When the Duchess of Gloucester heard of the death of her only son she was overcome with melancholy.

It was difficult to recognize in this grief-stricken lady the forceful Eleanor de Bohun who had once been so pleased with herself when she had married Thomas of Woodstock, and together they had planned to get their hands on the entire fortune left by her father.

Then she had had dreams of greatness. Becoming royal through marriage with one of the sons of Edward the Third she had been so proud. And when her son had been born and he had been given that good old de Bohun name of Humphrey she had doted on him.

Her only son! Her Humphrey! She had known what it meant to love something other than riches and power when he had been born, although she had never ceased to value those things and wanted them for Humphrey.

When her husband had been murdered that had been the end of her ambition for him and she had turned her thoughts more and more to this precious son.

He had accompanied his cousin Harry to Ireland at the command of Richard but it had not occurred to her that any harm could come to her son.

And now this news had shattered her. She had been robbed of that which was the meaning of life to her. She had three daughters; but it had been on Humphrey that her love and devotion was centred.

She went about Fleshy silent-footed and mournful. Her attendants watched her anxiously.

"She will die of a broken heart," they said.

She would sit in the window seat and look out across the country to where the grey walls of the convent rose and she thought of those days long before Humphrey's birth when her sister Mary was here and had made her journeys to and from the convent. How they had urged her to take up the life of the nun. And she might have done so had it not been for that meeting with Henry Bolingbroke—contrived of course by John of Gaunt. They had wanted Mary's fortune ... well so had she.

How different everything would have been if Mary had entered the convent. Harry of Monmouth would never have been born.

"Oh Humphrey" she mourned, "never to see you again ... Humphrey, my son, my boy ..."

She was tired in body and in mind. She had nothing now to live for.

Then she saw again the grey walls of the convent and it seemed to her that they offered peace. Could it be that she, Eleanor Duchess of Gloucester, who for years before had tried so hard to persuade her sister to enter that convent, should now be considering ending her own life there?

It was strange what peace the thought brought her. She could almost hear her own arguments with which she had bombarded Mary. The quiet. The peace. The life lived to a pattern of service to others.

There was comfort in it.

It was ironical that the Duchess, who had thought the convent life so suitable for her sister, should now want to embrace it herself.

As the days passed the more firm became the decision and finally she took the step.

She did not live long. She found that she must mourn her son within the convent walls as bitterly as she had in the castle.

She died very soon after entering the convent. Of a broken heart, it was said.

Harry realized that Humphrey had been right when he had talked about the insecurity of the new King's position; and none was more aware of this than Henry himself.

He was delighted to receive his son and to see that he was in good health, though somewhat melancholy still owing to the sudden death of his cousin.

There were other matters with which to concern themselves, Henry reminded his son, and because Harry was next in importance to himself he discussed matters candidly with him.

"Do not imagine" said the new King, "that we are as safe on the throne as if it had come to us through straight inheritance. Richard has been crowned King. He still lives. The people have shown they have had enough of him and he has agreed to abdicate, but it is a dangerous position."

"Richard's reign is over," cried Harry. "Should we concern ourselves with him?"

"Of a certainty we should, my son. I tell you this, I shall not rest easy while he lives. There is Edmund de Mortimer—that child. He does not add to my peace of mind. Harry, we must tread with the greatest care. You give yourself airs. Do not do so. Behave with modesty. Let it be as it was before."

"Did I ever behave with modesty?" asked Harry grinning.

"This is a serious matter. So much will depend on the next few weeks. I have not won the crown by conquest, for there has been scarcely any fighting. It is rather by election."

"Is that not a good thing?"

"Yes, but I want to make it firm. I want now and in the years to come people to say of me, "There is a true King and ruler". If we do not take care we shall have risings. There will be those ready to support Richard ... till he dies... Edmund de Mortimer's adherents ..."

" 'Twould be safer if we could prove in some way that you were the rightful heir."

"Well, there is the story you know, that Henry the Third's eldest son was not Edward who became the First of that name, but Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, he whom they called Crouch-back, and from whom we are directly descended. But because of the latter's weakness they substituted Edward the second son for the first-born and so he was brought up as the heir."

"Will any believe that, my lord?"

"I think very few would, but it would save a great deal of trouble if they could be persuaded to."

"Why do you not claim the throne because you have won it?"

"Claim it is mine through conquest! A dangerous situation, Harry. Someone one day might be taking it from me ... claiming it by conquest. Chief Justice Thyrnynge has warned me against that. But perhaps I could be said to have a greater claim because I am descended on both sides of the family from Henry the Third. You see that king was my father's great great grandfather and my mother's great great grandfather also. Edmund de Mortimer could not claim that."

"My lord," said Harry, "as I see it, you have the power; you have the riches; you have the crown in your hands. That makes you King. All you must concern yourself with is keeping that crown, until it comes to me and rest assured, my lord, that when it does I shall clamp it to my head with bars of iron."

Henry could not help smiling at his son. As soon as he possibly could he would create him Prince of Wales.

The new King rode through the teeming rain from the Tower on the traditional journey to Westminster for the next day would be that of his coronation.

The water streamed down his face, soaking his fine clothes but he laughed at it and so did the crowds of people who had come out in spite of the weather to welcome him.

With him rode his four sons, Harry who was to be created Prince of Wales within the next few days, just past his twelfth birthday, Thomas who was ten, John nine, and Humphrey eight. The sight of the boys warmed the people's hearts. Here was a man to rule them and he was strong and clever, the son of wily John of Gaunt, and already he had given proof that he could provide strong heirs to the throne. Young Harry's affable smiles and manner towards the crowd delighted all; and now everything would be different from the reign of Richard when they had been taxed to pay for his fine friends and general extravagances and he had shown them quite clearly that he was either unable or disinclined to produce an heir.

Harry thought the most magical sound in the world was that of the people's cheers and the words "God Save the King'. It was particularly exhilarating to think that this would one day be happening to him.

He was almost sorry to reach the dry comfort of Westminster Palace where they would lodge for the night in preparation for the next day's event.

His father had said: "I shall be uneasy until the coronation is over. When a man is crowned King people are less inclined to topple him from his throne."

Harry was beginning to think that his father worried too much and was not going to be uneasy merely till the coronation was over but would go on being so for ever. He should forget how the crown had come to him. He must put the image of an imprisoned Richard and the child Edmund Mortimer out of his mind. Richard had been deposed and nobody wanted a child on the throne.

Harry awoke early on coronation day.

In his own chamber the King prayed that nothing would go wrong. It did not occur to Harry that anything could.

Fortunately the rain had stopped. The people had been in the streets since early morning and had assembled in their thousands around the Palace and the Abbey.

There were wild cheers when the procession emerged led by Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland carrying in his hand the sword of Lancaster which Henry had said should always be preserved, as he had carried it when he landed in England. Northumberland was Constable of England and it was for this reason that he took such a prominent part in the coronation; moreover he reckoned that he and his son Hotspur had made it possible for Henry to gain the throne by offering their support when he arrived, without any army or the means to conduct a campaign the object of which at that time had been merely the regaining of the Lancaster estates.

Harry was entranced to play an important part in such a spectacle. It was his task to carry the curtana, that sword without a point which was always carried at coronations as a symbol of mercy.

He walked immediately behind his father who, dressed entirely in white, walked beneath a blue silk canopy which was carried by the barons of the Cinque Ports.