The star of Lancaster

HOTSPUR

It had quickly become clear to the King that though he had won his crown with comparative ease, he was going to find it a more difficult task to hold it.

Richard's mysterious death and the knowledge that the priest Maudelyn had borne an almost uncanny resemblance to him made a good foundation for rumour. Henry feared that for years to come there would be those who declared Richard still lived and the body they had seen paraded through the streets had been that of the priest. Another cause of concern was the existence of Edmund Mortimer whose claim came before that of Henry. None knew more than he that the crown which had been put on his head with such ready hands was very precariously balanced there.

The first real trouble came from Wales and there he discovered a formidable enemy in a man called Owain ab Gruffydd, lord of Glyndyvrdwy or as he was becoming known throughout England, Owen Glendower.

Owen had been a student of English law at Westminster and at one time was squire to the Earl of Arundel who had estates in Wales. When Arundel took sides with Henry of Lancaster Owen was with him, although Wales in general supported Richard and there was murmuring throughout that country when Harry was created Prince of Wales.

The trouble really started when Owen quarrelled with Reginald Lord Grey of Ruthin over certain lands which they both claimed, and Owen came to Westminster for the case between them to be tried. There he was treated with a certain amount of contempt but he managed to get the case brought before the King and Parliament. "The man is bent on getting what he calls justice," the King was told. Henry impatiently waved the matter on one side. "What care we for these barefooted scrubs," he cried contemptuously. The King's words were reported to Owen who went fuming back to Wales.

Henry had made an enemy for life.

When a Scottish expedition was planned Owen should have been a member of it, but out of revenge Grey of Ruthin failed to deliver the summons until it was too late for Glen-dower to comply, and, as he did not join the expedition, Grey denounced him as a traitor. This was too much for a man like Owen to tolerate and if he could not get satisfaction at Westminster over the matter of his lands, what justice could he hope for now. He decided to take the law into his own hands. He made war against Grey, plundered his lands, killed some members of his household and declared publicly that the Welsh would never receive justice, that they were treated with contempt by the English and if any Welshman would march under his banner they would do something about it.

Henry heard the news with dismay and at first thought this was but a local rising but he was soon to learn his mistake. The Welsh were on the march. The cry was Liberty and Independence. Not only did the inhabitants of Wales rally to Owen Glendower's banner, but Welshmen in England left their homes to travel to Wales.

It was necessary to put an end to this rebellion and Henry marched in person to the Welsh border. Owen Glendower might have rallied a great force but it would not stand out long against the trained bands of English archers. There he was wrong, for Owen Glendower was too cunning to meet Henry's army in a confrontation. Instead he and his men retreated to the mountains where it was impossible to follow them. They knew every rock and crevice.

Those mountains were impassable and had defeated others before Henry. They provided the perfect stronghold. Moreover the weather was treacherous and the Welsh had their successes, the chief of which was the capture of Lord Grey and Sir Edmund Mortimer, the uncle and guardian of the young Earl of March whom so many believed had more right to the throne than Henry. It was simply not possible to bring the conflict to a speedy end. The Welsh could not be conquered as easily as that and what could have been settled by law—if Owen Glendower had been treated with justice—developed into a war which neither side could bring to a satisfactory conclusion.

Henry left a company in Wales and went to Oxford where he saw his son.

Harry had been sent to study under his uncle, Henry Beaufort, who was Chancellor of the University, but he was tired of Queen's College and chafed against his youth, therefore when he heard what his father had to say he was delighted.

Harry noticed his father had lost some of his healthy colour. Being a King had its responsibilities, that was obvious, but Henry was clearly delighted with his son's appearance. Harry had grown and he was a picture of glowing health.

When they had embraced Henry said: "I have come to talk to you very seriously, Harry. I think it is time you gave up Oxford. There is work for you to do."

Harry's eyes shone at the prospect. "Right gladly will I leave Oxford," he said. "I am no scholar, my lord, and nothing will make me one. I want to fight beside you."

"That is exactly what I want you to do, Harry." The King touched his forehead in a weary gesture. "There is so much trouble everywhere. The Welsh ... the Scots. And can we ever trust the French?"

"It is no time for me to be poring over books in college," agreed Harry.

"That is a view we share, my son. The truth is I need you. Would to God you were a little older."

"I am fifteen now. Father."

"Fifteen. God's truth, Harry, you look three years older."

Harry beamed with pleasure. "Where would you have me go?"

"To the Welsh border. Perhaps later to Scotland. You have to learn, Harry. You have to learn fast."

"Never fear, my lord. I have learned much already."

"You have to learn how to defend us. We have to hold what we have. My God, Harry, we shall have to hold on to it firmly."

"I have always known it. I shall be ready, never fear. I shall leave at once."

The King held up his hand. "Not quite so fast. Remember you are the heir to the throne. I will speak to the Chancellor. He will understand. You will have to do with what education you have. Your task now is to learn to be a soldier"

"I am ready, my lord" said Harry.

Yes, he was. And a son to be proud of. I thank God for him, thought Henry. Would he were older.

He hesitated. Should he tell Harry of the strange malady which he feared might be threatening him? He decided not. He did not want to show him the discoloration of his skin and thanked God that he could so far hide it. It came and went and when it was there a terrible lassitude came over him.

He hoped it was not some dreaded disease.

Harry must be prepared.

When Harry arrived in North Wales he was greeted by Sir Henry Percy, known as Hotspur and a man some twenty years his senior with one of the most formidable reputations in the country. He had in fact been born in the same year as those two Kings, Henry the reigning one and Richard the dead one, and his attitude towards young Harry was inclined to be paternal. A great soldier himself Hotspur recognized those qualities in Harry; but Harry had much to learn. No matter, he would learn.

Hotspur's home was in the North. His father was the great Earl of Northumberland and his family looked upon themselves as the lords of the North and of no less importance than the King. They were very much aware that it had been their power which had put Henry on the throne; and they were determined that Henry should remember it.

Harry recognized Hotspur's qualities and was ready to learn from him. This was the life for him. He was born to be a soldier. He won immediate popularity with the men, his manners were free and easy and while he retained a certain dignity he could talk with them on equal terms; he had an affability which his father lacked, yet at the same time there was in him that which suggested it would be unwise to take advantage of his nature or his youth. Hotspur recognized in him the gift of leadership; and this pleased him.

There was another man who was attracted by the character of the Prince and Harry himself could not help liking this man; consequently they would often find themselves in each other's company. They made a somewhat incongruous pair— Harry the young Prince fifteen years old and Sir John Old-castle who was thirty years his senior—the fresh young boy and the cynical old warrior had no sooner met than they were friends.

They would sit together while Sir John talked of his adventures, of which he had had many. His conversation was racy and illuminating and it gave Harry a fresh glimpse into soldiering.

"It is not all glory, my Prince," Sir John told him. "There's blood too ... plenty of it. No use being squeamish in war, my young lord. You've got to get in first and skewer the guts of your enemy before he gets yours. Always be one step ahead ... that's war. But there's another side to it." Sir John nudged Harry. "Oh yes, my little lording, there's another side to it. Spoils ... there's wine and good meat and there's something better still. Can you guess what it is? It's women."

Harry was already very interested in women and Sir John knew it.

"I can see you're another such as myself," he commented comfortably. "I couldn't get along without them ... nor will you. Well, "tis a good and noble sport ... pleasuring here and pleasuring there and always with an eye for the next one. Always on the look out. There'll be all sorts to your taste, I don't doubt. The dark and the fair ... and not forgetting the redheads. I knew a redhead once ... the best I ever knew. Warm-natured, redheads are. You'll know that one day, my lord, for you're like old John Oldcastle, you've got a warm and loving nature. And it's the sort that'll not be wasted."

Harry greatly enjoyed these conversations. They were in contrast with his association with Henry Percy. Percy was very much the great nobleman, as proud of his name as a king might be. In fact, Harry thought, Hotspur looked upon himself as a king. He expected to rule; he could endure no interference. He had once said the Northumberlands were the Kings of the North and no King of England could rule without them. If anyone failed to show the respect he considered his due. Hotspur's fury could be roused. The men went in fear of him while at the same time respecting him for the excellent leader he was.

Harry found that he could work well with Hotspur and learn from him, because in Harry there was a certain military instinct which he recognized, and so did Hotspur and Old-castle. The Prince could enjoy the company of these men and draw enlightenment from both of them. From Hotspur he learned how to conduct a campaign while Oldcastle made him see the needs of the men and to understand how to treat them.

Thus Harry applied himself to learning the art of war with more enthusiasm than he had been able to give to his studies at Oxford.

Hotspur had been appointed Constable of the castles of Chester, Flint, Conway and Caernarvon; he was also justiciary of Cheshire and Sheriff of Flintshire in addition to all his commitments in Northumberland which were his natural heritage. He wanted to settle the Welsh troubles as quickly as possible so that he could return to his native country and he applied his energies to this; however even such an energetic warrior as Hotspur could not be everywhere at once and one day—it was a Good Friday—he was dismayed to learn that Conway Castle, one of the strongest fortresses in his care, had been captured by Rhys and Gwilym ab Tudor.

Hotspur immediately called a conference over which Harry presided as he was, in name, the head of the English in Wales although none knew better than Harry that this was but a title.

"We must immediately regain this stronghold," declared Hotspur. "It is too important a place to be let go lightly. I suggest, my lord .. ." he had turned in deference to Harry ... "that we send an armed force to surround the castle. When we have regained it we will show leniency and promise there shall be no recriminations. It is my firm opinion that this is the way to deal with the matter."

"My lord Percy, you are right," agreed Harry. "Let us act in this way, and the sooner we get Conway back into our hands, the better."

"Then the matter is agreed," said Hotspur. "It remains now to put this plan into action."

Sir John Oldcastle told Harry that Hotspur was right. "Now there is a man," he commented, "who will invariably be right in his judgments, but he's got flaws. But then, my lord, you'll say and who hasn't got flaws? Which one of us, eh? And you'll be right. But Percy is hot in the head as well as the spurs and though his judgment in battle is heaven-sent there's the devil at his elbow reminding him when he's not getting all that a Percy should. He'd never forget a slight, our Hotspur, and to get even he'd risk his head. That's not calm judgment, is it, for where's the sense in avenging a slight if it costs your head to do it? You can't enjoy your pride if you have no head to do it with."

"We'll take Conway in a week, I'll warrant," cried Harry.

"And I'll not be one to deny it, my young bantam. Why with you there to crow us to victory and Percy to spur us on, it's in our hands before we start."

Oldcastle was right. Within a very short time they had regained the castle; and they put into action their plan to show leniency to those who had given way to the Welsh.

While they were congratulating themselves on their success they received a despatch from the King.

He rejoiced that the castle had been regained but considered that it should never have been lost in the first place. Moreover he did not believe in showing leniency to those who had so easily given over the castle to the enemy. "If men are to be rewarded for betraying us when we, at some cost, have recovered what was lost, they will take this easy course when besieged again," was his comment.

Hotspur was angry. He could not endure criticism. He had planned the operation with great care and considerable skill. The suggestion that his negligence had lost them the castle in the first place was unfair. Moreover he was reminded that he had not received money from the King which was due to him and in order to carry out the recent operation he had been obliged to provide much of the expenses himself.

Anger smouldered in Hotspur's mind and Harry was disturbed by this resentment which he knew Hotspur bore towards his father. He wished that he could explain to the King what a great commander Hotspur was and how in his opinion it was unwise to cast criticism on what, had the King been present, he must have seen to be a very skilful operation.

John Oldcastle talked to Harry about the matter and he talked recklessly and as Harry knew this he liked him the more for it, because it showed that there was trust between them.

"Hotspur is falling out of love with your royal father and falling fast, my young Prince," was his comment.

"I want to tell my father what a great leader he is. He's the best we have, you know, Sir John. My father cannot afford to offend such as Hotspur"

Tour father cannot afford these wars but he makes them, my lord."

"He has to. But he does not have to make an enemy of Hotspur. He should send the money that Hotspur has spent on these campaigns. The soldiers on the Scottish border have not been paid either."

"Ah, war, war ... matters of state." Oldcastle put his face close to the Prince's. "A notion occurs to me. Your father is a wily man. He likes not the power of the Percys, I'll warrant. No great king wants little kings in his kingdom. Wise kings find a means to curb the power of those little rulers. And your father is a wise king, methinks."

"Do you mean, old fellow, that he's trying to curb the Percys' power?"

"Why not? Why not? And how better than by making them pay for his wars, eh? Now that's what one would expect from a clever king."

Oldcastle gave the Prince a sharp nudge in the ribs. Harry nodded. He liked to think that his father was shrewd and wily. All the same he did not believe that a fine soldier like Hotspur should be so exploited.

Hotspur meanwhile nursed his grievances.

He was growing more and more disillusioned with the King and tired of waging war on the Welsh. He wanted to be back with his own people in Northumberland. That was his land and he wanted to be with his father and defend it. The quarrel with the Welsh was the King's quarrel and if the King could not appreciate what was done for him then why should Henry Percy bother to do it.

There was another matter. Sir Edmund Mortimer had been captured by the Welsh and Hotspur wanted to bring about his release. He had a sentimental reason for this. Sir Edmund was the brother of Hotspur's wife and he knew she was anxious about him. He wanted to go to tell her that he had brought about her brother's release. Sir Edmund was a very important prisoner. He was the uncle and guardian of the Earl of March who many said was the true heir to the throne.

Hotspur therefore wished to treat with the Welsh for the return of Mortimer, and to Hotspur's fury the King would have none of it.

Hotspur raged.

"Was not Mortimer taken in the King's business?" he raged. And then he cried: "No, of a surety Henry of Bolingbroke does not want the return of Mortimer for the Mortimers stand closer to the throne than he does himself I"

When Harry heard what had been said he was apprehensive. Hotspur was placing himself on the other side, for the rift between him and the King was growing fast.

Hotspur declared that he would no longer stay in Wales. He had done everything possible but his services had never been understood or appreciated and he had had enough of Wales.

He was going back to the stronghold of Northumberland.

Before he left he received a message to the effect that a high ranking Welshman wished to speak with him and if he would receive him they might come to some terms amicable to them both. Percy agreed and a tall man wrapped in a cloak which was concealing his identity was brought into his tent.

Percy was ready. He was in armour and prepared for treachery. Great was his surprise when his visitor revealed himself as Owen Glendower.

"I come in peace" said Glendower. Tut away your sword, my lord. You see I am unarmed."

Percy saw this and laid down his sword.

"Why have you come to me?" asked Percy. "What do you want to say?"

"That we are fighting a senseless war. There will never be peace if you English wish to subdue Wales. The mountains are our allies. Give me back the lands which have been taken from me and there could be peace. There can be no satisfactory ending to this war."

Percy was silent. What Glendower was saying was true. They could never completely subdue the Welsh and even if they did so for a time there would always be outbreaks of trouble.

He himself was weary of the Welsh war; he had made up his mind to leave and in a few days he would be gone.

"I can put your proposal to the King," said Percy.

"The King?" cried Glendower. "The usurper you mean.

The man who calls himself King."

Percy was taken aback and said nothing; but he was not ill pleased to hear the venom in Glendower's voice. He himself was feeling more and more antagonistic towards Henry Bolingbroke.

"There is talk that Richard did not die, that he was not murdered at the usurper's command."

"He is dead. I feel certain of it," said Hotspur. "If he were not Henry would never have tried to marry young Harry to Richard's Queen. He would not want a string of bastards calling themselves heirs to the Lancastrian estates."

"Then if Richard is dead, the Earl of March is the true King."

"There is some truth in that."

"It may well be that if Henry will not return the land which has been taken from me, if he does not make peace with Wales, we shall work to put him from his throne and set up the rightful king in his place." Owen looked intently at Hotspur. "It might well be that some in England will be of like mind and join us."

Hotspur was thoughtful. Then he said: "There is one matter which is close to my heart. You have as your prisoner my brother-in-law. Sir Edmund Mortimer. Henry has refused to discuss his ransom. I want him released."

Owen smiled slowly. "Are you sure my lord that he wishes to be released?"

Hotspur stared in astonishment, and Owen continued: "He has fallen in love with my daughter Catherine. I see no reason to oppose the match. I do not think he will want to take up arms against his father-in-law. And naturally he would like to see his nephew in his rightful place on the throne."

Hotspur was astounded.

He saw that Henry was going to have a very difficult task in holding the crown and he was not displeased. Serve him right. If he did not appreciate the Northumberlands he should be deposed. Moreover the new King would be his nephew through marriage and that seemed a fairly bright prospect.

Of course Henry would not relinquish the crown with ease. But this was an interesting situation to go home to brood on.

He said: "I will put your proposals for the return of your land and the truce before the King. But I hold little hope of his accepting."

"Nor do I" replied Owen. "But if he does not, we shall know how to act, eh, my good lord?"

Hotspur was silent. He said good-bye to Owen Glendower and was very thoughtful as he made his way to Northumberland.

Fuming against Hotspur, Henry arrived at Worcester. There he was joined by Harry and he learned about the difficulties of making war in Wales.

"The country is against us," Harry explained. "The Welsh know every hill and valley, and we don't."

Henry, however, was not sure of this and he was determined to show the Welsh that they could not flout him; but, when others joined their voices with that of Harry and insisted that to attack in the mountains was a hazardous proposition, he had to listen.

It was at this time that a Welshman appeared at the camp, asking for an audience with the King and assuring the guards that he came in peace. They examined him to ascertain that he carried no weapons and Henry agreed to see him.

His name he said was Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. He welcomed the English, he said. His two sons were fighting with the rebels and he wanted them back. If Henry would restore his sons to him he would undertake to show him and his army the way through the mountain passes and conduct him to the Welsh camp.

Henry accepted his offer and in due course set out with Llywelyn ap Gruffydd riding between him and Harry. Under the guidance of the Welshman they penetrated far into the Welsh mountains but one morning they awoke to find that their guide was missing. Then they realized what a trick had been played on them. They were nowhere near Glendower's army; they had come several hard days' marches into difficult country where there were no provisions and now must find their way out.

Henry was furious. He was finding it difficult to feed his army and they could find nothing in this poverty-stricken land to help them. He must find his way back to a town where his men could eat and rest in comfort.

His fury was increased when he heard that Llywelyn was boasting about how he had deceived the English and the Welsh made matters worse by writing ballads about the incident.

Henry made his way back to the town of Llandovery, vowing vengeance on Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. If I can lay my hands on him he will not live long to regret. I pray God he will not keep this man from me."

God answered his prayers for one day Llywelyn ventured into a tavern in the town and was recognized by some of Henry's soldiers as he was singing the ballad of Henry's discomfiture for the entertainment of the rest of the company.

In a short while he was standing before Henry ...

The last months had wrought a change in the King. Before the crown had been his he had been a calm man, who prided himself on his shrewd judgements. Now, with so many threats to his position and an almost overpowering responsibility beside a gnawing anxiety that there was something wrong with his health, he had become vindictive. He would spare no one in his determination to hold the crown; and he wanted to make an example of all those who were his enemies.

With savage pleasure he condemned the Welsh joker to the barbaric death of hanging, drawing and quartering and he commanded that his sons sit beside him while they witnessed the terrible sentence being carried out.

Harry was disturbed by it. The man should be punished, yes, but the sentence was too harsh. Llywelyn was a brave man and if he had worked against the English it was natural for him to do so, because they were the enemies of his country.

However he could not remonstrate while his father was in this mood; but he did marvel at the change in him and he wondered whether he was as happy with his crown as he had been without it.

After the execution they left Llandovery and made for the Cistercian Abbey of Strata Florida which contained the tombs of several Welsh Princes. The King ordered his men to sack the place.

A lesson, said Henry, to all those who oppose me.

He sent for his son and looked at him intently. Perhaps sooner than he realizes, he thought, the crown will pass to him.

No one must know of his fears of what was happening to him. He had signs of a dread disease. Could he have caught it in the Holy Land, in Famagusta perhaps, Venice, Corfu ... some hot and arid land where unheard of diseases flourished? So far he could keep his affliction secret. None could see the eruptions on his skin because by good fortune they were where they could be hidden by his clothes; and he could forget them when they did not plague him with their burning irritation. But sometimes he feared what they meant and he wondered whether it would grow worse.

He must hold the crown until Harry grew up and Harry must do that quickly. He had never thought that it would be so difficult to hold; and he could not have foreseen how determined he would be to cling to it.

"Harry," he said, "the news is not good. Northumberland with Hotspur are on the march against us. They are joining with the Welsh."

"That is impossible. Hotspur fought the Welsh."

"His brother-in-law has married Glendower's daughter. You know what this means. Northumberland and Glendower are joining forces against us."

"On what grounds?"

"Read this," said Henry.

It was a document which had been prepared by the Percys to present not only to the King but to all leading noblemen in the country. It was a call to arms. They wanted Henry deposed because as they set out he had:

Sworn to them at Doncaster when he returned to England that he wished nothing more than to restore his inheritance and that of his wife. Yet he had imprisoned Richard his sovereign and compelled him to resign the crown and had himself taken on the style and authority of kingship.

He had sworn that as long as Richard should live he should enjoy every royal prerogative and yet he had caused that Prince, in the castle of Pontefract, after fifteen days to die of hunger, thirst and cold and thus be murdered.

Because of Richard's death he had kept possession of the crown which belonged to the young Earl of March, who was the next and direct heir.

He had sworn to govern according to law and had not done so. He had refused to permit the liberation of Sir Edmund de Mortimer who had been taken when fighting for him and he had looked on the Percys as traitors because they had negotiated with Glendower. Because of this we defy thee and we intend to prove it by force of arms and Almighty God.

When Harry finished reading the document he looked at his father in dismay.

"So they come against us! The Northumberlands ... and Glendower .. ."

"And the French have sent a company to harass me."

"You may trust the French to seize every opportunity" cried Harry.

"Never fear, my son. We shall defeat them."

"Aye" cried Harry. "That we shall do."

All the same he wished that the enemy was not Hotspur.

It was a long march of two hundred and fifty miles from Northumberland to Shrewsbury—Hotspur's men were eager to fight but they were tired and hungry; and they needed rest first.

The battle would be for Shrewsbury, for if he took that town Henry could block Hotspur's passage to Wales.

Hotspur thought of young Harry for whom he had cherished a certain affection. A boy of fifteen, but one who showed promise. He hoped the boy would come to no harm this day. Would you were with me, Harry of Monmouth, he thought. You'd be a better ally than your sly father, I doubt not.

But naturally the boy would be beside his father. How could it be otherwise?

The two armies faced each other. Hotspur saw a priest break from the ranks and come riding towards him. He was Thomas Prestbury, the Abbot of Shrewsbury, and he had a message for Hotspur. It was this: Let him put himself at Henry's mercy and the battle should be called off.

Hotspur sent his uncle, Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester, back to the King with his reply.

Henry said: "Come, Worcester, do you want innocent blood to be shed this day?"

"We seek justice, my lord," replied Worcester.

Tut yourself on my grace."

"I trust not in your grace," was the answer.

"Then go to it," cried Henry. "I pray God that you may have to answer for the blood that is spilt this day, and not I."

Shortly after that encounter the battle began. A strong discharge of arrows came from both sides. It was a fierce fight. An arrow struck Harry in the face but he went on fighting.

"St George! St George!" cried Harry. The blood was streaming down his face but he ignored it. Excitement gripped him. Men were falling all about him and he was in the thick of the fight.

Hotspur was determined on victory. He wanted to slay the King with his own hands and with thirty or so of his most valiant knights he rode full tilt into the company about Henry. But the King and his men were a match for them and they were driven back.

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

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

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

"Hotspur I" shouted the triumphant voices about him.

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

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

Hotspur was dead and his death decided the day.

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

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

She had pressed the little blue flower he had given her.

Forget-me-not. That was what he had called it and she never would forget him.

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

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

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

It would have been necessary, argued Joanna.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Remove them?" he answered. "Are you mad?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Joanna was not of a nature to accept obstacles.

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

Joanna was amused by her own cleverness.

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

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

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

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

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

Joanna herself was delighted with this show of friendship and she felt that she could with a good conscience leave her sons in the guardianship of the powerful Duke of Burgundy.

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

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

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

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

He took her hand and kissed it.

"It seems long since we last met," he said.

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

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

"Then all is as it was ..."

"And shall be as long as we two live."

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

Henry was determined to honour his bride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Northumberland was determined. He was in communication with Owen Glendower; he had made a pact with the Scots, who now that he was against the English had a shared interest.

Henry was aware of this. He should have destroyed Northumberland when he had a chance. He might have known that the Earl would never forget nor forgive what Henry had done to the valiant Hotspur.

Henry marched north. It was winter and there had not been in living memory such a harsh one. The snow lay thick on the ground and in the northern part of the country particularly this would be known for years to come as the winter of frost and ice.

It was not the weather for fighting battles, but Northumberland was determined. He had to regain what had been taken from him and turn the usurper from the throne.

Henry had no alternative but to go into battle. This he did. His numbers were superior; his men were better equipped. The battle was brief and decisive and Northumberland fell from his horse when an arrow struck him wounding him fatally.

Henry was triumphant.

That must be an end to rebellion in the north. Men must understand what happened when they came against the King.

They had come to a small place called Green Hammerton and there it was decided they would stop for the night.

The King and his close attendants were lodged at a manor house while his company found lodging in the town and, cold as it was, some set up tents.

Henry was wet and cold; his limbs felt stiff and he wanted mulled wine, hot food and a bed on which to rest.

He removed some of his clothes and the wine was brought to him. Suddenly he threw the goblet from him screaming. "What have you done? Who is the traitor? Who has thrown fire over me?"

Those about him recoiled in horror, for his face had grown a deep purple and they could see pustules appearing on his skin. He must have contracted some dreadful disease.

"What is this?" cried Henry. "What is it?" He put his hands to his face. "Why do you look at me like that? What has happened to me?"

"My lord," said one of the attendants, "we should send at once for your physician."

Henry lay back on his bed. He touched the horror on his face. He knew it was the same which had been appearing on his body. Now he could hide it no longer.

There was one word which kept coming to his mind. Leprosy! He had seen it on his travels. Oh God, he prayed, let this pass from me. Anything I will endure ... Take my crown from me ... Do anything ... but do not afflict me with this. Richard's death can be laid at my door, I know it. But it was for the good of the country. No, Lord, for the good of myself. Take this from me ... and ask anything of me ... and I will do it. I will bear it... but not... leprosy ...

He could not leave his chamber. He could not be seen like this. He wondered what would become of him, of the country. Harry was too young yet. He kept praying incoherently. He touched his face. He knew that he looked hideous ...

The doctors came. They gave him potions and unguents, and in a few days' time the terrible pustules had almost disappeared. His face was still discoloured and the surface of his skin rough; but he could at least emerge.

The success of defeating Northumberland had become bitter. He turned his attention now to Glendower. Harry was on the Welsh front. Henry thanked God that his son was becoming a great soldier. He was doing good work in Wales and had already brought about the defection of several important noblemen who had been supporting Glendower.

Harry was successful in regaining Harlech and in capturing Glendower's daughter and her Mortimer children after Sir Edmund had died in the siege.

The battle left Glendower without an army. He escaped but was still free to roam in his mountains and attempt to gather together a force. Henry, however, was confident that this would never amount to much more than an occasional skirmish. They would have to be watchful, nothing more.

The success was due to the brilliant leadership of young Harry. He was a son to be proud of. He was growing up. He was old enough in experience if not in years to command an army.

Henry could have felt more at peace than he had since he took the throne if it had not been that he was constantly on the watch for the greatest enemy of all, of whose identity he was not sure but which he greatly feared could be that dread disease leprosy.

Harry must marry. The sooner the better. He must get sons to follow him. The Lancastrian side of the Plantagenet tree must be strengthened.

Isabella of France was still unmarried. It might well be that after all this time the child had got over her obsession with Richard. She might be ready to consider a match—or her family might which was more to the point. And why should her bridegroom not be the once rejected Harry of Monmouth?