threat. Now that he is stopped…‖
―Aye,‖ Bolingbroke said, finally sinking down into a chair and consenting to take a cup
of warmed wine from his valet. ―If we have to then we can deal with Glyndwr. But I have faith
in Warwick and Suffolk. I have no doubt that Glyndwr is even now scurrying back into the
mountains of Wales.‖
His squire now stepped forward, and tried once more to relieve his master of some of his
armour. But yet again Bolingbroke waved him away, asking him only to see to it that he lit the
fire and set before it a tub of hot water.
―My lords,‖ Bolingbroke said, ―I do find that indeed I need some hours of rest. I excuse
you to your own ablutions and meals.‖
The various men in the room turned to leave, but just as Neville had taken a step towards
the door, Bolingbroke spoke again. ―Tom. Will you stay and serve me? I would speak with you.‖
Neville nodded, helping himself to some warmed wine before sitting down in a chair by
the window and waiting silently as Bolingbroke‘s valet set up the tub of warm water. Then, as
the door closed behind the valet, Neville spoke.
―My lord, how may I serve you?‖
―Aid me to untie some of these buckles to begin with.‖
Bolingbroke was fumbling with the buckles holding his leather armour to his body, and
Neville wearily rose, walked over, and started to tug at straps himself.
Bolingbroke managed a smile. ―I am sorry to ask you to do this, Tom. I know you as
much as anyone need your meal and rest. But I wanted to talk to you…Ah! There! That is done!‖
Neville lifted the massive chest and shoulder armour away from Bolingbroke‘s body,
draping it over a nearby chair, then helped with the buckles about his hips and thighs.
Bolingbroke muttered and cursed, stripping away the armour and tossing it into a corner,
then almost tearing off his filthy, sweat-stained undergarments.
―Sweet Jesu,‖ he muttered as he finally managed to free himself from his last bit of
clothing. ―I thought those linens had melded with my skin.‖
He stretched, bent and touched his toes several times, then gingerly got into the steaming
bath that his valet had put before the now-roaring fire.
―Tom,‖ he said finally, ―bring your wine and that stool and come sit by me awhile as I
soak.‖
―About what do you want to talk?‖ Neville asked, sitting down next to the tub and eyeing
the hot water enviously. He hoped his valet or his squire, Courtenay, were preparing his own tub
in his chamber.
―About friendship,‖ Bolingbroke said. He had stretched out as best he could in the tub,
and now lay with his head on the rim, and the waters lapping at his chest.
His eyes were closed.
―It seems to me,‖ Bolingbroke said softly, ―that in my lifetime I have had two close
friends—not counting my father, Lancaster. You, and Hotspur.‖
Neville watched Bolingbroke reflectively, sipping at his wine. ―Not Margaret? Or Wat?‖
Bolingbroke smiled, his eyes still closed. ―Oh, I loved Wat, and still love Margaret. But
my love for them is only tangentially a friendship. There is something about those few, strong
friendships that are made beyond the bounds of family, Tom, that mark the boundaries of a
man‘s life.‖ He opened his eyes, and looked about. ―Where did that damn valet put the soap?‖
―Here.‖ Neville tossed it to him, and watched for a few moments as Bolingbroke soaped
his chest and underarms. He thought he knew where Bolingbroke wanted this conversation to
go…and while he understood, was not sure that he wanted to go there himself.
―Myself and Hotspur,‖ Neville finally said. ―The friendship between three lonely boys,
the friendship soldered in the heat of our learning to be men and warriors.‖
―Aye. Two deep friendships I made in my life, Tom. Just two, and both lost to me.
Hotspur‘s friendship I lost when the ambitions of both our fathers and ourselves collided. Yours
when you joined the Church.‖
―But I came back.‖
―Oh, aye, you came back to me. And for a sweet short time I thought I had your
friendship back, Tom.‖ Bolingbroke had given up all pretence at washing himself, and now lay
back in the tub again, his head resting on its rim, his watchful eyes resting on Neville. ―But then I lost it again, and it was not your doing that drove us apart, but mine.‖
―Hal, I do not want to talk of this again.‖ Neville‘s voice was very, very tired, and his
empty wine cup sagged between his hands. ―What‘s done is done. I love Margaret still, and…‖
―And?‖
―And, you too, Hal. I cannot deny that.‖ Neville grimaced, and let the cup fall to the
floor. It hit the timbers with a clatter, then rolled away a few paces. Neville watched it until it
had come to a stop, then resumed. ―Hal, I am so sick of both angels and demons. And I am sick
to death of having you watch me day and night and wonder what my decision will be.‖
Abruptly his eyes swivelled back to Bolingbroke. ―Listen to me now, accept what I say,
and then perhaps we can find some measure of friendship within this forest of wariness that has
enveloped it.‖ He paused. ―I will do what I think is best, Hal. Not what is best for you, nor what
is best for the crippled angels in their cold, sterile heaven, but what is best for mankind. I will do what my heart and soul scream at me to do. Can you accept that? And, accepting that, not bother
me with what I might or might not choose? You can do nothing more than what you have
already, Hal. Nothing.‖
Bolingbroke sighed, closing his eyes and sliding back in the tub briefly so that the water
covered his head. He shook his head as he brought it back up, then wiped his eyes with a hand.
―Aye, Tom. I can accept that.‖ He sighed again, and Neville realised that the moisture in his eyes
was not all due to the bath water. ―Would that Hotspur‘s friendship prove so easy to regain.‖
Frowning, Neville leaned forward slightly. ―You would accept Hotspur‘s friendship
again?‖
―If I could persuade him away from his treason, then, aye, I would. Tom, Hotspur‘s
scouts have no doubt informed him that I am now at Shrewsbury. By tomorrow noon at the latest
he will be in the fields just to the north of here. I want to meet with him, talk with him, see if we can‘t settle this in some other manner than bloody warfare.‖
Was this statecraft speaking, Neville thought, or the voice of a man sorrowing at the loss of a friend?
―It is the voice of a man who hopes to use statecraft to win a friend back,‖ Bolingbroke
said softly, not looking at Neville.
Neville stared at him for a long minute. Finally he rose, retrieved his wine cup, and
placed it on a nearby table. Then he put his hand briefly, gently, on Bolingbroke‘s shoulder
before turning and leaving the room.
Once the door closed behind Neville, Bolingbroke rubbed his eyes once more with a
hand, and whispered: ―Oh, sweet Jesu, has any of this been worth what has been lost, and is yet
to be lost?‖
No one answered him.
Perhaps because he was so exhausted, Neville found it difficult to sleep. He tossed and
turned, thinking over what had passed between him and Bolingbroke. In the end, while he finally
drifted off to sleep as faint dawn light stained the muddy grey clouds over Shrewsbury, he
decided that he could find some peace from what they‘d said. Bolingbroke had been Neville‘s
only friend during his youth and early manhood—Hotspur had never been as close to him as
Neville had been to Bolingbroke—and Neville did not think he could afford to lose him
completely.
He did not want to lose him. Bolingbroke had lied to him and manipulated him, and had
abused their friendship in the doing, but that did not prevent Neville from understanding
Bolingbroke‘s reasons.
He was virtually asleep now, and his thoughts became softer, less formed. They had been
so close as boys…weathered so many storms side by side…shared so much
laughter…perhaps…perhaps it would be good to have Hal back as a friend.
For however long it lasted.
VIII
Monday 17th June 1381
Bolingbroke held the single-page letter in his hand, and only Neville, who was close
enough and astute enough, could see that the king‘s hand trembled very slightly.
―He will meet with me,‖ he said. ―In the ploughed field with three oak trees beyond the
town. Alone, save,‖ his eyes lifted, glancing briefly at Neville before settling on his assembled
commanders, ―for Neville. We must both be unarmed.‖
―Sire!‖ Cumberland said. ―This is folly. You cannot ride alone—my apologies, save for