“Wait,” said Sturry. “As Richard does not have the ability to move against you, so you do not have the ability to—”
“No!” Lancaster put his hand on Bolingbroke’s shoulder and pulled him back. “This talk is of treason and I will not have it in my house. Richard is young, and misguided. He still has my loyalty—”
Bolingbroke whipped about and faced his father. “Then you are a fool, father. Richard is not
‘misguided,’ he is England’s death!”
Gloucester and Raby exchanged glances. “These are hot and hasty words thrown about the room,” Gloucester said, “and tempers need to cool before we commit to any action. My brother Lancaster is right to say that our family should repair to Kenilworth for the winter. The castle is well fortified, and even if Richard should be hasty enough to lay siege to it, we shall be safe.”
“And Parliament may not grant Richard’s request for a new poll tax,” Raby said. “Do we speak hot words for nothing? Does Richard merely need a year or two to settle down?”
Bolingbroke shot Raby a black look, but Raby ignored it. “We wait out Christmas-tide,” he said, “and for the moment we do nothing to further aggravate Richard. In fact,” and now it was Raby who shot Bolingbroke the black look, “it might not be the worst of actions to publicly pledge your loyalty to him, Hal. Richard needs to be appeased … and that will work as much to your favor as it does to his.”
Bolingbroke made as if to object, then a thoughtful look came over his face, and he nodded.
“You speak wisdom, Ralph, as does my uncle Thomas.”
“Then let us finish,” Lancaster said. “It will not be long before dawn tints the sky, and none of you dares be seen leaving the Savoy. Neville? Will you escort my lords one by one back to the wharf?”
IT WASN’T until well after dawn that Neville had a chance to have a quiet word with Bolingbroke. They needed to plan to recover the casket.
“It must be soon,” Bolingbroke said, “for father is planning our removal to Kenil-worth within the next week.” He shuddered. “I confess, Tom, it will be good to leave London for the moment.”
“I must have the casket—”
“Yes, yes, but, Christ Savior, Tom, it is in Westminster. But do not fret, Raby’s words have given me cause for thought.”
Bolingbroke lapsed into silence. “And Arundel’s offer to be tested can be used to your advantage,” he said finally. “Tom, I have a plan, but it will require the utmost courage—”
Neville nodded and began to speak, but Bolingbroke hushed him.
“—and it will require the courage of our wives. Are you prepared to risk that?”
“You are?” Neville said.
“Aye.”
Still Neville hesitated, then finally he nodded. “Then, yes, I am prepared to risk them. I must, if it will mean I finally achieve possession of the casket.”
Something flared in Bolingbroke’s eyes, and Neville was not sure whether it was triumph or extraordinary pain.
“Then let me explain …,” Bolingbroke said.
CHAPTER II
Sext, the Vigil of the Feast of St. Francis
In the first year of the reign of Richard II
(late morning Monday 3rd October 1379)
— I —
THEY CAME TO WESTMINSTER by small barge, rather than on horseback, because it would be less awkward spiriting the casket away.
It would also be faster.
And safer.
Robert Courtenay, subdued because Neville had ordered him to remain behind, had waved them farewell from the Savoy’s river gate, and now they slipped silently, almost secretively, round the great bend in the river which would bring them to Westminster. Several men-at-arms sat in the stern of the barge with the two men who poled it through the choppy river waters. Bolingbroke, Mary, Neville and Margaret sat close to the bow, on wooden benches made comfortable with soft cushions and draperies.
Everyone was tense. Bolingbroke sat with his head steadfastly down, as if fascinated with the planking of the barge. Margaret sat white-faced, her hands clasped tight in her lap, terrified of an encounter with Richard.
Neville glanced at her from time to time, torn between his desperate need to achieve the casket and an almost equally desperate worry about what Richard might do to Margaret.
Would she be safe? With Richard? Hal had said it would not take long to get the casket—not with the aid they had waiting for them in Westminster—and Mary and Margaret would not he placed in danger for long.
For an instant, Bolingbroke raised his head and locked eyes with Neville, then looked away.
We need Mary and Margaret to distract Richard, Neville reasoned with himself, even as he fretted over his concern for Margaret. Why waste time on disquiet? Margaret knows the stakes , . . she knows the risks.
But each time Neville closed his eyes he thought he could see a gigantic spider scurrying across a shadowed chamber, wrapping Margaret in its loathsome legs as it bore her to the floor.
No! Cease such fancifying! Bolingbroke was right. . . they would take hut a few minutes to seize the casket, and Margaret would he in no real danger. All would he well. This afternoon he would have the casket, and the truth would he in his hands. Richard would have a day or two more of life only.
Neville leaned back against the side of the barge, and finally admitted to himself his worry for Margaret. He could no longer deny that she was a good wife to him, and that she was not the whore he’d first thought her. She had far more honor, and far more courage and innate nobility than ever he’d first credited her. Sweet Jesu, let her be safe. Let Margaret not come to harm. Let Margaret not come to harm….
The prayer rattled over and over in Neville’s mind, and, in his present state of anxiety and edginess, it did not occur to him for a moment that this was a strange prayer to be uttering about a woman he had once been so sure he could deny, a woman he had once been so sure he could sacrifice to the angels’ cause.
A woman he was once so sure he could not possibly love.
Mary, although she recognized the tension in the others, did not realize the full extent of the deception of the day. All she knew was that Richard had turned against her husband, who had done no wrong, save that he was more golden and glorious than the king. As Richard would not see Bolingbroke, Mary understood Bolingbroke’s request that she entreat an audience with her sovereign so that she might beg Richard to allow her husband to pledge his steadfast loyalty. It was a shame her husband’s pledge could not be more public, but there would be no public opportunity before the entire Lancastrian household moved to Kenilworth. Private must do, and there would surely be witnesses enough.
Margaret accompanied her in her capacity as her attendant gentlewoman, and Mary was heartily glad she had Margaret’s support.
She had no idea of Margaret’s terror.
WHEN THEY docked at Westminster’s pier, Bolingbroke stepped out, aiding first Mary and then Margaret from the barge. There was no time for speech, hardly time even for thought, but Bolingbroke gave Margaret’s hand a brief squeeze as she stepped from barge to pier: a futile, hopelessly inadequate gesture of support.
She turned her head and would not acknowledge him, and Bolingbroke wondered if she would ever speak to him again.
This is such a pivotal, critical day, he thought, and from it we hope to achieve victory. But is victory worth the pain that will be visited on Margaret?
And then Bolingbroke thought of the torments of hell everlasting that awaited them if this day failed, if his plan to turn Neville’s heart to Margaret did not succeed, and so he hardened his heart and turned away from Margaret.
He did not see Neville send Margaret a look of such anxiety that, had Bolingbroke seen it, would have eased much of his own worry about what this day might bring.
Arundel was waiting for them by the water gate leading into the Westminster complex, and as they approached he spoke quietly to the guards, who raised their pikes and allowed Bolingbroke’s party through.
Bolingbroke raised his eyebrows at Arundel, and the earl nodded.
“We have done all we can. Come, if we delay longer the king will depart for his afternoon’s hunting.”
They walked briskly along a westerly path before turning south along the west wall of the great hall. Most of the old roof had gone, and the hall was now exposed to the elements.
Craftsmen and others scampered over the great ribs of the new roof, working desperately against the inevitable onset of the autumn and winter rains.
No one, save one or two of the men-at-arms, spared the activity a glance.