Jean Plaidy - The Prince of Darkness

But she was too old now and there was nothing to do but turn her face to the wall.

And so in her eighty-third year she died in Fontevraud and they buried her by the side of the husband she had loved and hated; and they made a statue of her which they laid on her tomb. Serenely the stone figure looked on the world – the strong features clearly marked, wearing the gorget, wimple and coverchief over which was the royal diadem. In the hands had been carved a book and there this statue remained to remind the world that Eleanor of Aquitaine had once lived her turbulent life.

And so John lost not only Normandy but his mother.

His mother was dead. At least she could not reproach him, and she would have done, comparing him with Richard much to his disadvantage. A plague on them all! Those Norman barons who had gone over to Philip, those English barons who were criticising him for losing his family’s inheritance!

‘I’ll get it back,’ he boasted to Isabella. ‘This is but the fortunes of war.’

He did not want to hear what was happening in Normandy, though he knew that castle after castle was falling to Philip.

‘Let them go,’ he shouted. ‘Knaves. Traitors. By God’s feet, when I regain my territories they shall suffer for it.’

He was playing chess when news was brought to him that Rouen had fallen. Rouen! Rollo’s Tower, the greatest of all Norman cities in the hands of the French! No duke of Normandy would have believed that could ever be possible.

The messenger came and stood beside him. He did not look; he merely nodded and continued to stare at the pieces on the board. Then very deliberately he moved his bishop.

‘They’d better make what terms they can and so preserve their ancient privileges and customs,’ he muttered. Then he shouted to the baron with whom he was playing, ‘’Tis your move, man. What are you gaping at?’

His opponent moved with apparent carelessness which was, in fact, calculated. He knew it would not do for John to lose the game as well as Normandy.

John could not be indifferent to what was happening. People were saying: ‘So Normandy is falling. What of Anjou and Poitou? Is he going to lose every acre of his overseas territories?’

He would make a truce with Philip, he decided; but when Philip heard of this he laughed aloud. There would be no truce, he said, until John handed over Arthur; and he added ominously: ‘Alive or dead.’

So the spectre of his nephew was rising up to haunt John. It seemed that Philip suspected that Arthur was dead and if not directly murdered by John, on his orders. However, he knew very well that John was unlikely to produce the boy, nor would he confess his guilt; but Philip was determined to make the most of John’s discomfiture on the matter. Philip turned his attention to some of the notable barons, such as William Marshal and the Earl of Leicester, who held lands in Normandy. These barons naturally did not want to be dispossessed, nor did they wish to swear allegiance to the King of France. It was a delicate situation, for it could be that Normandy had only temporarily passed into Philip’s hands. Philip suggested therefore that they should pay the sum of five hundred marks each for the privilege of holding these lands for a year, and at the end of that time if John had not regained Normandy, they should swear allegiance to Philip and declare themselves vassals of France.

This seemed a fair enough arrangement and the barons agreed to enter into it.

Being the man he was, as soon as he arrived in England William Marshal had acquainted John with what he had done. John received the news mildly enough. ‘I understand well,’ he said. ‘You are loyal to me and this is the only way you can hold your lands. Depend upon it, before the year is up I shall be back in Normandy.’

William Marshal had not been sure of that, but he was greatly relieved at the King’s acceptance of what he had done.

A few weeks passed while every messenger from the Continent was awaited with breathless suspense, and suddenly John woke up one morning with a change of mood. All his slothfulness had dropped from him.

He sent for William Marshal. ‘The time has come,’ he said, ‘to go into the attack. Philip will have Aquitaine if we do not act. I shall go up and down the country raising troops and money that I may show the King of France that I am now ready to stand against him.’

‘It is late in the day,’ said the Marshal.

‘What, Marshal, no stomach for the fight?’

‘My stomach is ever ready in a good cause.’

‘And you think this is not one? Are you so eager to swear fealty to your French master?’

‘You know me too well, my lord, to make such an accusation with any seriousness.’

Indeed he did, and he could not do without the Marshal. He knew that well enough too. But there was a growing haughtiness among these barons. It was detectable even in William Marshal’s attitude now. They were criticising him for what happened in Normandy. He wanted to scream at the Marshal but he was obsessed now by the desire to go into the fight and he could not quarrel with men like this one at such a time.

William Marshal was thinking how unpredictable John was. This burst of energy was now as compulsive as his sloth had been. For what could one hope from such a king? Sometimes, thought the Marshal, it would seem good for England if we were conquered by the French. Better to be ruled by clever Philip than this king who at times gave the impression that he was verging on madness.

‘So you do not think we should fight for our rights?’

‘I think we should have done so earlier, my lord.’

Yes, it was insolence. But be calm, John warned himself.

‘There is a time,’ said the Marshal, ‘when action should be taken and if opportunities are lost it is sometimes unwise to try to make them later.’

‘You have your views, Marshal,’ said John, ‘and I have mine. I shall start travelling the country today to amass my army.’

The year which Philip had granted to the barons for holding land in Normandy had passed and it was necessary for them to return there and show allegiance to the King of France and to swear ‘liege homage on the French side of the water’. Philip was delighted with this arrangement for it meant that several of the leading barons of England could not in honour take up arms against him on the Continent.

How it was possible to serve one master on one side of the water and another on the other was something to which it was difficult to reconcile oneself, but William Marshal had seen that it was the only possible way in which he could keep his possessions in Normandy and as he, among other barons, was feeling his loyalty to John slackening every day, he at last made the decision that it was the only way out of his dilemma.

Meanwhile, John had spent the winter going up and down the country raising money – never a popular activity – and letting it be known that a rift between himself and his barons was making itself felt. He was going to take an army to France; he was going to win back what the French king had taken and he was determined on this. The people must realise that they were in a dangerous predicament. With Philip in Normandy it was possible that he might be contemplating an invasion of England. Were the people going to allow their country to be overrun by the French, for that was the danger.

Such prophecies brought people to his banner and he was not displeased by the result of his work. Conditions were against him, for the hard winter had made food scarce and dear, and the first signs of rebellion among the barons made itself felt. They incensed him by refusing to swear allegiance to him unless he upheld the rights of the kingdom. He ground his teeth in rage but so desperately did he need to build up his army that he had to promise what they asked.

He commandeered supplies, ordering the men join him, and by Easter he had one of the finest armadas the country had ever seen waiting in Portsmouth harbour to set sail. John went to nearby Portchester to make the final arrangements.

News came from the Continent that Philip was not now amassing his army on the Normandy shores. He had evidently decided that a conquest of England was a tricky undertaking; instead he was turning to attack Poitou.

‘By God’s eyes,’ cried John, ‘it is time I was there.’

There was now no indefatigable Queen Mother to hurry to the defence of Aquitaine. He was alone, John thought bitterly, for whom could he trust? There were many people who were trying to warn him against this undertaking. ‘Traitors,’ he cried. ‘Traitors all.’

There were two men who were in particular set against the expedition – one was Hubert the Archbishop of Canterbury and the other William Marshal.

Hubert as Archbishop was almost certain to be regarded with suspicion by John. Relations between them had been far from easy particularly since John’s return to England, for the Archbishop, like other members of the community, was beginning to realise that John was a tyrant.

Hubert was more than an archbishop; he was a statesman, and many might accuse him of being more the latter than the former; he was an astute man with the good of England at heart and during the years of Richard’s absence he had managed to raise money for his king in the manner which he had learned from his uncle Ranulf de Glanville. When it had been necessary to raise the hundred thousand pounds needed for Richard’s release from captivity he had worked closely with Queen Eleanor to produce the money and had managed this seemingly superhuman task with great credit to himself; and following the methods of Henry II he had succeeded in performing a task so painful to the people of England in such a manner that they resented it far less than might have been expected.