Enter Northumberland [and others]

NORTHUMBERLAND            My lord, the mind of Bolingbroke is changed,

You must to Pomfret, not unto the Tower.

And madam, there is order ta’en for you,

With all swift speed you must away to France.

RICHARD                                Northumberland, thou ladder wherewithal

The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne,

The time shall not be many hours of age

More than it is, ere foul sin gathering head

Shall break into corruption.(5.1.51-59)

Of course it’s Northumberland; Bolingbroke’s content to have him do the dirty work, and Northumberland’s—thus far—apparently eager to be seen to do it. Here he’s polite and functional: change of plan, not the Tower of London for Richard the former king, but rather Pomfret, that is, Pontefract, in Yorkshire. And, casually emphasising the parting of the royal couple, madam, there is order ta’en for you, with all swift speed you must away to France. Even though this is what Richard’s just counselled her to do, it’s been taken out of her (and his) hands: the arrangement’s been made, you’re going to France, and soon. This is it, say your goodbyes.

But Richard takes the opportunity to have a real go at Northumberland. It’s insulting, first, to describe him as merely Bolingbroke’s ladder, climbed up and over, a tool, an instrument, rather than an agent. (Mounting Bolingbroke ascending, again a reminder of Richard’s, and the play’s, obsession with up and down, that vertical axis.) And it won’t be long, Richard continues, the time shall not be many hours of age more than it is, before foul sin gathering head, that is, the sin you have already committed in aiding Bolingbroke’s rise (his usurpation; my deposition, my fall) will break into corruption. Richard’s conceit here is nastily corporeal, a boil or abscess worsening and eventually bursting, disgustingly. A disease in the body politic, something rotten in the state, and Northumberland’s right there. He’s not to be trusted.