The Heart of the Lion

Chapter XIX THE RECONCILIATION

So he was back in England. It was four years and three months since the day he had left and now he was landing at Sandwich on this April Sunday.

It seemed that the whole of England had come out of their homes to welcome him. He was content to have his mother beside him, his good friends around him and his loyal people making him aware of their pleasure in his return.

First to Canterbury to prostrate himself at the shrine of St Thomas and to thank God and the saint for bringing him safely through so many adventures. Then to London where it seemed the citizens, wild with joy, were determined to make feasts for him and bestow rich gifts upon him.

And after London to St Albans to kneel before the shrine there and offer to God the banner of Cyprus that his conquest of that island might be blessed.

Winchester should be next but there were one or two matters to be set right before he went there. Certain of his castles had defected to John and he must show the inhabitants of these that he was determined to take back that which was his by right.

Nottingham was the chief of these and it only needed him to appear for the citadel to surrender and those who had held it in John’s name to come on their knees and beg his clemency. He was in a forgiving mood. He was so pleased to be free and to know that his kingdom was once more in his hands and his subjects loyal to him.

At Winchester he enjoyed a second coronation, carrying the regalia as he had done when he was crowned king.

His mother, who had been beside him during his triumphant progress, was deeply moved. But she it was who reminded him that the life of a King was not all pageantry.

‘You have regained England, my son,’ she said, ‘and methinks you returned just in time. But John has gone to France and you know who your real enemy is.’

‘Philip,’ he murmured.

‘Aye, the King of France. He has encouraged John to act against you and I believe to be true the rumour that he bribed the Emperor to hold you prisoner longer than he might have done.’

‘Why, Mother? Why?’

‘Because he is the King of France, Richard, and you are the King of England. You hold Normandy and he wants Normandy. What better reason than that?’

‘But I had thought Philip was my friend.’

‘Always an uneasy friendship, Richard.’

‘Aye, so it would seem.’

‘What of Berengaria? It is long since you have seen your wife. You should send for her as soon as we reach Normandy, for to Normandy we must go at once. England will be safe now but not so Normandy.’

‘’Tis true that we must go to Normandy.’

‘And Berengaria?’

He was silent.

‘You do not love her,’ said Eleanor. ‘Does she not please you as a wife?’

‘She is well enough.’

‘Ah, my son, I understand. You do not want a wife. But it is necessary for you to produce an heir, you know.’

‘’Tis the duty of all kings I well know.’

‘Get her with child and then pursue your own way of life.’

Richard did not answer and Eleanor shook her head sadly. It seemed strange to her that a man such as Richard should not love women. He must be induced to go to Berengaria for a while at least. She, Eleanor, must live long enough to see them produce the heir to the throne.

Before May was out they set sail for Normandy. It was imperative to do so as there was no time to lose. Richard set up a Regent to act for him until he and Queen Eleanor returned.

In their apartments in the castle of Poitou the Queens of England and Sicily with the Cypriot Princess, who had been their constant companion since Richard had sent her to them, heard the news of the King’s return.

They knew then that the life which had been theirs since they came to the peace of Poitou was coming to an end.

During that time Berengaria had often said that she felt they were living in a dream from which they would have to awaken sooner or later. Life seemed to have stood still. There had been the years of waiting for Richard, then the adventure of going to Sicily, Cyprus and the Holy Land, marriage, the perilous journey to Poitou followed by the quiet life when every day seemed like the one before and nothing seemed to happen.

‘Nothing?’ Joanna had cried when Berengaria had spoken of this to her. For to Joanna something had happened. Ever since the handsome knight had been bidden to escort them from Marseilles she had begun to change. Joanna and Raymond of Toulouse had ridden side by side on that journey; they had laughed and talked together, becoming so absorbed in each other’s company that any attempt to join them on the part of Berengaria seemed to spoil their pleasure.

And since they had been at Poitou the Count had visited them frequently, and when he came Joanna was gayer and younger than Berengaria had ever seen her before. In the beginning Berengaria had hoped that the attachment would fade away. The Count of Toulouse had brought them in safety to Poitou and there his duty ended; if he had not returned to them again and again Joanna might have begun to forget their charming escort and those pleasant hours which flew by with such speed as they talked together and discovered so much in common with each other.

But it seemed that Raymond of Toulouse found it impossible to stay away from Joanna.

Berengaria talked of the matter with the Cypriot Princess. ‘It goes too far,’ she said.

‘It is too late to stop it now,’ replied the Princess.

‘I fear Joanna’s heart will break when she has to give him up.’

‘Need she?’

‘Richard’s family and his have always been in conflict. Why even during the crusade the Counts of Toulouse invaded Guienne. Had my brother Sancho not fought in Richard’s defence Guienne would have passed into the hands of the Counts of Toulouse.’

The Princess shook her head sadly. ‘It is all fighting,’ she said, ‘and we must suffer because of it.’

‘I trust Joanna will not suffer too deeply,’ replied Berengaria.

There was about Joanna a defiance. She said that if a Princess married once for state reasons she should be allowed to choose her second husband.

But all of them knew that the days of dalliance were coming to an end, and the climax which they knew was inevitable was moving nearer.

Joanna and her lover talked together, as they walked in the castle grounds.

‘Now that my brother is free I will send a message to him,’ she said. ‘I will send one to my mother also. Who knows, they may allow us to marry.’

Raymond was less sanguine. ‘There has always been enmity between our houses.’

‘Then, my dearest love, I will point out that a match between us will mend the rift.’

He kissed her tenderly, loving her vitality, her enthusiasm. Then he said: ‘And if they should refuse?’

‘I am not a child,’ she said. ‘I have done my duty once. This time I will have my way. I will go with you wherever you take me.’

He pressed her hands.

‘It could mean death to us both,’ he told her.

‘I would face death for love,’ she answered, ‘and whatever the future held we should have had some time together.’

‘You are reckless, Joanna.’

‘Let us be reckless. I will if you will.’

‘Then be ready.’

‘First though I will send to my brother and to my mother also. I have hopes, for Richard has never been vengeful. I believe I was always his favourite sister and I know he would wish to see me happy. As for my mother she knows what it is to love. Let us hope, Raymond.’

So Joanna sent messengers to Richard and Eleanor and, at the same time, being uncertain of what their reaction would be, prepared herself for flight.

Each day she and Berengaria were at the turret watching for riders.

Berengaria thought: Richard will send for me. He must now that he is in Normandy.

During the years of his captivity she had forgotten his neglect of her in the Holy Land; she made excuses for it. He had been so deeply involved. His purpose was to regain Jerusalem. He had no time for the society of women. But there had been occasions ... She shut out such thoughts and memories of the rumours she had heard about his nature. She thought only of the knight in shining armour whom she had first seen at the tournament of Pampeluna. The dreams of an idealistic young girl were superimposed on the bitter truth of experience.

‘Richard will come to me soon,’ she told herself.

The Cypriot Princess was growing out of childhood. She still thought of her father and dreamed of the day when she had heard that he was a prisoner. That had been so difficult to understand at that time. He the mighty Emperor whom all men feared, a prisoner in chains – silver chains she was told, as though that would console her.

She had been frightened then but she had not fully understood the possibilities of what could happen to an unprotected princess. Since the fall of Cyprus she had lived closely beside Joanna and Berengaria; she had seen Berengaria’s unhappiness through the neglect of her husband and Joanna’s delight and fears as the prospect of marriage with Raymond of Toulouse or of parting with him for ever loomed up before her.

Why could not life be simple as it had seemed to a child in her father’s palace? she wondered. But to enjoy the simple life one must be simple oneself. As one grew older and knew what was happening in the world one realised the awful possibilities.

She knew why the Queens watched eagerly. Joanna was waiting for a messenger from King Richard and Berengaria was waiting for King Richard himself.

At length it came. Ironically no one was watching at that time and the messenger rode into the courtyard while they were at table.

Joanna stood up, all the colour drained from her face. Berengaria was trembling.

Letters. The royal seal. Not for Berengaria. Of course he will come in person, thought Berengaria. But letters for Joanna.

She seized on them and carried them to her own chamber. Berengaria felt limp with disappointment. She knew in her heart that she had been foolish to hope.

She went to the chamber next to that of Joanna. She wanted to be alone. Is it that he dislikes me? she asked herself. Can the rumours be true? Are there some he loves?

Joanna was at the door. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining.

‘Wonderful news, Berengaria. Richard is the dearest and kindest of brothers! He wants me to be happy, he says. I have suffered a great deal. He loves me dearly.’

‘They are permitting the match with Raymond?’

‘They are ready to make arrangements. Concessions will be asked doubtless. But what do we care for that? Raymond and I are to be married.’

She threw herself into Berengaria’s arms. ‘I’m so happy, Berengaria. Princesses are rarely so happy, I know. When I think of my last marriage ... a little girl going into a foreign land to a stranger ... And now Raymond! Oh what a good brother Richard is to me! And there is my mother. She writes that there has always been conflict between her house and that of Toulouse and that the Counts of Toulouse have always believed they had a claim in Aquitaine. She will give up her rights to Aquitaine to me so that in this way the claim will be settled.’

‘So, my dear Joanna, you are the most fortunate Princess alive. You can mend a quarrel between states and marry for love at the same time.’

Joanna paused and looked at Berengaria, her delight momentarily dimmed. Here am I rejoicing, she reproached herself, when Berengaria is so sadly deserted.

Oh Richard, how can you be so good to your sister and so cruel to your wife!

‘I doubt not,’ she said, ‘that Richard will be here. He will want to be with you as soon as he has made Normandy safe.’

Berengaria turned away.

She knew the truth.

As Richard moved across Normandy recovering all that had been lost, John was terrified. All his dreams of power had evaporated. Richard was home safe and well and likely to live for a good many years. He gave way to his violent rages but of what use were they? He had to face his brother sooner or later and what the outcome of that would be he dared not think.

There was one hope. His mother was with Richard. If he could talk with her in secret, if he could get her to plead with Richard ... there might be a chance. But would she? She was on Richard’s side absolutely. Her greatest mission in life was to keep him on the throne. What would she think of one – even though he were her son – who had tried to take it from him?

She was softening in her old age. Look at this affair of Joanna’s! She had always been fiercely against the house of Toulouse. There was the perennial quarrel about their claim on this and that. Yet she had talked with Richard, and Joanna’s happiness had been a factor in their decision. She was a mother as well as a Queen and she was his mother.

Richard had power to send him to prison. The fate which befell prisoners would not bear contemplation. To be shut up in a dungeon for years, to have jailers who might treat him with cruelty or at least without respect, was something he could not endure. Yet he had played the traitor. He had to admit it. He had intrigued against the King and even though his father had named him his successor Richard was the eldest son and accepted by the people as the true King. One only had to remember how they had drooled over him when he had returned. The great hero, the Saviour of Acre, the man whose name was a legend throughout the Christian world. The Lion-hearted King! They forgot he had deserted them, had taxed them to pay for his crusade, had cared little for his native land and had offered to sell London if he could get enough money for it to spend on his Holy Wars. Yes, they forgot that. He had come home covered with honours; he was romantic; he had been imprisoned in a German schloss; he had been discovered by his minstrel boy and they had had to pay a vast sum for his ransom. This did not add up to a good king but they loved him none the less. And there was no doubt that he was strong. None it seemed could stand against him. Philip was less friendly now that he was back, inclined to be contemptuous of John and speaking of his enemy Richard as though he were some kind of god.

John knew when he was beaten and he was beaten now. His only hope was his mother.

He would go to her quietly, secretly; he would plead with her to speak for him to Richard as she had for Joanna. He would remind her that he was her youngest son.

There was no time to lose. If Richard captured him ... He shivered at the thought.

Taking with him a few of his attendants he rode to Rouen where he knew Richard and Eleanor were; and he managed to find a way into the Queen’s apartments.

He threw himself at her feet and begged her clemency.

‘John,’ cried Eleanor. ‘So you have come then!’

‘Yes, Mother,’ answered John, ‘and in most wretched state as you see.’

‘Oh, John,’ cried Eleanor, ‘what have you done?’

‘I have been foolish, Mother. Do not reproach me, for your reproaches could not match my own. I have been wicked. I have been wrong. I have been led astray by evil counsellors. How can I face my brother?’

The Queen replied: ‘You have in truth been wicked, John. You have plotted against the finest man in the world.’

‘I know it. I know it now. Would to God I had not listened to those evil men.’

‘Aye, would to God you had not.’

‘Mother, you are wise, you are good. I want you to tell me what I must do. Shall I take a sword and pierce my heart? I think that would be best. First though, I would wish to prostrate myself before my brother. I would wish to show him my contrition. I want him to know how miserable I am, how I hate myself, and perhaps to ask his forgiveness and that of God before I take my own life.’

‘You are talking nonsense,’ replied Eleanor sharply. ‘Put thoughts of taking your life out of your head. I would not wish any son of mine to act in such cowardly fashion.’

‘But I have offended ...’

‘Deeply,’ she cried. ‘Your God, your King and your country.’

‘I must be the most hated man alive. There is no reason for me to live.’

‘Stop such talk! I am your mother and I could not hate you.’

‘You hated my father when he worked against Richard. You have always loved Richard and hated those who worked against him.’

‘I love all my children,’ she answered, ‘and I never truly hated the King, your father. You could not understand what there was between us. But that is of the past. It is the present that matters. You have proved yourself a traitor and there are few kings who would not condemn you to the traitor’s death. But Richard is your brother. He is by nature tolerant. I am your mother and whatever you have done you are still my child.’

‘What should I do then, Mother? I beg you tell me.’

‘Leave this with me. Go away quietly. I will speak to your brother and mayhap he will send for you and perhaps he will find it in his heart to forgive you. If you should be the luckiest traitor in the world, then remember what great fortune is yours and serve him with all your might and heart for as long as he shall live.’

‘Oh, my mother, I would. I swear to God I would.’

‘Then go and leave this matter to me.’

When he had gone Eleanor was thoughtful. She knew him well. He was avaricious; he was weak; he wanted the crown. But he was her son. She could not get out of her mind what a pretty baby he had been and how she had loved him – the youngest, the baby. It had been one of the tragedies of her life that she had not been able to keep her children with her.

He deserved death or imprisonment, but he was her child.

Richard would forgive him if she asked it, she knew. And if he were forgiven, there must be an heir to the throne. Richard was not an old man: he had many years ahead of him. She wanted to see some healthy sons before she died.

Richard might pardon John and if he did he must call Berengaria to his side. He must live with her. It was imperative that he have sons to ensure the succession.

It would be a tragedy for England if John ever came to the throne.

It was Eleanor who brought him to the King.

Richard looked at his brother and thought: As if he could harm me!

John ran to him and threw himself at his feet.

‘You tremble?’ said Richard.

‘My lord, I have sinned against you. I deserve any punishment you should give me. I cannot understand myself. I was possessed by devils. How otherwise could I have gone against the brother whom I revere as does all the world?’

‘’Twas not devils,’ said Richard, ‘but evil counsellors. Come, John, do not fear me. You are but a child and you fell into evil hands.’

He rose and drew John to his feet. He kissed him. It was the kiss of peace and pardon.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘we will go and eat and from now on there shall be harmony between us.’

All those who were present marvelled at the King’s generosity or simplicity. The fact that he had returned and was in power could by no means have diminished John’s ambitions. But Richard seemed to be of the opinion that it did.

One of his servants brought in a salmon which had been presented for the King’s table.

‘A fine fish,’ said the King. ‘Cook it and I will share it with my brother.’

John was relieved but at the same time resentful; he knew that Richard’s leniency meant that he had little respect for him.

Well, he must be quiet for a while. He must watch his actions and wait for the day when the crown would be his.

Eleanor expressed her pleasure that the brothers had been reconciled.

‘You are magnanimous, Richard,’ she said. ‘I do not believe many kings would have been so.’

‘Bah,’ said Richard. ‘What is John but a child? He could never take a kingdom. His only chance of getting one would be if it were handed to him without a fight.’

‘Is that what you intend to do ... to hand it to him?’

‘I am not dead yet, Mother.’

‘Nay but you are ten years older than John. It is thirty-six years since I bore you. You must get an heir or there will be trouble, Richard. Why do you not send for Berengaria?’

‘There is much yet to be done. I don’t trust Philip. I shall be engaged here in Normandy for some time.’

‘She could be here with you as I am now.’

‘Mayhap,’ he said; and she knew that he did not intend to have her.

The next day he said: ‘I shall send for Arthur. He should be brought up in England.’

‘That you might make him your heir?’ replied the Queen.

‘Is it not wise to have him brought up in the country he may well govern?’

‘He would only be the heir, Richard, if you did not have sons.’

‘It is well to be prepared,’ replied Richard. ‘If he should be displaced it will have done him no harm to have had an English upbringing. Why, Mother, what ails you? You are thinking that it would go ill for England if John were King. That is why we send for Arthur.’

Eleanor understood. Richard meant that he was not going back to Berengaria.