The Prince of Darkness

Chapter XIX A BRIDE FOR HUGH

With Philip’s fleet in disorder and a great many of his weapons and battle equipment in English hands it seemed to John the time had come to attack France and attempt to regain his possessions. One of his spurts of energy came to him and he was eager for action. He had an army assembled but he needed the support of the barons so he issued commands throughout the land for them to bring their followers and join him.

Rebellion simmered beneath the surface. The barons had no confidence in John. The Braose family with Robert Fitz-Walter and Eustace de Vesci had spread discord throughout the country. They had hinted that such a tyrant could not be allowed to reign unless he reformed considerably, and although John realised that many of the barons were restive he did not know how deeply rooted was this determination to bring matters to a head.

The barons of the North, who were in a better position than those in the South to defy the King, refused to supply John with what he needed. They said that John had proved himself an ineffectual commander; losses in France had been humiliating; true, they had had luck recently but only because they had taken the French fleet by surprise. They had no confidence in John and his missions abroad; nor would they supply men and money to maintain them. They preferred to remain in England and keep that safe from an invader, for it was not inconceivable that when Philip had had time to muster his forces, he would make an attack on the country. In any case, they were not meeting John’s wishes.

When John heard their refusal wild rage possessed him. He gave vent to it in the usual way and when he was exhausted by it he decided that he would go not to France but up to the North to show the barons how he felt about his subjects who disobeyed him.

He knew that FitzWalter with his friend Vesci had done their utmost to ferment trouble. Something told him that FitzWalter was going to do everything he could to take his crown from him in exchange for his daughter. He had been foolish over FitzWalter; he should have killed him when he had a chance and now simply because his daughter had been a little fool and had held out against her King’s advances, her father was helping to stir up trouble. In the priory church of Little Dunmow, to keep the story alive, the FitzWalters had had a statue of Matilda made and placed it on her tomb. No doubt they made all sorts of unholy vows over it.

By God’s eyes, John thought, if FitzWalter falls into my hands that will be an end to him.

But meanwhile he needed men to attack Philip and his northern barons were refusing to help him and he was going to show them who was the master. He always maintained a good army of mercenaries and with these he set out, not for France but for the North with the intention of teaching the barons a lesson.

The fact that the King was on the march could not be kept a secret and when the new Archbishop of Canterbury heard, he hastened forth with his retinue to meet John.

John was angry that the Archbishop should at this early stage show his intention to meddle. He demanded to know why he had thought it necessary to meet him in such a way.

‘My lord,’ the Archbishop pointed out, ‘by attacking the northern barons you would create civil war in this land and you cannot have forgotten so soon that you hold the crown of England as a fief of the Pope.’

‘I will rule my own land in a manner which is pleasing to me,’ growled John.

‘If you displease our master the Pope, you will be breaking your vows. It would be necessary, if you forced a civil war on this country, to bring back the Interdict and to excommunicate you.

John knew this could come to pass. His submission to the Pope had extricated him from a very uneasy situation, for if he had not given way to Rome Philip of France might at this time be in possession of his crown. A curse on all popes and archbishops! They had ever been thorns in the side of kings.

He wanted to shout: Take this man away. Murder him on the steps of his cathedral as my father’s loyal knights murdered Becket. I’ll not be ruled by the Church.

But he had taken his vows to the Pope and sworn allegiance; he had given Rome power in England greater than any monarch had ever given before.

Luck was against him. He had lost Normandy. He had lost most of his possessions in France. The easiest way to ease his feelings was to fly into a temper.

But he must control himself on this occasion.

How did he ever get into this mess? It was Isabella’s fault. He had dallied with her when he should have been attending to State matters. When they had said he had lost his kingdom under the bed quilt they were right.

She was a witch. A sorceress. And she took lovers.

It soothed him a little to think of the fate of the one who had been discovered.

He must outwit the Pope. That was the only way. The barons on one side, Philip on the other and presiding over all Stephen Langton, the Pope’s man who, because of that, had more power in England than the King himself.

He talked in secret to Stephen Langton. There should be no war, but a king could not rule with so much rebellion in his ranks. He would march north, show the barons his strength and his displeasure. But there should be no bloodshed.

‘Remember, my lord,’ warned Stephen, ‘that if there is, His Holiness will take action.’

‘I will remember,’ John replied sullenly.

So the trip to the North was merely a warning to the barons; and having made it John returned to the South in order to make his preparations to sail for France, without those who refused to accompany him.

When John arrived at La Rochelle he was acclaimed by the people. As this was a great trading port and doing good business with England its inhabitants had no wish to be taken over by the King of France which would have been detrimental to trade. Moreover, Aquitaine had always feared domination by Philip. Thus, on John’s coming, he found himself with considerable allies.

His spirts were lifted and when he had taken a castle or two he was excited by his success and saw himself regaining all that he had lost.

Luck was on his side and against Philip on this occasion for the Flemings – perennial enemies of the French – took this opportunity to attack him. Philip had no alternative but to turn to Flanders, leaving his son Louis to deal with the invading English.

Excited, certain of success, John realised that there was one family which could spoil his chances, a family which bore almost as great a grudge against him as the FitzWalters. This was the de Lusignan family, and Hugh, from whom he had snatched Isabella, was at the head of it.

It seemed to John that his life was haunted by spectres of the past. Arthur, Vesci, FitzWalter and Lusignan. Would none of the wrongs he had committed ever be forgotten?

He was going to try to lay the Lusignan ghost right away. He must if he were to turn the wrath of this powerful family from him.

An idea had occurred to him which greatly amused him. Hugh de Lusignan, the man of whom he had always been jealous because he knew that Isabella had remembered him all through the years, had remained unmarried. Could this be because he had been so enamoured of Isabella that he could not contemplate taking another bride? It could well be so. Hugh’s family was an ambitious one and if a tasty bait were dangled before them they would not be able to prevent themselves taking it. John was overcome with mirth. He could have his little joke to good advantage, the Lusignans should help him to recover what he had lost in France.

He sent messengers to Hugh de Lusignan offering him a bride; this bride was to be John’s own legitimate daughter – he had several illegitimate ones – Joanna, daughter of Isabella whom Hugh had loved and so reluctantly lost.

John could not restrain his laughter when the messengers returned.

Isabella’s old lover Hugh had agreed to marry her daughter.

What a brilliant stroke of strategy this was, was seen when Philip, hearing of the proposed alliance between the King of England and the Lusignan family, offered one of his sons as a bridegroom for little Joanna. Surely a better proposition! The son of the King of France for the princess of England – not a mere baron.

‘Not so, not so,’ cried John. He pointed out that the King of France had married his niece and that had not saved them conflict. The marriage of his daughter with the Lusignans seemed to him an ideal one. Moreover, he was looking forward to telling Isabella that Hugh was to have her daughter.

He could now march unmolested through Lusignan territory and so pursue his attack on the King of France. In this he continued with some success but he had uneasy allies. They were watching carefully which way the battle was going and did not intend to be caught on the losing side. Face to face with the French they decided that it would be better to remain neutral; and even as the battle was about to begin they made up their minds to desert.

John’s fury when he saw his ranks diminishing was so great that he wept. He screamed and shouted but this was of no avail. The French, being aware of what had happened, realised this was the time to attack, and John and his forces were soon hastily retreating.

It was the beginning of the end. The French were too strong; John’s allies had deserted him; and his men, who did not believe in his ability to achieve his ends, wanted to go home. They remembered what had been said of John – the King who had lost the French possessions. They reminded each other that there had been a time when Philip had threatened to invade England. The only element which had prevented that was the intervention of the Pope. What sort of king was this? He was no leader. At home they were grumbling about him. The barons were threatening to rise against him. What good could they achieve here in France? There was nothing there but defeat. It was time they returned to England to protect their possessions there before the French came to take them.

Angry, frustrated, John returned to England. Something told him that it would never be in his power to regain the French possessions.

His only pleasure in returning home was to go to Gloucester to see Isabella.

She was pregnant once more, a fact which pleased him. He found it gratifying to keep her shut away and to surround her with guards so that he could be sure no lovers visited her and then to come to her at his will.

He allowed her to have the children with her. Young Henry now eight years old, Richard a year younger, Joanna the little bride-to-be nearly five, and baby Isabella. It was gratifying to contemplate that there would soon be another.

He knew that she was glad to see him and she no longer referred to his infidelities but accepted them as a matter of course which seemed to him right and proper. He wondered how often she thought of her lover hanging lifeless on the bed. Ah, he thought, he would no longer have been any use to her had he lived.

This always amused him; and he could say that he was as pleased with his marriage as he had ever been and although he had been mad with rage when he had discovered her infidelity, she could always excite him more than any other woman he had ever known.

Now he could taunt her.

‘I have had adventures overseas,’ he said.

‘And none, I believe, that have brought you advantage.’

‘Oh, I shall cross the seas ere long and then I will flout the King of France.’

‘Let us hope he will not flout you first. So you have lost everything across the sea?’

‘Nay. ’Tis but a temporary setback. I have made a truce with an old friend of yours.’

‘Which old friend is that?’

‘Hugh de Lusignan. I believe you thought highly of him once.’

She was alert and watchful. What did this mean?

‘He is a brave and noble man,’ she answered defiantly.

‘I am glad you think so because he is to become a member of our family.’

‘How so?’ she asked, and he was pleased to see that her heart had started to beat fast with apprehension. She thought he was going to tell her of some torture inflicted on Hugh. He would let her fear for him for a while before enlightening her with the information which he believed would shock her.

He cleared his throat. ‘I am going to give him our daughter.’

‘Give … him … our daughter?’ she echoed.

‘I mean of course that Joanna is to be betrothed to your old lover, Hugh the Brown.’

‘But … she is a child.’

‘Princesses are married when they are young, as you know. How old were you? Twelve. If our Joanna is anything like her mother she will give Hugh a very happy time.’

‘It is impossible,’ she snapped. ‘The child is but five years old.’

‘In seven years’ time … perhaps earlier, she will be ready. He will be prepared to wait. He is good at that.’

‘He … he will be an old man.’

‘There have been older bridegrooms. He was excited at the prospect. And so we got safe conduct through his territory. It could have given me a victorious campaign but for the traitors. I thought: This will please Isabella. She thought highly of the man. Very well, she will welcome him as a son!’ He began to laugh. She wanted to kill him. She clasped her hands tightly together to prevent their taking action.

She hated him. He was forty-eight years of age and looked more. He was too fat and growing bald and it was inevitable that the life of debauchery should begin to show itself.

‘Come,’ he cried, holding out his hands, ‘show me your gratitude. I have arranged a match for your daughter with a man whom, I have reason to think, you regard very highly.’

Then he caught her to him and she knew that understanding that he had disturbed her gave some zest to his desire.

Cruelty always gave him additional pleasure.