Jean Plaidy - The Prince of Darkness

‘We can do it, Hubert,’ cried Arthur excitedly.

‘We must do it,’ replied Hubert.

In one of the lower rooms of the castle to which only Hubert had the key, Arthur spent his days. Hubert visited him frequently and only a few of his trusted friends knew that the boy still lived.

A coffin said to contain the body of the young Duke of Brittany had been taken from the castle to the Cistercian abbey and there buried in a secret place.

Hubert decided that he could not trust an account of what had happened to the messenger and would see the King himself.

John received him with alacrity.

‘What news?’ he cried. ‘Is the deed done then?’

‘’Tis done, my lord.’

‘So now he is without his eyes and the outward sign of manhood.’

‘My lord, during the operation the boy has died.’

John caught his breath. ‘How was this? The men were clumsy.’

‘The boy struggled. It often happens like this … He did not survive.’

John nodded. ‘Fate has taken a hand then,’ he said. ‘What of his body?’

‘Buried, my lord, in a secret grave.’

‘So be it,’ said John.

‘My lord, I suggest it would be better if I returned to Falaise and lived there quietly for a while until the noise which this will inevitably make blows over.’

John nodded. ‘Go back to Falaise. It would be well to keep Arthur’s death a secret for a while.’

‘I will do so, my lord, with all speed.’

So far, so good. How long can I hope to keep the truth secret? he wondered. And then what will become of me? Oddly enough he didn’t care. He was in a state of exultation which he had not known since the day John had ordered him to put out Arthur’s eyes.

The news that Arthur was dead was spreading through Brittany and the Bretons were forming an army to come against John whom they suspected of murdering their Duke. Arthur had been John’s prisoner; he had been in the charge of John’s men; and now it was being said that he was dead and they wanted to know how he had died.

In the castle of Falaise Hubert heard the news and in the secret chamber where Arthur now lived he told him about it. The excitement of the adventure was wearing off and Arthur was having to face the difficulties of living in cramped quarters. He could only emerge from his room by night when he might go out on to the parapet, ever watchful that he might be seen. Hubert could not visit him as frequently as he would have wished for he feared to attract attention by doing so. The days were therefore long for Arthur and the nights were terrifying, for he often dreamed that he was bound fast while cruel men came to him with hot irons in their hands.

He longed for the coming of Hubert and knowing this Hubert could not resist taking certain risks, and he came more often than he knew he should.

He told him that the people of Brittany were incensed and that they were determined to avenge him.

‘I knew they would,’ cried Arthur. ‘They will march against John – and what joy there will be when they know that I am alive and unmaimed. I shall never forget what I owe to you, Hubert.’

‘Let us pray,’ replied Hubert, ‘that one day you will be at peace with your own people.’

‘I shall never forget what my uncle would have done to me. He is a wicked man, Hubert. That he takes my crown I understand, for many ambitious men would have done that, but to give orders to put out my eyes – that I shall never forget. He is bound for hell surely, Hubert, and may it be that the gates of that place soon open to receive him.’

‘Let us think,’ said Hubert, ‘of your future rather than his. If the Bretons are successful the King of France will no doubt join them. Then it may well be that you will be free.’

‘Freedom. I dream of it when I am not dreaming of … other things. It seems to me the most beautiful thing on earth … better than a crown … not better than one’s eyes, though. Everything I would barter for them, even freedom. Now I see things differently, Hubert. I notice the birds and the trees. The sky was beautiful at dawn and as I watched the sun rise I said: But for Hubert I would not have seen that. It has all become precious to me, Hubert. I see things which I wouldn’t have noticed before.’

‘Do not speak of it,’ said Hubert. ‘You unman me.’

‘I love you unmanned, Hubert, for methinks that unmanned you are a better man than you could ever be cold and strong and in command of your emotions.’

Thus they talked and each time when Hubert locked him in his room and carefully put the keys on the belt which never left him he thought: But how long can this last?

When he was alone he salved his conscience because he was a loyal man at heart and he had disobeyed his king. He would never have thought of disobeying Richard but John was not Richard. He had assured himself that the Bretons, believing Arthur to be dead and themselves without a leader, would have no heart for the fight. He had promised himself that they would reason: Arthur is dead and therefore the cause for conflict is removed. Without Arthur, John’s claim to the throne is the right one.

As if they would. They wanted revenge for murder. So they were on the march. The King of France expressed himself outraged by the death of the Duke of Brittany – so timely for some – and wanted to know how he had died. Here was an excuse for marching against John. Philip was rousing John’s enemies against him. He had usurped the Crown of England and the coronet of Normandy, said Philip, but these were the crimes of an ambitious man; whereas the murder of a man’s own nephew – little more than a child – was the work of a barbarous criminal.

John shrugged aside the threats. He was following his practice of spending half the day in bed. There were more exciting ways of passing the time than fighting wars, he said.

There were times, though, when his rages got the better of him and then he cursed Arthur. Why did the boy have to die? he demanded. What a weakling he must have been. Even in such a moment when he was out of control he did not mention the operation which he had ordered should be carried out and under which he presumed the boy had died.

If Arthur was alive, he said, there would not be all this trouble.

Hubert, realising this, decided that he could salve his conscience by telling the King that Arthur was alive and well. If this could be known, if he could be seen, the trouble would cease. He knew that he could not keep Arthur’s existence a secret for ever and this was a good way of letting it out.

He left Falaise and went to see the King, who was at that time residing in château Gaillard, the great fortress not far from Rouen. No doubt it gave him comfort to be there at such a time, for this château built by Richard Cœur de Lion had been his darling; it was said to be the most formidable fortress in Europe. John would be safe there no matter who came against him.

Hubert was received immediately by John, who remembered that so recently Hubert had had instructions to put out Arthur’s eyes.

He shouted at him: ‘Clumsy creatures. What have they done? Cannot they perform a simple operation … without bringing this about?’

‘My lord, I have news for you,’ said Hubert. ‘I would have you know that anything I have done has been in my service to you. Your orders were not carried out in the castle of Falaise. Arthur still lives.’

John opened his eyes wide and a sly smile played over his face. ‘’Tis true then. Now I can show him to my enemies … Oh, but …’

John was thinking of what Arthur would be looking like … two horrible inflamed sockets where his eyes had been. His poor castrated body sent back to Brittany. This would be worse than death.

‘My lord,’ said Hubert, ‘I knew that you would need to produce Arthur and that if you could not there would be trouble, so thinking of your needs I did not have his eyes put out nor his body tampered with in any way. He is your prisoner still … and as he was when you took him.’

There was a moment of hesitation. Hubert did not know what his fate would be. The King might order that he be dragged away and that done to him which he had ordered for Arthur. Such action would seem to John a just and to him amusing reward. But John had been frightened of the armies rising against him and the thought of being able to produce an Arthur who had suffered no harm was just what he needed.

He said: ‘You’ve done well, Hubert. Let it be known that the boy is safe and well. Where is he?’

‘At Falaise Castle still,’ said Hubert. ‘But living quietly.’

‘In hiding?’ John laughed. ‘You crafty old fox, Hubert.’

Hubert allowed himself to smile. ‘And trust I shall always be so in your service, my lord.’

John was still laughing. ‘Go back to Falaise. Produce the boy. Let all see that he is alive and well. Ride out into the town with him, making sure he is well guarded. I want the whole world to know what calumnies the Bretons and that old rogue Philip have uttered against me.’

Hubert lost no time in returning to Falaise.

Arthur was delighted. He rode out in the streets of Falaise with Hubert beside him, laughing and talking gaily with his friend.

‘Do not fear that I will try to escape,’ he said. ‘I would not go without you. I shall wait for the day when you and I, Hubert, escape to Brittany together.’

Hubert did not think that could ever be but he did not tell Arthur; he was so pleased to see the boy enjoying his freedom, pointing out the beauties of nature which he had scarcely noticed before, occasionally putting his hands to his eyes when Hubert knew he was offering a silent prayer for their preservation.