Jean Plaidy - The Prince of Darkness

‘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.

So John was crowned King of England but he refused to receive Holy Communion after the ceremony of crowning which was a custom of the coronation and was looked upon as sealing the oaths a king had just taken.

There was much feasting after they had left the Abbey and John and all the guests had to do justice to the twenty-one oxen which had been roasted for the occasion.

The next day he received the homage of the barons.

He was now truly King of England and Duke of Normandy.

Surrounded by serious men, somewhat overawed by the ceremonies of centuries, remembering stories he had heard of his great ancestors William the Conqueror, Henry the Lion of Justice and even the virtues of his own father Henry II, John was temporarily ready to be guided.

His first task was to receive William Marshal, to let him know of his appreciation of what he had done and to express the hope that William would serve him in the same selfless manner as he had served his brother and father.

William assured him of his loyalty and John could not help being impressed in the presence of such a man. He confirmed his title of Earl of Pembroke which had come to him through his wife and showed himself ready to listen to William’s advice.

William was pleased that England had accepted him; and that Normandy too was with him. They would regain Anjou, he promised John. When a new king came to the throne there were always those who thought they had a greater claim. The main trouble would come from the Continent, but all the kings since the Conqueror had been faced with that difficulty.

It was from the North of England, however, that the first threat came.

William, King of Scotland, known as William the Lion, had sent messages to the effect that if John wished him to maintain the loyalty he had given to Richard he, William, would need to be compensated by the return of Northumberland and Cumberland to the Scottish Crown. Faced with the antagonism of Philip and armies under Constance and Arthur, John had replied placatingly to William, saying that if he would wait until he returned to England he would be happy to settle all his claims.

Now that he was back William wanted the territories he had claimed and sent another messenger to say that if they were not given up immediately he would perforce be obliged to take them.

William Marshal was inclined to think that the King of Scotland was bluffing and had no intention of engaging in a major war, but it was important that this did not take place, for clearly John’s first task was to win back Anjou and the property which Philip had taken from him.

‘Offer to negotiate with him,’ advised William. ‘Send him a soft placatory note and while your army is preparing for the Continent you might meet him somewhere. The Archbishop of York would conduct him over the border and you might travel to the Midlands and see him there. You must not give way. Parley with him. Make terms. Your father was an adept at such diplomacy.’

John was irritated by the Marshal’s frequent references to his father, but he had to accept them none the less. He mustn’t forget that William had been instrumental in getting him the crown and there had been opposition to it. He dare not offend William Marshal … not until he was more secure, of course.

John wrote to the King of Scotland as William Marshal dictated and a meeting was arranged at Northampton. When he reached that town there was no sign of William but a peremptory demand awaited him to the effect that if the territories were not restored immediately the large army which was on the Scottish borders would invade England.

John was in a quandary. How could he take on a war in the North when he had so much to regain on the Continent? This was not what he had thought of as kingship. Wars … wars … continual wars. What fun was there in that? He had always thought his father liked wars – though, when he came to think of it, Henry II was more of a diplomatist than a soldier. He had once said that he won more honours by negotiating and getting the better of his enemy at a conference than he ever had through fighting.

That was how John wanted it to be.

He had a stroke of real luck which was so unusual that it might be suspected of being contrived.

William of Scotland, ready to invade England, had visited one of the shrines of a Scottish saint; and while he knelt there, a voice was heard warning him against invading England which would bring sorrow and disaster to Scotland.

This had the desired effect. He disbanded his army and decided to shelve the matter of the Northern Provinces. It couldn’t have been more opportune from John’s point of view, and he was able to forget trouble on the northern border and sail for the Continent.

Joanna, with Berengaria, had reached Rouen where they planned to stay for a while as Joanna’s pregnancy was nearing its end. Those were sad days. Both queens were overcome by grief at Richard’s death and they would sit together talking of his virtues. Berengaria would forget the long years of neglect and remember only that brief period after his repentance when they had been together. Joanna liked to talk of the days when he had taken her across Aquitaine on her way to Sicily. She recalled clearly how the sun had glinted on his armour and how nobly he had sat on his horse.

‘It seemed inevitable that he should die young,’ said Joanna. ‘One could not imagine Richard’s ever growing old.’

Berengaria said: ‘Perhaps in time I should have had a child. I envy you, Joanna, in your happy state.’

‘To love is not always a happy state,’ Joanna comforted her. ‘There are continuous anxieties. In Toulouse we have a beautiful estate, fertile lands, faithful servants and good friends. But there are those who persecute us because we do not think as they do, and because we fear that Rome is at the heart of these persecutions we are afraid. It is for that reason I am here.’

‘I know, Joanna. But you have your husband who loves you, dear little Raymond and the new child who will soon be with us.’

‘And Richard is dead. My beloved brother … I never believed that he would not come back when so many thought he was dead. What a day of rejoicing it was when Blondel returned to tell us that he had found him! Ever since he took me to Sicily I had told myself Richard is here. Richard will protect me. You see he came to Sicily and I knew that as soon as he arrived I should cease to be Tancred’s prisoner and it came to pass. My beloved brother and champion! He would have saved us from those who now persecute us … and he is gone, so what will become of us?’