Jean Plaidy - The Prince of Darkness

She shook her head. ‘There is no child,’ she said. ‘I know it.’

But he laughed at her.

And when he rode away she was a prisoner.

He came back later and they were together for two days and nights and he scarcely left her bed during that time. She knew that he thought constantly of her lover and that in his perverse way he took some pleasure in contemplating that which enraged him.

When he left she was pregnant and in due course she gave birth to a daughter. She called her after herself, Isabella.

And she remained the King’s prisoner.

With Philip’s fleet in disorder and a great many of his weapons and battle equipment in English hands it seemed to John the time had come to attack France and attempt to regain his possessions. One of his spurts of energy came to him and he was eager for action. He had an army assembled but he needed the support of the barons so he issued commands throughout the land for them to bring their followers and join him.

Rebellion simmered beneath the surface. The barons had no confidence in John. The Braose family with Robert Fitz-Walter and Eustace de Vesci had spread discord throughout the country. They had hinted that such a tyrant could not be allowed to reign unless he reformed considerably, and although John realised that many of the barons were restive he did not know how deeply rooted was this determination to bring matters to a head.

The barons of the North, who were in a better position than those in the South to defy the King, refused to supply John with what he needed. They said that John had proved himself an ineffectual commander; losses in France had been humiliating; true, they had had luck recently but only because they had taken the French fleet by surprise. They had no confidence in John and his missions abroad; nor would they supply men and money to maintain them. They preferred to remain in England and keep that safe from an invader, for it was not inconceivable that when Philip had had time to muster his forces, he would make an attack on the country. In any case, they were not meeting John’s wishes.

When John heard their refusal wild rage possessed him. He gave vent to it in the usual way and when he was exhausted by it he decided that he would go not to France but up to the North to show the barons how he felt about his subjects who disobeyed him.

He knew that FitzWalter with his friend Vesci had done their utmost to ferment trouble. Something told him that FitzWalter was going to do everything he could to take his crown from him in exchange for his daughter. He had been foolish over FitzWalter; he should have killed him when he had a chance and now simply because his daughter had been a little fool and had held out against her King’s advances, her father was helping to stir up trouble. In the priory church of Little Dunmow, to keep the story alive, the FitzWalters had had a statue of Matilda made and placed it on her tomb. No doubt they made all sorts of unholy vows over it.

By God’s eyes, John thought, if FitzWalter falls into my hands that will be an end to him.

But meanwhile he needed men to attack Philip and his northern barons were refusing to help him and he was going to show them who was the master. He always maintained a good army of mercenaries and with these he set out, not for France but for the North with the intention of teaching the barons a lesson.

The fact that the King was on the march could not be kept a secret and when the new Archbishop of Canterbury heard, he hastened forth with his retinue to meet John.

John was angry that the Archbishop should at this early stage show his intention to meddle. He demanded to know why he had thought it necessary to meet him in such a way.

‘My lord,’ the Archbishop pointed out, ‘by attacking the northern barons you would create civil war in this land and you cannot have forgotten so soon that you hold the crown of England as a fief of the Pope.’

‘I will rule my own land in a manner which is pleasing to me,’ growled John.

‘If you displease our master the Pope, you will be breaking your vows. It would be necessary, if you forced a civil war on this country, to bring back the Interdict and to excommunicate you.

John knew this could come to pass. His submission to the Pope had extricated him from a very uneasy situation, for if he had not given way to Rome Philip of France might at this time be in possession of his crown. A curse on all popes and archbishops! They had ever been thorns in the side of kings.

He wanted to shout: Take this man away. Murder him on the steps of his cathedral as my father’s loyal knights murdered Becket. I’ll not be ruled by the Church.

But he had taken his vows to the Pope and sworn allegiance; he had given Rome power in England greater than any monarch had ever given before.

Luck was against him. He had lost Normandy. He had lost most of his possessions in France. The easiest way to ease his feelings was to fly into a temper.

But he must control himself on this occasion.

How did he ever get into this mess? It was Isabella’s fault. He had dallied with her when he should have been attending to State matters. When they had said he had lost his kingdom under the bed quilt they were right.

She was a witch. A sorceress. And she took lovers.

It soothed him a little to think of the fate of the one who had been discovered.

He must outwit the Pope. That was the only way. The barons on one side, Philip on the other and presiding over all Stephen Langton, the Pope’s man who, because of that, had more power in England than the King himself.

He talked in secret to Stephen Langton. There should be no war, but a king could not rule with so much rebellion in his ranks. He would march north, show the barons his strength and his displeasure. But there should be no bloodshed.

‘Remember, my lord,’ warned Stephen, ‘that if there is, His Holiness will take action.’

‘I will remember,’ John replied sullenly.

So the trip to the North was merely a warning to the barons; and having made it John returned to the South in order to make his preparations to sail for France, without those who refused to accompany him.

When John arrived at La Rochelle he was acclaimed by the people. As this was a great trading port and doing good business with England its inhabitants had no wish to be taken over by the King of France which would have been detrimental to trade. Moreover, Aquitaine had always feared domination by Philip. Thus, on John’s coming, he found himself with considerable allies.

His spirts were lifted and when he had taken a castle or two he was excited by his success and saw himself regaining all that he had lost.

Luck was on his side and against Philip on this occasion for the Flemings – perennial enemies of the French – took this opportunity to attack him. Philip had no alternative but to turn to Flanders, leaving his son Louis to deal with the invading English.

Excited, certain of success, John realised that there was one family which could spoil his chances, a family which bore almost as great a grudge against him as the FitzWalters. This was the de Lusignan family, and Hugh, from whom he had snatched Isabella, was at the head of it.

It seemed to John that his life was haunted by spectres of the past. Arthur, Vesci, FitzWalter and Lusignan. Would none of the wrongs he had committed ever be forgotten?

He was going to try to lay the Lusignan ghost right away. He must if he were to turn the wrath of this powerful family from him.

An idea had occurred to him which greatly amused him. Hugh de Lusignan, the man of whom he had always been jealous because he knew that Isabella had remembered him all through the years, had remained unmarried. Could this be because he had been so enamoured of Isabella that he could not contemplate taking another bride? It could well be so. Hugh’s family was an ambitious one and if a tasty bait were dangled before them they would not be able to prevent themselves taking it. John was overcome with mirth. He could have his little joke to good advantage, the Lusignans should help him to recover what he had lost in France.

He sent messengers to Hugh de Lusignan offering him a bride; this bride was to be John’s own legitimate daughter – he had several illegitimate ones – Joanna, daughter of Isabella whom Hugh had loved and so reluctantly lost.

John could not restrain his laughter when the messengers returned.

Isabella’s old lover Hugh had agreed to marry her daughter.

What a brilliant stroke of strategy this was, was seen when Philip, hearing of the proposed alliance between the King of England and the Lusignan family, offered one of his sons as a bridegroom for little Joanna. Surely a better proposition! The son of the King of France for the princess of England – not a mere baron.

‘Not so, not so,’ cried John. He pointed out that the King of France had married his niece and that had not saved them conflict. The marriage of his daughter with the Lusignans seemed to him an ideal one. Moreover, he was looking forward to telling Isabella that Hugh was to have her daughter.

He could now march unmolested through Lusignan territory and so pursue his attack on the King of France. In this he continued with some success but he had uneasy allies. They were watching carefully which way the battle was going and did not intend to be caught on the losing side. Face to face with the French they decided that it would be better to remain neutral; and even as the battle was about to begin they made up their minds to desert.