Isabella! He would never forget her – her youth and her charm and the promise that was in her; he would never forget either that John had deceived him and taken her from him.

He would always love Isabella but he would never blame her. And he would always hate John.

They were up with the dawn.

‘There must be no delay,’ said Hugh. ‘I would we had left last night.’

‘As soon as breakfast is over we will leave,’ promised Arthur.

The servants came with pigeon pie which would make an excellent breakfast.

‘Let us eat quickly and be gone,’ said Hugh.

‘When I have finished,’ Arthur answered, ‘I will go to my grandmother and tell her to prepare to leave and that she is to be our prisoner.’

But he did not do so, for while he was still at the table there was a shout from without. An army was making its way to the Château Mirebeau.


When John heard that his mother, who was on the road to Poitiers in order to hold Aquitaine for him, was being pursued by Arthur and Hugh de Lusignan, he acted with a speed which was unusual with him.

He saw at once the importance of this. If Eleanor were captured he could lose Aquitaine and what heart that would put into his enemies! Philip penetrating into Normandy with Arthur and Hugh in the south would put him into a very uneasy position.

He had to rescue his mother at all costs.

All through the night he rode with his army and just before dawn they arrived at Mirebeau. Great was his delight when he discovered that the enemy was still there.

They stormed the castle. It was an easy victory, for John’s forces greatly outnumbered those of Arthur and Hugh. Exultantly Arthur and his sister Eleanor and Hugh among others were taken prisoner and John himself went up to the top of the keep to escort his mother to safety.

The old Queen’s eyes were shining with delight. John at last was behaving like a son of hers. She was proud of him.


This was John’s greatest victory. William Marshal who had ridden with him lost much of the uneasiness he had experienced since he had been adamant in supporting John’s claim to the throne.

John was proving himself to be a king after all. There could not be a better turn to events. Two of the most important leaders of the revolt against him were in his hands.

‘We must lose no time in letting Philip know that Arthur is your prisoner,’ he said.

‘Philip shall be informed at once.’

‘And Ralph de Lusignan must know that his brother Hugh is in your hands.’

John licked his lips with pleasure at the thought.

‘This day’s work has saved us many a battle, I doubt not,’ said the Marshal.

John was proud. It was the sort of battle he enjoyed – quick and decisive and bringing glory at the end.

He embraced his mother, who congratulated him on the speed with which he had acted. Her praise delighted him, he replied. And if she were proud of him he was doubly so of her. For she had sought to save his duchy for him and he knew that she was tired and longed to rest.

‘Depend upon it if I were needed I would rise from my deathbed,’ she answered.

She took her farewell of him; that which she had set out to do no longer needed to be done. Aquitaine was safe, for Arthur and Hugh were no longer in a position to threaten it.

‘That will soon be common knowledge,’ said John.

Eleanor went back to Fontevraud, there to rest, for now the ordeal was over she realised how it had exhausted her.

When she had gone John prepared to return to Normandy.

He was in high spirits. There were two prisoners over whom he wanted to gloat – one was his nephew Arthur and the other Hugh de Lusignan.

First he sent for Arthur. He prepared himself very carefully for the interview and put on a red satin mantle decorated with rich gems; he wore a girdle set with pearls and diamonds and the baldrick which held up his sword glittered with emeralds. He was a dazzling sight.

He sat sprawled in a chair. He did not care to stand for he was very conscious of his lack of inches and always felt better on such occasions when he was seated.

Arthur, who was brought in by two guards, made a show of indifference but was not able to hide his nervousness altogether.

John surveyed him maliciously.

‘Ha, my young nephew who would be King. How fares it, Arthur?’

‘It has gone ill with me,’ said Arthur, ‘but it will not always be so.’

John raised his eyebrows and leisurely took off his gloves, one adorned with a massive ruby, the other with a sapphire. He flung them nonchalantly on to a stool.

‘You set your hopes a little high, nephew.’

‘I think not.’

‘Well, you will doubtless be able to brood on the matter in your prison.’

‘So you will send me to prison?’

‘Where do you think I should send you? To Westminster Abbey to be crowned King?’

‘I did not think that.’

‘There you showed some sense. Why could you not be a good boy content with your very pleasant Duchy of Brittany?’

‘Because I have a right to other possessions.’

‘You mean mine? Have a care, boy. I might not like such talk.’

‘Then why do you bring me here if not to speak to me?’

‘I expect you to show humility, to fall to your knees, to admit your fault and beg for clemency.’

‘That I shall never do.’

‘Nay, if I had that tongue out you would never be able to.’

That made the boy grow pale. No doubt he had heard tales of his uncle’s methods.

John enjoyed his fear. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Take care, boy,’ he said. ‘I like not those who would take what is mine. You will be my prisoner, at my mercy. Know you this: that whatever I order my servants to do they will do – they dare not do aught else.’

‘I would rather you killed me than …’ began the boy and his voice was shrill with terror.

‘There are many ways of punishing your arrogance, nephew, and I could do them all. I could put out those haughty eyes, tear out that tongue.’ His eyes slid over the boy’s slender figure. ‘You are scarce a man and I could do that to you which would mean that you would never know manhood. What say you to that?’

Where was the haughty would-be-King now? It was a frightened child who stood before him.

‘I … I …’

‘Come, speak up, boy. What say you to these suggestions? Come, speak. I like answers when I ask questions and my temper is not the most mild. You may have heard this.’

‘I would say,’ said Arthur, ‘that you would not do these things even if it were your power to.’

‘It is in my power to. You should know that.’

‘But … you would be reviled. The whole world would rise against an uncle who did such to his nephew who was but fifteen years old.’

‘Do I care for the world’s opinion? Nay, nephew, I do what I will. But I spoke but to frighten you and to impress on you that I need obedience. If you do as you are told, it may be that no harm will come to you. Take him away,’ he said to the guards. ‘And, Arthur, think of what I have said. Ask yourself what it would be like to be without that of which a word from me could rob you.’

Arthur was led away.

He’ll not sleep easily tonight, thought John laughing.

And now for Hugh.

He was a good-looking man. He stood there showing no fear so that it was hard to believe that he felt any. Isabella had said that he was never afraid. Could it be that she had a fancy for him?

John was glad he was seated. He would look very small beside Hugh de Lusignan. He stroked his red mantle; the touch of gems reassuring. Hugh might look noble but he, John, looked royal.

‘So you are my prisoner,’ he said.

Hugh bowed.

‘You should have made off last night. An error of judgement.’

‘’Twas indeed so,’ agreed Hugh.

‘And now you are my prisoner. You who have caused trouble in my realm and done everything you can to bring about revolt.’

Hugh was silent.

‘You know what we do with traitors.’

‘I am no traitor, my lord.’

‘No traitor when you stir strife in my realm?’

‘I was under no obligation to serve you and made no secret of my quarrel.’

‘You were commanded to meet a duellist in combat and refused.’

‘I would not have refused to meet you, my lord. It was only one of your hirelings whom I would not face.’

‘You have too great an opinion of yourselves, you Lusignans.’

‘I beg your pardon, my lord, but we are a great family.’

‘Do not speak of greatness in my presence. We are enemies, Hugh the Brown.’

‘’Tis so, my lord.’

‘And you are my prisoner.’

‘Taken in honourable battle.’

‘When you were in the act of taking possession of my royal mother!’

‘Who was taking part in war and therefore it was fair enough.’

‘Bah! Do not parley with me.’

‘As you wish, my lord.’

John sat back and narrowed his eyes. He wondered what he would do to Hugh. He could think of several forms of torture; but he knew that whatever was inflicted this man would preserve that outward calm, that indifference.

There was no fun with people like that. He couldn’t have the fun with him that he had had with little Arthur.

But he would humiliate him. That was the best way. Take some of the pride out of him.

He had an idea.

‘Take the prisoner away,’ he said.

They took him and John sat alone for a little while, his brows drawn together in a frown. He was thinking of Isabella and wondering how deep her feeling had gone for Hugh. Could she really have had some affection for him? He was a handsome fellow and Isabella was of course what he would call ripe. Hugh had not seen this; if he had … who knew what would have happened? Hugh was a fool, better at war than love, no doubt, and he had become a prisoner even in that.