The Prince of Darkness

Chapter III JOHN IS CROWNED

What a thrill it was to ride into Chinon. At last that for which he had longed and prayed was ready to fall into his hands. Richard dead! The man who shot the arrow ought to be rewarded; he could not have pleased his new King more. He laughed aloud. What would be the reactions of the lords, knights and barons if he said, ‘Bring that man before me’? They would bring the man, wretched and fearful, and he would play with him for a while so that he believed dire torture awaited him and then he would offer him lands and title. ‘You have served me well. Go in peace.’

Of course it could not be like that. Just at first he would have to follow the conventions a little. But by God’s ears, he thought, when I am King with the crown safely on my head, then I shall do as I wish and men will like it or suffer for not liking.

What a glorious future! Blessed man who shot the arrow, you are my good and faithful servant. Old Lion Heart is no more. The terror of the Saracens, the great crusader, who deserted his own country to win glory in the Holy Land, is just a corpse now … dead and gone and all his glory with him. And the way is clear for John.

Arthur – Bah! what had he to fear from Arthur?

Never had the castle of Chinon looked so beautiful as it did on that April morning. Never had John felt so pleased with life.

Now would come the first test. What if the custodian of the treasure refused to hand it to him? But there was no question of how he should act. He would run the fellow through and take it by force.

Into the castle he rode. There was no resistance. He thrilled with delight. They recognised him as Duke and King.

The treasure was his.

There was a message from his mother who had already given orders that the treasure was to be handed to him. She was at Fontevraud where the funeral was taking place. John, now Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou and King of England, was to come to Fontevraud to pay his last respects to his brother.

John hesitated. None should give orders to him. Then he saw the folly of resisting. His mother knew the procedure and she was on his side, a fact which should make him exult. Any resistance Arthur and the Bretons might put up would be quickly overcome. His mother carried great influence and he must be humble for a while. That was the part to play and he always enjoyed playing those parts which deceived people. To play the sorrowing brother now, a little weighed down by the realisation of his heavy responsibilities, was a part he could do well and find a great enjoyment in playing it.

Being in possession of the Angevin treasure, he prepared to ride to Fontevraud. But first, on his mother’s advice, he sent for Bishop Hugh of Lincoln, the most respected of English bishops, whose presence, as Eleanor said, would impress the people.

John realised this and was amused to think of himself in the company of such a man, for in the past he had been guilty of great levity towards such, and Hugh had a most saintly reputation.

However, for the time being he must curb his high spirits and show a serious mien to the people.

Hugh arrived and gave him his blessing. John noted with some asperity that the Bishop was not inclined to treat him with great respect even though he acknowledged him as King. These churchmen seemed to look on everyone else as their children. He would not endure his preaching for long and the fellow would have to take care how he treated his new sovereign. Richard had not allowed them to bully him although he had taken notice of the old hermit in the woods who had upbraided him for the life he led. Ah, but not until he was laid low and on the point of death!

As everyone knows, thought John laughing, death-beds are the place for repentance; before reaching them one should make sure of committing enough sins to make the grovelling for mercy worthwhile.

‘God’s blessing on you, my lord,’ said Hugh, embracing him.

John thanked him and suggested that they return to England with all speed.

He was longing for the ceremony in Westminster Abbey and he wouldn’t feel completely happy until the crown was on his head. A king was not considered to be a king until after that all-important ceremony had been performed. And with Arthur in the shadows it couldn’t be done too quickly for him.

Hugh began by refusing to go to England. That was impossible for him at this time. What he would do would be to accompany the King to Fontevraud for it was well that John should visit his brother’s grave.

Here we go, thought John. The Church dictating to the Crown already. Very well, my old prelate. Just for a while … until I am firmly in the saddle – and then you’ll have to get out of my way before I trample you underfoot.

It was not long before they reached Fontevraud, there to pay homage to the graves of Henry II and Richard.

John knelt by the grave of his father and thought of those last days of the old man’s life when he had deserted him because it was to his advantage to be with Richard at that time. He couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy in such a solemn place; he could clearly remember his father’s eyes as they had followed him and he had called him the only one of his sons whom he could trust. John had laughed inwardly at the time, and congratulated himself on his fine play-acting, telling himself what a clever fellow he was. But here in the solemn atmosphere of the abbey he felt a twinge of something which might have been conscience but was more likely to be fear of what reprisals the dead might take. Then there was Richard, freshly laid in his tomb – Richard, for whose death he had prayed a hundred times and more. Could it be that the dead did not leave this earth when they died, that they stayed to haunt those who had wronged them? Morbid thoughts. It was that old ghoul of a bishop standing over him so disapprovingly, determined to maintain the war between Church and State.

It was all fancy. Those two were dead … finished … no more earthly glory for them; and their departure meant that John had what he had always longed for.

He rose from his knees, and going towards the choir door, knocked. From behind a grille a nun appeared. The Abbess was away, she said, and the rule was that none must be admitted in her absence.

Thank heaven for that, thought John. He was weary of these pious pilgrimages. He wanted to have done with them and get to England. Oh, the glory of his coronation! He remembered Richard’s which was not really so long ago and how envious he had felt that Richard was the one who would wear the crown and carry the orb and sceptre. My turn now, he thought exultantly. He was thankful to the old Abbess for being away.

He turned to Hugh and said: ‘Tell them that I promise benefactions to their house. I pledge this in my name. Perhaps in return they will pray for me.’

Hugh looked at him sceptically. He did not trust the new piety in one of whom he was well aware rumour had not lied. ‘I could promise nothing in your name until I was sure that the promises would be met. You know full well how I detest falsehood, and promise given and not fulfilled is that.’

‘I swear,’ cried John, ‘that what I promise shall come to pass.’

‘Then I will give the sisters your message, but if you should break your word, forget not that you are offending God.’

John bowed his head in assumed piety.

As they left the church the Bishop began a lecture on the need to govern well. The new King would have to bring a seriousness to his task; God had entrusted him with a great mission. It was to his advantage to carry it out to the best of his ability.

‘I shall maintain the crown,’ boasted John. He brought out an ornament on a gold chain from under his cloak and showed it to the Bishop.

‘You see this amulet? It was given to one of my ancestors and passed down to me. My father gave it to me. That was when he wished that I should follow him on the throne. The legend is that while this stone is in the possession of our family we shall never lose our dominions.’

‘You would do well, my lord,’ answered the Bishop tersely, ‘to trust in the Chief Corner Stone.’

John turned away with a grimace.

They stood for a moment in the porch on the walls of which had been sculptured a scene of the Last Judgement. God sat on his throne and on one side were depicted the torments which awaited the sinners and on the other side the angels on their way to heavenly bliss.

‘I beg of you, my lord,’ said the Bishop, ‘take good heed of this. See what awaits those who offend against the laws of God.’

‘Look not at them, good Bishop,’ retorted John. ‘See rather those on the other side. The angels are taking them to Heaven. That is the path I have decided is for me.’

The Bishop regarded him uneasily. This virtue had descended too suddenly to be plausible.

They travelled on to Beaufort where Queen Eleanor with the sorrowing widow Berengaria and John’s sister Joanna were waiting to receive him.

His mother embraced him warmly.

‘This is a sad day for us all,’ she said. ‘Your brother, our great King, struck down in his prime by this madman’s arrow.’

‘Alas, alas,’ replied John. ‘He who survived the Holy Land and cruel incarceration in an enemy castle to come to this!’

He was studying Berengaria intently. What if after all she were pregnant? The thought was too horrible for contemplation. She would have to be disposed of before she brought another rival on to the scene. It was bad enough for Arthur to be there.

He turned to Joanna, clearly pregnant.

‘My dearest sister. This is a sad occasion. I trust it has done no harm to the child you carry.’

Joanna turned away to hide her tears. ‘He was so wonderful,’ she said.

‘We share our grief,’ murmured John, forcing his voice to tremble. ‘And my dear sister-in-law … how sad for you.’

He took Berengaria’s hands and looked into her face. Don’t dare to be pregnant! he was thinking. No, you are not. Richard never wanted you to be. He had no wish for a son.

‘Come to my private apartments,’ said his mother. He had to admire her. She had retired to seclusion, they had thought, but events like this would always bring her out to fight for the family; he thanked his good fortune that she had decided that he was to inherit the throne. What if she had let her choice rest on Arthur? No, with her, a son came before a grandson.

When they were alone together he could see at once that she was uneasy. She was bitterly mourning for Richard. ‘This has been such a sad blow to me,’ she said. ‘I had never thought it possible that he would go and leave me here. I used to worry about him when he was in the Holy Land and during that terrible time when we did not know where he was. But when he came back – as strong and as brave as ever – I never thought he could go before I did and leave me lonely.’

Fighting his resentment John took her hand and kissed it.

‘You still have one son, Mother,’ he reminded her.

‘You, John … the youngest of them all. And you have become the King.’

‘It is a great responsibility.’

‘I’m glad you realise it.’ She looked at him shrewdly. ‘It will not be easy. You know that. You will have more conflict to face than Richard ever did.’

‘Yes,’ he said, his mouth tightening. ‘There is Arthur.’

‘William Marshal believes that you come before Arthur.’

‘William Marshal!’ The joy showed briefly in John’s face. There was one of the most influential men in England, a man renowned for his integrity. Others would follow him.

‘I have sent him to England to prepare the people for your reception there and to urge them to accept you as the rightful King.’

‘You have always been the best of mothers.’

‘Marshal, with Hubert Walter, will convince the people that you are the true King.’

‘The Church must be involved, I dare say.’

‘Hubert is Archbishop of Canterbury. He will perform the coronation. His approval is essential.’

‘And you think he will give it?’

‘If he wavers, Marshal will persuade him. John, you will have to curb your levity.’

‘All that is past. I recognise the responsibilities I have for my crown.’

‘Then that is well. You must always be just. Think of your father. Oh, he had his faults, but taking everything into account he was a good and worthy ruler. The people accepted him because he was just. Try to follow his example.’

‘I shall not follow Richard’s example by leaving my country in the hands of men like Longchamp while I go off in search of glory.’

‘Richard had a mission. He had vowed to go on a crusade. He saw that as his first duty.’

John clasped his hands and raised his eyes piously to the ceiling. ‘Mine shall be to my country.’

Eleanor looked at him sharply. ‘John,’ she said, ‘this is the most important time of your life.’

‘I know it well.’

‘You will have to walk with the utmost care.’

‘I know that also.’

‘Philip will have to be watched. It may well be that he will try to put Arthur in your place.’

‘Think you that I shall allow it?’

‘We must see that it does not happen.’

He was silent for a while. Then he said, ‘Poor Berengaria. She looks fatigued.’

‘She has suffered much. His death was a great shock to her.’

‘I was wondering … is it possible … If it were so it would create an issue …’

Eleanor looked at him sharply. ‘You are afraid that she might be with Richard’s child.’

‘It is a possibility.’

Eleanor shook her head.

‘It is not so.’

‘But possible …’

‘Think you that this has not occurred to me? I have spoken with her. It is not possible.’

John was deeply relieved.

‘Then there is nothing to fear,’ he said, ‘but … Arthur.’

Bishop Hugh was growing increasingly apprehensive. He was of the opinion that Arthur would have been the better choice. True, he was Breton and had been brought up for some of his formative years at the Court of France, but he was yet a boy who could be moulded. It might be that John as son of the late Henry II was closer to the late King Richard than Arthur – and yet John was an uneasy choice.

To consider his past record must make all churchmen shudder. Setting his exploits in Ireland, and his treachery to his father, on one side, there was still the life he led. The last King’s departure from the orthodox in sexual relations was deplorable, but it had not affected his rule; he had never had favourites who had influenced him.

Hugh was surprised that Queen Eleanor, who was a very wise woman, and William Marshal, who undoubtedly had the good of England at heart, could have let their choice rest on John. The line of succession was not so rigid that it could not be changed for expediency. A king’s son was his natural successor but if that son should show himself to be unworthy it was quite acceptable to select the next candidate. It was a moot point whether Henry II’s youngest son or the son of an older son was the heir to the throne. If Richard himself had had a son how different it would have been. What alarmed Hugh was that the Archbishop of Canterbury believed Arthur to have been the better choice and had been overruled by William Marshal.

Of course William Marshal was a man with a strong sense of duty and he was in close service with King Henry II. It could be that he remembered that it was his old master’s desire that John should be King and this was why he supported the claim of the younger son rather than that of the grandson.

In any case, it appeared that John was to be the next King and they must try to make the best of it.

He went to John’s apartments in the Castle Beaufort and there found him with one or two of his companions – young men whose tastes were similar to his own.

The Bishop asked if he could speak to John alone. The young man regarded him rather insolently and John hesitated; he would have liked to tell the old prelate to go, but his common sense warned him that until that coronation ceremony he had better be a little careful.

He waved his hand and the young men sauntered out.

‘What is it?’ asked John somewhat testily.

‘Tomorrow is Easter Day,’ said the Bishop. ‘You will of course wish to take communion.’

‘Not I,’ cried John. ‘’Tis not to my taste.’

The Bishop was horrified, and John laughed at him. ‘My good Bishop, I have not communicated since I was able to make up my own mind on such matters and I have no intention of doing so now.’

‘You are now a king …’ The Bishop paused and added ominously: ‘Or hoping to become one. It is necessary for the people to see that you are worthy of the crown.’

‘What has communion to do with kingship?’

‘I think you know. If you are to govern well you will need the guidance of God.’

‘I have no qualms that I shall know how to govern.’

‘Others might have.’

John narrowed his eyes. The insolence of priests! Was he the King or wasn’t he? The answer to that was of course, no, not yet.

Not yet. That was what he must remember. He must get that ceremony performed.

He said: ‘I know I have lived a sinful life. I intend to reform now this great burden has been placed upon my shoulders, but if after all these years I communicate – and there are many who know that for years I have abstained – they will think my repentance over-sudden. Let me come gradually back to the good life. If I attend the High Mass, that will do for a start. It will show people that I am making a beginning.’

The Bishop said: ‘God will know exactly what is in your heart.’

‘Assuredly,’ answered John with his eyes downcast.

There was no point in further persuasion, the Bishop told himself. Time would show what attitudes John would take and the people would accept or reject him accordingly.

When the Bishop had gone John recalled his friends. He gave them an account of what had happened, mimicking the Bishop.

‘He thinks he is to govern me. We are going to have some fun with Master Bishop, my friends.’

They applauded wildly; it would have been unwise not to do so.

They were with him at the High Mass. John liked them to be there because he felt over-bold when it was necessary to amuse them with his daring.

There was one point which shocked Hugh profoundly, when during the offertory John approached jingling some gold coins in his hand and did not put these into the dish which was there to receive them but stood for a while looking down at them.

Hugh said sharply, ‘Why do you stand there staring at the coins?’

John looked at him slyly. ‘I was thinking that a little while ago I would never have put them into your hands. They would be in my pocket. I suppose now I must give them to you.’

Hugh was scarlet with indignation.

‘Put them in the basin and go,’ he said shortly.

John hesitated for a moment and then did as he was bid, putting the coins in one by one as though with the greatest reluctance.

The Bishop was angry and deeply disturbed that a future monarch could behave so in God’s holy house! It did not augur well for the future, and he was indignant as he went to his pulpit and prepared to deliver his sermon. John was seated immediately below and with him were a few of his dissolute friends.

Was is possible, wondered Hugh, to make this young man understand that unless he behaved like a king he could never be a successful one? He would do his duty and try to sow a few ideas which might bear fruit.

He had prepared a sermon which he would preach before John and he had meant its bearing to be on the duty of rulers to their people. He enlarged on the subject, stressing the disaster that could come through careless and wanton behaviour. A king must be high-minded and must put the good of his country before his own pleasures. He could not stress this enough.

He was aware of the murmurings and nudgings that were going on in that pew but ignored them and the more they persisted the more he had to say about the duties of a king to his subjects.

‘A king must never forget that he serves his people under God …’

There was a giggle from John’s pew and, when one of the young men quietly slipped out, Hugh was astonished to find that he was making his way round to the back of the pulpit.

‘My lord Bishop,’ said the young man in an audible whisper, ‘the King says, will you bring your sermon to an immediate end? He is weary of it and wants his dinner.’

Hugh, colour heightened, continued to preach while the young man went back to his seat.

Oh God, thought Hugh, what will become of us!

The service over, Hugh left the church. He would take his leave tomorrow. There was no point in staying with the King. He would go back to England and consult with the Archbishop of Canterbury and tell them that he had indeed been right when he had suggested Arthur would be a more suitable king.

The next day the Bishop of Lincoln said farewell to John.

John, his friends still round him, cried: ‘This is a sad leave-taking, Bishop. I shall always remember your sermon to me on my accession.’

The young men tittered and John could scarcely contain his laughter.

‘Then,’ said the Bishop with dignity, ‘perhaps it has not been in vain.’

The Bishop with his entourage rode off and John entered the castle, there to enjoy the venison which was being prepared for him. Over the table he talked with his friends of the good sport they would have. They should see what it was like to be the faithful friends of a king.

But while they feasted, messengers came to the castle. It was clear by their looks that they brought ill news. They were taken immediately to John who fell into a rage when he heard it.

Philip was on the march; he was backing Arthur and the Bretons, and Constance, with her son Arthur and her lover Guy Thouars, was leading an army against him. Moreover, no one had put up any resistance. Cities had surrendered; custodians of castles had declared themselves in favour of Arthur; and with the backing of the King of France the situation was perilous. Evreux was in Philip’s hands and he was already in Maine. Moreover, barons in such key places as Touraine and Anjou were swearing fealty to Arthur.

‘What can I do?’ cried John. ‘What forces have I here?’

He must get to Normandy. He rose from the table, gave orders to make ready and in a short time was riding for Le Mans, as yet not in his enemy’s hands.

He was surprised by his lack of welcome. The people did not want him. His reputation was well known to them. There was a young boy whose father came before John in direct succession and he was the one whom they wanted. Moreover, the King of France was backing Arthur. They did not want John.

It was an uneasy night John passed in Le Mans and as soon as dawn broke he was ready to get out of the place because he knew how dangerous it would be to stay. Philip was not far off, and the people were hostile. To become Philip’s captive before he had been crowned a king would be disastrous.

Arthur, he had heard, had done homage to the King of France for Anjou, Maine and Touraine. The impudence! These were his dominions. Normandy was safe. Normandy had been the proud possession of his ancestors since the days of Rollo.

Its people would be true to him.

He must go with all speed to Rouen.

How different it was in Rouen. The people there wanted him. As he rode into the town they came to cheer him. These were his faithful subjects. Here in this city the brave heart of Richard was buried. Close by was the great Château Gaillard – Richard’s Saucy Castle. This was the territory of the great dukes who for many years had reigned there in defiance of the Franks. Every King of France wanted to take Normandy from the Normans and every Norman duke swore they never should. This was the land of William Longsword, Richard the Fearless and William the Mighty Conqueror. The people of Normandy would never support those who were upheld by the French.

The Archbishop of Rouen, Walter – he had the same name as the Archbishop of Canterbury – came at once to welcome John.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘it is necessary that you be proclaimed Duke of Normandy without delay. The people are with you. The last thing they will tolerate is the rule of a Breton, particularly when he is, as many believe, the tool of the King of France. Here you are indeed welcome and it is the universal wish that the ceremony take place without delay.’

John was quite ready to go through the ceremony at the earliest possible moment. The fact that Constance and her friends, including the King of France, were on the march had sobered him. He told the Archbishop with a seriousness rare to him that he placed himself in his hands, at which the Archbishop blessed him and announced that the ceremony would take place on Low Sunday which was the 25^th April – nineteen days after Richard’s death.

John, in the cathedral, the coronet decorated with golden roses placed on his head, swore on the Gospels and relics of the saints that he would uphold the rights of the Church, that his laws would be just and he would suppress evil.

The Archbishop then attached the sword of justice to his girdle and took up the lance which had always been used by the Normans instead of the sceptre as in the Church of England.

It was while the lance was being handed to him that John heard his friends giggling close by and he could not resist turning to wink at them and assure them that he was still the same merry and irreligious companion who had shared their sport and that he was merely indulging in this solemn ceremony because just at the moment he must go along with the old people; and because his head was turned, the lance, which the Archbishop was at that moment putting into his hands, slipped and fell to the floor.

There was a horrified gasp from all who beheld this and a soft murmur spread through the cathedral.

At this solemn moment the lance, the symbol of Norman power which had been handed down and grasped firmly by every duke of Normandy, had fallen from the grasp of this one.

It was an omen, and what could it be but an evil one with the King of France in arms against them and some believing that Arthur of Brittany had a greater claim to the ducal crown?

John refused to be depressed by the incident. He would laugh about it later with his cronies.

After the ceremony there was good news. The indefatigable Eleanor had left her seclusion once more and placed herself at the head of Richard’s mercenaries led by the brilliant commander Mercadier – he who had inflicted such terrible punishment on Richard’s slayer – and she was driving the French and Bretons back from the territory they had gained. Meanwhile, the people of Normandy were rallying to John and he was soon ready to march on Le Mans.

He took it with ease and was exultant, remembering their cool reception of him such a short while before. He was going to show them what it meant to incur the wrath of King John. He was no Richard who only on rare occasions let the Angevin temper take over. John was going to show people right from the beginning what they must fear if they went against him.

He burned the houses. Every one of them must be demolished, he cried, and the castle was razed to the ground while the leading citizens were brought before him.

‘You were very inhospitable to me but a short time ago,’ he said. ‘You were very haughty, thinking you had the King of France with you. Where is he now? Tell me that. He has deserted you. He left you to my mercy. Now you shall discover how merciful I shall be.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Put them in chains,’ he growled. ‘Put them in the darkest dungeons. We’ll leave them there. There they can brood on what it means to set themselves against King John.’

The men were taken away. They had heard stories of his cruelty. Now they would experience it.

Flushed with success John cried: ‘What we have done with Le Mans we will do to those others who have given themselves freely to the cause of the King of France and little Arthur.’

But his advisers reminded him that the conquest of Le Mans had not been difficult because the King of France had already left, and if he were going to march on Anjou he needed a bigger army. Meanwhile, he should go to England and there let the ceremony of coronation be performed so that he could show the world that he was in truth the King of England.

John needed little persuasion. War in itself did not appeal to him. It was the conquest he liked. He had enjoyed ravaging Le Mans and working himself up into a rage over the people’s perfidy to him while he enjoyed to the full making them pay for their decision to support the wrong side.

But to go to war again, a war which could drag on endlessly, for Philip was a wily adversary and Constance he knew would find many to rally to Arthur’s cause, did not appeal.

He agreed to leave the conquest of Anjou for the future.

He would sail for England and his coronation.

The day after he arrived in London John was crowned. That was on the 26^th May. The Abbey had been hung with coloured cloth. Sixteen prelates, ten earls and a host of barons graced the ceremony with their presence; as was the custom at a coronation the Archbishop of Canterbury presided. The Bishop of York protested that the ceremony should not take place until the Archbishop of York was able to be present; but as he was not on the spot it was decided to offend him if need be by continuing without him.

The Archbishop addressed the gathering in an unexpected fashion which appeared to be a justification of the selection of John and exclusion of Arthur.

‘The crown is not the property of any one person,’ he announced. ‘It is the gift of the nation which chooses who shall wear it. This is by custom usually a member of the reigning family, and a prince who is most worthy of wearing it. Prince John is the brother of our dead King Richard – the only surviving brother, and if he will swear the oaths which this high office demands, this country will accept him as its king.’

John gave assurance that he was ready to swear any oaths which would put the crown on his head.

‘Will you swear to uphold the peace of this land,’ asked the Archbishop, ‘to govern with mercy and justice, to renounce evil customs and be guided by the laws of that great King known as Edward the Confessor, these laws having proved beneficial to the nation?’

‘I swear,’ said John.

The Archbishop warned John against attempting to evade his responsibilities and reminded him of the sacred nature of his oath.

So John was crowned King of England but he refused to receive Holy Communion after the ceremony of crowning which was a custom of the coronation and was looked upon as sealing the oaths a king had just taken.

There was much feasting after they had left the Abbey and John and all the guests had to do justice to the twenty-one oxen which had been roasted for the occasion.

The next day he received the homage of the barons.

He was now truly King of England and Duke of Normandy.