at all prices and cheaper here in the Boar's Head than at Court."

"Tell me, what is this plan?"

"Tonight we lurk in the streets. We play the footpad on these fine gentlemen from Court. We take their money. 'Twill be a new game. A good one too."

"Are you short of money again?"

"Not of the kind they will have on their persons."

"They could harm you."

"God bless you, John, am I going to curb my inclinations because I am afraid of being hurt? Would you say, "Do not go into battle my lord, you may be hurt?" Look at this scar here on my forehead. Battle honours, John. An arrow at Shrewsbury where we slew brave Hotspur. Enough of your caution. Out into the streets. We'll lurk there and we will catch them on their way to the tavern."

"It seems a good sport," said Oldcastle.

Harry drew something from under his cloak. "Masks, John. They must not know it is a game."

" 'Tis easier for you to disguise yourself than it is for me to do so. My bulk betrays me."

"Why John, there are thousands of bulky men and where in England is a figure as neat and slender as mine. They look at me, no matter how I'm clad and say: "There goes noble Harry.""

"Nay. I shall be the better known."

"Would you start a quarrel now then, fat man?"

"I would and I will it, boy."

Harry laughed. "No time for private wars, old fellow. Come ..."

"Are you going then, fair sirs?" It was the landlord's daughter.

Harry took her by the shoulder and gave her a hearty kiss on the mouth.

"I'll be back, sweetheart," he said.

They came out into the streets. The flickering tallow candle in the tavern had given little light but it was some seconds before their eyes were adjusted to the gloom.

They picked their way carefully over the uneven ground avoiding the kennel in the middle of the road which would be overflowing with refuse, yet keeping from the walls in case someone threw out something which was even more obnoxious.

Harry loved the adventure of the streets by night. At any moment some cutthroat might spring out on them, or they might be accosted by some prostitute whom they would know must be hard pressed since she had wandered out in the darkness. To Harry it was excitement. He liked the streets by day with their lively activity; he liked to mingle with apprentices and pretend to be one of them; he liked to bargain with the stallholders and talk of the iniquities of the tax laws; he liked to buy a ballad of a ballad singer and take it into the tavern and try it out; he would exchange banter with a milkmaid and parley with a madam who was trying to sell him one of her girls from the country. Sometimes he joined in fights when he could always give a good account of himself. "What do you lack?" he would shout at the apprentices. He would stand and watch the craftsmen at work in their open shops. He would startle a beggar by the size of his contribution and then slink away quickly while the beggar called a blessing on him. He loved it all—the filth, the squalor and the grandeur of the London streets. It was a delight to mingle with these people, to know how they thought, how they acted; he liked their pride and that certain dignity which was as ingrained in them as it was in the highest nobility.

It was men such as these merchants and their apprentices who would stand beside him against his enemies, he believed. He did not want them there because they feared not to join him; he wanted to understand them, to talk with them, to have them work for him and give him loyalty not because it was treason not to, but because they wanted to.

He wanted to know the people he would one day rule. That was one reason why he mingled with them. The other was that he enjoyed the sport of it. He liked to spend a night with a woman who thought he was a young apprentice and who had no idea that briefly she enjoyed the privilege of sharing her bed with the Prince of Wales.

It was adventure that appealed to his youth and high spirits; and because there was danger in it, he liked it the better.

"Hist," said John Oldcastle. "I hear revellers."

" 'Tis they," whispered Harry. "I know their voices. Let's take them from behind."

They crouched by the wall. Three young men came by, courtiers in their velvet. One held a pomander, sniffing it purposefully.

Harry laughed inwardly. He heard one say: "Methinks the Prince has little taste."

"He'll have a surprise when he sees us," said another.

"Now! " whispered Harry.

They had caught two of the young men from behind. The one with the pomander dropped it and cried out: "Help. We are set upon. Thieves."

Harry laughed. It showed how little he knew of the London streets. Such a cry was enough to set everyone bolting their doors.

There was a scuffle. They were after all three to two. Harry was agile but not agile enough. He caught a strong blow in the ribs which left him breathless, but he was quick to respond and sent his opponent down to the ground.

He then tackled the gentleman with the pomander, who was easy prey.

"Their purses" he whispered to Oldcastle. And in a few seconds they were running through the dark streets with three purses in their possession.

Harry leaned against a wall and burst out laughing.

"Tomorrow" he said, "they will tell a fine tale."

They did not go back to the tavern that night.

The next day Harry enquired how his friends had received their bruises and expressed deep concern when they told him they had been set upon in East Cheap by a pack of ruffians.

"The streets are unsafe by night" said Harry with a show of concern.

Oldcastle added: " 'Tis unsafe to wander in them unarmed. Did you have nothing to defend yourself?"

"My good sir, try to defend yourself when set on by a gang."

"Were there many of them?" asked Harry solemnly.

"I'd say we were outnumbered three to one."

"No chance against so many" muttered Oldcastle.

"A plague on them, they had our purses."

"And you cannot afford the loss, I'll swear," said Harry. "Who of us can? I'll be generous. You're good fellows and brave. I'll swear you gave a good account of yourself. You will allow me to reimburse you."

The three adventurers declared themselves reluctant to rob the Prince.

"Come, come. You have been robbed."

Harry was almost hysterical with suppressed mirth as he handed back their own money.

When they were alone Sir John said: "I believe you gave more to one of them than the other two."

"You know why. He was the one who hit me in the ribs. I thought he should be rewarded for showing more fight than the others."

They had enjoyed the adventure so much that they decided to repeat it. Secrecy was a necessity.

"It's dangerous," said Sir John. "Who knows, someone of them may get the better of us."

"That's why it is exciting, you old buffoon."

Sometimes there was some rough fighting, but the more the attacked fought back the better Harry liked it.

It was his favourite game until someone detected that he was the instigator. From then on the game had lost its savour.

But there were always ways of amusing themselves in the taverns and the streets of London.

Harry had a servant of whom he was somewhat fond. He knew the fellow for a rogue but he was a merry one; and his unscrupulous behaviour amused the Prince. One day it occurred to him that he had not seen Bardolph for a few days and he asked where he was.

"My lord," was the answer, "he has been arrested."

"Arrested for what cause?"

"Some felony, my lord. It was of a certainty that he would be caught one day."

"Why was I not told? Is he not my servant?"

"Twas an offence which brought him before the Chief Justice, my lord."

"Before Gascoigne! Why he stands a chance of hanging then. I won't lose Bardolph to a hangman, that I swear."

"My lord, he comes up for trial this day."

"Then I shall leave at once for the courts."

He was as good as his word and impetuously he rode out. At the King's Bench sat Sir William Gascoigne—a man in his late fifties, dignified, deeply aware of the importance of his office and known throughout the country for his incorruptible determination to administer justice to high and low alike.

There was a commotion in court as Harry appeared and the judge called for order.

Harry went forward. He had seen his servant Bardolph.

"There stands my servant," he said. "I wish him to be released at once. If he has done aught which deserves punishment it is for me to administer it."

The judge surveyed the heated face of the young Prince calmly.

"You are wrong, my lord. This man's crime is one against society and it comes within my jurisdiction."

"You forget, my lord judge, to whom you speak."

"I speak in the name of the King," replied Sir William Gascoigne, "and I order you, his subject, to leave the court."

Harry was furious. He drew his sword and advanced on the judge, who sat still calmly watching him. There was a hushed silence. Many thought they were about to witness the murder of the Chief Justice by the Prince of Wales.

Then Sir William spoke. "Sir," he said, "remember I keep here the place of your sovereign lord and father to whom you owe double obedience. I charge you in his name, desist from your wilfulness and unlawful conduct. From henceforth, I beg of you, give a good example to those who in the future shall be your subjects. For your contempt and disobedience of the King's Bench you will go to prison where I shall commit you, and remain there until the pleasure of your father the King shall be known"

Harry was startled into silence. All he had to do was thrust his sword through the heart of this judge who had gone so far as to commit him, the Prince of Wales, to prison, yet he hesitated.

His anger faded suddenly as he began to see this incident clearly through the eyes of a bystander. If a King was going to maintain justice his courts must not be held in contempt. No one, whatever his rank, should burst in and demand the release of a prisoner. That way lay anarchy and as one who was going to wear the crown, his first duty was to maintain the laws of the land.

He laid down his sword and bowing to the judge he said: "You are right. You must do with me as you will. I ask your pardon and that of the court."

Sir William was clearly impressed by the wisdom of the Prince. His voice was gentle as he said: "You will wait here in this court until I know the will of the King. Messengers shall go to him with all speed. In the meantime we will continue with the business of the court."

The King was in his bedchamber when the messenger arrived. He was in a melancholy mood; he was looking truth straight in the face and he believed he was not going to live very long. Nor did he want to with this terrible affliction which had come to him. That was not all. There was another ailment—or perhaps the two were connected. At times he would go into a swoon or it might be a trance and be unaware of where he was or what was going on about him. One night his attendants had thought he was dead.

In his heart he wondered whether it was a retribution, a punishment for taking the crown. He was haunted by memories of Richard and he often dreamed of his cousin starving and freezing to death in his cell at Pontefract.

A crown, he thought, what men will do for it. And when they get it, what joy does it bring them?

His father had longed for it and died a frustrated man; his grandfather had rightfully inherited it and had worn it nobly —at least until his last days. And he ... Joyfully had he grasped it but it had weighed him down with trouble ever since it had been his.

Soon it would be Harry's turn—Harry with his wild life and his fondness for low companions, profligates like himself. What would become of the country?

And now a messenger to see him. He roused himself. Not ill news he trusted.

"My lord," said the messenger, "I come from the King's Bench."

He then related what had happened.

Henry listening, smiled slowly to himself. Yes, he thought, it is good news.

Then he lifted his eyes and said: "Oh merciful God, I thank you for a judge who feared not to administer justice and a son who can nobly submit to it."

He felt better than he had for a long time. It might well be that Harry would reform his ways. He could so easily have slain the judge, have caused havoc in the court. But he had submitted to justice.

It was a sign from heaven. His sins were forgiven. He might, after all his fears, be leaving England a worthy King.

He immediately sent his compliments and thanks to Sir William Gascoigne. He applauded his action. His son should be released. He was pleased that he had realized in time that justice must stand supreme in England.

Bardolph received a short term of imprisonment which fitted his crime and the Prince left the court on the best of terms with the judge; and the matter was said to be over.

But men talked of it and they marvelled at the Prince's behaviour. They were beginning to realize that in spite of his frivolous and reckless way of life there was within him a streak of seriousness.

The incident in the courts had without doubt had its sobering influence on Harry; and it seemed that his mood communicated itself to his crony John Oldcastle.

One day as they sat together in one of their favourite taverns, Oldcastle said to Harry: "I have been disturbed for some time and meaning to talk to you."

"You, disturbed? What ails you, John? Not some pox, I hope."

"You never thought of me as a religious man, my Prince."

"You have never shown me much evidence of your piety."

"I think a lot, you know; and since my marriage ..."

"Ah, the lady Cobham is having her effect on you, I see." Like you, my Prince, I was always deeply affected by the ladies."

"They render you frivolous, amorous, reckless yes ... but this lady makes you think. What strange alchemy has she to bring about this wondrous feat?"

"She is my wife, my lord."

"I know it well and through her you have discarded the comparatively humble Sir John Oldcastle and become Lord Cobham."

"Should you blame me? One day you will discard the comparatively humble title of Prince of Wales and become King of England. But enough of banter. What think you of the Lollards, Hal?"

"Lollards? In truth I have thought little of them. My grandfather supported their leader Wycliffe for a while and I think little came of it."

"Mayhap not through him, but they are a rising power. There is much that is good in them."

"I like their name. Lollards, what means it, John?"

"Some say it comes from the German word lollen, to sing."

"They have a habit of singing hymns, I believe."

"A good habit to sing of what one believes. But I have also heard, now I come to remember, that they have been named from a good English word. Loller—an idler."

"Well, what is in a name? It is what they stand for which is important. They are a dangerous group, John. I remember Archbishop Arundel's saying that they were behind the Peasants' Revolt."

"Some say the peasant had good reason to revolt."

"You always loved a discourse. God's truth, I believe you take a view with which you know I will not agree just to bait me."

"Mayhap," agreed John. "It makes a good pastime."

Harry was watching one of the serving women.

"I can think of a better at this moment," he said.

John sighed and the subject was dropped, but he brought it up again at their next meeting.

"The Lollards believe that no human law not founded on the scriptures ought to be obeyed."

"There are crimes not mentioned in the scriptures"

"Is it right," persisted John, "that popes, cardinals, prelates and the like should live in luxury while the people who struggle day and night to feed themselves and their families should pay them rich dues?"

"John, you talk like a preacher."

"I feel deeply on this matter."

"You do indeed, I see. John, you alarm me. You know my father does not think kindly of the Lollards."

"I think in his heart he may ... as his father did. But when he came to the throne he promised Archbishop Arundel to persecute them and this he did ... for the sake of Arundel's support."

"What's come over you, John? You should not talk thus of the King."

"To you, I speak without thought."

"It is a dangerous habit, old fellow. Do you remember a man named William Sawtre?"

"Would I forget the first martyr to this cause? He was a poor curate and they made an example of him. He said he would not worship the cross but only Christ that suffered on it. He would rather worship a man who was truly contrite than the piece of wood which was all the cross was. The bread used in the sacrament remained bread whatever a priest mumbled over it. He was burned to death as a heretic. The first to be so treated. His death was a dark blot on our history."

The Prince was looking in astonishment at his friend.

"What has come over you? You've changed, John."

"Nay, I am the same. As you are, my Prince. We frivol away the hours but when we are quiet we think of other things.

As it is with you, it is with me. I look ahead, Hal. We shall not spend our lives roystering in taverns. We have other work to do."

"I know what mine is. I thought yours was to serve me."

"So it is, lord King-to-be. But not in taverns."

"You've put me in a sober mood, John. I fear the wenches will be disappointed."

"Cast off your gloom. I humbly ask pardon for creating it."

"Nay, John, nay. You have put me in the mood for serious thought. Let us leave this place. I have no stomach for it now.

One thing I would say to you. Have a care. Do not become embroiled in sects and reforming companies. They could bring you to disaster."

"I am not of a nature to fear what may come to me ... even as you are. Would this close friendship—with which you honour me—have existed if we had not been two of a kind?

I shall do what I think right ... as you will always. It is the nature of us."

"Then take care, John. I am not sure that I like the serious thinker half as much as my lewd old roystering rogue."

The King lay in his bed. His face was distorted by the hideous pustules which stood out all over it; his body was shrunken and there was a stiffness in his hands and feet so that he feared he was losing the use of them.

He dared not show himself. He relied on his closest friends and his sons. Thomas was his favourite and he wished that he had been the eldest, although there were times when he recognized a certain strength in Harry which the others did not possess, and then he would feel that the realm would be safe in his hands. Thomas was milder than Harry although he too had been involved in riotous conflict in East Cheap, which created something of a scandal. John, who was by far the most sober of the family had been involved but that was only because he was accompanying his brother. Even young Humphrey was developing a taste for the night life of London. They were a wild brood, his sons. Odd to think that gentle little Mary had produced them.

At least he had something to be thankful for. He had produced sons—wild though they might be; and both his marriages had been happy ones. He could not have chosen better than Joanna, except for the fact that her family—by the nature of their geographical position—were inclined towards France. But there were internal difficulties in that country now—with Burgundy and the mad King and the wanton Queen. Fortunately, thought Henry, for they were causing little concern to England now; and he had no great wish to go to war, unlike Harry who was straining at the leash. Harry was ambitious. He wanted not only the crown of England but the crown of France.

Peace, thought Henry, that is what I long for now. Would to God I were well enough to go on a pilgrimage. God knows I have sins enough to wash away. There had been a prophecy made years ago that he would die in Jerusalem. There seemed little likelihood of that now, unless his health improved and he abdicated in favour of Harry. But if he were granted the miracle of good health, he would not dream of leaving the country.

The people loved Harry. He had noticed it when they were together. All the cheers were for Harry. He had that certain quality which drew men to him. A Plantagenet quality although he had the looks of a de Bohun. His father had never had it, for all his strength and power; Edward the King had had it, so had the Black Prince.

He felt angry because it had been denied him.

They never liked me, he thought. If I said I would abdicate tomorrow they would cheer themselves hoarse for Harry.

And what of me? He would tell me what I must do. He would remind me a hundred times a day that he was the King.

"Never will I give up, my son," he murmured. "Death's is the only hand which will place the crown on your head."

Harry was hand in glove with his Beaufort relations. Trust them to go where the pastures looked greenest. It was an indication that they thought there was not much time left to him.

They had supported him whole-heartedly at one time. Of course they had. Their fortunes were firmly tied up with those of the House of Lancaster. His half-brothers—result of his father's abiding passion for Catherine Swynford. Clever men all of them. And now they veered to Harry. They were going to uphold him, even if it meant going against the King— for the old King was not long for this world.

"The King is dead!" they would cry. "Long live the King." He was sad; he was in pain. He had committed a great sin in compassing the crown and it had brought him nothing but bitterness.

Harry liked to discuss his plans with John, who was his favourite brother, and his uncles Henry and Thomas Beaufort. Henry had been made Bishop of Winchester and Thomas, Duke of Exeter and Chancellor of England; they had been specially favoured as the sons of John of Gaunt and they had inherited a good deal of their father's shrewdness.

Their elder brother John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, was dead and there had been a rift in the family when the King's son Thomas had married Somerset's widow for when Thomas had demanded her estates Henry Beaufort had refused to give them up.

In the quarrel, the Prince had taken sides and was in favour of his uncle rather than his brother and this had, of course, made a great coolness between them, and Thomas, knowing that their father was not on the best of terms with the Prince of Wales, did his best to turn the King still more away from the heir to the throne.

It was an uneasy situation. It brought Harry closer to the Beauforts who as Bishop and Chancellor were powerful men; and as everyone knew now of the King's fearsome disease which often kept him out of sight for long periods, an uneasy tension was growing up in Court circles. It was working towards a rift and it seemed that before long there would be a King's circle and one made up of the Prince's supporters.

At this time a new conflict had arisen in France.

After the death of Isabella in childbed her husband Charles of Angouleme, who had become the Duc d'Orleans when his father had been murdered, married again. This time his bride was the daughter of the very powerful and warlike Count of Armagnac. Charles of Orleans was of a gentle nature, a lover of the arts, thoughtful, with a hatred of war, but he was in the hands of his forceful father-in-law who wanted to establish the power of the House of Orleans which meant destroying that of Burgundy.

Civil war in France was something which England could not fail to be pleased about. It was always so much better to let an enemy destroy itself than to waste one's own strength doing it.

The Burgundians sent to England to ask Henry for his help and offered in payment for it a bride for the Prince of Wales, Anne, the Duke's daughter.

Harry had no desire for the match, but he did think that a force should be sent to the Burgundians. Let Frenchman fight Frenchman. That was a good plan. There would be fewer in the field when he went over there to fight for the crown of France, which he fully intended to do when he was safe on the throne of England.

Henry considered the matter. He was feeling very ill. Peace, that is what we want, he thought. It is unwise for us to embroil ourselves in the affairs of another nation.

"Nonsense!" cried Harry. "It will be to our advantage."

"I am against it," declared Henry. "There shall be no force sent to Burgundy's aid."

It seemed that that settled the matter; but on the day he made that statement the King suffered another attack, which was even worse than those which had preceded it. His face became an unsightly mass of horrible pustules which stood out all over it and when he touched his skin and felt them he fainted and had the appearance of a dead man.

The doctors came and said that he could not last long, but a few days later he recovered and even his face was slightly less unsightly.

He must remain in his chamber, though. He could not show himself to the people or even the Court. Only those in his immediate circle should see him. The Queen ministered to him; she was gentle and reassuring, though it was hard to recognize in this poor maimed shrivelled creature in the bed the romantic Plantagenet who had come to Brittany an exile from his own country.

Harry took over the reins of government and the first thing he did was send men and arms to the Duke of Burgundy.

As a result of his actions the Orleans faction was defeated and it was victory for Burgundy.

The King did not die. In a few weeks he had recovered sufficiently to resume his duties. The first thing he discovered was that his son had gone against his wishes and sent troops to Burgundy.

He was incensed. He immediately sent for the Prince and demanded to know why he thought he could act in a manner opposed to his father—and his King's—wishes.

Harry replied that clearly the side to support was that of Burgundy. They had won, had they not? Who knew, they might be of help to him if he went into France at any time.

"Your fingers itch to lay hold of the crown, Harry" said the King.

"I but think of the future."

"And I am such an old and feeble man that I no longer warrant obedience."

"You are the King and must be obeyed."

"Until you think me dead. You have to wait awhile yet, my son, before that crown is yours."

"My thoughts were not on the crown, only on what I believed to be best for England."

"And King Henry ... the Fifth, eh?"

"You are mistaken. I rejoice in your recovery."

"You rejoice I Look at me ... if you can bear it. What have I become? This accursed sickness has taken hold of me, but God and all his saints, Harry, there is life in me yet and while there is I shall be King."

Harry bowed his head.

The King dismissed his son. He had made up his mind; he was going to show Harry and his council that there was only one King in England and that was himself.

He had decided, he told them, to send aid to the Armagnacs. He was going to support Orleans against Burgundy; and to show his good faith, he was going to send his son to France with troops and supplies.

He sent for Prince Thomas, his favourite. Would to God he had been the elder, he thought; and yet he knew in his heart that this second son lacked that quality of leadership which Harry had inherited from his great ancestors. In a moment of clarity he thought: Is it possible to be jealous of one's own son? And he wondered if great Edward the Third had ever been jealous of the Black Prince. Never! He had let the battle honours fall to him rather than accept them himself. But the Black Prince and his father had worked hand in hand. It was not the same with him and Harry; they were pulling different ways.

Thomas came to him. Henry faced him, with his back to the light. It was a habit of his now to stand in the shadows; people knew this and had cultivated a habit of looking at him as little as possible which they knew was what he wanted.

"Thomas" said Henry, "I am sending a force of eight thousand men to France to assist the Orleanists."

Thomas was aghast.

"I thought we were on the side of Burgundy."

"Your brother is," answered the King wryly. "That does not necessarily mean that I am. But the side I favour is the one this country will support."

Thomas smiled slyly. Another piece of contention between father and heir. That amused him. Harry really was a little too sure of himself.

"Thomas, I want to know, whom do you think we should support. Orleans or Burgundy?"

"My lord, if you support the Orleanists then so must we all."

"Except your brother."

"His support would be of little use without that of you. Father."

"I believe that to be true. Your brother saw fit to act against my wishes while I was indisposed. Now I am better I propose to act against his. What say you to leading the force into France?"

Thomas was clearly delighted.

"I shall not wish you to go merely as Prince Thomas, my son. I have decided to bestow a Dukedom on you. What say you to the Duke of Clarence?"

Thomas fell on his knees declaring that he would serve his father with his life.

He almost forgot and tried to take his father's hand to kiss it. Then he remembered that his father's hands were always kept out of sight. There was a rumour that his fingers and toes had started to drop off. He did not know whether this was so for he was never allowed to see them.

He stumbled to his feet. He could not embrace his father.

He could do no more than reiterate his willingness to serve him.

Harry knew that his father was wrong to support the Orleanists, particularly after he had given aid to Burgundy.

"He is right" reasoned Harry with Oldcastle, "to blame me for acting against his wishes. I knew what they were and I should have remembered that he was the King. But he is even more wrong than I to send aid to the Armagnacs just out of pique towards me. A King should never allow personal feelings to interfere with affairs of state."

"Ah, you'll be a wise King, Harry, when you become one."

"My father would not agree with you."

"He might well."

"He does not like me, John."

"It may be that he sees in you what he would have liked to be himself."

"He has been a virtuous man. Faithful to his Queens, and well served by them. He has at least been fortunate in his marriages. It is this accursed disease which has taken hold of him and warped his nature. He thinks it is some affliction sent to him as a punishment for his sins."

"Yet he is a man who has tried to rule his country well."

"But he would say he had to step over Richard's dead body to do it."

John was thoughtful. "He broke his word to the Lollards."

"You are obsessed by the Lollards. I could almost fancy you are one yourself."

"I am, my lord."

Harry stared at him. "You have become serious, John," he said. "I have noticed a change in you."

"Yes, I am one of them, my Prince. What will you do now? You'll not own me as your friend."

"The Lollards cannot rob me of a friend," said the Prince. "But have a care, John. The Church does not like you and the Church has great power."

"The Church is afraid of us. And that brings us back to where we started. It may be that your father is a little afraid of you."

"There's more to you, old man, than I ever thought."

"There's more to me, my young bantam, than most people think"

They were unusually silent; both busy with their thoughts of themselves and each other.

It was Oldcastle who brought home to the Prince that there was an element of danger in his position. "There are some who are planning to destroy you," he said. "They know that the King favours your brother of Clarence. His action over Burgundy has set them thinking. Watch out, my young Prince."

"I am watchful," said Harry. "They shall not get the better of me."

"The King is sick and near to death. You may depend upon it there are some who believe that no favour will come to you through them."

Harry was aware of this and when he heard the rumour that he had taken money intended for the garrison of Calais and used it for his own purposes, he realized how serious was the threat against him.

His enemies had a good foundation on which to work. All knew of his way of life in the past. Was a frequenter of low taverns, a man who spent his time with strumpets and gamblers, fit to be King of England?

"They are right," reasoned Harry, "but that is not the whole truth. I am that wastrel. But I am something else besides; and I have always known that one day I must say good-bye to my former self and become a King and by God's very being I swear that when I do I shall be a King whose fame will stand nobly beside that of my greatest ancestors."

But he had been foolish perhaps. He had followed a certain bent. He had mixed with low company. But I know them better than my father ever could. I shall know the men I rule and those I take into battle with me. My youth mayhap has not been so misspent as it would appear to be.

Now he must throw off his light ways. He must think clearly. He must take action against his enemies. He must not alienate his father too completely. The King was too wise, too shrewd, not to see the qualities in his eldest son. He was bemused now—bewitched one might say—by this loathsome affliction which had taken hold of him; his strength was ebbing away; moreover he was persecuted by another shadow as great as that of this disfiguring disease. Guilt. The older he grew, the nearer to death, the more he remembered what he had done to Richard. There was the ghost who walked with him, who slept in his bed at nights. It was his cousin Richard.

Harry must put an end to his father's enmity. He must remind him that he was his eldest son; he must let the country know that there was no thought in the King's mind to set him aside.

It was New Year's Day and the Court was at Westminster. Henry appeared briefly and then he was draped in a cloak which exposed only his face. He seated himself at one end of the great hall, apart from the rest of the company. The Queen sat beside him and around them were a very few of their closest associates.

Suddenly the Prince entered the hall with a few of his attendants. Everyone present was startled because he was dressed in his student's gown with the needle and thread which was presented to students every year, sticking in his collar. In this simple garment he would have been immediately recognizable even by those who did not know him as a person of quality. He held himself with pride, and leaving his attendants clustered round the fire in the middle of the hall he approached the dais on which his father sat.

Harry knelt before the King who stared at him in amazement, wondering what prank this might be, when Harry unsheathed the dagger he wore at his waist and presented it to the King.

"What means this, my son?" asked the King.

"I have been accused of disloyalty to you, my lord father. My enemies tell you I have used for my own pleasure funds which should uphold the port of Calais. My enemies slander me, which does not grieve me greatly in itself. All men worth their salt are slandered by those who fear their own weakness. But that I should be accused of disloyalty and a lack of affection towards my King and my own father, that I will not endure. My lord, if you believe these calumnies directed against me, plunge this dagger into my heart."

"Take back your dagger," said the King. "Do you think I would kill my own son?"

"He would wish you to do the deed, my lord, if you could believe for one moment these lies which are told about him."

The King handed the dagger back to Harry.

Tut it in your belt" he said. " 'Tis where it belongs."

"So you believe me to be your good son and loyal subject."

"I will believe it," said the King, "until it is proved otherwise."

"And this matter of the Calais funds?"

"We will dismiss it."

"Nay," said Harry. "I would have my innocence proved."

"Then proved it must be."

"Father, I mean that I would rather you killed me than believe I am other than your loving son and subject."

"Rise, my son. Let there be no more conflict between us. You are my heir. My first-born. We know it cannot be long before I depart this life. Let us, for the love of God, be good friends for that little time."

"Amen," said Harry.

He was well pleased; he had discountenanced his enemies.

Christmas was celebrated at Eltham in Kent, one of the King's favourite palaces with its thick walls and buttresses. Many tragedies had been played out in it. And now he had come here to spend his Christmas and with him was Joanna, one of the few people he allowed to come near him.

She knew the worst. Poor Joanna, who had come to England from the gardens of forget-me-nots and found life had turned out to be very different from what they had imagined it would be when they had walked together in those gardens, not speaking of their hopes and being so happy when they materialized, until they found that life was cruel.

The cherished crown was an empty bauble bringing him nothing but care and disappointment; his once splendid body was betraying him.

He was a sick and sad old man.

In the great hall the revelries persisted. There must be revelries for Christmas even though the King could not honour the company with his presence. Down there they would be playing their games; they would choose the King for the night; the mummers would divert them and there would be laughter and song.

Joanna watched him mournfully.

"You should be with the company, my dear," he said.

"I should be with you"

"Poor Joanna, it has been a sad life we have had together."

"That is not true" she protested. "It has been a good life."

"A good life! I did not know you were deceitful, wife. Look at this body of mine ... made hideous ... loathsome ... I wonder you can look at it."

"It is yours" she answered soberly, "and it is my wish to care for you, to soothe your ills and be all that I promised to be."

"You have done that," he said. "I have been blessed in you as I was in little Mary. I doubt she was happy ... any more than you. She died of bearing children ... one after the other. Why did I not see it was too much for her? And you, Joanna, what have you had from life? Two husbands, one an old man when you went to him and the other a man persecuted by this horrible sickness."

"Let us make the most of what we have, Henry."

"Wise Joanna. For what else can we do?"

She soothed him as best she could. She tried not to show the aversion the sight of him must arouse in her. She was fearful because she had heard it whispered that his state had been brought about through witchcraft; and because she was a foreigner whom they had never liked there were some who declared she was the witch.

Henry did not know this. He must never know.

She must do her best to help him live through the months ahead of them. There could not be many left to him.

It was Lent. The King felt weaker. He had summoned Parliament in February and right at the last moment had been too unwell to attend.

He asked the lords to remain in London, which did not please them as they must do so at their own expense.

But they should be there. He felt their presence was needed.

March had come, and fierce blustering winds swept through the streets.

It was customary for the King to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of Edward the Confessor at the back of the high altar in the church.

Joanna tried to dissuade him.

"It is too cold," she said, "and you are so unwell."

"It is expected of me," the King reminded her.

"People must understand," she said.

But he would not listen.

It was a slow and painful journey to the Abbey, but he reached the shrine and even as he did so he fell swooning to the ground.

His attendants picked him up and it was suggested that he be carried to the nearest room and one where a fire was burning. A pallet of straw should be brought and when this was done, he was laid down before the fire in the Jerusalem chamber.

"Let us send for the Prince of Wales with all haste," said the Archbishop.

The King lay breathing with difficulty and he seemed to be dying when Harry arrived.

He knelt by his father's side. The King looked at him with glazed eyes and murmured his name.

"Father, I am come," said Harry.

"Where am I?" asked the King.

"You are in the Jerusalem chamber in the Abbey," Harry told him.

The King smiled faintly. "They told me I would die in Jerusalem," he said. "Send in the crown."

It was brought and laid beside him on a cushion made of cloth of gold.

The King seemed satisfied.

He closed his eyes.

Those about him watched him closely.

"It is the end," said one.

"He is no longer with us," said another.

Harry knelt at his father's side and looked at that face made hideous by the disease from which he had suffered. Joanna knelt at his other side. She raised her eyes and looked across her husband at Harry.

He is the King now, she thought.

Harry said: "It is all over," and one of the attendants placed a silk towel across the King's face.

"It is for you to take the crown, my lord," said one of Harry's followers.

He picked it up and even as he did so the King moved as though aware of what was happening.

The towel was removed from his face and Henry opened his eyes and looked straight at his son who was standing beside him with the crown in his hands.

"What right have you to it, my son," he said, "seeing that I had none?"

Harry answered promptly: "Sire, as you have held it and kept it by the sword, so will I hold it and keep it as long as I shall live"

"I am not yet dead," he said. "They would have sent me off before I am ready. But my time is near. Do as you will but now recommend me to God and pray that He will have mercy on my soul."

The King took the sacrament and closed his eyes; but even now he lingered on.

"Harry," he said, "come close to me. This is our last farewell. I love you well. I am proud of you. Always deserve that pride, my son. Look at me now. I was once strong as you are now. Think, in the midst of your glory and prosperity, of the kingdom to which I go and whither you must come. Love the Lord God and fear him. Be not too fond of ease but engage rather in the things of God and in those pleasures and sports which have in them nothing of the foulness of vice. Pay my debts and may God give you his blessing, laden with all good things that you may live idleness for ever and ever."

Harry was deeply moved. He promised his father that he would endeavour to be all that he would wish him to be.

The King smiled and lay back.

This time there was no doubt that he was dead.

Harry had become King Henry the Fifth.