The Prince of Darkness (41 page)

The man trembled. Fearful punishment awaited him. He would doubtless be hanged on a gibbet. It might be his hands would be cut off. But perhaps that was too mild a punishment for murder. He hoped it would be the tree, for to have his eyes put out was worse than death. ‘Who was the man the rogue murdered?’ asked John.

‘A priest, my lord.’

The King burst out laughing. ‘Untie his hands,’ he said. They obeyed. ‘Come here,’ ordered the King.

The man stood before him, raising fearful eyes to the King’s face.

‘Go on your way,’ said the King. ‘You are a free man. You have killed one of my enemies.’

The man bowed low and cried: ‘God’s blessings on you, my lord King.’

And he ran off as fast as he could.

The crowd fell back in astonishment; there was a murmur of disapproval.

‘What’s this? What’s this?’ cried the King. ‘If any has anything to say let him speak.’

None dared reply. They knew tongues could be torn out for raising a word against the King.

People talked of the incident. A murderer had gone free, pardoned by the King, because his victim was a priest.

The family of Braose had fallen out of favour with the King since those days when William de Braose had been the custodian of Falaise and had been in charge of Arthur before Hubert de Burgh took over that duty. William, a man of great spirit with a tradition of power behind him, had always defended his rights, and rulers had realised that his was not a family to be neglected. When a Braose had been killed by the Welsh, it was William who had invited a party of Welshmen to his castle as guests, and after they had partaken of his hospitality he, with members of his family, killed them all as a lesson to any who might feel inclined to become their enemies.

He had been in the King’s company at Rouen soon after the death of Arthur and he had a very shrewd notion as to what had happened to the young Duke of Brittany. So had his wife Matilda. She was a strong-minded woman; in fact it was said that there was only one person in the world of whom William de Braose was afraid. Although they were aware that there had been gruesome events at Rouen they could not be sure of how the murder had been carried out; and fierce as Matilda was, her maternal instincts were strong and when she and William had been in charge of Arthur in Falaise Castle she had grown quite fond of the boy.

She declared: ‘I have disliked and distrusted John ever since Arthur disappeared.’

No matter how earnestly William might warn her to guard her tongue, Matilda would speak when she wished and the thought of that boy’s death – perhaps in horrible circumstances – could rouse her to anger.

When a quarrel broke out between her family and the King she was not altogether displeased. She was not a woman to disguise her feelings and secretly – although she knew it was
dangerous – she preferred to be on terms of hostility with John rather than those of friendship. At least she could be honest and, forthright woman that she was, that pleased her.

When John had levied taxes on his barons, William had objected and failed to pay and towards the end of the year 1207 John expressed his annoyance that William owed him certain monies and demanded that William surrender his castles of Hay, Brecknock and Radnor as pledges for his debts.

There was another matter which angered John. The Braoses’ youngest son Giles was Bishop of Hereford and when John was excommunicated Giles had left England with other bishops, indicating his objection to accepting John’s rule and his desire to be on the side of the Pope.

John’s reaction to this was to rage against the whole family. He could not trust them any more. William de Braose had once been a very powerful man, and John was determined to curtail that power; the fact that he had been obliged to give up three of his castles would be a great blow to him and John chuckled to think of how resentful he would be.

‘I don’t trust these Braoses,’ he said. ‘I am determined to show them who is the master.’

They should send hostages without delay, for only when he had some members of the family in his charge would he feel he held some power over them. Matilda de Braose guessed that something of this nature could come about. She discussed the matter with her husband and demanded to know what he thought would become of their grandsons if they were put into the King’s charge as hostages.

‘He will be in duty bound to treat them with honour,’ said William.

‘When did this King ever feel in
duty
bound?’

‘Nevertheless, we shall have no alternative.’

Matilda cried out so that several servants heard: ‘I will never allow any son or grandson of mine to go as hostage to the King … and I have my reasons … very good ones.’

‘You speak with indiscretion,’ said her husband in alarm.

‘Sometimes it is well for certain matters to be given an airing,’ she retorted.

Again he implored her to be discreet, but Matilda was one who would always speak her mind.

In due course the messengers from the King arrived at the castle and asked to have speech with Sir William and his lady. They explained that the King was not pleased with the manner in which they were behaving and he needed two of their grandsons to leave at once in the charge of the messengers. The boys were to come to him where they would be treated as became their rank; and their presence would ensure the good behaviour of the family.

Before her husband could stop her Matilda cried: ‘Do you think I would deliver my grandsons to your master? I would never do such a thing. Give up my boys to a man who murdered his own nephew!’

There was a brief silence. The eyes of everyone present were on Matilda. She held her head defiantly and looking at her husband cried: ‘It’s true. We know it. Others know it too. In time the whole world will know it. And I will not put my grandchildren into the hands of such a murderer.’

Sir William tried to silence her. He laid his hand on her arm and said: ‘Pray do not speak thus against the King. If I have offended him I will make good my errors without the surrender of hostages.’

‘The King’s orders are that you give your grandsons into our hands.’

‘Never!’ cried Matilda stoutly. ‘I will never give them to him. You may go and tell him that.’

The messengers left. Sir William looked after them, shaking his head dolefully.

‘You should never have spoken so freely,’ he said.

‘I will not give up my grandchildren to that murderer,’ reiterated his wife.

When the messengers returned to the King he demanded to know where the Braose hostages were. The messengers replied that Lady de Braose had refused to give them up. ‘So she deliberately disobeyed me,’ cried John.

‘She said, my lord, that she would not hand her children to one who had murdered his nephew.’

John turned pale; a horrible sick foreboding touched him.

The ghost of Arthur had returned after all this time to mock him. For a few moments he could find nothing to say. Then the rage swept over him; he spluttered: ‘By God’s hands and feet. By God’s ears and mouth … they shall pay for this and in particular you, my Lady Matilda.’

He shut himself into his chamber; he threw himself on to the floor. He wanted to bang his head against the wall, but he refrained from doing this. In the shadows he seemed to see a slim boy smiling at him. He thought of those lifeless eyes when they had lifted the body to throw it into the Seine.

Oh yes, Arthur had indeed come back to haunt him.

He was worried now. Matilda de Braose had reawakened the rumour. Now they would be talking of it throughout the country; it would spread to the Continent. Philip would take it up. Philip had never really let it drop, but Philip was far away
and people in England had not been particularly interested in the young Duke of Brittany. But now they would be talking. He had lost Normandy; an interdict had been placed on England and Wales; he was excommunicated; and now if this ugly spectre arose they would hold something else against him. It was just what his enemies needed.

A thousand curses on Matilda de Braose. She should suffer for this; and if she were spreading rumours about Arthur it was time she was removed.

Realising that the messengers would have repeated Matilda’s words to John, William guessed what action John would take and that there was only one way open to him. John would try to destroy them, so they might as well make an attempt to hold what was left to them. With his sons he decided to try to recover those castles which he had pledged to John until he had settled his debts; but John had suspected he would try this; he therefore declared that he was a traitor and that the same name would apply to any who assisted him.

The result was that William found it necessary to retreat to his Welsh estates, but when it became clear that John was determined to harry him, he and his family left for Ireland.

One of his daughters had married Walter Lacy, Lord of Meath, the eldest son of Hugh Lacy, one of the conquerors of Ireland. He had now and then been at odds with John but was at this time on fairly good terms with him.

In Ireland William felt comparatively safe but he was apprehensive about the fate of his possessions in England and Wales. When John knew that he had gone, he demanded his extradition. The Lacys promised to send him back but day after day passed and still William and his family remained in Ireland.

But John could not forget the threats behind Matilda’s words. The family hated him; they were his greatest enemies; and Matilda had openly accused him of murdering Arthur. He could not feel at ease until he had rid himself of that loud-voiced woman. He enjoyed promising himself what he would do to her when he had her in his power. She must not know how she had disturbed him; there was nothing she could have said which would have caused him more uneasiness. Over the years he had forgotten Arthur; people seemed to have taken it for granted that he had disappeared and accepted it as a mystery. Now she had to shout forth her malice. By God’s teeth, if he could but lay hands on her!

And they were in Ireland. It was time the power of the Lacys was broken there. He had to be watchful, though. Sometimes he felt that his barons were banding together against him. No man in his kingdom should have so much power. Why should these Lacys behave as though they were kings of Ireland? How dared they shelter a rebel when he had demanded he be delivered to him?

He would go to Ireland. He would take the power the Lacys had assumed; he would show the people who was their rightful ruler; he would establish the supremacy of the crown over there; and he would bring back the Braoses. He would not rest until he had made that woman his prisoner.

When William de Braose heard that the King had arrived in Ireland he was greatly disturbed.

‘God help us,’ he said to Matilda, ‘if we fall into his hands.’

‘We must see that we do not,’ she replied firmly.

John, however, had come with a powerful army behind him and the Irish chiefs flocked to Dublin to pay homage to him; he had no difficulty in seizing much of the land which the Lacys
had considered theirs; he deposed them and set up his old friend John de Grey in their place. He had failed to make him Archbishop of Canterbury but at least he could show his appreciation of him in some way.

If there was one thing John enjoyed it was easy triumph and he had achieved what he wanted with the utmost ease. He could not stay of course. He must return to England; that was why he sent for John de Grey.

‘I do not wish you to stay here,’ he said. ‘Just long enough to let the people see that this is the end of the Lacys’ rule. It cannot be long before the Braoses are in our power and when you have them, I want you to bring them to me in England. I have plans for this arrogant family.’

He could trust John de Grey, who had always been a good friend and now had the added reason for being loyal to John – the promise of the Archbishopric of Canterbury when the controversy with the Pope should be over.

John was a little too optimistic. Matilda was not the woman to submit easily. It was known that she was in residence at Meath Castle and John’s men besieged that castle, their purpose being to capture her. She was too wily for them, for she had already left the castle and crossed to Scotland.