Again Richard’s eyes flickered Neville’s way before casting themselves restlessly about the
assembled lords.
“I have thought myself in some danger,” he said softly. “Moreover, I have thought England in some danger. Therefore, listen you to these my decisions.
“Lancaster, you are removed as regent. I wish you good health and long life, but I have thought to surround myself with counselors I can the more easily trust.”
Now the sharp intakes of breath about the table were clearly audible. Some men may have silently applauded, for Lancaster’s fall in favor would surely see the rise of their own influence, but all wondered at Richard’s arrogance that he so easily cast aside, and so publicly humiliated, the most powerful man in England.
“As with regents, so with all the major officers of government,” Richard continued. “My Lord Archbishop of Canterbury,” he nodded at Sudbury, “shall be my new Chancellor, and my Lord Bishop of Exeter,” now he nodded at Brantingham, “shall hold the office of Treasurer.”
Sweet Jesu, Neville thought, the imp has such confidence that he surrounds himself with the great men of the Church. Then his eyes fell on both Sudbury and Brantingham. Or are they great men of the Church? Is it possible they he demons, too?
Almost as if in reply, Sudbury shot Lancaster an apologetic, almost embarrassed, look—the two had been close allies for years. Neville revised his suspicions of Sudbury; if nothing else the man had obviously not yet told Richard about the subversive John Ball within the dungeons of Canterbury prison. If he had, Lancaster would be in the Tower.
“And to replace Lancaster at my side, as dearest friend and most trusted confidant, I appoint Robert de Vere my Chamberlain and,” Richard paused, and looked about the table with amused eyes, “also gift to him the castles and lands of Oakham and Queen-borough—”
The sound of murmuring could clearly be heard about the table.
“—as well as the castle of Berkhamsted, and create him the Chief Justice of Chester and North Wales—”
The table fell silent as many of the lords stared at Richard with horror.
“—and create him, as token of my love and trust, Duke of Ireland.”
The table erupted. Duke of Ireland? Many men spoke harshly—others, thinking to ally themselves with the new favorite, spoke words of congratulation—but no one spoke more volubly than Gloucester.
He sprang to his feet and slammed his fist down on the table.
There was instant silence.
“Your grace,” Gloucester seethed, “this preferment is beyond reasoning! You have created a man—”
“Who can counter the ill will of my uncle Lancaster!” Now Richard also was on his feet, and all Neville could think of was that Gloucester had very probably signed his own death warrant here this day.
“Lancaster bears you no ill will!” Gloucester said. “None! Had he done so, do you think he would have allowed you to so easily gain the throne? Don’t you realize, you silly pasty-faced youth—”
“Gloucester!” Now Lancaster was on his feet, trying to get Gloucester back into his chair, preferably with his mouth shut.
“Do you not think that I haven’t seen what my uncle and his beloved son are doing?” Richard yelled. “Did you not hear the screams of the crowds for their beloved ‘fair Prince Hal’
yesterday?” Now Richard’s face was twisted with hatred. “I will not nurture rivals at my court!”
He stopped, breathing deeply to regain control of himself.
The entire table was still and tense. Lancaster had finally managed to get Gloucester back into his chair, while Neville had moved forward very slightly toward Bolingbroke, who sat stunned and disbelieving, staring at Richard.
Who could lave thought that the demon would move so quickly to consolidate his power?
“You are fortunate, my fair Prince Hal,” Richard said, “that I do not commit you to the Tower for your treasonous thoughts.”
“Your grace,” Bolingbroke said, and all listening marveled at the calmness of his face and voice, “I nurture no treasonous thoughts, nor ambitions that do not include you as my king and lord. I pray you believe me.”
“Then you must endeavor to earn my trust, Bolingbroke, for I cannot think but that you secretly yearn for my tide and honors, and plan to use both Lancaster’s and Hereford’s lands and riches to seize them.”
The hush about the table was now extraordinary both in its depth and in its anticipation.
“Sire,” Bolingbroke said in a very quiet voice, “I went down on bended knee before you last May Day and pledged you my homage and allegiance. What have I done since that you now think me a traitor?”
Richard held Bolingbroke’s stare a long moment before he answered. “I move only so that you may never become a traitor, Bolingbroke,” he said. “Thank the sweet lord that you still have both your lands and life.”
Bolingbroke leaned back in his chair and looked away. He was pale with fury, and a muscle twitched in one cheek.
And had Richard thought he could do it, Neville realized, then he would indeed have deprived Bol~ ingbroke of both lands and life. But Lancaster and his faction are still too powerful and Richard must bide his time like a hunchbacked spider lurking in the shadows behind his web.
Thank sweet Jesu Richard does not know of John Ball, and that Wycliffe is now safely silenced within the walls of Lutterworth!
Richard tore his gaze away from Bolingbroke and spoke for a few minutes of some other, minor, administrative appointments. Then …
“I have received a request for aid,” he said, and rose from his chair and ascended the dais, searching for a parchment which he finally located. He made a great show of perusing it, then spoke again, raising his voice so that he could clearly be heard around the table.
“This request I am disposed to regard kindly, for it could well rebound in England’s favor.
Count Pedro of Catalonia has requested my assistance in some small domestic dispute he has with his bastard half-brother, Henry.”
Here Richard shot Bolingbroke another smoldering look, as if to imply that all relatives named Henry were bound to act treasonably sooner or later.
“Henry has apparently seized control of Pedro’s lands and revenues. Pedro needs help to get them back. I, and my chief advisers,” Richard indicated de Vere, Northumberland, Hotspur, as also Sudbury and Brantingham, “have decided to send a force into Catalonia in order to—”
“Your grace, this is madness!” Now Raby was standing, and Neville had to suppress a small groan and a desire to tackle his uncle to the floor. Was everyone he needed to aid him in his quest for the casket about to alienate themselves completely from influence?
“Any action in Catalonia,” Raby said, “is bound to remove forces from the south of France, where we need them most—”
“Westmorland, you will sit down!” Richard snapped. “Your advice on this matter is not sought.”
“More to the point,” Lancaster said, “Catalonia is under the overlordship of the King of Aragon. He will not be amused to think that England is sending an armed force into what he considers his own—”
“And your advice is most certainly not sought!” Richard said. “Pedro has the potential to be a good ally if handled correctly—”
At that remark a number of men about the table had to avert their eyes and bite their lips to keep the smiles at bay.
“—and if handed aid when he requires it.” Richard paused. “My Lord of Northumberland’s son, Hotspur, will lead the Catalonian expedition.”
Neville’s gaze shot to Hotspur. No wonder he had been so free and friendly with de Vere! But Hotspur? To lead such an expedition? He was brave, true, but young for a campaign that was going to need the delicate skills of a diplomat as much as the sword skills of the warrior.
“Your grace, England can ill afford the cost of such a venture.” Now Sir Richard Sturry, a trusted councillor of the dead King Edward, rose to his feet. “Already we are in considerable debt from our continued war with France—”
“All solved with the Treaty of Westminster,” Richard said, and waved Sturry back into his seat. “We can … and we will… afford this mission. It is time I make my mark, not only on England, but on Europe.
“My lords.” Richard now looked about the hall, and managed a small smile. “I think I have concluded my business for this day.”
Many of the Lords rose slowly to their feet as a sound of murmuring filled the hall. But Neville was unable to tear his eyes away from Richard.
The king was standing behind one of the trestle tables on the dais, his eyes on Neville, a sly grin on his face …
. and. his left hand resting on a small, brass-bound casket atop the table! “Sweet Jesu,”
Bolingbroke whispered as he joined Neville. “There it is!”