The Heart of the Lion (43 page)

Immediately the trumpets sounded. Every one of his servants was afraid of his temper. It was as violent as that of his father, only he could be more vicious. Henry II had always prided himself on being just but John did not care for justice if it interfered with his desires, and he enjoyed seeing men tremble before him.

They rode into the castle. As he had expected Hadwisa had heard the trumpets. She was down there with the stirrup cup.

‘Ah, my love,’ he cried. ‘My heart beats faster to see you. And you show me clearly that you are as eager for a sight of me as I am for you.’ He laughed at the irony of this. ‘Good mulled wine,’ he went on. ‘Come, sweetheart, sip the loving cup with me.’ Let her taste it first. Who knew, she might make up her mind to poison him one day. If so let her be the one to take her own poison.

She sipped.

‘Again, my love,’ he said. ‘Again! Again!’ and he jerked the goblet so that she must either drink or choke.

Then he put it to his lips.

He leaped from his horse and embraced her in a manner which brought a blush to her cheek.

‘Come to our chamber,’ he said. And turning to his attendants : ‘You know how impatient I am. So first leave me with my wife.’

She was aware of the sly smiles. They knew that he was laughing at her, that last evening he had made sport with other women and that he had said of them, when complimenting them on their skill in that art in which he declared he excelled more than in any other, that they reminded him of his wife by the very difference in them.

Hadwisa trembling in his grip could do nothing but be taken to their chamber. There he ordered her to take off her gown and await him. His method was always different. On the journeys to the castle he would enjoy planning how he could best frighten her. There were times when he made fierce onslaughts which nauseated her; at others he would ignore her altogether. He enjoyed watching her terror and her sudden relief when she thought she was going to be ignored and then he would find the greatest pleasure in letting her see that she was deceived.

As for Hadwisa, who had been gently nurtured in a household where she had been witness to the tender affection of her parents and who had attended the weddings of her sisters, she truly believed that she had married a monster.

Her modesty which he called prudery sometimes amused him, sometimes angered him. It would depend on his mood.

On this day the torturing of Hadwisa was of secondary importance. His mind was on the unpopularity of Longchamp and how he could best take advantage of it.

He was not thinking of her lying there on her bed asking herself what form the torture would take on this occasion but he went over and looked down at her. She was by no means voluptuous. Yes, he would rid himself of her when the time came. Perhaps then it was better not to plant his seed in her. Children made difficulties. If she could read his thoughts she would be relieved so he would not tell her. Her family must not know yet that it was in his mind to cast her off. He had her lands safely enough, what did he want with her?

He sat down on the stool and looked at his boots.

He said: ‘There are great events afoot, wife.’

She did not answer. He shouted: ‘Heard you not my words?’

‘Yes, I heard, John. There are great events afoot.’

‘The people hate Longchamp.’

‘I have heard that many murmur against him.’

‘The son of a French serf who ran away and hid himself in a Norman village. Longchamp was the name of that village and they took that as their name. Doubtless they thought it had a noble ring. The man is a low-born knave.’

‘He is very powerful,’ said Hadwisa.

‘Powerful! At this time maybe. It is not going to last though.’

‘Is it not?’

‘Indeed it is not, for I say so and you know don’t you, wife, that when I command all obey me.’

She was silent and he shouted: ‘Know you it, wife?’

‘Yes . . . yes . . .’ she answered.

‘Then when I speak to you, pray do not remain silent. If you do I shall be angry and you would not like that, you know.’

‘No, John.’

‘Remember it. I tell you this: it will not be long before Longchamp is sent back to Normandy. You believe that, don’t you?’

‘If you say so, John.’

‘Yes, I say so! I hate the fellow. Low-born upstart! Do you know I think he would take the crown if it were at all possible.’

‘But that could never be,’ she said.

‘Nay. Though ’tis true it now rests with one who does not deserve it.’

‘You speak of the King.’

‘Who is at this moment in Palestine fighting the Saracen. Or is he there, do you think? Mayhap his ship foundered. Ships do that often. Mayhap he is at this moment lying dead with an arrow in his body. By God’s holy eyes, if that be so then your husband, Hadwisa, is King of England. Would it were so. Oh God, I pray you send that arrow quick . . . let it pierce his heart. He must lose that for which he shows little love for if he loved England how could he have deserted her to be a soldier of the cross?’ Hadwisa trembled. He looked down at the bed and pushed her over on to her face. ‘There! I would not see your traitorous eyes, my lady. You have no spirit. You are frightened of God, of Richard! Fool that you are. There is one whom you should fear. The new King, your husband.’

She said: ‘I do.’

‘Then you have some sense. I tell you this, wife; that I am going to take this kingdom. Whether God sends that arrow or not. Richard is not here. Then he shall lose his kingdom. The people are restive. They will be with me.’

She raised herself and looked steadily at him. ‘What of your mother?’ she asked.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I am her son am I not?’

‘She loves Richard.’

‘Aye, and she loves me too. She is a wise woman, a woman of great experience. She will see that this must be. He deserts his kingdom. There must be a king.’

He looked at her without seeing her. He could see nothing but the crown on his own head. That vision was more exciting than anything he could conjure up. He was bored with her. He could not discuss his dreams with her. What was she? An ignorant little country girl! He would never have known her if she had not been the richest heiress in the land.

To her great relief he left her. She dressed hurriedly and said a prayer of thankfulness, adding a request that soon he would go away.

She began to think of what effect it would have on her life if he truly became King. She then would be the Queen.

It was not so much the thought of being Queen that terrified her but of being
his
Queen.

Down in the hall the venison was being served . . . a very special occasion for the coming of the King’s brother. John sat at the table, his wife beside him, but he had little to say to her. His thoughts were far away from this hall. He was seeing himself being crowned in Westminster. It was all he could do to restrain himself from talking of this matter but he was not so foolish as to do so in such varied company.

He glanced at Hubert de Burgh, a young man to whom he had taken a great fancy, and he wished they were alone together so that he could have talked to him.

It was while they were at dinner that messengers arrived for John. He had his spies everywhere and it was one of their duties to bring news to him wherever he might be.

So thus while they sat at dinner and the minstrels strummed their lutes and sang, there was a clatter of horses’ hoofs in the courtyard which proved to be the arrival of one of John’s messengers.

Hoping that he brought news of Richard’s death he went out into the courtyard to meet the messenger. The man was mud-stained for he had travelled fast and far knowing his master would wish the news to be brought to him without delay.

‘Come, man, what is it?’

‘I have news of the King, my lord,’ he said. ‘He has left Sicily. He has made a pact with the usurper King Tancred.’

‘So he still lives,’ said John, his brow darkening.

‘Aye, my lord,’ said the messenger, ‘and there is ill news.’

‘Ill news!’ he cried. ‘What news?’

The messenger looked alarmed. It was not good to be the harbinger of news which did not please and he knew what he had to tell Prince John would send him into a passion. But he must tell it. It would be more than his life was worth to withhold anything.

He blurted out: ‘The King has promised Prince Arthur of Brittany to Tancred’s daughter. It is one of the terms of the pact.’

‘Arthur!’ screamed John.

‘’Tis so, my lord.’

‘By God’s teeth,’ muttered John. ‘He has offered Arthur as the heir of England!’

‘’Twould seem so, my lord, for Tancred has accepted the offer most joyfully.’

John’s face was distorted with rage.

‘By your leave, my lord,’ said the messenger bowing and hastily taking a few steps backwards.

But John did not see him. He was thinking of what this would mean. Their nephew, Arthur, son of their brother Geoffrey, had been named by Richard as heir to the throne of England!

‘No, no, no,’ screamed John.

Then he smiled slowly. Of course Arthur would never be King. He was a baby. He had never been to England. The English would never accept him.

But, by God, how he hated his brother for attempting to cheat him!

Could some say that Arthur had the greater claim? Geoffrey was older than he, John. Geoffrey’s son! No, it was nonsense. It could never be. He would see that it never was.

By God, he would take the throne now while Richard lived if need be. What had he to fear from a puling infant?

He was in no mood for Hadwisa. He had matters of greater moment to consider than her discomfort.

‘We are leaving,’ he shouted. ‘There are matters of business to claim me. I can no longer rest here.’

Hadwisa stood at the turret watching his departure.

She blessed the messenger who had brought such a message to drive her from her husband’s thoughts.

William of Longchamp was too clever a man not to have realised that his most dangerous enemy was Prince John, and that sooner or later the Prince’s simmering hatred would boil over into dangerous action.

Longchamp believed that he could deal satisfactorily with the Prince, who for all his blustering and violent temper was a weak man. Had he not been the son of a King he would never have risen very far. Whereas he, Longchamp, had done so, although severely handicapped, his grandparents both being fugitive slaves who had come from France to the little village of Longchamp and lived out their lives in obscurity, their great ambition being never to be discovered.

He had been determined not to remain in obscurity. Nature had seen fit to bestow on him an unattractive body but a clever brain and all wise men knew that the second was more desirable than the first. When he had been younger he had longed to be tall but he soon realised that he never would be. In fact unkind people called him ‘that ill-favoured dwarf’. That was not true but he was of very low stature so that his head seemed bigger than normal, as were his hands and his feet. It was as though nature had joked with him, giving him a chin that receded and a stomach that protruded; and as if that were not enough one leg was slightly shorter than the other which meant that he walked with a limp. But to compensate him for his physical disabilities he had been given not only a lively mind but the understanding that it could take him far if he nurtured it; so he learned where he could, observing constantly and making himself agreeable to those who could be useful to him.

It was great good fortune which had brought him to the notice of Richard when he was in Aquitaine. Two men could not have been more different. The shining god-like creature, physically perfect and with a natural dignity and grace, a man as many said born to be king and who looked every inch of it, and his poor misshapen servant. It might have been this contrast which attracted Richard’s attention. In any case he soon discovered the mental brilliance of his servant and began to take notice of him. Soon Longchamp was making Richard see how clever he could be and the King took him more and more into his confidence.

So firm did Richard’s patronage become that when he was King of England and planning his crusade he decided that Longchamp should be his Chancellor and share with Hugh Pusey, Bishop of Durham, the office of Chief Justiciary in the commission he was appointing to govern England during his absence. What did it matter if Longchamp was ugly? He was going to show Richard that he had not misplaced his confidence and to flaunt his wealth and position in the faces of those who had jeered at him for his lack of social grace. It was not long before he quarrelled with Hugh Pusey; they were both ambitious and each saw in the other a rival to power. Longchamp was the more wily, always one step ahead; and in a short space of time he had completely overcome Pusey, bringing charges against him which justified imprisonment and then taking from him, in exchange for his liberation, his office and some of his possessions. Thus Longchamp became the sole justiciary, the man in whose hands lay the means and the power to govern England during Richard’s absence.

Of course the people hated him. He was a Norman and insisted on unfamiliar customs in his household. Then there was his love of ostentation. It was natural enough that one who had been despised must find it necessary to show continually how rich and powerful he had become. Every extravagance was a gesture. See how the King loves me! he seemed to be saying. But the more gestures of this nature there were, the more the people hated him. He in his turn hated the English. He was constantly trying to show them how inferior they were. If he were an astute statesman he was no student of human nature. He blindly revelled in Richard’s favour and cared nothing for the enmity of others, forgetting that Richard was far away and that his enemies were all around him.