The Wounded Hawk. Sara Douglass

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      Richard has dressed appropriately for whatever grim tidings he bears, Neville thought.

      As the lords bowed, Richard walked to the throne set at the head of the tables and sat down, indicating that the lords, too, should take their places.

      Neville moved slightly back as Lancaster, his brother Raby and Bolingbroke all sat midway down the table—

      They should have been close to the king’s right hand, Neville thought.

      —while their noble attendants, Neville among them, stood two or three paces behind the backs of their chairs.

      “My lords,” Richard said, slowly raising his head and staring about the table, “it has now been some months since my beloved grandfather and father died—”

      Why not state the truth, demon? Neville thought. They were murdered. He stared at Richard with hard eyes, and for one heartbeat Richard’s own gaze flickered his way and met his stare.

      “—and, as is right and fitting, there has been a period of mourning and stillness as we honour their passing.

      “But now my father and grandfather’s age has passed, and a new and fresh king sits upon the throne of England. I have been content to stay my hand during these months of transition, but now I must lift it—”

      There was a collective drawing of breaths in the hall. What did he mean? Who were to lose their heads, and who to have preferments added to their purses?

      “—and break free from the governorship of tutors and regents,” Richard looked directly at Lancaster, “who thought to keep me restrained within the bounds of childhood.”

      “Your grace,” Lancaster said in a tight voice, “there was never ‘restraint’ intended. You came too suddenly to the throne without the training and consulship that we thought would be yours during the years of your father’s reign. We—”

      “I was nevertheless restrained,” Richard said. “Furthermore, in past weeks I have well noted that some men,” and still his eyes were on Lancaster and his immediate companions, “have thought to gain for themselves a public notoriety and fame that they could well use against me.”

      Here it comes, Neville thought, the dagger in Bolingbroke’s back. Nay, the dagger in the back of all associated with Bolingbroke and his father.

      Again Richard’s eyes flickered Neville’s way before casting themselves restlessly about the assembled lords.

      “I have thought myself in some danger,” he said softly. “Moreover, I have thought England in some danger. Therefore, listen you to these my decisions.

      “Lancaster, you are removed as regent. I wish you good health and long life, but I have thought to surround myself with counsellors I can the more easily trust.”

      Now the sharp intakes of breath about the table were clearly audible. Some men may have silently applauded, for Lancaster’s fall in favour would surely see the rise of their own influence, but all wondered at Richard’s arrogance that he so easily cast aside, and so publicly humiliate, the most powerful man in England.

      “As with regents, so with all the major officers of government,” Richard continued. “My Lord Archbishop of Canterbury,” he nodded at Sudbury, “shall be my new Chancellor, and my Lord Bishop of Exeter,” now he nodded at Brantingham, “shall hold the office of Treasurer.”

      Sweet Jesu, Neville thought, the imp has such confidence that he surrounds himself with the great men of the Church. Then his eyes fell on both Sudbury and Brantingham. Or are they great men of the Church? Is it possible they be demons, too?

      Almost as if in reply, Sudbury shot Lancaster an apologetic, almost embarrassed, look—the two had been close allies for years. Neville revised his suspicions of Sudbury; if nothing else the man had obviously not yet told Richard about the subversive John Ball within the dungeons of Canterbury prison. If he had, Lancaster would be in the Tower.

      “And to replace Lancaster at my side, as dearest friend and most trusted confidant, I appoint Robert de Vere my Chamberlain and,” Richard paused, and looked about the table with amused eyes, “also gift to him the castles and lands of Oakham and Queenborough—”

      The sound of murmuring could clearly be heard about the table.

      “—as well the castle of Berkhamsted, and create him the Chief Justice of Chester and North Wales—”

      The table fell silent as many of the lords stared at Richard with horror.

      “—and create him, as token of my love and trust, Duke of Ireland.”

      The table erupted. Duke of Ireland? Many men spoke harshly—others, thinking to ally themselves with the new favourite, spoke words of congratulation—but no one spoke more volubly than Gloucester.

      He sprang to his feet and slammed his fist down on the table.

      There was instant silence.

      “Your grace,” Gloucester seethed, “this preferment is beyond reasoning! You have created a man—”

      “Who can counter the ill will of my uncle Lancaster!” Now Richard also was on his feet, and all Neville could think of was that Gloucester had very probably signed his own death warrant here this day.

      “Lancaster bears you no ill will!” Gloucester said. “None! Had he done so, do you think he would have allowed you to so easily gain the throne? Don’t you realise, you silly pasty-faced youth—”

      “Gloucester!” Now Lancaster was on his feet, trying to get Gloucester back into his chair, preferably with his mouth shut.

      “Do you not think that I haven’t seen what my uncle and his beloved son are doing?” Richard yelled. “Did you not hear the screams of the crowds for their beloved ‘fair Prince Hal’ yesterday?” Now Richard’s face was twisted with hatred. “I will not nurture rivals at my court!’”

      He stopped, breathing deeply to regain control of himself.

      The entire table was still and tense. Lancaster had finally managed to get Gloucester back into his chair, while Neville had moved forward very slightly towards Bolingbroke, who sat stunned and disbelieving, staring at Richard.

       Who could have thought that the demon would move so quickly to consolidate his power?

      “You are fortunate, my fair Prince Hal,” Richard said, “that I do not commit you to the Tower for your treasonous thoughts.”

      “Your grace,” Bolingbroke said, and all listening marvelled at the calmness of his face and voice, “I nurture no treasonous thoughts, nor ambitions that do not include you as my king and lord. I pray you believe me.”

      “Then you must endeavour to earn my trust, Bolingbroke, for I cannot think but that you secretly yearn for my title and honours, and plan to use both Lancaster’s and Hereford’s lands and riches to seize them.”

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