Виктория Холт - Passage to Pontefract

But these two boys must be friends when they grew up. He wanted that. He would have a talk with them after the ceremony.

There was little time left. Alice tried to persuade him that he was well. She tried to prove it, and he tried to pretend it was so to please her.

That affair in the Cathedral had been alarming. He thanked God Courtenay had intervened and prevented further damage. William of Wykeham was restored to his place. Alice had persuaded him and he had had him recalled. He knew that Alice, the minx, had accepted a big bribe from Wykeham, and that was why she had acted for him. It amused him really. These men of the Church were not above a bit of sly bargaining, so if Wykeham was ready to pay for favours why should people criticise Alice for taking advantage of it!

When the ceremony was over he called the two boys to him and told them that he wanted them always to be good friends.

‘The Garter is the symbol of this illustrious order,’ he told them. ‘It is the Order of Chivalry. Never forget it. Because it has been bestowed on you, you must always be courageous and just and preserve your honour at all times. You understand me?’

They both assured him that they understood.

‘Take each other’s hands. There. Now you are joined in love and friendship. The time will come when I am gone and you, Richard, will wear the crown. Henry, remember, he will be your liege lord. Serve him well. And Richard, this is your good cousin. Your fathers were brothers. Proud Plantagenet blood flows through your veins. Stand together. That is where your strength will lie.’

The King was tired suddenly. But a calm had come to him. He was relieved to talk to the boys, to bring them together.

He had a feeling that he had achieved an important mission.

Now he was tired. He wanted his bed … and Alice.

* * *

Edward lay at Sheen Palace. It was hot in the apartment for it was the month of June.

He had known he was growing weaker and in spite of Alice’s assurances that he was getting better every day he knew he was dying.

He was a sick old man. He was in his sixty-fifth year and out of those sixty-five years he had reigned for fifty-one. It was a great record.

Indeed it had been a great reign. It was only the last years that had brought him shame. Philippa had died and left him and without her he was bereft. Although to be truthful he had started with Alice before Philippa died.

Well, so are great men fallen. Their weaknesses catch up with them; and it was strange to contemplate that he, the faithful husband for so long, should have become such a slave to his senses. He knew what Alice wanted; but what a companion she had been! All through his life he had been restraining his impulses and it was only rarely that he had broken free.

Well, now here he was dying … great Edward, no longer great, no longer admired, no longer loved by his people.

Just an old man – a rather loathsome old man, but still the hero of Sluys and Crécy. The shining hero who had set out to win the throne of France and had failed so miserably.

What was he leaving to his grandson? He dared not think. ‘God, save Richard. It is not his fault that he is inheriting a bankrupt kingdom. Oh God, if you had not taken Edward …’

Ah, that was at the heart of the tragedy. Edward had died. If Edward had been in health, he would never have allowed the country to get into this state. There would not have been riots in the streets. There would not have been bribery and corruption in high places. If Edward had been strong and healthy … But God had seen fit to take that bulwark of strength and leave but a frail boy in his place. But he was dying now. This was the end.

There was only one priest by his bedside. He could just see him.

The priest was placing the cross in his hands and he was saying ‘Jesu miserere …’

He kissed the cross.

Then he was lying in his bed and he could see no one.

Slowly life was ebbing away.

Very soon after Alice came to the bedside.

He was gone, this poor doting old man was no more. This was the end of Alice.

She pulled the rings from his fingers, collected what jewels she could and left the palace.

Richard was exultant. To be a ten-year-old King was surely the finest thing in the world. Tomorrow was the day of his coronation and the whole of London, the whole of the country, was eager to tell him how much he was loved.

He had come to the Tower of London, his mother beside him, and the people had thrown garlands of flowers at him; they had shouted his name. Their loyal cheers still echoed in his ears.

How they loved him! And how he loved them!

‘It is the Crown they cheer,’ Simon had said. ‘It is the symbol of kingship.’

Oh no, he thought. They cheer me. They love me, because I am young and good to look on and they are tired of old men.

So it seemed, for it was true that they were rapturous at the sight of him. They threw kisses to him. They called him their dear little King. He was the true King, the grandson of a great King, the son of a great Prince.

‘Richard!’ they shouted. ‘Long live Richard.’

His uncle John had been to see him. He was very quiet and serious and Richard did not quite know what he was thinking.

‘I shall be with you at the coronation,’ he told his nephew. ‘As High Steward of England I have the right to bear the sword. I shall demand that right.’

‘So should you,’ replied Richard.

‘And as Earl of Lincoln I have the right to carve before you at the coronation feast.’

‘I know it,’ answered Richard.

‘And when the ceremony is over I intend to retire from Court for a while.’

Now Richard was astonished.

‘Yes,’ went on John, ‘I have been subjected to slanderous attacks, and I think my best plan is to leave for a while. So I shall ask your permission to remain in the country for a time.’

‘It is granted,’ said Richard in as authoritative a voice as he could command.

John bowed his head and went on to discuss the arrangements for the coronation.

‘There are many who are demanding to perform the traditional ceremonies,’ he explained. ‘So many claims, alas, for one post I shall have to select with care.’

‘People talk of nothing but the coronation,’ said Richard with delight.

‘It is a very important occasion, nephew. We shall have to take care with these Londoners who are only too ready to make trouble whenever they can find an excuse to do so. The Lord Mayor wishes to serve you with a golden cup and they want some of the leading citizens to serve in the butlery.’

‘I shall have no objection,’ said Richard. ‘They have never shown anything but kindness to me.’

John was not very pleased with that remark and was about to say something when he changed his mind.

They all must remember that I am the King now, thought Richard complacently.

‘I am bringing forward young Robert de Vere, the Earl of Oxford. If you are agreeable you might permit him to act as your Chamberlain. He is quite young.’

‘How old?’ asked Richard.

‘He must be perhaps fifteen years old. His father died some time ago when Robert de Vere was only nine. He inherited at about the same age as yourself. I have him waiting below. Would you consent to see him now?’

Richard appeared to consider. It was so enjoyable to have important men, so much his senior, asking for his consent to this and that.

Yes, he thought he could see the young Earl of Oxford now.

‘Then he shall come to you. I shall introduce him and leave you together. You can give your verdict after you have seen him.’

Within a few minutes Robert de Vere, Earl of Oxford came into the room.

From the beginning Richard liked the look of him. He was good looking and it was pleasant to find that although he was older than Richard, it was not by so many years; Richard began the interview somewhat haughtily making sure that young de Vere remembered that he was the King, but his attitude changed after a few minutes because there was something so natural about the other boy that Richard felt he could be perfectly natural with him, too.

Robert de Vere told Richard he was fifteen. Richard said he wished he were. It was rather tiresome being only ten.

‘Ten and a King!’ said Robert. ‘I was about ten when I became an Earl. But it is very different being a King.’

Robert told Richard how there were plans afoot to marry him. His guardian, Ingelran de Couci, who had been made Earl of Bedford when he had married King Edward’s daughter Isabella, had been his guardian and he wanted to marry him to his daughter Philippa.

‘Married!’ said Richard. ‘They’ll be wanting to marry me to someone soon.’

‘You can be sure of that. You’ll choose your bride though. You’re the King. You can do as you wish.’

It was a pleasant conversation.

‘And you, you don’t want to marry this Philippa?’

‘I don’t want to marry anybody. But if I marry her I shall have some sort of connection with you, shan’t I? Her mother was your father’s sister. Think of that.’

‘You will be connected with my family!’

‘That makes it a better proposition,’ said Robert de Vere and they laughed together.

Richard made up his mind that he would tell his uncle that he would be very happy to make Robert his chamberlain.