But he was the son of a King, a King in his own right, and as such was burdened by responsibilities which he could not endure.
He had not been formed to be a King – and a Plantagenet King at that. He did not belong with those blond long-legged giants who only had to wave a banner to have men flock to them. They had imposed their iron rule on the people – or most of them had – and the people had accepted it, almost always. Edward Longshanks; Edward the Third; his own father, Great Henry the Fifth. They were all kings of whom England could be proud.
And then had come Henry, a King at nine months old, surrounded by ambitious men all jostling for power. No, he was apart. His ancestors in the main had been lusty men. They had scattered their bastards all over the country. But he was different. He believed in chastity and the sanctity of the marriage vows. He was acutely embarrassed when women approached him seeking to tempt him, as they used to. They did not do it so much now because they knew it was useless; but there would always be women who would be delighted to become the King’s mistress. Never, he had said, and turned disgustedly away.
He remembered one occasion when some of his courtiers had arranged for dancers to perform for him and they came before him, their bosoms bare. So horrified had he been that he had quickly quitted the chamber muttering the nearest expletive to an oath of which he was capable, ‘Forsooth and forsooth.’ And then ‘Fie, for shame! You are to blame for bringing such women before me.’ And he had refused to look at them.
It needed incidents like that to assure those about him that he really was a deeply religious man of genuine purity.
Very laudable in a priest. But a King!
All he wanted was to live quietly, in a peaceful household; he wanted no more of the conflict in France. Did he want to be King of France? He did not want to be King of England even! His great uncle Cardinal Beaufort had assured him that with the death of his uncle Bedford the hopes of retaining a hold on France had ended. Everything had changed since the glorious days of Barfleur and Agincourt. Then England had had a great warrior King and had he lived doubtless France and England would be one by now. But he had died and Joan of Arc had come forward and changed the war. She was dead now...burned as a witch and he was still horrified by the memory of that deed. He had seen her once when he was a boy and had peeped at her through an aperture in the wall and looked into her cell; he had never forgotten her. He was certain now that she had been sent from Heaven. It was a sign that God wanted France to remain in the hands of the French. Henry wanted it too.
The great Cardinal on whom he relied had said that the time had come to make peace with the French—an honourable peace before they had lost too much.
Heartily Henry agreed with that. Others did too. There was one notable exception: Henry’s uncle Gloucester. Henry disliked and feared his uncle Gloucester. He was nothing but a troublemaker and his wife was now a captive in one of the country’s castles because she had indulged in witchcraft in an attempt to destroy Henry’s life.
For what reason? So that Gloucester could be King as he was the next in line.
No, Henry would never trust Gloucester. He did not want him near him. He had given orders that he must have extra guards and if ever his uncle Gloucester attempted to approach him they must watch most carefully.
It was the Cardinal who had suggested that a marriage with Margaret of Anjou might be a good thing. A French marriage was necessary. The King of France was disinclined to offer one of his daughters. ‘At one time we could have insisted,’ said the Cardinal, ‘but times have changed and the sooner we take account of this the better. Margaret is the niece of the Queen of France; she is a Princess even if René is only titular King of Naples. She is young and could be taught. It seems to me, my lord, that Margaret would be a very good proposition.’
He had agreed as he invariably did with the Cardinal and the fact that he knew his uncle Gloucester would be against the match made it seem doubly attractive.
And because of that he had sent Champchevrier to France to bring to him, secretly, a picture of Margaret, for it must not yet be known that a match was being thought of. He wanted to make sure that his prospective bride was indeed a young pure girl. He wanted no brazenly voluptuous woman, but he would like one who was beautiful; he had a great love for beauty, usually in painting, poetry and music, so his wife must appeal to his aesthetic tastes. He planned to live with her as a good husband and if she would be a good wife to him they would remain faithful until death parted them and in the meantime give the country the necessary heir.
The Duke of Gloucester was in favour of a match with one of the daughters of the Count of Armagnac. Armagnac was not at this time friendly with the King of France and the last thing Gloucester wanted was peace with France. Henry was not sure whether Gloucester wanted the conflict to persist because he saw himself as a great warrior like his brother Henry the Fifth and had dreams of bringing the French crown to England or whether he wanted the match because the Cardinal was against it. But any match that Gloucester would arrange for him could never please Henry. He had, however, diplomatically dispatched Hans to the Court of Armagnac, telling him there was no need for haste, and at the same time had sent Champchevrier out in secret and in all speed.
The Cardinal had seen and conversed with Margaret and had reported that not only was she a beautiful girl but she was an intelligent one.
When Champchevrier returned he would first make his way to Westminster and Henry wished to be there when he came, to save delay. It was for this reason that he was now on his way.
As he approached the capital he was recognized and cheered by a few people. They were not wildly enthusiastic for he was not a man who could inspire that frenzied admiration in them which they had accorded to some of his ancestors and it was always difficult in any case for the living to compare favourably with the dead.
Coming into Cripplegate something stuck on a stake caught his eye. He looked at it in puzzlement not recognizing it for what it was. Then he turned to one of his attendants and said: ‘What is that revolting object?’
‘My lord,’ was the answer, ‘it is the quarters of some wretch who has been punished for treason to yourself.’
Henry covered his eyes with his hands. ‘It disgusts me,’ he said. ‘Have it taken away. It does not please me that my subjects should be so treated for my sake.’
‘This man was a traitor, my lord. Proved to be so.’
‘Traitors should die mayhap, but not in such a way. Have that rotting flesh taken down at once. I never want to see the like again.’
His orders were obeyed but he knew they were asking themselves, What manner of King is this?
On to Westminster. Champchevrier had not yet arrived. Henry settled down to wait with patience.
He had so much to absorb his interest at this time. He was deeply involved in plans for founding colleges at Eton and Cambridge. One of the greatest joys in life was learning and he wanted to do all he could to promote it. The planning of these colleges pleased him more than anything at this time and he dearly wished that he could give more time to such projects instead of the continual preoccupation with continuing the war in France. He saw quite clearly that no good could come of this war. It had been going on for a hundred years and still nothing was resolved. It was like a seesaw, first England was in the ascendant and then dashed down to the ground; up went France and then down...It would go on like that and it meant nothing but bloodshed for the men who went to France and excessive taxation for those who remained behind.