The Star of Lancaster (48 page)

John was big and strong and it was not easy to take him; but while he was struggling with an assailant, one of the serving girls who had become friendly with Charlton’s spy picked up a stool and threw it with such force against John that it broke his leg, thus rendering him helpless and he fell to the ground – a prey to his enemies.

It was the end. What could he do, being unable to stand? He was seized in triumph and carried off to Welshpool Castle, the home of Charlton, who was overcome with delight by the capture.

The first thing he did was to send a messenger to the Court. The King was in France and the Regent was his brother the Duke of Bedford.

Charlton received a delighted reply from Bedford. Let Oldcastle be brought at once to London without delay.

The injuries which he had received in the fight, chief of which was his broken leg, made it impossible for him to ride, but Bedford was in no mood to delay. It occurred to him that if the King were to hear of his old friend’s predicament he might out of sentimental feeling find some way of pardoning him. If, reasoned Bedford, Oldcastle had not been allowed to escape from the Tower – and sometimes Bedford wondered whether Henry had connived in that facile escape – they would have been spared a great deal of trouble.

No, bring Oldcastle to London. Let him be speedily tried and sentenced to the heretic’s death.

‘Send him at once,’ he ordered. ‘Even if he has to travel in a whirlicote.’

So John was placed in a horse-litter and brought to London.

‘Let there be no delay,’ said Bedford. ‘This man should be tried at once.’

John knew that this was the end. There could be no escape now. If he could but see the King, if they could indulge in a discussion such as they had so much enjoyed in the old days, he would have been able, he was sure, to make Henry understand.

But Henry was abroad in France bent on winning his crown. And John was here in London, in the hands of his enemy.

He was immediately brought before his judges and condemned to the heretic’s death.

He held his head high; he faced his judges and cried: ‘Though you judge my body which is a wretched thing, yet I am certain and sure that you can do no harm to my soul, no more than Satan could upon the soul of Job. He who created that will, of His infinite mercy and promise, save it. Of this I have no doubt. I will stand by my beliefs to the very death by the grace of my eternal God.’

The very same day he was taken by hurdle to St Giles’s Fields to what was now known as the Lollards’ Gallows. He saw the fire being laid below the chains in which they would hang him; and he knew then that his last hours had come.

A multitude had gathered to see him die. He had many supporters but none who there in St Giles’s would dare to come forward and claim him as a friend. The acrid smell of smoke, the writhing agony of sufferers, set them shuddering. He was a great man, John Oldcastle called Lord Cobham; he was ready to die for his beliefs. But there would be few who would want to share the martyr’s crown.

He addressed the spectators as he was being put in chains.

‘Good Christian people,’ he said, ‘beware of these men, for they will beguile you and lead you blindly into hell with themselves. Christ says plainly unto you: “If one blind man leadeth another, they are like both to fall into a ditch.”’ He was
now hanging horizontally above the flames which were rising to lick his body.

‘Lord God Eternal,’ he cried, ‘I beseech Thee of Thy great mercy’s sake to forgive my enemies if it be Thy will.’

There was a hush on the crowd. They heard his cry as the flames reached him.

Then the smoke hid him from view.

Chapter XIII

H
enry was determined to complete the conquest of France and what he needed more than anything was money.

He was obsessed by the thought of attaining the crown and was convinced that it was his by right and he would let nothing stand in the way of attaining it. He was certain that if his great-grandfather Edward the Third had carried on with the fight after Poitiers he would have won it. He had given up too soon; he had become lethargic, obsessed by lust; and the Black Prince, who would have won it, had become ill and died.

He, Henry, was the chosen one.

It was agreed now that he was a great warrior – to rank with William the Conqueror and Richard Coeur de Lion. Such men were all soldier. They allowed nothing to come between them and their objective. Henry was not cruel for the sake of cruelty but if it was necessary to the outcome of a battle he would kill without mercy. He was a soldier first; everything was subordinated to his cause. He never sought to evade any duty; he should share hardship with his men; he made it clear to them that even though he was their King and leader he was one of
them, ready to suffer cold or die with them. He had the power to make them follow him. He was good to them; he was proud of his image; he knew that his men would follow him to the jaws of death if he commanded them to do so.

With such an army and such a leader, he knew he could not fail.

When he heard how Oldcastle had died he was overcome with grief but then he grew angry. John had been a fool. Why had he given up the glorious life of a soldier to campaign for his Lollard views? John, becoming spiritual, a reformer! It was nonsense. He should have been with him at Harfleur and Agincourt.

And now he was dead . . . and had died in such a way. Foolish John!

There was no time to regret the fat old martyr. God rest his soul, said Henry; and was glad that he had been out of England when it had happened.

How could he have passed judgement on the old buffoon? Yet it was a just sentence. John had been a self-confessed heretic and so it was right that he should die the heretic’s death.

But it was over now. No looking back. No remembrance of old tavern days and the tricks they had played. John had gone his way and the King had gone his.

And there was a crown to be won.

Money! Money! He needed money. He had left Bedford to govern England. He could trust his brother. Bedford was a fine soldier, loyal too. Almost the man his brother the King was, he had heard it said, but not quite.

No, not quite. But a brother to be grateful for.

‘You must find me money,’ he had told Bedford.

And Bedford had said: ‘Our stepmother is a very rich woman. She does not help as she should.’

‘Ah, our stepmother. Her heart is in France.’

‘By God,’ Bedford had cried. ‘Then she would be a traitor to our lord the King. I’ll find a means, brother.’

Bedford would find a means. He had rid the country of Oldcastle. It was right of course. The old fellow was a heretic and he had earned the heretic’s death.

Yes, Bedford was a good brother. He would look after affairs in England while Henry was winning France.

He could trust Bedford.

There was something wrong in the Queen’s household at Havering Bower. Servants of the Duke of Bedford had arrived the previous day and Joanna had presumed that this meant their master was on the way to see her.

She was always apprehensive now. Arthur was still a prisoner though they had moved him from the Tower to Fotheringay Castle and she hoped he was in less rigorous confinement there. Whenever members of the King’s or Regent’s household visited her she feared what reason they had for coming.

She knew that the King was in France and she guessed that he would be constantly urging Bedford to find him money. Perhaps she should have offered more to the King when he had come to her. That would not have helped. He would still have wanted more.

Roger Colles and Petronel Brocart had warned her that she should be extra watchful for she was passing into a dangerous period. She did not need to be told that. She was aware of it more every day. The longer this war continued and the more success Henry had in France the more dangerous her position would become.

Colles and Brocart were in constant attendance on her and although their prognostications were becoming more and more gloomy she wanted to hear them. There was dissension between them and John Randolf. There always had been but it seemed to have deepened of late. She had never really liked John Randolf; there was an air of self-righteousness about the man which had not appealed to her; she would have dismissed him from his post but for the growing apprehension all round her. This did not seem the time.

She sent for John Randolf.

Her servants returned with the information that he was closeted with the men from the Duke of Bedford and had been so for some hours.

This made her very uneasy.

She sat with her women and they worked together on the tapestry they were making. They were more silent than usual. They were aware that something extraordinary was going on.

‘My Lord Bedford will be here this day, I believe,’ she said.

‘Yes, my lady,’ was the answer. ‘They are preparing for him in the kitchens.’

‘Where is Randolf? I would speak with him.’

‘He is talking to the men from London.’

‘What! Still talking.’

‘Yes, my lady. None knows of what they speak. They have been closeted these last two hours and there are guards outside the door.’

‘Of what could they be speaking to Randolf?’

Everyone was silent. They bent their heads over their work. What does it mean? the Queen asked herself apprehensively.

They were startled by a clatter in the courtyard. One of the women dropped her work and ran to the window.

‘What do you see?’ asked the Queen still sitting with her needle in her hand.

‘Some are leaving.’

‘Bedford’s men?’ asked the Queen with evident relief in her voice.

‘No . . . no . . . my lady. It is . . . Yes, it is. Randolf. He and two others are riding out of the courtyard.’

Joanna put down her work and with the others went to the window.

She saw John Randolf riding out of the castle with two men.

‘They are taking the road to London,’ said one of the women.

Joanna stared. Why? What could it mean?

She was soon to discover.

Later that day the Duke of Bedford arrived. Joanna went down to the courtyard to meet him. He was very like his brother the King and was said to be Henry’s most loyal and fervent supporter. He was more highly coloured than Henry, with a prominent arched nose, well-marked chin and slightly receding brow. He was a man who would not shirk his duty; and like his brother did not practise cruelty for its sake yet had no compunction in taking a severe action for the furtherance of a cause which he believed to be right.