‘It rarely happens so. But here I am. Now tell me, how have you been faring?’

Arm in arm they went into the castle.

She said: ‘Feasts must be prepared. I must command them to roast the finest deer.’

‘I think they will do it for me, and leave you to be with me, little Queen.’

‘Yes, mayhap they will and I would not lose one moment with you. How long shall you stay?’

He stroked her hair. ‘I leave today, dearest. I broke the journey just to see you.’

‘No!’

‘I fear so, my little one. I am going to Ireland.’

‘Is it because of the Earl of March?’

He nodded.

‘And when will you come back?’

‘Soon and then straight to you.’

‘Lady de Couci has gone.’

‘Does it grieve you?’

‘No.’

‘She gave herself airs. She thought she was the Queen. Did you know she kept three goldsmiths, three cutlers, three furriers all at my expense.’

‘I must cost you a lot of money.’

‘The Exchequer groans under your extravagance.’

She laughed and nestled close to him.

‘I am glad,’ she said. ‘It will stop you forgetting me.’

‘Do you think I should ever do that?’

She threw her arms about his neck.

‘What, preparing to suffocate me again! They say a King’s life is always in danger. It would seem so.’

‘Don’t say it! Don’t say it!’ she cried, putting her hands over his mouth. He took them and kissed them.

‘Shall I tell you about Math?’

‘Oh yes, yes.’

‘He is such a naughty dog. When he sees me in my crown he leaps with excitement. Do you know I do not believe he would love me half as much if I were not the King.’

‘I would love you always.’

‘My dearest and most faithful Queen. Will you always love me then, Isabella?’

She nodded gravely. Then she was laughing. ‘I pray you do not think you can deceive me by sending Richard Maudelyn to me again.’

‘Nay. I learned my lessons there.’

‘Richard, must you go today?’

‘I must.’

‘Ireland is so far away.’

‘As soon as I am back I shall come to you.’

‘Promise me that.’

‘I swear it.’

Then she said: ‘Let us forget now that you are going to leave me. Let us be happy while we can.’

So they were merry together, both pretending to forget that parting was imminent.

They went to Mass together in Windsor Church and on leaving took wine and comfits at the door.

There he must say his last farewell to her. He picked her up in his arms and kissed her again and again. She clung to him.

‘Richard, don’t go. Richard, stay.’

‘My little love,’ he said, ‘people watch us. We must remember, must we not, that we are the King and Queen? Adieu, my sweetest, until we meet again.’

Then he released himself and turned away to hide his emotion.


* * *

Henry of Bolingbroke was brooding in Paris. He had good friends with him – all Richard’s enemies. There was Thomas Arundel the Archbishop of Canterbury and the young Earl of Arundel who still talked fiercely of avenging his father. Agents from England had been coming back and forth with news of the people’s discontent with Richard and now Henry had a grievance. The King had broken his promise. Solemnly he had sworn that the Lancaster estates should not be forfeited to the crown and immediately on the death of John of Gaunt this had been done. If the King could break his promise that released Bolingbroke from his.

Henry was going to England. He was going to take the crown from Richard, but he must act cautiously. He could have gathered together an army in France but the English would not wish to see foreigners on their soil and his cause would be lost before it started. What Henry wanted was an English army fighting to replace a weak king by a strong one.

The moment had come. Richard was in Ireland, and Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, a pleasant good man but completely lacking the ability to rule, was in charge of the government. Edmund had been retired from Court life and living in the country for some years. Moreover Richard had appointed to serve with him some of the most unpopular men in England: the Earl of Wiltshire, William Scrope, Sir William Bagot, Sir John Bushy and Sir Henry Green.

Henry laid his plans with care. He had good reason for returning and he would come only with a few friends at the head of whom would be the Archbishop and the Earl of Arundel. He did not land in the South but in the Lancastrian stronghold of Yorkshire and made his way to Pontefract Castle.

When it was heard that Henry was in England and that he had sworn that his only aim was to regain his estates many flocked to his banner. Few men of property approved of the confiscation of estates by the crown and they were ready to help Henry regain his.

But the people were ripe for rebellion. Edmund of Langley hearing that Henry had now amassed a considerable army and was marching south went to meet him. There was no battle but Edmund Langley was no strategist and men began deserting from his army which fell back to Bristol. But the people of Bristol were not for the King and they seized the Earl of Wiltshire, Sir Henry Green and Sir John Bushy and executed them because they said they were the King’s evil counsellors. Thus when Henry came into Bristol the first thing he saw was the heads of these men on the city walls. He himself was greeted with cheers wherever he went.

When the news was brought to Richard in Ireland that Henry had landed and had placed himself at the head of an army, he was mad with fury.

He sent for Harry of Monmouth and contemplated what he would do with the boy.

If he could catch his father, he told him, he should die a death which should make a noise as far as Turkey.

Young Harry did not flinch. Richard looked at him through narrowed eyes. A hostage! Yet Henry of Bolingbroke had not cared that his son was in the King’s possession.

He could not harm the boy. He had spoken truth when he had said he was fond of him. It was not the fault of Harry of Monmouth that his father was a traitor.

‘Take the boy away,’ he said. ‘Make him my prisoner. Let him be placed in Trim Castle and kept there until I say what shall become of him.’

So young Harry of Monmouth was taken to the Irish castle and there held prisoner while Richard made his plans to leave for England.


* * *

He was full of hope when he landed at Milford Haven. ‘We shall show this traitor what happens to his like,’ he declared, and he gave himself up to the pleasure of what he would do when Bolingbroke was in his hands.

Alas, when he arrived in England he found there were few who were ready to rally to his banner; and those who had been with him in Ireland had little heart for the fight.

It was alarming. They were all stealing away from him. Only a few remained. Where was the army he needed to subdue Bolingbroke? What had happened? Why had they all deserted him?

What could he do? He summoned two whom he trusted – the Dukes of Exeter and Surrey – and told them they must go to his cousin and ask what his intentions were. If as he said he merely wished for the return of the Lancaster estates, they must discuss this matter.

The two Dukes rode off to Chester but when they arrived at Henry’s stronghold he ordered them to join his forces and they immediately declared themselves willing to do this, for they believed that Richard’s was a lost cause.

Richard was desolate for there seemed to be no way out of this morass into which he had so suddenly fallen. He could only wander from castle to castle with the very smallest band of faithful followers, knowing well that he could not continue in that way. From Conway to Caernarvon and from Caernarvon to Beaumaris and then back to Conway; and there the Earl of Northumberland, acting as Henry’s emissary, came to see him.

‘What would you have of me, traitor?’ demanded Richard.

‘I come from the Duke of Hereford, my lord.’

‘I know it well – traitor from traitor.’

‘We are no traitors, my lord. The Duke of Hereford does not mean to seize the throne. He merely wishes to escort you to London so that a Parliament may be held to deal with your evil counsellors through whose advice you have misgoverned the realm.’

Richard said with dignity: ‘I will meet my cousin.’ Indeed he knew he had no alternative.

‘I will conduct you to the castle of Flint, my lord, where he awaits your coming.’

‘Then let us go,’ said Richard.

Flint Castle was a formidable looking fortress – square with a large round tower at each corner and a keep of great size and strength detached from the main building and joined to it by a drawbridge. This tower was the donjon of the castle.

It was dusk when they arrived and being exhausted by the journey Richard soon slept and did not awaken until the morning.

He sat up in his bed wondering for a moment where he was. Then the memory of the previous day came to him. It seemed like a nightmare but the more wakeful he became the more real he realised it to be.

It was undignified. It was demeaning. He would never forget this. Once his cousin was in his power he would lose no time in bringing about his end; and it would be in no delicate manner either.

He rose and went to hear Mass in the castle chapel and as he came out he heard the sounds of marching.

His spirits rose. His friends were coming to rescue him. He had known the nightmare could not persist.

‘I want to go to the tower,’ he said. ‘I wish to see what is happening outside the castle.’

He went and when he looked down on that army gathered there he knew it was the end for him. Hereford’s men were surrounding the castle; and he recognised among them some on whose loyalty he had believed he could rely.

He covered his face with his hands; he wanted to shut out the sight.

One of his guards spoke to him. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘the Duke of Hereford will be here after dinner.’

‘I shall have much to say to him when we meet,’ replied Richard grimly.

He saw the sly smile on the face of the guard and he thought: By St John the Baptist, how has this come about? Such a short while ago I was their King and they trembled at my word. Then I went to Ireland and now that I am back, everything is changed.

How quickly men who had once shown respect could delight in betraying their contempt. But there were a few friends left to him.

Yes, there were some who had not torn off the badge of the White Hart.

He went to the chamber where a table was laid for dinner. He turned to those who still wore their badges and said: ‘Kind friends and loyal gentlemen, sit down with me and eat for you are in peril of death for your fidelity to me.’

‘Aye,’ cried one of the guards, ‘you should all eat well. For soon your heads will be off and how will you eat then?’

‘My friends,’ said the King, ‘heed not these oafs. Their time will come, I promise you.’

And what alarmed him most was the lack of concern on the faces of these men. It was clear that they did not believe him.

After the meal he made his way to that chamber where he was to receive his cousin.

He had commanded that a chair be placed for him which should act as a throne. He was the King, he would remind them. This was not denied him and he went to it and seated himself and there awaited the coming of his enemy.

Henry came before him as a subject to his King. He bowed and knelt. Richard took his hand and bade him rise. It did not seem that he was the vanquished one and the man who knelt before him the conqueror.

‘My lord and sovereign King,’ said Henry, ‘I have come back before my time.’

‘Why do you come thus, cousin?’ asked Richard.

‘I have come to seek the restitution of my lands and heritage.’

‘I am ready to accomplish your will so that you may enjoy all that is yours without exception.’

‘There is one other matter,’ went on Henry. ‘The common report of your people is that you have governed them badly for twenty years. They are not content therewith. If it pleases you, I will help you to govern better.’

The Archbishop then asked leave to speak, and when this was granted he told the King that his rule could no longer be tolerated and that he must abdicate.

Richard had expected this. He knew that the soft words of his cousin could be set aside. Here he was his cousin’s prisoner and Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford and Lancaster, had an army behind him, while Richard’s followers had deserted him.