At least he had something to be thankful for. He had produced sons—wild though they might be; and both his marriages had been happy ones. He could not have chosen better than Joanna, except for the fact that her family—by the nature of their geographical position—were inclined towards France. But there were internal difficulties in that country now—with Burgundy and the mad King and the wanton Queen. Fortunately, thought Henry, for they were causing little concern to England now; and he had no great wish to go to war, unlike Harry who was straining at the leash. Harry was ambitious. He wanted not only the crown of England but the crown of France.
Peace, thought Henry, that is what I long for now. Would to God I were well enough to go on a pilgrimage. God knows I have sins enough to wash away. There had been a prophecy made years ago that he would die in Jerusalem. There seemed little likelihood of that now, unless his health improved and he abdicated in favour of Harry. But if he were granted the miracle of good health, he would not dream of leaving the country.
The people loved Harry. He had noticed it when they were together. All the cheers were for Harry. He had that certain quality which drew men to him. A Plantagenet quality although he had the looks of a de Bohun. His father had never had it, for all his strength and power; Edward the King had had it, so had the Black Prince.
He felt angry because it had been denied him.
They never liked me, he thought. If I said I would abdicate tomorrow they would cheer themselves hoarse for Harry.
And what of me? He would tell me what I must do. He would remind me a hundred times a day that he was the King.
"Never will I give up, my son," he murmured. "Death's is the only hand which will place the crown on your head."
Harry was hand in glove with his Beaufort relations. Trust them to go where the pastures looked greenest. It was an indication that they thought there was not much time left to him.
They had supported him whole-heartedly at one time. Of course they had. Their fortunes were firmly tied up with those of the House of Lancaster. His half-brothers—result of his father's abiding passion for Catherine Swynford. Clever men all of them. And now they veered to Harry. They were going to uphold him, even if it meant going against the King— for the old King was not long for this world.
"The King is dead!" they would cry. "Long live the King." He was sad; he was in pain. He had committed a great sin in compassing the crown and it had brought him nothing but bitterness.
Harry liked to discuss his plans with John, who was his favourite brother, and his uncles Henry and Thomas Beaufort. Henry had been made Bishop of Winchester and Thomas, Duke of Exeter and Chancellor of England; they had been specially favoured as the sons of John of Gaunt and they had inherited a good deal of their father's shrewdness.
Their elder brother John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, was dead and there had been a rift in the family when the King's son Thomas had married Somerset's widow for when Thomas had demanded her estates Henry Beaufort had refused to give them up.
In the quarrel, the Prince had taken sides and was in favour of his uncle rather than his brother and this had, of course, made a great coolness between them, and Thomas, knowing that their father was not on the best of terms with the Prince of Wales, did his best to turn the King still more away from the heir to the throne.
It was an uneasy situation. It brought Harry closer to the Beauforts who as Bishop and Chancellor were powerful men; and as everyone knew now of the King's fearsome disease which often kept him out of sight for long periods, an uneasy tension was growing up in Court circles. It was working towards a rift and it seemed that before long there would be a King's circle and one made up of the Prince's supporters.
At this time a new conflict had arisen in France.
After the death of Isabella in childbed her husband Charles of Angouleme, who had become the Duc d'Orleans when his father had been murdered, married again. This time his bride was the daughter of the very powerful and warlike Count of Armagnac. Charles of Orleans was of a gentle nature, a lover of the arts, thoughtful, with a hatred of war, but he was in the hands of his forceful father-in-law who wanted to establish the power of the House of Orleans which meant destroying that of Burgundy.
Civil war in France was something which England could not fail to be pleased about. It was always so much better to let an enemy destroy itself than to waste one's own strength doing it.
The Burgundians sent to England to ask Henry for his help and offered in payment for it a bride for the Prince of Wales, Anne, the Duke's daughter.
Harry had no desire for the match, but he did think that a force should be sent to the Burgundians. Let Frenchman fight Frenchman. That was a good plan. There would be fewer in the field when he went over there to fight for the crown of France, which he fully intended to do when he was safe on the throne of England.
Henry considered the matter. He was feeling very ill. Peace, that is what we want, he thought. It is unwise for us to embroil ourselves in the affairs of another nation.
"Nonsense!" cried Harry. "It will be to our advantage."
"I am against it," declared Henry. "There shall be no force sent to Burgundy's aid."
It seemed that that settled the matter; but on the day he made that statement the King suffered another attack, which was even worse than those which had preceded it. His face became an unsightly mass of horrible pustules which stood out all over it and when he touched his skin and felt them he fainted and had the appearance of a dead man.
The doctors came and said that he could not last long, but a few days later he recovered and even his face was slightly less unsightly.
He must remain in his chamber, though. He could not show himself to the people or even the Court. Only those in his immediate circle should see him. The Queen ministered to him; she was gentle and reassuring, though it was hard to recognize in this poor maimed shrivelled creature in the bed the romantic Plantagenet who had come to Brittany an exile from his own country.
Harry took over the reins of government and the first thing he did was send men and arms to the Duke of Burgundy.
As a result of his actions the Orleans faction was defeated and it was victory for Burgundy.
The King did not die. In a few weeks he had recovered sufficiently to resume his duties. The first thing he discovered was that his son had gone against his wishes and sent troops to Burgundy.
He was incensed. He immediately sent for the Prince and demanded to know why he thought he could act in a manner opposed to his father—and his King's—wishes.
Harry replied that clearly the side to support was that of Burgundy. They had won, had they not? Who knew, they might be of help to him if he went into France at any time.
"Your fingers itch to lay hold of the crown, Harry" said the King.
"I but think of the future."
"And I am such an old and feeble man that I no longer warrant obedience."
"You are the King and must be obeyed."
"Until you think me dead. You have to wait awhile yet, my son, before that crown is yours."
"My thoughts were not on the crown, only on what I believed to be best for England."
"And King Henry ... the Fifth, eh?"
"You are mistaken. I rejoice in your recovery."
"You rejoice I Look at me ... if you can bear it. What have I become? This accursed sickness has taken hold of me, but God and all his saints, Harry, there is life in me yet and while there is I shall be King."