"I had rather see my former lewd companion than this earnest reformer."

"Then you do wrong," answered Oldcastle seriously. "I rejoice to see a King where once was a reckless boy. Do you remember, Hal—forgive the familiarity but my mind goes back to the days when we were boon companions, for I speak of those days. Dost remember a humble tailor of the diocese of Worcester? His name was John Badby?"

The King turned away shaking his head impatiently, but he did so to hide the fact that he was moved. Yes, he did remember John Badby. He had thought of him often during the months that had followed that day. He had smelt the acrid smell, heard the groans of agony. It was something he preferred to forget.

But John Oldcastle was not going to let him forget.

"They took him ... a humble tailor," went on John. "Why choose such a man as an example? By God's teeth, he was a brave fellow. What was his crime? It was the denial of transubstantiation. What did he say: "If every consecration of the altar be the body of the Lord then there must be twenty thousand gods in England." He said he believed in only one God in England. They tried him in St Paul's. They showed him the sacrament and asked him what it was. He said it was hallowed bread but not God's body. And for that they took him out to Smithfield. You have forgotten this man, my lord. Who should remember a humble tailor? But if that humble tailor becomes a saint ..."

"This foolish man's martyrdom is beside the point."

"Oh no. No. It is very much to the point. And I never forget your part in it, my noble King. You cannot forget that you came riding by and I was with you; and you saw this man tied to the stake. They were lighting the faggots at his feet. And you stopped to watch. I sensed in you, my lord, a melancholy that a man should be persecuted for his religious beliefs. You were always one to flout convention, were you not? Those visits to the tavern were partly because you wanted to go, partly because eyebrows would be raised and people would say: "The Prince is wild. He is a reckless profligate." That made you laugh, snap your fingers at the old greybeards. But you stopped by Badby's stake and you paused to think. The flames licked his legs and the pain was intense. He cried out "Mercy". And you, my lord, what said you? "Remove the fire," you said. "Give him a chance to repent." So the fire was removed and you and the tailor looked into each other's eyes. "Swear that you were wrong," you said. "Declare that you were misled. Do that and you shall go in peace." But, my lord, Badby did not ask for mercy from mankind but from God; he called out not that the fire should be removed but that God would take him speedily into Heaven. He would not renounce his beliefs, so he was thrown back into the fire. His end, pray God, came quickly. That was Badby and methinks a man who continued to plague your thoughts for many a month to come."

"I remember it. He was a brave man."

"He died for his beliefs. There are many of us in this land, lord King, who would do the same."

The King burst into laughter. "Not you, old fellow," he said. "Not you. You're more likely to die from the tremors of Venus or the fumes of strong drink."

It is a strange and wondrous thing, my lord, that as you have changed, so have I. Does that not show in some mysterious way, that you and I walk close together."

"You'll forget your Lollards, John?"

"Will you forget your crown?"

"Never."

"Then why should I forget?"

"Because yours, you old buffoon, could be a martyr's crown if you persist in your follies."

"Then I would no more cast that aside than you would your crown of gold."

"Listen to me, John, I speak in all seriousness now. Give up these follies. Go back to your Cobham Manor. You have a new wife. Do your duty by her."

"Rest assured, lord King, that I will do what I believe to be my duty."

Henry realized with dismay that it was no use trying to persuade his friend to act with discretion. John Oldcastle seemed as determined now to snap his fingers at danger as he had ever been.

To his sorrow within a few weeks he heard that Lord Cob-ham had been arrested and sent to the Tower.

The King called on his stepmother at Windsor. To show his friendship for her on his father's death he had given her licence to live at his royal castles of Windsor, Wallingford, Berkhamsted and Hertford and Joanna had been pleased to accept this invitation, for she was eager to live on good terms with the new young King.

She was reconciled to the death of her husband. None could have wished him to live and suffer such a loathsome disease which had clearly grown worse as the months passed. It was heart-breaking to consider him as he had been when they had first fallen in love with each other; and it seemed like a cruel trick of fate that she should have been married to an old man and then when she was able to make her own choice it should have fallen on one who was quickly to develop into an invalid.

She believed that what happened had been too much for Henry. He had been haunted throughout his life by the ghost of Richard. She was sure that had he come to the throne through rightful inheritance everything would have been quite different.

Now, because she had been here so long and it had become home to her, she wished to stay in England. There would be a home for her in Brittany where her son was the reigning Duke but she feared her welcome there might be a cool one. Moreover she had rich estates in England; she had always enjoyed accumulating wealth and as the wife of King Henry the Fourth she had found opportunities of doing this. But she wished to stay; and therefore she must remain on the best of terms with her stepson.

She welcomed him into her apartments.

He had come, he said, to assure himself that she was comfortably settled; but it was more than that, she knew. He wanted her to do something for him; and she must of course, if it were possible.

It was not long before he came to the point.

"My great-grandfather Edward the Third was convinced that the crown of France rightly belonged to him. I share that view."

She waited.

"Moreover," he went on, "I intend to win it."

She said quietly: "You will resume the war with France?"

"I shall win my crown." He spoke with quiet determination. She remembered that his father had said that his eldest son thought like a soldier and acted like a soldier; and that when he came to the throne war would be his chief preoccupation like his ancestor whom men had called Richard the Lion-heart.

She said: "Your great-grandfather won many victories as did his son, the Black Prince, but they never won the crown of France for England."

"They did not continue long enough. Edward grew old and tired of the war. The Black Prince died in the prime of his youth. I would never give up. I would go in and win and that is what I intend to do."

"Can you ... raise the men ... the money."

"With God's help, I can and will."

Joanna felt uneasy. She hoped he was not going to ask her to help him. She loved her possessions. Her chief joy now was adding to them, counting them, gloating over them. She would not want to see that wealth which she had taken such pleasure in garnering dissipated in war.

"You are planning ..." she began.

"I was even before my father died," he replied. "I want to succeed, my lady, where others have failed. And make no mistake, I shall do so. I shall have the French on their knees, I promise you. Their King is mad. The Dauphin is not as fine a fellow as he believes himself to be. Indeed, my lady, I am planning. And indeed I shall take war into France. Now I want you to help me. I trust you are willing to do that."

"If I could it would be my pleasure, but I am a weak woman ..."

Joanna was silent. Her son, the Duke of Brittany, was married to the daughter of the King of France, and there would naturally be a strong influence there in favour of France. She felt uneasy.

Tour eldest son must be persuaded that my quarrel is just," said Henry. "I doubt not he will listen to his mother. Your son Arthur naturally owes his allegiance to me."

That was true. She had prevailed on her husband to bestow the title of Earl of Richmond on Arthur and this he had done. It would be Arthur's duty to range himself on the side of Henry. It was the eldest for whom she feared.

"It is a pity your son was married into France," he said.

She nodded. The marriage was arranged when she had come to England and for the reason that the King of France had wanted to make sure of the allegiance of Brittany.

"Arthur of course will be your man," she said. "The Duke ... well, that is another matter."

Henry realized that it would be difficult for the Duke to fight against his father-in-law. On the other hand his mother was the Queen of England.

"I shall rely on your powers of persuasion," he said.

Joanna promised to do her best and they parted amicably.

But after he had gone Joanna gave way to the gloomy mood which his coming had brought. Wars, she thought. Is it going to start again? How foolish it is. He will never gain the throne of France. It will mean bloodshed, loss of treasure and rifts between the families. She could not believe that her eldest son would ever fight on the side of the English against France.

Henry rode away thoughtful also. He must have Brittany with him, and surely the fact that the mother of the Duke was his stepmother must carry some weight. Joanna was a clever woman. She would know how to persuade. And it was to her interests, too. Look what she had done since she had been in England. She had always been well treated, even though the people did not like her. She was very comfortable in England; he had heard it said that she was a very wealthy woman—in fact one of the most wealthy in England. Like his father, she had never been over extravagant.

He was going to need money to finance his war. He would think about that later.

When he arrived back in Westminster it was to learn that Lord Cobham had escaped from the Tower.

Christmas had come and the Court was at Eltham. Henry was fond of Eltham, and came to it often to escape the activity which there always seemed to be at Westminster. It was a secure fortress surrounded by a moat and a thick greystone external wall.

There were revelries at Christmas but his thoughts were mainly of the campaign he planned to take into France. He knew that those about him marvelled at the change which had come over him. Not long ago he would have been in the thick of the revels, drinking, singing and watching the women, wondering which one he would select for his night companion.

A crown had changed that. He had to think of marriage. He was twenty-six, not exactly a boy. Few kings remained bachelors so long. There had been many marriages suggested for him but after the manner of so many of such negotiations they had come to nothing. He must think seriously now of taking a wife.

Strangely enough he often thought of little Isabella of Valois, Richard's widow. He had been obsessed by that child. He had never seen anyone to equal her for beauty—but perhaps her image had grown more beauteous as time passed as was often the case. She had died, poor child, after they married her to Orleans. What a fascinating little creature she had been with her fierce loyalty towards ineffectual Richard who had never been her husband in more than name.

Well, there must be an end to these prevarications. A wife ... but first the crown of France.

He sat at the high table in the great banqueting hall, above him the high-pitched roof with its hammer beams, carved pendants and braces held on corbels of hewn stone. Up in the minstrels' gallery the musicians were playing their tunes. A great fire burned in the centre of the room. Soon the mummers would arrive and enchant the company with their performance.

It was just like so many Christmases he remembered. The cooks had excelled themselves with the great joints of savoury meats and pies and fish garnished with fennel, mint and parsley—conger, ling, hake, mackerel, flounders, soles and dories. It mattered not the season as the cooks could salt anything to preserve it that they might serve it any time they wished to do so. Cooks vied with each other and the royal cooks must make each banquet better than the last. Capons, fowls, swans, peacock, bitterns adorned the tables, to the delight of those who enjoyed strong-flavoured birds.