The Star of Lancaster - Plaidy Jean (бесплатные онлайн книги читаем полные TXT) 📗

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 I 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 I

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 judgment on the old bufEoon? 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 I 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.

Tes, 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.

A good meal was served and during it Joanna sat beside her guest and he talked to her of the war and the glories of Agincourt, of the King's valour and the genius he was displaying in the conduct of the war. He regretted that he was not with his brother in France; but the King had assigned to him the task of keeping law and order in England during his

absence and that was a task which he was pursuing to the utmost of his capabilities.

'We shall let nothing ... but nothing ... stand in our way, my lady, no matter what has to be done it shall be done/

Ominous words perhaps.

She was right.

As soon as the meal was over he said he had matters of which he wished to speak with her, and she took him to an ante-chamber and began by asking him: 'Where is my confessor?'

'He has gone to London.*

*I did not give him permission to go.'

'No, my lady. He went on my command which is the King's.*

'For what reason?*

'This is a painful subject and I would rather speak to you of it than let others do it. You are my stepmother and there has always been amity between ourselves.*

'And still is I trust,' she said.

Bedford was silent, and she looked at him in alarm. 'Pray tell me without more delay what this means,' she said.

'That I will. You have two sorcerers in your employ, my lady. Their names I learn are Roger Colles and Petronel Brocart.*

'These men are my servants. I would not call them sorcerers.*