Chapter XXXII: The Reign of Richard II (3)

On the 24th a mandate was issued by the king and his council in Parliament to the earl marshal to bring his prisoner, the Duke of Gloucester from Calais to the bar of the House. Three days after this an answer was returned by the earl marshal that "he could not produce the said duke before the king and his council in that Parliament, for that, being in his custody in the king's prison at Calais, he there died."

The simple unexplanatory abruptness of this announcement is particularly startling. It impresses the mind with the conviction of foul play, and suggests that the king--not daring to bring to further trial a prince so nearly related to the Crown, and so highly esteemed by the people, and yet resolved not to let him escape--had procured his assassination. Apoplexy and other things were talked of, but there could be but one opinion of his end--murder. How this was effected has never been discovered. When Henry Bolingbroke had usurped Richard's throne, and it was his particular interest to prove Richard a murderer of their common uncle, one John Hall, a servant of the Earl of Nottingham, was brought forward, who swore that to his knowledge the duke was taken from the prison to an inn, called the Prince's Inn, and there smothered between two beds by a servant of the king and another of the Earl of Rutland. Though eight persons were named in the paper as being concerned in the transaction, none of these were ever examined, nor was Hall brought before any judge; but, having made this confession, he was at once beheaded. It appears sufficiently clear, therefore, that this was an invention of Bolingbroke's to blacken the character of Richard. Froissart says he was strangled in prison by four people with towels; but the mode matters little: the fact of Gloucester's murder cannot admit of a doubt, and whatever it was, the Parliament appears not to have troubled itself about it. They declared, both Lords and Commons, that he was a traitor, and confiscated all his property to the Crown. The rest of the nobles and prelates named in the indictment were then conditionally pardoned, except those who took up arms against the king in his eleventh year, including Lord Cobham, who was banished to Jersey for life, and Mortimer, who had fled into the wilds of Ireland, and was outlawed.

What is extraordinary is, that several of the very peers who were engaged in these transactions, now declared treasonable, sat in judgment on their more unlucky accomplices. The Duke of York, the Bishop of Winchester, and Sir Richard Scrope, had been members of Gloucester's commission of regency; and Derby and Nottingham were two of the five who appealed to the favourites of treason. Some of these were not only winked at, but even promoted when the trial was over. Richard, indeed, in Parliament, fully exculpated them, asserting that, though for a time deceived by the pretences of Gloucester, they had abandoned his cause like good and loyal subjects. He then created his cousins, Derby and Rutland, Dukes of Hereford and Albemarle; his two half-brothers, the Earls of Kent and Huntingdon, Dukes of Surrey and Exeter; the Earl of Nottingham, Duke of Norfolk; the Earl of Somerset, Marquis of Dorset; the Lords Despenser, Nevil, Percy, and William Scrope, Earls of Gloucester, Westmoreland, Worcester, and Wiltshire.

On the last day of the session of this servile Parliament the peers took an oath that all the judgments passed in this Parliament should have the full force of statutes for ever; that any one attempting to reverse them should be held to be a traitor; and that the clergy should excommunicate him. The Commons held out their hands in acquiescence with this oath, and Lord Thomas Percy, the proxy of the clergy, swore on their behalf. The Parliament was then prorogued till after the Christmas holidays, when it met at Gloucester.

Perhaps no period of our history exhibits a monarch more reckless of the restraints of the constitution than Richard at this epoch; nor a Parliament more servilely disposed to grovel at his feet, and surrender every valuable right. Before closing its sessions, the Commons not only granted him most liberal supplies, but a tax on wool, wool-fells, and hides, not for the year as previously, but for _life_, thus rendering him, to a great degree, independent of Parliament; and Richard, again, to provide against any repeal of this munificent grant, published a general pardon, which, however, was to become void the moment any future Parliament attempted to repeal this act.

But this vile Parliament went still further in surrendering the birthrights of the people. It had been customary to appoint a committee of the peers and judges formerly, to remain after the business of the session was completed, to hear and determine on such petitions as had not been already answered. Advantage was now taken to seize on this form of a committee to supersede the general functions of Parliament; and twelve peers and six commoners, not judges or justices, were not only invested with the powers of the ancient committees, but also to "hear, examine, and determine all matters and subjects which had been moved in the presence of the king, with all the dependencies thereof." One half only of these were required to attend, so that to nine people were transferred all the powers and authority of Parliament!

The immediate object of this stretch of parliamentary and, under its guise, of kingly power, was to execute the designs of the monarch which led to his ruin. Richard was of that light and sensitive character, and had been early so imbued with the idea of the divinity that "doth hedge a king," that he was easily led on to the most arbitrary conduct. In the late proceedings against Gloucester and his adherents he had broken unceremoniously through all the restraints of the constitution, and the obsequiousness of Parliament induced him now to imagine that he had placed himself above all law. Parliament had granted him supplies for life, and with the aid of the committee to which Parliament had so tamely resigned its prerogative, "all persons well affected to the king," he could, he imagined, do just as he pleased; and he lost no time in putting this to the proof. He had destroyed Gloucester; he resolved to cut off or remove other overgrown relatives and nobles.

The lively and strong memory which Richard had always shown of past injuries, but never more so than during the late trials, struck terror into the hearts of many who were conscious that they had offended. Amongst these was the Duke of Norfolk. At present he stood apparently high amongst Richard's friends; but he was well aware how slippery was that position, and he was conscious that his reluctance to carry out the bloody proscription against Gloucester would be treasured up in the king's never-failing remembrance for the first tempting occasion. Of the original lords appellant he only and the Duke of Hereford now remained.

Norfolk happening to overtake Hereford, on the road between Brentford and London, the following conversation took place, according to Hereford's statement of it as it still remains on the rolls of Parliament:--

_Norfolk._ We are on the point of being undone.

_Hereford._ Why so?

_Norfolk._ On account of the affair at Radcot Bridge.

_Hereford._ How can that be, since the king has granted us pardon,
and has declared in Parliament that we behaved as good and loyal
subjects?

_Norfolk._ Nevertheless, our fate will be like that of others
before us. He will annul that record.

_Hereford._ It will be marvellous, indeed, if the king, after
having said so before the people, should cause it to be annulled.

_Norfolk._ It is a marvellous and false world that we live in;
for I know well that, had it not been for some persons, my lord
your father of Lancaster and yourself would have been taken
or killed, when you went to Windsor after the Parliament. The
Dukes of Albemarle and Exeter, and the Earl of Worcester and
I, have pledged ourselves never to assent to the undoing of
any lord without just and reasonable cause. But this malicious
project belongs to the Duke of Surrey, the Earls of Wiltshire and
Salisbury, drawing to themselves the Earl of Gloucester. They
have sworn to undo six lords, the Dukes of Lancaster, Hereford,
Albemarle, and Exeter, the Marquess of Dorset and myself; and have
power to reverse the attainder of Thomas Earl of Lancaster, which
would turn to the derision of us and many others.

_Hereford._ God forbid! It will be a wonder if the king should
assent to such designs. He appears to make me good cheer, and has
promised to be my good lord. Indeed, he has sworn by St. Edward to
be a good lord to me and others.

_Norfolk._ So he has often sworn to me by God's body, but I do not
trust him the more for that. He is attempting to draw the Earl of
March into the scheme of the four lords to destroy the others.

_Hereford._ If that be the case, we can never trust them.

_Norfolk._ Certainly not. Though they may not accomplish their
purpose now, they will contrive to destroy us in our houses ten
years hence.

Hereford must have taken the earliest opportunity to communicate this confidential conversation to the king. It showed him that the king was carefully watching those who had formerly appeared as his enemies. He was in haste, therefore, to secure himself by the sacrifice of the friend who had thus put him on his guard. Whatever were the steps he took for this end, he received a summons to attend the king at Haywood, where he was made to pledge himself on his allegiance to lay the whole of the preceding conversation before the council. Hereford took care not to leave the king without obtaining a full pardon for himself, under the Great Seal, for all the treasons, misprisions, and offences that he had ever committed.

Accordingly he appeared in full Parliament, and laid this statement before them; but it contained so much which would naturally incense the king, that he went to Richard the next day, and, throwing himself on his knees before him, once more craved his pardon, declaring that, when he took part formerly in measures against the king, he did not know that he was doing wrong, but that now he knew it, and implored forgiveness for it. All this anxiety showed that he was conscious of having entered into the very conspiracies which he was now endeavouring to throw off upon others.

Richard, with his usual smooth duplicity, once more assured him before the whole Parliament of his entire pardon, and promised him great favour. But Richard had, no doubt, already made up his mind as to what he would do. He had here strong hold on his turbulent and disaffected nobles, and he never let such advantages escape him. The great object, therefore, of obtaining a committee of men devoted to him, in whom were concentrated all the powers of Parliament, was to deal with these two nobles, who were dangerous to the solidity of his throne.

To this convenient committee, this sort of pocket Parliament, Richard referred the decision of the cause between them. Norfolk, aware of danger, had not appeared in his place in Parliament; but he was summoned by proclamation, and, on surrender, was brought before Richard at Oswaldster. There he boldly declared his innocence, and denounced the whole of Hereford's story as false, "the lies of a false traitor."

Richard had them now in his power, and ordered them both into custody. He proceeded to Bristol, where his little pocket Parliament went on exercising all the functions and authority of the real Parliament; and Richard caused them to enact that their statutes were of equal authority with those of a full Parliament, and should take the same effect; that all prelates before taking possession of their sees, all tenants of the Crown before receiving possession of their lands, should take an oath to observe the enactments of this junto as perfectly as those of Parliament itself, and that any person attempting to alter or revoke them should be guilty of treason. No more absolute independence of Parliament was ever assumed in this country. The violations of the constitution for which Charles I. afterwards lost his head were not more outrageous than these.

The controversy between Hereford and Norfolk, it was decreed by this committee, should be referred to a high court of chivalry, which was appointed to take place at Windsor on the 29th of April. As Hereford here persisted in the charge, and Norfolk as stoutly denied it, and as no witnesses could be brought, the court determined that the decision of the question should be made by wager of battle, which was to take place at Coventry on the 16th of September.

There, at the moment that the two antagonists were on the point of running a tilt at each other, the king threw down his warder, and the earl marshal stayed the combat. The king then pronounced sentence of banishment upon them both, which, he informed them, was the judgment of the council. Hereford was exiled for ten years, Norfolk for life. It is clear, from the greater severity of the sentence of Norfolk, that the charges of Hereford had told against him. He was pronounced guilty of having, on his own confession, endeavoured to excite dissensions amongst the great lords, and of having secretly opposed the repeal of the acts of Gloucester's Parliament. Richard took precautions to prevent the malcontents associating abroad so as to plot treason. The Duke of Norfolk was commanded to go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and after that to reside only in Germany, Hungary, or Bohemia; and neither of the dukes was to hold any communication with the banished Archbishop of Canterbury at any time during their exile.

Hereford, a man of consummate command of his temper, cool, calculating, and as unprincipled as he was ambitious, appeared to submit to this extraordinary, and, by all, unexpected, sentence, with so much humility that he obtained from Richard various benefits which a more openly indignant man would have lost. In the first place, the king, touched by his submission, promised to shorten the term of his exile five years. He acceded to Hereford's request that letters patent should be granted to both the banished lords to appoint attorneys to take possession of any inheritances which might fall to them during their absence, though they could not be there to perform homage or swear fealty. This request has been pronounced by some historians a mysterious one; but there is no mystery about it. John of Gaunt, Hereford's father, was now old and infirm, and not likely to live long. He had so lost all that high and swelling spirit which distinguished him through a long life, that he had consented to sign the royal acts against his own family--that for the attainder of his brother Gloucester, and now for the banishment of his own son. If he died while his son was abroad under sentence of banishment, all his vast estates would pass to the Crown in default of the performance of the necessary feudal conditions of tenure. Hereford, aware of this, endeavoured to guard against it by this royal engagement, and, probably, that his design might not be too obvious, was a party to the extension of the favour to his opponent. We shall presently see that Hereford's precaution did not prevent Richard seizing on Lancaster's estates, as that sagacious nobleman feared; but it gave Hereford a grand plea for his return to vindicate his usurped rights.

The two banished dukes took their departure. Richard, to soften still more the mind of Hereford, sent to him at Calais a present of 1,000 marks. The unfortunate Norfolk, after his pilgrimage, returned, and died of a broken heart at Venice. And we may here notice what became of the exiled Archbishop of Canterbury. After residing some time in France, the Pope appointed him to the see of St. Andrews in Scotland. This step was taken at the request of Richard, who flattered himself that he had thus rendered a troublesome adversary harmless.

Richard now imagined that he had reached the summit of uncontrollable power. With his taxes secured for life, instead of being compelled every year to come to Parliament to solicit their renewal, and to be called to account by the Commons for their expenditure; with his obsequious little pocket Parliament and council ready to decree any measure that he willed, however unjust and unconstitutional; and with a standing body of 10,000 archers, maintained out of those foolishly-conceded life-long supplies, Richard was, in fact, an absolute monarch. Froissart says, no man, however great, dared speak against anything that he did. He had lopped off or driven away the most powerful of his nobles and kinsmen; and he now raised money by forced loans. He compelled the judges to expound the law at his pleasure. He forced the unhappy adherents of Gloucester to purchase and re-purchase charters of pardon; and, to obtain plenty of fines and amercements, he at one stroke outlawed seventeen counties, on the charge of having favoured his enemies at the battle of Radcot Bridge. He could accuse both sides at pleasure of being his enemies; for, while he had secretly commissioned the Duke of Ireland to take up arms, Gloucester and Hereford were ostensibly maintaining the royal cause.

The money thus extorted from his groaning subjects was spent with reckless extravagance. We have already spoken of the prodigal licence and swarming numbers of his court. That of Edward III. had been esteemed very magnificent, but this of Richard far eclipsed it; and the chroniclers describe with wonder the gorgeous furniture and equipages, the feasts and pageants of this court, which had not the martial glory to make it tolerable to the people which Edward's had. It is said that the number of tailors, cloth merchants, cooks, jewellers, and retainers in costly liveries, was something inconceivable.

But, like that of many another thoughtless king, Richard's grandeur was hollow and delusive. It had no basis in the affections of any class of the community. The friends of Gloucester and Hereford, and the other nobles who were banished, were full of violent discontent, and secretly diffused it on every side. The people saw with indignation their hard-earned money wasted on the worst of creatures. Richard had made them his enemies at the very commencement of his reign by his perfidious conduct to them in the Wat Tyler insurrection, and by the cruelty with which he pursued them afterwards. As Shakespeare makes the nobles say:--

_Ross._ The commons hath he pilled with grievous taxes,
And quite lost their hearts; the nobles hath he fined
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
_Willoughby._ And daily new exactions are devised;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
But what, o' God's name, doth become of this?
_Northumberland._ Wars have not wasted it, for warred he hath not,
But basely yielded upon compromise
That which his ancestors achieved with blows.
More hath he spent in peace than they in wars.

There wanted but a match to explode the mine, already laid by his folly and want of real regard to his people, under Richard's feet, and this came in the death of the aged John of Gaunt. He died about three months after the banishment of his son; an event which no doubt hastened his end.

Now was seen the wisdom of Hereford's act in procuring the letters patent for the securing of his inheritance, for the arbitrary rapacity of Richard at once revealed itself, and he declared that Hereford's banishment was tantamount to outlawry, which implied forfeiture of estate; and this dishonest and impolitic judgment a great council which he assembled, including his committee of Parliament, confirmed. It declared the patents granted both to Hereford and Norfolk were utterly illegal and void. Neither Richard nor his council hesitated, when it pleased them, to stultify and declare unlawful their own most solemn acts. In fact, all faith was banished, and government was a farce, to be followed by a tragedy.

Richard seized on the vast estates of the banished Hereford, now Duke of Lancaster, and when Henry Bowet, the duke's attorney, resisted this iniquitous proceeding, he also was arrested and condemned to death as a traitor, but let off with banishment. This most lawless deed appeared to put the climax to the national endurance. The people murmured, the nobles assumed a sullen and brooding aspect, and the whole nation was ripe for revolt.

Henry of Lancaster was not a man to let slip the favourable opportunity. He had always shown outward deference to the people; he waited and watched every movement from Paris, where he resided, and where he had been on the point of strengthening his position by marrying the daughter of the Duke of Berri, when Richard, in alarm, sent over an embassy and defeated it.

Yet at this crisis, when Hereford, newly become Lancaster, was maddened by the seizure of all his demesnes and honours, did Richard venture to leave his kingdom, where he had not one real friend. His cousin and heir, the Earl of March, had been surprised and killed in a skirmish with the Irish. Richard, with his quick, resentful feelings, in his eagerness to revenge his loss, determined at once to go to Ireland. He appointed the Duke of York, his uncle, regent in his absence, attended mass at Windsor, and at the door of the church took wine and spices with his young queen, whom he repeatedly took up in his arms and kissed like a child, as she still was, being only about twelve years of age, saying, "Adieu, madam, adieu, till we meet again."

From Windsor, Richard, accompanied by several noblemen, marched to Bristol, where those circumstances were pressed on his attention which would have made any prudent monarch return with all speed to his capital. Reports of plots and discontents reached him from various quarters. The Londoners, who had always shown the most decided liking for the present Duke of Lancaster, on hearing of Richard's voyage for Ireland, said amongst themselves, "Now goes Richard of Bordeaux to his destruction, as sure as did Edward II., his great-grandfather. Like him, he has listened so long to evil counsellors, that it can be neither concealed nor endured any longer."

There were numbers of officers in his army who were as disaffected, and amongst these were the Lord Percy and his son. The king summoned these noblemen to his presence, but they got away into Scotland, and put themselves under the protection of King Robert. The condition of England at this moment was very miserable. There were general murmurings and divisions in the community. Robbers and robberies abounded, justice was perverted, and the people said it was time there was some remedy. The bishops and nobles got into London for safety, and those who had lost their relatives by the king's exactions rejoiced in the trouble, and wished to see it grow. In their eyes the Duke of Gloucester had been a great and plain-spoken patriot, to whom the king would not listen, and who had lost his life through his honest representations of the condition of the country.

FROM THE WALL PAINTING BY HENRIETTA RAE (MRS. NORMAND) IN THE ROYAL EXCHANGE.]

Under such circumstances Richard set sail at Milford Haven, and in two days, on May 31st, 1399, landed at Waterford. There he lost three weeks in waiting for the Duke of Albemarle, who was to have followed him with another force, but who is supposed to have been influenced by the prevailing disaffection. At length Richard marched on towards Kilkenny, and many of the lesser chieftains came humbly, with halters round their necks, suing for pardon. Not so the great chieftain McMurrough. He came to a parley with Scrope, the Earl of Gloucester, mounted on a magnificent grey charger, which had cost him 400 head of cattle, and brandishing a huge spear in his hand. He expressed his willingness to become a nominal vassal of the Crown, but would be free of all compulsion or conditions. Richard refused to treat with so independent an individual, but set a price on his head, and proceeded to Dublin, where he was at length joined by Albemarle, and he then again gave chase to the wild Irish chief. But in the midst of this pursuit he was suddenly arrested by news from England, which reduced all other considerations to nothing.

Lancaster had landed at Ravenspur, in Yorkshire, and was rapidly collecting an army and marching towards London. While the duke was brooding at Paris over the fresh indignity put upon him by Richard, who had sent the Earl of Salisbury to break off the match with Marie, Countess of Eu, daughter of the Duke of Berri, the exiled Archbishop of Canterbury arrived, bringing him the news of Richard's departure for Ireland, and the desire of the people of London for his arrival. To elude the vigilance of the French court, he obtained permission to visit the Duke of Brittany, and he speedily set sail from Vannes for England. Three small vessels carried the whole of his invading army--namely, the archbishop, the son of the late Earl of Arundel, fifteen lancers, and a few servants. But he had full reliance on the spirit which then animated all England. He was quickly joined by the Earls of Westmoreland and Northumberland, to whom he declared, in the White Friars at Doncaster, that he came only to reclaim the honours and estates of his father, which were secured to him by the king himself by his letters patent, and he swore to make no claim upon the crown.

His uncle, the Duke of York, as regent of the kingdom in the royal absence, advanced to St. Albans ostensibly to oppose his progress; but it could not be supposed that he was very hearty in the cause, after having seen one brother murdered by the king, and the only son of the other, the great John of Gaunt, expelled and thwarted by him. The favourites of the king, the Earl of Wiltshire, Bussy, and Green, who were not only members of the infamous council, but had been farmers and exactors of the oppressive taxes, showed a prudent doubt of any sure protection from such a champion as York. They had been appointed to wait on the young queen at Wallingford, but they took flight, leaving her to fate, and fled to Bristol, in expectation of meeting the king. York very soon took the same direction, no doubt in the desire to resign, as soon as possible, his responsibility into the hands of the king, for he felt that there was no reliance on his army.

Thus he left the way open to the capital, and Lancaster advanced along it with equal rapidity and success. On all the estates belonging to his family he was received with rapture, and the people of London came out to meet him, headed by the clergy, with addresses of congratulation and offers of assistance. But he did not make much delay in the metropolis: all was evidently his own there. He therefore made a rapid march after his uncle, to prevent his union with the king's forces, should he arrive, and he came up with him at Berkeley. After a friendly message from Lancaster, York met him in the castle church, and the result of their conference was that York joined his forces to those of Lancaster. Probably he might believe that Lancaster sought only his just demand of the enjoyment of his hereditary estates, which York had already avowed that he would aid him in. But from that moment the cause of Richard was betrayed, and his doom was sealed. York, on his authority as the king's lieutenant, ordered Sir Peter Courtenay, the governor of Bristol Castle, to open its gates; Sir Peter, protesting that he knew no authority but the king's, yet submitted to the commands of York as regent. The next morning, the three late members of the council and farmers of the taxes, the Earl of Wiltshire, Bussy, and Green, were brought out and executed without any trial. The people had clamoured loudly for their blood, and were delighted at their deaths. The Duke of York took up his quarters at Bristol, and Lancaster, who must have had full confidence in the adhesion of his uncle, went on to Chester, where the people were most favourable to the king, in order to secure the city.

Meanwhile Richard, having received this astounding news, prepared to pass over with his army. From this resolution the Duke of Albemarle, who played constantly into the hands of the queen's enemies, used every endeavour to persuade him. At length it was determined that the Earl of Salisbury should sail with his own retainers, only 100 men, and endeavour to raise the inhabitants of Wales, Richard promising to follow in a week.

Salisbury was successful. The men of both Wales and Cheshire flocked to the king's standard, and the earl looked impatiently for the king's arrival. But no Richard appeared; and it was not till nearly three weeks from Salisbury's setting out that Richard came, with the Dukes of Albemarle, Exeter, and Surrey, the Earl of Worcester, the Bishops of London, Lincoln, and Carlisle--plenty of noblemen but hardly any soldiers.

Scarcely had they landed, when the most general disaffection showed itself. The news of the Duke of York having joined Lancaster was fatal; and Richard, looking out of his window on the second morning after his arrival at Milford Haven, saw that his army had vanished. A council was instantly held in the greatest consternation. Some counselled the king to retire to his French provinces; but his evil genius, the Duke of Exeter, the quondam murderer, John Holland, strongly urged him to hasten on to Conway, where the Earl of Salisbury lay. If they could not make a stand there, they could still put out to sea for Guienne. This advice prevailed; but such was the confused state of the royal councils that, instead of advancing there in a small but compact body, the king, disguised as a Franciscan friar, stole out of the camp at midnight, and, accompanied by his two half-brothers, Exeter and Surrey, the Earl of Gloucester, the Bishop of Carlisle, and a few other attendants, made their way towards Conway. As soon as their departure was known, the military chest was plundered, and Albemarle, Worcester, and most of the leaders, hastened to Lancaster, the rest dispersing to their own counties as best they might, insulted and robbed on their way by the Welsh.

Still more overwhelming news met the fugitive king on reaching Conway. Instead of a fine army, there lay Salisbury with only 100 men, and destitute of all provisions. While Richard had delayed his coming, adverse influences had been brought to bear on Salisbury's host; disheartening rumours were circulated amongst the troops, and, in spite of Salisbury's tears and entreaties, they rapidly dispersed.

In this deplorable situation the mind of the king seems to have lost all its wonted courage. He sent his two half-brothers, the Dukes of Surrey and Exeter, to his haughty rival to ask what were his intentions. They could very easily be divined. Richard was wholly in his power, and it was not in the nature of Lancaster to let pass so tempting an opportunity of seizing a crown. While the two emissaries went on their mission, the king and Salisbury examined the castles of Beaumaris and Carnarvon, but, finding only bare walls, they returned dejected to Conway. Meantime Surrey and Exeter were admitted to the presence of Lancaster at Chester, who at once detained them as prisoners. Here was already the traitor Albemarle, who was so gay that he could afford to taunt the fallen kinsmen of the king.

Lancaster having carefully informed himself of the retreat of the king, and that he had a considerable treasure deposited in the strong castle of Holt, immediately despatched a body of troops to capture the money, and another of 400 men-at-arms and 1,000 archers, under the Duke of Northumberland, to secure the king. Northumberland marched into Flint, and thence to Rhuddlan Castle, and about five miles beyond the latter place left his detachment concealed behind a rock. He then rode forward with only four attendants to Conway, where he was readily admitted to the presence of the king, who was in the highest anxiety regarding his brothers and the fate of their mission. The duke replied that his brothers were quite well at Chester, and that he was himself despatched with a letter to his Grace by the Duke of Exeter. In the letter Exeter was instructed to say that Richard might put full confidence in the offers made by Northumberland. These were that the said dukes, Exeter and Surrey, the Earl of Salisbury, the Bishop of Carlisle, and Maudelin, the king's chaplain, should take their trials for having advised the murder of Gloucester; that Lancaster should be made justiciary of the kingdom, as his ancestors had been before him; and, these terms being conceded, the duke would wait on the king at Flint, to implore pardon, and accompany him to London.

Richard, after consulting his friends, consented to the terms, but secretly assured his adherents implicated that he would stand by them steadfastly on their trial, and would take the first opportunity to be avenged on his and their enemies; saying he would flay some of them alive if he could, and that all the gold on earth should not induce him to spare them. He insisted on Northumberland swearing on behalf of Lancaster to the strict observance of the articles, and, "like Judas," says the writer of the account, in the _Archæologia_, which we are following, "he perjured himself on the body of our Lord"--that is he swore on the host.

Northumberland set out, Richard reminding him of his oath, and telling him he relied upon him. He soon followed with a small company of friends and servants. On coming to a turn of the road, Richard exclaimed, "God of Paradise, assist me! I am betrayed! Do you not see pennons and banners in the valley?" Northumberland with eleven others just then came up, and pretended to be ignorant of any armed force near. "Earl of Northumberland!" said Richard, "if I thought you capable of betraying me, it is not too late to return!"

"You cannot return," said Northumberland, seizing Richard's bridle; "I have promised to conduct you to the Duke of Lancaster." A body of lancers and archers came hastening up, and Richard, seeing all hope of escape gone by, exclaimed, "May the God on whom you laid your hand reward you and your accomplices at the last day!"

They reached Flint Castle that evening, where Richard, when left alone with his friends, vented the bitterness of his regret that he had repeatedly spared Lancaster, when he so carefully destroyed other and far less dangerous men. "Fool that I was!" he exclaimed; "thrice did I save the life of this Henry of Lancaster. Once my dear uncle, his father, on whom the Lord have mercy, would have put him to death for his treason and villainy. God of Paradise! I rode all night to save him, and his father delivered him to me to do with him as I pleased. How true is the saying that we have no greater enemy than the man whom we have preserved from the gallows! Another time he drew his sword on me, in the chamber of the queen, on whom God have mercy! He was also the accomplice of the Duke of Gloucester and the Earl of Arundel; he consented to my murder, to that of his father, and of all my council. By St. John, I forgave him all; nor would I believe his father, who more than once pronounced him deserving of death."

The next morning the fallen king, after a sleepless night, ascended the tower of the castle, and looked out anxiously for the approach of Lancaster, who had agreed to meet him there; and anon he saw him coming at the head of 80,000 men. This vast army came winding along the strand to the castle, which it surrounded, and Richard beheld himself a captive in the midst of his own subjects. At this sight, and the reflections it occasioned, the once arbitrary monarch shuddered, and bewailed his fate. He cursed Northumberland in impotent rage, but was soon called to meet Archbishop Arundel, himself a rebel returned, without asking leave, from banishment, the traitor Duke of Albemarle, and the Earl of Worcester. They knelt in pretended homage, and Richard held a long conversation with Arundel. When they were gone, Richard again ascended to the tower, gazed on the great host of his revolted subjects, and feeling a dire foreboding of his fate, said, "Good Lord God! I commend myself into Thy holy keeping, and cry Thee mercy that Thou wouldst pardon all my sins. If they put me to death, I will take it patiently, as Thou didst for us all."

At dinner there were only his few remaining adherents, and since they were all companions in misfortune, Richard would insist on their sitting down with him. While at their meal persons unknown came into the hall, and insulted and menaced him; and no sooner did he rise than he was summoned into the court to meet Lancaster.

The duke advanced to the king, clad in complete armour, but without helmet, and, bending his knee, did obeisance with his cap in his hand. "Fair cousin of Lancaster," said Richard, uncovering, "you are right welcome." "My lord," replied Lancaster, "I am come somewhat before my time, but I will show you the reason. Your people complain that for the space of twenty or two-and-twenty years you have ruled them rigorously; but, if it please God, I will help you to rule them better." The humbled monarch replied, "Fair cousin, since it pleaseth you, it pleaseth us well."

The king's horses were ordered, and they set forward at once for Chester, amid a flourish of trumpets, Richard and the Earl of Salisbury riding on tired and wretched animals. The duke came behind. At Chester, after issuing writs in the king's name for a meeting of Parliament, Lancaster dismissed a great part of his army, and set out for London. At Lichfield Richard slipped unperceived out of his window, but was retaken in the court, and was ever afterwards strictly guarded. On arriving at London, Richard was sent to Westminster, and thence to the Tower, while the hypocritical Lancaster went in solemn state to St. Paul's, and pretended to weep awhile at the tomb of his father, while in his heart he was congratulating himself on his successful treason. We have two conflicting statements of the manner of Richard's entrance into London. Froissart says that he was conducted secretly to the Tower for fear of the Londoners, who had a great hatred of him; but other accounts accord with that of Shakespeare, copied, no doubt, from the chronicles, which make Lancaster conduct him thither in triumph.

Parliament met on the 29th of September to consider of the course to be adopted: in other words, to carry out the will of Lancaster, and depose Richard. It was clear that Richard had entirely lost the affections of the people. They would never again receive him. His utter want of regard for them; his continual exactions to waste their means on unworthy favourites; the contempt he had all along expressed for the people, and his severe treatment of them; his breach of all his oaths as a king; his attempts to make himself absolute, and to rule by a junto, had made him disliked and despised through the whole realm, but especially in the metropolis. It is equally true that Lancaster was their favourite, and that they would willingly accept him as king; and had he been content to accept the crown as the popular gift, he would have had the highest possible title to it, far beyond any hereditary plea. But Lancaster disdained that only valid ground of right, and determined to claim it by descent. Than this there could be nothing more palpably untenable, for the Earl of March, the grandson of Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the third son of Edward III., was the true heir.

As soon as Lancaster allowed it to be known that he did not really content himself with being the reformer of the State, but aspired to the crown, some of his chief supporters fell away; and amongst them the Earl of Northumberland, who had been made to assure Richard of his just treatment. This was a main reason for Lancaster dismissing a large part of his army at Chester, including the followers of Northumberland.

The remaining transactions of this reign come to us chiefly through the rolls of Parliament, penned under the direct influence of Lancaster, and, therefore, are probably coloured as much as possible to favour his own views, and cover his notorious usurpation. A deputation of prelates, barons, knights, and lawyers waited on Richard in the Tower, and received from him his resignation, which he was then said to have promised at Conway, but which we know was not the fact. He was also in that document, signed by him and presented by the deputies to Parliament, made to name, by his own preference, Lancaster as his successor. Of course, all this he was obliged to say.

The next day this act of resignation was read in full Parliament, and there unanimously accepted, and received by the people with shouts of applause. If Richard had thus voluntarily abdicated, there could be no necessity for what immediately followed--a series of thirty-three articles of impeachment in order to his deposition. The chief charges contained in these were his violation of his coronation oath, his murder of the Duke of Gloucester, and his despotic and unconstitutional conduct. Of course, there was no opposition; but Merks, the Bishop of Carlisle, who had remained faithful to Richard, and continued with him to the last, stood boldly forward, claimed for him the right to be confronted with his accusers, and urged that Parliament should have the opportunity of judging whether his resignation were voluntary or not. Nothing could be more reasonable, but nothing more inconvenient where all was settled beforehand to one end; and the only answer which the high-minded prelate received was his immediate arrest by Lancaster, and consignment to the Abbey of St. Albans.

Richard was then formally deposed, with an acrimony of accusation which, to say the least, if his resignation had been, as asserted, voluntary in favour of Lancaster, was as ungracious as it was uncalled for. The chief justice, Sir William Thirning, was deputed to notify this decision of Parliament to the captive.

Lancaster, who had taken his seat during these proceedings near the throne, then rising, and crossing himself on the forehead and breast, pronounced the following words:--"In the name of Fadher, Son, and Holy Ghost, I, Henry of Lancaster, challenge this rewme of Ynglonde and the crowne, with all the members and appurtenances, als I that am descendit be ryght lyne of the blode, cumyng fra the gude lord King Henry Thirde, and throghe that ryght that God of His grace has sent me, with help of my kyn and of my frendes to recover it; the whiche rewme was in poynt to be ondone for defaut of governance, and undoying of the gude lawes."

This speech was one of those which have a sound of reason to the ear, but will not bear a moment's examination. True, he was descended from Henry III., like Edward III. and Richard, but not in the true line--that being, as we have stated, the line of Lionel, and Henry being now not only the usurper of Richard's throne, but of the Earl of March's reversion.

But the pretence was enough, and more than enough, for all who heard it. They knew it was empty sound, and the real reasons for assent lay in Lancaster's will, backed by a powerful army and a willing people.

Henry, as proof of Richard's having resigned his rights into his hands, produced the ring and seal. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Arundel, his late fellow-exile, now took him by the hand, and led him to the throne. He knelt for a short time on the steps in prayer, or affected prayer; for Lancaster, amid all his grasping at his neighbour's goods, was especially careful to do outward homage to the great Being who had said, "Thou shalt not covet." On rising, the two archbishops placed him on the throne; and, as soon as the acclamations ceased, the primate made a short sermon, choosing his text, with the finished tact of a priestly courtier, from 1 Samuel ix. 17:--"Behold the man whom I spake to thee of! this same shall reign over my people;" and the sermon was worthy of the text.

Thus ended the reign of Richard II.; and, as with it ended also the authority of Parliament and the ministers of the Crown, Lancaster immediately summoned the Parliament to meet again in six days, appointed new officers, and, having received their oaths, retired to the royal palace.

The history of the progress of Parliamentary power in this reign is most important. We find Parliament at various times asserting its authority, calling on the Crown to reform its household, its courts of law, to restrain its expenditure, and dismiss its servants. By its means the Duke of Gloucester obtained his commission to regulate the administration, and to impeach the prime minister, De la Pole, the Earl of Suffolk; and though, during the latter years of his reign, Parliament, as in our time, became corrupt and subservient, yet the people, assuming the exercise of those powers which their delegates had basely surrendered, punished and deposed the monarch whom they could not reform.

Richard was dethroned in the twenty-third year of his reign, and the thirty-fourth of his age. We may anticipate the events related at greater length in subsequent pages (see Chapter XXXIV.) to briefly sketch the fate of the deposed king. Henry IV. submitted to the lords the question what should be done with the late monarch, whose life, he declared, he was at all events resolved to preserve. The lords recommended perpetual confinement in some castle, where none of his former adherents could obtain access to him. This advice was acted upon, and probably was first suggested by Henry. Richard disappeared, and no one knew anything of his place of detention. The King of France threatened war on behalf of the rights of his daughter, Isabella, and his son-in-law, the deposed king. To avert this storm Henry proposed to make various alliances between the two royal families, including the marriage of the Prince of Wales to a daughter of Charles. But the King of France rejected the proposal, declaring that he knew no King of England but Richard. The French king, however, received intelligence that Richard was dead, and therefore he avowedly ceased to prosecute his claims, but confined himself to those of his daughter, demanding that she should be restored to him, with her jewels and her dowry, according to the marriage settlement. Charles afterwards consented to receive her with her jewels only, counter claims being set up against the dowry.

From the moment, however, that the public statement of Richard's death was made by the King of France, the nation became inquisitive, and it was not long before the dead body of the deposed monarch was brought up from Pontefract Castle, and shown publicly in St. Paul's for two days, where 20,000 people are said to have gone to see it. Only the face was uncovered, and that was wonderfully emaciated. Various were the rumours of the mode of his death on all these occasions, but, as in the case of Richard's victim, the Duke of Gloucester, nothing certain ever transpired. One story was that Sir Piers Exton, with seven other assassins, entered his cell to despatch him, when Richard, aware of their purpose, snatched an axe from one of them, and felled him and several of his fellows to the earth; but that Exton, getting behind him, prostrated him with one blow, and then slew him. Another story was that he starved himself to death; and there were not wanting rumours that he had escaped, and lived many years in the guise of an ordinary man. One thing is quite certain; that the so-called Richard, who, as we shall see, was a considerable source of anxiety to the new king, can have been nothing but an arrant impostor. But Henry of Lancaster may be safely trusted to secure his dangerous captive. The features of Richard were too well known to thousands in London to be mistaken for those of the priest Maudelin, whose body, it was pretended, had been substituted for Richard's. There can be no doubt but that he died a secret and violent death; the mode of that death must for ever remain a mystery. But the evidence would seem to incline to the conclusion that he was starved to death by his keepers.