Jean Plaidy - The Prince of Darkness

It was a bitter anger which possessed John – not the violent rage which he knew so well. In this anger was sadness – that this state of affairs should have come to pass.

The whole world is against me, he thought.

‘If you do not agree,’ said Pandulph, ‘His Holiness will give Philip permission to invade. He has a mighty army assembled on the other side of the water. The Pope will render him the aid he needs and the King of France will hold the crown of England under Rome.’

John was silent. He had prepared himself to accept Stephen Langton which he must do; he would allow the exiled clergy to return, and he would compensate the Church for the loss it had suffered when he had confiscated much of its lands and goods. But he had not thought to make himself a vassal of Rome.

He talked to William Marshal, a man who was as sad at the prospect as he was himself. But the Marshal believed – and so did John – that to give way to the Pope was the only way out of a dangerous situation.

‘If you do it,’ said William, ‘you will gain certain advantages. Philip may not obey the Pope’s order to withdraw but if he should attempt invasion against the wishes of the Holy Father there will be many who are not eager to follow him. The barons here who are ready to revolt against you will not have the support of the Pope. The Interdict will be lifted and the benefits of the Church will return to England. Think of it. There will be seemly burial and churching of women and the church doors will be opened once more to the people. You must do it, my lord. It is a sad state of affairs but this is the best way out of our difficulties.’

John said: ‘I often think of the hermit in Corfe Castle.’

‘Ah, the prophecy. When was it to be fulfilled?’

‘On Ascension Day.’

‘Which will soon be upon us.’

The two men looked at each other gravely. Then John spoke. ‘I will do it,’ he said. ‘I will become a vassal of the Pope.’

‘Better that,’ agreed William Marshal, ‘than to become the defeated enemy of the King of France.’

So there followed the ceremony of removing the crown from John’s head which was symbolic of his submission to the Pope and then immediately replacing it to indicate that the Pope had graciously bestowed it on him once more. He was still King of England but he held the crown as the Pope’s vassal which was a matter for rejoicing, said John, for it meant that Holy Rome was the protector of King and country.

John was exultant. He had come well out of his troubles. It was true he had had to accept Stephen Langton but he would make sure that the Archbishop’s claws were clipped when he came to England, and he was no more ready to allow the Church to interfere with the State than any of his predecessors had been, but for a while he could sigh with relief, smile sardonically to think of the army Philip had accumulated with which to invade England, and congratulate himself that he had emerged in triumph from a very alarming situation.

It was time for rejoicing, he told his people. The Interdict was over and the church bells would ring again. There was friendship between England and Rome; there was more than that; there was a great alliance and the Holy See had thrown its protective wings across the country. Let pavilions be erected in the Kentish countryside; let there be singing and dancing in the streets of Dover. Instead of war there was feasting. Instead of a foreign invader their own King was there to rule over them. All was well with England.

The people were always ready for merrymaking. They listened to the church bells ringing and that seemed a very melodious sound; they spoke lovingly of King John who had so adroitly saved them from the French invaders; they danced and sang and there were bonfires on the hills of Kent.

Those who had proclaimed their faith in Peter of Pontefract assured themselves that his prophecy had come true. John had lost his crown by Ascension Day but what Peter had not seen was that he had regained it. Some pointed out that the prophecy had been that John would lose his crown and someone more in God’s favour would wear it. Well, they could even make that fit. The John who had regained the crown was a vassal of the Pope and therefore a changed man. In God’s eyes one under the protection of the Holy Father would be more in God’s favour.

So everyone could be happy and it was easy to be deluded into forgetting the high taxation, the rages of the King which could spell disaster in so many ways to any who displeased him. Just for a day they would give way to merriment and a blind faith in the future.

John was not inclined to forget Peter of Pontefract. The man had caused him a great deal of uneasiness. He had been infuriated by the manner in which he had stood before him with that fanatical look in his eyes as though he were a messenger from God.

And what would people be saying now? They would twist his prophecy to make it the truth. John had hated the man when he had stood there before him and blatantly stated that his place would be taken by someone more worthy in God’s eyes.

A king should not allow men to talk to him in that way. Peter of Pontefract must not be allowed to live and make more such prophecies. For that was what the man would do, he was sure. And he would carry a certain amount of opinion with him. Such uneasy men should be removed.

He gave orders that Peter should be taken from his dungeon in Corfe, and hanged. But first, as a warning to others who might feel they had the gift of prophecy and through this believed they could plot against the King, he was to be tied to a horse’s tail and dragged to the place of execution where he should be hanged high on a gibbet that all might see the fate in store for any who acted in a similar manner.

The King’s orders were carried out and so fickle were the people that those who had supported Peter and declared that he in truth was a great prophet and a man of God, fearing to offend the King, now reviled him.

On the other side of the Channel Pandulph was in consultation with Philip of France.

‘You must disband your fleet and your armies,’ he told Philip. ‘Invasion of England is now quite out of the question. England is now a papal fief and to attack England is to attack Rome.’

Philip was furious. He had seen England ripe for invasion, a weak king, dissatisfied barons who at his first success would be ready to desert John for him; and now by this adroit action of John’s in surrendering his crown to the Pope and receiving it back as a vassal, his weak enemy had become a powerful one.

‘It has cost me a great deal of money and months of preparation,’ cried Philip. ‘Was it all of no avail?’

‘You could not hope for success if Rome was against you,’ was the answer.

There was a certain amount of truth in that. Philip saw his dream evaporating. It was maddening. All his life he had longed to achieve the glory of a Charlemagne. He had yearned to go down in history as the man who had made France great as it had once been; and if he could have brought to it the crown of England he would have surpassed all others. And it had been within his grasp. He was sure of it.

But he was a realist and he saw at once that it was a dream which would have to be shelved – but perhaps not for long. He would keep his fleet in readiness; he would add to his armies. He would not abandon his dream of conquering England. It was only a postponement.

Pandulph departed feeling it was safe to return to Rome and report to the Pope that his mission had been satisfactorily carried out.

When he had gone Philip brooded over the situation in which he found himself. His soldiers were restive. They had been promised conquest and conquest always meant spoils. They knew that when the Conqueror had gone to England, men who had been quite humble in Normandy had become landowners, rich and powerful. This was what they had hoped from an invasion of England. And now it was not to take place, how would they feel?

Philip must assure not only himself, but them, that it was but a postponement.

In the meantime they must not be idle. Every general knew that an idle army was a danger to its commander. Mutiny, rebellion, all had their seeds in idleness and the greater it was the more they flourished.

He called his generals to him and told them that although the invasion of England had had to be postponed, it was not abandoned. They would while they were waiting turn their attentions to that old enemy of France – Flanders – who had shown itself very uncooperative in this last venture.

The generals understood. It was necessary to keep the army occupied.

So, leaving the fleet of ships lying at anchor, the army left and in a short time were marching on Ghent.

Philip’s decision threw luck into John’s path. It seemed as though Fate had decided to cherish him. First he had made his peace with Rome at precisely the right moment so that he had not only made it unwise for the French to attack him but it had also been a warning to the barons too, for in rebelling against him they would be rebelling against the Pope.

The Flemings, as Philip’s enemies, must be John’s friends; and when they realised that French fury was to be turned against them they appealed to John for help.

John considered this appeal very carefully with the Marshal and others whom he trusted. It seemed an opportunity to weaken the French and William Marshal felt that as John had assembled an army to ward off the French invaders it would be a good idea to send it to the aid of the Flemings.