AUMERLE                  For ever may my knees grow to the earth,

My tongue cleave to the roof within my mouth,

Unless a pardon ere I rise or speak.

BOLINGBROKE          Intended or committed was this fault?

If on the first, how heinous e’er it be

To win thy after-love I pardon thee.

AUMERLE                  Then give me leave that I may turn the key

That no man enter till my tale be done.

BOLINGBROKE          Have thy desire.

[Aumerle locks the door]                   (5.3.29-37)

Finally Aumerle gets to say his piece. He’s kneeling, and before he says or does anything more, he asks for pardon. May my knees grow to the earth for ever, may I never rise again, and make my tongue cleave to the roof within my mouth, may I never speak another word, unless I receive your pardon. I won’t rise or speak before you give me that. Risky, histrionic, but also properly desperate—and a reminder that this play has consistently been interested in levels and hierarchies, and in the ground, the earth. Now Aumerle’s down, as low as he can go, begging, grovelling, abased, and Bolingbroke’s the one with the power, standing over him.

Bolingbroke grasps immediately what’s going on, and cuts to the crucial distinction: is the deed for which you’re seeking pardon something you’ve already done or something that you planned to do? Intended or committed was this fault? Because that’s going to determine how I act. Bolingbroke is canny, sophisticated, and pragmatic: if Aumerle hasn’t in fact done anything yet, then the smart thing to do is to keep him not only on side, but in Bolingbroke’s debt, pathetically grateful and relieved. But if he’s already done something terrible, then Bolingbroke, as king, must be seen to act impartially and justly, showing no favour to his cousin. If on the first, if the fault was only intended, then no matter how heinous it was, to win thy after-love I pardon thee. I want your loyalty, I want you to owe me your life.

Aumerle’s taking no chances: please let me lock the door, that no man enter till my tale is done. Asking Bolingbroke to take a risk, again, but we know—or at least we should remember—that what Aumerle’s most worried about is his father arriving; others entering or overhearing would be bad, but not as bad as York arriving to denounce his own son as a traitor. Have thy desire, says Bolingbroke, magnanimously, but of course having conducted a risk assessment. It seems to be worth it? And so Aumerle locks the door…