to make plans forthwith to bring Richard‘s ‗poor corpse‘ back from whatever pit you had it
thrown in.‖
Bolingbroke‘s mouth twisted. ―Not before I have had a chance to deal with Exeter—if he
still lives—and our trusty friend the abbot,‖ he said. ―I hope you took good note of who else had
taken Exeter‘s part, Tom.‖
―Aye,‖ Neville said. ―And they were many more than I know you would like to think,
Hal.‖
Then he bent down, and, with Margaret and the other ladies fussing about, gathered Mary
into his arms.
V
Saturday 4th May 1381
—iii—
―Well?‖ said Bolingbroke, turning to face his chief advisers.
They stood in the cool evening light in Bolingbroke‘s private chamber: the king had
allowed no servants in to light either the fire or the lamps.
―Exeter will be dead by dawn,‖ Raby said. He was slumped wearily in a chair, still in the
sweat-stained garments he‘d worn under his armour. His face was drawn, sallow now rather than
swarthy, and a dark bruise ran up one cheek. ―His wound is bad.‖
Bolingbroke grunted. ―And for that you have my thanks indeed. Westminster?‖
―Huddled praying in the chapel,‖ Neville said. ―Surrounded by fifteen men-at-arms and
enclosed by locked doors.‖
―You cannot have him killed,‖ the Earl of Northumberland said. ―He is a churchman.‖
Bolingbroke‘s face left them in no doubt what he thought of all ―churchmen‖. He turned
abruptly, and strode away a few paces. ―Then he shall rue the day he ever thought to raise his
shrill little voice against me,‖ he said. ―He‘s finished.‖
Behind him, Neville, Northumberland, Raby and the other three men
present—Bolingbroke‘s Chancellor, John Scarle, and Sir John Norbury and Lord Owen Tudor,
members of Bolingbroke‘s household—exchanged glances. Bolingbroke‘s mood had been
vicious ever since they returned from the aborted tournament. Armed guards now surrounded
and infiltrated every part of Windsor, and more were stationed in the fields beyond. Bolingbroke
was taking no chances.
And no one blamed him for that. Exeter‘s plan, born of desperation, would have stood a
very good chance of succeeding, had it not been for Mary‘s quiet words…and the respect the
crowd had for her. The cry that Richard still lived, appealing as it did to the English crowd‘s
sense of drama and intrigue, could have rallied the entire ten thousand behind him. Once the
crowd was behind him, shouting his cause, then seeds of doubt would have grown in everyone
else present. Was Richard still alive? Was he planning a return to London?
Exeter had used the very same tactics against Bolingbroke that Bolingbroke had
employed against Richard: the manipulation of dramatic words to turn loyalties. His voice wasn‘t
as sweet, nor his words as seductive, as Bolingbroke‘s had been to Richard‘s army outside Flint
Castle, but still…
No matter that the-very-dead-Richard would never stage a return to London—at least not
alive. All Exeter would have needed to do was manage to place Bolingbroke under armed guard,
and very soon Bolingbroke would have been as dead as Richard, and Exeter‘s faction in control
of England.
―Rutland?‖ Bolingbroke said, still with his back to the group watching him. ―Salisbury?
And every other of the damned Hollands that thought to join with their cousin Exeter?‖
―In prison,‖ Raby said. ―Under guard.‖
Bolingbroke spun about to face them. ―They will hang in the morning.‖
―Sire—‖ Neville said.
―Nay, do not try and dissuade me, Tom,‖ Bolingbroke said. ―I cannot let them live. You
know that. I need to send a message to anyone else—‖ he paused ―—out there who might
harbour the same plans and ambitions as Exeter.‖ No one said a word. All knew to whom he was
referring. Hotspur. ―As for Exeter‘s retainers,‖ Bolingbroke continued, ―and those of the other rebel lords, well…they shall receive pardons as evidence of my true mercy. I will not murder all
of England in spite.‖
Neville shot Bolingbroke an unreadable look, but Bolingbroke chose to ignore it.
―My friends,‖ Bolingbroke continued, ―your advice, if I may. Who else do I need to fear?
Who else should I guard my throne and England‘s stability against?‖
Everyone studiously avoided looking at Northumberland.
―The Dominicans,‖ Neville said. ―There were several within the crowd this afternoon
spreading word that Richard still lives. They were Exeter‘s allies.‖
―So,‖ Bolingbroke said, looking at Neville with some speculation. ―The Dominicans do
not like me, and would like to unseat me. Can you tell me why, Tom?‖
Because you are a demon, Hal, and because they suspect it.
―Many within the Church distrust you,‖ Neville replied, ―especially since you directed
that religious studies receive less emphasis in schools and universities in favour of the new
secular humanism. And your reforms of the calendar…many priests view that as a turning away
from God.‖
Bolingbroke shrugged. He picked up a piece of fruit from a bowl, and bit into it, keeping
his eyes on Neville.
―But you—we—have one bad enemy within the Dominicans. Prior General Richard
Thorseby,‖ Bolingbroke said, spitting out a seed and tossing it into the grate.
―Aye. No one has seen or heard from him since June last year when the rebels torched
Blackfriars. I do not like that.‖
―Well,‖ Bolingbroke said, ―no doubt he will turn up sooner or later, and no doubt with a
renewed plan to see you incarcerated, Tom. But for the moment, I do not think the Dominican
whispers are the worst—‖
―But these whispers that Richard is still alive?‖ Raby said.
―I will return to those in a moment,‖ Bolingbroke said. ―There is one worse potential
traitor in England that I think we all need to discuss. Here. Now.‖
Northumberland slowly rose to his feet. His face was grave, his eyes hard. ―You refer to
my son, sire. Why do you not say it aloud?‖
Bolingbroke faced the earl, his own eyes as flinty as Northumberland‘s. ―He has refused
to swear allegiance to me. He sits in the north with an army of twenty thousand behind him—and
the ability to raise another twenty thousand—that he claims to need against the Scots. He looks
south, and hungers. Combine all those facts, my lord, and I see a very real threat.‖
―He has done nothing wrong!‖ Northumberland said.
―Save refuse to swear me allegiance and collect swords about his person in numbers the
Scots do not warrant!‖ Bolingbroke shouted.
―Sire,‖ Raby said softly, rising to place a cautionary hand on Bolingbroke‘s arm.
Bolingbroke shot Raby a furious look, then turned his gaze back to Northumberland.
―Will you swear me Hotspur‘s allegiance, my lord? Will you swear to me that your son will
remain a good and faithful subject?‖
―Hal!‖ Raby barked. ―That is enough. Northumberland saw you to your throne. Do not
ask this of him now when—‖
―I am not a stable boy for you to so rebuke me,‖ Bolingbroke said, swinging back to
Raby. ―Remember who it is you address.‖
Then he spoke to Northumberland again. ―Your aid has proved invaluable to me,
Northumberland,‖ he said, ―but do you have any idea how quickly my love and support of your
house will fade if your son leads an army south?‖
―Why did I support you against Richard if I thought to then throw my son against you?‖
―Perhaps,‖ Bolingbroke said, his voice very low, his eyes furious, ―you supported me
against Richard so that eventually your son might have an easier path to the throne.‖
―Sire—‖ Northumberland growled, taking a step forwards.
―This has gone far enough,‖ Neville said, and nodded to John Scarle, the Chancellor, who
laid a hand on Northumberland‘s arm, and whispered something in his ear.
―Northumberland cannot swear Hotspur‘s allegiance,‖ Neville said to Bolingbroke. ―He
cannot! Hotspur is a man grown, and must do it himself. Do not visit the son‘s sin of omission on the father who has proved such a valuable ally to you.‖
Bolingbroke stared at Neville, then nodded, the muscles about his face and neck visibly
relaxing. He looked to Northumberland, still standing, still staring furiously.
―My lord, forgive me. This afternoon‘s treachery has proved a great trial, and has made
me snap at those I should trust before all others.‖
Northumberland waited a few heartbeats, then inclined his head, accepting the apology.
Scarle tugged a little at his arm, and Northumberland sighed, and sat down.
Gradually, the other men resumed their seats, and Bolingbroke took a sumptuously
carved chair close by the unlit grate.
―I must bring Richard‘s body back to London,‖ he said. ―Mary was right. The people
must view it.‖
―Is it,‖ Raby said carefully, ―in a state fit to be viewed?‖
Bolingbroke raised his eyebrows, assuming an innocent expression. ―In a state fit to be
viewed, Raby? Whatever do you mean? Richard died of a fever, not a vicious clubbing or a
tearing to bits by dogs. Of course it is fit to be viewed. As fit as any six-month-dead corpse can
be, of course.‖
He sighed. ―No doubt the royal purse shall have to bear the cost of the candles placed