The Heart of the Lion

by Jean Plaidy

  Gerard was wondering what reasonable action the Prince would take.

  He said cautiously: ‘That will come, my lord Prince, but first it will be necessary to warn him.’

  John scowled. Warn him! He didn’t want him warned. He wanted him to go on making such mistakes that the whole country would rise against him.

  ‘I shall take up arms against him,’ growled John, ‘and there’ll be many to follow me. The people hate him, Gerard . . . even as I do.’

  He shouted to a messenger. ‘Come hither. Go at once to upstart Chancellor William de Longchamp and tell him this from me. He is to stop persecuting Gerard de Camville. If he does not he will wish he had never been born, for I shall come against him in battle with such forces that will drive him out of this land.’

  When Longchamp received this message he knew that he must take speedy action. Only by force could he reason with John. It was deplorable. The King would be displeased; but Longchamp could see nothing for it. He could not allow John to dictate to him.

  He summoned the leading ministers, but before they arrived news was brought to him that the castellans of Tickhill and Nottingham had handed the castles to John.

  Longchamp was horrified.

  ‘There must have been threats,’ he said. ‘These men would never have given up their trusts otherwise. They have been holding the castles in the King’s name and now to hand them over to his brother is an act of treason against Richard.’

  ‘And Richard,’ his ministers reminding him, ‘being far away . . .’

  ‘Aye, ’tis a sorry state of affairs, for as Regent I must do as the King would do. I see that Prince John has his eyes on the crown, and that I must hold at all costs for my master.’

  ‘This will mean open friction with the Prince,’ Walter de Coutances, Archbishop of Rouen, warned him.

  ‘If that is so then it must be. John should never have been allowed to come back into the country. The King forbade him to for three years.’

  ‘But the King later gave permission for both John and his base-born brother Geoffrey to return.’

  ‘So ’twas said. I cannot believe the King would have been so unaware of their trouble-making propensities to allow it. We must take bold action. It is the only course when dealing with men such as Prince John. I am going to summon him to appear before courts to investigate the manner of his return to England when the King banished him for three years. If the King indeed gave him leave to come back, it must be proved.’

  The Archbishop of Rouen agreed that while such action was taking place it might give those who were seeking rebellion time to brood on what this would mean and it was a way of reminding people that although the Prince, as the King’s brother, was becoming a powerful force in the land he like everyone else was a subject of King Richard and must obey his laws.

  ‘My lord Archbishop,’ said Longchamp, ‘only you are of sufficient rank to take the summons to Prince John.’

  The Archbishop nodded ruefully. He could imagine the Prince’s wrath when he realised he was summoned to appear before the courts.

  It was as he anticipated. He had never seen such fury except in the old King Henry II. The Prince’s skin was livid, his eyes ablaze with fury; he foamed at the lips and clenched and unclenched his hands.

  ‘By God’s eyes,’ he shouted, ‘if I but had that devil here. He’d never limp again. I’d slit that big belly right up . . . I, with my own knife. He’d not die easy . . .’

  The Archbishop allowed him to go on and his very calmness cooled John’s temper. The Archbishop showed no fear; he stood rather like someone who was patiently waiting for the storm to be over.

  It irritated John for it spoilt the excitement his fury always gave him. He liked to see people cringe before him. This calm dignified man in his robes of office, which must always inspire a certain respect, disconcerted him.

  He stopped suddenly and looked full at the Archbishop.

  ‘And what say you, my lord, to see a Prince so treated?’

  ‘I say this,’ answered the Archbishop: ‘You should offer to meet Longchamp and find a solution to your differences.’

  ‘Do you think there will ever be any solution?’

  ‘We must pray for peace, my lord, until the return of our sovereign lord the King.’

  Sovereign lord the King! Where was Richard now? Why was there no news? He was in constant danger. Why was God so perverse that he continued to protect him from that poisoned arrow?

  The opposing parties met at Winchester both supported by armed followers. The Archbishop of Rouen however was successful in advising a peaceful solution. The two castles which had been surrendered to John were to be given up, for they were after all the King’s castles, and those who had surrendered them had been but custodians. John agreed that they should be given back but, if the King died or Longchamp did not keep his side of the agreement between them, the castles should revert to him. Wilily he arranged that the castles should be put into the hands of two men who were his friends. Longchamp was aware of this and insisted that the greater strongholds of Winchester, Windsor and Northampton were to be guarded by his own supporters.

  John was disappointed. He had believed that more of the barons would be ready to support him on account of the unpopularity of Longchamp. It was true that the Chancellor was disliked but the barons could see that John was not strong enough to stand successfully against him. He was weak, self-indulgent and that violent temper augured no good. They longed for a strong King. If Richard would return they were convinced that all would be well.

  However, the meeting could be considered successful because it had not resulted in open warfare and a compromise, however shaky and insecure, had been reached.

  John was seething with disgust. He had hoped many would rally to him. He was determined though to seek the first opportunity to make trouble.

  He did not have to wait long.

  The Chancellor’s supporters saw in the recent agreement with John victory for Longchamp and those connections who had benefited by his rise to fame were convinced of his ability to get the better of Prince John.

  Roger de Lacy, a member of the Chancellor’s family, quarrelled with the castellan of Nottingham castle who had handed it over to John, accused him of treason to the King, and hanged him. He then did the same to the custodian of Tickhill. This was arrogance in the extreme.

  ‘The great Chancellor William de Longchamp, my respected kinsman has been avenged,’ vowed Roger; and riding with his friends he took them to that spot where the body of the custodian of Tickhill was swinging on its gibbet. One of the victim’s menservants was attempting to drive the crows from his master’s body and take it away for decent burial.

  ‘Hi there,’ cried Roger, ‘what do you?’

  The man answered that his master should be decently buried.

  ‘This man is a traitor,’ cried Roger. ‘Should traitors be decently buried? Any who defend traitors is himself a traitor. Take that man,’ he ordered, ‘and hang him beside the one whom he calls master.’

  This foolish, arrogant and cruel action gave John the chance he needed. He came with a troop of soldiers and laid waste Roger de Lacy’s lands.

  John was now ready to make war on the Chancellor but his friends advised him to hold back for a while for another incident had occurred which they saw as causing far more disquiet to Longchamp and enraging the people against him to a greater extent than John could do by marching against him.

  They managed to make John see that if he were to succeed he needed the people behind him. The Chancellor was fast becoming the most unpopular man in the realm and John only had to wait a while and public opinion would do what he was planning to do with arms.

  Geoffrey, John’s bastard half-brother, who had been forbidden by the King, with John, not to return for three years, now returned, declaring that Richard had given him permission to come back when he had done the same for Prince John.

  Longchamp immediately sent him orders to keep away fro
m England.

  It was a September morning when Geoffrey landed at Dover. Geoffrey was the son of Henry II and his one-time mistress Hikena, who was a woman of loose morals and had managed to captivate the King for a while – at least long enough for her to persuade him to care for their son. Henry had always looked after his bastards. He delighted in them and had often said that they had been more faithful to him than his children born in wedlock, which was true.

  Geoffrey had been brought to the royal nursery by the King and had shared the tutors of the princes and princesses, much to Queen Eleanor’s disgust. Indeed the coming of Geoffrey to the nursery had been the beginning of the rift between her and her husband.

  King Henry had doted on Geoffrey who had loved his father as none of his legitimate sons ever had. When they had been conspiring against the King, Geoffrey was the one who had remained with him and had been at his side at the time of his death, and the King’s dying wish had been that Geoffrey should be given the Archbishopric of York. Richard had respected his father’s wishes and complied with this request.

  Geoffrey was a great soldier as well as a man of the Church and had commanded troops under his father. He was the son Henry would have liked to have been his heir; as Geoffrey was a bastard that was out of the question but he had done all he could for him.

  Richard suspected that Geoffrey might have ambitions for the crown; he was friendly with John; and for this reason Richard had imposed the ban on his going out of England for three years.

  When he had taken his farewell of Richard before the King left for the crusade, Geoffrey had paid Richard a sum of money in exchange for his promise to be allowed to return to England. Richard’s crusade was in constant need of money and the King was ready to do almost anything to obtain it. However to allow Geoffrey to return to England seemed wise when rumours of the unpopularity of Longchamp reached Richard. A good strong Archbishop of York would be a restraining influence.

  So Geoffrey set out for England.

  Longchamp had had no notification of the fact that he had bought his way back and sent him a message to the effect that he was not to return.

  This Geoffrey ignored and when he arrived at Dover and was met by a company of men who told him that the Chancellor had ordered them to meet him and conduct him to Dover Castle, he said that first he would take refreshment at an inn.

  It was not refreshment that he took but the clothes of one of his humble followers and he rode out to St Martin Priory where he asked for sanctuary.

  The Chancellor’s sister, Lady Richenda de Cleres, who lived in the neighbourhood, took it upon herself to attempt to arrest him. Her brother had stated that Geoffrey was not to come to England and he had deliberately disobeyed. All the Chancellor’s family were devoted to him, and when he rose they had risen with him. They could never forget it nor could they be grateful enough. His command was their will.

  And how could a grateful sister show her gratitude more than by having arrested a man who was her brother’s enemy?

  She sent soldiers to the Priory to take Geoffrey of York. He was at prayers at the altar when the soldiers burst in.

  ‘You are our prisoner,’ they cried. ‘You will ride with us to Dover Castle.’

  Geoffrey looked calmly at them and stated: ‘I shall not ride to Dover Castle. What right have you to arrest me?’ he asked.

  ‘We are the servants of the Chancellor,’ they said.

  ‘Forget not,’ said Geoffrey, ‘that I am a man of the Church and a brother of the King.’

  ‘Brother of the King maybe,’ was the retort. ‘Begot in the bed of a whore.’

  ‘By a great King,’ said Geoffrey.

  ‘You have sworn not to enter this country for three years.’

  ‘I have the King’s permission to return.’

  ‘Tell that to your judges.’

  They seized him and dragged him out of the Priory.

  People crowded into the streets demanding to know what was happening and when they saw the Archbishop of York being taken to a prison in Dover Castle many crossed themselves in horror. Geoffrey’s father, King Henry II, had done penance once because it was believed he had ordered the murder of another Archbishop. Nothing had gone right for England after Thomas à Becket was murdered, until the King did humble penance for his part in the murder. And who was this low-born Chancellor to give orders to a holy Archbishop, son of a King?

  Geoffrey was taken to Dover Castle and there made a prisoner but the news spread rapidly and the name of Thomas à Becket was repeated again and again. The murmurs against the upstart Chancellor grew and Longchamp realised that his sister, in her attempts to show her loyalty to him, had acted without wisdom. He sent word to Dover that Geoffrey was to be immediately released.

  Prince John was at this time in his castle of Lancaster when the Bishop of Coventry called upon him.

  ‘Your brother Geoffrey has arrived in England,’ he told him, ‘and been imprisoned in Dover Castle by the low-born Norman.’

  ‘By God’s eyes,’ cried John, ‘he gives himself great powers.’

  ‘Is it not time, my lord, that they were wrested from him?’

  ‘How dare the serf’s son arrest a king’s son – albeit a bastard one! ’Tis time he were himself put in a dungeon. I’d like to deal with him with my own hands.’

  ‘’Twould be better, my lord, to let your servants do that. This last may not be such an ill matter, for surely others who have so far been reluctant to take action against him will now see that this must be.’

  John nodded. ‘My good Hugh,’ he said, ‘I believe you to be right.’

  Hugh Nunant, Bishop of Coventry answered: ‘I feel sure of it, my lord. Why do you not call together the most important barons to meet you and decide what should be done about the fellow?’

  ‘I will. We will ride south at once. I’ll have messengers sent. William the Marshal must be there. Men trust him.’

  ‘The Bishop of Lincoln has already declared himself ready to excommunicate all those who were party to the arrest of the Archbishop of York.’

  ‘Then let us send for the Bishop of Lincoln to join us.’

  John, with Hugh Nunant, immediately set out for the South, messengers riding on ahead of them to invite the barons to join him at Marlborough Castle.

  Longchamp was disturbed. It had been a rash act of Richenda’s to order Geoffrey’s arrest. He knew of course that it was done for love of him, but it was going to make trouble.

  John would hold it against him. The Prince was already his enemy. This would not help.

  He let it be known that he had meant no harm to Geoffrey. The arrest had been the work of his over zealous friends and he himself had had no thought of making a prisoner of the Archbishop of York. He had known that the King had sent him into exile for three years and as he was acting on behalf of Richard and had not heard that his order had been rescinded he considered it only right to ask Geoffrey to go back to France which was in fact all he had done. He reiterated that the arrest had not been on his orders and reminded everyone that as soon as he had heard of it he had set Geoffrey free.

  He wondered what was happening on the crusade and whether Richard would come safely through it. It was certain that he would be in the thick of the battle. Could he possibly avoid death? Many did; on the other hand many fell; and soldiers of the Cross were apt to be reckless, seeing in death, when engaged on such a mission, a certain and quick way to Heaven.

  And if Richard did not return from his crusade, what of William of Longchamp? It would go ill with him if John ever came to the throne.

  Perhaps John never would. Hadn’t Richard named Prince Arthur as his successor? When Richard returned, if Richard returned, he would do his best to persuade him to bring Arthur over to England. The boy should be educated as an Englishman and then when he was of age the people would accept him. After all, as the son of John’s elder brother, he had more right to the throne than John.

  Longchamp wrote a letter to the King of Sc
ots asking him if he would support Arthur of Brittany as heir to the throne of England in the event of Richard’s death without heirs. If he would, he would make a pact in Richard’s name, with the King of Scotland. This was the time for if it were known that Scotland supported Arthur that fact must influence a number of people below the Border and they would become accustomed to the idea that Arthur had the prior claim to the throne.

  The messenger was sent off but on his way to Scotland he was waylaid and his papers stolen. John’s spies had caught up with him and it was not long before John was reading the message to the King of Scotland asking him to support Arthur’s claim.

  John foamed with rage.

  ‘By God’s eyes and teeth,’ he cried, ‘I’ll kill the Norman with my own hands.’

  The Archbishop of Rouen conferred with the Bishop of Lincoln and William the Marshal, that staunch supporter of royalty who had saved Henry II’s life when he had disarmed Richard and indeed had Richard at his mercy; he had spared Richard’s life and had expected to lose his own when Richard came to the throne; but Richard was wise enough to know a good and loyal man when he saw him and guessed that he would serve him as well as he had served his father. In this he had made no mistake.

  The fact that the Archbishop of York had been arrested in the name of Longchamp and now he was unmasked as attempting to negotiate with a foreign power with regard to the succession of the throne of England had roused reasonable and worthy men such as the Marshal against him.

  In a small chamber at Marlborough Castle these men gathered together with Prince John to discuss what must be done.

  William the Marshal said: ‘We have to bear in mind that King Richard gave power to William of Longchamp. What he does, he does in the name of the King and therefore it seems we must act with caution.’

  ‘Even when he conspires against me?’ cried John.

  ‘My lord Prince,’ replied the Marshal, ‘it is a matter of his conspiring against the King.’ The Marshal was never one to mince his words. He would speak against the King himself but only in his presence; and he saw it might well be that Longchamp had had secret instructions from Richard to sound the King of Scotland about the succession of Arthur. The news was that he had made a pact with Tancred of Sicily and had offered Tancred’s daughter Arthur as a bridegroom, which was significant.