Passage to Pontefract Page 18

  So it seemed, for it was true that they were rapturous at the sight of him. They threw kisses to him. They called him their dear little King. He was the true King, the grandson of a great King, the son of a great Prince.

  ‘Richard!’ they shouted. ‘Long live Richard.’

  His uncle John had been to see him. He was very quiet and serious and Richard did not quite know what he was thinking.

  ‘I shall be with you at the coronation,’ he told his nephew. ‘As High Steward of England I have the right to bear the sword. I shall demand that right.’

  ‘So should you,’ replied Richard.

  ‘And as Earl of Lincoln I have the right to carve before you at the coronation feast.’

  ‘I know it,’ answered Richard.

  ‘And when the ceremony is over I intend to retire from Court for a while.’

  Now Richard was astonished.

  ‘Yes,’ went on John, ‘I have been subjected to slanderous attacks, and I think my best plan is to leave for a while. So I shall ask your permission to remain in the country for a time.’

  ‘It is granted,’ said Richard in as authoritative a voice as he could command.

  John bowed his head and went on to discuss the arrangements for the coronation.

  ‘There are many who are demanding to perform the traditional ceremonies,’ he explained. ‘So many claims, alas, for one post I shall have to select with care.’

  ‘People talk of nothing but the coronation,’ said Richard with delight.

  ‘It is a very important occasion, nephew. We shall have to take care with these Londoners who are only too ready to make trouble whenever they can find an excuse to do so. The Lord Mayor wishes to serve you with a golden cup and they want some of the leading citizens to serve in the butlery.’

  ‘I shall have no objection,’ said Richard. ‘They have never shown anything but kindness to me.’

  John was not very pleased with that remark and was about to say something when he changed his mind.

  They all must remember that I am the King now, thought Richard complacently.

  ‘I am bringing forward young Robert de Vere, the Earl of Oxford. If you are agreeable you might permit him to act as your Chamberlain. He is quite young.’

  ‘How old?’ asked Richard.

  ‘He must be perhaps fifteen years old. His father died some time ago when Robert de Vere was only nine. He inherited at about the same age as yourself. I have him waiting below. Would you consent to see him now?’

  Richard appeared to consider. It was so enjoyable to have important men, so much his senior, asking for his consent to this and that.

  Yes, he thought he could see the young Earl of Oxford now.

  ‘Then he shall come to you. I shall introduce him and leave you together. You can give your verdict after you have seen him.’

  Within a few minutes Robert de Vere, Earl of Oxford came into the room.

  From the beginning Richard liked the look of him. He was good looking and it was pleasant to find that although he was older than Richard, it was not by so many years; Richard began the interview somewhat haughtily making sure that young de Vere remembered that he was the King, but his attitude changed after a few minutes because there was something so natural about the other boy that Richard felt he could be perfectly natural with him, too.

  Robert de Vere told Richard he was fifteen. Richard said he wished he were. It was rather tiresome being only ten.

  ‘Ten and a King!’ said Robert. ‘I was about ten when I became an Earl. But it is very different being a King.’

  Robert told Richard how there were plans afoot to marry him. His guardian, Ingelran de Couci, who had been made Earl of Bedford when he had married King Edward’s daughter Isabella, had been his guardian and he wanted to marry him to his daughter Philippa.

  ‘Married!’ said Richard. ‘They’ll be wanting to marry me to someone soon.’

  ‘You can be sure of that. You’ll choose your bride though. You’re the King. You can do as you wish.’

  It was a pleasant conversation.

  ‘And you, you don’t want to marry this Philippa?’

  ‘I don’t want to marry anybody. But if I marry her I shall have some sort of connection with you, shan’t I? Her mother was your father’s sister. Think of that.’

  ‘You will be connected with my family!’

  ‘That makes it a better proposition,’ said Robert de Vere and they laughed together.

  Richard made up his mind that he would tell his uncle that he would be very happy to make Robert his chamberlain.

  A close friendship had begun.

  London was determined to honour the new King. In Cheapside they had erected a castle of flowers from which ran two streams of wine. There were four turrets and on each of these stood a girl who had been chosen for her beauty and her age, which was the same as the King’s. As Richard rode past on his way from the Tower, flowers and leaves made of gilded paper were thrown down at him. The procession came to a halt and the girls came down from their towers and filled golden goblets with wine which they handed to the King and his attendants. Then an angel appeared from the castle with a golden crown which she placed on the little King’s head.

  The crowd cheered. The people were proud of the magnificent spectacle which the Londoners had contrived, for not only did it show their loyalty but it also reminded the King of their power and that if he would rule well he must never forget the interests of his capital city.

  Richard was moved with emotion and his happiness and delight was so obvious that it added to the general rejoicing.

  All along the road to Westminster such pageants had been arranged and though none of these quite equalled the one of Cheapside, they were very impressive.

  Crowds had gathered round the Abbey and when the procession appeared, headed by the young King with Simon walking before him, his sword bared, the cheers were deafening.

  The Bishop of Rochester preached the sermon and the Archbishop of Canterbury conducted the ceremony; and as the proceedings went on, and Richard could no longer hear the cheers of the crowd, he began to grow rather tired. The Bishop seemed as though he was never going to stop and then there was the ceremony of taking off his coat and shirt while men stood holding a gold-coloured cloth around him like a tent so that none of the people gathered in the Abbey should see his body. Then he was anointed and the prayers went on and on. After that there were the coronation rituals. The crown was so heavy that it seemed to weigh down his head. Then the sceptre and the orb were put into his hands. The spurs were presented and the pallium which was heavily encrusted with jewels was put on.

  He knew what he had to do. He had to walk to the altar and lay a gold purse on it, but even that was not the end. There had to be the mass and the communion after that, and he was finding it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open.

  Simon was watching him anxiously. He smiled wanly at his dear guardian. ‘Not much longer,’ Simon seemed to be saying.

  The crown was growing more and more heavy. Richard felt it would crush him; and his shoulders refused to support all his garments any longer. He felt an almost irresistible inclination to slip to the floor and go to sleep.

  Simon was watching carefully and understood. Suddenly he had picked the young King up in his arms.

  ‘All is well,’ he whispered. ‘We are going back to the palace now. We’re going to have a rest and a nice sleep before the banquet.’

  ‘Oh Simon …’

  The comfort of those arms was wonderful. Richard closed his eyes while Simon walked with him through the astonished crowds and out to the litter over which a canopy of silk was held by four wardens of the Cinque Ports.

  ‘He is but a child,’ muttered Simon.

  ‘Our dear little King is tired,’ cried the people. ‘Oh, he is only a boy, God bless him.’

  The cheers went up. There was their little King so pretty in the arms of good Simon who clearly loved him.

  As Simon pressed throu
gh the crowds who came forward for a closer look at their King, one of Richard’s slippers fell off and as Simon pressed on to the litter, there was a scramble among the crowds for the King’s shoe.

  Richard was soon fast asleep and it seemed almost immediately Simon was at his bedside. It was time to prepare for the state banquet.

  ‘You have had a good sleep,’ said Simon fondly. ‘You were tired out, my King.’

  Richard sat up. He put his hands to his head. He could still feel the crown there.

  ‘It was so heavy,’ he said.

  Simon nodded. ‘A symbol of your responsibilities,’ he commented grimly. ‘But not yet. There will be many to advise you … perhaps too many.’

  I am a King, thought Richard. I am the most important person in the country. The people love me. From henceforth I shall ride among them and they will cheer me and love me for ever. But he hoped that future ceremonies would not be quite as tiring as the coronation.

  ‘Did I do well, Simon?’ he asked – suddenly a young boy eager for his tutor’s approval.

  ‘You did very well indeed.’

  ‘But to fall asleep when you picked me up! I don’t remember coming into the palace. Then I dreamed that I could still hear the people shouting.’

  ‘It was such a long day for you,’ soothed Simon. ‘I think the people loved you more for falling asleep. It touched them. They went wild with love for you when they saw me pick you up and put you in the litter. People are like that. They like very much a touch of human nature. You lost a slipper, you know.’

  ‘What became of it?’

  ‘It fell from your foot. There was a scramble for it. I saw one man get it and hold it up and kiss it.’

  ‘I am so glad. He will keep it all his life as his most precious possession.’

  Simon said: ‘He might well sell it. It was jewelled and doubtless could bring him more than he had comfortably in a year or two’s labour.’

  ‘Fancy,’ mused Richard. ‘A man would have to work for a year or two to buy a slipper which I can lose and not miss.’

  ‘It is time to prepare for the banquet,’ said Simon.

  And what a banquet was that which was served in Westminster Hall. Before attending it Richard created four new earls. One of these was the youngest of his uncles, Thomas of Woodstock, whom he made Earl of Buckingham.

  Seated at the High Table surrounded by all the nobility of the land, Richard thrilled with emotion – not only because he was at the centre of the pageantry and had from a second son of no great importance become the most significant person in the land. It was more than that. It was the glory of kingship, of belonging to a line of kings, to be of proud Plantagenet blood, to have descended from the mighty Conqueror.

  He would never be able to explain this to his Holland half-brothers; they would turn it away with a joke. Simon or his mother might make the occasion into a lesson, a recounting of further homilies as to the importance and need for service to the country.

  He fancied he could explain it to his new friend Robert de Vere. He would try to at the first opportunity.

  In the meantime here he was seated at the table on the dais, surrounded by the highest in the land; and at the tables on the main floor everyone was a nobleman or a person of authority.

  Suddenly there was a shout through the hall. The doors were flung open and into the hall rode a knight in full armour.

  The heralds cried out in ringing voices that the knight, Sir John Dymoke, had come to challenge to combat any who disputed the sovereign’s right to the throne.

  As Dymoke then took off his gauntlet and threw it onto the floor, there was a hushed silence through the hall. No one spoke.

  The gauntlet was returned to Dymoke who repeated the challenge twice more. Each time it was greeted in silence.

  There was no one in this assembly who denied the right of Richard to take the crown of England.

  Richard knew what was expected of him. He took up a gold cup which was filled with wine. He drank from it and handed it to Dymoke who drank to his sovereign lord and draining the cup rode off with it.

  The challenging ceremony was over and the banquet began.

  In the streets of London the revelry continued. The people sang and danced and refreshed themselves from the fountains which spurted wine.

  It was not every day there was a coronation.

  All was well. The true King had been proclaimed. They had seen him with the crown on his head. They had heard Sir John Dymoke’s challenge which none had accepted.

  They had the true King of England on the throne – a boy whose youth and beauty made him particularly appealing. All the apprehension, the fear that the wicked John of Gaunt would attempt to take the crown was over.

  ‘Long live Richard of Bordeaux, now Richard the Second of England.’

  John of Gaunt realised that there was nothing to be done but submit with a good grace to the progress of events. The forces against him had been too strong and he must retreat into silence for a while; he had to convince the people that it was not his intention to take the throne from his nephew, and he now wanted them to see him in the role of chief supporter of the young King.

  He had had to give way on the matter of Peter de la Mare, who was, in the eyes of the Londoners, not only a hero but a martyr. The most dangerous men were martyrs. John had long known that. And when the people clamoured for the release of Peter de la Mare, John expressed his agreement that this should take place.

  He would be reconciled with Peter de la Mare, he said. The beginning of a new reign was the time for men to forget their differences.

  But how chagrined he was to learn of de la Mare’s triumphant journey through London where he was welcomed with almost as much enthusiasm as had been shown to the young King.

  It was a further indication of the lack of love they felt for John of Gaunt when they so fêted his bitterest enemies.

  However, since it was so, John must not shut his eyes to the facts.

  The King was surrounded by advisers and three days after the coronation his new Council was elected.

  This had been done with great care so that every party was represented. The King’s uncle Edmund headed the list; William Courtenay the Bishop of London was another; and the choice of the rest had been made so carefully that for every supporter of John of Gaunt there was one from the opposite party.

  It was significant that John of Gaunt was not included. He would not show that he resented this. Nor did he very much. Edmund would do exactly as he told him and he would rather act through his brother than directly.

  In the new Parliament there was a majority of members who had been in the Good Parliament which had opposed him, and Sir Peter de la Mare had been chosen as the speaker.

  Of course a man such as John of Gaunt – the richest in the country and the first in importance after the King by birth – could not be ignored altogether and when an advisory committee was set up, John’s name appeared at the top of the list.

  This list was read out in the presence of the King, and John created a dramatic incident when, to the astonishment of all present, he rose from his seat and walked to the throne on which the young King was seated.

  There was a tense silence in the House, and when John spoke all could hear clearly what he said.

  ‘My lord King, I pray humbly that you will listen to my words. I speak out of concern not only for you as my sovereign but for your own person. The Commons have chosen me to be one of your advisers, but this I cannot accept until I have cleared myself of charges made against me. Calumnies have been uttered. These are cruel lies but they have touched my honour. Unworthy I am, but I am the son of Edward the Third and after you, my lord King, the greatest of peers of the realm. These malicious rumours which have been circulated about me if true – which God forbid – would amount to treason. My lord, until the truth were known I could do nothing. You will see that I stand to lose more by treachery than any man in England. Apart from this it would be a strange and marv
ellous thing if I should so far depart from the traditions of my blood. Let any man, whatever his degree, dare charge me with treason, disloyalty or any act which would bring harm to this kingdom and I will defend myself with my body.’

  The members listened with amazement. It was an appealing scene, this great and magnificently attired man, kneeling to his nephew, a slender boy.

  As he rose to his feet the members came forward. They were moved by their emotion. He must not go, they said. He must stay close to the King. They needed his skill and his experience.

  No, replied John firmly. He needed time for reflection. He must show the country that his ambition was but to serve it.

  There was protest against those who had maligned him. He smiled.

  ‘It pleases me, my lords,’ he said, ‘that you have at last recognised this for what it is.’

  When Alice Perrers was brought to trial John did not attempt to defend her, and stood aside while the sentence which had been delivered by the Good Parliament was confirmed.

  It seemed indeed that John of Gaunt had either forgotten his ambitions or had never had them, and had just managed to incur the dislike of the people who had invented tales about him such as the one of his birth which had proved to be quite absurd.

  He will stay and become an adviser of his nephew, was the opinion. He is deeply hurt by the slanders which have been circulating and wants an assurance that we believe in his good faith.

  In the palace of the Savoy John talked over his future with Catherine.

  ‘How would you like it,’ he asked, ‘if we were to retire to Kenilworth and live there in peace and quiet for a while?’

  She stared at him incredulously.

  ‘You cannot mean that!’

  ‘I am considering it,’ he said. ‘You and I and the children … I could be a country gentleman … for a while.’

  Catherine’s face betrayed her joy. Then she was sceptical.

  ‘But you would not! You could not …’

  ‘Aye, I could. I like to see my little Beauforts growing up. I shall like to think what I can do for them. And there are the others too.’

  ‘What has come over you? You could not leave this scene. It is your life. And you are nominated one of the King’s advisers.’