He took his leave shortly. He was in a resentful mood. She amassed wealth under my father, he thought, and she will not give up to me what I so desperately need.
As he rode away he said to his brother Bedford: 'I do not trust the Queen.'
Bedford replied: *I was talking to John Randolf her confessor. He says she is in constant private talk with those two sorcerers Colles and Brocart. He does not like them nor their influence with the Queen.'
'Does he think she practises their evil arts?*
'It is strange how she has become so rich.'
The King frowned. 'It might be that there is some sorcery in it,' he replied.
He felt a sudden surge of anger against her. She had won her wealth through dabbling in dark arts then; and she was very reluctant to part with a penny of it.
His thoughts were occupied with how he could raise money.
'When he returned to London he had decided to pawn his crown and jewels. His uncle, the Bishop of ^Vinchester, would advance him one hundred thousand marks for them; and he would sell a part of the royal jewels to the City of London for ten thousand pounds.
In the month of July two years after the battle of Agincourt Henry was ready to sail to France again. He left with twenty-six thousand men on board a fleet of one thousand five hundred ships.
He took among other strategic places, Caen and Falaise. But the war was not yet won.
John Oldcastle with his band of faithful followers had for four years been wandering in the \Velsh mountains. During the summer they lived out of doors and would sit round a camp fire when darkness fell and talk of the days when they would establish their faith throughout England and bring a better life to many poor people. ^Vith the coming of winter there must be an end to this life which had an appeal for all of them; then they must find shelter by night in any inn or wayside cottage where someone would give them a place to lie down. All the day John was trying to recruit men to his banner; but it was amazing how difficult it was to arouse enthusiasm for battle even amongst the AVelsh who like the Irish and Scots were usually ready to attack the English.
He heard news of Agincourt and it pleased him to know that Henry had won renown throughout the country.
Great Harry they called him affectionately and there was grudging admiration even from his enemies.
John smiled, recalling the braggart youth sprawling on his tavern chair drinking, eyeing the women, singing tavern songs. Those had been good days; but they could not have gone on for ever. Neither he nor Henry were of a kind to spend all their lives in riotous living, seeking their excitement in tavern brawls.
Somehow he had always known that there was more to both of them than that. Harry had found it in the quest for a crown; as soon as he had taken that alluring object in his hands, he had changed. As for John, he had changed too. His had been a yearning for spiritual matters. How strange that religion should have become the whole meaning of life to him.
He talked to his followers and all who would listen. He had always been an eloquent talker. That was what had attracted Henry to him. Then he had used his quick wits to provoke laughter. It was different now.
All that mattered to him was that he should make men understand what was in his mind. There must be reforms in Church. Men must worship God, not the trappings of ceremony. All the money which was poured into maintaining the splendours of the Church should be used to improve the life of the villeins, he believed. He wanted a simple religion; he wanted spiritual humility and peace for men and a more dignified physical existence.
As poor Sawtre had said the cross was a piece of wood. Yes, a better piece of wood than others of its kind because Christ had died on it. But it was not to be worshipped as such. Salvation came not through the cross but from Christ who died on it.
He had come to Wales after being surprised in a house in St Albans. He had sought shelter of a villein there who greatly admired him and was ready to risk his life by giving him a bed in his house. His was a personality which could not be hidden. In time people were coming to the villein's house just to hear him talk. So in due course as seemed inevitable he was betrayed and the Abbot of St Albans sent his servants to surround the house; but he had his friends and an hour before the servants came he was riding towards Wales.
It was a lesson and brought home to him the realization of how easily he could be captured.
There in the Welsh Marches among the hills which lay
between the Severn and the Vyrnwy he had found his refuge. But he would have to emerge when the spring came. It was not his intention merely to keep hidden from his enemies. He must rally friends to his cause.
He had found the perfect hide-out and decided that he would make this his refuge. It should be the place to which he returned if he were pursued; he believed he would always find shelter there. There was an inn nearby which was owned by ardent supporters, people on whom he could rely. He was safe here to work out his plans. Moel-y-sant offered beauty as well as security; it became known as Cobham's garden.
He had always been reckless; he could not change his entire nature in so short a time. He trusted the innkeeper and his wife and family; he had forgotten that servants came and went and he might not find the same loyalty among them. He had forgotten that there was a possibility that he might be traced to this spot and there might be a plan to capture him.
Lord Charlton, on whose estate John was sheltering, in due course learned that he was there. A reward was offered for the capture of Oldcastle who, because of his connections and eloquence, was considered a great menace not only to the Church but to society; and Charlton thought it could do him no harm—on the contrary much good—if he delivered Oldcastle to his enemies.
He therefore began to plan. He placed one of his servants in the inn which he suspected Oldcastle frequented. The spy soon confirmed the truth of this and one night when John was seated in the inn parlour discoursing to his friends and disciples, there was a shout of 'The inn is surrounded'. And then the armed men of Charlton's retinue burst in.
John stood up dashing his tankard to the floor, but he realized that he was trapped. However he was not going to be taken without a fight, and a battle ensued.
John was big and strong and it was not easy to take him; but while he was struggling with an assailant, one of the serving girls who had become friendly with Charlton's spy picked up a stool and threw it with such force against John that it broke his leg, thus rendering him helpless and he fell to the ground—a prey to his enemies.
It was the end. What could he do, being unable to stand? He was seized in triumph and carried off to Welshpool Castle,
the home of Charlton, who was overcome with delight by the capture.
The first thing he did was to send a messenger to the Court. The King was in France and the Regent was his brother the Duke of Bedford.
Charlton received a delighted reply from Bedford. Let Oldcastle be brought at once to London without delay.
The injuries which he had received in the fight, chief of which was his broken leg, made it impossible for him to ride, but Bedford was in no mood to delay. It occurred to him that if the King were to hear of his old friend's predicament he might out of sentimental feeling find some way of pardoning him. If, reasoned Bedford, Oldcastle had not been allowed to escape from the Tower—and sometimes Bedford wondered whether Henry had connived in that facile escape—they would have been spared a great deal of trouble.
No, bring Oldcastle to London. Let him be speedily tried and sentenced to the heretic's death.