Emaculum (The Scourge Book 3) (47 page)
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Authors: Roberto Calas
The crossbow was, at first, seen as a weapon for cowards. Knights railed against the use of this device in warfare, calling it dishonorable and claiming that any man could use it, even without training. Ralph Payne-Gallwey, in his excellent work,
The Book of the Crossbow
, makes a humorous observation about this protest:
“Though the knights, secure in their heavy armor, had no scruples in riding down and killing the leather-clad foot soldier, it is entertaining to read of the fierce outcry they made when the foot soldier retaliated with steel crossbow and arquebus.”
Historical Note: Episode 8
Yeah, that didn’t really happen.
The whole battle-in-the-churchyard thing never occurred. When Henry Bolingbroke took the crown from Richard II, there was no fighting; it was a forgone conclusion. Henry had an army, and Richard had just lost his in a disastrous foray into Ireland. There was no armed conflict, unlike the Battle of Bosworth, where a different King Richard (Richard III) lost his crown to a different Henry (Henry Tudor).
But there should have been a battle.
Richard II should have met Henry Bolingbroke on a sodden field somewhere in England. There should have been a clash of soldiers. The hum of arrows in the afternoon sky. The cry of men and horses. If drama and poetry ruled the universe, no crown would ever pass from hand to hand without a battle.
So I created one.
In reality, Richard II fled to Flint Castle, in Wales, when he learned that Henry Bolingbroke had returned and raised an army. Henry met with him there, and Richard gave up his throne to the man who had borne the principal sword at his coronation. Shakespeare’s version of the event was dramatic and heart-wrenching:
Here, cousin, seize the crown;
Here cousin: On this side my hand, and on that side yours.
Now is this golden crown like a deep well
That owes two buckets, filling one another,
The emptier ever dancing in the air,
The other down, unseen and full of water:
That bucket down and full of tears am I,
Drinking my griefs, whilst you mount up on high.
. . .
O that I were a mockery king of snow,
Standing before the sun of Bolingbroke,
To melt myself away in water-drops!
Good king, great king, and yet not greatly good,
And if my word be sterling yet in England,
Let it command a mirror hither straight,
That it may show me what a face I have,
Since it is bankrupt of his majesty.
We know Henry Bolingbroke became King Henry IV, but who was he before that?
There isn’t much written about what he was like as a man. We know that he was John of Gaunt’s son. A Lancaster boy who grew up as a playmate to his first cousin, Richard Lancaster (Richard II). Henry was a brilliant soldier, and although he was Earl of Derby, and Duke of Hereford, he had no real claim to the throne. But he had plenty of reasons to dislike the king.
During the peasant revolt, the 14-year-old King Richard fled the Tower of London when the mob approached. The king took most of the soldiery with him, leaving a handful of notable figures—14-year-old Henry included—to fend for themselves. It did not go well for two of those notable figures; the Archbishop of Canterbury and Richard’s treasurer were dragged out of the Tower and beheaded. It is said that Henry, himself, was dragged out, but that one of his guards talked the mob out of taking the boy’s head. I can’t imagine that the mob realized he was John of Gaunt’s son, or they would likely have dismembered him. The mob hated John of Gaunt above all others.
This event during the Revolt was surely a formative event in the history of Henry and Richard.
Much later, in 1387, Henry was part of The Lords Appellant, a group of nobles opposed to what they saw as Richard’s mismanagement of the realm. This group raised an army and marched on Richard—who fled and locked himself in the Tower of London (see the pattern emerging?). One of his men, Robert de Vere, led an army to defend him. The Battle of Radcot Bridge was a victory for the Lords Appellant, but they did not try to strip Richard of his crown. Instead, they held a parliament (the Merciless Parliament as it was called) and accused scores of Richard’s closest knights and advisors of treason. Most of those accused were drawn and quartered without a real trial.
Richard watched as all of the men closest to him were murdered by his enemies. He became a powerless king for a year, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. And strike he did.
He exacted a savage vengeance on his enemies, imprisoning or having scores tortured and murdered, one by one. John of Gaunt, Henry’s father, actually helped Richard regain his power, and then Richard turned on him too. A mad king? Perhaps. An angry one? You bet.
Henry Bolingbroke was pardoned for his role in the Lords Appellant (most likely because of his father’s influence), but a few years later, Richard found an excuse to banish him.
Henry Bolingbroke and Thomas de Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, accused one another of treason in 1398. Rather than letting the two of them battle it out in a trial by combat, Richard banished them both—Mowbray for life, and Henry for ten years. John of Gaunt, Henry Bolingbroke’s father, fell out of favor with Richard a few years later, and died not long after. Richard then took the extraordinary step of stripping Henry Bolingbroke of all his inherited titles and making the banishment permanent.
So Henry returned and raised an army, although it has been said that he swore to all his generals that his only goal was to regain his lands and titles. I doubt we will ever know if that was his true purpose, and, if it was, when it was that he changed his mind. But Henry Bolingbroke seized Richard’s crown, the reign of Henry IV began.
Richard was imprisoned in the Tower of London, and starved to death. It’s not clear whether he starved himself, or if he was starved under Henry’s orders.
Henry Bolingbroke pardoned most of Richard’s supporters—something is advisors warned him not to. And perhaps his advisors were right. Henry spent many of his days as king quashing rebellions in every corner of his kingdom. His enemies grew and grew, he developed leprosy, and he died a hated man.
All of this is, of course, only a side-note in our story. Because Edward Dallingridge found his wife, and healed her afflictions. In reality, the two of them lived (happily, I will assume) in one of the finest castles in England. Bodiam Castle, run by the National Trust, is one of England’s finest treasures, and I suggest you visit it if you are ever anywhere near Sussex, England.
There are loose ends still in my version of Edward’s story, and perhaps someday those ends will be tied up. But I doubt it will be him that ties them.
Because Edward has been tamed.
So sayeth the Lord.
About the Author
Roberto Calas is an author and lover of history. His serial trilogy (The Scourge) is about a 14th century knight fighting his way through a demon-infested England to reunite with the woman he loves. And every bit of it is true except for the made up parts.
He earned a degree in journalism from the University of Connecticut and worked as a reporter, freelance writer, and magazine editor. But his true love has always been fiction.
In addition to The Scourge series, Roberto has written The Beast of Maug Maurai (fantasy), Kingdom of Glass (historical fiction in the Foreworld universe), and Wages of Sin (a historical-fiction short story). He lives in Sandy Hook, Connecticut, with his two children, and visits the United Kingdom on a monthly basis to be with his fiancée, Annabelle. Sometimes he fights demons to reach her.
You can learn more about Roberto on his website:
robertocalas.com
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