Виктория Холт - The star of Lancaster

The power of the Percys was great; they were more than border barons; they were the border kings. "We have been defending that border at our own expense for years" declared the Earl. "Are we going on doing it for the benefit of Henry of Lancaster?"

Northumberland was stricken with furious grief when he heard that his son's body, which had been given decent burial at Whitchurch, had been dug up on the King's orders. That it had been taken in a rough cart to Shrewsbury, and had been salted to prevent decomposition and set up between two millstones close to the pillory so that all might see to what end proud Hotspur had come.

"He is too great an enemy to rest in obscurity," said Henry. "I want all the world to see what he has come to because he defied his King."

Hotspur's head was cut off and the rest of his body cut into quarters and sent for prominent display to Newcastle, Chester, Bristol and London. As for the head he wanted that placed in York on the city's northern gate so that it was turned towards that part of the country over which for so long he had been a ruler.

The old Earl was mad with grief. He lived only for revenge. When he received a command from the King that if he came to York they would talk and settle their grievances he had no alternative but to accept the invitation. Henry knew that he would have to pass through the northern gate on which was the head of his son.

As Northumberland rode into York and saw that grisly relic he was filled with an all-consuming hatred against the King. "A thousand curses on Bolingbroke," he muttered.

He was soon to realize that he had been a fool to come. Henry had no intention of making terms with him as yet. He told the old man that several of his castles would be confiscated and he himself confined near Coventry until his case could be tried by his peers.

This was utter humiliation. And there was more to come. But it was no use allowing his pride to stand in the way of his purpose. He had to make a show of humility if he were going to save his life, and he intended to save it if only for the purpose of taking his revenge on Bolingbroke. It was finally decided that as he had not actually been in battle he could not be judged guilty of treason so would merely be fined; and if he swore to serve the King faithfully in future he might return to Northumberland.

Henry was a man who did not keep his promises; Northumberland would be the same.

Yes, he would agree to anything. But when he returned to Northumberland he would plot the downfall of the man who called himself the King.

Northumberland was determined. He was in communication with Owen Glendower; he had made a pact with the Scots, who now that he was against the English had a shared interest.

Henry was aware of this. He should have destroyed Northumberland when he had a chance. He might have known that the Earl would never forget nor forgive what Henry had done to the valiant Hotspur.

Henry marched north. It was winter and there had not been in living memory such a harsh one. The snow lay thick on the ground and in the northern part of the country particularly this would be known for years to come as the winter of frost and ice.

It was not the weather for fighting battles, but Northumberland was determined. He had to regain what had been taken from him and turn the usurper from the throne.

Henry had no alternative but to go into battle. This he did. His numbers were superior; his men were better equipped. The battle was brief and decisive and Northumberland fell from his horse when an arrow struck him wounding him fatally.

Henry was triumphant.

That must be an end to rebellion in the north. Men must understand what happened when they came against the King.

They had come to a small place called Green Hammerton and there it was decided they would stop for the night.

The King and his close attendants were lodged at a manor house while his company found lodging in the town and, cold as it was, some set up tents.

Henry was wet and cold; his limbs felt stiff and he wanted mulled wine, hot food and a bed on which to rest.

He removed some of his clothes and the wine was brought to him. Suddenly he threw the goblet from him screaming. "What have you done? Who is the traitor? Who has thrown fire over me?"

Those about him recoiled in horror, for his face had grown a deep purple and they could see pustules appearing on his skin. He must have contracted some dreadful disease.

"What is this?" cried Henry. "What is it?" He put his hands to his face. "Why do you look at me like that? What has happened to me?"

"My lord," said one of the attendants, "we should send at once for your physician."

Henry lay back on his bed. He touched the horror on his face. He knew it was the same which had been appearing on his body. Now he could hide it no longer.

There was one word which kept coming to his mind. Leprosy! He had seen it on his travels. Oh God, he prayed, let this pass from me. Anything I will endure ... Take my crown from me ... Do anything ... but do not afflict me with this. Richard's death can be laid at my door, I know it. But it was for the good of the country. No, Lord, for the good of myself. Take this from me ... and ask anything of me ... and I will do it. I will bear it... but not... leprosy ...

He could not leave his chamber. He could not be seen like this. He wondered what would become of him, of the country. Harry was too young yet. He kept praying incoherently. He touched his face. He knew that he looked hideous ...

The doctors came. They gave him potions and unguents, and in a few days' time the terrible pustules had almost disappeared. His face was still discoloured and the surface of his skin rough; but he could at least emerge.

The success of defeating Northumberland had become bitter. He turned his attention now to Glendower. Harry was on the Welsh front. Henry thanked God that his son was becoming a great soldier. He was doing good work in Wales and had already brought about the defection of several important noblemen who had been supporting Glendower.

Harry was successful in regaining Harlech and in capturing Glendower's daughter and her Mortimer children after Sir Edmund had died in the siege.

The battle left Glendower without an army. He escaped but was still free to roam in his mountains and attempt to gather together a force. Henry, however, was confident that this would never amount to much more than an occasional skirmish. They would have to be watchful, nothing more.

The success was due to the brilliant leadership of young Harry. He was a son to be proud of. He was growing up. He was old enough in experience if not in years to command an army.

Henry could have felt more at peace than he had since he took the throne if it had not been that he was constantly on the watch for the greatest enemy of all, of whose identity he was not sure but which he greatly feared could be that dread disease leprosy.

Harry must marry. The sooner the better. He must get sons to follow him. The Lancastrian side of the Plantagenet tree must be strengthened.

Isabella of France was still unmarried. It might well be that after all this time the child had got over her obsession with Richard. She might be ready to consider a match—or her family might which was more to the point. And why should her bridegroom not be the once rejected Harry of Monmouth?

When Isabella had returned to France she had quickly realized that something was very wrong at her father's Court, and gradually she began to understand what it was.

Her father had bouts of madness. People did not at first talk about this to her. She just heard that he had attacks. These attacks could last for months and when they were in progress he would be shut up in the Hotel St Pol, that Paris residence where she had spent much of her childhood. When he recovered her father was just as she had always remembered him, kindly and seeming in full possession of his senses, but she detected a wariness in both him and the people around him and she knew they were watching for the madness to break out again.

There was her mother—beautiful, and forceful so that she seemed to be the real ruler of France, with Uncle Louis of course.

Louis Duc d'Orleans, her father's brother, had been appointed by the King to be Regent during his bouts of madness. The Queen who had great influence with the King had advised this and sometimes it seemed to Isabella that her mother and her uncle wanted her father to fall into madness, for when he did Uncle Louis behaved as though he were the King and it was obvious to everyone—even young Isabella— that Isabeau acted as though Louis was not only the King on the throne but in her bed as well. The fact was that this adulterous intrigue between Queen Isabeau and Duc Louis of Orleans was becoming a scandal not only throughout France but beyond.

Then there was her father's uncle the Duke of Burgundy, a serious-minded man, who deplored what was happening and made no secret of this.

It was a very unhealthy state of affairs and Isabella yearned as much as ever for the happy days at Windsor when Richard had ridden out to see her and they had been so happy together.

"I shall never be happy again," she mourned.

She did however enjoy being reunited with her family. There were her three brothers and three sisters; for recently a new baby girl had been born. She was named Katherine.

The little girls were lodged at the Hotel St Pol and no one bothered very much about them. When the King was ill he would be taken to a part of the Hotel and shut in there with a few attendants. Isabella would often lie awake and listen for the strange sounds which came from her father's apartments. She did what she could to look after the little girls for their nurses were not always careful and when Isabella told her mother this, the Queen said they should be dismissed but did nothing about it. She was too busy with her own affairs which mainly consisted of entertaining and being entertained by the Duc d'Orleans. Isabella thought the Duc the most handsome man she had ever seen and that her mother was the most beautiful woman. It seemed inevitable that they should be lovers. She wondered whether her father knew. Everyone else seemed to, so perhaps he did too.