Jean Plaidy - The Prince of Darkness

Curse him.

There was blood on the floor. He must have help. There was one of his servants – a strong man who had had his tongue cut out. John used him now and then because of what he thought of as this qualification. He had said to him once: ‘You are a fortunate man, for tongueless you can serve your King well.’ Had the tongue been removed by him he might have had to be wary, for these creatures could harbour thoughts of revenge for years when one would have thought the matter might be forgotten by reasonable men. But this man had no grudge against John and John had craftily decided that because of his usefulness he should be cherished.

Locking the door of the room in which the dead boy lay, John went in search of the silent man. He found him in the stables, for he loved horses and was usually there when not engaged on his duties. John took him back to the chamber of death. There was only need to point to Arthur and the man understood – the loss of his tongue having sharpened what was left to him.

John said: ‘He must be removed. Let us throw him in the river.’

The mute nodded and indicated that they would need to weight the body so that it would sink.

‘We’ll weight it then and take it to the river,’ said John. ‘Then we’ll throw it overboard. There are boats moored down there. How shall we remove him?’

The man went to the window, indicating that he would throw the body out.

‘Good man,’ said John. ‘That is the answer. Wait though … until it is later. Then the castle will be quiet.’

John left the mute to guard the body behind locked doors while he went down to join the castellan and his wife. He was excited. He was rid of the boy. Arthur would be forgotten in time and that menace was removed.

It was past midnight when Arthur’s body was thrown from the window. They tied a stone about his neck and carried him to a boat which they rowed along the river towards the sea. They threw the body overboard and then came back to the castle.

The next morning a jewelled button which was known to belong to Arthur was found on the stones beneath his window. There were some traces of blood there – the mute had removed all those in the room where the murder had taken place.

It was said: ‘Arthur has escaped. He must have lowered himself from the window; and he hurt himself in falling, hence the blood.’

It was expected that soon there would be triumphant news from Brittany that their Duke was with them. But none came.

Two fishermen out in their boat one night were amazed to haul in a heavy load and to their horror they saw what they brought in was the body of a young man with a stone securely tied about his neck.

Uncertain of what to do they rowed for the shore, left the body in their boat and went at once to the lord of the nearby castle. When he heard what they had to tell him he went with them to the boat and examining the features of the dead boy he had a suspicion as to who he was and when he noticed the jewelled buttons on his garments he guessed.

Arthur had been at the castle of Rouen. There were already rumours in circulation that he had disappeared. There could be no doubt who this was.

‘Say nothing of this,’ said the lord of the castle, ‘on pain of your lives, keep silent.’

The frightened fishermen were only too eager to promise to do so.

Everyone knew that to talk of this could cost them their tongues.

Very secretly the body of Arthur was buried in the church of Notre Dame des Prés close by Rouen but there was no indication of the identity of the corpse. None wished it to be known by King John that they had had any hand in the disposal of the body. Their safety lay in secrecy, for who could know what unpredictable turn the King’s anger might take.

Thus Arthur was buried but it was hardly likely that he could be so easily forgotten.

‘Where is Arthur?’ the Bretons were asking the question and the King of France joined his voice to theirs. They wanted to know why King John’s nephew had suddenly disappeared.

Disaster was threatening from all sides and John was haunted by memories of Arthur. Not that he suffered remorse because of what he had done, but fear was there. If it were ever known that he had murdered Arthur with his own hands he would be discredited throughout the world and there were so many waiting to take advantage of him.

He rejoined Isabella and plunged into such a life of voluptuous pleasure as even he and she had not experienced before. He would stay in bed, refuse to see messengers, always fearful what news they would bring. His generals and his ministers were dismayed. They didn’t understand this man who at one time was eager to take everything and at another behaved in the manner best calculated to lose it.

Philip was the first to take advantage of such a situation. Arthur had died on Maundy Thursday; two weeks later Philip had taken Saumur. He was joined by Hugh de Lusignan and the Breton army. The whispers about Arthur’s whereabouts were now becoming angry demands.

William the Marshal came to John and begged him to bestir himself.

‘Philip is undermining us at all strategic points,’ he pointed out.

‘I am in no mood to go to war yet,’ replied John.

‘Philip is in just that mood,’ retorted the Marshal grimly.

‘Leave be. Leave be,’ growled John. ‘Send a deputation to Philip and ask if he is prepared to make a truce.’

‘My lord, why should he? He has his army on the march. He is joined by allies. Why should he consent to make a truce merely to suit your convenience?’

‘Go and ask him,’ cried John, and because the Marshal could see the signs of temper rising he could do nothing but take his leave and carry out the King’s orders.

As he had known Philip laughed them to scorn. If John could humiliate himself so utterly as to beg for a truce now he must be in a sorry state, and the result of that foolish strategy was to set Philip planning more intensive invasions into John’s territory.

Those barons who had no love for John, although they had sworn allegiance to him as their suzerain, wavered in their loyalty. What was the use of a weak king who lay in bed with his wife half the day when the mighty king of France was marching on their castles? Philip captured many; and some surrendered, glad to change their allegiance.

William the Marshal presented himself once more.

‘My lord, my lord, I beg of you, give consideration to what is happening. The King of France has taken your seneschals. Do you know that there are those who will not surrender to France?’

‘’Tis to be hoped it is so,’ said John. ‘Have they not sworn allegiance to me?’

‘For their loyalty many of them have been tied to their horses’ tails and dragged to prison.’

‘I am glad they are good and loyal men.’

‘They are the prisoners of the King of France, my lord. Does that not move you to action? Philip is making himself master of your lands, your goods. He is taking your inheritance bit by bit.

John laughed unpleasantly. ‘Do not excite yourself so, Marshal,’ he said. ‘Let the King of France enjoy himself. I shall win back every castle, every acre of land which he has taken from me.’

‘When shall you start, my lord?’ demanded William Marshal. ‘When you have lost the whole of Normandy?’

The Marshal strode out and left the King.

John hesitated a moment before shouting after him: ‘Come back, you insolent dog.’

But William Marshal pretended not to hear and John knew that there was a man he had to keep working for him. In that moment he felt a twinge of fear. He was losing his grip, he knew. And here he was in Falaise of all places – the castle most associated with his mighty ancestor. Was William watching from the shades now? Was Arthur with him? What would the Conqueror think of Arthur’s murder? One thing, thought John cynically, he would not condemn the murder of Arthur so much as he would the loss of the Norman castles.

He must bestir himself. He thought of the Pope. Philip had not been on good terms with Rome since his defiance over Ingeburga of Denmark whom he had married and put from him. In her place he had taken as his queen the Austrian Princess Agnes of Meran. The Pope had protested and Philip had said some harsh things about Rome, which would not be readily forgotten.

If Innocent would intervene in his favour John might be able to bring about a truce. John therefore complained to the Pope that Philip was making war on him most unjustly and he begged the Pope to help him keep the peace.

This was always a good way of bringing hostilities to at least a temporary halt; for there would be deputations from Rome to be met and discussions to ensure. John thought this would give him an opportunity to remain living as he wished to do without his generals and men such as the Marshal getting excited about Philip’s aggression.

Philip, however, was too clever to be duped in this way. Whatever the Pope said he was going on with his war. It was true, as John had predicted, that he had offended the papal embassy by telling them he had no intention of taking orders from Rome and that his attitude towards a vassal of his – as John, Duke of Normandy was – was his affair.

John saw that prevarication from Rome could avail him nothing because Philip was going to ignore it completely. It was inevitable therefore that he bestir himself.

But he was too late. Philip had already turned his attention to that bulwark of Norman strength, the great Château built by Cœur de Lion, the Château Gaillard, which if it fell would open up the way to Rouen and the whole of Normandy for Philip and thus enable him to congratulate himself that he was on the road to fulfilling his great ambition – to make France as great as it had been in the days of Charlemagne.