They hated John of Gaunt; and it was bewildering that he should be Wycliffe’s champion.

On the other side of Wycliffe was the Earl Marshal, Lord Percy, who had stepped into the role after John of Gaunt had rid himself of the Earl of March, because the wife of the Earl of March was the daughter of Lionel, that son of the King who was older than John of Gaunt and who had unfortunately died in Italy.

So great was the press of people in the Cathedral that Wycliffe with John of Gaunt and Lord Percy on either side of him found it difficult to make his way inside.

Lord Percy gave orders for his men to clear the crowd which they did with a certain amount of roughness. There were cries of protest as people were pushed aside and some fell and cursed the Marshal.

The mood of the people was growing sullen in a way which should have warned John of Gaunt and Percy had they given any thought to the matter.

They had forced their way through and were face to face with those who would hear the case, at the head of whom was William Courtenay, the Bishop of London.

Some might have been intimidated by the sight of John of Gaunt and the Earl Marshal standing on either side of John Wycliffe like guards come to fight his cause – not so William Courtenay. The Bishop was a man of strong principles; his intentions were good; he was kindly by nature; he was eager to do his duty; but there was a certain pride in him and he was very ready to resent what might be construed as a slight. As the fourth son of the Earl of Devon – and his mother was the daughter of the Earl of Hereford – he was highly born and did not intend any should forget it; he had had the inclination to go into the Church and in any case he was a fourth son; and because of his intellectual gifts it seemed very likely that he would rise high in his chosen profession.

The crowd pressed forward from all sides, determined after the rough treatment of the Marshal’s men not to be deprived of their rights. They were sure that it was going to be as good an entertainment as a mummers’ performance.

The Bishop first expressed his displeasure at the signs of rowdiness in his church. The Cathedral was open to all and people came to the holy place for refuge. He did not care to see them roughly treated in the house of God.

‘Had I known, Marshal,’ he said, ‘what masteries you would have brought into the church, I should have stopped you from coming hither.’

Lord Percy was aghast at the rebuke; but John of Gaunt cried angrily: ‘He shall keep such masteries though you say him nay.’

‘We will proceed into the lady chapel,’ said the Bishop ignoring the remark, ‘and there the examination shall proceed.’

The crowd pressed forward. They would not be kept out. Had they heard what their Bishop had said? This was their church and this was their city and they would have none try to take any of their privileges from them.

Percy, smarting from the altercation, looked round the lady chapel and said: ‘Wycliffe, sit down. You have many things to answer, and you need to repose yourself on a soft seat.’

The Bishop replied sharply: ‘It is not the custom for one so cited to be seated during his answers. He must and he shall stand.’

John of Gaunt’s temper burst out. He hated the Bishop; and all he stood for.

He cried in a loud voice so that all the people who were crowding round could hear: ‘Lord Percy’s request is not unreasonable. As for you, my lord Bishop, you have grown so proud and arrogant that I will no longer tolerate such conduct. I will put down the pride, not of you alone, but of all the prelacy in England.’

The Bishop had grown very pale. He replied in a firm voice: ‘Do your worst, sir.’

‘You … and your pride,’ cried the Duke, the Plantagenet temper now unrestrained. ‘You boast about your parentage. Let me tell you, they shall not be able to keep you when you are brought low. They will have enough to do to help themselves.’

‘I understand you not, my lord,’ said the Bishop coldly. ‘My confidence is not in my parents, nor in any man else, but only in God in whom I trust, and by whose assistance I shall be bold enough to speak the truth.’

John of Gaunt turned to the Marshal and said: ‘Rather than bear such things, I will drag this Bishop out of the church by his hair.’

Although he had said this to the Marshal he had spoken loudly enough for the people around him to have heard.

The shout went up. ‘John of Gaunt insults our Bishop. We will not have him dishonoured in his own church.’

They were calling to the people without. ‘Did you hear? John of Gaunt will drag our Bishop from his church by his hair. Come, friends. Stand together. We’ll die rather than submit to tyrants.’

Great was the tumult within and without the church and fearing violence the Bishop said quietly, ‘The people are in an angry mood. Follow me … quickly please. You must leave here at once.’

John of Gaunt, red with fury, hesitated. But he knew the anger of these people, how it quickly became dangerous. They hated him. And the few men they had with them could not stand against the mob.

There was only one thing to do and that was to forget their pride, follow the Bishop and leave the Cathedral by a side door.


* * *

After John of Gaunt and Lord Percy had slipped quietly away the people streamed into the streets. Tempers were running high but the Church was not the place in which they could give true vent to their feelings. Moreover, many of them were in agreement with John Wycliffe. For some time now there had been murmurings about the wealth and worldliness of men of the Church and that was the very thing Wycliffe was trying to stop. On the other hand John of Gaunt was hated and he was on the side of Wycliffe. John of Gaunt had threatened to abolish the mayoralty and set up a Captain to govern the City and that Captain would be selected by the Crown. They would never allow that. Moreover he had insulted the Bishop of London and that was tantamount to insulting London.

So they were confused and because of this they were uncertain how to attack.

John went back to the Savoy Palace. Catherine had already heard that there had been trouble in St Paul’s and was very worried.

She was well aware of the mood of the people and she was constantly afraid that they would harm her lover. He laughed at the idea. No one would get the better of him, he promised her.

She said: ‘There has been a mood of discontent in the streets of late.’

She had seen many a sullen look directed at herself when she rode out. She had heard insults. Not that any had dared shout them at her. They had been whispered. But nevertheless their meaning was clear.

She was anxious on account of the children, she said. ‘I should be happier if I took them out of London for a while …’

‘I must be here,’ he told her.

‘I know. Perhaps I will take them out and leave them in the care of their nurses. And come back to you.’

He embraced her suddenly.

‘You are my comfort, Catherine,’ he said.

‘I know – yet I am one of the reasons why people hate you.’

‘They are unreasonable. My father sports with that harlot and yet they forgive him. And you and I … true lovers … are derided.’

‘I count everything worth while,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘I too. You are right. Take the children away … today … do not hesitate. And come back to me, Catherine.’

The very next day he was glad that she had done so. She was clever, his Catherine. Sometimes he thought she understood the people better than he did.

The day following the scene in the Cathedral the streets were full of muttering people. John had gone by barge to the home of Sir John d’Ypres, a London merchant of great wealth who had become a great friend of the King because of his ability in financial matters. He had been knighted some years previously and the King reckoned him to be one of his most loyal subjects. Lord Percy was leaving the Marshalsea to join John at the house of the merchant.

Meanwhile the crowds were congregating in the streets. They had forgotten their doubts about Wycliffe and had concentrated all their venom on John of Gaunt.

One man had climbed a wall and was addressing the people. He could scarcely be heard above the noise.

‘Who is he? A low-born Fleming … put into the Queen’s bed when she overlaid her child. Now he wants to rule this land. Our little Prince Richard is in danger. This Lancaster will stop at nothing. He with his accomplice Percy will have us all in chains.’

Someone shouted: ‘Remember the petition to Parliament to give us a Captain in place of our Mayor.’

‘We’ll never allow it,’ shouted the people.

‘Good friends, you know what this will mean. A creature of Lancaster’s to take over our City. An officer of his choosing. Shall we have that?’

‘Never!’ shouted the people.

‘Then how are we going to stop it?’

‘Death to John of Gaunt,’ was the cry.

‘Percy has a prisoner in the Marshalsea. One of our people.’

‘Then let us get him.’

That was what they needed – a plan of action.

‘To the Marshalsea. We’ll free the prisoner and then we’ll get them. Lancaster … and Percy.’

The crowd rushed to the Marshalsea. Startled servants bolted the doors against them but it did not take the mob long to batter them down.

It was true. There was a prisoner there. They released him and burned the stocks in which he had been held.

‘Find Percy!’ cried the people. They went through the place pulling down doors and walls taking whatever seemed valuable to them. But they could not find Percy.