Mortimer knew that this meant he was dismissed from the King’s Council, and he was certain, too, that when he reached Calais it would be easy for him to be killed. The country would not introduce the Salic law; and if he were dead there would be none to support his daughter’s claim to the throne.
No, said Mortimer, I prefer to lay down my staff than my life, and solved the matter by resigning his post as Marshal which was immediately given to Lord Henry Percy, a strong supporter of John of Gaunt.
The next act was to bring a case against William of Wykeham who was accused of governing badly during the term of his Chancellorship, of embezzlement, extorting money and extracting bribes.
‘I can prove all these accusations false,’ he cried to his accusers. ‘I need time.’
‘You did not give Lord Latimer time to prove the charges against him false,’ he was reminded.
John was alert, watching the mood of the people. He realised that he could not go too far with Wykeham and he declared that he should be granted time to prove his case. He was however determined to find Wykeham guilty.
When he came to stand before the Council that judgement might be passed, he was accompanied by William Courtenay, the Bishop of London, which implied that the Church was watching how one of its members was treated.
Wykeham declared that he would take his oath that never had he used funds for his advantage. The Council was not interested in oaths, was the retort, but facts.
John said: ‘This man is guilty. I demand he pay the full penalty.’
Courtenay reminded him that William of Wykeham was a Bishop and therefore he could not be sentenced by a secular Court.
John was furious but he realised he could at this stage do nothing. If he had his way he would curtail the power of the Church considerably.
So the outcome of the trial was that William of Wykeham’s goods should be confiscated to the Crown and the trial would be adjourned to a later date.
With the power of March and Wykeham clipped John was able to take immediate action. De la Mare was made a prisoner and Lord Latimer was released. The people of London discussed this turn of affairs together and de la Mare became a hero. Ballad singers in the streets sang songs about him. A great resentment was growing against John of Gaunt and his friends and this was increased when Alice Perrers was allowed to come back to Court.
The King was overjoyed to see her. He could not thank his dear son John enough for being so careful of his comfort.
There was no doubt that at this time John of Gaunt was the most powerful man in the country. Then the scandal broke.
In the taverns the story was being whispered. It seemed incredible but there were so many who wanted it to be true for if it were John of Gaunt would be disqualified for ever.
Heads were close together; at first it was spoken of in whispers and then people grew bolder. The Londoners had never been noted for their fear of authority and had always regarded themselves outside the laws which must be obeyed by the rest of the country. They said what they thought and nothing was going to stop them.
John was first aware of what was happening when he came riding from Westminster to the Savoy.
‘Bastard!’ The name was flung at him. It was one word which meant so much.
He was soon to discover how much.
The story was that he was not the true son of King Edward and Queen Philippa. There was some mystery about his birth which had come out now through William of Wykeham who had been present at the deathbed of Good Queen Philippa and had it from her dying lips.
It appeared that while she lay in Ghent in child-bed a daughter had been born to the Queen. Now it was well known that the King longed for a son. It was true at this time he already had two, Edward and Lionel; there had been a third, though, little William who had died soon after his birth.
The King was away in the wars and Philippa wanted to surprise him when he returned, so it was with great chagrin that she learned the child she had borne was a girl. She had other girls and the King was devoted to them so this did not seem too great a tragedy. However, as the child lay beside her she slept and overlaid it. The child was suffocated and died.
Terrified of the King’s wrath – for all knew that, great man though he was in those days, he possessed the Plantagenet temper which struck terror into all when it was aroused – she called to her a Flemish woman who had given birth to a healthy boy at the same time as she had had her child.
‘Give me your child,’ the Queen was reputed to have said, ‘and he shall be brought up as the son of a King. He shall be educated, live in luxury and never want.’
This was too much of a temptation for the humble Flemish woman and she gave her child to the Queen – that child was known to the world as John of Gaunt.
And who would believe it? There was a good reason for believing it. The Queen had confessed on her deathbed. In her last moments she had sent for William of Wykeham and told the story to him, with the injunction that he was not to divulge it, unless there was a chance of John of Gaunt’s coming to the throne.
Now the story was being allowed to seep out for John of Gaunt’s ambitions were carrying him very near to the crown.
That the story would not bear scrutiny mattered not. The people wanted to believe it and they were going to. That Philippa already had two healthy sons and would not have been greatly put out by giving birth to another daughter was brushed aside. That the King, loving his sons as he did, was besottedly fond of his daughters, could be forgotten. That Philippa, the most tender of mothers, was hardly likely to overlay a child – in any case it would be the duty of the nurses to take the child when its mother wished to sleep – all this was of no importance.
The people liked the story because it was against John of Gaunt and they were going to believe it.
John was furious. He paced through his apartments and shouted his anger.
Catherine tried to calm him. But he would not listen to her.
‘Wykeham is at the back of this!’ he cried. ‘He wants to destroy me.’
‘It is the most stupid story I ever heard,’ said Catherine.
‘Stupid it undoubtedly is but it has to be disproved. Isolda would have put an end to it. Who would know better than she did? My mother would tell the world what a stupid lie it is. But they are dead … The fabricators of this … of this … outrage know it and that is why they bring the charge.’
‘What of Wykeham? She is supposed to have made her confession to him.’
‘Wykeham is my enemy.’
‘Even so he is a man of the Church. He would not lie merely to harm you.’
John burst out laughing. ‘You know little of the ways of men, Catherine. My enemies would do anything to ruin me.’
Catherine tried to soothe him. She wished as so many others did that the Black Prince had not died. If only he had lived there would not be all this fear and suspicion. It was a great tragedy for England that God had taken the Prince who was the natural heir to the throne and so suited to the role.
John was ambitious, she had always known it. Power was at the very essence of his being. It was one of the attributes which attracted her so vitally. The strength of him – the awareness that this man who was clearly destined for greatness had need of her.
Their children were growing up. She wanted a good future for the little Beauforts. The higher John rose the more bright would be that future. And now there was this cruel scandal. It was obviously lies and yet it was none the less hurtful for that. There were so many who would harm John if they dared.