TITLE

Henry the VIth, the IInd

by Jim Wayne

ONE

To My Dear Lord of York, who now resides on the Throne of England,

I submit this as evidence that the life of John Billings, my father, should be spared as an unwitting pawn in the recent events.

It began as a simple case of mistaken identity. A bit of a humorous mix-up that should have been quickly forgotten. But my father's luck never ran that true.

It was the twenty-seventh year of the reign of Henry, the sixth of that name to rule England, and the times were as bad as ever. The wars in France, whose crown the king – like his fathers before him – claimed, had bled the country for years and cast a hardship on the people. Probably not on the lords of the land but the common people for certain. And that's what we were, common folk.

Father was a part-time monk, being one for a time until he ran afoul of whatever abbot finally put his foot down. Then he was a wanderer until he found another house to take him in. Benedictine, Carmelite, Dominican made no difference to him. It was the drink he ran from and it always found him, no matter what house of God he chose to hide in.

On one such escapade, he made the acquaintance of a young woman of Leicester who was as much in her cups as he, and together they shared many a bottle, as well as a bed. The result was myself.

When mother grew ill, the ten-year-old product of their merrymaking was sent off to my father in the monastery at Bath, his then current abode. When the abbot heard the tale, my father was, of course, expelled.

Since that time, I have been introduced as his squire. And it was as his squire both at the monastery and at the court in London that I witnessed the sad fate to befall him, and as well the King, and the land of England itself.

* * * * *

It was raining that day and I was worried. Abbot Michael had sent him into town on an errand. I usually went with him to help him defend against temptation but it was my turn at assisting the priest officiating the hours and I could not leave.

Evening came and dark was coloring the sky but there was still no sign of father. He had already ran into trouble coming home drunk in the dark; passing out in the roadway is not the safest of situations. A few bruised ribs was all he had for his trouble that time but if the horse had stepped otherwise… Hooves do not tread lightly in the dark.

At last he arrived in a condition far better than I could have wished but still an embarrassment for the abbot. He could still walk reasonably straight and talk without stuttering, but it was obvious his mind was fuddled with drink. A stern tongue lashing and a heavy penance were his rewards and it was a couple of days before I spoke to him again.

"No, it was not my condition that delayed me, lad, it was the knights who stopped me."

I was shocked. "And why did the knights stop you?" Times were hard but knights did not generally harass monks on the roadways – not even the highwaymen accosted simple monks.

He had laughed. "They thought I was the King, of all things!"

"The King?" The shock evident on my face amused him.

He laughed harder. "That is the same look I must have given the man when he made his declaration. He claimed that the King has been talking about taking up religious orders – I had heard he was devout but I did not know he was mad as well – and he saw me and thought it must be the King."

"How…? I mean, if the King had done such a thing how could he think it was you. Or was he checking every monk he encountered?"

"No, no. He thought it was I," and he lowered his voice to a whisper, "he said I looked just like the King!" He laughed out loud again.

I looked around nervously. "I can find no humor in this. Surely if you look just like the King, well, no good can come of this."

He pat my shoulder. "Relax. When apprised of his mistake, the knight thought the joke a mighty one and said it was a wonder of the world, or some such. He probably forgot about it before he rounded the next bend in the road, I daresay."

"Let's just hope you're right."

"Trust me, lad, it was just one of the many humorous events that happen in a life that never require another thought."

Unknown to us at the time, a chain of circumstance was being forged – whether on the Almighty's anvil or that of Satan, I know not – that should soon bind us to our fate. For us, however, a peaceful year was spent before the storms of England overtook us.

The good knight, so recently absented, did not promptly forget the incident as father had assumed but carried the tale to his drinking buddies. And they to theirs and so on until the word came to one William de la Pole, Duke of Suffolk.