THE FRENCH ARCHBISHOP ATTEMPTS TO NEGOTIATE WITH KING HENRY as told by Humphrey Duke of Gloucester
"Peace be to thee and thy house," the archbishop repeated, bowing. What a tiresome man! "All men ought to yearn for peace."
Henry nodded, pretending to go along with his sentiments. Then he glanced sideways at Beaufort, who cleared his throat.
"My lord king is glad that his cousin desires peace. However, his incessant delays have caused much harm. My king urges your master to act with greater promptness in the future."
Boisratier couldn't hide his discomfiture. He blinked rapidly then quickly wiped his forehead. "I appeal to the judgment of all Christendom that King Charles has done everything in his power to preserve peace," he objected, trying to moderate his voice. "He has offered to give up cities and domains of priceless worth in Aquitaine, as well as 800,000 gold franks as a dower for his daughter Katherine, which is more than ever offered before." He held his hands apart as though to indicate bounty. "He hopes in return that you, Sire, should disband the army you are gathering at Southampton with hostile intention—"
"Your king already knows that his pitiful concessions are unacceptable," Henry interrupted in a harsh voice. "Why waste our time?"
"Waste your time?" The archbishop controlled his temper with great effort. "Do you not understand, My Lord, what wonderful advantages would accrue to England with this marriage?"
"I understand all too well the beauty and value of Princess Katherine," Henry retorted, "else I would not be discussing this matter with you now."
This back-and-forth negotiating went on for a couple of days; it's all too tedious to recount. When the final day came and everyone was ready to get down to serious business, Bishop Beaufort asked for a specific date when Princess Katherine would be brought over to England. We wanted her to come by 30 November, and the archbishop demurred, stating that they didn't have enough time. More deliberation ensued, with Boisratier claiming he wasn't authorized to make firm commitments.
Finally, Henry lost his patience. "Say what you will. None of this alters the fact that the time has come for me to recover my inheritance and the rights that belong to the crown."
The archbishop's face grew red and his hands tightened around his crosier. He had been nursing his indignation for much too long. "You don't even have the right to the crown of England!" he burst out. "We should really be treating with the true heirs of Richard… not some pretender."
We all held our breath. Henry stepped forward, pointing with a trembling hand. "How dare you speak to me like that? This interview is over. Begone, I tell you, before I throw you out!" My brother's anger was unfeigned, and he turned and stormed out of the room, his imprecations carrying through the door as it slammed behind him.
Boisratier pursed his lips. I would assume he regretted his hasty words. He was about to apologize when Bishop Beaufort stepped before the draped throne, opening a scroll he had held in readiness. "It is clear to us," he declared, reading, "that your king does not really desire peace. As a result, King Henry must resort to other means. If the French king does not give up all Aquitaine, Normandy, Anjou, Touraine, Poitou, Maine, and Ponthieu, King Henry will go on with his fixed resolve and recover all—and the crown of France—at the point of his sword."
Needless to say, this speech was already prepared. Boisratier opened his mouth to respond, but Beaufort rode over his objection.
"As God is our witness," the bishop said, his voice even louder, "this course of action was forced upon us by the constant delays and denial of justice imposed upon our just demands."
Boisratier stomped his foot. "Do you suppose that our concessions were made because our lord King Charles is afraid? Absolutely not! Come on, if you desire. We will be ready for you! And your King Henry will either be killed or captured. Of this, I do swear!" Gathering what tattered dignity he had left, the archbishop strode through the midst of his own attendants, who hurriedly turned and followed him out of the room.
And so the last formal negotiations came to an abrupt end, and King Henry no longer needed to deny that he was preparing for a formal invasion. In a way, it was a great relief.
As soon as we could, Beaufort and I went in search of my brother. We found him at a window, watching the French negotiators mount their horses, while the archbishop was trundled into a litter. Beaufort made enough noise to be heard, but Henry did not turn around. It was a delicate moment, and I suddenly felt like an intruder. The concept of usurper rarely came to the forefront, and it would be difficult to soften the blow.
I wasn't used to seeing my brother show any sign of weakness or uncertainty and I hung back, letting my uncle take charge of the situation. He obviously knew Henry better than I did. He edged up and stood beside the king, waiting for him to speak.
Sighing heavily, Henry shook his head. "He's right, you know," he said finally. "I will never rise above the shame of my father's deeds. I regretted it then, and I regret it still."
I knew how he felt, though we had never discussed it. When Henry gave King Richard the burial he deserved—after the coronation—with all the panoply and ceremony, I assumed it was his way of making amends. If that was at all possible. He had loved Richard, and the usurpation was none of his doing. None of any of our doing, but we all benefitted.
Beaufort shifted uncomfortably. "There's another way to think about it. I say that your father, God rest his soul, took the stigma with him to the grave. Look at how effortlessly you succeeded him. In the end, he left you a stable throne. If there was any question about it, we would have had another civil war."
I walked up to Henry's other side while he was still talking. "You need not take on his guilt," our uncle continued, not paying any attention to me. "You have all the qualities of a great king. Rule well and you will make a name for yourself."
"Hmm. In other words, give my country a great victory, like Edward III."
"It can't hurt," I said under my breath. Just discovering my presence, Henry put an arm around my shoulder and gave a little squeeze. Despite myself, I grinned.
Beaufort looked hard at me; he didn't appreciate being interrupted. But I didn't care. I could see Henry's gloom lifting.
"Well, I'm not one to advocate violence," the bishop said carefully, "but that's what people want. A warrior king. Triumph over your enemies and they will love you for it."
Henry turned away from the window. "Of course. Once we prove that God is on our side, no one will dare question my authority again. You're right, dear uncle. I shall prove that I am worthy with deeds rather than words."
