The Prince of Darkness (2 page)

Smiling at Isabella William said: ‘I was back in the past, thinking of the time when Richard came to the throne.’

She looked at him gravely. ‘You thought then, William, that your hopes of rising in the world were ended for ever.’

He nodded. ‘And that death and imprisonment would be my lot.’

He lapsed into silence, thinking of that time when Richard was his enemy because he was making war on his father Henry II, whose staunch henchman he, William, was at that time, and how he had come face to face with a defenceless Richard and could have killed him. He had had no wish to do that, but he had satisfied himself by calling him traitor and killing his horse from under him. And soon afterwards Henry had died and Richard was the King.

He mused: ‘I shall never forget it, Isabella.’

‘I know. You have told me many times how you waited for him to order you to a dungeon and how instead he told you that he could trust one who had served his father well to serve him.’

‘I was determined he should never regret that decision,’ said William.

‘Nor has he. He could never have had a more faithful knight and full well he knows it.’

‘He has been good to us, Isabella. He is generous to his friends. Open, honest, forthright … a man after my own heart. I knew he meant our family well when he commanded me to carry the gold sceptre at his coronation and my brother John the spurs, and how right I was!’

‘And he allowed us to marry.’

‘The most important benefit of all,’ he answered.

‘Well, you have served him well ever since. I wonder when we shall be hearing of the birth of an heir.’

‘He has not long returned to Berengaria. But he knows his duty and that the dissatisfaction his subjects feel will end when he gives the country an heir. He is young and vigorous still.’

‘But they have been married so long.’

‘But parted.’

‘It seems to have been a strange marriage.’

‘It was certain to be. The King loves battle better than women.’

‘It seems unnatural that a man cannot want sons.’

He smiled at her fondly. She was proud of hers. He did not want to say that Richard preferred the company of his own sex to that of women and it was only his meeting with a hermit in a forest, when he was hunting and temporarily alone, who had so harangued him about the life he led and prophesied disaster, that had made him consider reforming his ways; and when shortly afterwards he had been laid low with a fever which threatened to end his life he had decided to return to Berengaria and do his duty by his country.

It was late, thought William. But better late than never. Richard was a man of immense strength and apart from the fever which periodically attacked him he was very healthy. If he could produce a son or two and live until they had reached maturity, that would be good for England.

‘I doubt not,’ he answered his wife, ‘that when his son is born he will be as delighted with him as any father would be … and more so, considering the importance to the realm. I trust that soon he will be sending me news that the Queen is expecting.’

‘Poor Berengaria. Hers has not been a very happy life, I fear.’

‘Such is the fate of queens, my dear.’

She sighed. ‘I dare swear one should be grateful that one was not born royal.’

It was pleasant to have her so satisfied with her lot. She never referred to the riches and title she had brought him for she considered herself the most fortunate of women and he hoped she would long continue to do so.

As they sat talking together there was a sudden clatter of horse’s hoofs in the courtyard. William stood up hastily.

‘Who can it be?’ he wondered.

Isabella was at the window.

‘It looks like a messenger.’ She turned to him, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘I wonder if it is … It seems so odd. We were but talking of it a few minutes ago.’

‘Come,’ said William, ‘we will go and see.’

They hurried down to the courtyard but one look at the face of the messenger was enough to tell William that the news he brought was not good.

He had dismounted and a groom had taken his horse. William cried: ‘What news?’

‘Ill news, my lord.’

‘Tell me. Let me know the worst.’

‘The King has been wounded … mortally, some say.’

‘It is not possible. In what action?’

‘At Chaluz against Odamar of Limoges and Achard of Chaluz.’

‘This makes no sense to me.’

‘My lord, you were unaware that treasure was found on the land of Achard of Chaluz. News reached the King that gold figures had been discovered by a ploughman and claiming that as the suzerain this belonged by right to him he went forth to demand the treasure be given up. Achard declared that what
had been found was nothing but a pot of old coins but the King did not believe him and attacked the castle. During the attack an arrow went into the King’s shoulder.’

‘This is impossible,’ cried William. ‘A foolish quarrel over a pot of coins.’

‘’Tis so, my lord. The King sent for me. He is mortally ill and in great anguish. He has tried to pull the arrow from his shoulder but in doing so has broken it and it remains imbedded in his flesh and is mortifying. He has sent me to you commanding that you go at once to Chinon and there take charge of the royal treasure.’

‘He will recover,’ said William. ‘He
must
recover.’

The messenger shook his head. ‘I saw his face, my lord. There was death there.’

‘Come in and refresh yourself,’ said William. ‘You will be weary from your journey. I must to Chinon with all speed.’

Isabella came out and seeing her husband’s face asked what ill news he had received.

William told her. She was bewildered. ‘What will this mean?’ she asked.

‘He has faced death many times. Always he has recovered. We must hope.’

While William Marshal was preparing to leave for Chinon yet another messenger came to Vaudreuil. This one brought the news that Richard Cœur de Lion had died of the wound he had received from an arrow shot by Bertrand de Gourdon, a nobleman of Quercy who bore a grudge against him and who since had declared that he was ready to suffer the greatest torments if need be, for he would die happy having seen Richard on his death-bed.

So the King was dead. What was to follow?

Arriving at Chinon, and assuring himself that the royal treasure was well guarded, William asked Hubert Walter, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who was by good fortune in Normandy at the time, to come to him at once. Realising the gravity of the situation Hubert lost no time in complying with this request.

William embraced the Archbishop and took him to a private chamber where they could talk together without being overheard.

‘What think you of the news?’ asked William.

The Archbishop shook his head gravely.

‘It could be disastrous.’

‘Everything hangs on the next few months.’

‘If he had but lived with his wife; if he had produced sons …’

‘Any son they had had would as yet be a minor.’

‘That would not have disturbed me. He could have been tutored and there would have been a king.’

‘There is a king now,’ said William.

‘Who? John or Arthur?’

‘It must be John,’ insisted William.

‘Nay, my friend, the true heir to the throne is Prince Arthur.’

‘In the direct line of succession maybe, but I for one could never support Arthur’s claim.’

‘You mean you will give your allegiance to John!’

‘I deplore that it is necessary, but I see no other way.’

‘My good friend, Arthur is the son of Geoffrey and Geoffrey was older than John. Therefore according to the law of succession Arthur is the true heir.’

‘The selection of kings does not necessarily depend on direct succession. Suitability must be considered and Arthur is a child.’

‘But John is dissolute and unfit for the crown.’

‘The English would never accept Arthur.’

‘They would accept the fact that he is the true heir to the throne because that is what he is.’

‘Nay, Archbishop. Henry II named John as his heir – even to come before Richard.’

‘That was wrong. Richard was the elder brother and more fitted to reign. The people would never have accepted John while Richard lived.’

‘That I agree with and Richard had no intention of standing aside for his younger brother. Henry realised this in his last moments, when John’s true nature was revealed, and would have approved of what was done. But now Richard is dead and the natural heir is John.’

‘You are wrong, Marshal. Arthur is the true heir.’

‘A boy who has never been to England, who speaks no English, brought up in foreign courts! The English will never accept him. Moreover, John would be determined to take the crown, and there would be continual strife. Many would be behind John. They are prepared for him to follow his brother. He has lived in England. He is English. They will not take a foreigner and little more than a child at that. Arthur I have heard is haughty and proud and has no love for the English. Prince John is the one who is nearest to his father and his brother Richard. John should follow him.’

‘Marshal, is this really your wish?’

‘It is, my lord, for it seems but good sense to me. A son has a closer claim to his father’s inheritance than his grandson can have. It is right that John should take the crown.’

‘There will be conflict over this. Arthur will have his supporters and John will have his.’

‘I consider it right and in the interests of the country that John should be offered the crown,’ said the Marshal stubbornly.

The Archbishop inclined his head. ‘So shall it be. But know this, Marshal, and remember what I say, for the day will come when you will question your decision. I promise you that nothing you ever did have you so much cause to repent of as you will have of this.’

‘If you are right,’ answered William judiciously, ‘and it may be that you will be proved right, still I know this should be and that I am but following the will of my masters – King Henry II and Richard the Lion-Hearted – in proclaiming Prince John King of England.’

‘So be it,’ said the Archbishop but he continued to shake his head sorrowfully.

In spite of his firm assurances that he had done the right thing, William Marshal was very uneasy; after all, if there was such sturdy disagreement between two men who wished the crown and the country the greatest good fortune – which it would assuredly need – how was it possible to expect the people to be of one mind?

Of one thing all could be certain. With two such claimants to the throne there would be trouble.

Oh, why had Richard to die at such a time – and all for a few coins in a pot!

Joanna, the King’s sister, was on her way to Normandy. She had determined to make the journey before her pregnancy
prevented her. She and her husband, Raymond of Toulouse, needed help and she believed that Richard could and would come to their aid; he had been a kindly and generous brother to her, except on one occasion when he had planned to marry her to the Saracen Malek Adel in order to further his treaty with Saladin, but she had always believed that he had never been very serious about that. Indeed when she had indignantly refused he had made no effort to coerce her and the event had not interfered with the devotion between them.

Richard had been a hero to her when as a young girl she had travelled out to Sicily to be married to the king of that island and Richard had conducted her across Aquitaine. Later she had joined him in Sicily when the island had been seized by Tancred; she had become companion duenna to his wife Berengaria before her marriage to Richard and afterwards had been Berengaria’s constant companion until she herself had married Raymond of Toulouse.

She had often thought of Berengaria with pity, and wondered how she was faring. She knew a great deal about the married life of the Queen of England for she had been with her during the first years of her marriage to Richard. He had never been actively unkind to her; he had merely behaved as though she did not exist. Perhaps it would have been more comforting to have lived a stormy life with him; dislike would have been easier to bear than indifference. How embarrassing it had been – for both she and Berengaria knew that he was constantly seeking excuses to avoid her.