The King agreed.
‘I have never intended to cancel the City’s liberties,’ he assured Philipot. ‘Indeed it is in my mind to extend them.’
‘My lord King, I assure you that the citizens are your most devoted subjects.’
The King nodded. ‘There is the matter of the Duke of Lancaster,’ went on the King. ‘I think those who started the riot and damaged his property and the Marshalsea should be found and punished.’
That should be done, agreed Philipot, knowing full well that they would never be found, even as the King did.
John was uneasy about the meeting. He would have preferred the King not to have seen Philipot. In any case, no culprits were brought forward and the lampoons about the Duke – chiefly referring to that changeling story – were circulated through the town and even posted up in the streets.
The King must act, said John. The Londoners were flouting him; and when they insulted his son they insulted him.
Once more the King agreed to receive a deputation. This time it was the Mayor and the Sheriffs. He was at Sheen at this time and too ill to travel to Westminster. He was very weak and had to be propped up in a chair; he found it difficult to speak.
The citizens must understand that when they insulted his son, they insulted him, he mumbled.
They would make amends, the Mayor promised the King. They would take a candle bearing the Duke’s arms and place it on the altar of the Virgin; there should be processions and the town crier should summon people to attend. This would show that the City of London and the Duke of Lancaster had buried their quarrel.
But when the ceremony was carried out it was a failure. The people refused to attend.
There was a certain amusement among those who did. Such a ceremony was usually performed in honour of the dead. Was it done subtly to suggest that they hoped Lancaster would soon be among that band?
However the people would not do honour to him.
As for John of Gaunt he saw through the insult and hated those who had arranged it. But he had to assume that the quarrel was over, because it was the only way to call a truce. And a truce there must be. There must be no more rioting. The Savoy had been saved and was hastily being repaired.
It might have been so much worse.
A great ceremony was taking place at Windsor where gathered together were the greatest nobles and all the chivalry of England.
It was to witness the ceremony of the Garter which was to be bestowed on the King’s two grandsons – Richard of Bordeaux and Henry of Bolingbroke.
There were moments when the King’s mind was very lucid and seemed to have reverted to its former shrewdness, and this was one of them.
These two, he told himself, will in time be the two most powerful men in England. Richard the King; Henry his cousin, son of John of Gaunt, who is the richest and most influential man in the country under the King.
Edward wanted to see them together. They were of an age, those two, and grandsons of whom a man could be proud. Richard was the elder by a few months – tall, very handsome, yet slender and delicate looking. He will grow out of that, thought Edward. The people will love him, for they admire a handsome man. And he has gracious manners and is clever with words. And Henry – rather stocky but goodly to look on. Of course the people would not care for the son of John of Gaunt as they did for the son of the Black Prince.
They had always loved Edward. He had that quality which drew people to him; and what a hero! And what a tragedy that he should die and leave this young boy to take his place. They had loved Edward as fiercely as they had hated John.
But these two boys must be friends when they grew up. He wanted that. He would have a talk with them after the ceremony.
There was little time left. Alice tried to persuade him that he was well. She tried to prove it, and he tried to pretend it was so to please her.
That affair in the Cathedral had been alarming. He thanked God Courtenay had intervened and prevented further damage. William of Wykeham was restored to his place. Alice had persuaded him and he had had him recalled. He knew that Alice, the minx, had accepted a big bribe from Wykeham, and that was why she had acted for him. It amused him really. These men of the Church were not above a bit of sly bargaining, so if Wykeham was ready to pay for favours why should people criticise Alice for taking advantage of it!
When the ceremony was over he called the two boys to him and told them that he wanted them always to be good friends.
‘The Garter is the symbol of this illustrious order,’ he told them. ‘It is the Order of Chivalry. Never forget it. Because it has been bestowed on you, you must always be courageous and just and preserve your honour at all times. You understand me?’
They both assured him that they understood.
‘Take each other’s hands. There. Now you are joined in love and friendship. The time will come when I am gone and you, Richard, will wear the crown. Henry, remember, he will be your liege lord. Serve him well. And Richard, this is your good cousin. Your fathers were brothers. Proud Plantagenet blood flows through your veins. Stand together. That is where your strength will lie.’
The King was tired suddenly. But a calm had come to him. He was relieved to talk to the boys, to bring them together.
He had a feeling that he had achieved an important mission.
Now he was tired. He wanted his bed … and Alice.
Edward lay at Sheen Palace. It was hot in the apartment for it was the month of June.
He had known he was growing weaker and in spite of Alice’s assurances that he was getting better every day he knew he was dying.
He was a sick old man. He was in his sixty-fifth year and out of those sixty-five years he had reigned for fifty-one. It was a great record.
Indeed it had been a great reign. It was only the last years that had brought him shame. Philippa had died and left him and without her he was bereft. Although to be truthful he had started with Alice before Philippa died.
Well, so are great men fallen. Their weaknesses catch up with them; and it was strange to contemplate that he, the faithful husband for so long, should have become such a slave to his senses. He knew what Alice wanted; but what a companion she had been! All through his life he had been restraining his impulses and it was only rarely that he had broken free.
Well, now here he was dying … great Edward, no longer great, no longer admired, no longer loved by his people.
Just an old man – a rather loathsome old man, but still the hero of Sluys and Crécy. The shining hero who had set out to win the throne of France and had failed so miserably.
What was he leaving to his grandson? He dared not think. ‘God, save Richard. It is not his fault that he is inheriting a bankrupt kingdom. Oh God, if you had not taken Edward …’
Ah, that was at the heart of the tragedy. Edward had died. If Edward had been in health, he would never have allowed the country to get into this state. There would not have been riots in the streets. There would not have been bribery and corruption in high places. If Edward had been strong and healthy … But God had seen fit to take that bulwark of strength and leave but a frail boy in his place. But he was dying now. This was the end.
There was only one priest by his bedside. He could just see him.
The priest was placing the cross in his hands and he was saying ‘Jesu miserere …’
He kissed the cross.
Then he was lying in his bed and he could see no one.
Slowly life was ebbing away.
Very soon after Alice came to the bedside.
He was gone, this poor doting old man was no more. This was the end of Alice.
She pulled the rings from his fingers, collected what jewels she could and left the palace.