by Jean Plaidy
Now here was a new King – a man who was by no means old and who looked like a god. His reputation as a warrior was well known; he was good to his mother who had acted as Regent until he came. He had a younger brother who was willing to serve him. It seemed to the people that everything was set fair. And now a coronation. Revelry in the streets, processions; and it was already whispered that this was going to be the finest spectacle that had ever delighted the eyes of the citizens of London. Naturally they were excited. Naturally they were all going out to cheer.
Richard greeted his brother warmly.
‘How went it?’ he asked. ‘Don’t tell me, I know. You are a husband. Baldwin is fulminating. He says it is a sin for you to live with Hadwisa of Gloucester.’
‘That adds a spice to what would otherwise be a somewhat dull matter,’ replied John.
‘Oh, ’twas so? Well, you have her lands and that is something to be pleased about. But what of Baldwin?’
‘I shall ignore him. Shall you, brother?’
‘It is not good for a king to be on ill terms with his archbishop.’
‘’Tis a by no means uncommon state of affairs. He is officiating at the coronation, I doubt not.’
‘He is,’ said Richard.
‘Will he denounce me from the altar think you?’
‘’Twould be most unseemly were he to do so at a coronation and would cost him his post.’
‘Then perchance he will leave me in peace for a while.’
‘Methinks you were pleased with your bride, John.’
‘Pleased with her lands,’ answered John.
‘Well, you will be a very rich man now.’
‘It is a comfort to contemplate how rich.’
Eleanor embraced her youngest son and asked how the wedding had pleased him.
She commiserated. ‘Alas, it is sometimes the richest heiresses who are the least desirable. It’s a rare thing to find a woman who is both.’
‘You were I believe, Mother.’
She laughed. ‘I have been loved for myself and for Aquitaine. I have never been quite sure which was the more attractive. Well now, John is safely married . . .’
‘I am not so sure,’ said Richard. ‘Baldwin is raising objections.’
‘The old fool!’ retorted Eleanor. ‘In any case it’s too late. Why do you smile, John?’
‘I was thinking that the old fellow could give me a chance of not seeing my wife if I didn’t want to.’ He put his hand on his heart and raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh, I suffer sorely. My soul is in torment. I wish to be with my wife but in doing so do I sin against Heaven. She is my third cousin and that is very close. Her great-grandmother was my great-grandfather’s whore and we share his blood . . . though mine is pure and hers is tainted. If’twere not for her nice fat lands I would willingly annul the marriage . . .’
‘Be silent, John,’ said Eleanor sharply. She could see that Richard did not like his brother’s raillery on such a subject.
‘I am concerned,’ said Richard, ‘as to the Jews. I do not want them practising their magical arts at the coronation. That could bring disaster to us all. I shall forbid them to attend the ceremony.’
‘It would never do for them to be seen there,’ commented the Queen. ‘The people would think you are going to show leniency towards them and that would not be popular.’
‘They are too rich,’ said John. ‘That is what’s wrong with them.’
‘They are industrious and know how to prosper,’ declared the Queen. ‘Such qualities arouse envy, and being envious of their wealth those who have been less industrious or lack the money-spinning gift seek to lay faults at their door. My son, you must issue a command that there be no Jews at your coronation.’
‘It shall be done,’ said Richard.
The morning of that third day of September of the year 1189 dawned bright and sunny. Yet there were many who remembered that it was a day of ill omen. Egyptian astrologers had named it as one of the Dies Aegyptiaci with the implication that on it only the reckless would undertake any important business; and what could be more important to a king than his coronation?
Scarlet cloth had been laid from the King’s bedchamber in the palace to the altar of the abbey and crowds had gathered in the streets for the last day and night to make sure of getting a view of the spectacle.
In his bedchamber surrounded by the chief nobles of the realm, including his brother John, the King waited the coming of the Archbishops, the Bishops, the Abbots and heads of the monastic orders. They came bearing censers and vessels containing holy water led by one of their number carrying the great cross.
First in the processions from the bedchamber to the altar came the clergy, chanting as they walked, swinging incense and holding high lighted tapers; the priors and abbots followed and after them the barons. William Mareschal carried the sceptre surmounted by the golden cross and William Earl of Salisbury the golden rod.
Immediately behind them was Prince John, his eyes lowered, imagining himself not walking as he did but in the place of honour today occupied by his brother. How unfair was life, he thought, to make a man the youngest of his family! Yet in some ways fate had been kind in carrying off the others. That left Richard ten years his senior but still young. In the prime of his manhood some said. By God’s Eyes, thought John, he could live another twenty years! But if he went to the Holy Land a Saracen arrow might pierce his heart. It was the only hope.
He must be encouraged to go on his crusade. He was not fit to be King. How could a man newly come to a throne, plot how soon he could leave it? Only if he were a fool, for if that man had an ambitious brother he could soon place his kingdom in jeopardy!
To the spectators who thronged about the abbey and crowded inside, it seemed that there could never have been a more handsome sovereign than King Richard. William Mandeville, the Earl of Albemarle, walked before him carrying, on a cushion, the golden crown beautifully ornamented with glittering jewels. Then came Richard himself, tall and stately, under the royal canopy which was poised on lances and held over his head by four barons.
Into the abbey he walked, through the nave to the high altar, where Baldwin was waiting for him.
They looked into each other’s eyes – the King arrogant, reminding the Archbishop that he was the master. The Archbishop like all of his kind, as Richard thought, striving to place the Church over the State. He should remember what happened to Thomas à Becket. An uneasy thought, for his father had not come too gracefully out of that affair; but it was Becket who had lost his life, though he had become a saint in doing it. Baldwin was certainly incensed because of John’s marriage, but he would have to keep quiet about that today.
On the altar most of the abbey relics had been laid – the holy bones of saints, the phials containing what purported to be their blood; and on these Richard swore that he would honour God and the Holy Church, and that he would be just to his people and that he would abolish all evil laws.
His attendants stepped forward to strip him of all his garments except his shirt and hose. He was then anointed with the consecrated oil on his head, arms and breast while Baldwin told him of the significance of this and that the application of the oil to these parts of his body implied that he was being endowed with glory, knowledge and fortitude. His tunic and dalmatic were then put on him by the waiting barons and the sword of justice handed to him. Golden spurs were tied to his heels and the royal mantle placed about his shoulders.
Baldwin then asked him if he were indeed prepared to honour the oath he had just taken and, on Richard’s assuring him that he was, the barons took the crown from the altar and gave it to the Archbishop who placed it on Richard’s head; the sceptre was put in the King’s right hand and the rod in the left.
After High Mass the procession back to the palace began and there the King was divested of his cumbersome crown which was replaced by a lighter one and in the great hall the feasting began.
In order not to offend the citizens of Winche
ster the dignitaries of that town had the honour of acting as cooks, while, so that the citizens of London need not feel they had been slighted, their leading citizens were the butlers. The hall was filled with tables at the chief of which sat the King, and the guests were placed according to their rank at the top table.
It was a merry and happy occasion and then sudden tragedy changed it from a day of rejoicing to one of bitter tragedy.
Richard had forbidden any Jew to come to his coronation, not because he wished to persecute them, but because he believed that as they were not Christians their presence might not be acceptable to God. It may have been that this edict had not been sufficiently widely circulated or perhaps some, so eager to be present, decided to ignore it, but while the feast was in progress several Jews decided to call at the palace with rich gifts for the new King. No ruler could object to being given costly objects, for even if he was indifferent to them, as an expression of loyalty he must be impressed by their value.
Among the richest Jews in the country who presented themselves at the palace was a man of particularly great wealth known as Benedict of York. They were immediately identified and protests were raised.
The cry went up: ‘Jews! We’ll not have them here. The King has forbidden them. They have disobeyed his laws.’
Benedict of York, who had brought with him a very valuable gift for the King, protested.
‘All I wish,’ he cried, ‘is to let the King know of our loyalty to him. I wish to give him this golden ornament.’
It was no use.
For so long the Jews had been hated. There were many people in the throng who had lived close to them and who had seen them prosper. They were hated because they worked hard and because no matter how humbly they started they always seemed to succeed.
This was an opportunity.
‘The King has ordered that we drive them from our towns,’ went up the cry. ‘He has forbidden them to come to his coronation.’
It did not take long to arouse the mob. Throughout London the cry went up. ‘We are robbing the Jews. We are burning their houses. Their goods are to be our goods. It is the King’s coronation gift to us.’ Soon the streets were filled with shouting, screaming people. They had thought the day might bring dancing and feasting and perhaps free wine. They had not counted on anything so exciting as riots.
Outside the palace the mob set upon the Jews and the gifts they had brought were snatched from them.
Benedict of York lay on the ground convinced that his last moments had come. He saw fanatical faces peering down at him. Hands were at his throat. He cried out: ‘You are killing me.’
‘Aye, Jew. ’Tis the King’s orders to kill all Jews.’
Benedict cried desperately: ‘But I want to become a Christian. If you kill me you will have killed a Christian.’
The men who had been bending over him fell back a little. Benedict went on shouting: ‘I am a Christian. I am going to become a Christian.’
The law was fierce. What happened to men who took life? The King’s father had been determined to set down violence. Was the new King the same? Mutilation had often been the punishment for murder. Men had lost their ears, their noses, and their tongues; they had been blinded with hot irons because of it. It was necessary to be cautious and here was this man calling out that he wanted to become a Christian. What if any one of them was named as the murderer of a Christian!
‘Let him be baptised without delay,’ cried a voice. ‘Then he will truly be a Christian.’
This appealed to the mob.
They carried Benedict to the nearest church where he was immediately baptised.
Meanwhile no time had been lost in circulating the news throughout the country. In every city there were riots against the Jews. The mob was not going to lose an opportunity for violence and robbery; and because the Jews were notoriously rich they were a desirable target.
The only city which did not take part in these riots was Winchester. The people there expressed the view that they thought it was not according to Christian doctrine to attack those who lived among them simply because they did not share their beliefs.
As for Richard he was angry because a day which he had meant to be one of universal rejoicing should have turned out to be one of tragedy for so many of his subjects. Moreover it was an indication that the horrors of the reign of Stephen when men had felt themselves free to let loose their natural instincts could easily break out again. He would need stern laws to suppress these instincts and he was determined to keep order.
When he heard of what had happened to Benedict of York he sent for the man and when Benedict arrived he found Richard surrounded by his prelates. Benedict had had time to ponder on what he had done and he was ashamed that in a moment of panic when a particularly cruel death had stared him in the face, he had abjured the faith in which he had been brought up and to which he would in secret cling throughout his life.
As soon as he entered the hall his eyes went at once to the King. Richard from his chair of state commanded Benedict to come and stand before him. They took each other’s measure and there was a bond between them. Richard thought: This man denied his faith when faced with death. It was not a noble thing to do yet how can any of us judge him?
‘Benedict of York,’ he said, ‘yesterday you declared your intention of becoming a Christian.’
‘I did, my lord.’
‘That was when certain of my subjects were on the point of killing you. I gave no orders for these riots. I deplore them. Although I excluded members of your race and creed from my coronation I did not command my people to destroy you. You have been baptised. Are you a true Christian, Benedict of York, and will you continue in the faith in which you have so recently been baptised?’
The clear cool eyes of the King which proclaimed his courage to the world inspired Benedict.
He said: ‘My gracious Lord and King I cannot lie to you. Yesterday I was on the point of death and suffered ignoble fear. To save my life I protested that I wished to become a Christian and I underwent baptism. I am a Jew. I can never be a true Christian. The faith of my fathers must be mine and now that I am calm and have had time to think, I will tell you the truth even though I die for it.’
‘So you are more ready to die today than you were yesterday.’
‘I have overcome my fear, my lord.’
‘Then what happened yesterday was not in vain. I respect your honesty. Go from me now. Forget your baptism. Continue in the faith of your fathers and live in peace . . . if you can.’
Benedict fell on his knees and thanked the King.
Richard sent for Ranulph de Glanville.
‘Go through the country,’ he commanded. ‘Protect the Jews. Put an end to these riots. Let it be known that these disturbances were no wish of mine.’
And Ranulph de Glanville having quelled the violence in London rode out to the provinces but it was some days before peace was brought to the country.
Richard was indignant. ‘This matter has spoilt my coronation,’ he complained. ‘A fine beginning to my reign!’
‘You have conducted yourself with dignity,’ his mother told him. ‘The people will see that they have a strong king who is determined to govern them.’
The King remained uneasy. His thoughts carried him far away from England.
Chapter II
ALICE AND BERENGARIA
He had come home; he had been crowned King; now he would set in motion that plan which he had always intended to carry out. Eleanor was distressed; she tried to remonstrate with him.
‘I know you have taken an oath to go to the Holy Land,’ she said. ‘That was before you were King, but now you have a kingdom to govern.’
He snapped his fingers and his eyes shone with a fanatical light. ‘I have one desire, Mother, and that is to fight the Infidel.’
‘There is so much for you to do here.’
He shook his head. ‘I tell you this: I would sell London if I could find a purchaser. I need money .
. . money . . . money to take me to the Holy Land.’
‘You are rich in worldly goods, Richard.’
‘I need so much more. Much of my riches is such that cannot be realised.’
‘I see you are determined to go,’ said Eleanor.
He seized her hands. ‘While I am away you will guard this realm for me.’
‘I will with all my heart, but I am an old woman. What of John?’
‘You mean make him King during my absence?’
‘Indeed I do not. Once you did that he would never relinquish the power you gave him. Your father made one of the biggest mistakes of his life when he crowned your brother Henry King. Never make that mistake, Richard.’
‘Have no fear of it. I had no intention of giving John that power. He has his estates to look after. He has plenty to do, and I trust you to guard my realm. I have good servants.’
‘They are scarcely tried yet.’
He turned to her. ‘Make no mistake of this, Mother. Nothing will turn me from my purpose.’
‘I know well your nature. I realise this urge in you. What of your marriage? That will be expected of you.’
‘I shall marry in due course. Forget not that I must free myself from Alice first.’
‘And claim Berengaria.’
‘You will do that for me, Mother. You will go to Navarre and take Berengaria from her father. Readily he will give her to you, and when I am free from my bond with Alice I will marry her.’
‘And your crusade to the Holy Land?’ asked the Queen.
‘I can marry her there as well as anywhere else.’
‘The people will expect . . .’
He laid his hand over hers. ‘This is my desire,’ he said quietly; and she knew that he was telling her that he was the King.
