The Prince of Darkness (6 page)

‘I doubt you are not the only one who prays for that happy event. Nay, my love, do not fret, Arthur is with his friends and they will watch over him. This is for John a light diversion. One of his greatest delights is to frighten people and that is what he hopes to do now.’

‘A thousand curses on him.’

‘Amen,’ said Guy.

How pleasant it was in the forest. The boy’s face was alight with his love of the chase. John noted the clearness of his eyes and the freshness of his skin. He was too healthy to please his uncle.

A boy … nothing more. Twelve years old and to stand so much in his way! The people of England would never accept him, but over here they would. Normandy, Anjou … oh yes, they would be ready enough. And the King of France would doubtless like to see a minor on the throne of England and if he threw in his lot with Arthur …

When he thought of that his temper started to rise and he must keep it in check to a certain extent. Moreover, it hadn’t happened yet. Richard still lived.

They gave chase to a fine buck. Hunting was exciting; he loved the way in which the frightened animal fled; he liked the killing not to be accomplished too quickly. That took the fun out of hunting.

There was no chance on this occasion to get Arthur alone; no sooner had he eluded one than another rider seemed to appear. Madame Constance had given her orders. ‘Never leave Arthur out of sight when he is with his uncle John.’

He laughed aloud. He guessed Constance was now in a
fever of anxiety and so would she remain until they returned to the castle. They would dally just to keep her in suspense.

The buck was slain; the bearer would take it to the castle.

Arthur shouted: ‘We go back now. I have had enough.’

You have had enough, my little nephew? thought John. What of your uncle?

John said: ‘’Tis such a pleasant day. Who knows, there may be another buck finer than the one we have captured lurking near.’

‘Nay,’ said Arthur. ‘My mother cares not for me to be away too long.’

‘Oh, but on this occasion she knows you are in the care of good Uncle John.’

Arthur was too young to dissemble. He opened his blue eyes very wide and began: ‘Oh, but …’ He stopped.

‘Yes, nephew?’ said John coaxingly.

‘’Tis nothing,’ replied Arthur. ‘I have had enough of the chase, though. I wish to see my mother’s delight when she sees the buck.’

‘We will not go yet,’ said John. ‘Such a fine young fellow has no wish to be governed by women.’

John spurred his horse and started to ride away, certain that Arthur after such a gibe would follow. Arthur shouted after him: ‘This is not women. It is my mother,’ and galloped off in another direction.

‘Curse him,’ muttered John. ‘The young coxcomb. I’d like to whip him till the blood flowed.’

But there was nothing he could do. His own followers, knowing well from past experience that Arthur’s departure would mean that the Angevin temper was on the rise, were aware how wise it was not to be too near their master. A cut of
the whip could leave a life-long scar as a reminder of an ill-chosen word or action.

John rode off, his men a little distance from him, muttering curses against Arthur, the boy, the chit, who might easily stand between him and his ambitions.

It was dusk when he returned to the castle. He was in an ill mood. The groom hurried to attend to him and as he came from the stables he saw a man standing in the shadows. He paused. The man appeared to be a beggar and one of the contradictory characteristics of the violent Plantagenet Prince was that he was noted for his goodness to beggars. He rarely passed one without giving a coin which was strange for, although he spent lavishly on himself, he was known to be parsimonious with others. But a coin or so to a beggar was little compared with the gratitude it produced and he enjoyed distributing largesse to these people and earning their thanks. It was a cheap way of winning approval and one he rarely resisted.

So even now, in his evil mood, he paused to find a coin for the beggar.

‘My lord,’ said the man, ‘I am no beggar. I come in this guise with great news for you.’

‘News!’ whispered John. ‘What news?’

‘The King of England is dead.’

‘
No
.’

‘’Tis so, my lord.’

John seized the man’s arm. ‘How could it be?’

‘It was at Chaluz. It was said that treasure had been found and Richard wanted it.’

‘He would,’ said John. ‘Go on, man.’

‘In the seige an arrow pierced his shoulder. It could not be withdrawn and festered. He is dead. Long live King John.’

‘You’ll be rewarded,’ said John.

‘May God preserve you, my lord. I have come in stealth that you might know what has happened. Soon the news will be abroad … here … in this castle … everywhere.’

‘And what would happen to me here?’ asked John. ‘Because if they knew at this moment they would be for putting Arthur on the throne.’

‘I thought, my lord, you would wish to leave in all haste for Chinon.’

‘For Chinon and the royal treasure,’ cried John.

In the castle Arthur was telling his mother of the fine buck they had brought in, and the smell of roasting meat was in the air. But when the company assembled in the great hall it was discovered that Prince John and his followers were not present.

‘Can they have gone at last?’ cried Constance, her voice joyful.

‘It would seem so,’ said Guy, ‘but I wonder for what reason.’

They were to discover that the next day.

Richard dead. Then Arthur must be Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou and King of England.

But by that time John had reached Chinon and possessed himself of the royal treasure.

Chapter III

W
hat 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.