A close friendship had begun.


* * *

London was determined to honour the new King. In Cheapside they had erected a castle of flowers from which ran two streams of wine. There were four turrets and on each of these stood a girl who had been chosen for her beauty and her age, which was the same as the King’s. As Richard rode past on his way from the Tower, flowers and leaves made of gilded paper were thrown down at him. The procession came to a halt and the girls came down from their towers and filled golden goblets with wine which they handed to the King and his attendants. Then an angel appeared from the castle with a golden crown which she placed on the little King’s head.

The crowd cheered. The people were proud of the magnificent spectacle which the Londoners had contrived, for not only did it show their loyalty but it also reminded the King of their power and that if he would rule well he must never forget the interests of his capital city.

Richard was moved with emotion and his happiness and delight was so obvious that it added to the general rejoicing.

All along the road to Westminster such pageants had been arranged and though none of these quite equalled the one of Cheapside, they were very impressive.

Crowds had gathered round the Abbey and when the procession appeared, headed by the young King with Simon walking before him, his sword bared, the cheers were deafening.

The Bishop of Rochester preached the sermon and the Archbishop of Canterbury conducted the ceremony; and as the proceedings went on, and Richard could no longer hear the cheers of the crowd, he began to grow rather tired. The Bishop seemed as though he was never going to stop and then there was the ceremony of taking off his coat and shirt while men stood holding a gold-coloured cloth around him like a tent so that none of the people gathered in the Abbey should see his body. Then he was anointed and the prayers went on and on. After that there were the coronation rituals. The crown was so heavy that it seemed to weigh down his head. Then the sceptre and the orb were put into his hands. The spurs were presented and the pallium which was heavily encrusted with jewels was put on.

He knew what he had to do. He had to walk to the altar and lay a gold purse on it, but even that was not the end. There had to be the mass and the communion after that, and he was finding it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open.

Simon was watching him anxiously. He smiled wanly at his dear guardian. ‘Not much longer,’ Simon seemed to be saying.

The crown was growing more and more heavy. Richard felt it would crush him; and his shoulders refused to support all his garments any longer. He felt an almost irresistible inclination to slip to the floor and go to sleep.

Simon was watching carefully and understood. Suddenly he had picked the young King up in his arms.

‘All is well,’ he whispered. ‘We are going back to the palace now. We’re going to have a rest and a nice sleep before the banquet.’

‘Oh Simon …’

The comfort of those arms was wonderful. Richard closed his eyes while Simon walked with him through the astonished crowds and out to the litter over which a canopy of silk was held by four wardens of the Cinque Ports.

‘He is but a child,’ muttered Simon.

‘Our dear little King is tired,’ cried the people. ‘Oh, he is only a boy, God bless him.’

The cheers went up. There was their little King so pretty in the arms of good Simon who clearly loved him.

As Simon pressed through the crowds who came forward for a closer look at their King, one of Richard’s slippers fell off and as Simon pressed on to the litter, there was a scramble among the crowds for the King’s shoe.


* * *

Richard was soon fast asleep and it seemed almost immediately Simon was at his bedside. It was time to prepare for the state banquet.

‘You have had a good sleep,’ said Simon fondly. ‘You were tired out, my King.’

Richard sat up. He put his hands to his head. He could still feel the crown there.

‘It was so heavy,’ he said.

Simon nodded. ‘A symbol of your responsibilities,’ he commented grimly. ‘But not yet. There will be many to advise you … perhaps too many.’

I am a King, thought Richard. I am the most important person in the country. The people love me. From henceforth I shall ride among them and they will cheer me and love me for ever. But he hoped that future ceremonies would not be quite as tiring as the coronation.

‘Did I do well, Simon?’ he asked – suddenly a young boy eager for his tutor’s approval.

‘You did very well indeed.’

‘But to fall asleep when you picked me up! I don’t remember coming into the palace. Then I dreamed that I could still hear the people shouting.’

‘It was such a long day for you,’ soothed Simon. ‘I think the people loved you more for falling asleep. It touched them. They went wild with love for you when they saw me pick you up and put you in the litter. People are like that. They like very much a touch of human nature. You lost a slipper, you know.’

‘What became of it?’

‘It fell from your foot. There was a scramble for it. I saw one man get it and hold it up and kiss it.’

‘I am so glad. He will keep it all his life as his most precious possession.’

Simon said: ‘He might well sell it. It was jewelled and doubtless could bring him more than he had comfortably in a year or two’s labour.’

‘Fancy,’ mused Richard. ‘A man would have to work for a year or two to buy a slipper which I can lose and not miss.’

‘It is time to prepare for the banquet,’ said Simon.

And what a banquet was that which was served in Westminster Hall. Before attending it Richard created four new earls. One of these was the youngest of his uncles, Thomas of Woodstock, whom he made Earl of Buckingham.

Seated at the High Table surrounded by all the nobility of the land, Richard thrilled with emotion – not only because he was at the centre of the pageantry and had from a second son of no great importance become the most significant person in the land. It was more than that. It was the glory of kingship, of belonging to a line of kings, to be of proud Plantagenet blood, to have descended from the mighty Conqueror.

He would never be able to explain this to his Holland half-brothers; they would turn it away with a joke. Simon or his mother might make the occasion into a lesson, a recounting of further homilies as to the importance and need for service to the country.

He fancied he could explain it to his new friend Robert de Vere. He would try to at the first opportunity.

In the meantime here he was seated at the table on the dais, surrounded by the highest in the land; and at the tables on the main floor everyone was a nobleman or a person of authority.

Suddenly there was a shout through the hall. The doors were flung open and into the hall rode a knight in full armour.

The heralds cried out in ringing voices that the knight, Sir John Dymoke, had come to challenge to combat any who disputed the sovereign’s right to the throne.

As Dymoke then took off his gauntlet and threw it onto the floor, there was a hushed silence through the hall. No one spoke.

The gauntlet was returned to Dymoke who repeated the challenge twice more. Each time it was greeted in silence.

There was no one in this assembly who denied the right of Richard to take the crown of England.

Richard knew what was expected of him. He took up a gold cup which was filled with wine. He drank from it and handed it to Dymoke who drank to his sovereign lord and draining the cup rode off with it.

The challenging ceremony was over and the banquet began.

In the streets of London the revelry continued. The people sang and danced and refreshed themselves from the fountains which spurted wine.

It was not every day there was a coronation.

All was well. The true King had been proclaimed. They had seen him with the crown on his head. They had heard Sir John Dymoke’s challenge which none had accepted.

They had the true King of England on the throne – a boy whose youth and beauty made him particularly appealing. All the apprehension, the fear that the wicked John of Gaunt would attempt to take the crown was over.

‘Long live Richard of Bordeaux, now Richard the Second of England.’


* * *

John of Gaunt realised that there was nothing to be done but submit with a good grace to the progress of events. The forces against him had been too strong and he must retreat into silence for a while; he had to convince the people that it was not his intention to take the throne from his nephew, and he now wanted them to see him in the role of chief supporter of the young King.

He had had to give way on the matter of Peter de la Mare, who was, in the eyes of the Londoners, not only a hero but a martyr. The most dangerous men were martyrs. John had long known that. And when the people clamoured for the release of Peter de la Mare, John expressed his agreement that this should take place.

He would be reconciled with Peter de la Mare, he said. The beginning of a new reign was the time for men to forget their differences.

But how chagrined he was to learn of de la Mare’s triumphant journey through London where he was welcomed with almost as much enthusiasm as had been shown to the young King.

It was a further indication of the lack of love they felt for John of Gaunt when they so fêted his bitterest enemies.