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EXCERPT #1:
RICHARD CONFRONTS THE REBELS FOR
THE FIRST TIME
Ten
thousand or more crowded the banks of the Thames near the king's manor of
Rotherhithe, shrieking and howling like the demons of hell. The royal barge,
hung with the Plantagenet lions, floated safely in the middle of the river,
while King Richard gripped his sword, trying to emulate his royal forefathers.
His elders would agree that the fourteen year-old monarch looked every bit the
Plantagenet successor; he was tall for his age, with delicate features and red
hair like his father. Richard was born to be king and now he must prove
it—though at the moment he felt more like a lamb than a lion.
He
waited for the frenzy to exhaust itself. "Why are you here and what do you
want?" The young voice, clear and shrill, reached its listeners who broke
out once again into a clamor, shaking their farm tools and rusty old blades.
"Come
to the shore!" One voice carried over the din. "Speak with us in
person!"
Standing
under a large red canopy with his counsellors, Richard glanced upriver at the
four smaller barges serving as his escort. The boats had hung back, not daring
to come any closer. This was a sorry plight his advisors had led them into!
Sighing, Richard turned to Archbishop Sudbury; he could see the terror in the
prelate's face. This wasn't helping.
"I
p-promised I would speak with them," the king said uncertainly. "I
must at least try."
Bristling
under two great banners with St. George's cross and forty pennons, the mob
continued its uproar while the king turned to his other advisors. Sir Robert
Hales, England's treasurer, stepped up beside the archbishop. "We can't
expect any mercy from them. They are out for blood." Richard frowned,
dissatisfied. Hales might be Lord Grand Prior of the Knights Hospitaller, but
today his courage seemed to have fled. The man's eyes were almost bulging from
his head.
Richard
then turned to the Earl of Salisbury, the most experienced soldier on the
barge. "And what is your advice?" he asked, trying to keep a brave
face.
"You
cannot go ashore. They might restrain you—hold you hostage, or worse. This is
an undisciplined rabble."
This
was the best counsel they could give him? He had to do something, though his
advisors would probably criticize him for making the wrong choice— with the utmost courtesy, of course,
and polite language. Taking a deep breath, Richard turned back to the crowd. He
hoped he could control his stutter. "What is it you want from me?" he
shouted. "Tell me, now that I have come this far."
He
stood, arms crossed, while the men closest to the river conferred with each
other. Finally, coming to a decision, the apparent leader got into a boat with
a couple of rowers. They brought their craft as close as they dared. "Here
is what we want," the man called. "We demand the heads of John of
Gaunt, Archbishop Sudbury, Treasurer Hales, Chief Justice Robert Belknap,
Robert Plesington Baron of the Exchequer, John Legge and Thomas Brampton."
"Why,
you seek to deprive me of my chief ministers," Richard cried. Behind him,
he could hear Sudbury calling down God's curses on their heads.
"We
seek to save you from corrupt officials," the rebel shouted back.
"By
killing them all? How would that help me?"
"They
are destroying the country with their dishonest administration."
"This
is too dangerous," Salisbury spoke in Richard's ear. "We must
leave."
Nodding
in agreement, the king tried one last time. "If you wish to continue
negotiations," he called, less sure of himself, "you may do so at
Windsor on Monday next." While he was speaking, the barge was already
turning around. Stunned at losing their advantage, the crowd howled in anger
and the rebel boat fell back in confusion. But Richard no longer cared. He was
headed for the safety of the Tower, though for the first few minutes they were
at the mercy of any archer who might choose to draw his bow. Fortunately,
nothing happened aside from the shouts of "Treason! Treason!" that
diminished as they gained speed.
The
king stared at the receding mob, biting his lip, until they were out of range.
He had never felt so alone. This debacle was not of his making, yet everyone
was looking to him for a solution. It just wasn't fair. Even though he had been
king for four years, he was in leading reins just as assuredly as any young
horse. He sat in council meetings—even presided at Parliament—but his opinions
were politely dismissed. They said he was too young, too inexperienced to make
decisions. He was expected to watch and learn while his chief ministers made a
mess of things. Well, they certainly taught him what not to do! And now, with half the country in an uproar, all they
could do was dither. No one had taken the rising seriously enough to gather a
force to confront the rebels, and now that the angry multitude was at the gates
of London, no one had a suggestion what to do about it. Obviously, this attempt
had failed disastrously. But at least he had tried.
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