Well then arrangements should go ahead. Anne should make her preparations to leave for England.

Now that the time had come she suffered qualms of apprehension. She was going to leave her mother and all her family to go among strangers. Even though she had known always that that would be her eventual fate, now that it loomed right before her it must fill her with misgivings.

Sir Simon and Sir Thomas said good-bye and the embassy returned to England.

Now she must prepare herself in earnest. It would be so strange to live in a new country. She talked of it continuously with her three sisters, Katherine, Elizabeth and Margaretha. She wondered whether there would be poets and musicians at Court. She had always enjoyed visiting Uncle Wenzel, the Duke of Brabant, for he wrote poetry himself and poets were always welcome at his Court. He was patron of the arts and consequently his Court was lively with interest for her.

Would it be like that in England, she wondered.

Katherine said that Sir Simon Burley had told them that Richard was fond of poetry, so that it surely would be.

Yes, it would be. She would persuade him to encourage the poets. They would have singing and dancing at the Court. She would make it as much like her uncle Wenzel’s Court as possible. Then she would not miss her home. She would not sigh for her father’s palace of Hradschin. England would be her home.

One day there were messengers at the Hradschin Palace. They had come with all speed from England, and the news they brought was disquieting.

All over England the peasants were in revolt. They were on the march and their object was to change the old system of rule. They wanted to be the masters, or at least they wanted all men to be equal. And they were succeeding. This would be the end of England as it had been known since the days of the Conqueror. It would be no place for the daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor.

The Empress shook her head emphatically.

‘We will forget all about the agreement we have made with England,’ she said.

But it was not long before more messengers arrived.

The revolt had been suppressed by the courage and statesmanship of the young King. All was well. The peasants had been dispersed and their ringleaders had been executed.

All was well in England reigned over by a King who was patiently awaiting the arrival of his bride.


* * *

Anne set out from Prague with the Duke and Duchess of Saxony and a retinue suitable for one of her rank.

She had said good-bye to her mother and sisters. Her brother Wenceslaus was in Brussels where he was waiting to receive her as she passed through on her way to the coast.

There were great celebrations and rejoicing in Brussels and Wenceslaus talked with her frequently, always stressing the need to remember that her country looked to her to remember it. She would have the confidence of the King; she must make sure that her new country continued to be the friend of her native land.

While the party was being entertained in Brussels news was brought to the Court there of the anger of the King of France. He was not going to allow his one-time ally to marry their Princess to his enemy. They had to get to England, had they not? Had they forgotten that to do so they had to cross a perilous sea? No, he was not referring only to the weather; there were ships on those seas – his ships and they were stopping all vessels and were determined to prevent the Princess Anne reaching her bridegroom.

After much consultation her uncle, the Duke of Brabant, sent an embassy to the King of France to remonstrate with him, and to the surprise of everyone the King of France was persuaded to relent. Not, he was anxious to point out, for love of the King of England. He cared nothing that he should be without his bride. In fact it amused him that he should. But for the sake of his beloved cousin Anne, he would call in those ships which had been filled by fierce Norman sailors, and she should have safe passage to England.

It was with great relief that the party set out for the coast.

At Gravelines she met more of the noblemen of her new country for the Earls of Salisbury and Devonshire were waiting there with a guard of five hundred all carrying spears to conduct her to Calais.

It was not the best time of the year to travel, being December, and it was small wonder that it was necessary to wait for a favourable wind.

At length the sea was calm enough for them to set sail and they did so. The crossing was made in a day, which was considered a sign of divine providence, but oddly enough no sooner had Anne arrived on land than a violent wind arose. The sea immediately began to writhe in such a strange manner that it was as if some gigantic sea serpent might be lashing it with its tail.

All those who saw it declared they had never witnessed anything to compare with it. It was unlike a storm. The sea was like a cauldron; the wind was like a hurricane. Those on shore watched with horror and amazement while the ships which had carried the party across the Channel were tossed from side to side, overturned and in a short time torn apart as though they had been made of the flimsiest material.

Anne’s own ship was rent into pieces and others of the fleet shared its fate.

It was the most extraordinary phenomenon and many of those who beheld it fell on their knees and prayed to God to set aside His anger.

The storm – or whatever it had been – stopped abruptly. The wind had gone; the seething waters had subsided; only the flotsam of broken vessels floating on the sea and lying on the beaches was a proof of what had happened.

There was a deep silence among the watchers. What had it meant? That it was a divine intimation no one doubted.

Was it anger at the proposed marriage? Some saw it as such, which would mean an ill omen for the King and his bride. Or was it heaven’s way of saying that it was pleased by the arrival of Anne since the tragedy had taken place immediately she was brought safely to land and had the upheaval started shortly before, she and the whole party would surely have been killed.

The trouble with such omens was that there were always two constructions to be put on them. They were ill for those who wished them to be; but those who were in favour of what was taking place would always be able to turn them to good.


* * *

The journey to London had begun. Her first stop was at Canterbury where Richard’s Uncle Thomas was waiting to receive her.

Anne was entranced by the sight of the beautiful city within those grey walls which was dominated by that most magnificent of cathedrals made sacred by the shrine of the great Thomas à Becket who had been murdered there two hundred years before and whose memory was as green now as it had been when he had been killed. There also was the tomb of Richard’s father.

Richard’s uncle Thomas, who was known as Thomas of Woodstock and was the Earl of Buckingham, had the looks of the Plantagenets, being tall, fair and handsome. He was in his mid thirties and performed the greeting with warmth and the utmost courtesy.

Anne thought him charming; she could not at that stage be expected to know that his friendliness was a façade.

Thomas of Woodstock was in fact far from the benign avuncular figure he was portraying for the Princess’s benefit.

He had always resented his nephew. Thomas’s life was one resentment after another. To be the youngest son was an irritation in itself. He possessed the family ambition; and it rankled that this slender effeminate boy should be the King. True he was the only remaining son of the eldest but such a boy when there were three uncles, all sons of King Edward, all grown men, experienced in the art of ruling. It was bad luck, and he resented it.

He had not wished to come to Canterbury to greet the bride. It was not his place to. John should have come. He was the eldest of the uncles. But there was at this time not a more unpopular man in England than John of Gaunt.

John had said to him: ‘You must go to Canterbury to bring the bride to London. If I go who knows what would happen? The people might show their dislike of me which would not be a good start for the Princess. Edmund is abroad so it is up to you.’

Thomas agreed that this was so, not without some smug satisfaction. He was jealous of his brother and was not sorry that his unpopularity was so obvious. Moreover he harboured a special grievance against him at the moment.

John was for ever pushing his son, young Bolingbroke; he had always done so. He would have liked to bring Catherine Swynford’s Beaufort bastards to the fore too, if that were possible; but that would not be tolerated. It was brazen enough to take Catherine about with him and expect people to do honour to her; but to ennoble their bastards – that would be too much even for John.

But it did not stop him as far as young Henry was concerned. Well, Henry was the son of Blanche of Lancaster – royal on both maternal and paternal sides, so it was to be expected. John fumed inwards because Henry was not heir to the throne; but he tried all the time to load his son with honours. He was already the Earl of Derby though people still called him Bolingbroke after the place where he had been born. Thomas had disliked the boy from the time – it must have been five years ago – when he had been made Knight of the Garter. He, Thomas, had hoped to be chosen, but it was like John to push everyone aside for his own advancement; and at that time he had had the ear of their father.

But there was an even greater resentment now; and that was Bolingbroke’s recent marriage.

Thomas’s father in an attempt to provide handsomely for him – because with so many sons there were not enough estates to go round – had arranged a brilliant marriage for him.

The bride chosen for Thomas when he had been nineteen years of age was Eleanor Bohun, the daughter of the Earl of Hereford, Essex and Northampton. Eleanor was a very rich heiress, but there was one flaw in the arrangement; she had a younger sister Mary.

For some time he and Eleanor had been trying to persuade Mary to go into a convent. Mary was a very pretty girl and mild enough, and she was very much influenced by the elder less beautiful but more forceful Eleanor. They had taken her to live in the Castle of Pleshy which was very close to one of the female branches of the Franciscans known as the Poor Clares.

Mary therefore had had ample opportunity to observe the piety of the nuns of this order; Eleanor was constantly extolling their virtues and it was clear that Mary was greatly impressed by them. Their lives were dedicated to the care of the poor and the sick.

‘Ah,’ Eleanor would sigh, ‘I almost envy them. What beautiful lives they lead. Do you not agree, Mary?’

Mary did agree. Yes, it must be wonderful to be so virtuous. She would not greatly care to dress in that loose rough grey with the knotted girdles – four knots to represent the four vows they had taken.

‘They are more becoming in God’s eyes than the finest raiment,’ said Eleanor sternly.

‘Perhaps it is not too late for you to give up the world and join them,’ suggested Mary.

Eleanor was angry. Mary was changing. She was growing up.

It was unfortunate that King Edward having given Eleanor to his son should have given the guardianship of the younger daughter to his other son, John of Gaunt. Being the guardian of heirs to rich fortunes was always a profitable matter and such guardianships were greatly sought after and given as rewards to those to whom the King owed some reward.

John of Gaunt now and then visited his ward to assure himself of her well-being and for some time an idea had been brewing in his mind.

The Bohun fortune was great; there was no reason why Eleanor should have it all. He arranged, with the help of Mary’s aunt, the Countess of Arundel, that the young girl should pay a visit to Arundel.

‘She has all but decided to end her days with the Poor Clares,’ Eleanor had explained; but it was not possible to prevent Mary’s going off with her aunt for a brief visit to Arundel. ‘We might have known,’ Thomas had said to Eleanor afterwards. ‘John is sly. He arranged, this, you may be sure.’

For at Arundel Mary met the young Earl of Derby who most certainly had been told by his father that he must make himself agreeable to the young girl.