Mortimer, the Mortimers being the ancestors of the duke. But whoever he was, by mid-May, he was marching from Kent to London with a horde of armed men, determined to present a list of grievances to the king.
When Henry, who was holding Parliament at Leicester, heard the news, he and a number of his lords hastened to London, where they stayed at St. John’s priory in Clerkenwell. I stayed at Greenwich, where I passed the fine June days pacing up and down by the riverside, waiting for the return of the messengers I dispatched two or three times a day to the king for news. At last, on June 18, I learned that Henry himself was riding to meet the rebels at Blackheath, where they had encamped. It was the first time my husband had ever arrayed himself for battle, and I suppose it could be termed a success in a way, because when Henry arrived, the rebels had disappeared the night before. Soon, Henry was back with me at Greenwich.
In no time at all, it seemed, bad news followed us there: two of Henry’s kinsmen, the Stafford brothers, had pursued the fleeing rebels into Kent, certain that they could be dealt with easily now that they were out of London. Instead, the Staffords and about forty of their men had been killed near Sevenoaks, and Jack Cade, who by now had become the rebels’ official leader, was strutting about in Humphrey Stafford’s brigandine, salet, and spurs. Meanwhile, another contingent of Henry’s men, itching for action, ran wild through another part of Kent. Instead of intimidating the rebels, they only succeeded in bringing them more adherents.
“Even your grace’s men at Blackheath are beginning to murmur in favor of the rebels now,” the Duke of Buckingham informed Henry and me at Greenwich. He looked drawn and weary; the Staffords who had died were his cousins. “They have threatened to join them unless you imprison Lord Saye.”
Lord Saye had held the hopeless job of royal treasurer since the year before. I knew better than to ask Buckingham what he had done to incur the anger of the Kentishmen; he had been close to Suffolk, which was enough. “You think they are serious?” Henry asked.
“I fear so. Lord Saye is unpopular in Kent in his own right, your grace must know; he is claimed to have acquired property there through foul means. Whether there is truth to it, who knows? But he is also blamed for our difficulties in France, and having been associated with the Duke of Suffolk…”
I blinked back tears. Henry said resignedly, “I must trust to your judgment. Have young Exeter arrest him.” Henry Holland, the sulky young duke I’d played cards with in more innocent times, had returned from Ireland (without his guardian) and had been allowed to take over his late father’s duties as Constable of the Tower.
“That will please them,” Buckingham said dryly. “One of the complaints of Cade’s men is that men of royal blood like Exeter and the Duke of York have been kept from your grace in favor of men affiliated with the Duke of Suffolk.”
“God’s wounds!” I said unthinkingly. Henry turned grey-faced at the oath, the first I’d ever used in his company. “Must they speak of Suffolk always as if he were the devil incarnate? They have his life. Will they not be satisfied until they destroy every vestige of his memory?”
“They are bitter men, your grace, and frightened ones. Kent has suffered from the war more than most parts of the country, in terms of trade, and it has been raided by the French. Too, they see the soldiers returning from abroad, demoralized. And they believe they lack justice.”
They should all be lacking heads, I thought, but Henry looked so miserable I forbore from saying anything. Instead, I excused myself and went back to my garden and my ladies.
***
“I am going to Westminster, my dear. And then I am going to Kenilworth.”
My jaw dropped. “Withdraw from this area? With Cade’s men still in Kent?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to
When Henry, who was holding Parliament at Leicester, heard the news, he and a number of his lords hastened to London, where they stayed at St. John’s priory in Clerkenwell. I stayed at Greenwich, where I passed the fine June days pacing up and down by the riverside, waiting for the return of the messengers I dispatched two or three times a day to the king for news. At last, on June 18, I learned that Henry himself was riding to meet the rebels at Blackheath, where they had encamped. It was the first time my husband had ever arrayed himself for battle, and I suppose it could be termed a success in a way, because when Henry arrived, the rebels had disappeared the night before. Soon, Henry was back with me at Greenwich.
In no time at all, it seemed, bad news followed us there: two of Henry’s kinsmen, the Stafford brothers, had pursued the fleeing rebels into Kent, certain that they could be dealt with easily now that they were out of London. Instead, the Staffords and about forty of their men had been killed near Sevenoaks, and Jack Cade, who by now had become the rebels’ official leader, was strutting about in Humphrey Stafford’s brigandine, salet, and spurs. Meanwhile, another contingent of Henry’s men, itching for action, ran wild through another part of Kent. Instead of intimidating the rebels, they only succeeded in bringing them more adherents.
“Even your grace’s men at Blackheath are beginning to murmur in favor of the rebels now,” the Duke of Buckingham informed Henry and me at Greenwich. He looked drawn and weary; the Staffords who had died were his cousins. “They have threatened to join them unless you imprison Lord Saye.”
Lord Saye had held the hopeless job of royal treasurer since the year before. I knew better than to ask Buckingham what he had done to incur the anger of the Kentishmen; he had been close to Suffolk, which was enough. “You think they are serious?” Henry asked.
“I fear so. Lord Saye is unpopular in Kent in his own right, your grace must know; he is claimed to have acquired property there through foul means. Whether there is truth to it, who knows? But he is also blamed for our difficulties in France, and having been associated with the Duke of Suffolk…”
I blinked back tears. Henry said resignedly, “I must trust to your judgment. Have young Exeter arrest him.” Henry Holland, the sulky young duke I’d played cards with in more innocent times, had returned from Ireland (without his guardian) and had been allowed to take over his late father’s duties as Constable of the Tower.
“That will please them,” Buckingham said dryly. “One of the complaints of Cade’s men is that men of royal blood like Exeter and the Duke of York have been kept from your grace in favor of men affiliated with the Duke of Suffolk.”
“God’s wounds!” I said unthinkingly. Henry turned grey-faced at the oath, the first I’d ever used in his company. “Must they speak of Suffolk always as if he were the devil incarnate? They have his life. Will they not be satisfied until they destroy every vestige of his memory?”
“They are bitter men, your grace, and frightened ones. Kent has suffered from the war more than most parts of the country, in terms of trade, and it has been raided by the French. Too, they see the soldiers returning from abroad, demoralized. And they believe they lack justice.”
They should all be lacking heads, I thought, but Henry looked so miserable I forbore from saying anything. Instead, I excused myself and went back to my garden and my ladies.
***
“I am going to Westminster, my dear. And then I am going to Kenilworth.”
My jaw dropped. “Withdraw from this area? With Cade’s men still in Kent?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to
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