The Prince of Darkness (8 page)

There was one point which shocked Hugh profoundly, when during the offertory John approached jingling some gold coins in his hand and did not put these into the dish which was there to receive them but stood for a while looking down at them.

Hugh said sharply, ‘Why do you stand there staring at the coins?’

John looked at him slyly. ‘I was thinking that a little while ago I would never have put them into your hands. They would be in my pocket. I suppose now I must give them to you.’

Hugh was scarlet with indignation.

‘Put them in the basin and go,’ he said shortly.

John hesitated for a moment and then did as he was bid, putting the coins in one by one as though with the greatest reluctance.

The Bishop was angry and deeply disturbed that a future monarch could behave so in God’s holy house! It did not augur well for the future, and he was indignant as he went to his pulpit and prepared to deliver his sermon. John was seated immediately below and with him were a few of his dissolute friends.

Was is possible, wondered Hugh, to make this young man understand that unless he behaved like a king he could never be a successful one? He would do his duty and try to sow a few ideas which might bear fruit.

He had prepared a sermon which he would preach before John and he had meant its bearing to be on the duty of rulers to their people. He enlarged on the subject, stressing the disaster that could come through careless and wanton behaviour. A king must be high-minded and must put the good of his country before his own pleasures. He could not stress this enough.

He was aware of the murmurings and nudgings that were going on in that pew but ignored them and the more they persisted the more he had to say about the duties of a king to his subjects.

‘A king must never forget that he serves his people under God …’

There was a giggle from John’s pew and, when one of the young men quietly slipped out, Hugh was astonished to find that he was making his way round to the back of the pulpit.

‘My lord Bishop,’ said the young man in an audible whisper, ‘the King says, will you bring your sermon to an immediate end? He is weary of it and wants his dinner.’

Hugh, colour heightened, continued to preach while the young man went back to his seat.

Oh God, thought Hugh, what will become of us!

The service over, Hugh left the church. He would take his leave tomorrow. There was no point in staying with the King. He would go back to England and consult with the Archbishop of Canterbury and tell them that he had indeed been right when he had suggested Arthur would be a more suitable king.

The next day the Bishop of Lincoln said farewell to John.

John, his friends still round him, cried: ‘This is a sad leave-taking, Bishop. I shall always remember your sermon to me on my accession.’

The young men tittered and John could scarcely contain his laughter.

‘Then,’ said the Bishop with dignity, ‘perhaps it has not been in vain.’

The Bishop with his entourage rode off and John entered the castle, there to enjoy the venison which was being prepared for him. Over the table he talked with his friends of the good sport they would have. They should see what it was like to be the faithful friends of a king.

But while they feasted, messengers came to the castle. It was clear by their looks that they brought ill news. They were taken immediately to John who fell into a rage when he heard it.

Philip was on the march; he was backing Arthur and the Bretons, and Constance, with her son Arthur and her lover Guy Thouars, was leading an army against him. Moreover, no
one had put up any resistance. Cities had surrendered; custodians of castles had declared themselves in favour of Arthur; and with the backing of the King of France the situation was perilous. Evreux was in Philip’s hands and he was already in Maine. Moreover, barons in such key places as Touraine and Anjou were swearing fealty to Arthur.

‘What can I do?’ cried John. ‘What forces have I here?’

He must get to Normandy. He rose from the table, gave orders to make ready and in a short time was riding for Le Mans, as yet not in his enemy’s hands.

He was surprised by his lack of welcome. The people did not want him. His reputation was well known to them. There was a young boy whose father came before John in direct succession and he was the one whom they wanted. Moreover, the King of France was backing Arthur. They did not want John.

It was an uneasy night John passed in Le Mans and as soon as dawn broke he was ready to get out of the place because he knew how dangerous it would be to stay. Philip was not far off, and the people were hostile. To become Philip’s captive before he had been crowned a king would be disastrous.

Arthur, he had heard, had done homage to the King of France for Anjou, Maine and Touraine. The impudence! These were his dominions. Normandy was safe. Normandy had been the proud possession of his ancestors since the days of Rollo.

Its people would be true to him.

He must go with all speed to Rouen.

How different it was in Rouen. The people there wanted him. As he rode into the town they came to cheer him. These were
his faithful subjects. Here in this city the brave heart of Richard was buried. Close by was the great Château Gaillard – Richard’s Saucy Castle. This was the territory of the great dukes who for many years had reigned there in defiance of the Franks. Every King of France wanted to take Normandy from the Normans and every Norman duke swore they never should. This was the land of William Longsword, Richard the Fearless and William the Mighty Conqueror. The people of Normandy would never support those who were upheld by the French.

The Archbishop of Rouen, Walter – he had the same name as the Archbishop of Canterbury – came at once to welcome John.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘it is necessary that you be proclaimed Duke of Normandy without delay. The people are with you. The last thing they will tolerate is the rule of a Breton, particularly when he is, as many believe, the tool of the King of France. Here you are indeed welcome and it is the universal wish that the ceremony take place without delay.’

John was quite ready to go through the ceremony at the earliest possible moment. The fact that Constance and her friends, including the King of France, were on the march had sobered him. He told the Archbishop with a seriousness rare to him that he placed himself in his hands, at which the Archbishop blessed him and announced that the ceremony would take place on Low Sunday which was the 25
^th
April – nineteen days after Richard’s death.

John, in the cathedral, the coronet decorated with golden roses placed on his head, swore on the Gospels and relics of the saints that he would uphold the rights of the Church, that his laws would be just and he would suppress evil.

The Archbishop then attached the sword of justice to his girdle and took up the lance which had always been used by the Normans instead of the sceptre as in the Church of England.

It was while the lance was being handed to him that John heard his friends giggling close by and he could not resist turning to wink at them and assure them that he was still the same merry and irreligious companion who had shared their sport and that he was merely indulging in this solemn ceremony because just at the moment he must go along with the old people; and because his head was turned, the lance, which the Archbishop was at that moment putting into his hands, slipped and fell to the floor.

There was a horrified gasp from all who beheld this and a soft murmur spread through the cathedral.

At this solemn moment the lance, the symbol of Norman power which had been handed down and grasped firmly by every duke of Normandy, had fallen from the grasp of this one.

It was an omen, and what could it be but an evil one with the King of France in arms against them and some believing that Arthur of Brittany had a greater claim to the ducal crown?

John refused to be depressed by the incident. He would laugh about it later with his cronies.

After the ceremony there was good news. The indefatigable Eleanor had left her seclusion once more and placed herself at the head of Richard’s mercenaries led by the brilliant commander Mercadier – he who had inflicted such terrible punishment on Richard’s slayer – and she was driving the French and Bretons back from the territory they had gained. Meanwhile, the people of Normandy were rallying to John and he was soon ready to march on Le Mans.

He took it with ease and was exultant, remembering their
cool reception of him such a short while before. He was going to show them what it meant to incur the wrath of King John. He was no Richard who only on rare occasions let the Angevin temper take over. John was going to show people right from the beginning what they must fear if they went against him.

He burned the houses. Every one of them must be demolished, he cried, and the castle was razed to the ground while the leading citizens were brought before him.

‘You were very inhospitable to me but a short time ago,’ he said. ‘You were very haughty, thinking you had the King of France with you. Where is he now? Tell me that. He has deserted you. He left you to my mercy. Now you shall discover how merciful I shall be.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Put them in chains,’ he growled. ‘Put them in the darkest dungeons. We’ll leave them there. There they can brood on what it means to set themselves against King John.’

The men were taken away. They had heard stories of his cruelty. Now they would experience it.

Flushed with success John cried: ‘What we have done with Le Mans we will do to those others who have given themselves freely to the cause of the King of France and little Arthur.’

But his advisers reminded him that the conquest of Le Mans had not been difficult because the King of France had already left, and if he were going to march on Anjou he needed a bigger army. Meanwhile, he should go to England and there let the ceremony of coronation be performed so that he could show the world that he was in truth the King of England.

John needed little persuasion. War in itself did not appeal to him. It was the conquest he liked. He had enjoyed ravaging Le Mans and working himself up into a rage over the people’s
perfidy to him while he enjoyed to the full making them pay for their decision to support the wrong side.

But to go to war again, a war which could drag on endlessly, for Philip was a wily adversary and Constance he knew would find many to rally to Arthur’s cause, did not appeal.

He agreed to leave the conquest of Anjou for the future.

He would sail for England and his coronation.

The day after he arrived in London John was crowned. That was on the 26
^th
May. The Abbey had been hung with coloured cloth. Sixteen prelates, ten earls and a host of barons graced the ceremony with their presence; as was the custom at a coronation the Archbishop of Canterbury presided. The Bishop of York protested that the ceremony should not take place until the Archbishop of York was able to be present; but as he was not on the spot it was decided to offend him if need be by continuing without him.

The Archbishop addressed the gathering in an unexpected fashion which appeared to be a justification of the selection of John and exclusion of Arthur.

‘The crown is not the property of any one person,’ he announced. ‘It is the gift of the nation which chooses who shall wear it. This is by custom usually a member of the reigning family, and a prince who is most worthy of wearing it. Prince John is the brother of our dead King Richard – the only surviving brother, and if he will swear the oaths which this high office demands, this country will accept him as its king.’

John gave assurance that he was ready to swear any oaths which would put the crown on his head.

‘Will you swear to uphold the peace of this land,’ asked the
Archbishop, ‘to govern with mercy and justice, to renounce evil customs and be guided by the laws of that great King known as Edward the Confessor, these laws having proved beneficial to the nation?’

‘I swear,’ said John.

The Archbishop warned John against attempting to evade his responsibilities and reminded him of the sacred nature of his oath.