The Prince of Darkness

Chapter X THE BODY IN THE SEINE

The news that Arthur was dead was spreading through Brittany and the Bretons were forming an army to come against John whom they suspected of murdering their Duke. Arthur had been John’s prisoner; he had been in the charge of John’s men; and now it was being said that he was dead and they wanted to know how he had died.

In the castle of Falaise Hubert heard the news and in the secret chamber where Arthur now lived he told him about it. The excitement of the adventure was wearing off and Arthur was having to face the difficulties of living in cramped quarters. He could only emerge from his room by night when he might go out on to the parapet, ever watchful that he might be seen. Hubert could not visit him as frequently as he would have wished for he feared to attract attention by doing so. The days were therefore long for Arthur and the nights were terrifying, for he often dreamed that he was bound fast while cruel men came to him with hot irons in their hands.

He longed for the coming of Hubert and knowing this Hubert could not resist taking certain risks, and he came more often than he knew he should.

He told him that the people of Brittany were incensed and that they were determined to avenge him.

‘I knew they would,’ cried Arthur. ‘They will march against John – and what joy there will be when they know that I am alive and unmaimed. I shall never forget what I owe to you, Hubert.’

‘Let us pray,’ replied Hubert, ‘that one day you will be at peace with your own people.’

‘I shall never forget what my uncle would have done to me. He is a wicked man, Hubert. That he takes my crown I understand, for many ambitious men would have done that, but to give orders to put out my eyes – that I shall never forget. He is bound for hell surely, Hubert, and may it be that the gates of that place soon open to receive him.’

‘Let us think,’ said Hubert, ‘of your future rather than his. If the Bretons are successful the King of France will no doubt join them. Then it may well be that you will be free.’

‘Freedom. I dream of it when I am not dreaming of … other things. It seems to me the most beautiful thing on earth … better than a crown … not better than one’s eyes, though. Everything I would barter for them, even freedom. Now I see things differently, Hubert. I notice the birds and the trees. The sky was beautiful at dawn and as I watched the sun rise I said: But for Hubert I would not have seen that. It has all become precious to me, Hubert. I see things which I wouldn’t have noticed before.’

‘Do not speak of it,’ said Hubert. ‘You unman me.’

‘I love you unmanned, Hubert, for methinks that unmanned you are a better man than you could ever be cold and strong and in command of your emotions.’

Thus they talked and each time when Hubert locked him in his room and carefully put the keys on the belt which never left him he thought: But how long can this last?

When he was alone he salved his conscience because he was a loyal man at heart and he had disobeyed his king. He would never have thought of disobeying Richard but John was not Richard. He had assured himself that the Bretons, believing Arthur to be dead and themselves without a leader, would have no heart for the fight. He had promised himself that they would reason: Arthur is dead and therefore the cause for conflict is removed. Without Arthur, John’s claim to the throne is the right one.

As if they would. They wanted revenge for murder. So they were on the march. The King of France expressed himself outraged by the death of the Duke of Brittany – so timely for some – and wanted to know how he had died. Here was an excuse for marching against John. Philip was rousing John’s enemies against him. He had usurped the Crown of England and the coronet of Normandy, said Philip, but these were the crimes of an ambitious man; whereas the murder of a man’s own nephew – little more than a child – was the work of a barbarous criminal.

John shrugged aside the threats. He was following his practice of spending half the day in bed. There were more exciting ways of passing the time than fighting wars, he said.

There were times, though, when his rages got the better of him and then he cursed Arthur. Why did the boy have to die? he demanded. What a weakling he must have been. Even in such a moment when he was out of control he did not mention the operation which he had ordered should be carried out and under which he presumed the boy had died.

If Arthur was alive, he said, there would not be all this trouble.

Hubert, realising this, decided that he could salve his conscience by telling the King that Arthur was alive and well. If this could be known, if he could be seen, the trouble would cease. He knew that he could not keep Arthur’s existence a secret for ever and this was a good way of letting it out.

He left Falaise and went to see the King, who was at that time residing in château Gaillard, the great fortress not far from Rouen. No doubt it gave him comfort to be there at such a time, for this château built by Richard Cœur de Lion had been his darling; it was said to be the most formidable fortress in Europe. John would be safe there no matter who came against him.

Hubert was received immediately by John, who remembered that so recently Hubert had had instructions to put out Arthur’s eyes.

He shouted at him: ‘Clumsy creatures. What have they done? Cannot they perform a simple operation … without bringing this about?’

‘My lord, I have news for you,’ said Hubert. ‘I would have you know that anything I have done has been in my service to you. Your orders were not carried out in the castle of Falaise. Arthur still lives.’

John opened his eyes wide and a sly smile played over his face. ‘’Tis true then. Now I can show him to my enemies … Oh, but …’

John was thinking of what Arthur would be looking like … two horrible inflamed sockets where his eyes had been. His poor castrated body sent back to Brittany. This would be worse than death.

‘My lord,’ said Hubert, ‘I knew that you would need to produce Arthur and that if you could not there would be trouble, so thinking of your needs I did not have his eyes put out nor his body tampered with in any way. He is your prisoner still … and as he was when you took him.’

There was a moment of hesitation. Hubert did not know what his fate would be. The King might order that he be dragged away and that done to him which he had ordered for Arthur. Such action would seem to John a just and to him amusing reward. But John had been frightened of the armies rising against him and the thought of being able to produce an Arthur who had suffered no harm was just what he needed.

He said: ‘You’ve done well, Hubert. Let it be known that the boy is safe and well. Where is he?’

‘At Falaise Castle still,’ said Hubert. ‘But living quietly.’

‘In hiding?’ John laughed. ‘You crafty old fox, Hubert.’

Hubert allowed himself to smile. ‘And trust I shall always be so in your service, my lord.’

John was still laughing. ‘Go back to Falaise. Produce the boy. Let all see that he is alive and well. Ride out into the town with him, making sure he is well guarded. I want the whole world to know what calumnies the Bretons and that old rogue Philip have uttered against me.’

Hubert lost no time in returning to Falaise.

Arthur was delighted. He rode out in the streets of Falaise with Hubert beside him, laughing and talking gaily with his friend.

‘Do not fear that I will try to escape,’ he said. ‘I would not go without you. I shall wait for the day when you and I, Hubert, escape to Brittany together.’

Hubert did not think that could ever be but he did not tell Arthur; he was so pleased to see the boy enjoying his freedom, pointing out the beauties of nature which he had scarcely noticed before, occasionally putting his hands to his eyes when Hubert knew he was offering a silent prayer for their preservation.

John and Isabella, lying in bed during the mornings in Château Gaillard, talked idly of trivial matters though sometimes John mentioned State affairs.

Much as he was still enamoured of her, he had not been faithful to her. On the occasions when they had not been together – which were not many – he had found opportunities for sporting with other women. He had reminded himself that as King he had a right to do as he pleased and if Isabella objected she should be told this. But when he was with her he preferred these peccadilloes should be kept a secret from her and he warned his followers that any who tattled of them might find himself without a tongue to repeat the offence.

She knew of course what he had planned to do to Arthur and she had deplored it. Arthur was a pleasant-looking youth and she did not care to think of handsome men being maimed in any way. She enjoyed life and she liked to think of others doing the same. She was good-hearted as long as being so did not curb her pleasures. She disliked that viciousness which she was discovering more and more in John and she often thought of the different life she might have had with Hugh de Lusignan.

Now as they lay in bed John mentioned Arthur and how Hubert had disobeyed his orders.

‘And rightly so,’ said Isabella.

‘I am not sure of that. True, I am glad he did not carry them out but when I give orders I expect them to be obeyed.’

‘And are mightily glad when they are not – since they are the wrong orders.’

He twirled a piece of her hair round his finger.

‘I don’t know that I shouldn’t show him that I won’t be flouted.’

‘He did what he did for your sake. He thought it was right, and so it proved.’

‘You seem to be much concerned about his fate.’

‘I like thanks to be given where they are due.’

‘And you do not forget that he is a handsome man and young Arthur is a pretty boy, eh?’

‘I cannot see that that is at issue.’

‘Can you not? I can. You have a fondness for attractive men.’

‘Is that not obvious since I have married the King?’

He wound a strand of her hair round her throat.

‘Do not have too much fondness for others,’ he said.

‘Why should I when I have one?’

‘Some like variety.’

‘As you do?’ she asked.

He was wary. What had she discovered? Nothing, he was sure. They would all be too much afraid to tell her. And if she did know she would be angry and not hesitate to show it. He did not want that. She was still the best, still the only one he really wanted. It was strange that after so long she could still excite him. He reckoned that they would have to have children soon. That was a measure of how his feelings were changed towards her. In the beginning he had not wanted her body changed; he had wanted to keep that virginal look which so excited him. But nature was changing her. She was as beautiful as ever – most would say more so. But she was no longer the child she had been in the first year.

‘I found the perfect mistress and that she is my wife gives me complete satisfaction.’

‘That is well then,’ she said.

‘Well? Just well?’

‘It means that I do not have to vent my rage upon you.’

‘You think I would fear that?’

‘You would, John.’

‘Nay,’ he said, suddenly angry. ‘I’d have you know that I am King and do what I will.’

‘It might well be that I would let you know that I am Queen,’ she answered.

‘What mean you by that?’

‘That what the King may do, so may the Queen.’

‘’Tis not so. By God, if you were unfaithful to me I’d make you regret it.’

‘As I would if you were to me.’

‘How could you do that?’

‘There are a hundred ways which it is not beyond a woman’s wits to discover. But let us not fret about what is not.’

He was relieved. She did not know.

He started to talk about Arthur and it suddenly occurred to him that it would be a good idea if he went to Falaise to see the boy.

When a messenger arrived at Falaise Castle to inform Hubert that the King was on the way, he was filled with apprehension. He went at once to Arthur and told him.

Arthur turned pale. ‘Why should he come here, Hubert?’

‘We shall soon know,’ replied Hubert. ‘In the meantime we must prepare for him.’

‘I hate him,’ said Arthur fiercely.

‘Keep control of your feelings.’

‘I’ll try, Hubert. But it is not easy when you hate someone as I hate him. When I think of what he would have done to me …’

‘Do not think of it.’

‘I can’t help it, Hubert. I think of it constantly.’

‘He will not harm you … yet,’ said Hubert. ‘He may well be coming in peace. It may well be that he will want you to ride out with him to show the people that you are alive and well.’

‘I will never ride in amity with him.’

‘I beg of you, take care,’ said Hubert.

But by the time John arrived at the castle Arthur had worked himself up into a frenzy of apprehension and hatred. How could he help it towards someone who had wanted to rob him of his precious eyes and had actually commanded it to be done?

I will hate him for ever, thought Arthur.

The King came to the castle and strode in arrogantly. There was something about Falaise which threatened to subdue him. He supposed it was because it was in Falaise that his great ancestor the Conqueror was born. In these cold stone-walled rooms the young William had played at the skirts of his low-born mother. All his life William the Conqueror had been held up as an example. Even his father had talked of him with awe. Consequently John had never liked Falaise. He seemed to sense the old man’s disapproval and he imagined what he would say if he could see the state of Normandy today and be aware of how John lay in bed half the morning with his seductive wife. Great William had never understood such emotions. He would have been very impatient with them.

But what was he doing, thinking so of one who was long dead? He was alive and he was the King of England and Duke of Normandy and so he intended to remain and if he were not the great soldier his ancestor was, it might be that he was more subtle.

He had come to see Arthur and to talk to him. He would try to make the boy see reason. That was the object of his visit.

Hubert de Burgh received him. A good servant, although he did take the law into his own hands. He would give him a reprimand for that, but Hubert would say he did it to serve him and he would have to accept that, because it certainly had. If Arthur had really been dead, all hell would have been let loose over Europe. If he had been blinded and castrated what howls of rage there would have been. No, it was not good policy to have ordered those things to be done – though it would have served the ambitious boy right had it happened to him.

‘Well, Hubert,’ he said, ‘I have called and will stay here for a night before being on my way. And while I’m here I must see this boy, this nephew of mine who is causing me so much trouble, and see if I can talk him into good sense.’

‘He is coming now to greet you,’ said Hubert.

And there was Arthur. He stood still for a moment looking at his uncle. Oh God, prayed Hubert, do not show your hatred so clearly, Arthur.

John saw it for he laughed aloud and went forward with outstretched hands.

‘Nay, nephew, do not kneel.’

Arthur raised well-marked eyebrows, for he had had no intention of kneeling to one whose rank he considered but for usurpation did not equal his own. For in his opinion he Arthur was King and Duke whereas John, if he lost the crown which he had usurped, would be a mere count.

‘I have to see you, nephew,’ went on John. ‘There is much we have to say to each other. But we will talk later. After we have eaten, for I smell venison and I am hungry. Good Hubert, being aware of my coming, I see has prepared for me.’

Hubert said he would have them hurry in the kitchens so that the King did not have to wait long for his meal.

He himself conducted John to the best of the bedchambers and Arthur was left in the hall looking after his uncle with undisguised hatred.

In the bedchamber the King turned to smile at Hubert.

‘Methinks my nephew gives himself certain airs,’ he said.

‘He is but young, my lord, and has much to learn.’

‘Let us hope that he has the good sense to learn his lessons,’ said John.

He feasted in the hall and complimented Hubert on the venison. He drank freely of the wine and looked about him for the comeliest of the women with whom he would spend the night.

But first he must talk with Arthur for he did not wish to linger in Falaise.

At last he and Arthur were alone together. Arthur’s heart was beating wildly. All he could think of was: He gave the order. He commanded them to put out my eyes.

He would remember it always, he knew, whenever he was in the presence of his uncle John. To think this man was his father’s brother and he had ordered that that should be done to him! Hatred filled Arthur’s heart. Hubert had warned him: Take care. Do not offend him. Think before you speak. But all Arthur could think of was: He ordered that they should put out my eyes and but for Hubert it would have been done.

‘Now, nephew,’ said John, ‘it is time you and I understood each other.’

‘I think I understand you well,’ replied Arthur coolly.

‘Then we shall be able to talk good sense. It is no use your thinking that you have a right to what is mine. You are but a boy. You have to grow up.’

‘I have grown up, in the last months.’

‘You have grown a little older, but I want you to stop this foolish conflict. Thousands of men have died and more will because of your obstinacy unless you withdraw your claim to England, Normandy and all that is mine. Promise me you will. If you did that, doubtless we should be very good friends.’

‘There is that between us, Uncle, which prevents that.’

‘Then by God’s ears let us remove it.’

‘That is not possible.’

‘And why not? Why not?’

‘Because what you have is mine and I shall not cease to claim it.’

‘You talk like a fool. Haven’t you seen what happened to you when you made war on me? You thought to capture your grandmother and look what that brought you to.’

He saw the shiver pass through the boy’s body and he smiled grimly.

‘You see, my dear nephew, you have much to learn. Give me your word that you will give up your claim to the crown. I will have a treaty drawn up and we will both pledge our solemn word. When that is signed and sealed you shall go back to Brittany. How’s that?’

‘I could not sign away my birthright.’

John sighed elaborately. He felt too drowsy to lose his temper; he was thinking of the woman who would be waiting for him in his bedchamber if she did not wish to displease him, and he did not think she would. He wanted to be with her and he was impatient with foolish young boys.

‘If I had no legitimate son then the crown would go to you,’ said John. ‘Is that not just?’

‘’Tis most unjust that you should hold that which is mine.’

John yawned. ‘Think of what this means, nephew. Remember what happened to you at Mirebeau. You were my prisoner then. You do not want to remain my prisoner all your life, do you?’

‘That would not be. My people would never allow it.’

‘I see you are in a stubborn mood and I waste my time in trying to make you see reason. I shall leave here tomorrow.’ Arthur could not help showing his relief and John smiled. ‘I see that fact does not cause you any great sorrow,’ he went on. ‘But when I go I want you to think very clearly. You have been my prisoner. It has not been a very happy experience for you.’

Arthur cried out: ‘I know full well what you intended to do to me.’

For a moment John’s lazy mood dropped from him. His eyes flashed and he cried: ‘Remember it. Think of it when you consider what I have said to you this night. It would be well for you, nephew, if you set aside your claim to what is mine and were content with your dukedom of Brittany. I will leave you now to your thoughts.’

John rose and went to his bedchamber.

He forgot about Arthur but the next day he remembered.

A week after John’s visit to Falaise the King’s messengers arrived at the castle. There were orders for Hubert de Burgh.

The King was pleased with his custodianship of the castle and wished him to remain there. He had a fancy though to remove his nephew and shortly after the arrival of this messenger, guards would be coming to the castle to take Arthur to another castle of the King’s choosing.

When Hubert read the message he felt sick with grief. So he and Arthur were going to be parted. How much had John guessed? Had he believed that Hubert had spared Arthur’s eyes because he felt he would serve his king better by doing so or had it been out of affection for the boy? Arthur did not hide his feelings well. He knew he had shown his hatred and fear of John; he would most certainly have betrayed his affection for Hubert. This John would think was the reason why the boy kept his eyes.

It would amuse John to separate them. He did not see why if Arthur would not do as he wished he should do anything for Arthur.

‘What is it?’ asked Arthur fearfully. ‘Is it orders from John?’

Hubert knew that he could not keep the news from him for long and in any case it was better for him to be prepared.

‘’Tis ill news indeed. He is going to separate us.’

‘No, Hubert, no. I won’t hear of it.’

Hubert said: ‘It won’t be for long.’

‘Where am I going, Hubert?’

‘I have not been told. But he is sending a guard for you. It could arrive at any time.’

‘Oh Hubert, let us get away from here. Let us go to Brittany.’

‘We could not do it, Arthur. The King has set guards to watch over you. He knows that I have an affection for you and fears what I might do. We should never be allowed to escape from here. We should be caught, imprisoned and then you can imagine what would happen to us.’

‘I would I could kill him,’ cried Arthur.

‘Hush, do not speak so. The best plan is to go calmly with his guards. I will discover where you are.’

‘And we will escape to Brittany,’ said Arthur.

‘Who knows?’ murmured Hubert, for there could be no harm in letting the boy hope.

‘I know why he is sending me away,’ said Arthur. ‘He tried to make me promise to give up my claims and when I would not and showed him that I hated and despised him he told me to think of it and remember my imprisonment. He was thinking of my eyes, Hubert. I could see that in his.’

‘Take care, Arthur.’

‘I will.’

‘He will not dare to harm you,’ said Hubert comfortingly. ‘We have seen that. He has learned his lesson. He knows what would happen if he did. So you will be safe … though his prisoner.’

‘I shall watch for you, Hubert. You must come to me.’

‘I shall try,’ said Hubert.

It was only a few hours later when the guards arrived in Falaise.

From a turret Hubert watched the departure until he could see them no more. Then he turned away and went mournfully to his bedchamber.

My poor unfortunate child, he thought. Would you had been born a shepherd or a swineherd. What will become of you now?

Arthur did not know where they were taking him. He held his head high but he was sick at heart. He had not dared look at Hubert at the parting. It would have been too shameful if he had burst into tears. He knew too that Hubert – that dear good saviour – felt as he did, so Arthur tried to think of his hatred of his uncle and so stifle the emotion which his love for Hubert aroused in him.

They came along by the river – and there was the Château Gaillard, such a castle as he had never seen before. There had never been such a fortress. How formidable it looked in the sunshine.

The man who rode beside him said: ‘See, my lord, King Richard’s Saucy Castle. None could take it. That was what the King intended.’

They were reminding him of course of the might of King John. I hate him, hate him, he thought. He tried to rob me of my eyes.

And at last they came to a city that from a distance looked like a mighty castle, for it was enclosed in a strong stone wall and there was the river flowing past on its way to the sea.

He knew that he had come to Rouen, the capital city of Normandy, which should, he reminded himself, be his if he had his rights.

He must remember Hubert’s words. He must try not to offend them. Never, never must he forget what could so easily have happened to him in the castle of Falaise.

He was taken into the castle – the stronghold of Norman kings almost since the days when Rollo first came to Normandy. He was treated with respect. His apartments were not like a prison but there were guards outside his door. Still it was a comfort to have some freedom. He might go to the battlements at the top of the tower and look down on the city, on the housetops and the river and the city wall. If Hubert were here it would be bearable, he thought.

Each day he went to those battlements and looked hopefully to see if riders came this way. He dreamed of plans which could be carried out – of Hubert’s coming to him and carrying him off in a sack as he had heard the Seneschal of Richard the Fearless had done in years gone by, long before the birth of William the Conqueror and himself.

Life was only bearable if he passed the days dreaming of escape. Sometimes he thought a party of Bretons would storm the castle. There would be a siege and he would creep out to the besiegers and place himself at their head. What joy that would be when he was reunited with his own people. But he liked best the fancy that it was Hubert who came to rescue him.

But the days passed and neither the Bretons nor Hubert came to Rouen.

A visitor did in due course come to the castle of Rouen.

John could not get out of his mind the memory of that boy in the castle of Falaise and now at Rouen. The manner in which his eyes had flashed, the haughty way in which he held himself, showed that he was well aware of what had been planned for him in the castle of Falaise. He would remember it all his life; it would be spoken of. Doubtless if he were free he would find some means of communicating what had happened to Philip of France. John could well imagine what use Philip would make of such information.

Arthur was a menace – the greatest menace of his life, really. What a pity he hadn’t died at birth.

John wondered how many people knew that he had given the order to put out the boy’s eyes and castrate him. Hubert knew. Oddly enough he believed he could trust Hubert. There was a nobility about the man which John could recognise; there was loyalty too and Hubert would not work against the crown even though he did not agree with what was being done. Somehow that boy had moved him and that was why he had saved his life. Hubert would not betray his king, though … not unless he thought it was for the good of the country. His father had always said: If you have a good man, respect him, even though at times he may speak against you, for if he speaks from honesty and honour he is a man to grapple to you for he is worth all the flatterers in the kingdom. Although John hated to be crossed and that drove him into a frenzy of rage, when he was calmer he realised the truth of this. So he would hold nothing against Hubert de Burgh.

But he was glad he had separated him from Arthur. He must come to some terms with the boy. If he could only delude him into signing some document in which he would renounce all claims to the possessions which were now in John’s hands he could with a few strokes of the pen deprive the Bretons of their reason for waging war on him.

He was tired of war. It seemed a king’s life must be spent in this futile occupation. The victory of today was the defeat of tomorrow and castles passed from hand to hand as the battle swayed.

There were more interesting ways of spending one’s time. It was aggravating to have to leave one’s bed in the early hours of the morning to be on the march, to be prepared to storm some castles, to spring to the defence of another. It wearied him. Then there was the possibility of being struck by an arrow. Three Kings of Britain had fallen in that way: Harold at Hastings, Rufus in the forest and Richard at Chaluz – and all three in less than one hundred and fifty years. Why should a man put himself into such danger when he would have a very comfortable life? As John saw it a king should travel through his possessions being respected and honoured where he went; there should be feasting, singing, dancing at the various castles which he visited; there should be women only too eager to share his pleasures. He would of course prefer to have Isabella with him, and they would lie abed until dinner time as they used to. It was not asking a great deal, only what he thought of as a kingly existence. But there were those who stood in his way of enjoying it.

Chief of these was Philip of France: he would never stop trying to make himself lord of all French territory. It was three hundred years since Rollo had taken Normandy, and yet Philip still dreamed of getting it back, and he would go on trying to do so as the French kings had for all that time. There was nothing he could do about Philip; but he could do something about his nephew and if he could prevent his continually harping on his claims, if he could render him powerless, he would have removed one cause of conflict.

He decided that now Arthur was at Rouen and Hubert de Burgh was not there to caution him and advise, he would go and see him. So John set out for Rouen.

It was the 1^st April when he started the journey, travelling through the fertile lands of Normandy. He was thinking of his nephew and made up his mind that he would not leave Rouen until he had extracted from him an oath to give up his claims. He felt irritated by the need to have to come to Rouen without Isabella for he had decided on the spur of the moment not to bring her with him. He did not want anything to distract him from this matter of coming to terms with Arthur, but when he left her he always wondered what she was doing. The fact that he was never faithful to her during their partings made him wonder whether she was faithful to him, and while he shrugged aside his own adventures as natural and to be expected, the thought of hers could send him to the edge of one of his rages so that he would be inclined to let it flow over whoever came near him and offended him in the slightest way.

He needed to keep his mind clear to deal with Arthur so he did not want it to be disturbed by outside influences. Perhaps he should have brought Isabella with him. No, he could not be at all sure what was going to happen at Rouen and it was better to be alone.

He was pleased by his reception at the castle. There was a flurry of excitement at his arrival and serving men and women were scurrying in all directions. Arthur came to greet him sullenly and he spoke to him in a jocular fashion and told him that he had come to talk with him and to be his good uncle.

Arthur was subdued, and they feasted together.

Tomorrow, thought John, I will talk with Arthur.

He knew the castle well. Often he had stayed here. He remembered how he had gone with a party of men down to the stone steps where boats were moored, for the river was close by. They had rowed up that river to Les Andelys over which the Château Gaillard stood guard. He had always been thrilled by that castle and wished that he had built it instead of Richard. It was the castle to outshine all castles. He knew that Philip of France ground his teeth in envy when he saw it; it was like a sentinel standing on guard protecting Rouen, that favourite city of all the Dukes. When Arthur had signed that document in which he would admit he had no claim to John’s possessions, John would swear that on his death without heirs everything should go to Arthur. They would sail up the river to Rouen and there they would ride through the town together and all should know of the amity between them. And once he had signed that document proclaiming that Arthur should be his successor if he died without heirs, he must have children without delay.

That would be the right thing to do. The first stage of his relationship with Isabella had passed. He had adored her child’s body, but she wasn’t a child any longer and she must fulfil her duties and give him children. That would keep her out of mischief. So what he must do was get Arthur to sign and then get Isabella with child; and signing that document was the purpose of his coming to Rouen.

It was dusk of the next day when he and Arthur were alone together.

John said: ‘Pray be seated, nephew. I have something of great importance to say to you. It is this: You and I must come to terms. I want us to be good friends.’

‘Are you going to give up what you have taken from me then?’ asked Arthur.

‘I said we should come to terms.’

‘Pray tell me these terms you have in mind,’ said Arthur.

‘You are to give up all claim to my possessions. Ah, wait. Do not sulk like a foolish child. If I die without heirs you shall be my successor.’

Arthur shook his head. ‘I want what is mine now.’

‘You must not act like a spoilt child, Arthur. I have the crown of England and the lands over here are mine too. I have been accepted by the people. What do you think the people of England would say if they were asked to accept you?’

‘Doubtless they would say I was their rightful king since my father was your elder brother.’

‘You are a foreigner, Arthur. You have never been in England. You don’t know the English.’

‘I know who is their rightful king.’

‘So do they, nephew, and it is John.’

‘John usurped the crown. Richard named me as his heir. The King of France proclaims me.’

‘And I wear the crown,’ taunted John. He was wishing he had it with him so that he could wear it on this occasion. That would have been amusing. ‘You can save us and yourself a great deal of trouble if you accept what is. Now I shall have a document drawn up which you will sign and when you have signed it you and I will be good friends.’

‘That is something we shall never be.’

‘Have you made up your mind to that?’

‘Yes, I made up my mind when you sent orders to blind me and rob me of my manhood.’

‘What talk is this?’

‘’Tis a statement of facts. I know you for the wicked man you are and if you think I shall ever enter into any agreement with you, you are mistaken.’

‘I think you will, Arthur.’

‘Why should you think that?’

‘Because you are going to see what is best for you.’

‘And you think it is good for me to sign away my inheritance?’

‘There are worse things to lose than your inheritance as you came near to discovering.’

‘You are a devil.’

‘I am a man who will have his way.’

‘And I have no more to say to you.’

Arthur rose and went to the door but before he reached it John had seized him.

‘Take your hands from me – liar, coward, lecher … I hate you. I will work against you until the end of my days.’

‘So all my kindness to you is of no avail.’

‘Kindness …’ Arthur threw back his head and laughed.

A sudden blow sent him reeling. He fell against the wall and for a few moments he looked into a face which was distorted by rage. John’s temper had taken possession of him and he made no attempt to curb it.

Another blow sent Arthur staggering to the floor, blood spurting from his mouth. John picked up a stool and hit him with it again and again … on his head and on his body.

Arthur moaned in agony and then he was silent.

John kicked him, laughing demoniacally.

‘What now, my brave cockerel, what now? What say you, eh? What say you, King of England, Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou … You should have been content with being Duke of Brittany.’

He was foaming at the mouth; his eyes were staring out of his head; his blood was pounding with excitement as he went on kicking Arthur.

And then he was aware that there was no response from Arthur. He no longer moaned; he merely lay slack and still as if oblivious to the pain which was inflicted on him.

John stopped suddenly, his rage sliding away from him.

He knelt down.

‘Arthur,’ he shouted. ‘Stop shamming. Get up, or by God’s teeth I’ll kick you to death.’

There was no response.

‘Arthur,’ cried John shrilly, but the boy lay still.

He’s dead, thought John. I have killed Arthur. What now?

He must act quickly. If Arthur were found thus there would be an outcry. They would know who had killed him and it would be used against him. He imagined such knowledge in Philip’s hands.

Curse Arthur! He had been a plague to him ever since he had been born.

His rage started to get the better of him and he kicked the boy again.

He must not. He must be calm. He must think clearly. What was he going to do? He must get rid of Arthur’s body. How? It would be obvious to any observer what had happened and it would be widely known that he was at Rouen and had been alone with the boy. This should not have happened. He should have controlled his rage. He should have had Arthur murdered in a traditional royal manner – poison for instance, or neat strangulation, but to have battered the boy to death …

Curse him.

There was blood on the floor. He must have help. There was one of his servants – a strong man who had had his tongue cut out. John used him now and then because of what he thought of as this qualification. He had said to him once: ‘You are a fortunate man, for tongueless you can serve your King well.’ Had the tongue been removed by him he might have had to be wary, for these creatures could harbour thoughts of revenge for years when one would have thought the matter might be forgotten by reasonable men. But this man had no grudge against John and John had craftily decided that because of his usefulness he should be cherished.

Locking the door of the room in which the dead boy lay, John went in search of the silent man. He found him in the stables, for he loved horses and was usually there when not engaged on his duties. John took him back to the chamber of death. There was only need to point to Arthur and the man understood – the loss of his tongue having sharpened what was left to him.

John said: ‘He must be removed. Let us throw him in the river.’

The mute nodded and indicated that they would need to weight the body so that it would sink.

‘We’ll weight it then and take it to the river,’ said John. ‘Then we’ll throw it overboard. There are boats moored down there. How shall we remove him?’

The man went to the window, indicating that he would throw the body out.

‘Good man,’ said John. ‘That is the answer. Wait though … until it is later. Then the castle will be quiet.’

John left the mute to guard the body behind locked doors while he went down to join the castellan and his wife. He was excited. He was rid of the boy. Arthur would be forgotten in time and that menace was removed.

It was past midnight when Arthur’s body was thrown from the window. They tied a stone about his neck and carried him to a boat which they rowed along the river towards the sea. They threw the body overboard and then came back to the castle.

The next morning a jewelled button which was known to belong to Arthur was found on the stones beneath his window. There were some traces of blood there – the mute had removed all those in the room where the murder had taken place.

It was said: ‘Arthur has escaped. He must have lowered himself from the window; and he hurt himself in falling, hence the blood.’

It was expected that soon there would be triumphant news from Brittany that their Duke was with them. But none came.

Two fishermen out in their boat one night were amazed to haul in a heavy load and to their horror they saw what they brought in was the body of a young man with a stone securely tied about his neck.

Uncertain of what to do they rowed for the shore, left the body in their boat and went at once to the lord of the nearby castle. When he heard what they had to tell him he went with them to the boat and examining the features of the dead boy he had a suspicion as to who he was and when he noticed the jewelled buttons on his garments he guessed.

Arthur had been at the castle of Rouen. There were already rumours in circulation that he had disappeared. There could be no doubt who this was.

‘Say nothing of this,’ said the lord of the castle, ‘on pain of your lives, keep silent.’

The frightened fishermen were only too eager to promise to do so.

Everyone knew that to talk of this could cost them their tongues.

Very secretly the body of Arthur was buried in the church of Notre Dame des Prés close by Rouen but there was no indication of the identity of the corpse. None wished it to be known by King John that they had had any hand in the disposal of the body. Their safety lay in secrecy, for who could know what unpredictable turn the King’s anger might take.

Thus Arthur was buried but it was hardly likely that he could be so easily forgotten.

‘Where is Arthur?’ the Bretons were asking the question and the King of France joined his voice to theirs. They wanted to know why King John’s nephew had suddenly disappeared.