“Your grace,” Wiltshire said, “the reports say Bolingbroke has as many as sixty thousand at his back—and Northumberland besides! We have only twenty-five thousand, and they are sick and—”
“If I had known you to be such a faint heart,” Richard said, “I should never have given you command of this army. Twenty-five thousand is more than enough to counter Bolingbroke. Do you forget that with only a few score of men I defeated one hundred thousand rebels?”
Wiltshire’s face was by now a deep red. “They were an untrained rabble of demoralized peasants,” he said. “Once their leader was dead—”
“Are you trying to tell me that I should surrender to Bolingbroke?” Richard said, his voice so heavy with menace that Wiltshire took an involuntary step back.
“No, your grace. All I am saying is that if we can find a few days in which to recover our strength, then we will be in a better position to—”
“Bolingbroke must be crushed,” de Vere said, straightening from his slouch and walking to
Richard’s side.
“An army of staggering green-gilled soldiers will crush no one,” Wiltshire said.
De Vere’s face darkened in fury and Richard put a cautionary hand on his lover’s arm.
“Having discerned that you have no heart for battle, Wiltshire,” Richard said, “I have yet to learn what you do think I should do. Well? Why not enlighten us?”
“Your grace,” Wiltshire said in as reasonable a tone as he could manage. “Bolingbroke feels most unjustly dealt with. He believes there was no reason to seize his titles and lands—”
“He has given me reason enough now,” Richard said in an undertone.
“—and the fact that so many of the great lords and barons of England now flock to his side indicates that they, too, feel he was unjustly treated. They fear that what you did to Bolingbroke you could do to them also. Your grace, you could defuse this entire situation by sitting down to parley with Bolingbroke and listen to his grievances.”
“You want me to parley with a traitor?”
Wiltshire completely lost his patience. “You could accomplish in one afternoon of reasonableness what you could never manage with an army of two hundred thousand behind you. God curse you, Richard, don’t you understand? The nobles want a king who will guarantee them their rights and privileges, not a tyrant who will undermine their freedoms.
Bolingbroke’s support is based almost entirely on the fact that the nobles think you seized his lands unfairly. Giving him back his pretty titles and lands will undermine that support.'”
“I did not parley with a peasant rebel and I will not parley with a princely one!” Richard shouted.
Wiltshire began to speak again, but got no further than opening his mouth, for suddenly Richard’s dagger was freed from its sheath at his belt and was at Wiltshire’s throat. I think you are in his pay as well, Wiltshire … what say you? Answer me or I will bury this blade in your treacherous throat!”
“Your grace,” Wiltshire said, but got no further, for at that moment the door opened and a breathless man-at-arms entered.
“My lords,” he gasped, too distraught even to bow. “A party of horsemen… approaching … the gates …”
Richard swiveled away from Wiltshire, sliding the dagger back home at his belt. He strode over to the window, staring at the party of some score of horsemen that rode toward the gates.
“Northumberland,” he said.
HENRY PERCY, Earl of Northumberland, stopped just inside the door, his eyes darting to left and right as he ascertained who was in the chamber. He wore chain mail and armor plate, but was bare-headed and bore no weapons.
He nodded, first to Wiltshire, then to Richard, but ignored de Vere completely. “What, Northumberland?” Richard said, walking forward with studied insolence. “You do not bend your knee before me? How dare your joints forget to pay their duty to our presence?”
Northumberland glanced at Wiltshire, noting that the man would not meet his eyes, then looked back to Richard.
“I am come at Bolingbroke’s behest,” Northumberland said.
“You behead yourself with those words, Northumberland,” Richard said. “But I pray you continue.”
“My Lord of Bolingbroke feels he was unfairly disgraced,” Northumberland said, “when you seized from him his hereditary titles and lands.”
“Unfair?” Richard raised his eyebrows. “There was the small matter of treachery… treachery which he now flaunts openly.”
Northumberland’s face tightened. “And yet you did not attaint Bolingbroke of charges of treason, your grace. There has been no formal laying of charges, and no trial before his peers to which Bolingbroke has every right—as laid out by the Magna Carta.” Richard went white with fury at the implied threat in Northumberland’s words. Almost two hundred years previously the barons had risen up against the then King John, forcing him to sign a great charter that limited the king’s powers and enshrined those of the barons. Ever since then the English barons had only to murmur the words Magna Carta to remind the king that he sat his throne only through their goodwill.
Northumberland continued, ignoring the threat in Richard’s face. “Many among the nobles feel that in so attacking Bolingbroke you attacked their rights.”
There was a silence, then Richard spoke, hissing each word. “How dare he speak of rights!
Bolingbroke wants my crown, nothing else!”
He stopped momentarily, his face working furiously. “And here you are, Northumberland, come to mouth Bolingbroke’s treason, here on his behalf to loose the opening shot in the purple testament of bleeding war.”
Northumberland suppressed a small smile. “War? Nay, grace. Bolingbroke has sent me to assure you of his loyalty. Bolingbroke swears by your royal grandsire’s bones, and by the buried hand of warlike Gaunt, and by the worth and honor of himself, that his coming hither into England has no intent but to beg you to return to him his lands and titles. His glittering arms he will commend to rust, his barbed steeds to stables, and his heart to faithful service to your grace if you but restore to him his noble heritage.”
“And for this he needs sixty thousand behind him?” de Vere said.
Richard turned a little, sending de Vere a smile, then looked back to Northumberland. “Pretty words, Northumberland, no doubt drafted by some equally pretty poet. But they are nothing but ephemeral nonsense, and I am having none of them.”
“It will not hurt to speak with Bolingbroke,” Wiltshire said, and Northumberland shot him an assessing look. So.
“Sire,” Northumberland said, “Bolingbroke waits at Chester. He assures you of your safety should you agree to meet him.”
Richard laughed. “He even speaks like a king! Has he the tailors at work cutting out his coronation robes, Northumberland? Does he have the minstrels already practicing at their music for his heraldic triumph?”
Richard’s face lost all humor, and he stepped close to Northumberland, spitting his next words into the older man’s face. “I had not believed that you should be the ladder whereby the traitor Bolingbroke thought to ascend my throne, Northumberland! What did he offer you?
Well? What?”
“He offered me nothing but my honor,” Northumberland said quietly.
Richard’s face froze, then he wheeled about and spoke to Wiltshire. “Take him and place him in close custody!”
“Your grace, Northumberland has entered this castle under the flag of treaty. I cannot—”
“Do it!” Richard shouted.
WHEN THEY were alone in the chamber, Richard turned to de Vere. He placed a gentle hand on the man’s chest, and smiled coquettishly up at him from under his lashes.
“We have two days,” he said, “during which Bolingbroke will wait for my answer.”
“And during those two days?” de Vere said.
“We move my twenty-five thousand to meet him,” Richard said. “Bolingbroke will have scarce woken up on the third day before he finds the tip of my sword at his throat.”
He laughed. “Perhaps I shall give him to you, my sweet, to play with a little before he meets his death.”
De Vere smiled obediently, but his eyes were uncertain.
CHAPTER III
The day before the Vigil of the
Feast of SS. Egidius and Priscus
In the second year of the reign of Richard II
(Thursday 30th August 1380)
— I —
THEY LEFT CONWAY CASTLE the next day at dawn, Richard, de Vere, and Wiltshire, leading some twenty-five thousand men. All three men wore light armor— plates over their chest, hips and arms—and had swords at their sides. Their helmets were packed away; Bolingbroke was yet two days’ distant. Northumberland came also, unar-mored. He and his escort were held under heavy guard at the rear of the column.
It was to Richard’s detriment that he placed Northumberland so far back, for it meant he could not see the smile that played about the earl’s mouth as they marched forth.
Wiltshire and his immediate command led the column, with Richard and de Vere riding a little further back, a comfortable cushion of sixty or seventy men between themselves and the front ranks. The day was fine and mild, the only measurable discomfort a stiff sea breeze that blew down from the northwest.