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The crew of the royal barge moored at the side of the Thames look at each other and wince. They were supposed to leave and head down river an hour ago, but they've done nothing except kick their heels. They don't exactly mind. They get paid whether they row another stage towards London or not. But all the same, this is a bit embarrassing. From inside the riverside inn at Staines, a riverside market town wedged between London and Windsor, a harassed servant from the royal nursery comes out. The captain of the boat tries not to look too worried by the hell being raised indoors. As he waits for the update, the nursemaid tries her best to look dignified. The crew had better stand down, she says. There's no point trying to go anywhere today. The King, she says. Well, he's not really in the mood. He won't get dressed. He won't have his royal Weetabix. In fact, he's being impossible. They've all tried to get him moving, but there's no chance, as one chronicler later puts it, he shrieks and shreems. The captain listens to all this. He thinks of pointing out that the King is expected in Parliament, that England's political order depends on having him there. But it's still a good old way from here in Staines to Westminster. But what's the point? He's just the captain of a barge. This girl is just a servant. And the King himself Henry Village, the third Lancastrian ruler of England, is not quite two years old. This toddler has been king since his dad, the great Henry V, died of dysentery last summer in 1422. It's going to be 12 years minimum before he has any political will of his own. Until then, England is going to have to just muddle through, tantrums and all. The captain nods and the nurse hurries back inside. There's an old saying from the Woe unto you, O land, when your king is a child. Under Henry V, the English seem to rule the world. All that is about to blow up in their faces. I'm dan jones and from sony music entertainment, this is history. Season 9 of a dynasty to die for. Episode 1 problem child. One of the coolest things in the world, in my opinion, is the phenomenon of the child prodigy. I'm thinking here of 11 year old chess grandmasters or 6 year olds who can play Beethoven's piano sonatas. If anyone listening is a fan of darts, and I accept that might be a slim intersection of Venn diagrams, you'll know what I mean when I say Luke Littler. If not, well, watch me on the bonus episode and I'll explain. My point is that sometimes you get a kid who's like freakishly good at some skill that would normally take until adulthood to master. Most of the time, however, that doesn't happen. Kids just be crapping their pants and playing hide and seek and complaining they're hungry and then refusing to eat their food for years. Basically, they're good for nothing until they get to be double digits. And even then you can't be sure. So there are some jobs that you wouldn't wish on a child prodigy or otherwise. And somewhere near the top of that list would be King of Medieval England. As you'll know if you've been listening to the last eight seasons of this podcast, England in the Middle Ages can be a tricky place for even the toughest adult to manage. It has a large, complex bureaucracy, a needy aristocracy, and a peasantry that isn't afraid to rebel if they feel aggrieved. Plus, there are potential enemies on every border. Being king is definitely a job best left to the grown ups. But here's the thing. Medieval England is also a strict hereditary monarchy, and rules are rules. So when Henry V dies halfway through pounding the French into a sweet garlicky pulp, his only son, being nine months old, is neither here nor there. Political stability relies on some things being sacred. So a baby king it is. And everyone has to accept there's now going to be a very long period where the English simultaneously have a king and don't. Oh, and just to make matters more complicated, that king is also, in theory, the King of France. So the short story is not great. In fact, that could be a motto for this whole season. Because believe me, if you thought Plantagenet history could be complicated and shocking, you ain't seen nothing yet. But for now, let's keep our eyes trained on young Henry Vill. We met him a minute ago, aged not quite two, having a royal shit fit at a Staines Inn because he didn't want to go downriver to London to hang out At a boring old Parliament. Before we go any further, let's figure out what that's all about. Why does anyone want a baby in Parliament? Does he have to turn up every day in, like, a little baby crown? Well, no. The truth is that for the most part, little Henry is allowed to have as normal a childhood as can be arranged under the circumstances. He stays with his mum, Henry V's widow, Queen Catherine de Valois, in various royal palaces, mostly close to London. Sometimes that means Windsor, the grand fairytale castle remodeled by old Edward iii. And sometimes Eltham, an adventure playground of a palace downriver from London, which was Henry IV's favorite place to hang out. Under the terms of Henry V's will, various loyalists from the old regime take responsibility for the boy. The Duke of Exeter, who's his great uncle, has sign off on his household servants. The Earl of Warwick is in charge of his education. His dad's youngest brother, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, who's Protector of England, is young Henry's principal counsellor, a deliberately vague role that stops shooting short of being a regent. But if that sounds like a grand, noble party, the reality for most of the time is that young Henry is doing kid stuff. Going to lessons, pottering around the gardens. Growing up, he has music lessons, he gets toys as presents, he has some little suits of armor made. Yep, kind of adorable. But thankfully, no one's asking him to go out and command a siege. Yes. Yet there are, however, some occasions when Henry does need to be wheeled out in public. And that tantrum he throws in Staines in November 1423 is one such occasion. He's being brought down to Westminster to be presented to Parliament. He needs to be there because in theory, a Parliament sits at the King's command and pleasure to advise him. Now, needless to say, this is a formality. When Henry does get to Parliament several days late, he sits on his mum's lap while a few speeches are made thanking him for coming. He's oblivious to the whole thing. It sounds kind of comical, but actually there's a ceremonial propriety to having Henry at Parliament now and again. It's a reminder that no matter how weird the times get, England has a set of constitutional norms which need to be observed. If you really want to get into the weeds of why this is so important, head on over to this week's bonus episode on Patreon, where producer Al and I will be getting stuck into it. For now. Suffice to say that England doesn't really function. It's not constituted as a state. If it doesn't have a reigning king. So even if the king is a caterwauling brat, he has to be seen. Here's another example of that principle in action. Right at the start of his reign, a new Chancellor of England has to be appointed. Part of that process, having legitimacy demands the king at least ceremonially participating. So there's a whole rigmarole in Windsor, where the Great Seal of England is presented to the new chancellor. The seal is the main tool of the Office of Chancery, and Henry's chubby little baby fingers are pressed onto the seal and its official case before it's handed over. On one level, it's a bit of a silly pantomime, but on another, it's the political community of England telling themselves they're going to continue to do things the right way. Does any of this business mean that little Henry is asked for his input into government? Of course not. That would be insane. All that statecraft, making decisions about war strategy, tax budgets, laws, is handled by a council of adults, which is fine. Even an adult king delegates quite a lot of executive power in the normal course of things. You could say that this is its extreme. The king reigns, other people help him reign, rule. Is that system ridiculous or pragmatic? Well, probably a bit of both. Ultimately, the test of this setup is whether it works. If the people handling government on the young king's behalf do their jobs diligently and get along with each other, then perhaps this sketchy arrangement has a chance. But this is Plantagenet England, and if history's taught us anything, it's that patience is not a Plantagenet trait. London's great Gothic city hall, the Guild hall, is filling up nicely with the great and good of the capital, who are arriving for a celebratory feast. This is a big evening in the city's annual calendar. It's October 29, 1425, and the citizens have elected their new mayor for the year, a guy named John Coventry. The Guildhall is partway through a huge new refurb, but it's coming along well, so every man and his wife is here to raise a glass and wish Coventry a successful term of office. Dusk is approaching and the crowd have filed into the hall and are sitting down to dine. Then suddenly, there's a commotion from the yard outside. The doors burst open and a messenger hurtles in, sweat plastered to his forehead and a crazed look in his eyes. He makes a beeline for the mayor, who's been in office all of about 25 minutes, and calls him to A side room for an urgent conference. It's not good news. When the mayor comes back, he's got a pretty grisly look on his face too. Before the feast can even begin, it's over. Coventry sweeps out of the building, followed by his most senior city officials, officials known as aldermen. They've been told to get down to the riverside pronto to meet King Henry VI's uncle, the protector of England and number one counselor, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. When they find Gloucester, he tells them they need to secure London. Put guards on the gates that give access to London Bridge. Watch for anyone coming up from Southwark on the south side of the river, and if it comes to it, be ready to fight. Coventry's head is spinning as he tries to absorb these instructions. Who could possibly be coming to attack the city? Has a raiding party of Frenchmen managed to sail up the Thames? Well, no. The answer is that Gloucester wants to defend London from none other than his own uncle, the Bishop of Winchester and Chancellor of England, Henry Beaufort. To understand how we've got to this crazy position, we need to take a quick step back and fill in a beef that's been cooking between Gloucester and Bishop Beaufort for the past few years. Now, both of these guys have a claim to be the most powerful and influential man in Henry VI's realm. Gloucester is the youngest brother of old Henry V. He's a veteran of Agincourt and a consistently aggressive politician who wants to keep the old king's legacy alive by smashing the French as hard as possible. By the way, we'll be catching up in full detail on what's been going down in France and meeting England's new nemesis, Joan of Arc, in episode two of this season. You can get that right after this episode if you subscribe via our Patreon. Gloucester's eldest brother John, Duke of Bedford, has supreme command of the English armies in France. Gloucester feels he ought to be the full blown regent for the King in England. The fact that he's not quite got that role, he's just a leading counselor. Boo hoo. Poor baby. Makes him pretty salty. Beaufort, meanwhile, is Gloucester's own uncle. He's a half brother of old Henry iv and he's made his career in the church as Bishop of Winchester. He's the richest clergyman in England since 1417. He's also been a cardinal, so he's very mobbed up with the papacy. He's much more cautious and conservative than Gloucester. Over the last year, these two have sparred over many foreign and domestic affairs. Take this One, Gloucester is married to a woman called Jacqueline of Hainault, who has a claim to a territory in Flanders. In 1424, Gloucester decides to raise an army and go to Flanders to make that claim a reality. Unfortunately, the guy who currently rules those lands is Jacqueline's first husband, who's a key ally of the Duke of Burgundy, who's the key ally of the English in their war with France. Got that? Good. Because it gets even more tangled. Beaufort has been heavily involved in keeping the Duke of Burgundy sweet. And Gloucester's military campaign to Flanders, which, by the way, is a total failure, gives him all sorts of needless diplomatic headaches. It also sets off xenophobic riots in London in which Flemings are attacked. Beaufort tries to calm those down by bolstering the Crown's military presence around London. But Gloucester uses it to whip up the Londoners, interviewing Beaufort as public enemy number one. If your brain is doing acrobatic gymnastics just trying to keep up with all this, spare a thought to everyone at the time. What it boils down to is that England's number two and number three in charge are at each other's throats. And on the evening of October 29, 1425, this is all bubbling up to become very nasty indeed. Chancellor Beaufort has got it into his head that Gloucester is about to make a dash out of London to Eltham and seize control of young Henry vi. That would be the first step to Gloucester making himself the stand in king. So Beaufort has brought up troops to Southwark, blockading it to try and prevent Gloucester moving south of the river, which he would need to to get to the King in Eltham. And now Gloucester, having dragged the Mayor away from his nice dinner, is lining up a mob on the north side of the river, as one chronicler puts it. Everyone is acting as though they'd been in the land of war, as though they would have fought against the King's people and breaking of the peace. This looks awfully like the sort of thing the French do. If it all plays out, there could be a battle between the King's two uncles on London Bridge. Someone needs to put the brakes on before things spiral bloodily out of control. The horseman trots wearily across London Bridge. Dawn is breaking and his eyes are itchy from the long night he's just had. He hasn't slept a wink. No one has. Instead, they've all stood at battle stations on either side of the Thames. Chancellor Beaufort's men in Southwark and Gloucester's men in London. Proper messengers like him have been shuttling back and forth between the two camps, trying to get them to stand down. The messengers are working for two men who've taken it on themselves to try and drag London back from the brink of a battle. One of the peacemakers is Henry Chichley, Archbishop of Canterbury, a vastly experienced man who's also a veteran of Henry V's reign. Cichely is in his early 60s and there's pretty much nothing he hasn't seen. He was down with Henry V when he was Prince of Wales and saw plenty of diplomatic action in France. He was there for many of Henry V's campaigns, including the Siege of Rouen. He crowned Catherine de Valois Queen of England and he baptized young King Henry vi. So he has the old great England of Henry V in his bones and he's damned if he's going to see it ripped apart by these two clowns. For a refresher on the reign of Henry V, listen back to season eight of this Is History. A dynasty to die for. Chichely also has backup from an esteemed visitor to England, Pedro, Duke of Coimbra. A son of the Portuguese king, Pedro is about half Chichile's age, but he's travelled all over the world, including battles in Morocco, plus visits to the Ottoman Sultan and the Emperor of Constantinople. Pedro has thrown his weight behind the emergency peace negotiations too. And between him and Ciccioli they manage to broker a truce so that Beaufort agrees to demilitarize Southwark and Gloucester, lets the mayor and his pals in London catch some rest. The prospect of a battle on London Bridge and the Thames foaming with blood, recedes a bit. But no one's very happy about it. And there's definitely not what you'd call a full reconciliation with hugs and tears and promises not to do it again. Because here's the problem with having a boy king who reigns but doesn't rule. When clashes like this happen, as they always do between the big swinging dicks of any realm, there needs to be someone with the authority to step in and knock heads together. That would be the king. But in his absence, who can do it? Well, in fact, there is one person. And in the immediate aftermath of London's near miss in 1425, Chancellor Beaufort writes to him with a dire warning. It's John, Duke of Bedford. He is the eldest surviving brother of Henry V and he's been up to his elbows keeping England's military occupation of France on track in his role as that kingdom's regent. But now Beaufort tells him he needs to get his ducal ass out of the frying pan and plunge it into the firefly. A while. Hasten you thither, Beaufort writes to him. For by my troth, if ye tarry, we shall put this land in adventure with a field. By field he means a battle. Such a brother you have here. May God make him a good man. Talk about snitching to the teacher. But what else can Beaufort do? England can't rely on elderly archbishops and random Portuguese princes with a millionaire miles to get them out of trouble. In January 1426, John, Duke of Bedford gets back to England and sets about straightening out the mess it's in. He gets Chancellor Beaufort to resign as chancellor and go off and help organize a crusade in Central Europe against the Hussites religious heretics of the Lollardish variety. And he makes Gloucester swear a holy oath not to seek to rule England on on his own but to participate in conciliar government. Gloucester does it though. He basically crosses his fingers behind his back and never really seems to stop believing that he's the only one in the realm with half a brain and a pair of balls. Still, trouble's averted for the time being. And after hanging around in England for a year Bedford, Henry VI's eldest uncle feels reasonably confident he's got the place under control. Which is just as well because while he's sorting out the mess in London across the channel things are looking a little shaky. According to the Treaty of Troy of 1420 Bedford is babysitting France as regent until Henry VI is old enough to be crowned. When he comes of age, Henry V's vision of the dual monarchy will be become a reality. The trouble is, in France there's someone else who feels this will only happen over his dead body. That's the Dofan queen, Catherine de Valois, brother Charles. As far as he can see, no treaty signed by their late mad father can possibly overrule his blood right to be the king of France as Charles vii. If he can get crowned before little Henry VI does he'll be in prime position to kick the English out of France altogether. It's a big ask, but the dauphin is about to get a super weapon. She's a peasant girl who's been hearing voices. Her name is Joan of Arc and she's about to change the course of European history forever. That's for next time on this is History. Look, I'll keep repeating this throughout our new season but as you've guessed, things are, well, not great over in England. Now, before I sign off. I've got a question for my royal favourites. Given that England still stuck to the rules with an infant king, I want to know what's the weirdest thing you or someone you know has done in service of a rule? Look out for producer Owl's post on Patreon. And don't forget royal favourites. And this is history. Plus, subscribers can listen to episode two right now, along with bonus episodes one and two. Don't miss out. Subscribe@patreon.com forward/thisishistory.
