several peers of the realm, the Earl of Westmorland, Ralph Raby (who had made the trip from Sheriff Hutton the week previously), and Robert de Vere, Earl of Oxford, among them. In the group behind the great nobles rode Thomas Neville with several other of the noble attendants of the leading dukes, earls and barons.
It would be a relatively short ride from the Savoy to St Paul’s, taking perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes at a walk. From the Savoy’s gates the procession turned north-east on the Strand. A cheer went up from bystanders, for the Strand was a busy highway, and Bolingbroke smiled and inclined his head, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd.
From his vantage point just behind the leading riders, Neville could see Richard’s back stiffen.
They proceeded slowly along the Strand, passing the Inns of Court on the right. These, the great legal schools and courts of England, occupied the old buildings of the Knights Templar.
Then another, greater building arose like a great black crow hunched over its piteous prey: Blackfriars, the home of the Dominicans in London. Indeed, the analogy with the ravening crow was apt, because Blackfriars had grown so large that it had actually consumed that part of London’s wall which stretched from Ludgate down to the Thames.
Neville had to repress a shiver. Was the Prior General of England, Richard Thorseby, in there somewhere, still plotting his downfall?
A shadow fell over Neville, and he started before realising that it was the gloom cast by the height and breadth of Ludgate. He looked up at it looming above him and imagined he could hear the cries for mercy from the prisoners held within its dank dungeons.
He shook himself. What was he doing? This was a joyous day!
The instant he’d thought that, Bolingbroke and Mary, leading the procession, passed from under Ludgate’s shadow onto the wide street that led to St Paul’s, directly ahead.
The cathedral’s courtyard was crowded with Londoners, and as Bolingbroke and Mary appeared a great roar went up.
Hal! Hal! Fair Prince Hal!
And Neville, watching closely, saw Richard tense even further before shooting de Vere a dark glance over his shoulder.
Hal! Hal! Fair Prince Hal!
The crowd parted to allow the procession through, and as Bolingbroke and Mary halted, attendants rushed forward to hold their horses’ heads.
Neville himself dismounted, throwing the reins of his horse to a boy who stepped forward, and moved quickly to Bolingbroke’s side.
Margaret, who had been riding a gentle palfrey in a group a little further back from Neville, also dismounted with the aid of a page and walked to attend Mary.
As Bolingbroke dismounted, Neville made sure that Bolingbroke’s tunic—the same rich bejewelled red as Mary’s gown, although his hose and cloak were of the purest white—was straight and that his ceremonial sword and dagger had not snagged his cloak.
“Be wary, my lord,” he whispered, “for the crowd’s acclaim has Richard glowering at your back.”
Bolingbroke turned, smiled and bowed slightly to Richard, then turned back to face the cathedral while all about him tumbled the thunder of the crowd and the pealing of what sounded like the bells of most of the churches of London.
“Do you think Richard would dare stick the dagger in my back here?” Bolingbroke said.
“I think he merely makes note of the need to hone it,” Neville said, and then fell silent with the rest of the crowd as the Archbishop of Canterbury, Simon Sudbury, appeared at the top of the steps leading into St Paul’s and held up his hand for quiet.
Bolingbroke and Mary moved forward, Mary on Bolingbroke’s left. Mary stumbled very slightly, and Bolingbroke smiled gently at her, and held out his hand. She took it, and together they mounted the steps to kneel before the archbishop.
“Brethren!” Sudbury said in a loud voice that carried over the entire courtyard. “We are gathered here, in the sight of God, and His angels, and all the saints, and in the face of the Church, to join together two bodies, to wit, those of this man and this woman—”
Sudbury looked down on Bolingbroke and Mary, then continued, “—that henceforth they may be one body; and that they may be two souls in the faith and the law of God, to the end, that they may earn together eternal life; and whatsoever they may have done before this.”
Now Sudbury lifted his gaze and addressed the crowd. “I charge you all by the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, that if any of you know any cause why these persons may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, he do now confess it.”
There was a silence. Margaret, thinking of Catherine, bit her tongue lest she should betray herself (and everything she and her brethren had worked towards), but even as she felt the words must explode from her there was a voice raised from the crowd.
“I do declare that the wrong bridegroom kneels before you, my Lord Archbishop.”
Richard.
“I swear that it would be best that I wed the lovely Mary so that Bolingbroke will not gain the strength with which to topple me from the throne.”
An utterly horrified silence fell over the crowd. Bolingbroke, half rising from his knees, turned and stared down at Richard, who was grinning insolently up at him.
Neville made to step forward, as did several other men, Lancaster and Raby among them, but just then Richard held up his hand.
“A jest only,” he said, and laughed. “I thought to bring some levity into this most sombre of occasions.”
Another silence, then de Vere giggled, and a soft swell of forced laughter ran through the crowd.
“Continue, my good archbishop,” Richard said, waving his hand. “Let us see Bolingbroke happily wedded to all this lady has to offer.”
Neville closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. Sweet Jesu, what else would this demon do to ruin the day?
Bolingbroke sank slowly to his knees again, his face stiff and expressionless, then turned back to face Sudbury, murmuring a quick word to Mary, who looked shocked and distressed.
Sudbury himself was flushed, and had to take several breaths before he was ready to continue.
Richard, meanwhile, happily grinned to any who happened to meet his eye.
Few did.
“Henry,” Sudbury said, “wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife …”
The speaking of the vows continued without further interruption, although most eyes, at some point or other, darted to Richard’s grinning face, wondering what he might do next.
Once Bolingbroke had made his vows, Mary spoke hers in a clear voice, and then Sudbury blessed the ring—a great ruby set in heavy twisted gold.
Another error, thought Margaret, for that ring will never sit well on Mary’s tiny hand.
Bolingbroke
