There to greet them was a thirty-strong deputation from Parliament. Heading the deputation was Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. Standing behind him were Sir Robert Tresilian, Chief Justice of the King’s Bench, and the newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, William Arundel. Behind them waited a selection of the highest nobles and office holders in England.
Their very presence at the pier bespoke Parliament’s decision.
They walked in solemn procession to the Chapter House of Westminster Abbey. Bolingbroke was closely attended by the most senior nobles, but even so, he requested that Neville walk close behind his right shoulder, and just as they reached the cloisters of the abbey leading to the Chapter House, Bolingbroke sent Neville a mischievous glance over his shoulder.
Neville’s mouth twitched and then finally grinned. For some reason he was reminded of those faraway days when he and Bolingbroke had been boys, trying to drag their heavy practice swords away from the ground as they dreamed of the future: Bolingbroke that he would somehow succeed to the throne of England, and Neville that he would lead a mighty crusade back to the Holy Lands to wipe the infidels from the streets and holy places of Jerusalem for time ever after.
Well, Neville thought as they stopped just outside the door of the Chapter House to be announced to the gathered Parliament therein, here was Bolingbroke about to succeed in his boyish ambition .. and himself?
Who knew now how to define either the crusade or the infidel?
He blinked, for now Bolingbroke was striding into the center of the circular Chapter House, and Parliament—the gathered houses of Lords and Commons both—was on its feet.
Northumberland, holding the white rod of speaking in his hand, stepped forth, and shouted,
“Long live Henry of Lancaster, King of England!”
And then the entire Parliament was shouting, “Henry! Henry! Henry, King of England! Yes.
We want Henry for king. No one else. Henry! Henry!”
Bolingbroke raised his arms, his fists clenched, and turned slowly about as he swept his eyes over the assembled Parliament. His gray eyes were shining, his fair face slightly flushed, and Neville thought that Bolingbroke had never looked so beautiful, nor so princely, as at this moment of his triumph.
LATER, MUCH later, when most of the tumult had died down and the wine flowed freely within the great hall of Westminster, Bolingbroke took Neville’s arm and pulled him aside.
“Tom,” Bolingbroke said, speaking the words close to Neville’s face so that no one else amid this gathering might hear, “there is no one now who can stop me taking the throne, but you.
Do you understand?”
Neville nodded, and Bolingbroke gave him a small smile.
“I have chosen Michaelmas for my coronation day,” Bolingbroke said. “I thought it appropriate.”
Neville gave him an unreadable look. Michaelmas was the feast day of the Archangel Michael.
Bolingbroke’s smile widened, and he winked, and then pulled Neville back into the celebrations.
CHAPTER II
Wednesday 26th September 1380
— I —
THERE WAS ONE small matter to be disposed of before Bolingbroke was crowned.
Richard.
In the afternoon of the vigil of Michaelmas, Neville rode through the streets of London with his uncle Raby and the Earl of Northumberland at the head of a small but richly apparelled escort. The mood within the streets was one of an almost overwhelming joy—fair Prince Hal, who had done no wrong and who could never do wrong, would on the morrow be crowned king of England. All the bitterness and disappointments and the bloodiness of the past eighteen months would be put behind them. Beyond lay an age of golden glory. Who could doubt it?
Although the coronation was so close, and even though Bolingbroke’s words had haunted him in the past five days, this afternoon. Neville was thinking of everything but the coronation.
Margaret had awakened listless and moody in the morning, and had refused to break her fast with anything but a few sips of watered wine.
She had not even wanted to see Rosalind.
Instead, she had wandered back and forth in their chamber, one hand rubbing at her back, the other at her forehead.
Agnes had given Thomas a knowing look.
Richard had been the only thing that had managed to pull Thomas away from Margaret’s side—that and her snapped remark that she’d be better without him shadowing her every footstep for the next few hours.
So Neville contented himself with Agnes’ whispered consolation that little would transpire before evening save a deepening of Margaret’s moodiness, and had joined Bol-mgbroke’s deputation to Richard as already planned.
Many people in the streets shouted his name along with Bolingbroke’s, Raby’s and Northumberland’s, but Neville did little to acknowledge the crowd’s approval save offer an
occasional nod of his head. He didn’t realize that his internal preoccupation with Margaret’s well-being and his subsequent terse acknowledgment of the crowd lent him an air of weighty authority.
Raby, who well knew the reason for Neville’s preoccupation, smiled to himself now and then, more than relieved that Margaret was finally about to give Thomas a child of his RICHARD STOOD by a window, watching the deputation slowly move through the Lion’s Gate and toward the Inner Ward.
He twisted a diamond ring around and about the third finger of his left hand.
Robbie had given him that ring, and now this ring was all Richard had left of his lover.
He blinked as he saw the riders enter the inner ward via the Garden Gate, then drew a deep breath.
Was he to die then?
Richard had heard of Parliament’s decision to depose him—traitors all!—but of his ultimate fate, Richard was as yet unsure.
All he knew was that Bolingbroke could not afford to allow him to live.
The only question in Richard’s mind was how long Bolingbroke would wait before he sent some executioner in the depths of the night… long enough for Richard to escape? Long enough for Richard’s supporters—and, sweet Jesu, surely there were some left—to raise a righteous rebellion to restore him to the throne?
The men had dismounted now, handing the reins of their horses to some men-at-arms, and now they were striding up the steps leading to the entrance of the Keep.
Richard turned to the door and waited, his hands still by his side.
RABY ENTERED first, drawing the gloves from his hands. He looked at Richard standing against the far side of the chamber by its single window, but said nothing to him.
He stepped to one side as Northumberland entered, and then Neville.
Richard drew in a sharp breath as he saw Neville, wondering if Bolingbroke was so confident that he thought not to wait for the deep of the night, nor to cloak the identity of his executioner in secrecy.
But Richard was nothing if not a Plantagenet bred and born, and so the only gesture he made was one of arrogance. He titled his chin very slightly and affected a disdainful air.
“My Lords Traitors,” he said. “Do you think to commit your dark work in the afternoon sunshine?”
“We have come, my Lord of Bordeaux,” Northumberland said, addressing Richard by the least of his titles, “to inform you of Parliament’s decision as to your eventual fate.”
“Parliament has no right to presume to dictate my fate to me. I am rightful king of England, divinely anointed and consecrated—”
“As you are well aware,” said Raby, “Parliament has charged you and found you guilty of breaking your coronation oaths most willfully and with no regard to the rights of your subjects.
You are a tyrant damned, Richard, and a most ungracious son to the memory of your father.”
“You are not worthy to speak to me!” Richard said, and now there was a tiny note of panic in his voice. “I am your king and master and so shall I remain.”
“You are nothing less than a fool,” Northumberland said, drawing a folded parchment from the purse at his belt.
He unfolded it. “Richard, once king of England, it is ordered by the lords and commons of Parliament that you, known as Richard of Bordeaux, shall be carried within the next few days to imprisonment within Pontefract Castle where you shall be confined at the pleasure of Henry of Lancaster. You shall be kept in comfort, with the best bread and meat that money can afford, but know you now that should any attempt be made to rescue you, then they and you shall die in the attempt.”
Richard’s mouth trembled very slightly. “I ask that I be allowed exile beyond the seas. There is no need to keep me on the king’s purse.”
Now Neville stepped forth, standing between Northumberland and Raby. “You are sentenced to exile, Richard. Exile among those who have reason to hate you most… your own people.”
“Do you think your beloved Hal will ever sit easy on the throne?” Richard suddenly shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. “Do you think God will sit m silence as Bolingbroke takes my throne through treachery?”