But before the game began one of the King's attendants came to them to tell them that their presence was required in the royal chamber, so they laid down their cards and went at once to obey the King's command.

Richard was lounging in his chair rather informally with his favourite greyhound, Math, at his feet. The dog watched the boys suspiciously as they approached.

Harry had tried to entice the dog to come to him but Math gave him nothing but disdain. It was almost as though he was saying, I am the King's dog, I will accept none but a King as my master.

"Ah, my cousins" said Richard, smiling at them, "I have news for you."

He watched them with narrowed eyes. Harry was going to be a wild fellow, he could see that. He would be everything that he, Richard, was not. Yet he liked the boy. It gratified him to keep him at Court and within calling distance. That was how it was going to remain.

These two boys were both sons of men whom he had hated —closely related to him though they were. Humphrey was now Duke of Gloucester and Richard had hated his father more than anyone. He had been one of the uncles who had made his life so fraught with irritation when he was very young. He had liked John of Gaunt, Harry's grandfather, once the old man had accepted his age and given up his fruitless struggle for a crown of some sort. But Harry's father, Henry of Bolingbroke, he would always be suspicious of.

He would never forget those five Lords Appellant standing before him arms linked to show that they came together and were against him. No, he had determined on revenge from the moment they had stood there. And he had it. Gloucester dead, smothered by feathers, Arundel beheaded, Warwick in prison, Norfolk and Hereford exiled. So they should remain. And if Hereford decided to make trouble he had young Harry in his grasp. Harry the hostage.

"You will be wondering why I sent for you" he said. "Is that so?"

"My lord, you have guessed aright," replied Harry. There was just a trace of insolence in the young voice but the smile was disarming. One could never be sure with Harry.

" 'Twas no great conundrum," said the King shortly. "You are to prepare to leave for Ireland."

"Ireland, my lord I" cried Harry.

"I said Ireland," replied the King. "The death of the Earl of March has made it necessary for me to take an army there. You will be with us."

The boys heard the news with mixed feelings. They liked the thought of adventure—but Ireland! They would rather have gone to France. Harry's father was in France. Suppose ...

The King was saying, "You will wish to make some preparations, I do not doubt. You will be instructed when we are to leave."

Math watched them sleepily while they bowed and retired.

"To Ireland," murmured Humphrey. "I wonder why we are going."

"Because the King will not let me out of his sight. I am a hostage for my father's good conduct towards him. That is why I am going,"

"But why am I?"

"Because he does not wish to make the fact of my going too pointed. If we both go ... well then we are part of the Court retinue. I see it clearly, cousin Humphrey."

"Yes," said Humphrey, "so do I. I wonder how long you will go on being a hostage?"

Harry was thoughtful. He knew the King had confiscated his father's estates.

He thought such an event might make a difference.

The two boys enjoyed the excitement of making the journey to Ireland. The boisterous sea crossing which so many found distressing did not affect them. They paced the decks in the drizzling rain and felt that they were really men now going into battle.

"Of course it is only the Irish" said Harry disconsolately. "I wish it were the French."

Ireland was a disappointment. There seemed to be little but miles of bog land which could be treacherous; there were stark mountains, sullen people who lived very poorly, and above all rain, perpetual rain.

Richard at the head of his armies looked very splendid indeed and he created a certain wonder among the Irish which was not without its effect. Harry noticed this. Richard had no real qualities as a leader but he had an aura of royalty which served him in a certain way. Harry had often heard of the manner in which he had faced the rebellious peasants at Blackheath and Smithfield and he understood why he had been able to quell them. He was extraordinarily handsome; so fair and light-skinned with an almost ethereal air. He was the man to ride out among his subjects and win them with his charm; but he was not the King to lead them into battle. If there was no real fighting Richard's campaign might be successful. If there was it would fail. Harry was learning a good deal about leadership. One day he would have his own men and he would know how to lead them then.

The army grew more and more disgruntled. There was nothing more calculated to sap the spirits of soldiers than inaction and perpetual rain. They were homesick; they hated Ireland. There was no real fighting to excite them and no booty in this poverty-stricken land to make their journey worth while.

Back home in England Edmund of Langley, Duke of York, was acting as Regent. Although he was the son of Edward III he was quite without ambition and asked only for a quiet and peaceful life. Perhaps that was why Richard had appointed him as Regent. The King had chosen four men to help him, William Scrope, Earl of Wiltshire, Sir William Bagot, Sir John Bushby and Sir Henry Green. He could not have chosen four more unpopular men. Young as he was, Harry was amazed at the carelessness of the King.

It was a wretched campaign made even more so by the weather. The high seas made it impossible for stores to cross the water so lines of communication were cut off. The men were weary of the struggle, and although the Irish could not put up an army they had other ways of harassing the invaders. They destroyed even the little there would have been to leave behind them as they fled from the enemy and by the time Richard reached Dublin his army had one thought and that was to get back to their firesides as quickly as possible. They had had enough of senseless wars which brought them no profit.

There were messengers awaiting Richard in Dublin and the news they brought was catastrophic. Henry of Lancaster had landed in England; he had come to regain his inheritance, and men were rallying to his banner.

Richard had always been afraid of his cousin. He saw then that he had made a major mistake. First by exiling Henry and then by confiscating the Lancaster estates.

It was too late now to turn back.

He had two alternatives; to stay in Ireland and conduct a campaign against Henry from that country or to return and face him. He must, of course, return to England, but there would necessarily be some delay. He sent John Montacute, Earl of Salisbury back to England immediately to raise the people of Wales against Lancaster. He would follow at the earliest possible moment when he had made some arrangements here in Ireland.

Then he remembered Harry of Monmouth, son of the invader, who was in his hands.

He should be able to turn that to advantage.

He laughed aloud at the thought. The son and heir of the enemy in his hands!

He sent for young Harry, who came, a little truculently, having heard the news of his father's landing of course. He had to admire the boy. He was in a dangerous position and he knew it.

"So you are the son of a traitor, eh?" said Richard.

"No, my lord, indeed I am not. My father is no traitor."

"Have you heard that he has landed in England although I have put him in exile?"

"He comes to regain his estates I doubt not," said Harry. "Those which you promised my grandfather should not be forfeit"

"ou make bold, my young bantam. I hold you my prisoner, you know."

"I know I have been and still am a hostage."

Tor your father's good behaviour."

"Then I have nothing to fear for my father does not act as a traitor. He comes but to take the estates which are his by right of inheritance."

"You will have to learn to curb your tongue, Harry."

"And lie ... as others do."

Richard flushed. "You're a young fool," he said.

"Better that than a knave," retorted Harry.

Richard cried: "Get out of my sight, or I'll have that saucy tongue of yours cut out."

Inwardly Harry quailed at the thought, but he showed no fear. He bowed and retired.

Richard buried his face in his hands. A thousand curses on Henry Bolingbroke I What a fool he had been to let that man live, to have sent him abroad to plot with his enemies, to have taken his estates. He had brought this on himself.

Young Harry knew it. He was a shrewd, clever boy. Richard hated violence. That was why he was so loth to go to war. Why could not people all enjoy the things that he did—music, literature, art, good food in moderation, fine wines, sweet perfumes, rich clothes, sparkling jewels, a clean and beautiful body ... ? They thought him unkingly because he cared for these things. And now Lancaster was forcing a war on him; and Harry, his son, was defiant, almost insolent because he knew in his heart that to harm him would be loathsome to Richard who abhorred violence. What to do with Harry?

He summoned two of his guards. "Let the Lord Harry of Monmouth be taken to the castle of Trim and with him his cousin Gloucester. There they shall remain until I have settled this matter with the traitor Lancaster."

So the two boys were sent to Trim Castle, there to fret away the days playing chess and games they contrived with their playing cards, while they waited for news from England.