The Red Rose of Anjou - Plaidy Jean (книги онлайн полные версии бесплатно .TXT) 📗

The monk was now certain that the man he was watching was Henry. He went to Sir John Tempest to whom Waddington Hall belonged. Sir John, with his son-in-law Thomas Talbot, was immediately determined to act. If this monk were indeed the King in disguise, there would be a good reward for his apprehension, moreover it was for the good of the country to have him under surveillance, they assured themselves. He was coming to Waddington Hall that he might converse with the Dean in their dining-hall. They must act promptly. They did not wish to be accused of complicity in any plots to restore Henry to the throne. It was so easy to be caught up in these matters, so easy for innocent men to be called traitors.

So Sir John Tempest with his son-in-law, Thomas Talbot, and Sir James Harrington, who lived at Brierley near Barnsley and was a man who had been to Court, put their heads together. They would take the King while he sat at dinner in Waddington Hall and from there transport him to London, sending messengers on to King Edward and the Earl of Warwick telling them what they had done. They had no doubt that they would be rewarded for their loyalty and prompt action.

Thus while Henry sat at dinner in earnest conversation with the Dean, some of the servants noticed a commotion without. There was one man who had served the King since his escape from Hexham and he had always regarded the King’s safety as being entrusted to him. Alert for danger he scented it immediately and even as the King was eating his frugal meal he was beside him.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘there is no time for anything but escape. We have been betrayed.’

The Dean rose hastily. The King less so. Sometimes he felt. If they will take me, let them!

But the life of late lived in monasteries and holy places had been good. He did not want to give that up for some prison somewhere where these blessings might be denied him.

‘We should leave...just as we are...’ said his faithful servant. ‘Even now we may be too late.’

Rising from the table Henry allowed himself to be almost dragged from the hall. It was dark outside. ‘We must make for the woods,’ Henry was told.

The trees grew thickly in the woods. ‘Perhaps we could wait here until morning,’ said Henry.

His servant shook his head. ‘Nay. They will be after us. You may depend upon that. We must get as far as we can. Perhaps we could make our way to Bolton Hall.’

Bolton Hall was owned by Sir Ralph Pudsey who had already proved himself a loyal servant of the King.

‘Let us do that,’ said Henry.

They had come to the river Ribble across which were stepping stones.

‘We will cross by the Bungerley Stones,’ his servant told him and as Henry attempted to do so there was a shout close by.

‘Here they are,’ cried Thomas Talbot. ‘They did not get far.’

Henry stared with dismay. His enemies were upon him. As they crowded about him he lifted his head and demanded what they wanted of their King.

‘We must take you to King Edward, sir,’ said Talbot. ‘He wants to know where you are.’

‘It is a sorry state of affairs when the anointed King is treated thus by his subjects.’

The men were silent. They felt overawed. But they were determined to present their quarry to King Edward.

###

It was depressing riding south. They did not show him the respect due to their King. He looked back with longing to those days he had spent in seclusion. Oh for the peace of the holy life! Oh for the comfort of prayer!

They had come to Islington and there waiting for him, having been advised of his arrival, was the Earl of Warwick displaying the Ragged Staff and riding like a king so that an observer must have thought their roles reversed. It is he who comes as a king, thought Henry. But then he is a maker and unmaker of kings. He has made Edward as surely as he has unmade me.

‘Well met, my lord,’ said Warwick.

‘Is it so? You see your King in humble fashion.’

‘I rejoice to see you, none the less. But you are King no more. Edward is our King.’

‘My father reigned as a King and so did my grandfather. I was a King in my cradle. Yet you have decided that I am no King.’

‘Edward is our King now. You are his prisoner. You must make ready to go to the Tower.’

‘And you must do with me what you will.’

‘I doubt harm will come to you if you keep your place.’

‘My place, ah! That is the sorry question. I was anointed King and I think I and others in this realm know my place.’

Warwick gave orders that Henry’s legs should be bound under his horse with leather thongs. They put a straw hat on his head and thus he rode into the City of London.

London was for Edward. Edward had brought prosperity to the country; Edward knew how to rule; he had driven the Angevin virago out of the country. So they came out to watch Henry, pale, aloof and unkingly. How different from handsome

Edward, all smiles and bonhomie, throwing his glances up at the pretty women who leaned out of the windows to cheer for him.

Henry rode forward looking ahead as though not caring what they thought of him. They had never hated him as they did his foreign wife. She was the one who had been the cause of all their troubles, but Henry had allowed her to be as she was. Henry was weak; Edward was strong. The Londoners did not have to ponder long to find out where their allegiance lay.

Some were silent; some jeered. They wished him no harm though. Poor Henry.

So he came to his room in the Tower.

Mildly he remonstrated with those who called him impostor.

‘My father was King of this realm,’ he repeated, ‘and peacefully he possessed the crown for the whole of his life. His father, my grandfather was King before him. And I as a boy, crowned almost in his cradle, was accepted as King by the whole realm and wore the crown for nearly forty years, every lord swearing homage to me as they had done to my father.’

His jailors remonstrated with him. He must be quiet. Good Edward was on the throne and was going to stay there.

It was a sad day for Henry when he had been captured. He did not see Edward, Warwick or any of the noblemen; he was left to guards.

There were many of them who thought themselves mighty to have charge of a King and be able to treat him as inferior to themselves.

Sometimes they struck him when he did not answer readily. ‘Speak up, man,’ they would shout; and marvel that they had struck a king, for King he was, though brought low. It was true that he had been anointed and crowned a King. And there they were with him at their mercy.

He rarely protested. When he did it would be to utter mildly: ‘Forsooth and forsooth, you do foully to smite a King anointed thus.’

His very meekness irritated them. If he had attempted to fight back they would have respected him more. But his manner invited their curses and neglect. They did not care what they gave him to eat and brought the remains of their dinners for him. It seemed a great joke to them. They would not bring him changes of clothes; his hair grew long; he was getting very thin and turned away from the scraps they brought him.

It would have been kinder to have taken him out to the Green and chopped off his head, thought some of the guards. But Edward was too clever for that. He was not going to have it said that he murdered the King. He had come to the throne through right of succession and conquest. Not murder. Besides there was a Prince in France and a forceful woman who might at any time raise her head.

No, the King’s blood must not be on his hands. If he died a natural death so much the better. There would be one of them out of the way. But Edward agreed with Warwick, there must be no hint of murder.

So while Margaret waited in St. Michiel for an answer to her prayers, Henry languished in the Tower, dirty, unkempt, insulted, often hungry and thirsty, finding comfort only in prayer.