The Star of Lancaster

'Nonsense! My lord, you have failed to understand. As well might I ask you to give up your crown.'

'Now it is you who talk nonsense. You have not only joined the Lollards but have become their leader and because you are yourself ... with a strength of persuasion which I know is powerful ... and because you have now married Lady Cob-ham and make use of her wealth and her title you have provided a rallying point. You are in danger, old man. As one who has been your friend, I am warning you.'

'Your words fall on stony ground, my dear lord.*

'Then I intend to cultivate that ground and make it fertile. John, you must listen to me.'

'I had hoped to make you listen to me.'

'Come, would you turn me into a Lollard?'

'We do not stand against the King, my lord. We have our eyes on the Church.'

'What could a band of rebels ... peasants for the most part ... do against the Church?'

'We want to reform it. You must agree that Christ and his apostles did not wrap themselves in fine garments. They did not live in palaces. They went about humbly and in poverty

to do good. A Church which holds landed possessions, collects tithes and takes money from peasants who are starving and can ill afford to pay for burials and baptizing cannot be doing the work Christ intended on this Earth/

*I have no doubt that your intentions are good, John. We have the Church and we have always had the Church. I cannot have my Archbishop roaming the countryside and sleeping under hedges when he cannot beg a bed, living on the scraps thrown to him by some farmer's wife. Let us be reasonable, John. I fear for you. They will arrest you. They will question you. God's ears, old man, can you not see what fate could be in store for you? Have you forgotten William Sawtre?'

*I have not forgotten him. Nor will many. He was the first man to be burned to death for his religious opinions. Acts like that do not deter. They strengthen purpose.'

*They should be a lesson to you.'

*They are indeed, my lord, a lesson that a man's soul is his dearest possession and that cannot be destroyed by fire.'

*I had rather see my former lewd companion than this earnest reformer.'

'Then you do wrong,' answered Oldcastle seriously. 'I rejoice to see a King where once was a reckless boy. Do you remember, Hal—forgive the familiarity but my mind goes back to the days when we were boon companions, for I speak of those days. Dost remember a humble tailor of the diocese of Worcester? His name was John Badby?'

The King turned away shaking his head impatiently, but he did so to hide the fact that he was moved. Yes, he did remember John Badby. He had thought of him often during the months that had followed that day. He had smelt the acrid smell, heard the groans of agony. It was something he preferred to forget.

But John Oldcastle was not going to let him forget.

*They took him ... a humble tailor,' went on John. 'Why choose such a man as an example? By God's teeth, he was a brave fellow. What was his crime? It was the denial of tran-substantiation. What did he say: "If every consecration of the altar be the body of the Lord then there must be twenty thousand gods in England." He said he believed in only one God in England. They tried him in St Paul's. They showed him the sacrament and asked him what it was. He said it was hallowed bread but not God's body. And for that they took

him out to Smithfield. You have forgotten this man, my lord. Who should remember a humble tailor? But if that humble tailor becomes a saint ...'

'This foolish man's martyrdom is beside the point.'

*Oh no. No. It is very much to the point. And I never forget your part in it, my noble King. You cannot forget that you came riding by and I was with you; and you saw this man tied to the stake. They were lighting the faggots at his feet. And you stopped to watch. I sensed in you, my lord, a melancholy that a man should be persecuted for his religious beliefs. You were always one to flout convention, were you not? Those visits to the tavern were partly because you wanted to go, partly because eyebrows would be raised and people would say: "The Prince is wild. He is a reckless profligate." That made you laugh, snap your fingers at the old greybeards. But you stopped by Badby's stake and you paused to think. The flames licked his legs and the pain was intense. He cried out "Mercy". And you, my lord, what said you? "Remove the fire," you said. "Give him a chance to repent." So the fire was removed and you and the tailor looked into each other's eyes. "Swear that you were wrong," you said. "Declare that you were misled. Do that and you shall go in peace." But, my lord, Badby did not ask for mercy from mankind but from God; he called out not that the fire should be removed but that God would take him speedily into Heaven. He would not renounce his beliefs, so he was thrown back into the fire. His end, pray God, came quickly. That was Badby and methinks a man who continued to plague your thoughts for many a month to come.'

*I remember it. He was a brave man.'

*He died for his beliefs. There are many of us in this land, lord King, who would do the same.'

The King burst into laughter. 'Not you, old fellow,' he said. 'Not you. You're more likely to die from the tremors of Venus or the fumes of strong drink.'

It is a strange and wondrous thing, my lord, that as you have changed, so have I. Does that not show in some mysterious way, that you and I walk close together.'

'You'll forget your Lollards, John?'

'Will you forget your crown?'

'Never.'

'Then why should I forget?'

*Because yours, you old buffoon, could be a martyr's crown if you persist in your follies.'

'Then I would no more cast that aside than you would your crown of gold.'

'Listen to me, John, I speak in all seriousness now. Give up these follies. Go back to your Cobham Manor. You have a new wife. Do your duty by her.'

'Rest assured, lord King, that I will do what I believe to be my duty.'

Henry realized with dismay that it was no use trying to persuade his friend to act with discretion. John Oldcastle seemed as determined now to snap his fingers at danger as he had ever been.

To his sorrow within a few weeks he heard that Lord Cob-ham had been arrested and sent to the Tower.

The King called on his stepmother at Windsor. To show his friendship for her on his father's death he had given her licence to live at his royal castles of Windsor, Wallingford, Berkhamsted and Hertford and Joanna had been pleased to accept this invitation, for she was eager to live on good terms with the new young King.

She was reconciled to the death of her husband. None could have wished him to live and suffer such a loathsome disease which had clearly grown worse as the months passed. It was heart-breaking to consider him as he had been when they had first fallen in love with each other; and it seemed like a cruel trick of fate that she should have been married to an old man and then when she was able to make her own choice it should have fallen on one who was quickly to develop into an invalid.

She believed that what happened had been too much for Henry. He had been haunted throughout his life by the ghost of Richard. She was sure that had he come to the throne through rightful inheritance everything would have been quite different.

Now, because she had been here so long and it had become home to her, she wished to stay in England. There would be a home for her in Brittany where her son was the reigning Duke but she feared her welcome there might be a cool one. Moreover she had rich estates in England; she had always en-

joyed accumulating wealth and as the wife of King Henry the Fourth she had found opportunities of doing this. But she wished to stay; and therefore she must remain on the best of terms with her stepson.

She welcomed him into her apartments.

He had come, he said, to assure himself that she was comfortably settled; but it was more than that, she knew. He wanted her to do something for him; and she must of course, if it were possible.