Виктория Холт - The Heart of the Lion

There was one hope. His mother was with Richard. If he could talk with her in secret, if he could get her to plead with Richard ... there might be a chance. But would she? She was on Richard’s side absolutely. Her greatest mission in life was to keep him on the throne. What would she think of one – even though he were her son – who had tried to take it from him?

She was softening in her old age. Look at this affair of Joanna’s! She had always been fiercely against the house of Toulouse. There was the perennial quarrel about their claim on this and that. Yet she had talked with Richard, and Joanna’s happiness had been a factor in their decision. She was a mother as well as a Queen and she was his mother.

Richard had power to send him to prison. The fate which befell prisoners would not bear contemplation. To be shut up in a dungeon for years, to have jailers who might treat him with cruelty or at least without respect, was something he could not endure. Yet he had played the traitor. He had to admit it. He had intrigued against the King and even though his father had named him his successor Richard was the eldest son and accepted by the people as the true King. One only had to remember how they had drooled over him when he had returned. The great hero, the Saviour of Acre, the man whose name was a legend throughout the Christian world. The Lion-hearted King! They forgot he had deserted them, had taxed them to pay for his crusade, had cared little for his native land and had offered to sell London if he could get enough money for it to spend on his Holy Wars. Yes, they forgot that. He had come home covered with honours; he was romantic; he had been imprisoned in a German schloss; he had been discovered by his minstrel boy and they had had to pay a vast sum for his ransom. This did not add up to a good king but they loved him none the less. And there was no doubt that he was strong. None it seemed could stand against him. Philip was less friendly now that he was back, inclined to be contemptuous of John and speaking of his enemy Richard as though he were some kind of god.

John knew when he was beaten and he was beaten now. His only hope was his mother.

He would go to her quietly, secretly; he would plead with her to speak for him to Richard as she had for Joanna. He would remind her that he was her youngest son.

There was no time to lose. If Richard captured him ... He shivered at the thought.

Taking with him a few of his attendants he rode to Rouen where he knew Richard and Eleanor were; and he managed to find a way into the Queen’s apartments.

He threw himself at her feet and begged her clemency.

‘John,’ cried Eleanor. ‘So you have come then!’

‘Yes, Mother,’ answered John, ‘and in most wretched state as you see.’

‘Oh, John,’ cried Eleanor, ‘what have you done?’

‘I have been foolish, Mother. Do not reproach me, for your reproaches could not match my own. I have been wicked. I have been wrong. I have been led astray by evil counsellors. How can I face my brother?’

The Queen replied: ‘You have in truth been wicked, John. You have plotted against the finest man in the world.’

‘I know it. I know it now. Would to God I had not listened to those evil men.’

‘Aye, would to God you had not.’

‘Mother, you are wise, you are good. I want you to tell me what I must do. Shall I take a sword and pierce my heart? I think that would be best. First though, I would wish to prostrate myself before my brother. I would wish to show him my contrition. I want him to know how miserable I am, how I hate myself, and perhaps to ask his forgiveness and that of God before I take my own life.’

‘You are talking nonsense,’ replied Eleanor sharply. ‘Put thoughts of taking your life out of your head. I would not wish any son of mine to act in such cowardly fashion.’

‘But I have offended ...’

‘Deeply,’ she cried. ‘Your God, your King and your country.’

‘I must be the most hated man alive. There is no reason for me to live.’

‘Stop such talk! I am your mother and I could not hate you.’

‘You hated my father when he worked against Richard. You have always loved Richard and hated those who worked against him.’

‘I love all my children,’ she answered, ‘and I never truly hated the King, your father. You could not understand what there was between us. But that is of the past. It is the present that matters. You have proved yourself a traitor and there are few kings who would not condemn you to the traitor’s death. But Richard is your brother. He is by nature tolerant. I am your mother and whatever you have done you are still my child.’

‘What should I do then, Mother? I beg you tell me.’

‘Leave this with me. Go away quietly. I will speak to your brother and mayhap he will send for you and perhaps he will find it in his heart to forgive you. If you should be the luckiest traitor in the world, then remember what great fortune is yours and serve him with all your might and heart for as long as he shall live.’

‘Oh, my mother, I would. I swear to God I would.’

‘Then go and leave this matter to me.’

When he had gone Eleanor was thoughtful. She knew him well. He was avaricious; he was weak; he wanted the crown. But he was her son. She could not get out of her mind what a pretty baby he had been and how she had loved him – the youngest, the baby. It had been one of the tragedies of her life that she had not been able to keep her children with her.

He deserved death or imprisonment, but he was her child.

Richard would forgive him if she asked it, she knew. And if he were forgiven, there must be an heir to the throne. Richard was not an old man: he had many years ahead of him. She wanted to see some healthy sons before she died.

Richard might pardon John and if he did he must call Berengaria to his side. He must live with her. It was imperative that he have sons to ensure the succession.

It would be a tragedy for England if John ever came to the throne.

* * *

It was Eleanor who brought him to the King.

Richard looked at his brother and thought: As if he could harm me!

John ran to him and threw himself at his feet.

‘You tremble?’ said Richard.

‘My lord, I have sinned against you. I deserve any punishment you should give me. I cannot understand myself. I was possessed by devils. How otherwise could I have gone against the brother whom I revere as does all the world?’

‘’Twas not devils,’ said Richard, ‘but evil counsellors. Come, John, do not fear me. You are but a child and you fell into evil hands.’

He rose and drew John to his feet. He kissed him. It was the kiss of peace and pardon.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘we will go and eat and from now on there shall be harmony between us.’

All those who were present marvelled at the King’s generosity or simplicity. The fact that he had returned and was in power could by no means have diminished John’s ambitions. But Richard seemed to be of the opinion that it did.

One of his servants brought in a salmon which had been presented for the King’s table.

‘A fine fish,’ said the King. ‘Cook it and I will share it with my brother.’

John was relieved but at the same time resentful; he knew that Richard’s leniency meant that he had little respect for him.

Well, he must be quiet for a while. He must watch his actions and wait for the day when the crown would be his.

* * *

Eleanor expressed her pleasure that the brothers had been reconciled.

‘You are magnanimous, Richard,’ she said. ‘I do not believe many kings would have been so.’

‘Bah,’ said Richard. ‘What is John but a child? He could never take a kingdom. His only chance of getting one would be if it were handed to him without a fight.’

‘Is that what you intend to do ... to hand it to him?’

‘I am not dead yet, Mother.’

‘Nay but you are ten years older than John. It is thirty-six years since I bore you. You must get an heir or there will be trouble, Richard. Why do you not send for Berengaria?’

‘There is much yet to be done. I don’t trust Philip. I shall be engaged here in Normandy for some time.’

‘She could be here with you as I am now.’

‘Mayhap,’ he said; and she knew that he did not intend to have her.

The next day he said: ‘I shall send for Arthur. He should be brought up in England.’

‘That you might make him your heir?’ replied the Queen.

‘Is it not wise to have him brought up in the country he may well govern?’

‘He would only be the heir, Richard, if you did not have sons.’

‘It is well to be prepared,’ replied Richard. ‘If he should be displaced it will have done him no harm to have had an English upbringing. Why, Mother, what ails you? You are thinking that it would go ill for England if John were King. That is why we send for Arthur.’

Eleanor understood. Richard meant that he was not going back to Berengaria.

The King was riding to the hunt in the Normandy forest. Like his ancestors he loved this sport and found greater relaxation from it than in any other way.

It was a year since he had been released from captivity; it had been a year spent chiefly in fighting, subduing those who would rise against him, regaining those castles which had fallen into other hands while he was away.

He had not seen Philip in that time but there had been opportunities when they might have met. Neither wanted it, certainly not Philip. He could never have faced Richard after all his perfidy; he could never have explained what had prompted him to betray him, to seek an ally in John when Richard was in prison. He thought of him constantly though; and if Richard could not be his loving friend, he found some consolation in being his enemy.