Hubert Ellio; a story of King Richard's days, the Second

Preface

. Some time ago, when my friend, Mr. Beeton, invited me to write for the " Boy's Own Magazine " a story " such as poor Edgar " used to write, I hesitated between a desire to accept the offer of an occupation so thoroughly congenial to me, and doubt as to my abibty to undertake it. There were other considerations, also, to make me pause. Foremost among them was the natural shrinking from step ping into a place which Death had made vacant — a shrinking especially strong in this case, where " poor Edgar's " death had been as unexpected as it was mourned. For all who knew him respected him and Hked him — knew him for a kind-hearted, good fellow, as well as a most painstaking, conscientious discharger of whatsoever his hand found to do ; a well-read man, but no pedant ; a lover of his work, and one who felt with aU his heart the chivalrous spirit of the men whose deeds he delighted to clironicle.

To come after such a man was no light thing, and it was not modesty, but a serious apprehension of the position, that made me hesitate about filling the empty seat.

PREFACE.

. The doubt as to whether, apart from this, my shoulders were broad enough to wear the mantle of him who had won a name in the minds of thousands of English lads, by his attractive stories attractively told, and had made friends of them through the medium of his pen, swayed my mind, and whispered me to decline ; but the further thought that this might act as a spur, more strongly perhaps than a deterrent, backed up as it was by the kind encouragement which my friend Mr. Beeton gave, determined me to accept the offer that was made. I found the work, as I anticipated, a most congenial one, and with the abundant aid which was afforded me in the shape of rich materials for history, by the kindness of several friends, I buckled to my work with a will, and the result is before my readers. While fully aware of imperfections which may be found on reviewing the book, I am not without hope that in the main it wiU be credited with accuracy and some interest.

No pains have been spared in the discharge of my duty, and I trust to find, in the approval of my readers, a justification for the course which Mr. Beeton adopted when he asked me to write a story, "such as poor Edgar" used to write. Francis Davenant. Temple, 1866. CONTENTS. CHAPIEE PAGE I HOW JOHN WYCLIF APPEARED before bishop COURTNEY IN ST. PAUL'S 1 II. nOW THE DUKE OF LANCASTER WENT TO DINE WITH JOHN OF TPHES 15 MY FATHER — BROOKLET MASTER PHILPOT'S HOUSE NEAR THE GARLAND .... 22 III A SUPPER PARTY AT MASTER PHILPOT'S . . 31 IV OSWALD BARNES BECOMES MY GOOD FRIEND . 41 v. VI THE GAMES IN SMITHFIELD, AND HOW SIR WALTER HOOD PUT AN END TO THEM .... 47 VII. HOW SIR WALTER HOOD ESCAPED THE FURY OF THE LONDONERS — ALICE PHILPOT ... 57 VIII DEATH OF EDWARD III. — JOHN PHILPOT VISITS PRINCE RICHARD AT KENNINGTON, AND MAKES AN ADDRESS TO HIM — JOHN OF GAUNT . . 62 THE ABBOT OF BATTLE SENDS WILLIAM ARCHDALE TO SAY HOW THE TOWN OF RYE HAD BEEN IX.

BURNED BY THE FRENCH — WILL ARCHDALE . 70 X. KING RICHARD IS CROWNED AT WESTMINSTER — ■ WHAT WE SAW AT THE CORONATION . . 77 WE MEET WITH AN ADVENTURE, AND HAVE TO VISIT LUDGATE ...... 85 CONTENTS. VI CTT.U.TEE PAG XII. WE ARE RELEASED, BUT OUR FRIENDS THINK IT DESIRABLE WE SHOULD HAVE CHANGE OF AIR BARNES AND I ACCOMPANY ARCHDALE TO HASTINGS .92 XIII. THE ABBOT OF BATTLE ..... 99 XIV, THE ABBOT TAKER US TO FLY HIS NEW HAWKS — A MESSAGE FEOM WINCHELSEA . . . 104 THE MEN OF RYE FETCH THEIR BELLS OUT OF NORMANDY 115 XV. WE GET A LECTURE, BUT DO NOT THINK THE ABBOT IS REALLY ANGRY .... 129 XVI. XVI I . OSWALD BARNES AND I LEAVE BATTLE ABBEY AND GO BACK TO LONDON — GILBERT D'ARCY . . 134 i I GIVE ALICE WnAT I TOOK FOR HER AT PETER'S XVIII. HAVEN 139 JOHN PHILPOT HAS " A FEW WORDS " WITH ME, XIX.

AND I PREPARE TO LEAVE LONDON AGAIN OSWALD BARNES HAS LEAVE TO JOIN U3 . 144 XX. OUR SHIPS DROP DOWN THE THAMES AND ARRIVE AT THE NORE 150 XXI. HOW WE DISCOVEHED JOHN MERCER THE SCOT, AND WHAT CAME OF THE DISCOVERY A FIGHT AT SEA 156 XXII. WE COME BACK NOT EMPTY-HANDED, AND ARE WELL RECEIVED BY THE PEOPLE ; BUT MASTER PHILPOT IS SENT FOR TO THE COUNCIL . . 167 XXIII. THE COUNCIL IN THE TOWER — I AM INTRODUCED TO SIR HUGH CALVERLEY, WHO PROMISES TO TAKE ME NEXT TIME HE GOES TO SEA . . 174 XXIV. THE FALCON OF FOWEY 1S0 XXV. JOHN WYCLIF IN TROUBLE AGAIN — HOW HE AP- PEARED BEFORE THE SYNOD AT LAMBETH, AND HOW THE LONDONERS PUT AN END TO THE SITTING 1§K CONTENTS CHAPTEP. XXVI. PACE SIR HUGH CALVERLEY IS MADE ADMIEAL OF THE SEAS — WE GET OEDEES TO SAIL, AND I ONLY HALF LIKE IT 197 XXVII. nOW WE BEAT THE SPANISH SHIPS OFF THE COAST OF BRITTANY, AND HOW THE COG GREENWICH TOOK THE GROUND IN ST. MALO HARBOUR — SIE HUGH CALVERLEY . . . 201 XXVIII.

HOW SIE JOHN ARUNDEL SAILED FOR BRITTANY, AND HOW VENGEANCE OVERTOOK HIM WHEN HE GOT TO SEA 213 SIR HUGH CALVERLEY'S EXPEDITION IN AID OF THE DUKE OF BRITTANY .... 224 XXIX. XXX. THE EXPEDITION CROSSES TO FRANCE — SIEGE OF FOLANT CASTLE 232 THE ATTACK ON TEOYES — DEATH OF SIE WALTER HOOD — A FRENCH PRISON .... 242 XXXI. XXXII. OUR ESCAPE EROM TROYES .... 250 XXXIII. VTKY THE COMMONS OF ENGLAND WEEE DIS- SATISFIED WITH THE LOEDS .... 259 XXXIV. THE NEW TEMPLE 266 THE FRIAR'S SERMON AT PAUL'S CROSS — A. RIOT — THE COMMONS COMPLAIN OF THE CLERGY. 274 XXXV. XXXVI. OLD PHILIP AUBERT — ARTHUR TREWIN EIDES WITH ME FROM SHEEN ..... 284 THOMAS DE BAMPTON's MISSION TO ESSEX — archdale's ESCAPE 292 XXXVII. SIR SIMON BURLEY CLAIMS ROBERT DELL AS HIS VILLEIN — AND JOHN THE TILER OF DART- XXXVIII. FORD RESENTS AN INSULT TO HIS.

DAUGHTER 299 THE RISING OF THE COMMONS — WAT TYLER BESIEGES ROCHESTER CASTLE . . 310 CONTENTS. CnAPTEK PAGN THE MARCH TO BLACKHEATH AN AFFRONT TO THE XL PRINCESS OF WALES ANXIETY OF THE LONDON- 325 ERS — SIR JOHN NEWTON SENT ON A MISSION THE TOWER OF LONDON IN 1381— SIR JOHN NEW- XLI, TON'S VISIT — THE KING PROMISES TO MEET HIS FAITHFUL COMMONS 333 THE KING'S INTERVIEW WITH THE COMMONS — " ON- TO LONDON ! " THE CITY THREATENED WITH A XLII SIEGE — A VAIN ATTEMPT TO REMOVE ALICE TO THE CONVENT AT SHEEN PEEPAEATIONS FOE DEFENCE 342 THE PRIOR OF ST. JOHN SENDS A MESSAGE INTO XLIII. THE CITY — BURNING OF THE SAVOY — SACK OF THE TEMPLE 353 XLIV. A COUNCIL AT WILLIAM WALWORTH'S — SACK OF THE TOWER SMTTHFIELD— WAT THE TILEE MEETS HIS EEWAED 363 XLV. SIR WALTER ATTE LEE TRIES PACIFIC MEASURES — KING RICHARD COMES TO ST. ALBAN'S THE DEATH OF JOHN BALL, ST. MARY PRIEST OF YORK 389 XLVI.

SIR JOHN PHILPOT DIES, AND LEAVES A GREAT CHARGE TO ME A STORY OF KING RICHARD'S DAYS THE SECOND 1XTEODUCTOEI WEITING the follow ing pages, which con tain the memoirs or personal history of one who actually lived iu the time of Edward III. and Eichard II., and who is not a mere creature of the imagination, there have been several difficulties to en counter. There has been the difficulty of telling a story, essentially old, in language sufficiently modern to make it intelligible to readers of the present day. The language in which the memoirs themselves, or the materials from which they have been derived, are written, is the same as that in which the poet Geoffrey Chaucer wrote his poems ; and a glance at his works will serve to show that, had this story been written in his language, very few indeed would have been able to read it.

"When he wrote, the English language as now spoken was only being formed. The words which we now speak of as derived from the Saxon — and there are as many as sixty-five out of every hundred English words which are so derived — were then written more like the Saxon derivatives themselves; indeed, they were pure Saxon ; and though, after some painstaking and study, we may recognise in them the old forms of modern words, it does require that painstaking and acquaintance with the old language to enable us to make them out. Thus " carpettis," " enmyes," " sikerlye," " inowgh," " togedre," " idoo," are now written " carpets," "enemies," "surely," "enough," "together," "done." "We should not at first sight, perhaps, understand this ; and if all the words were spelt in the old way, we might as well be set to read so much double Dutch, unless we had gone through a course of instruction to make us acquainted with them.

Then there are many words which have, as it were, slipped out of the language — slipped through — which were current and perfectly correct in Chaucer's time, such as " shent" (ruined), " selcouthe" (strange), " quentise " (cunning), " reede " (counsel): now we should want a dictionary to find out what they meant. There was also a very large admixture of French or Norman words, since become obsolete. It was not until Edward III.'s time that English as a language could be said to exist. Before his reign the peasants had spoken a dialect of Saxon and Celtic, and the nobles and lords of the soil spoke Erench. Even in his reign the possession of the French language was considered to be one of the marks of a gentleman. " Jack would be a gentleman if he could speak Erench " was a saying common enough at the time ; the law was written and administered in Erench, excepting in some of the quite minor courts ; French was the language spoken at court ; so that it is not surprising to find iu the writings of a man like Chaucer a large number of Frenchified words, which, like some of their Saxon companions, have fallen into desuetude, or have so far changed their old dress for a modern garb that they are altogether different-looking from what they were.

Edmund Spenser, who wrote in Queen Elizabeth's time, himself using a INTRODUCTORY. 3 vocabulary not always easy to make out, speaks of Chaucer as the "well of English undefiled" — and so undoubtedly he was; but then the undefiled English that he wrote was the English of the period, a language which, if this story had been written in it, would have made the acts of the people commemorated sealed to those to whom the modern form makes them accessible. This difficulty, therefore, in respect of the mere language, has had to be overcome, and the writer is not without hope that he has succeeded. A few words, perhaps, which would have been spoiled by conversion, have been suffered to remain; but these are accompanied, when they occur, by a modern equivalent. There has been another difficulty which the writer is not without hope that he has surmounted, and that is the difficulty of investing a story laid in such remote times as those of Eichard II. with sufficient attractions to make it interesting.

There is a general sort of interest lent by historical associations, and by speaking of that of which all of us know something, more or less, by having heard and read about it in our school time ; but this interest more properly belongs to the books of history them selves ; and in a story founded on materials drawn from them, something more particular is needed to fix the attention. The magnetic influence which draws one to the perusal of Froissart or Monstrelet, Thomas "Walsingham or Stowe, is no longer felt when tried upon a story created out of them. It has, therefore, been necessary to show the persons written about in much the same sort of light as that in which they really appeared. The writer has made them appear in the performance of the acts of daily life, instead of merely relating their historical deeds as facts ; and while the greatest pains have been taken to ensure accuracy in mentioning events purely historical, and trouble has not been spared to allow of the introduction of facts not narrated in the general histories, it has been endeavoured to make the description as lifelike as possible, and to make the men long dead speak in their own persons.

An additional value is given to the story in the fact that all the incidents are true, and most of the characters had actual existence. Philpot, "Walworth, Mercer, Sir Hugh Calverley, the noblemen mentioned by name, "Wyclif, and the others, are men whose histories survive. They are to be found enshrined in the chronicles of the times ; and if the writer has succeeded in brushing off some of the cobwebs which surrounded them, bringing them out into the light, and clothing them with so much personal interest as shall not only make the following story a pleasant one, but also beget a desire in the readers of it to search further for themselves, he will be amply compensated for the trouble he has been at. Some of the key mottoes to the chapters will serve to give an idea of the English language spoken at the time.

In order to anticipate by an explanation any question that may arise upon the wording of the second part of the title to this story — "A Story of King Eichard's Days the Second" — it may be as well to state that the editor has authority for wording it as he has done, in the title of one of "Wyclif 's books, written about the date at which this story begins. The book is called " "Wyck liffe's Wycket, whyche he made in Kyng Eicard's day's the second. A verye brefe diffinition of the wordes Hoc est corpus meum." The ""Wycket" was first printed by "Wyllyam Tyndail at Norenburch (Nuremberg), 1546."

Chapter I. How

.I01IN WYCLIF APPEARED BEFORE BISHOP COURTNEY IN ST. PAUL 8. " I smell a loller (Lollard) in the wind, quod he." Chaucer— The Shipment's Tale. HE morning of the 19th of February, 1377, was beautifully bright. The birds were singing merrily, and the trees seemed to rejoice with them, as I pushed back the lattice of my bed-room window and looked forth from East Cheap upon the silver Thames. I was never a lie-a-bed, but this morning I was up and dressed by half-past four, iu anticipation of the demand which I knew would be made for my services. My kind and good master, of whom much will be said later, had bidden me attend him as eaxly as might be with the scores of the merchandise he was sending to Master Aldane, at Calais, and to receive his orders about other matters which required despatch, because it behoved him to repair betimes to St. Paul's Church, to give what countenance he might to his dear friend Master "Wyclif, who was there to appear before the Bishop of London, and answer the charges which were to be made against him.

For a kind and good man too much can never be done ; and though all his lifetime I strove to do my best to serve him, I have often regretted I had not done more. Now that he is gone whither I pray to follow him, and is beyond the reach or the need of service, I reproach myself with the omission of a hundred little things I might have done for him to make his way the smoother while he remained with us. On this day it was my good fortune to please him by the fulfilment of all that he required. "We settled our business before six o'clock had chimed, and by half-past seven I was returning from on board our new carack, The Leopard, which lay at anchor off Billingsgate, and had now got her final orders to make all haste to Calais, in time for the grand market to be held in ten days' time. By eight o'clock my master, Master Nicholas Twiford, of Maiden Lane, and Eichard Lions, the lapidary, of Dowgate, were afoot and ready to start.

Leaving Philpot House, we went through Fenchurch Street, crossed the Langbourne which ruus adown it towards the river, and so out on to Cornhill. Here we were joined by one out of the many hundreds then streaming westwards, who will make a figure in this history, my master's tried and trusty friend, Master "William "Walworth. "Well met aud good morrow, Master Philpot," said Walworth, i-oining up, and shaking my master's hand in an iron grasp, as if he meant to make him feel the heartiness he felt himself. " Are you going on yonder ? " " As far as to Paul's," said Philpot, " to see what may be seen of our good friend "Wyclif, who, Master Twiford tells me, will be hard pressed by charges which are none of the lightest." "Ay, and sure 'tis so," added Twiford. "I was told but yes terday that he denies the miracle of the Holy Mass, and holds other doctrines no less displeasing to their reverences the clergy."

" For all that he may teach against those drones of monks," -aid Wralworth, " I hold him none the worse. Those fellows have become a clog upon us that must be shaken off' somehow, and soon, too. I wonder, for my part, that the bishop should countenance them, for they are a sore hindrance to the parish priests, and set themselves up for their betters. They are scant observers of the authority of the bishops ; and were it not for the hold the bishops have at Eome, these Jack priests would have it all their own way with them. But what the mischief makes my lord Duke of Lancaster so forward to aid our friend "Wyclif ? He was not wont to favour resistance to authority, of whatever sort it might be." IN WEST CHEAP. 7 "Ay, that's the point," interposed Philpot: "the duke may love "Wyclif much, but he hates Bishop Courtney more.

The bishop is a man that will not yield to him as most men will — one that boasts as good blood as a Plantagenet, that knows his duty and stands to it, and checks to the utmost the encroachments which the duke would make upou the king's power. I doubt the duke means so much to help "Wyclif as to rouse the people's sympathy on his behalf against the bishop ; but let him beware what he does. The Londoners won't see my lord bishop come to harm." " The Bishop of "Winchester is to be one of the judges, men say — William Wykeham," said Twiford. "He's not to the duke's taste either," added Philpot, some what mysteriously; "but I observe he is always careful not to quarrel with him." " Has the bishop some secret power over him, think you ? said Walworth. "Nay, I cannot tell," answered Philpot; "but this I know, that Master Wykeham was confessor to the king's late queen, and shrove her on her death-bed, and I have heard from those who should know, that " What it was that my master was told, which might so much concern the Duke of Lancaster, did not then appear, for having walked by this time to the bottom of West Cheap, we found our selves in the crowd of people who were flocking to the church ; and just as my master was speaking, the crowd had to make way for a person of consequence, whose servants began pushing and elbowing their way iu a manner which called forth many a hard name for them from the citizens.

" Eoom for my lord of Lancaster — give wa}7 there ! " shouted the stalwart Englishman who was in command of the advanced part of the cortege. " Let him wait, Master Serving-man, till we let him pass," sang out a London 'prentice. " Who is the duke, that his man should talk so big?" A blow, or an attempt at one, was the only reply made to this HUBEVl' ELLIS. sally. I say an attempt at one, because the lad ducked before the man's staff could reach him, and rising again like a water fowl a few yards off, he hit his enemy full in the face with a lump of mud he had picked up from the street. The ludicrous con dition of the servant, half blinded with the wet mud which streamed over his face and fine clothes, yet striving to keep up an appearance of dignity in spite of his discomfiture, served to put the people into good humour — which was perhaps as well, for as the Duke of Lancaster, accompanied by Lord Henry Percy, and attended by a small number of knights and gentlemen, rode by, looking sombre and unloving to the commons, men scowled an grily at him, and muttered words about the maletots, and the poll-tax, and the Spanish war, for which they held him responsible.

John of Gaunt had beeu intended by Nature for one of her finest specimens of humanity. His frame was large and powerful, his limbs were well shaped, his stature inclined to the gigantic. and his head, which was massive, was that of a man of no ordinary metal. His face was of the true Plantagenet type — handsome, but too stem-looking to be strictly pleasing; and there was something about the mouth and lower part of the face which suggested the presence of a spirit uot at all times amiable, and capable even, when thwarted, of taking cruel exercise. Though Nature had been lavish of her bounty to him, he had taken little care to honour her gifts. The restless soul which she had placed in that fair body fretted it, and gave it, as at this time, when it was in its prime, a gaunt and wasted look that marred the beauty of it.

Since his boyish days John of Gaunt (Ghent) had been cease lessly employed in active service in many places. He had not always been so to his own interest — generally, indeed, he had lost by his labour — but his mind had occupation ; and so long as this could be had, it was of small consequence where or in whose interest he had it. He had fought in Spain, in France, in Flan ders, and in Scotland ; he had travelled ; he had gone on embassies ; he had taken an active part in English politics ; and was that one of King Edward's sons to whom the monarch most resorted for THE DUKE OF LANCASTER. 9 advice after death had bereft him of his trusted and beloved heir, the Black Prince. Of late years he had been rapidly growing unpopular. The harsh measures which the old king adopted in the government towards the end of his reign were ascribed to the Duke of Lan caster ; his Spanish marriage, and his consequent claim to the crown of Castille — a claim which it was proposed to make good with English blood and treasure — were also displeasing to the peo ple, among whom it was now rumoured, that when King Edward should die, the Duke of Lancaster meant to seize his crown.

His errand on this occasion was not altogether to the liking of the Londoners. They were as yet not so much leavened with the new doctrines preached by Wyclif as to be hearty in supporting them ; and though the duke's attachment to Wyclif strengthened his cause mightily, Wyclif 's cause did not benefit the duke in the minds of the citizens, though in the provinces it drew many sympathies to him. "Very little would have provoked the people to violence, so much was the duke hated; but he seemed bent on giving no occasion for offence, and rode along on his beautiful roan palfrey without turning his head to right or left, except now and then to acknowledge the salute of some old soldier of his late brother the Black Prince, who had seen him in the battle-field, and knew him for a valiant man-at-arms.

The duke and his company turned to the west at Paul's Cross, and made for the north door of the cathedral. We passed on in the same direction, and, reaching the entrance first, passed into the sacred building. Matins had just been sung iu the chapel, and as we entered the last notes of the service were dying away among the high vaults of the noble roof, faintly echoing and re echoing their own amen. The Bishops of London and Winchester and many of the clergy were already met iu the chapel behind the high altar, and while they are waiting the arrival of Wyclif, it may be as well that I should mention the cause of their assembling. For tweuty years before this time Wyclif had written and spoken freely against what he considered to be the errors of the clergy and their teaching. He had lifted his voice strongly against the corrupt living of the monks, the employment of clergymen in secular offices, the refusal of the Church authorities to sanction the translation of the Holy Scriptures, the doctrine that in the Eucharist the bread and wine are turned by consecra tion into the actual body and blood of the Saviour Christ, that the rite of confirmation can be conferred by bishops alone, that matter once created is indestructible, and last but most offensive, that as in the time of the Apostles there existed but the two orders of priests and deacons, so now there were not, nor need there be, any Pope, patriarchs, or archbishops.

From time to time these doctrines and bold sayings had attracted much attention, and this year special notice was taken of them. The Conclusions, or heads of the subjects upon which Wyclif insisted, were drawn up and read before the Pope, who condemned twenty-three of them as idle and heretical, and sent Bulls to the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of London, ordering them to have Wyclif brought before them, and examined closely in reference to the denounced articles. That was how on this February morning the learned prelates and doctors came to meet in St. Paul's Cathedral, which was now crowded in all its parts by the good men of London, anxious to find Wyclif, whom they loved and respected, free from heresy, and equally determined that their bishop should be free from scath and harm.

I was in the rear of our party, well placed inside the Lady Chapel, and from one of the arcades of the choir screen to which I had climbed could see thoroughly all that was going on. Not many minutes after the Bishop of London had taken his seat, there was a slight stir in the aisle leading up to the chapel, and presently appeared, leaning on a tall white staff, a venerable looking man, in height above the middle stature, with oval face fining off to the chin from a broad and massive brow. His grey hair and beard flowed in long curls over his simple dress of dark brown stuff, girded in at the waist and falling thence in ample THE CATHEDRAL OF ST. PAUL. 11 folds to his feet. He walked with firm and dignified step, a pattern of nobleness and of what is majestic in man. Behind him came a servant with books and paper rolls — copies of the aspersed writings and his own laboured manuscript of the Bible in English.

On either side of him walked the two men who of all others the bishop least wished to see. A flush came and went on my Lord Courtney's face as he recognised in these two the Duke of Lancaster and the earl marshal, Lord Henry Percy. A smile played for a moment round the Bishop of Winchester's firm mouth, and then his face gave no more indication of what was passing through his mind than the ocean gives of the secrets in its breast. He thought, perhaps, of what Queen Philippa had told him in her last confession.* The press of people was now so great that Master Wyclif and his friends could not get through. Lord Percy, using or abusing the authority he had as earl marshal, began to drive the people back and to use force and loud gesture even in the chapel, as though it had been a common place, and as though the bishop had not been there.

My Lord Courtney was a proud man by his blood. He was of the family of the great Earls of Devon, whose ancestors had sat on the throne of Constantine, and were descended from Charle magne himself. Believe me, he could ill brook this behaviour of the marshal ; and rising from his seat, he called him to remember where he was and how he should conduct himself, adding these words : " My lord, if I had known what masteries you would have kept in the church, I should have stopped you out from coming hither." Lord Percy being engaged in altercation with some of the * A story was current amongst " those who knew " that Queen Philippa had confessed to William of Wykeham, on her dying bed, that John of Gaunt was not really her child, but that she had changed her own daughter for the son of a friend.