“True,” Richard said, thinking about admonishing de Vere for calling him a “dear sweet boy”
before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. Besides, he rather liked it, and it was far better to think about how he might punish Hal when he finally had him in his power. Richard sighed quietly, wishing he could have moved against Lancaster and Bolingbroke long before, but both men—and their coterie of allies—were still too powerful for him to attack without very good cause.
Bolingbroke was far too popular with the ever-cursed mob, and Lancaster still commanded too much respect among the other nobles for any to move directly against them.
Still, Hal’s time would come … and Richard did not think it would be much longer in the coming.
He wondered vaguely who it was had done away with Gloucester and Arundel, so saving himself the trouble, then his mind snapped back to Bolingbroke as his eye caught movement at the far end of the chamber.
“I want a charge of treason,” Richard said, as Thorseby’s black limping figure entered the far door of the Painted Chamber, pausing to bow deeply.
“A charge of picking his nose is going to be enough if it gives us cause to take Bolingbroke,”
said de Vere. His beautiful dark eyes gleamed even brighter than usual, and he leaned forward very slightly in his chair as Thorseby continued to walk toward them. “I’d prefer treason” said Richard.
“Your grace,” de Vere murmured as Thorseby approached, “may I suggest we take whatever he offers?”
Thorseby halted before the dais, and de Vere smiled genially. “Prior General,” he said, “your presence, as always, is the greatest of gifts to my dear lord, as to myself.”
Thorseby forced a returning smile and inclined his head very slightly in acknowledgment.
Lord Jem, how be despised these two sodomites.
He spoke some general pleasantries and flatteries, then got straight to the point as he saw irritation and impatience spread in equal quantities across Richard’s face.
“Your grace,” Thorseby said, inclining head and shoulders this time, “I come before you this most holy of days to petition you for a special favor.”
Richard almost snarled at the disagreeable man. No charge of treason against Bolingbroke
then? He just wanted a favor?
“My Lord Bolingbroke, Duke of Hereford, has taken into his household a most evil man.”
Richard’s face lost some of its anger, and he sat a little straighter on his throne. “Aye?”
“Bolingbroke has, as his personal secretary, a man called—”
“Thomas Neville,” said Richard. “Yes, yes, get on with it, man.”
Thorseby pursed his lips and sent Richard an irritated look of his own. “Yes, Thomas Neville.
As you must know, Neville was once a member of my Order—”
“Until he found he preferred fornicating to praying,” de Vere said.
Richard laughed, enjoying the mortification on Thorseby’s face.
Thorseby took a deep breath. “Yes, until he found he preferred the sins of fornication. Your grace, it has come to my attention that Neville is a most dangerous man, and I would request your favor in granting me aid to bring him under the disciplinary rule of my Order.”
“A most dangerous man?” said de Vere very softly. He, also, was now perched on the very edge of his chair, as if he thought to spring forward at any instant. “In what manner?”
“I suspect Neville of the most profound heresy,” Thorseby said. He paused for effect. “As well as treason.”
Silence.
“Heresy?” said Richard. “Treason?”
“Indeed, your grace. For many months I have suspected that Neville might well be associated with the Lollards and their arch-heretic leader, John Wycliffe. After all, he does reside in Lancaster’s household, and we all know—”
“Get on with it!”
“But what I did not realize until most recently,” Thorseby continued, “was that while Neville was in Europe he not only consorted with demons—”
Both Richard and de Vere laughed, if a little uneasily.
“—but also consorted with Etienne Marcel, who I am sure you are aware was—”
“Marcel?” Richard said, glancing at de Vere. “The instigator of the Parisian rebellion?”
“The very same, your grace. The man who suggested that power be taken from the king and be given to the commons.”
“And you have proof of Neville’s association with Marcel?” de Vere said.
“Aye, my lord. A witness to attest to the contractual bond between them. Your grace and my lord, undoubtedly Neville is committed to furthering the same cause here. He is dangerous in the extreme. It would surely be to your betterment, as well that of my Order, if Neville be taken into custody.”
There was a silence as Richard first stared at Thorseby, and then at de Vere.
“Perhaps so,” de Vere finally said slowly. “But I think it would be best if, for the moment, Neville be arrested only on a charge of heresy. I do not doubt your charge of treason, Prior General, but if Neville be involved, then what of others within the Lancastrian household?
Lancaster? Bolingbroke?”
“And if we take Neville on charges of stirring the masses into treason against their king,”
Richard continued, “then we forewarn Bolingbroke and Lancaster before we have the evidence to move against them as well. But if, for the moment, we merely aid the good Prior General to extricate Neville from Lancastrian protection into Dominican care on a charge of heresy, then we disguise our moves and meaning.”
He smiled at Thorseby, hardly able to contain his excitement. I hove you! he thought. I have you, fair Prince Hal!
“You have done very well, Prior General,” he said, deciding he rather liked Thorseby, after all.
“Very well. Your favor is granted, with the proviso that during your inquisition of Neville you find evidence to also implicate his master, Hal Bolingbroke. So … how may I best assist you?”
BOLINGBROKE AND his household attended evening mass in St. Paul’s rather than remaining within the anonymity of the Savoy’s chapel. Neville had cautioned him against it, but Bolingbroke believed there would be no trouble. How could Richard move against him when he was cushioned by the adoration of the Londoners?
As they left the cathedral, its bells pealing joyously across London, Bolingbroke— Mary on his arm—turned and saluted the yelling and cheering people on the steps and crowding the courtyard.
“Is this not a merry day?” Bolingbroke said, turning to grin at Neville and Margaret. “You can be sure that Richard shall hear about it,” Neville said. “Ah,” said Bolingbroke, “today I care not about… sweet Jesu; Tom, watch your back!” The crowds around them had suddenly parted
as if a giant hand had swept them aside. Where there had been a solid cheering mass behind Neville and Margaret, now there were the pikes and reaching hands of at least forty heavily armed soldiers.
Neville’s first thought was to push Margaret out of harm’s way, his second a stunned realization that these men had come, not for Bolingbroke, but for him. Chaos exploded about him.
At the same time that Neville had pushed Margaret, Mary had stepped forward and wrenched Margaret into her arms, pulling her well back from the men-at-arms.
Margaret struggled, crying out with fear for her husband, but Mary held her tight. Bolingbroke had not worn a sword this day, and now he cursed his stupidity. He stepped forward, grabbing at the pike of the first soldier who approached Neville.
Robert Courtenay and Roger Salisbury, who had both been waiting with the horses at the foot of the cathedral steps for their masters, let go the reins and sprang up the steps, drawing the swords that they, at the least, had had enough forethought to wear. The crowd roared, thinking only that Bolingbroke was being attacked. The men-at-arms pressed forward, four of them grabbing Neville, the others surrounding him.
“I command you set him free,” Bolingbroke shouted, losing his grip on the pike he held and stumbling back.
Courtenay and Salisbury had now reached his side, but stood impotently, unsure what to do.
The sergeant of the men-at-arms stepped forward and bowed deferentially at Bolingbroke.
“My lord,” he said, “I do you a favor.” Then he raised his face and shouted at the crowd. “I come for Neville, not Bolingbroke! Neville is a traitor to his master, and puts him in great danger.”
era The crowd retreated slightly, muttering and murmuring in great swells. What cared they about this Neville?
“He lies!” shouted Bolingbroke, incredulous and angry in equal amounts.
“What charge?” Neville said. “What charge? And who brings it?”
“A charge of heresy,” said the sergeant, no longer deferential. “Brought by Prior General Thorseby.” The sergeant paused, assessing the situation and the mood of the onlookers, and decided that some inventiveness was called for. “As well as a charge of plotting the downfall of my Lord of Bolingbroke—”
“He lies!” cried Bolingbroke again, his voice now charged with desperation.
The crowd did not listen to him. Neville? A traitor to their fair Prince Hal? Their murmuring increased, their mood darkened.