The Prince of Darkness (33 page)

It was past midnight when Arthur’s body was thrown from the window. They tied a stone about his neck and carried him to a boat which they rowed along the river towards the sea. They threw the body overboard and then came back to the castle.

The next morning a jewelled button which was known to belong to Arthur was found on the stones beneath his window. There were some traces of blood there – the mute had removed all those in the room where the murder had taken place.

It was said: ‘Arthur has escaped. He must have lowered himself from the window; and he hurt himself in falling, hence the blood.’

It was expected that soon there would be triumphant news from Brittany that their Duke was with them. But none came.

Two fishermen out in their boat one night were amazed to haul in a heavy load and to their horror they saw what they brought in was the body of a young man with a stone securely tied about his neck.

Uncertain of what to do they rowed for the shore, left the body in their boat and went at once to the lord of the nearby castle. When he heard what they had to tell him he went with them to the boat and examining the features of the dead boy he had a suspicion as to who he was and when he noticed the jewelled buttons on his garments he guessed.

Arthur had been at the castle of Rouen. There were already rumours in circulation that he had disappeared. There could be no doubt who this was.

‘Say nothing of this,’ said the lord of the castle, ‘on pain of your lives, keep silent.’

The frightened fishermen were only too eager to promise to do so.

Everyone knew that to talk of this could cost them their tongues.

Very secretly the body of Arthur was buried in the church of Notre Dame des Prés close by Rouen but there was no indication of the identity of the corpse. None wished it to be known by King John that they had had any hand in the disposal of the body. Their safety lay in secrecy, for who could know
what unpredictable turn the King’s anger might take.

Thus Arthur was buried but it was hardly likely that he could be so easily forgotten.

‘Where is Arthur?’ the Bretons were asking the question and the King of France joined his voice to theirs. They wanted to know why King John’s nephew had suddenly disappeared.

Chapter XI

D
isaster was threatening from all sides and John was haunted by memories of Arthur. Not that he suffered remorse because of what he had done, but fear was there. If it were ever known that he had murdered Arthur with his own hands he would be discredited throughout the world and there were so many waiting to take advantage of him.

He rejoined Isabella and plunged into such a life of voluptuous pleasure as even he and she had not experienced before. He would stay in bed, refuse to see messengers, always fearful what news they would bring. His generals and his ministers were dismayed. They didn’t understand this man who at one time was eager to take everything and at another behaved in the manner best calculated to lose it.

Philip was the first to take advantage of such a situation. Arthur had died on Maundy Thursday; two weeks later Philip had taken Saumur. He was joined by Hugh de Lusignan and the Breton army. The whispers about Arthur’s whereabouts were now becoming angry demands.

William the Marshal came to John and begged him to bestir himself.

‘Philip is undermining us at all strategic points,’ he pointed out.

‘I am in no mood to go to war yet,’ replied John.

‘Philip is in just that mood,’ retorted the Marshal grimly.

‘Leave be. Leave be,’ growled John. ‘Send a deputation to Philip and ask if he is prepared to make a truce.’

‘My lord, why should he? He has his army on the march. He is joined by allies. Why should he consent to make a truce merely to suit your convenience?’

‘Go and ask him,’ cried John, and because the Marshal could see the signs of temper rising he could do nothing but take his leave and carry out the King’s orders.

As he had known Philip laughed them to scorn. If John could humiliate himself so utterly as to beg for a truce now he must be in a sorry state, and the result of that foolish strategy was to set Philip planning more intensive invasions into John’s territory.

Those barons who had no love for John, although they had sworn allegiance to him as their suzerain, wavered in their loyalty. What was the use of a weak king who lay in bed with his wife half the day when the mighty king of France was marching on their castles? Philip captured many; and some surrendered, glad to change their allegiance.

William the Marshal presented himself once more.

‘My lord, my lord, I beg of you, give consideration to what is happening. The King of France has taken your seneschals. Do you know that there are those who will not surrender to France?’

‘’Tis to be hoped it is so,’ said John. ‘Have they not sworn allegiance to me?’

‘For their loyalty many of them have been tied to their horses’ tails and dragged to prison.’

‘I am glad they are good and loyal men.’

‘They are the prisoners of the King of France, my lord. Does that not move you to action? Philip is making himself master of your lands, your goods. He is taking your inheritance bit by bit.

John laughed unpleasantly. ‘Do not excite yourself so, Marshal,’ he said. ‘Let the King of France enjoy himself. I shall win back every castle, every acre of land which he has taken from me.’

‘When shall you start, my lord?’ demanded William Marshal. ‘When you have lost the whole of Normandy?’

The Marshal strode out and left the King.

John hesitated a moment before shouting after him: ‘Come back, you insolent dog.’

But William Marshal pretended not to hear and John knew that there was a man he had to keep working for him. In that moment he felt a twinge of fear. He was losing his grip, he knew. And here he was in Falaise of all places – the castle most associated with his mighty ancestor. Was William watching from the shades now? Was Arthur with him? What would the Conqueror think of Arthur’s murder? One thing, thought John cynically, he would not condemn the murder of Arthur so much as he would the loss of the Norman castles.

He must bestir himself. He thought of the Pope. Philip had not been on good terms with Rome since his defiance over Ingeburga of Denmark whom he had married and put from him. In her place he had taken as his queen the Austrian Princess Agnes of Meran. The Pope had protested and Philip had said some harsh things about Rome, which would not be readily forgotten.

If Innocent would intervene in his favour John might be able to bring about a truce. John therefore complained to the
Pope that Philip was making war on him most unjustly and he begged the Pope to help him keep the peace.

This was always a good way of bringing hostilities to at least a temporary halt; for there would be deputations from Rome to be met and discussions to ensure. John thought this would give him an opportunity to remain living as he wished to do without his generals and men such as the Marshal getting excited about Philip’s aggression.

Philip, however, was too clever to be duped in this way. Whatever the Pope said he was going on with his war. It was true, as John had predicted, that he had offended the papal embassy by telling them he had no intention of taking orders from Rome and that his attitude towards a vassal of his – as John, Duke of Normandy was – was his affair.

John saw that prevarication from Rome could avail him nothing because Philip was going to ignore it completely. It was inevitable therefore that he bestir himself.

But he was too late. Philip had already turned his attention to that bulwark of Norman strength, the great Château built by Cœur de Lion, the Château Gaillard, which if it fell would open up the way to Rouen and the whole of Normandy for Philip and thus enable him to congratulate himself that he was on the road to fulfilling his great ambition – to make France as great as it had been in the days of Charlemagne.

It had come at last. The French were besieging Château Gaillard, the last bastion of the dukes of Normandy. How long could it hold out? wondered John. He was in the castle at Rouen, the scene of Arthur’s murder. He had no wish to go to that castle but it was all that was left to him.

He knew that his generals and advisers, men such as William Marshal, were disgusted with him. Only loyalty held them to him. How Hugh de Lusignan must be exulting now. How the Bretons must be rejoicing. Did they hope to discover their Duke and set the ducal coronet of Normandy on his brow? John laughed. Arthur would not look well in that.

Château Gaillard, Richard’s pride and joy, the castle which had proclaimed the dukes of Normandy masters of the land – about to fall to the French.

They were blaming him, he knew. They were whispering together of how he had lain abed with his wife while his castles were falling one after another to the King of France.

‘Let them,’ he cried aloud. ‘I’ll win them all back.’

But he knew in his heart that he couldn’t. Sometimes he had fantasies that were like nightmares that all the past dukes of Normandy congregated about his bed: Rollo, William Longsword, Richard the Fearless, the Conqueror himself, the most forbidding of them all; even Rufus, who would have nothing much to boast of, Henry I the lawyer king, Stephen, who was not much either, although he was a great soldier, soft in battle though for different reasons from John; and his own father, Henry II. How angry he would be. And Richard … well, Richard, what did you care for your lands when you left everything to go off on the Crusades?

It is going fast, he muttered. Normandy is going. Well, I still have Anjou, Poitou and England of course. I am still King of England.

He wished he were in England, away from it all. He would go soon. He would have to when Gaillard fell, and Gaillard was going to fall. How could they hold out against the besiegers much longer?

William Marshal came to him, sick with grief, and sorrowful.

‘My lord, this is a sad day for Normandy.’

‘Cannot they hold out at Gaillard?’

William Marshal shook his head. ‘Philip surrounds the place. There is no way of breaking through. Everything has been left too late.’

‘Cheer up, Marshal. I have good friends and all that is lost will be regained.’