Henry made his way back to the town of Llandovery, vowing vengeance on Llywelyn ap Gruffydd. If I can lay my hands on him he will not live long to regret. I pray God he will not keep this man from me."

God answered his prayers for one day Llywelyn ventured into a tavern in the town and was recognized by some of Henry's soldiers as he was singing the ballad of Henry's discomfiture for the entertainment of the rest of the company.

In a short while he was standing before Henry ...

The last months had wrought a change in the King. Before the crown had been his he had been a calm man, who prided himself on his shrewd judgements. Now, with so many threats to his position and an almost overpowering responsibility beside a gnawing anxiety that there was something wrong with his health, he had become vindictive. He would spare no one in his determination to hold the crown; and he wanted to make an example of all those who were his enemies.

With savage pleasure he condemned the Welsh joker to the barbaric death of hanging, drawing and quartering and he commanded that his sons sit beside him while they witnessed the terrible sentence being carried out.

Harry was disturbed by it. The man should be punished, yes, but the sentence was too harsh. Llywelyn was a brave man and if he had worked against the English it was natural for him to do so, because they were the enemies of his country.

However he could not remonstrate while his father was in this mood; but he did marvel at the change in him and he wondered whether he was as happy with his crown as he had been without it.

After the execution they left Llandovery and made for the Cistercian Abbey of Strata Florida which contained the tombs of several Welsh Princes. The King ordered his men to sack the place.

A lesson, said Henry, to all those who oppose me.

He sent for his son and looked at him intently. Perhaps sooner than he realizes, he thought, the crown will pass to him.

No one must know of his fears of what was happening to him. He had signs of a dread disease. Could he have caught it in the Holy Land, in Famagusta perhaps, Venice, Corfu ... some hot and arid land where unheard of diseases flourished? So far he could keep his affliction secret. None could see the eruptions on his skin because by good fortune they were where they could be hidden by his clothes; and he could forget them when they did not plague him with their burning irritation. But sometimes he feared what they meant and he wondered whether it would grow worse.

He must hold the crown until Harry grew up and Harry must do that quickly. He had never thought that it would be so difficult to hold; and he could not have foreseen how determined he would be to cling to it.

"Harry," he said, "the news is not good. Northumberland with Hotspur are on the march against us. They are joining with the Welsh."

"That is impossible. Hotspur fought the Welsh."

"His brother-in-law has married Glendower's daughter. You know what this means. Northumberland and Glendower are joining forces against us."

"On what grounds?"

"Read this," said Henry.

It was a document which had been prepared by the Percys to present not only to the King but to all leading noblemen in the country. It was a call to arms. They wanted Henry deposed because as they set out he had:

Sworn to them at Doncaster when he returned to England that he wished nothing more than to restore his inheritance and that of his wife. Yet he had imprisoned Richard his sovereign and compelled him to resign the crown and had himself taken on the style and authority of kingship.

He had sworn that as long as Richard should live he should enjoy every royal prerogative and yet he had caused that Prince, in the castle of Pontefract, after fifteen days to die of hunger, thirst and cold and thus be murdered.

Because of Richard's death he had kept possession of the crown which belonged to the young Earl of March, who was the next and direct heir.

He had sworn to govern according to law and had not done so. He had refused to permit the liberation of Sir Edmund de Mortimer who had been taken when fighting for him and he had looked on the Percys as traitors because they had negotiated with Glendower. Because of this we defy thee and we intend to prove it by force of arms and Almighty God.

When Harry finished reading the document he looked at his father in dismay.

"So they come against us! The Northumberlands ... and Glendower .. ."

"And the French have sent a company to harass me."

"You may trust the French to seize every opportunity" cried Harry.

"Never fear, my son. We shall defeat them."

"Aye" cried Harry. "That we shall do."

All the same he wished that the enemy was not Hotspur.

It was a long march of two hundred and fifty miles from Northumberland to Shrewsbury—Hotspur's men were eager to fight but they were tired and hungry; and they needed rest first.

The battle would be for Shrewsbury, for if he took that town Henry could block Hotspur's passage to Wales.

Hotspur thought of young Harry for whom he had cherished a certain affection. A boy of fifteen, but one who showed promise. He hoped the boy would come to no harm this day. Would you were with me, Harry of Monmouth, he thought. You'd be a better ally than your sly father, I doubt not.

But naturally the boy would be beside his father. How could it be otherwise?

The two armies faced each other. Hotspur saw a priest break from the ranks and come riding towards him. He was Thomas Prestbury, the Abbot of Shrewsbury, and he had a message for Hotspur. It was this: Let him put himself at Henry's mercy and the battle should be called off.

Hotspur sent his uncle, Thomas Percy, Earl of Worcester, back to the King with his reply.

Henry said: "Come, Worcester, do you want innocent blood to be shed this day?"

"We seek justice, my lord," replied Worcester.

Tut yourself on my grace."

"I trust not in your grace," was the answer.

"Then go to it," cried Henry. "I pray God that you may have to answer for the blood that is spilt this day, and not I."

Shortly after that encounter the battle began. A strong discharge of arrows came from both sides. It was a fierce fight. An arrow struck Harry in the face but he went on fighting.

"St George! St George!" cried Harry. The blood was streaming down his face but he ignored it. Excitement gripped him. Men were falling all about him and he was in the thick of the fight.

Hotspur was determined on victory. He wanted to slay the King with his own hands and with thirty or so of his most valiant knights he rode full tilt into the company about Henry. But the King and his men were a match for them and they were driven back.

It seemed then that the victory was going to Hotspur. Shouts for him filled the air. Harry stood firm. This was battle and he knew he was meant for it. He could scarcely feel the wound on his face.

He rallied his men about him and all forgot that he was but fifteen years old.

Hotspur was certain of victory. He was going to dethrone Henry. He was going to see the rightful heir on the throne; he was going to avenge Richard's death.

"Hotspur I" shouted the triumphant voices about him.

Then it happened. Flushed with imminent victory as he was, he did not see the arrow until it struck him. It pierced his brain and he fell from his horse—a dead man.

He did not hear the triumphant cry from the King's forces.

Hotspur was dead and his death decided the day.

It was the end of the battle and triumph for Henry.

The Duke of Brittany was dying. The Duchess Joanna nursed him herself but as she did so she could not prevent her thoughts straying to Henry of Lancaster and wondering how he was faring in England.

She had pressed the little blue flower he had given her.

Forget-me-not. That was what he had called it and she never would forget him.

He had on several occasions indicated the warmth of his feelings towards her and implied that had she not been the wife of the Duke there might have been a match between them. He was King now. Well, she was the daughter of a King and her mother had been the daughter of the King of France. There could be no question of her worthiness to become Queen of England.

News came now and then to Brittany of what was happening overseas. She knew that Henry had not married again. His time had been taken up first with seizing the throne and then holding it; and this she believed he was doing now.

There had been rumours about Richard's death. Some said he had been murdered. One version was that men had entered his cell and killed him. Another was that he had been starved to death. But the murderer in both cases had been named as Henry, for though, it was said, he may not have done the deed himself, he would have ordered others to do it.

It would have been necessary, argued Joanna.

She wondered whether he ever thought of her or whether his mind was completely taken up with the stirring events about him.

Suppose he sent for her, would she have been able to go to him? It would not be possible at this stage. She was forgetting her young son, now the Duke of Brittany and a minor. She could not leave him.

She feared Clisson; she knew that he had a very ambitious daughter, the wife of the Count of Penthievres, who believed that through him she had a greater claim to the throne of Brittany than Joanna's son.

Clisson was an honourable man, and although the rival claimant to the throne had married his daughter he had regarded the late Duke as the true heir to Brittany. Joanna believed she could treat with him.

In this she was proved right. She would promise concessions to Clisson; she would remain Regent and with his help rule the Duchy until her son was in a position to do so. The Duke of Burgundy, who was Joanna's uncle, and the King of France were to have guardianship of the Duchy and the young members of the family until they came of age.

Joanna had in fact shown great shrewdness in bringing about this reconciliation for the power, wealth and popularity of Clisson if used against her could have robbed her son of his inheritance.

But once Clisson had given his word and signed the treaty he was as strong a supporter of the little Duke as Joanna could wish, which was proved when his daughter Marguerite, who had wanted the Dukedom for her husband, want to her father in a state of great agitation and asked him why he worked against his own family. "So much could depend on you," she said. "You could give us Brittany. It is my children's inheritance."

"You ask too much," Clisson had replied. "The Duke of Burgundy is coming here. It may be he will take the children with him to the French Court. He is one of their guardians now."

"Father," cried the ambitious Marguerite, "there is still time to remove them."

"Remove them?" he answered. "Are you mad?"

"You could have them killed. If they were no more, our path would be clear."

Clisson was so overcome with horror that he cried out: "What a wicked woman you are! You ask me to kill these innocent children. I would rather kill you." And so great was his disgust that momentarily he meant it and drew his sword.

She, seeing the purpose in his eyes, turned and fled and in doing so fell headlong down a flight of stairs. She was always to remember that encounter for she broke her thigh bone which never healed properly and made her lame for the rest of her life.

The Duke of Burgundy arrived in Brittany and twelve year old Pierre who was now called John was invested with the ducal habit, circlet and sword and in the same ceremony his younger brothers Arthur and Jules were knighted.

Now that her son had been proclaimed Duke and he had the powerful Duke of Burgundy and King of France as his guardians, and Oliver Clisson had sworn to uphold him, Joanna felt herself to be free.

If Henry were to send for her she could go to him; but the Pope would never agree to the marriage she knew and how bring it about without that approval?

The fact was that the papal schism now existed and England supported Boniface who was called the anti-pope by those who gave their allegiance to Benedict as Brittany did.

But Joanna was not of a nature to accept obstacles.

Henry had not yet suggested marriage and only he and she were aware of the feelings they had aroused in each other. She hit on a plan to ask the Pope's permission to marry anyone of her choice within the fourth degree of consanguinity. She had not very long been widowed; she was quite young so it seemed reasonable to predict that she might wish to marry again. So carefully was her plea to the Pope worded that he saw no reason why he should not give his consent and this he did, having no notion at all that the bridegroom she had in mind was that King whom Benedict would call a rebel.