The Wounded Hawk

“My lord, your very power is enough to make him move,” Sturry said. “Perhaps not this week, or even this year, but once Richard feels he has consolidated his hold …”

Another brief silence, then Neville spoke. “My lords, I agree with Sir Richard that my Lord of Lancaster must beware of Richard’s ire, but I think my Lord of Gloucester in the more immediate danger. As,” he paused very briefly, “my Lord of Bolingbroke.”

There was a murmur of agreement about the room, and heads nodded.

“It would be better if both my brother Gloucester and my son Bolingbroke removed themselves from Richard’s immediate vicinity,” Lancaster said. “Perhaps my entire family should, for a time. Christmastide is approaching, and it will be easy to remove myself and mine to Kenilworth, citing the holy celebrations as cause enough.”

“And while we are all busy saving ourselves,” Mowbray said, “what do we do about de Vere? Well? Richard has made this man powerful beyond belief! Who knows what else he will give him in the next few months. My lords,” Mowbray leaned forward, his hands on his knees, his angry eyes scanning the room, “I have heard rumour the ‘Duke’ of Ireland will not be enough for Richard’s toy. Our king plans to invade Ireland and create de Vere King of Ireland!”

“He wouldn’t dare!” Gloucester said.

“Nay?” Mowbray said softly. “And who among us thought two days ago that de Vere would be greeting Saint Melorius’ Day as Duke of Ireland? Not to mention his other preferments.”

“Richard will move against Lancaster and all his allies,” Neville said. “He must if he wants to establish his own power as king. To do that he needs to build a coterie of powerful men who owe him their livings. De Vere is the first, but we all know there are many other men who will be willing to turn against Lancaster.”

Again, silence, as men nodded their heads. Lancaster was the most powerful man in England, and he had long been resented. Now that the new king had so publicly turned against him, those men who had long nurtured their jealousy would flock to Richard’s cause.

“It may have helped, ‘fair Prince Hal’,” Arundel said to Bolingbroke, “if you had not so successfully whipped up the London mob’s adulation on your wedding day. Lancaster is threat enough to Richard, but you are worse. You stand to inherit all your father’s power … and the common’s adoration as well. You are a threat beyond imagining.”

“My Lord Arundel,” said Bolingbroke, stepping forward so that his face was lit by a nearby torch. “I confess myself surprised to see you here, and to hear you speak such words of concern for me. You are one of Richard’s most trusted councillors. Why have you allowed yourself to stand closeted so deep with some of Richard’s worst enemies?”

Arundel nodded, acknowledging Bolingbroke’s distrust. “Richard is driving England into the ground. His expedition to Catalonia will be more ruinous than you know. Richard has no intentions of confining the expedition’s field of action to Catalonia—he intends to launch a new drive into the heart of France.”

“But that would be madness!” Lancaster said. “We still have to rebuild our strength and resources, and replenish the coffers, after my elder brother’s fateful death.”

“Exactly,” Arundel said, “and Richard has determined the perfect way of raising finances for this folly. When Parliament meets in January, Richard intends to push for a new poll tax to raise the funds and repay the crown’s debts.”

“But the commons cannot afford a new tax,” Bolingbroke said. “Sweet Jesu, they are taxed enough as it is. There will be unrest as we have never seen.” He paused, and Neville knew that both Bolingbroke and Lancaster must be thinking of the still-at-large Wat Tyler and Jack Trueman, both of whom would surely use the bitterness caused by a new tax to create havoc. “Richard will be busy enough contending with war at home just as much as war abroad. And to send Hotspur abroad to lead this expedition … Lord Christ, Richard invites failure!”

And that, thought Neville, was nothing but resentment and jealousy speaking. Bolingbroke does not want Hotspur basking in the glory he will achieve if the expedition is successful.

“My heart is with England,” Arundel said, locking eyes with Bolingbroke, “and Richard will tread England into the dust. God in heaven, potentially he has another fifty years of life ahead of him. Bolingbroke, if you are for England, then I am for you and yours.”

Bolingbroke’s mouth quirked. “I am a wounded hawk, Arundel, fluttering defenceless about the ground. Richard will see to it that my wings be permanently crippled.”

Now Arundel rose to his feet and moved to Bolingbroke.

Stunningly, he dropped to one knee before him. “I am your man, Bolingbroke. Test me with what you will.” He raised his face and stared into Bolingbroke’s. “But be assured that there are men, not only in this room, but across England, who will offer their own lives to ensure that one day you will soar again.”

For Neville, as for every other man present, Arundel’s actions and words drove home the realisation that Lancaster was a finished man. Powerful he might be in terms of lands and wealth and the ability to raise arms, but Bolingbroke was the man who was going to inherit all that wealth and power and the love of men besides.

If the opposition to Richard grew so great that it coalesced about one man, then that one man was Bolingbroke.

It was in that single moment that Neville realised Bolingbroke’s life would follow one of only two paths: one path led to the executioner’s block, the other to the throne of England. It was total annihilation, or total victory.

And every other man in the room knew it, too.

Bolingbroke nodded, accepting Arundel’s words—

He has known this all along, thought Neville.

—and addressed the room.

“Your advice? What do we do now?”

“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 Christmastide,” 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 favour 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 Kenilworth 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 Saviour, 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.

II (#ulink_bdc53f9c-0269-5ff7-96cd-e1518b9d4ab1)

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)