The Prince of Darkness (30 page)

‘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.