Mistress of the Monarchy (47 page)

John of Gaunt, now overtaken ‘by a sudden languor, both for old age and heaviness [depression]’,
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and ‘gravely desolated’ by the absence of his son and the prospect of never seeing him again,
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rode north with his beloved Katherine to Leicester Castle, arriving there by 24 October.
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He would not leave this long-favoured residence alive.
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As Silva-Vigier and
Goodman point out, the greater part of his short married life with Katherine had been darkly overshadowed by Richard II’s tyranny and latterly the Duke’s sickness — and there was to be no happy ending. In November, his health deteriorated, and at Christmas, according to Froissart, he became very ill. It may have been at this time that he took to ‘his chamber bed, travailed in that infirmity’.
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This was by far the worst manifestation of the illness he had suffered from intermittently for at least a year, a malady that some believed had been brought on or exacerbated by the strain of recent events.
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The nature of that illness cannot be determined for certain, but there are possible clues. The following ‘indecent tale’ was deemed so disgusting by the Duke’s Edwardian biographer, Armitage-Smith, that he had the whole text, and his own dismissive observations, printed in Latin; later historians, such as Pearsall and Bevan, have also cast doubt on its credibility. But were they right to do so? A closer look at the evidence is required.

In the 1440s, Thomas Gascoigne, Chancellor of Oxford University, claimed in his treatise
Loci e libro veritatum
(
Passages from a book of truths)
that John of Gaunt ‘died of putrefaction of his genitals and body, caused by the frequenting of women, for he was a great fornicator’. According to Gascoigne, Richard II visited John of Gaunt as he was ‘lying thus diseased in bed’, and the Duke ‘showed this same putrefaction’ to the King, laying bare his corrupted genitals and other parts. Gascoigne, who attributed this illness to ‘the exercise of carnal intercourse with women’, and who says he got his information from ‘a faithful student of theology who knew these things and told them to me’, wrote this passage to illustrate his typically clerical theory that excessive sexual intercourse had dire consequences for men; yet it seems strange that the private shame of the Duke of Lancaster, the great-grandfather of the then-reigning King and the progenitor of his dynasty, should be chosen as an exemplar and thus exposed. Surely Gascoigne would have had to be sure of his facts before writing something so injurious to the Duke’s posthumous reputation?
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Armitage-Smith observed that Gascoigne, a respected and honest preacher who was vehement in his opposition to Lollards, was biased against the Duke, who had once been notorious for his support of Wycliffe. But there is some evidence that may corroborate his allegations. Richard II
was
in the Midlands in January 1399,
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so it is possible that he did visit his uncle. One source asserts that not only did Richard visit John at this time, but that John raged at him for exiling his son, while the Scottish chronicler, Andrew Wyntoun, writing two decades later, has Richard speaking courteously to him with ‘pleasant words of comfort’, the effect of
which was promptly spoiled when he threw unpaid bills on the Duke’s deathbed.
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If Gascoigne’s story is true, there were enormous implications for Katherine. First, we know that her marriage had been consummated in 1396, so there is the possibility that she herself had been infected with the venereal disease contracted by her husband. The fact that she outlived John by only four years, mostly in retirement, may be significant. Second, the worsening symptoms of John’s illness would have put paid to any lovemaking between them. Third, there was the emotional impact on Katherine, who would have had to come to terms with the ghastly consequences of her husband’s earlier promiscuity, a constant reminder that he had not been faithful to her in former years. Maybe, though, she had long since reconciled herself to that, and forgiven it, as it was her Christian duty to do. But watching her dearly beloved lord die in agony can only have been painful in the extreme.

Yet what of any corroborating evidence? That may perhaps be found in the great St Cuthbert window in the south choir aisle of York Minster, which was gifted between
c
.1430 and
c
.1445 by the Duke’s former clerk, favoured protégé and executor, Thomas Langley, Bishop of Durham and Dean of York, who owed his early advancement in the Church largely to John’s patronage, knew him very well, was much respected by his son and grandson, and was Lord Chancellor under three Lancastrian kings. John of Gaunt had been a devotee of St Cuthbert, and he appears in this window, kneeling at a prayer-desk. On it is a book displaying the Latin text of the first line of Psalm 38: ‘O Lord, rebuke me not in Thy wrath, neither chasten me in Thy hot displeasure.’

Of course, it might be that Langley wished purely to emphasise the devout — and conventional — contrition of his former patron for any sins he had committed, but a reading of the entire psalm may reveal Langley’s inside knowledge of what the Duke had really suffered. In particular, verse 3: ‘There is no soundness in my flesh because of Thine anger, nor is there any rest in my bones because of my sin’; verse 5: ‘My wounds stink and are corrupt because of my foolishness’; verse 7: ‘For my loins are filled with a loathsome disease: there is no soundness in my flesh’; verse 8: ‘ I am feeble and sore broken’; and verse 10: ‘My heart panteth, my strength faileth me: as for the light of mine eyes, it also is gone from me’ — had John indeed gone blind towards the end? The psalm also refers to his enemies laying snares for him and saying mischievous things, which could well refer to the events of 1397–8. Saddest of all, perhaps, in this context, is verse 11 : ‘My lovers and my friends stand aloof from my sore; and my kinsmen stand afar off.’
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Does this, with its specific reference to ‘lovers’, suggest that Katherine herself could not bear to go too near John in his
extremity? Probably not, for Froissart says of Katherine, ‘She loved the Duke of Lancaster … and she showed it, in life and in death.’

Langley must have known the words of this psalm well, as would many other clerics and educated people; why else would he — normally a man of discretion, and utterly loyal to the House of Lancaster — have used it, with all its references to a physical rather than spiritual malaise, unless he knew it to be especially apt? And why, if the Duke had not had such a disease, did Langley choose to draw attention to this particular text?

Given that John of Gaunt may have died of a venereal disease, what could it have been? The only symptoms described or perhaps alluded to were intermittent attacks of illness in the late 1390s, putrefying genitals and blindness. Syphilis was then unknown in Europe; it is thought to have been introduced from the Americas in the late fifteenth century. Gonorrhoea, however, had been known from ancient times, as had other sexually transmitted diseases such as non-specific urethritis and chlamy-dia. John is likeliest to have contracted such an illness in the years prior to 1381, when he reached forty-one, and in many cases symptoms do not appear for some years. When they do appear, men can suffer painful urination, swollen testicles, a whitish discharge from the penis, infection and reddening of its opening, genital itching and infertility — it may be significant that the Duke fathered no more children after 1385. His children need not necessarily have inherited the disease, because their mothers were probably not infected — at least not at the time they gave birth. Moreover, John seems, however, to have been a generally fit man up until his fifties, apart from nearly dying of dysentery in Spain in 1387. In later life, however, untreated venereal diseases can cause arthritis, rheumatism, prostatitis, heart problems, meningitis, paralysis and/or blindness.

None of this is conclusive, and against it, of course, we may argue that, had John of Gaunt died of a venereal disease, it would have merited some mention by other chroniclers. Given the private nature of such a disease, however, it may be that the only people who perhaps knew the truth about the Duke’s illness were members of his inner circle — Langley may have been present at his deathbed,
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and might possibly have been the ‘faithful student of theology’ who confided in Gascoigne — and that they kept it to themselves until he had been dead for at least thirty years.

Over in Paris, an anxious Duke Henry was told by one of his knights, Sir John Dymoke, whom he had sent as a messenger to his father, that the Duke’s physicians had said he was suffering from such a dangerous disease that he could not live for long. This alarming report dissuaded Henry from visiting the courts of Castile and Portugal, where his sisters were established, and from going on pilgrimage to St James of
Compostela.
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Who knew when he might enter his inheritance, or even be permitted to return to pay his last respects to his dying parent?

On New Year’s Day 1399, Katherine presented John with a gold cup, her last gift to him.
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On 6 January, the Feast of the Epiphany, the Duke sent to Lincoln Cathedral the treasures he intended to bequeath to it in his will, instructing that they be exhibited on the high altar.
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Clearly he believed he was laying up treasure in Heaven also.

At this time, Henry Beaufort was in Oxford, serving on a committee advising the Crown. Since he was to escort his mother south after his father’s death, he may have hastened to Leicester to be with the Duke at the end. There is no record of John’s other children being present, so perhaps it was only Katherine and the young Bishop who kept vigil by the sickbed.

On 3 February 1399,
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John of Gaunt had his extremely detailed and meticulously thought-out will drawn up, the complexity of which is evidence that his mental faculties remained acute until the last. He began by commending his soul to God ‘and to His very sweet mother St Mary, and to the joys of Heaven’, and directing that his body be buried in St Paul’s Cathedral ‘next to my former dear companion Blanche’. He made provision for the eternal celebration of his obit and those of ‘my very dear former companions, Blanche and Constance, whom God preserve’, and left handsome sums to churches, religious houses and prisons.

Then came his lavish bequests to his Duchess, which are surely further evidence of his love for her. ‘I leave to my very dear wife and companion, Katherine, the two best
nowches
[ouches] which I own, after the
nowche
which I leave to my esteemed lord and nephew, the King.’ An ouche was a brooch or a setting for a precious stone; the word derives from the mediaeval Latin
nusca
, meaning an ornament. John also left Katherine ‘my largest gold chalice’, which the King had given him, ‘together with all the gold chalices which she herself has previously given to me’ — a touching insight, this, into private gifts revealing shared devotional interests. Katherine was bequeathed too ‘all the sacred images, buckles, rings, diamonds, rubies and other things which are to be found in a small cypress casket which I have, and to which I myself carry the key. After my death this will be found in the purse which I carry also on my person.’ These must have been John’s most cherished and personal possessions.

‘I leave further [to Katherine] a complete vestment of cloth of gold, the bed and the furnishings, with all the copes, carpets for the chamber, cushions, pillows, embroidered cloths for the tomb and all other pieces belonging thereto, having a red ground diapered with a black trellis and, at each intersection of the diaper, a gold rose, with the letter M
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in black
and black leopards in alternate sections of it. And to her also, I leave my great bed of black velvet embroidered with iron compasses and garters and a turtle dove in the middle of the compasses, together with the carpets and hangings and cushions etc. belonging to the same bed and chamber.’ This must have been one of the couple’s nuptial beds, and its symbols further express their piety: the compass symbolised the Creator measuring out the world; the dove was a symbol of the Holy Spirit.

John also left Katherine ‘all the other beds made for me, called in England “trussing beds” [portable beds with hangings], with the carpets and other appurtenances, and my best circlet with the fine ruby, and my best collar with the cluster of diamonds, and my second cover of ermine, and two of my best ermine-lined mantles, together with the suits of clothes accompanying them. And to the said most dear companion, I leave all those possessions and castles which she had before our marriage, together with the other property and jewels which I have given to her since the said marriage, and, finally, those possessions and jewels which are in the keeping of my said companion and not listed in the inventory of my possessions’. Later in the will, Katherine was left £2,000 (£758,325) — by far the largest bequest made by the Duke.
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All of this gives a very vivid impression of the luxury in which Katherine had lived as Duchess of Lancaster, but it also paints a picture of a mutually supportive married couple, a generous husband and an esteemed and loved wife. When John had gone, Katherine would want for nothing, and she would have many reminders of him to cherish: beds they had shared, personal jewels and rich garments.

To the King, John bequeathed, amongst other things, ‘my best covered gold chalice, which my dearest Lady Katherine gave to me on New Year’s Day’. There were generous bequests to his elder children: hangings, beds, armour, plate and jewels to Henry, a circlet and a chalice for Philippa, a covered gold chalice for Catalina, a bed, carpets and an ouche for Elizabeth. As for the Beauforts: ‘I leave to my very dear son, John Beaufort, Marquess of Dorset, two dozen plates and two dozen saucers, two goblets of silver for wine, a silver chalice engraved, two basins and two ewers of silver,’ plus £1,000 (£379,163). ‘ To the reverend Father in God and my beloved son, the Bishop of Lincoln [who was to be a supervisor of the will], a dozen plates and a dozen saucers, two silver goblets for wine, a silver chalice engraved, with a basin and one silver ewer, and my entire vestment of velvet with the things belonging to it, and also my missal and my psalter, which belonged to my lord and brother, the Prince of Wales, whom God preserve. I leave to my very dear son, Thomas Beaufort, their brother, a dozen plates and a dozen saucers, two silver goblets for wine and six silver cups,’ and 1,000 marks (£126,388). ‘I leave to my very dear
daughter, their sister, the Countess of Westmorland and Lady Neville, a bed of silk and a covered gold chalice, also a ewer.’