When the news was brought to Richard in Ireland that Henry had landed and had placed himself at the head of an army, he was mad with fury.

He sent for Harry of Monmouth and contemplated what he would do with the boy.

If he could catch his father, he told him, he should die a death which should make a noise as far as Turkey.

Young Harry did not flinch. Richard looked at him through narrowed eyes. A hostage! Yet Henry of Bolingbroke had not cared that his son was in the King’s possession.

He could not harm the boy. He had spoken truth when he had said he was fond of him. It was not the fault of Harry of Monmouth that his father was a traitor.

‘Take the boy away,’ he said. ‘Make him my prisoner. Let him be placed in Trim Castle and kept there until I say what shall become of him.’

So young Harry of Monmouth was taken to the Irish castle and there held prisoner while Richard made his plans to leave for England.


* * *

He was full of hope when he landed at Milford Haven. ‘We shall show this traitor what happens to his like,’ he declared, and he gave himself up to the pleasure of what he would do when Bolingbroke was in his hands.

Alas, when he arrived in England he found there were few who were ready to rally to his banner; and those who had been with him in Ireland had little heart for the fight.

It was alarming. They were all stealing away from him. Only a few remained. Where was the army he needed to subdue Bolingbroke? What had happened? Why had they all deserted him?

What could he do? He summoned two whom he trusted – the Dukes of Exeter and Surrey – and told them they must go to his cousin and ask what his intentions were. If as he said he merely wished for the return of the Lancaster estates, they must discuss this matter.

The two Dukes rode off to Chester but when they arrived at Henry’s stronghold he ordered them to join his forces and they immediately declared themselves willing to do this, for they believed that Richard’s was a lost cause.

Richard was desolate for there seemed to be no way out of this morass into which he had so suddenly fallen. He could only wander from castle to castle with the very smallest band of faithful followers, knowing well that he could not continue in that way. From Conway to Caernarvon and from Caernarvon to Beaumaris and then back to Conway; and there the Earl of Northumberland, acting as Henry’s emissary, came to see him.

‘What would you have of me, traitor?’ demanded Richard.

‘I come from the Duke of Hereford, my lord.’

‘I know it well – traitor from traitor.’

‘We are no traitors, my lord. The Duke of Hereford does not mean to seize the throne. He merely wishes to escort you to London so that a Parliament may be held to deal with your evil counsellors through whose advice you have misgoverned the realm.’

Richard said with dignity: ‘I will meet my cousin.’ Indeed he knew he had no alternative.

‘I will conduct you to the castle of Flint, my lord, where he awaits your coming.’

‘Then let us go,’ said Richard.

Flint Castle was a formidable looking fortress – square with a large round tower at each corner and a keep of great size and strength detached from the main building and joined to it by a drawbridge. This tower was the donjon of the castle.

It was dusk when they arrived and being exhausted by the journey Richard soon slept and did not awaken until the morning.

He sat up in his bed wondering for a moment where he was. Then the memory of the previous day came to him. It seemed like a nightmare but the more wakeful he became the more real he realised it to be.

It was undignified. It was demeaning. He would never forget this. Once his cousin was in his power he would lose no time in bringing about his end; and it would be in no delicate manner either.

He rose and went to hear Mass in the castle chapel and as he came out he heard the sounds of marching.

His spirits rose. His friends were coming to rescue him. He had known the nightmare could not persist.

‘I want to go to the tower,’ he said. ‘I wish to see what is happening outside the castle.’

He went and when he looked down on that army gathered there he knew it was the end for him. Hereford’s men were surrounding the castle; and he recognised among them some on whose loyalty he had believed he could rely.

He covered his face with his hands; he wanted to shut out the sight.

One of his guards spoke to him. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘the Duke of Hereford will be here after dinner.’

‘I shall have much to say to him when we meet,’ replied Richard grimly.

He saw the sly smile on the face of the guard and he thought: By St John the Baptist, how has this come about? Such a short while ago I was their King and they trembled at my word. Then I went to Ireland and now that I am back, everything is changed.

How quickly men who had once shown respect could delight in betraying their contempt. But there were a few friends left to him.

Yes, there were some who had not torn off the badge of the White Hart.

He went to the chamber where a table was laid for dinner. He turned to those who still wore their badges and said: ‘Kind friends and loyal gentlemen, sit down with me and eat for you are in peril of death for your fidelity to me.’

‘Aye,’ cried one of the guards, ‘you should all eat well. For soon your heads will be off and how will you eat then?’

‘My friends,’ said the King, ‘heed not these oafs. Their time will come, I promise you.’

And what alarmed him most was the lack of concern on the faces of these men. It was clear that they did not believe him.

After the meal he made his way to that chamber where he was to receive his cousin.

He had commanded that a chair be placed for him which should act as a throne. He was the King, he would remind them. This was not denied him and he went to it and seated himself and there awaited the coming of his enemy.

Henry came before him as a subject to his King. He bowed and knelt. Richard took his hand and bade him rise. It did not seem that he was the vanquished one and the man who knelt before him the conqueror.

‘My lord and sovereign King,’ said Henry, ‘I have come back before my time.’

‘Why do you come thus, cousin?’ asked Richard.

‘I have come to seek the restitution of my lands and heritage.’

‘I am ready to accomplish your will so that you may enjoy all that is yours without exception.’

‘There is one other matter,’ went on Henry. ‘The common report of your people is that you have governed them badly for twenty years. They are not content therewith. If it pleases you, I will help you to govern better.’

The Archbishop then asked leave to speak, and when this was granted he told the King that his rule could no longer be tolerated and that he must abdicate.

Richard had expected this. He knew that the soft words of his cousin could be set aside. Here he was his cousin’s prisoner and Henry of Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford and Lancaster, had an army behind him, while Richard’s followers had deserted him.

What was a King without an army when his enemies came against him?

He was a prisoner in his cousin’s hands and no good could come of denying it.

He faced Henry and said meekly: ‘Fair cousin, since it pleases you it pleases me.’


* * *

They began the journey to London. They had given him a miserable little horse to ride and when they reached Chester Richard was a prisoner in his own castle and the one who was set to guard him was the young Earl of Arundel who bore him a grudge for the murder of his father.

But when I reach London, thought Richard, it will be different. The people of London will rally to me. Everything will be changed then.

Alas it was not so. He soon realised that London had rejected him and had transferred its allegiance to Henry.

They took him to the Tower and there he remained while Henry went to St Paul’s to pay respect to the tombs of his father and his mother. The people liked the sentiment he showed at these tombs and they came into the streets to cheer him.

Henry was moving cautiously. He was determined that Richard must abdicate of his own free will. He did not want it to be said that he had driven him from the throne. That Richard was a weak ruler all must admit; and that England needed a strong king was equally obvious. But it must come about as Henry wished.

He wanted it to be known that Richard, who was still the King, must be treated with respect and every effort must be made for his comfort. He even ordered that his dogs should be brought to him. All must know that Henry was a just man and would only take the crown if it was seen that Richard could no longer wear it.

He was with the guards in the chamber when the hound Math was brought in.

It was then that the strange thing happened for Math came bounding towards the King but before he reached him, he stopped suddenly. Then he turned away from Richard and went to Henry and placing his feet on his shoulders licked his face.

There was great astonishment in the chamber for the dog had previously paid little attention to any but the King.

Henry was the first to speak. ‘What does this mean?’ he asked. ‘Is this not your dog?’

‘Like others,’ said Richard, ‘he was mine, but, you see, even my dog knows which side he should be on.’

It was uncanny. The guards talked of it. It was a sign.