Nine
Noble Uncle, Lancaster
‘A little more than kin, and less than kind’
William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I, Scene II
500 armed men marched on the wall that wrapped around the City of London. As they approached, the watchmen who guarded the City gates identified them from their Lancastrian livery. At the head of the column was the Duke of Lancaster. He had come from the north, through Leicester – possibly to assess the damage caused by the Revolt – before making the journey to London to attend the November Parliament at Westminster.1 The citizens of London were especially cautious of Gaunt in the wake of their sacking of the Savoy Palace. Armed Lancastrian retainers could provoke violence in the City, which in turn could escalate into further civil unrest, potentially even civil war. Gaunt’s argument, however, was no longer with the Londoners, or even the merchant guilds; nor was it with the King or the Church, but with the single Lord who recently humiliated and shamed him in his weakest moment, whilst the commons of England rose up in their thousands. His argument was with Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland.
Shortly before Gaunt arrived for Parliament, Henry Percy led his own armed retinue towards the City walls. As an adversary of the unpopular Duke of Lancaster, Percy was considered an ally of the Londoners. He was welcomed and even granted citizenship.
John of Gaunt followed Henry Percy and arrived outside the gate wearing armour: he had prepared himself for a hostile reception. This was Gaunt’s first appearance in London following the Revolt. The Savoy lay in ruins and the City gate remained firmly closed to him and his men. Angry and humiliated, he was forced to march his army west around the City wall, to the Bishop’s palace in Fulham, where he stayed as a guest for the duration of Parliament; with no London residence of his own, he was left with little choice.
The rift between Gaunt and Percy had been threatening the stability of the country for months. Two powerful nobles at odds offered the opportunity for another rebellion, compromising the government as it carefully monitored the country’s precarious situation. Following the Revolt, Richard made it his personal mission to punish the rebels in Essex and Kent and instructed Gaunt to oversee pacification in the north.2 By the end of summer, the government was heavily focused on restoring order. According to Henry Knighton, Gaunt requested that Richard be largely merciful. Although Knighton generally provides a generous account of John of Gaunt, there is still no evidence to suggest the Duke sought to punish rebels in the same manner as Richard II in Essex, and instead focused his attentions on repairing his properties.3 4 However, Gaunt did not extend the same clemency to Henry Percy.
John of Gaunt was quick to inform the King of the rebuff outside Alnwick. He described the Earl as ‘disloyal’ and ‘disagreeable’.5 The matter was raised again at a council in Berkhampstead, where Henry Percy defended himself belligerently against Gaunt’s accusations. Percy, boiling with rage, removed his glove and slammed it on the table in front of the council; this was a challenge directed at John of Gaunt. By the time of the November Parliament both men had arrayed themselves for battle and brought to London their own armies, threatening the freshly restored peace. The simmering City posed so much of a threat that the King postponed the opening of Parliament to try to end the feud. He ordered that neither Gaunt nor Percy could enter Westminster Palace armed.
The Lords and Commons convened at Westminster in early November to hear John of Gaunt – the jilted uncle – make his case against the Earl of Northumberland. It was agreed that they would take turns to speak, despite Henry Percy’s desperate interjection, during which he was embarrassingly silenced by the King. The dispute had lingered on longer than Richard was willing to indulge, and before Parliamentary proceedings could begin he was determined to put the issue to bed. Gaunt wanted an apology but Percy refused to acknowledge his fault in the matter, laying the blame on the men who rode out to deliver the message to Gaunt in June. These Lords, John Hotham and Thomas Motherby, were duly arrested and taken to the Tower, imprisoned on the charge of disobeying their orders. However, Percy had not accounted for the possibility that his original letter was still in existence. Furious, the men disputed their arrest and produced the Earl’s orders for all to see. Within three days, the humiliated Earl was forced to apologise to Gaunt and they exchanged the kiss of peace. Finally, Parliament could begin and Gaunt and Percy were left to quietly despise each other.
Richard was keen to demonstrate that he was no longer a child in need of councils and guidance: he was determined to rule by his own accord. The King had gained confidence and authority after overpowering the masses; the only piece missing from Richard’s kingly image was a Queen. As the country recovered after the Rising, its future Queen, Anne of Bohemia, travelled from Flanders to Dover. Her arrival marked the end of a turbulent year and the start of a hopeful future. Parliament was adjourned early, and John of Gaunt was sent to greet the new Queen, for with his cool charm and gallant nature it was expected that he would make her feel most welcome in her new country.
Anne had gravitas in her lineage. She was the sister of Wenceslas IV, King of Bohemia (the present Czech Republic) and Emperor-Elect of the Holy Roman Empire (formed out of the largest portion of territory in western and central Europe). Her aunt Bona was the former Queen of France, her uncle was the Duke of Luxembourg and her sister was the Queen of Poland and Hungary. The Holy Roman Empire had been unbendingly allied to the Pope in Rome since the Schism of 1378. A powerful Imperial alliance was an attractive option to Richard II’s advisors and, before the Rising, John of Gaunt had been working hard to secure the match, hosting Wenceslas at a banquet at the Savoy Palace.
The marriage was prestigious, but it was also too good to be true, for Wenceslas of Bohemia was broke. Instead of benefitting financially from the traditional dowry, the Crown purse was expected to loan Wenceslas £12,000, on top of a £4,000 payment in honour of Richard’s new wife.6 The Westminster Chronicle described the new Queen as ‘a tiny portion of meat’, implying that she was perhaps small and fragile, or that she came with little financial weight. On 18 January 1382 she was escorted into London, seated upon ‘a great charger’, with John of Gaunt at her side.
The crowd of Londoners who cheered the Queen into the City presented a stark contrast to those who had torched its buildings only the summer before. Fourteen-year-old Anne and fifteen-year-old Richard were wed at Westminster Abbey two days later by the recently appointed Bishop of London, Robert Baybrooke, and the teenage marriage grew to be genuinely loving. Anne was crowned shortly afterwards by the Archbishop of Canterbury – John of Gaunt’s adversary William Courtenay, who replaced the murdered Archbishop Simon Sudbury. The new Queen was treated lavishly and showered with generous gifts – Gaunt gave her a silver enamelled ewer on an elaborate stand. Jousts were held at Smithfield, for which Gaunt provided minstrels and where his son, Henry Bolingbroke, had the opportunity to exhibit his burgeoning talent in the lists.7
Henry Bolingbroke was still an infant when Blanche of Lancaster died and was subsequently raised – like his sisters – by Katherine Swynford. Three months younger than his cousin Richard, Henry was knighted, alongside Richard, in 1377 shortly before Edward III’s death. Henry was also given the title Earl of Derby – at the age of ten, he was already a wealthy landowner and high-ranking member of the nobility. After Richard’s ascension to the throne, Henry Bolingbroke existed in Richard’s shadow at court, a loyal courtier, cousin and friend. But by 1382, and Richard’s marriage to Anne, Henry had settled into his Earldom and had his own household of around twenty loyal servants. He enjoyed sport – falconry and hunting – and fashionable clothes, but above all, he loved to joust, gaining attention as a rising star in the lists.
After the tournament, Anne was installed as Queen and Parliament resumed. The summer’s Rising came under analysis, as did the defence of the realm – despite the purpose of the crippling poll tax, coastal towns continued to be raided by foreign insurgents. Commons Speaker Sir Hugh Seagrave, a steward in the household of the King, pointed out ‘they are still no better defended against the enemies of the Kingdom . . . but are burned, robbed and pillaged every year’.8 The Commons called for the King’s advisors to be removed, yet John of Gaunt was directed to manage Richard’s government. Perhaps he escaped blame due to his position as the senior royal uncle, but it is also likely that he was a highly valued figure who the King needed onside for his diplomacy and his wealth.
Despite the domestic stability of the country being the main concern, John of Gaunt ambitiously floated the idea of a campaign to Castile to relieve his brother Edmund of Langley, Earl of Cambridge, who urgently needed support. Gaunt asked for a vast loan of £60,000 to fund the campaign, including the wages of 4,000 soldiers and archers.9 He promised to repay the loan within three years and pledged Castile as an ally, claiming the country would help to protect the English coastline, which was under constant threat. Gaunt’s plea for funds was either highly optimistic or he woefully misread the current state of domestic affairs.
The country was still recovering from the Rising. To leave the realm without a defensive army could invite further rebellion, or even a French invasion. Gaunt’s proposition would also require another tax – following the one that resulted in near-revolution. Despite the tentative backing of some of the lords, Gaunt’s proposal was unsurprisingly rejected. Richard did not defend his uncle’s plan; instead he gave him the responsibility of keeping peace with the Scots following a period of constant harassment of the borderlands. This appointment would remove Gaunt from London politics – where he always found trouble – and allow Richard to exert his authority as King without being overshadowed by Gaunt and his unpopularity. Two Kings in the realm was an uncomfortable dynamic and, as Richard grew in age, the awkward power-balance became a point of contention.
Shortly after Anne’s coronation, a large party of around 600 Londoners from various merchant crafts, led by Nicholas Brembre, sought an audience with Richard at Kennington. They requested that they ‘might have only one King’, implying that Gaunt’s power was not only too great, but it was also unwelcome – an echo of the same issue raised during the Peasants’ Revolt. In fear of another uprising, Gaunt fled London. With the Savoy burnt to ashes, he had no powerbase in the City and was aware that a false move could result in more than the loss of his property. It is also clear, by his swift departure, that Gaunt felt that he could not rely on the protection of his nephew.
The mutual bad feeling between John of Gaunt and the Londoners continued; he despised the leverage that the merchants had over the government, but was more circumspect than in previous years at keeping his involvement in mercantile politics in the City to a minimum. The Duke spent the next six months away from London. He took his household to Kenilworth, Leicester, Yorkshire and visited Rothwell to hunt whenever the opportunity arose. However, Gaunt was not content exercising his self-proclaimed kingship so far away from the country he claimed to rule. His key ambition was still to take Castile, but without royal consent and Parliamentary backing he had little choice other than to remain in England and do the King’s bidding. From 1382, much of Gaunt’s time was begrudgingly spent on diplomatic missions on behalf of his nephew, whose personal interests began to align with a new circle of close friends, ambitious characters capitalising on royal favour, who would cause massive upheaval amongst the nobility for the duration of Richard’s reign.
As a young man, Richard was naturally influenced by his friends and he became particularly close to Robert de Vere, the debonair and quick-witted Earl of Oxford. De Vere was ambitious and persuasive. His relationship with Richard was reminiscent of the bond between Edward II and Piers Gaveston, which ended in rebellion and the scaffold. Robert de Vere’s pursuit of personal power did not go unremarked. Froissart describes de Vere as a man who ‘did everything in his power to make a breach between the King and his uncles’ and the Earl deliberately steered Richard against John of Gaunt.10 Richard II was generous to de Vere, prompting Thomas Walsingham to later speculate that they had an ‘impure’, possibly homosexual, relationship. Any attempt to specify the exact nature of their relationship must remain purely speculative; however, Robert de Vere was clearly Richard’s favourite. In July 1382, the first public dispute over this blatant favouritism came to a head when the Chancellor, Richard Scrope, questioned Richard’s decision to gift extortionate Crown funds to de Vere. Lord Scrope carefully tried to make his case to Richard that the money he proposed to give to Robert de Vere came at a cost to the realm. Instead of acknowledging Lord Scrope’s sage advice, Richard flared up in a rage and immediately dismissed him as chancellor – the first in a series of furious backlashes against anyone who dared criticise the young King’s judgement.
Despite Richard’s developing self-assurance and Parliament’s rejection of a Castilian campaign, Gaunt had cause for hope. The Portuguese Ambassador, Lourenço Fogaça, arrived in England to try to muster further support for the Anglo-Portuguese alliance. Fogaça and Gaunt spent significant time together trying to cultivate a plan for a force great enough to oust the Castilian King. The hours spent in deep conversation about strategy and government support proved fruitless, for almost as soon as Fogaça had set sail from Portugal, the Earl of Cambridge’s campaign began to fall apart.
Edmund of Langley, Earl of Cambridge, had led an expedition to Portugal which finally set sail in June 1381 in the immediate aftermath of the Peasants’ Revolt. Cambridge commanded a force of around 3,000 men and, due to his lack of military experience or success, he was accompanied by the veteran of Crécy, Poitiers and Sluys, Sir Matthew Gournay, who despite being seventy years old was determined to continue his military career. Also on board one of the Portuguese galleys – ships loaned to the English for the crossing – were Sir William Beauchamp, a retainer of Gaunt’s who had fought at Najéra and was familiar with the territory, and the Castilian secretary, Juan Gutierrez, who had loyally served the Duke of Lancaster over the previous decade. John of Gaunt had equipped his brother and representative to the best of his ability, and as the forty-one Portuguese ships drew out of the harbour at Portsmouth, the campaign for Castile looked promising.
The Earl of Cambridge doggedly supported John of Gaunt’s political pursuits. He was dependable, genial and easily led. With the support of more seasoned military leaders, it is possible that Gaunt saw Edmund as the natural choice to lead the expedition. Edmund also had a legitimate dynastic connection to Castile; he was married to Constance’s younger sister, Isabella. Subsequently, Cambridge sailed to Portugal with his own dynastic bargaining chip, his eight-year-old son Edward, who was to be betrothed to Beatrice, the daughter of Fernando of Portugal and his Queen, Leonora Teles.
By mid-July, the Earl of Cambridge’s fleet had anchored at Lisbon and the English and Portuguese engaged in a prolonged series of feasts and talks. Gaunt had pushed for the campaign to be considered a crusade – a branding he would engage in more heavily in the coming years. However, this proved problematic for the Portuguese. In 1380, Fernando had pledged his support to Clement VII, the Pope in Avignon. In order to legitimise his alliance with the English, he was now forced to switch to the Pope in Rome, who had sanctioned Gaunt’s ‘crusade’. Following a letter of support from Pope Urban VI, preparations for war were underway, including the English army trying to round up wild horses from the Portuguese countryside to serve as mounts. Cambridge had expected Fernando to provide for the army and was disappointed at the lacklustre attitude of the Portuguese King. As their relationship fell apart, so did the army: it soon became clear that Cambridge could not control his men. By autumn, the army that was camped outside the city walls began to raid local villages. The English quickly became an unwelcome presence in Lisbon and, as winter drew closer, it was clear that the King of Portugal showed little interest in war, despite his promises. The Earl of Cambridge wrote to his brother to warn him about the situation – unless Gaunt could provide another 4,000 men, the campaign would likely fail.
At the end of July, there was a moment of hope when the English and Portuguese army united near the Castilian town of Badajoz. There, they confronted Juan Trastámara in the early hours of the morning, on an expanse of flat, dry land free of the olive groves that grew liberally in the area. Aligned for battle, knighthoods were duly proffered and the usual ceremonial prerequisite of war took place as John of Gaunt’s banner was unrolled and released to fly high in the hot air. The English lined up, taking the vanguard with their Portuguese allies behind. As they prepared for battle, there was a great cry, ‘Castile and León, for King John, son of Edward of England!’ The Castilians watched the chivalrous preliminaries unfold from across the battlefield . . . before unceremoniously dispersing.
Eventually, Juan Trastámara offered Fernando terms of peace and a treaty was signed at Badajoz. The marriage agreement between Edmund’s young son and the Infanta was revoked and her hand was instead offered to Juan of Castile. The English army was now depleted, a third of its original size, and a humiliated Edmund of Cambridge was forced to return to England on ships leant to him by Juan Trastámara in a pointed act of generosity.
John of Gaunt was busy dealing with local affairs in Yorkshire when he received Portuguese Ambassador Lourenço Fogaça, who broke the news of the failed campaign. Desperate not to concede defeat, or give up on his ambition, the Duke simply refused to face the truth and threw his weight behind redeeming a situation that seemed to most, for now, unsalvageable.
The Lords and Commons were quickly ushered out of Westminster, as the walls of the palace shook and bricks fell through the air. People ran, screaming in fear, as the earth shifted. Buildings crumbled and crashed and barges bobbed on the unsettled waters of the Thames. A great earthquake had struck England, so severe that ‘pinnacles of temples’ crashed to the ground.11
Before the earthquake struck and Parliament was abruptly dissolved, it had been embroiled in a discussion over the way of war. John of Gaunt continued to promote his campaign in Castile, which was languishing in the absence of reinforcements. However, an opportunity had also arisen out of the civil war raging in Flanders. The people of Ghent continued to resist the Count of Flanders, Louis de Male, and were led by Philip van Artevelde, the son of the politician and brewer Jacob van Artevelde. As a result of the ongoing war, trade with Flanders was badly damaged, threatening England’s historic and wealth-creating wool exports. In February 1382, Philip van Artevelde sent envoys to Westminster to ask Richard II for his support against the Count of Flanders. He pledged to recognise Richard as Count of Flanders and King of France if he supplied an army to help liberate Ghent. Although government had previously stipulated that the priority was peace, this offer – should it prove successful – promised to restore the dwindling wool trade and reforge the alliance with Flanders which had historically proven beneficial. The van Artevelde family were formerly on good terms with the English crown – Philip was named after Queen Philippa and his father, the murdered Jacob, was Gaunt’s godfather. At the next Parliament held in October, Gaunt prepared to push hard for an expedition into Castile, but he was faced with competition.
As the Lords and Commons entered Westminster on a brisk October day, the question heavy in the air was ‘the way of Flanders’ or ‘the way of Castile’. Desperately pushing his case, John of Gaunt ambitiously promised that he could conquer Castile with 4,000 men and £40,000.12 He added that he would also manage to complete the campaign and secure the country within six months as well as repay the debt. This seemed too good to be true . . . and Parliament agreed that it probably was. Gaunt’s plan was yet again sidelined and, with mercantile support, Parliament considered the ‘way of Flanders’ the better option.13
A campaign into Flanders to help liberate Ghent was given an injection of energy by one of the most flamboyant and egocentric characters of the period. Henry Despenser, the Bishop of Norwich, hailed from one of the old noble families of England – his grandfather was the hated Hugh Despenser the Younger, a favourite of Edward II. Although a cleric by title, he was better suited to war, and during the Peasants’ Revolt he took it upon himself to round up rebels and personally punish them without trial. When hunting down insurgents, Walsingham describes the Bishop cutting an intimidating figure: ‘armed as a knight, accoutred with a metal helmet and a strong hauberk impregnable to arrows and wielding a substantial two edged sword . . . gnashing his teeth like a great boar’.14
Bishop Henry Despenser had managed to gain support from Pope Urban VI for a crusade against Clementists – supporters of the Pope in Avignon, Clement VII. The Pope in Rome issued a Papal Bull to the Bishop and permitted him to grant indulgences to those supporting the crusade – as the Count of Flanders was loyal to the Clementist French, this was considered a legitimate cause. Before Parliament had reached a decision over which war to support, the Bishop had already begun to make plans for his crusade. Despenser had Pope Urban VI’s Papal Bull publicly announced – even had it nailed to church doors – and began requesting financial donations from around the country. According to Knighton, ‘women in particular were keen to donate to the bishop, one woman even gave him one hundred pounds’.15 As gold, silver, jewels and plate were collected, Despenser liberally granted indulgences. People gladly relinquished their worldly goods so ‘they might secure absolution for their friends who had died, as well as for their own sins’ for they would be granted ‘the same indulgence as is given to those who go on Pilgrimage to the Holy Land’. It was people buying their way out of hell that filled Despenser’s war chest.
John of Gaunt was furious about the Bishop’s intervention, which forced a wedge between his Castilian invasion plans and the Parliamentary support he needed in order to enact them. In February, Parliament quickly agreed to the Flanders crusade and the Bishop’s preparations were fully endorsed. It was briefly suggested that the Duke lead the campaign rather than the Bishop, but the Commons – still mistrustful of Gaunt and allied with the merchants – argued that Despenser was the best candidate. It was agreed that John of Gaunt would be best placed at home, managing the defence of the realm. This was the right decision for England, and not necessarily made out of mistrust for the Duke of Lancaster; he was yet to prove he could lead a successful military campaign, but he was certainly able to diffuse tension on the borderlands with Scottish rebels.
Theatrically, Bishop Despenser carried a cross from Westminster to St Paul’s Cathedral before departing for his crusade. He had more than enough gold to pay for the expedition.16 John of Gaunt was humiliatingly thrust to the sidelines; jaded and frustrated, he recklessly began to pick fights in London by making spiteful remarks about the Bishop’s supporters in Parliament. His words became public knowledge and the unpopular Duke was forced, yet again, to make an embarrassing escape from the City. He fled on horseback with just a few of his men for company.
John of Gaunt spent significantly less time in Westminster during this period. Richard, now fifteen and married, was becoming increasingly independent and belligerent. Gaunt was also so unpopular in London he could not even sleep soundly, out of fear for his life. He was duly sent north to Scotland to make terms yet again with Carrick in response to a Scottish attack on Wark-on-Tweed. By the end of the summer of 1383, John of Gaunt was in no better position than the year before. Richard’s close and influential circle worked against him, including Robert de Vere and Thomas Mowbray, but also some older advisors such as his former tutor Simon Burley. The clique that had formed around the King noticeably alienated the royal uncles, particularly John of Gaunt who found his position steadily weakened.
As Gaunt tried to bargain with the Scots, Henry Despenser’s crusade in Flanders was falling apart. With Ghent allies, he besieged Ypres – which contrary to the point of the crusade was a largely Urbanist town – but had been forced to break off the siege when the French reached the River Lys with an army. The Bishop wanted to meet the French King, Charles VI, in battle, but the leaders of the Ghent rebels wanted to continue the siege. Overnight the army broke up in disagreement and Despenser made his way to Gravelines. In Paris, Charles VI was handed the Oriflame – the war flag of France – by the Abbot of Saint-Denis and gained the support of the Pope in Avignon, who offered the French generous indulgences that matched Urban VI’s offers to the English. As Despenser laid siege to Gravelines, news spread that the French army was prepared to invade Flanders with a force greater than had been seen for a generation.17
John of Gaunt was at Pontefract Castle when he heard the news that Despenser’s crusade was in trouble. Gaunt could not trust Richard to act fast and deliver orders. He decisively summoned his men, rode south and took passage to Flanders from the Isle of Thanet in Kent, intent on rescuing the crusaders before Bishop Despenser dragged them into French hands and the situation became unsalvageable.
Remarkably, despite being in a position of strength, the French proposed a truce and Despenser was able to negotiate safe passage for his men to Calais. As the humiliated Bishop set sail back to England, John of Gaunt met with Philip of Burgundy, the uncle of the French King. With permission from Richard to negotiate as Lieutenant in Flanders and France, John of Gaunt worked to repair the damage caused by the Bishop of Norwich. The disastrous situation in Flanders brought John of Gaunt no closer to the throne of Castile, but his actions in France served as a reminder of his importance as a figure of diplomacy and authority, perhaps inspiring Richard II to utilise him further. The situation gave Gaunt a morale boost, even if domestic politics remained set against him in the long term.
The Bishop of Norwich did not escape criticism for his failed campaign. He was pulled up before King and Parliament in October and put on trial, accused of bribery and surrender to the French on appalling terms. Despenser shifted the blame wherever he could but it didn’t work. The Bishop was stripped of his secular assets, fined the cost of the expedition and forced to abandon his hopes of military glory and return to his Norwich diocese.
Almost as soon as John of Gaunt had returned from Calais, he was deployed to manage another Scottish incursion against an English-held garrison. The Earls of Douglas and March had taken Lochmaben Castle, a singularly important and strategic outpost for the English in Annandale. The long truce that had been agreed with Scotland in 1370 was coming to an end in 1384; the recurrent border raids and antagonism managed by Gaunt previously were only a prequel to the potential threat of a Scottish attack at the end of the long truce.
By spring, John of Gaunt and his brothers – Thomas, Earl of Buckingham, and Edmund, Earl of Cambridge – marched towards Edinburgh with an army of over 4,000 men. They passed Melrose Abbey, where Gaunt had previously been given protection by the Earl of Douglas – it is for this reason he forbade his men to burn the abbey to the ground in the manner of conventional warfare. However, the army chopped down and burnt woodland – Henry Knighton records ‘the sound of eighty-thousand axes at work, chopping down trees which were then fed to flames’.18 Passing through towns and villages and destroying them, the army pushed on to Edinburgh where the town’s residents fled, and the English army occupied the fortress. Despite taking the castle, Gaunt was unable to draw the Scottish leaders into battle as they fled over the Firth of Forth estuary. Eventually the royal brothers were forced to abandon the campaign. To his frustration and humiliation, Gaunt was forced to rely on his old adversary Henry Percy to maintain the borders in his absence. John of Gaunt left Scotland without any resolution, giving the Scots free rein to return and to continue to attack the last of the English-held garrisons in their country.19
The court travelled to Salisbury for the spring Parliament in 1384 which was held in the great hall of the Bishop’s palace. During a break from proceedings, the King took mass in the chamber of Robert de Vere, the Earl of Oxford. After the liturgy was complete and Richard made ready to leave, the Carmelite friar who conducted the mass requested the attention of the King in person and Richard allowed him to speak. The nervous friar warned Richard that he was in grave danger, revealing a plot to kill him – a plot hatched by his uncle, the Duke of Lancaster.
Richard was now seventeen and increasingly volatile and impulsive. After years of growing tension between the King and John of Gaunt, he did not question the truth of the accusation; spitting with rage, he ordered the immediate execution of his uncle, without trial. This was not Richard’s first outburst during the Salisbury Parliament. John of Gaunt had already diffused Richard’s attack on the abrasive Earl of Arundel after the Earl accused the government of mismanagement. Richard retaliated with threats and cursed the Earl to ‘go to the devil’.20
The lords present when Richard ordered Gaunt’s execution panicked and tried to reason with the King. Such an order could not be enacted without trial; to do so would be against the law. Finally, Richard calmed down and was persuaded to hear John of Gaunt’s side of the argument. The friar, a Carmelite called John Latimer, was ordered to put his charges against the Duke of Lancaster in writing. Faced with the sudden pressure of the task, Latimer feigned madness, stripping off and throwing his shoes out the window.21
When Gaunt was informed of the claims made against him, he was exasperated rather than afraid. Thomas Walsingham’s account of the exchange is that Gaunt was summoned to a public meeting before the King. Gaunt apparently sighed and replied to his nephew, ‘Oh why, my Lord, do you trust such informers? Am I not your uncle? Am I not your protector? Am I not the chief man in the realm after you? What could influence me to betray or even kill you, when I would gain nothing from your death?’22 He then went on to defend his honour in the chivalric manner he was accustomed to, challenging any man who accused him of treason. After the Peasants’ Revolt, Thomas Walsingham took a favourable turn in his portrayal of John of Gaunt and his description of Gaunt’s indifference towards the claim of attempted regicide is believable. Over his lifetime, John had endured a variety of rumours and slanders against his name and, as he was well aware of the position many of Richard’s close advisors took against him, it is likely that he knew the origins of the accusation. It is no coincidence that Gaunt made his challenge aloud and that Richard was informed of the alleged plot in the company of Robert de Vere, who had probably invited Richard to participate in a mass conducted by a priest of his choosing. As for the priest, John Latimer, he became a tragic scapegoat for this short period of political backstabbing.
As Parliament proceeded, Latimer was incarcerated at Salisbury Castle under the care of a gaoler and, after a few days imprisonment, the priest was tortured to death. John of Gaunt blamed the gaoler for his death and flatly denied any involvement in the man’s murder. The ill-fated priest had undergone a period of brutal questioning, led by Sir John Holland, the King’s half-brother. Under duress, the priest admitted that Lord la Zouche knew of the plot against Richard. Following this accusation, William, Third Baron Zouche – incapacitated with gout – was brought before the King on a litter, to swear an oath that he had no knowledge of a plot, before he was allowed to return home to continue his recovery.23 Under agonising physical duress (‘they lit a fire beneath him, choking and burning him and hung a heavy stone from his genitals’), Latimer begged to speak with Lord Zouche but as he appeared to have no knowledge of the plot, the conversation came to nothing. In order to turn attention away from Latimer’s murder, it was spun that he should suffer the same fate as he attempted to inflict on the man he falsely accused. His corpse was placed on a hurdle and dragged through the streets of Salisbury before he was buried at the church of St Martin. Some claimed that green foliage sprouted from the pallet and flowers grew, and even that as the pallet was dragged past woeful onlookers, they were touched by miracles.24
As the Salisbury Parliament continued, Gaunt’s authority seemed to have survived the Latimer scandal. The Commons raised the issue of retainers abusing their power through their connection to powerful vassals. According to the Westminster Chronicle, the Commons complained that livery badges – visible attributes which demonstrate that one is in the service of a particular lord – were handed out too readily and those who held them over-exercised their authority. The Commons requested that the giving of livery badges should be prohibited, to which Gaunt argued that the complaint was too general and that lords were able to punish the crimes of their men. Gaunt’s stamp of authority on the subject was evident and the issue was put to rest.
John of Gaunt’s busy period of diplomacy and military activity – both successful and not – proved that he was still a linchpin in the management of the realm. It was his steady authority that kept Richard from overexerting his power and causing internal contention. However, Richard resented his uncle’s authoritative presence, his smooth diplomacy and his vast wealth and power. This resentment came to a head when John of Gaunt suggested that Richard was old enough and able enough to cut his teeth in a military campaign and lead an army in the manner of the Kings before him.
In January 1384, Louis de Male, Count of Flanders, died in Lille, leaving his daughter Margaret to inherit Flanders, Brabant, Artois and Burgundy. As Margaret was married to Philip, Duke of Burgundy, otherwise known as Philip the Bold, he became the new Count of Flanders. As the French King’s uncle, it was inevitable that Flanders would fall under Charles’s jurisdiction. To protect English interests in Flanders, John of Gaunt, with the support of his brothers the Earls of Cambridge and Buckingham, pushed Richard to invade France before the French could invade England. During an intimate council in February 1385, the issue was raised with furious consequences. Richard argued that the realm needed to be defended, not abandoned by an army sailing across the Channel. Furious at Richard’s stubborn decision to remain safely in England, John of Gaunt stormed out of the council chamber ‘in high dudgeon’. In a foul temper, he left the King’s presence shouting that he would not offer his support or any of his men to the King, unless he resolved to invade France.25
On Valentine’s Day, Richard held a two-day jousting tournament inside Westminster Hall. As chargers raced towards each other, the clattering of hooves and heavy armour rang out through the hall and the crowd surrounding the lists cheered loudly. The King was accompanied by his close friends and advisors, including Robert de Vere, Earl of Oxford, and Thomas Mowbray, Earl of Nottingham. After John of Gaunt’s furious outburst against Richard at the previous council, de Vere and Mowbray had no trouble convincing the King that his uncle should be silenced. Aware that they would never be able to unseat Gaunt via traditional politics, de Vere and Mowbray worked covertly, planning on ‘removing him by underhand means’.26 As the crowd cheered and lances cracked and splintered through Westminster Hall, whispers circulated between de Vere, Mowbray and even the King himself, to have the Duke of Lancaster assassinated. The plot against John of Gaunt did not get very far; on hearing a rumour of the conspiracy against him, he was understandably furious. Gaunt was a prince who vigorously upheld the code of chivalry; the murder of one’s family was the ultimate betrayal. Decisively and bravely he went to confront the King, alone.
The river was quiet at the dead of night as a small barge rowed upstream towards Richmond. On board were armed guards dressed in Lancastrian livery, led by John of Gaunt who was also armed and wore a breastplate. As the boat silently moored at the side of the Thames, Gaunt disembarked and made his way towards the Palace of Sheen, where the King was staying. Gaunt entered the palace, telling his men to wait outside and not allow entry to anybody until he returned. He found the King, surrounded by the men who likely orchestrated the plot against him, and strode forward into Richard’s presence where he bowed graciously before publicly scolding with ‘harshness and severity’ the surprised Richard for his deeply ‘shameful’ behaviour.27 The King crumbled and desperately apologised to his uncle, swearing that he would reform his inner circle. However, Gaunt was unconvinced. He loudly scorned those who wished him dead and left Richard’s presence instantly. He was rowed back over the river and away from London to his castle in Hertford. John of Gaunt’s intrusion at Sheen was impulsive and theatrical, but in that one decisive action he reasserted his position over his enemies at court and even over the King.
Word quickly got out about the plot against the Duke of Lancaster. Archbishop Courtenay, who had historically been Gaunt’s adversary, was exasperated with the King’s fecklessness and complained about his actions against Gaunt during a council at Westminster. The humiliated Richard leapt to his feet and spat ‘a volley of threats against him’ and later even drew his sword against the Archbishop. Princess Joan was appalled at Richard’s behaviour and, unlike his reaction to the Archbishop, Richard glumly accepted her anger and promised to reconcile with his uncle. Princess Joan had always been a reliable and constant support to John of Gaunt and, as a popular princess amongst the people, she had – on multiple occasions – tidied up his disputes. This occasion was no different and Thomas Walsingham stipulates that Joan went to great lengths to repair the rift between Richard and Gaunt: ‘though not strong and used to luxury and hardly able to move about, because she was so fat, nether the less neglected her own tranquil way of life and gladly took upon herself the troublesome journey first to the King and then to the Duke, until she achieved her desire to restore peace and concord between the two men’.28 At her request, John of Gaunt met Richard II at Westminster in early March and forgave him.
As Gaunt and Richard reconciled their differences, a natural opportunity arose for them to spend time together on campaign. An army of 1,000 men at arms and 600 bowmen had landed in Scotland led by the French general, Jean de Vienne.29 They had allied with the Scots to push the English from Scotland and attack the North of England.
John of Gaunt was present at a war council that met at Reading Abbey in early June. What had initially been concern over the situation in Scotland grew into panic, as it was clear that the French were intending to invade from Scotland, as well as taking Ghent in a separate attack. At Reading, the leading magnates of the realm were forced to make solid strategic decisions to protect England from what was potentially an enormous invasion. It was agreed that seventeen-year-old Richard would lead the army in his first military campaign and that they would muster at Newcastle before entering Scotland in mid-July. John of Gaunt would meet them at Durham, after preparing his men and supplies from Pontefract.
By early July, Richard had set off on the expedition, leaving a council in Westminster to manage the defence of the coastline to the south. Around the same time, the King of France took up the Oriflamme and moved towards Arras. Jean de Vienne reached Edinburgh where he pushed for an attack on the borderlands and English northern castles; however, the Scots resisted, insisting on avoiding siege warfare. Eventually, a treaty between the old allies was signed in Edinburgh stipulating that the army would follow the French course of action and, after weeks of discussion and conflict over strategy, the campaign was set to start near the end of the month – almost ten days after the Anglo-Scottish peace treaty had expired. However, the French army had already grown agitated. According to Froissart, they were distinctly unimpressed with Scotland and its ‘savage race’. They hated the food and the poor quality of the wine, and Jean de Vienne complained that Scotland had nothing but ‘wild beasts, forests and mountains’. After the army captured Wark Castle, murdering all inside its walls, the tension between the Scots and the French became unresolvable and the Scottish army turned back. Jean de Vienne’s French army continued south towards Berwick-upon-Tweed, with only the Earl of Douglas remaining out of the Scottish nobles. However, when they received news that a massive English army was on the march, they turned and fled to avoid defeat.
Richard’s move against the recent Franco-Scottish alliance stirred the country into action and the largest army of Englishmen since Crécy banded together to march north.30 John of Gaunt led the largest division, marching at the head of the vanguard with his brother, Thomas, Earl of Buckingham, and Thomas Mowbray, the Earl Marshal. Even the humiliated Bishop of Norwich took part in the expedition, carrying the banner of St Cuthbert.
The campaign to Scotland came at a time when the English lords needed uniting. After the plot against Gaunt came to the fore, tension was rife amongst the nobility. When they arrived at Durham, Richard sought to repair the feud and insisted that Gaunt, Robert de Vere and Thomas Mowbray put aside their differences and form a united front. After the army entered Scotland in early August, Richard knighted his men and elevated his uncles Buckingham and Cambridge to the Dukes of Gloucester and York. It was this traditional display of kingship that John of Gaunt expected of his nephew and he was pleased by the performance, more so when his son, Henry Bolingbroke, was given the title Earl of Derby. However, Richard could not honour his uncles without satisfying the intensely ambitious expectations of his dear friend, Robert de Vere. In extraordinarily preferential treatment, Richard made de Vere Marquis of Dublin. This was the first ever use of this noble title and the royal uncles were highly unlikely to have approved.
Shortly afterwards, the army marched towards Edinburgh and were faced with a familiar scenario when trying to lure the French and Scots into battle. The Scots would not meet the English in open combat, but picked away at their flanks, resulting in minor skirmishes and no real result. The Scottish people fled at the familiar sight of an imposing English army, taking their supplies with them, leaving nothing for the men to plunder or feed themselves. The army took prisoners where they could and burned the landscape, sparing Melrose Abbey – perhaps again at Gaunt’s request – and stationing men there to protect it from pillagers. The army camped in the forest of Ettrick on their march towards Edinburgh and the prisoners they had gathered on their way were put to death – Richard’s first campaign was merciless. When they reached Edinburgh, the town itself was deserted except for some Scots garrisoned inside the castle; they watched from its high walls as English soldiers ignited the town below. Out of respect to those who protected him from his own countrymen in 1381, Gaunt persuaded Richard to spare Holyrood Abbey the same fate.
Shortly before the army reached Edinburgh, news came from the south that would crush Richard. His mother, Joan of Kent, had died. Joan had grown increasingly overweight and immobile, but nonetheless was a calming influence on Richard and a consistent ally to John of Gaunt. This sad news may have contributed to the squabbling between uncle and nephew that soon followed.
The Scots were careful to remove any food from the path of the English, and as the army had been put into the field without sufficient time to organise the necessary logistics to ensure steady supplies, the men grew hungry in Edinburgh. Without being able to engage the French and Scottish forces, the English were heading for the same problem they had faced in Gaunt’s earlier campaign: the enemy had once again retreated across the Firth of Forth. John of Gaunt was keen to push on and hunt them down to secure victory; however, Richard disagreed. With a famished army, he was adamant that it was time to retreat. Such concern for the welfare of his men was uncharacteristic; it is more likely that Richard had had enough of Scotland and enough of war. In a rage, the King turned on his uncle and accused him of treason, screaming ‘you have been the ruin of me because of your bad leadership, your advice, the bad terrain and because of hunger, thirst and poverty. Always concerned for your purse, you are totally unconcerned for me. And now, it is typical of you to want to force me to cross the Scottish sea, so that I may perish with my men’.31 Gaunt was quick to point out his loyalty to Richard, plainly stating, ‘but I am also your man!’ However, Richard was now determined to see his uncle as a traitor and a threat, disputing that Gaunt had ever demonstrated loyalty to the King. It was in Walsingham’s later interest to force his narrative against Richard, but if there is any truth in his account of the argument, Richard appears more concerned over Gaunt’s acknowledgement and servitude than the welfare of the army. Angry and frustrated, Richard ordered a retreat.
As the army moved through the wreckage, they returned to Melrose Abbey, to find the English soldiers left on guard there had been slaughtered. Out of spite, Richard had the beautiful Cistercian abbey burnt to ashes. The lacklustre army continued to Newcastle, where they disbanded, and Richard returned to Westminster. John of Gaunt did not accompany him, but stayed in the north. As expected, the Scots came out of hiding and followed the army, attacking stragglers before raiding the border towns that were once again left in the care of Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland. Meanwhile, the French finally managed to take Ghent and any hope of English sovereignty in Flanders was lost.
As the King and Gaunt bickered over strategy in Scotland, another decisive battle was under way in the region of Aljubarrota in Portugal. After the death of King Ferdinand in 1383, Portugal was plunged into a period of interregnum after a rebellion out of Lisbon ended the possibility of Portugal being ruled by Castile. Instead, the Grand Master of the crusading Order of Aviz took the position of Defender of the Realm and was later made King of Portugal. Juan, the King of Castile, was furious that his wife’s birthright had been stripped from her – and therefore from him – and duly invaded his neighbour. The monarchical contest came to a head on a field at Aljubarrota on 14 August 1385.32
The Portuguese held a strong defensive position at the top of the hill, forcing the Castilians to attack from below. After a brutal melée, during which the Castilian standard-bearer fell, the Portuguese pursued the Castilian army down the hill, slaughtering them as they fled. Throughout the night and the next day, Castilian soldiers were hunted down and killed; a popular legend claims that a six-fingered woman who ran a bakery in the nearby town killed six Castilians with her bare hands when she found them hiding in her bread oven.
When the news reached John of Gaunt of the victory at Aljubarrota, he had only recently returned from Scotland after Richard’s failed campaign. The information elated him and he was desperate to convince Parliament to sanction a Castilian expedition. Like Bishop Despenser, John of Gaunt had sought the approval of Pope Urban VI to travel to Castile as a crusade against the Clementist schismatics. He was granted a Papal Bull which sanctioned his crusade, but it was not until 1386 that he was finally able to enact it.33
At the October Parliament held at Westminster, John of Gaunt – electrified by the new opportunity – stood to argue his case to the Lords and Commons. He made an address, promising that he would establish peace in perpetuity between England and Spain.34 He requested funding for the crusade and anticipated further aid with the promise of indulgences. Parliament finally granted his wish and he spent the next five months preparing for his invasion. However, the people did not appear to be as supportive of Gaunt’s crusade as of Bishop Despenser’s, for he did not accumulate nearly the same sum by the sale of indulgences. It was perhaps too clear that this was not a crusade against schismatics, but the Duke of Lancaster’s dynastic and territorial conquest.
On Easter Day 1386, John of Gaunt, along with Constance, came to say goodbye to the King and Queen. Aside from the necessary formalities, there was no familial love that endured between Gaunt and Richard. The King had likely sanctioned his uncle’s crusade to be rid of him, allowing him finally to exercise his incessant desire for kingship away from England, ending a long and painful power-struggle between uncle and nephew. Richard declared him the true heir of Castile and Leon, and gifted him a golden crown.35 Finally, Gaunt was ready to leave Westminster for Castile. He set off through the West Country, stopping at various shrines before reaching Plymouth, where he would set sail with a fleet of galleys sent by King Joao of Portugal. John of Gaunt took with him his three daughters, Philippa, Elizabeth – who was by now married to the King’s half-brother John Holland – and Catherine, as well as his wife Constance, through whom he could claim Castile. Significantly, Henry Bolingbroke would not accompany his father to abet his lifelong dream of the Spanish throne. Gaunt was close to his son, they often toured Lancastrian lands together and, as Gaunt fell out of favour with the King, Richard had grown increasingly hostile to Henry. As father and son were so frequently in each other’s company, it is telling that Henry did not go to Spain. The night before the fleet set sail, John of Gaunt and Bolingbroke dined together on board one of the Portuguese galleys. Gaunt appears to have wished his son to remain in England, to protect the vast Lancastrian fortune that would be his inheritance. On board the ship that night, Gaunt made Henry ‘lieutenant of all that he had in England’ for Gaunt did not trust Richard or those who advised him.36 37
As darkness fell over Plymouth, the fleet carrying John of Gaunt and his family – as well as the army that would fight for his throne that summer – set sail for Spain. Gaunt was convinced that he would finally take Castile and establish himself at the head of a powerful continental dynasty, as intended by his father, King Edward III.