The Star of Lancaster - Plaidy Jean - Страница 21

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The riding-master cried out in great alarm as he went after the boy, and Henry immediately forgot Kyngeston as he saw his son making straight for the hedge.

'Oh God help us,' he cried. 'The boy will be killed.'

Harry was still ahead of the riding-master. Henry started to run. The boy had reached the hedge and turning and slackening speed began to canter across the field. He was smiling triumphantly as the riding-master caught up with him.

Henry said coldly: 'You are a wicked boy.'

Harry looked defiant and still pleased with himself.

'You know you are forbidden to do that.' The boy just regarded him rather insolently, Henry thought. 'Do you not?' he shouted.

Harry nodded.

'Answer me when I speak to you.'

Harry paused. He was a little afraid of the coldness in his father's voice and eyes.

'Yes, I know.'

'And yet you deliberately disobeyed. You defied orders. Do you know what happens to people who defy their masters?'

Harry was silent.

'So you do not know, eh. They are punished. Get down from your horse. Go to your room and wait there.'

Harry dismounted and went into the castle.

Henry was far from as calm as he seemed. He had been deeply shaken by the sight of his son in danger; that had passed and he was confronted by another danger. This boy was rebellious by nature and that rebellion had to be curbed. He must be beaten. And who would administer the punishment? Joan Waring? She would never do it. She would never be able to forget that this was her precious charge. He must not be hurt, she would say, he is too delicate. Mary? Mary would be quite incapable of inflicting a beating. He knew that he would have to do it himself. Soon the boy should have a tutor and he would have to perform these unpleasant duties— for it seemed likely that there would be the need for chastisement in the future.

He took a stout stick and went to the nursery. Harry was there sitting on Joan Waring's lap telling her a woeful story of his cruel father.

Joan was horrified and trembling with agitation.

It is time, thought Henry, that the boy was taken away from a parcel of women.

Joan stood up when he came in and Harry clung to her skirts burying his head in them.

'Leave us,' said Henry curtly to Joan.

Harry turned and glared balefully at his father as Joan gently prised his hands away from her skirt.

*No,' cried Harry. 'Don't listen to him, Joannie. Don't go.'

'Leave us at once,' commanded Henry.

Joan murmured as she passed: 'My lord, he is so young ... and remember he is delicate.'

Harry's eyes were on the stick, and Henry felt his heart quail. He loved this boy. The child would never understand that this was no less painful to him than it was going to be to Harry himself.

'You were a wicked boy,' he said trying to force a cold note into his voice for he was secretly full of admiration for the manner in which the child had managed the horse and it was obvious that he had been quite fearless. 'You have to learn obedience.'

'Why?' asked Harry defiantly.

'Because we all have to.'

'You don't,' he said.

'Of course I do.'

'Whom do you obey?'

go The Star of Lancaster

*Those above me/

'Nobody's above you ... except the King. Do you obey the King?'

For a moment Henry thought of himself standing before Richard with the other four Lords Appellant. The boy was making him uncomfortable, instead of the other way round.

'Enough,' he said. 'Come here.'

He tried to make him lie across a stool. Harry wriggled so fiercely that there was only one thing to do and that was pick him up and put him across his knee. He felt like a foolish old man. Nevertheless he brought down the stick and it was effective to judge by Harry's yells.

He was glad he could not see his face.

Not too much, he thought, just enough to teach him a lesson. He threw down the stick and pushed Harry off his knees.

The child glared at him. There were no tears, he noticed, though the little face was scarlet with rage.

Henry said: 'That will teach you a lesson.'

The fine brown eyes were narrowed. Never had hatred been so obvious as that which Henry saw in the face of his son.

Mary was upset that Henry had been obliged to chastise Harry.

'It had to be, my dear,' Henry explained to her. 'He is too wilful. We shall have trouble with him later unless a firm hand is taken.'

'I trust you did not beat him too hard. Joan said his screams were terrible.'

'He was screaming with rage. He did not shed a tear,' he added with pride.

'He is not four years old yet.'

'He cannot learn discipline too young. I want him to go to Oxford when he is a little older. His uncle Henry Beaufort will look after him.'

'I do not want him to leave me too soon,' said Mary. 'Let me keep my babies for a while.'

'Of course, of course,' soothed Henry. 'But not too much coddling of the child. Joan pampers him.'

'She is very good with him. He is so fond of her.'

*I don't doubt it when he twists her round his little finger.'

*0h come, she can be severe. She will slap him if he needs it/

* He is a child who is in constant need of correction. Well, he has now had something which will remind him for some time to come.'

The following day Harry was riding round the meadow but his father did not go to watch him. Instead he spent the time with his wife and younger sons. Harry seemed to take this philosophically though when Henry went into the nursery the child eyed his father with caution, but in a moment or two he seemed to have forgotten the beating and was intent on drawing his father's attention from his brothers to himself by asking about the Barbary pirates.

Within a short time Henry said good-bye to his family and set out for the coast. Mary took Harry and Thomas up to the topmost turret to watch him go.

1 want to go too,' declared Harry. 1 want to go and fight the pirates.'

'You must wait until you're older,' replied his mother.

*I don't want to wait. I want to go now.'

Tittle boys don't go and fight pirates.'

'Yes, they do.'

'Now, Harry dear, don't be silly.'

Harry stamped his foot and narrowed his eyes in the way he did when he was angry.

He snatched his hand out of hers and ran round the spiral staircase ahead of her.

He went into the bedchamber which she shared with his father. He was not allowed to go there unless especially summoned but there was no one to stop him now. His father had gone to fight Barbary pirates and had not taken him with him. He touched his buttocks. He could still feel the effects of the stick. It made him angry, not so much because it hurt his body as his pride. He hated to think that he. Lord Harry —his mother's darling, Joan's little precious mite—had to be at the mercy of a strong arm. He was not sure whether he hated his father or not. He did sometimes. At others he wanted to be like him particularly if it meant fighting the Barbary pirates.

But they wouldn't take him and they were all saying how clever his father was and they were not taking enough notice of Lord Harry.

He saw the popinjay in its cage. How pretty it was with its brightly coloured feathers. Sometimes his mother let him talk to it and put the seeds into the cage.

Harry was suddenly angry because they were all making a fuss about his father, and they wouldn't let him go and fight the pirates.

On a sudden impulse he opened the cage.

'Come out, pretty bird,' he said. 'Come and see Harry.'

The bird flew out. He watched it fluttering round the room. Then it went out through the door.

'Come back,' he called. 'Come back.'

But the popinjay took no notice. It flew on ... down the staircase to the hall and out through the open door and away.

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