"Perfectly. He has prudently and wisely taught us the manners and usages of his country, for which we ought to be obliged, and do thank him."
The Earl then gave them a full explanation of the honour about to be done them, and the ceremonies which would attend it, laying stress on the great value which they ought to set upon it. The four Kings seem to have behaved admirably. They allowed themselves to be richly dressed, of course in the English manner: and let us hope that it did not include cracowes, those ridiculous boots which tapered to a point, and preceded their wearer by several inches,—for these must have been woful inflictions upon an Irish chieftain, accustomed either to wear no boots at all, or to tie on simply "the dun deer's hide." They dined at King Richard's table, where, said Master Castide, "they were much stared at by the Lords and those present—not indeed without reason; for they were strange figures, and differently countenanced to the English or other nations. We are naturally inclined to gaze at anything strange," naïvely added the squire, "and it was certainly, Sir John, at that time, a great novelty to see four Irish Kings."
Castide's opinion is worth record as to the reasons why the Irish submitted themselves so readily. He thought the "rebellious English" were alarmed at the blockade of their coasts, which was so strict that "neither provision nor merchandise could be landed": but he admitted that the "wild Irish" cared nothing for this, since they lived by hunting, and were strangers to commerce. Their reason, he considered, was the personal respect which they bore to King Richard, whom they accounted to be a prudent and conscientious man, and whose reverence for the memory of Edward the Confessor was shared by themselves,—a fact undisturbed by any inconvenient knowledge that Richard, if not the Irish Kings also, had at least as much sanctity about him as Edward the Confessor. How that most unamiable of men, whose cruelty as a husband was only equalled by his irreverence as a son, ever came to be canonised and honoured as Saint Edward, must be left as one of the many insoluble enigmas which Rome propounds to the crushed hearts, smothered intelligences, and stifled consciences of her votaries. For any other reason, Castide remitted it to the grace of God. The Canon of Chimay, whose exquisite naïve simplicity at times cuts sharply as a knife, made answer, with more wit than he was aware, that "the grace of God is good, and of infinite value to those who can obtain it: but we see few lords now-o'-days augment their territories otherwise than by force."
The campaign thus ended, Roger returned to England in company with his royal cousin, and rejoined his family in London on May, 1395, much to the satisfaction of both himself and Lawrence Madison, who greatly preferred to follow his master out of battle rather than into it, though he wisely kept to himself that sentiment, which would only have earned him a character for cowardice. On very few men had the idea then dawned that any person could love peace for other reasons than laziness and fear of being hurt. The two characteristics of King Richard which his uncle Gloucester specially detested and despised were his religious opinions, and his dislike to war and tumult. It might truly be said, paradox though it be, that Gloucester was never at peace except when he was at war.
During the twelve months following his return to London, Roger kept himself exceedingly quiet. It was the only safe thing he could do. It is said that an eminent man was asked how, being a resident in Paris, he contrived to live through the Reign of Terror. "I made myself of no reputation, and kept silence," was the significant answer. The Earl of March followed the same plan.
The beginning of 1395 was characterised by a strong agitation against the Lollard party, provoked by a very bold step on their part. Sir John Oldcastle, afterwards Lord Cobham, issued his "Book of Conclusions"—an epitome of Lollard doctrines, as well as a damaging attack on the opposite party—which was presented to Parliament by Lord Latimer and Sir Richard Stury, and posted up on the doors of St. Paul's Cathedral and the gates of Westminster Abbey. The two Archbishops took alarm in good earnest. They were strongly opposed to the "new" doctrines—which were not new, but as old as Christianity itself—and they rightly judged that unless these views had been spreading considerably in secret, they would scarcely have made this flourishing appearance in public. King Richard must be appealed to, and entreated to put down this unwelcome manifestation with the strong arm of the law: and the astute prelates well knew that only at one point, like Achilles, was Richard vulnerable on the Lollard question. The religious views were his own, and he would listen to no diatribe against them. But the political aspirations of the advanced Lollards he dreaded and disliked as much as the hierarchy. Archbishop Courtenay trusted to no tongue less skilful than his own the task of winning the King over. He started for Ireland without delay, taking with him Bishop Braybroke, a prelate whom the King liked and respected. Richard, the most open and unsuspicious of men, was no match for one of the wiliest priests who ever wore a mitre. Under his dexterous hands he was induced to believe that the political aims of the advanced section included his own deposition—the exact contrary was the truth—and the beloved Queen, who had hitherto always guided his sceptre on this point, was now beyond the fitful fever of earthly tumults. "Never was there King of England who so easily believed what was told him," says the chronicler Froissart, who knew Richard personally.
The King, thus influenced, departed from the course approved by his own better judgment, and for one moment swerved from that kindly support which he had always given hitherto to the Lollard party. He called before him the four most prominent Lollards then in his suite—Lord Latimer, Sir John Montacute, Sir Lewis Clifford, and Sir Richard Stury—and sharply rebuked them for their favour shown to traitors, with a threat of expulsion from the household if they did not change their political aspect. Latimer, Clifford, and Stury, were terrified, especially the last, who fell upon his knees and vowed that he would never do it again.
All these were old men. But the youngest of the group,—John Montacute, who was but four-and-twenty—held his peace, and promised nothing.
Could King Richard have looked forward five short years, he would have seen that one young man, who now refused to follow his King to evil, alone of all the four giving his life for that King's sake. The man who would not deny his God for fear of his sovereign, was the one who was ready to die for God and him.
It was during this short period of glamour thrown over King Richard by the astute Archbishop that certain Lollards were imprisoned in Beaumaris Castle, that some recanted, and that various edicts were issued, in the strong language wherein Gloucester and Courtenay delighted, against those who "sowed tares among the people." The complete change of tone in the royal mandates is very striking, between those periods when Gloucester's influence paralysed the King, and the two short intervals when Richard was left to himself. Yet to this day Richard, not Gloucester or Courtenay, is assailed with all the obloquy which is due only to the two latter. On this occasion Richard followed the Archbishop's leading up to a certain point. But when Courtenay pressed the advantage which he had gained, and urged capital punishment for the heretics, the King drew back. The cards had been shown a little too plainly. A short term of imprisonment for obnoxious politics was consonant with Richard's ideas of right and justice: but death as the penalty of religious opinions he would not give. Was it likely, when the religious opinions were to some extent his own?