A messenger from the Duke of Anjou proposed that his army should meet that of the Duke of Lancaster at Moissac and until that time there should be a truce between them.

To this John agreed with alacrity. A truce would enable him to spend time with Catherine. News came from home that the King was growing almost senile, and it seemed that he could not live very long. The Prince’s health had deteriorated too; before long there must be a new King of England and it would not be an Edward.

A boy of eight or nine! He would need guidance. There would have to be a Regent. A Regent, of course, had the power of a ruler.

If there was to be a king who was a minor the natural regent would be his uncle. John knew that it was imperative for him to be in England.

He talked of this with Catherine. She understood perfectly. She would be ready to leave when he wished to go.

But he wanted her to remain for a while at Beaufort. If the situation was now as he believed it might be, he would have to come out again so he thought it was better for her to remain at Beaufort, particularly as she was once more pregnant. If he were going to stay in England he would send for her; if not he would soon be with her again.

John and his army left for England. He had forgotten his arrangement to meet Anjou at Moissac.

April came. This, said the French, was a breach of faith and there was no reason why they should not march into Aquitaine.

With the exception of Bayonne and Bordeaux the whole of Aquitaine passed into the hands of the French.

The campaign had been an utter disaster.

Catherine gave birth to another boy. This was Thomas. John had two Henrys; she would have two Thomases. The joys of motherhood had settled on her and she intended to make up to Thomas and Blanche Swynford for her neglect of them when she was back in England.

In Beaufort Castle she settled down to wait for the return of John.


* * *

There was a growing tension in the streets of London. In the fields beyond Clerkenwell and Holborn, in the meadows of Marylebone and on Hampstead Heath and Tyburn Fields people gathered to listen to those who had made themselves spokesmen for there was not a man or woman who was not aware of the change that was coming.

Within the City walls where merchants and their apprentices shouted the virtues of their wares as they stood beside their stalls in Cheapside under the big signs which proclaimed their trade, there were whispers. Eyes turned towards that Palace of Westminster set among the fields and marshes outside the City and they asked themselves how long the King could last.

And what then? Who would have believed a few years ago that it could have come to this.

They had had a great and glorious King but he had been seduced by a harpy; they had had a Prince who had seemed like a god come down to serve them. And what had happened? He had become a sick man who was clearly fighting now to stave off death.

The heir to the throne was a slender young boy – his father’s son, possessed of the Plantagenet handsome looks but lacking the robustness which was a feature of the race; and overshadowing him was his uncle, John of Gaunt.

John of Gaunt! That was the name which was whispered in the streets and the meadows. ‘He seeks to rule us,’ it was murmured. ‘He is waiting for his brother to die. Then he will attempt to take the crown from little Richard and there will be war.’

John of Gaunt! His very name proclaimed his foreign birth. What had he done? He had conducted an unsuccessful campaign in France which had resulted in great losses and they had paid taxes that this campaign might be carried out.

Rumour had it that he kept his mistress over there. Catherine Swynford, the wife – widow now – of one of his men. They were raising a little family of Beauforts. Three boys and a girl. And his wife the poor Queen of Castile was ignored. He had married her for her crown but before she could gain it it had to be won and they would be expected to pay for his adventures. John of Gaunt was not noted for his generalship. He was not like the hero of Crécy and Poitiers. Oh, what an ill fate for England when the great Black Prince had been stricken with sickness! The only hope for the country was that he would live a little longer, or that the King himself would not die for a while.

But the King had disappointed them. He appeared in public with that harlot Alice Perrers beside him, decked in fine satins and velvets and wearing the royal jewels. Those who remembered good Queen Philippa cursed her. No good could come of a family which flaunted its immorality, openly defying the laws of Holy Church. The King could be forgiven by some. He was old, he was senile, they said; he had once been great and England had loved him. There had rarely been a King who had been so loved as Edward the Third. Yes, they could find it in their hearts to overlook his lapse from virtue. But John of Gaunt, with his harlot Catherine Swynford, no! London did not want this man. They would not tolerate his rule.

He had returned to England after the disastrous campaign and he had been going back and forth to France for the last two years, staying in Ghent and Bruges and attempting to persuade the French to agree to a truce. On his knees almost to the French! They had come a long way from Poitiers when the Black Prince had returned with the King of France as his captive.

Sad days had come to England and at such times it was natural to look for a scapegoat. The people had looked and found one. His name was John of Gaunt.

In his Palace of Berkhamsted the Black Prince was often confined to his chamber and there he fretted about what was happening at Court.

Joan was growing more and more anxious about the state of affairs. Even her optimism was beginning to wane. She could no longer deceive herself that the Prince’s health was improving. As he grew older the attacks were becoming not only more frequent but more virulent. There was one consolation. As time passed Richard was growing older. He was now nine years old; she thanked God that he was clever and had such a good mentor as Sir Simon Burley who was so obviously devoted to him.

The Prince talked to her constantly about the state of the country. His great fear – as hers was too – was what would become of Richard if his grandfather and father were to die and he become King.

‘While I live,’ said the Prince, ‘feeble as I am, I can still look after him.’

‘The people are with you.’

‘Yes, the people have always been faithful. But, Joan, I fear my brother.’

‘John has always been the most ambitious of you all, but I cannot believe he would harm Richard.’

‘He might not try to take his place on the throne. The people would never agree to that and John knows it. What he will seek to do – as he is doing now – is to become my father’s chief adviser. The Parliament consists of those who are working for him; he has agreed to tolerate Alice Perrers, even make a friend of her. My dear Joan, any who can do that is to be suspected.’

‘I know. If only you were well how different everything would be.’

‘Had I been well, Joan, we should never have suffered such losses in France; England would be as strong as she was in my father’s heyday. I must go to Westminster. I cannot lie here and see my brother take over the government of this country.’

She knew it was no use trying to dissuade him.

‘You must wait a few days,’ she insisted, ‘and we will try and get you ready for the ordeal.’

At length he agreed to wait and so determined was he to go that in a few days his health did improve enough for him to make the journey.


* * *

Richard was fully aware of the tensions all round him and it was particularly disturbing to know that he was concerned in them. He was very much aware of his father’s anxious eyes which seemed to follow him whenever they were together. The King would make him sit by his chair or by his bed and would talk to him of the responsibilities of kingship.

It was very necessary always to keep the affection of the people. One must never forget that one was a king. Always the dignity of the throne must be preserved. The country must come first; a king must serve it even though it meant hardship and unselfish devotion.

Richard was beginning to think that kings did not have a very good time.

He broached the matter with Sir Simon Burley whom, next to his mother, he loved best in the world.

‘If the life of a king is such a hard one, sacrificing all the time and doing not what he wants but what others want him to do, why do so many people want to be a king?’

‘It is because of power. A king is the head of the state. He has greater power than anyone else …’

Richard’s eyes began to shine with excitement and Simon said quickly: ‘He can lose it quickly if he does not use it wisely.’

‘How will he know what is wisely?’

‘His conscience will tell him and also his ministers.’

‘Is my grandfather wise?’

Simon was silent for a few seconds and he was conscious of Richard’s awareness of the silence, Richard was very sharp. It was a good sign. He was a clever boy. He would make a good king.

‘Your grandfather was the most brilliant monarch in Europe.’

‘Was?’ said Richard quickly. ‘Was, did you say, Simon?’

‘Your grandfather is now an old man. He is surrounded by people who may not be as wise as we could wish.’

‘Like Alice Perrers?’

‘What do you know of her?’