The Prince of Darkness

Chapter IX ‘PUT OUT HIS EYES’

Riding in the midst of John’s guards Arthur was quiet and sullen. He missed his mother; he wondered what was happening to Guy; if only his sister Eleanor were with him there would have been some comfort, but here he was alone with strangers, enemy strangers.

He kept going over the events which had led to this humiliating capture. If only they had taken his grandmother and left Mirebeau with her, victory would have been theirs. How could they have been so stupid as to delay? He had to admit it had been his wish and he had been so eager to have his way. He knew that the soldiers had wanted to stay and he had heard it said that when men were fighting they must not be driven too hard all the time. And after a battle must be given some sort of reward. It had been so wonderful taking Mirebeau with his grandmother looking on at the battle and, as he had believed, wishing she had given her support to her grandson Arthur instead of worthless John.

And then suddenly it had all changed. They were the losers and he had had to ride in that dreadful farm cart – a degradation he would never forget.

Before him lay the castle of Falaise – renowned because it was in this town that his great ancestor William the Conqueror had been born. Was that why John had sent him here, that he might be held a prisoner in the old home of that great ancestor?

William de Braose and his wife Matilda, who were waiting to receive him, came out to the courtyard and William held Arthur’s stirrup while he alighted.

‘I trust the journey was comfortable, my lord,’ he said in a soothing and respectful voice which was reassuring to Arthur.

‘I could scarcely be comforted in the circumstances,’ replied Arthur.

‘My wife and I will do all we can for you, my lord, while you are here.’

Matilda de Braose came forward then and curtsied to Arthur. She was a tall woman with strong features and a deep resonant voice.

She said she had had his apartments made ready for him, and had herself made sure that he should lack nothing for his comfort.

It was a better reception than he had hoped for after his treatment from his uncle.

He was taken into the castle and William de Braose led the way up a spiral staircase. Arthur followed and Matilda brought up the rear.

There was his bedchamber. The bars across the narrow window were the only indication that it was a prison.

William de Braose glanced at them apologetically. ‘Alas, my lord, we have to hold you under restraint and the King’s orders are that there must be guards outside your door and one must sleep in your room. It is with great regret that I must carry out these orders for I know how irksome this can be.’

‘We want you to understand,’ said Matilda, ‘that it is our desire to make your stay in Falaise as comfortable as is possible. If there is anything you need, pray ask for it, and if it is within our power to give it to you, that shall be done.’

Arthur thanked them, adding: ‘I had not expected such a gracious greeting. ’Tis different from what I have had hitherto from my uncle.’

‘There are those of us who regret the need for this, my lord,’ said William, ‘but it has come about and we must perforce obey orders.’

‘I shall remember your kindness to me,’ Arthur promised them.

Making sure of his comfort they left him. He threw himself down on the pallet and wondered what the future held.

He dreamed that he had escaped from Falaise and that he was marching at the head of his armies. His mother was with him and Eleanor was there too and they were saying: ‘I knew you would not remain a prisoner long. You will soon be free from prison, Arthur.’

Then he woke up and felt a little better. Of course he would not stay here long. The people of Brittany would never allow it. They were so loyal to their Duke. It was not in real battle that he had been beaten; it had just happened by ill luck. Had he left Mirebeau the night before, Europe would have been talking of his victory and he would be halfway to regaining all that was his by right. He supposed even the Conqueror had had uneasy periods like this one.

No, he must not despair. He was in the hands of good people who were not going to take advantage of his position. He liked William de Braose and his wife.

William and Matilda were discussing the prisoner.

‘He’s but a child,’ said Matilda.

‘Neverthless, John is afraid of him, and you know what John is like when he is afraid. He is capable of anything.’

‘You don’t think he’ll give you instructions to murder the child?’

‘I wouldn’t, Matilda, if he did. But between the two of us I would whisper that he is capable of giving such a command.’

‘The whole world would revile him.’

‘John doesn’t consider consequences when certain moods take possession of him.’

‘I would Richard had lived.’

‘Aye, there you speak for both of us.’

William was thoughtful. He was one of the most ambitious men of the day. His ancestors had been minor barons who had founded the family in the town of Braose in Normandy and had come over with the Conqueror and acquired lands in Sussex, Devon and Wales. He had proved himself a magnificent soldier on the Welsh border; he had earned Richard’s approbation and the two had become friends. William had been with Richard on the Continent when the latter had met his death at Chaluz.

William de Braose was a man who was determined to advance; his ambition was to be the foremost of the barons of England. He had considered carefully on Richard’s death which side he would be on and had chosen John, not because he liked John – he did not admire him as he had Richard – but because he believed that John had the stronger forces behind him; and when William Marshal had placed himself with John that was the signal for men such as William de Braose to do likewise. He agreed with the Marshal that Arthur would have little chance in England. John had been by far the safer bet; and to have gone against him and failed would have been the end of all his dreams of riches. Matilda had been with him. A strong forceful woman, she was just the wife he needed.

John trusted him, for he had proved himself a good knight to Richard; and it was for this reason that he had put Arthur in his charge at Falaise.

It was an honour and yet William de Braose hoped that it would not continue too long. He did not want to spend his life as a jailer. He had other plans. But at this stage the fact that he had been appointed for the task showed John’s confidence in him, and he was gratified at that. With a man like John one could descend from favour to disgrace in a day. He must make sure that that did not happen to him.

At the same time, just in case John should be defeated he would treat Arthur with especial deference so that should the time come when Arthur was in a position to bestow honours he should not think too badly of William de Braose.

Thus it was that Arthur’s stay in Falaise was pleasant enough and his guards were the only outward sign that he was a prisoner.

William would play chess with him and Matilda mothered him in a rather domineering way which sometimes, when he felt young and lonely, he did not dislike.

While John was at Caen William des Roches presented himself.

John received him indifferently as though he did not care whether he saw him or not but William des Roches was a man who was well aware of his importance, even if John were not.

John was still puffed up with pride over his success at Mirebeau. He was going to bask in that glory for as long as he could. It was success, William conceded, but it was not one which affected John’s entire life and made his Continental possessions safe for ever. It was merely a successful skirmish. John, however, appeared to have sunk back into a life of voluptuousness on the strength of this one mild success.

Like William de Braose, William des Roches was an ambitious man. Both of them realised the importance of being on the winning side, but if the victor was not inclined to honour William des Roches then he would look about him for other means of using his talent.

William des Roches had been the leader of Arthur’s army when it had joined forces with Philip of France; but it was not long before des Roches was quarrelling with Philip, for Philip had destroyed one of the castles which had belonged to Arthur because rebels against him had sheltered there.

William des Roches had protested to Philip that the property of his young lord should not be wantonly destroyed, to which Philip had sharply retorted that what was and what was not to be destroyed was a matter for him to decide.

Clearly, des Roches had thought Philip was no ally for him.

In the heat of his temper he had gone to John and said that he would persuade Arthur and Constance to come to terms with him and give up their claim; but he would do this on one condition: that he, William des Roches, was to decide their actions.

John, rejoicing in the rift between William des Roches and Philip, had delightedly agreed, and peace was concluded between Arthur and John – an uneasy one it was true, for Constance had been highly suspicious of John’s intentions towards her son.

William des Roches had then worked closely with John. When he had heard that the young Duke was at Mirebeau it was William des Roches who had been one of those foremost in leading the attack.

‘If we capture Arthur,’ he had told John, ‘you will, my lord, remember your promises that I should have a say in the young Duke’s future?’

John had promised.

And now he had sent Arthur off to Falaise where his jailer would be William de Braose.

William des Roches was incensed when he presented himself to John, though he did his best to hide his mood.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘it is good news, Arthur is your prisoner.’

John laughed. ‘You should have seen the boy’s face when I threatened to castrate him. He believed it, you know. ’Twould be amusing to take from him the opportunity of savouring that of which at this time he is ignorant, I believe. His mother kept him under close restraint, and I doubt he had any opportunity to try his talents.’

‘The young Duke is well, I trust,’ said William.

‘The would-be-King has become a frightened little boy.’

‘Poor child,’ said William. ‘I have come for your permission to take over the care of him.’

John raised his eyebrows. ‘He is well cared for. You need have no qualms in that respect.’

‘I am glad of it. I understand he is at Falaise with de Braose.’

‘A good man, de Braose,’ said John, ‘and one I would always trust. He was a good friend to my brother and has been to me. He likes to profit from his service, but what matters that if his profit is mine also?’

‘I am prepared to ride to Falaise without delay.’

‘There’ll be no need, my dear fellow.’

‘Sir, I consider there is every need. You have forgotten our pact. I made the peace between you and Arthur; I have fought for you and you’ll remember my reward was to be that I was to have the charge of Arthur.’

‘Reward!’ cried John. ‘Men do not generally ask about their rewards when serving me.’

‘They think of them none the less, I dare swear,’ said des Roches boldly.

Warning lights were shining in John’s eyes. William des Roches was aware of them, but important enough he believed to ignore them.

‘They are too courteous … or perhaps too fearful … to mention them,’ said John meaningfully.

‘Then perhaps I should be the same,’ said des Roches.

‘You were always a clever fellow, William. You ever knew which side to jump before it was too late.’

‘Thank you, my lord, for that compliment.’

‘You are welcome to it.’ John nodded to imply he was tired of the subject and William des Roches took the opportunity to retire.

‘Be careful,’ warned John as William left. ‘Mind which way you jump.’

He had misjudged des Roches, who was in a position to do a great deal of harm and he was determined to do it.

That day he deserted John and without delay formed a league of the lords of Brittany, marched into action and took certain castles, thus cutting off John’s means of communication to the south.

The rot had set in. The success of Mirebeau was seen to be trivial. With the French King ready to seize any opportunity, with the Lusignans raring to avenge the insult on the head of their house in addition to the abduction of Isabella, and with all those who hated John – and they were numerous – waiting for the moment to come when they could successfully rise against him, John’s hold on his Continental territories was growing weaker every day.

He could not see it, for he was still revelling in his marriage, which after a brief separation seemed like a new beginning to him.

His supporters began to be anxious. It was as though Isabella’s beauty and allurements had been bestowed on her by the devil, who was determined on John’s destruction, for when he rose from his bed – late in the day – he would be languid after the night’s performance and disinclined for anything but to wait for the night to come again.

Isabella thought often of Hugh in his dungeons and wondered whether he ever thought of her. It was not her fault; she did hope he understood that. She had had no say in the matter. Her parents and the King had decided for her.

She shivered with horror when rumours reached her of what had happened to the prisoners of Corfe Castle. They were all dead, for food supplies had been cut off from them and they were left to starve to death in the dungeons.

People were whispering that this was not the way to treat honourable prisoners who had merely followed a leader and been loyal to him.

They had revolted and tried to escape and it was then that John had given the cruel order: ‘Let them starve. That will teach them to rise against me.’

She would lie in their bed and think of the terrible things that were happening all around them and how powerful John was and how terrible in anger. He was never angry with her although there had been occasions when he was on the verge of it. She used to wonder what would happen if she ever took a lover. She had to admit that she would have liked to. Such was her nature that she could never see a handsome man without picturing him as a lover. Sometimes she would see one of them looking at her and some sort of understanding would flash between them. It would be so easy – a moment’s temptation and they might succumb to it. And what if John discovered?

What would he do? In her wilder moments she sometimes thought she was so eager to know that she would run the risk to find out. That would be folly, she realised on those occasions when she saw his temper.

She wondered about him. The same thoughts must occur to him.

He was getting anxious now because there was whispering among his knights. William des Roches had not only deserted him but was raising forces against him. So powerful was the man that the complacent mood following Mirebeau had to change, even for John. He had to see what was happening, for he knew that at any moment Philip could be expected to take advantage of the situation.

John was at last persuaded that he must leave Isabella for a few days and see what was happening in his dominions. He reluctantly agreed to do this and sent Isabella to Chinon.

His enemies, who had laughed at his obsession with his wife which exceeded that for his country, decided this was too good an opportunity to miss. What if they captured Isabella? What could they demand from John for her release?

Thus when Isabella was coming into Chinon she heard that a party of rebel barons were waiting to take her prisoner. The news was carried to John at the same time. He was frantic. She must be brought to him at once; never again would he allow her to go from his side.

He was advised against going to her rescue, for it seemed that it might well have been a trap to capture him. Instead, a strong band of his mercenaries rode with all speed to Chinon and on the road encountered Isabella in flight.

They brought her back to John.

He wept with relief when he saw her, picking her up in his arms and carrying her to their bedchamber.

She laughed at his fears.

‘What if they had taken me?’ she said. ‘What would you have done then?’

‘I would not have rested until I had brought you back where you belong.’

‘What of your country, John? They say that is in danger of being taken from you.’

‘They say!’ he cried. ‘None would dare! In any case I’d soon have it back.’

‘You are losing much.’

‘I’ll get it back.’

‘When?’

‘In my own good time.’

‘When will that be?’

‘When you don’t distract me from all else.’

‘Do you think that will ever come about?’

‘It could,’ he admitted. ‘But not yet.’

‘You are unsure of me,’ she said.

‘I deny that. You want me as much as I want you. I am as important to you as you are to me.’

‘Yes, ’tis true, but you show you don’t feel that.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, your attitude towards Hugh the Brown, for one thing.’

‘I do not understand.’

‘He is in chains, is he not?’

‘Yes, where he deserves to be.’

‘You keep him prisoner as you keep Arthur prisoner. You have reason to fear Arthur. What reason have you to fear Hugh?’

‘Fear Hugh!’

‘Well, you keep him in chains. Do you do it because once he dared to love me?’

‘I do it because he is an enemy.’

‘People say that you are afraid of him – that he might try to take me from you.’

‘Who says this? I’ll cut out their tongues.’

‘’Tis whispered here and there. There could be too many tongues involved. Would you want a tongueless household? You could stop this foolish talk by freeing him.’

‘Free Hugh de Lusignan?’

‘Why not? It would show your contempt for him.’

He was thoughtful. ‘Petty lord,’ he said. ‘He wouldn’t dare stand against me. He did not like riding in that cart, Isabella. That wounded him more than a hundred lashes would have done.’

‘I doubt that not for a moment. If you released him he would see the humiliation at once. He would say, “John despises me. If he did not he would never let me go.”’

John laughed. ‘That’s a woman’s reasoning.’

‘’Tis a true one.’

‘Why do you care what becomes of him?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘I don’t. I care only that people should not say you fear him.’

She yawned.

‘I am weary of that man,’ she said, and kissed him.

He responded as ever but he was still thinking of Hugh.

What if he released him? People would say ‘he bears no rancour’. But why should he bear rancour? It was Hugh’s place to bear that. What if he sent Hugh back to Lusignan? It would be tantamount to saying that what such a petty baron did was of little concern to him.

William Marshal asked for an audience. John received him with warmth. He must always remember that it was the Marshal who had made the way to the throne of England easy for him.

William said: ‘Is it indeed true, my lord, that you have made certain propositions to the Lusignans?’

‘Aye,’ said John, ‘’tis true.’

He was put out by the incredulous wonder in the Marshal’s eyes and quickly made excuses for his act.

‘There is trouble in the South,’ he said. ‘I have too many enemies there. I need friends. If the Lusignans would work for me, the entire aspect would be changed.’

‘They are your worst enemies, my lord.’

‘Enemies can be turned into friends, Marshal. You know that well.’

‘Then they are scarcely worth the effort.’

‘The Lusignans were once the friends of my House. My brother and they had a great deal in common.’

‘My lord, your marriage makes it impossible for the Lusignans ever to be true friends of your House.’

‘I think not. That is why I am freeing Hugh the Brown and the others who are my prisoners. I am demanding certain privileges in exchange for my clemency. With them holding the South for me they will stop enemy penetration. I shall demand pledges from them – a castle or two … some lands. They can hold La Marche for me and my position will be much happier.’

‘My lord, I beg of you, consider what you are doing.’

‘I have considered.’

‘These men will be in one of the most important strategic positions in your dominions.’

‘Exactly so.’

‘And you believe that they will work for you?’

‘I shall extract pledges from them. It will show everyone that I fear them not. In a way it is an act of contempt towards Hugh the Brown.’

‘I fear he will not consider it so.’

‘You are too set in your ways, Marshal.’

‘I fear you will regret this, my lord.’

‘I’ll warrant I’ll make you eat those words.’

‘I hope to God you do. Nothing would make me happier.’

‘You shall, Marshal. You shall.’

‘You are firmly fixed in this decision, my lord?’

‘I am.’

William the Marshal turned sorrowfully away. Was it true that John’s mind was weakening? And were those voluptuous nights sapping his strength – mental as well as physical? Many were saying they did and it would seem they might be right.

The Marshal was of course proved right. No sooner was Hugh de Lusignan free and returned to his estates than he began to break his pledges and store up trouble for John.

‘Pledges given to such a man mean nothing,’ he declared. ‘He is evil and if it is necessary to dissemble to outwit him then so must it be. I shall not rest until John of England goes back to the title he was born with – John Lackland. For only when we have rid ourselves of him will this land be a happy one.’

John fell into a rage. He could see he had been a fool. He began to shout of what he would do to Hugh de Lusignan if he ever fell into his hands again. Obscenities poured from his lips and his eyes seemed as if they would bolt out of his head.

He had been a fool, he knew. He had listened to Isabella’s soft words. Why had she been so interested in Hugh? But it might have worked. If Hugh had been a man whom he could have trusted he could have held the South for him.

As it was he was a traitor and with his stirring up trouble in the South and Philip beginning to emerge with a big army behind him John was getting worried.

He thought of Arthur in the castle of Falaise. What if they rescued him and put him in John’s place? That was what they were after.

He ought to have thought more about Arthur. Now William des Roches was working against him and the Lusignans were on the warpath, the situation was growing more and more uneasy.

But Arthur was the great menace.

Something would have to be done about Arthur. To think that that silly young boy could cause him so much concern! At least there was something in John’s favour; Arthur was his prisoner. If he were of less importance how easy it would be to get him out of the way, but if he were to disappear there would be such an outcry that the whole of Europe would rise up in its indignation. The fact that Arthur was little more than a child would be played on; one could imagine wily Philip making the most of that factor. All the same he must take some action.

Preoccupation with the subject of Arthur got between him and his pleasures; he would think of the boy during the night even, imagining someone rescuing him from Falaise and spiriting him away, getting him to Brittany or the Court of France, and with so many enemies ready to go into action all about him, this made uneasy pondering.

He sought about in his mind for someone whom he could trust and his thoughts alighted on Hubert de Burgh. Hubert was a nephew of the Lord of Connaught who had been a steward to Henry II and found favour with him for good service. Thus Hubert had been noticed by Richard I and when John came to the throne and was pretending to think of marriage with the daughter of the King of Portugal, Hubert was a member of the embassy which was sent to that country.

John’s behaviour with regard to that embassy had been to say the least cynical, for while his envoys were actually in Portugal he had married Isabella, which could have meant that the outraged King was so angry that he could have vented his wrath on John’s servants. Such behaviour was not unknown and the members of the embassy were well aware of it. The King of Portugal, however, incensed as he naturally was by such an insult, was too civilised to lay the blame just out of spite where it did not belong and the embassy was allowed to return to England in safety.

Hubert de Burgh had shown no resentment of this behaviour, John had noticed, which was strange as Hubert was not a meek man. He was one who cared for the welfare of his country and believed it was his duty to save his king but if he disagreed on a point he would not hesitate to show his disapproval. John’s father Henry II and his brother Richard I had cherished such men and in his heart John knew that they were right to do so. The Marshal was such another. He had disapproved of giving Hugh de Lusignan his freedom and he had been right. John saw that now, but only in a measure. It did show the world that he bore him no rancour and that meant that he felt himself to be secure in Isabella’s regard. The fact that he had paraded Hugh before her in chains had set people wondering if he harboured some jealousy of such a handsome man. At least, he consoled himself, in freeing Hugh he had stopped that rumour. Marshal would say it was folly to allow his personal feelings to affect the holding of his dominions. But Marshal had never – poor man – known the spell of a woman like Isabella.

But he must stop thinking of Isabella and concentrate on State matters. Where was he? Hubert de Burgh! Yes, he was the man. Hubert would do what he thought right for the good of his king and his country.

He sent for Hubert de Burgh, and he made sure that they were absolutely alone and that there was no possibility of anyone’s hearing the conversation between them.

‘Hubert, my good man, it pleases me to see you.’

‘And I to see you, my lord. I trust you are in good health.’

‘As you see,’ said John. ‘I have sent for you because I am disturbed and you are going to serve me now as you have served me and my brother in the past. I know you are a man whom I can trust.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘You must carry out my orders and know that by doing so you will serve me and your country well.’

‘That is my constant aim,’ said Hubert sincerely.

‘You know full well that the situation here is not a happy one.’

‘No, but …’ Hubert paused. He could hardly say to the King: It has always been difficult to maintain a hold on the Continental dominions but if the King were to bestir himself, if he were with his soldiers instead of lying in bed all night and half the day with his wife, it could be different.

‘There is one whose presence is a constant menace to our safety here,’ went on John. ‘He’s a rallying point for my enemies. The King of France used him most shamefully. I refer to the Duke of Brittany.’

‘Indeed yes, my lord. There are these rival factions. But he is your prisoner now and Sir William de Braose and his wife are, I am sure, your trusted servants and will guard the Duke with the utmost care.’

‘I know, I know. But I need your help, Hubert. I want you to go to Falaise and take over the guardianship of Arthur.’

‘You are displeased with William de Braose?’

‘No, no. But I believe it is your turn to serve me there.’

Hubert was puzzled. He could not understand why he should be a so much better jailer than the Braoses.

John said slowly: ‘I want Arthur out of my way.’

Hubert looked startled and John went on quickly: ‘Nay, I do not wish you to kill the boy. That would be folly.’

‘It would also be murder, my lord.’

John frowned. So he was going to have scruples. He had a pious look in his eyes now. John said: ‘You have killed at some time, have you not?’

‘In battle,’ said Hubert. ‘That was different. I would not commit cold-blooded murder.’

‘That is something I would never allow,’ said John with mild piety. He had learned not to act so outrageously as he once had, for now, with the reputation he had, people were immediately suspicious. Now he had to show himself as a man with faults but who was not really bad at heart. ‘Why, my good Hubert, you and I would have no rest at nights if we cold-bloodedly murdered a boy – and my own nephew at that.’

Hubert looked a little easier. ‘If, my lord, you wish me to go down and take over the guardianship from Sir William de Braose I will do so at once.’

‘That’s what I wish. Then we have settled this point. Hubert, it grieves me, these battles which go on. You may have thought I have been remiss. Ah, do not deny it.’ (Hubert had made no attempt to because he most emphatically did believe this.) ‘I cannot bear to think of men done to death merely because they happen to serve a certain lord who wants a certain castle … I think of their wives, their children … They haunt me, Hubert.’

Hubert was silently thinking: And what of the prisoners in Corfe Castle? Do they haunt you?

‘And so,’ went on John, ‘I wish to end these wars. I want to live in peace with my people. I want my dominions to prosper. You are a good man, Hubert. Am I right in thinking that you want this too?’

‘I do, my lord, as any man of good sense must.’

‘Then we are of like mind. But this happy state of affairs cannot be while Arthur could escape at any moment and if he did … think of the enemies who would rally round him. War … wars … It would go on for years.’

Hubert nodded sadly.

‘If Arthur were no more …’ John saw Hubert’s lips set firmly in a stubborn line. He wouldn’t kill the boy. He would be afraid to, and in a way he was right, for what an outcry there would be. It would be almost like the death of Thomas à Becket all over again. John inwardly smirked to picture himself doing the penance his father had done. Not likely, thought John. I’d see them all in hell first. But he went on: ‘Arthur exists and while he exists this danger will be there. My plan is to minimise the danger, and in this you will help me. You will because you want peace and prosperity for my people even as I do.’

‘I will do anything to bring this about, my lord.’

‘My thanks, Hubert. You have given me your word and I know you to be a man of honour who will not go back on it. So … you will go to Falaise. You will guard Arthur and in due course you will render him powerless to take the throne from me and so restore peace to our troubled lands.’

‘How so, my lord?’

‘By putting out his eyes and castrating him. No one would want a blind king, and one who could not produce heirs would not be welcome. Therefore we shall reduce Arthur to … nothing …’

Hubert had grown pale.

John said: ‘That’s all, Hubert. You may go now. Go to Falaise, take over the guardianship and … not immediately … but in due course … in five or six weeks shall we say, you will send me a message. The deed is done. Then you will have served your country well.’

‘My lord, I …’

‘You will not go unrewarded … either way.’ John laughed. ‘You know me well. You can trust me to reward you … for your services.’

Hubert was like a man in a daze.

He stumbled out of the King’s presence.

Hubert de Burgh was riding to Falaise.

What can I do? he asked himself. Five or six weeks. Thank God, not yet! There is time to think, to see for myself what can be done.

The sly look in his eyes when he talked of reward! He meant if you do not work for me you are working against me. What a monster it was they had put on the throne.

It is true that if Arthur were not there the throne would be safer for John. All those who rose against him used Arthur as a pretext. If Arthur did not exist there would be peace. Thousands of lives would be saved all for the cost of one.

But Arthur was to live. Hubert thought of a poor sightless boy groping his way about a cell; and he was the one to give the orders that this should be done.

How can I? he asked himself as he rode along. And then: How can I not?

In due course he reached the castle.

He was greeted by Sir William de Braose and his forthright lady.

‘Why has the King decided to change Arthur’s jailer?’ asked Matilda.

‘I know not,’ replied Hubert, for he was wondering why, if such an order had been given to him, it should not have been to William de Braose. He wondered what Sir William’s reactions would have been but he dared not ask. He dared not mention the matter. Not that he wanted to. It sickened him so much that he wanted to thrust it out of his thoughts.

‘But you are glad to be relieved of the duty?’ asked Hubert.

‘I like not to be jailer to a royal boy,’ said Sir William.

‘He’s a child at heart,’ said Matilda quite fondly. ‘I’m beginning to feel he is like one of my own. He needs affection, that boy. I think he could be happy if no one had ever talked to him about a throne and let him play and learn to be a knight like someone of simpler birth.’

‘I can see you have been kind to him.’

‘Who knows,’ said Sir William, ‘when the tables might be turned.’

But it was not only this thought, Hubert knew, which had made them care for the boy. There was a tenderness in most people for the young.

He was taken to the rooms in which Arthur was confined, and Sir William presented him.

‘This is Hubert de Burgh who is coming to take our place.’

The boy received Hubert with a touch of hauteur. Poor child, thought Hubert, you little know what fate is in store for you. For all his dignity young Arthur was summing up his new jailer and Hubert’s heart smote him, for behind the regal manner cowered a frightened boy. How shall I do it? he kept asking himself. How can I do that to such a child … ? Could I do it to the veriest villain? Perhaps. But to a boy. God help me.

Two days later the Braoses left.

Hubert felt that if he got to know his captive he might be able to warn him in some way; he might be able to discover something of his nature. He would sit with him and talk and he often found himself staring at those fine blue eyes and imagining what that face would look like without them.

Between Arthur and Hubert there began to grow a friendship which Arthur had not felt for the Braoses. Matilda had been too managing, Sir William too aloof. It was not so with Hubert. There was a sadness about him which matched Arthur’s own and Hubert’s voice was often very gentle, though sometimes it would be harsh as though he were angry with Arthur simply because he existed; then he would seem to repent and be almost womanish in his attitude. Arthur found this intriguing and for the first time since his captivity he forgot his misfortune.

Hubert noticed that he was laughing more readily; that often for hours he would forget he was a captive. Once he said: ‘How glad I am you came, Hubert.’

‘Why so?’ said Hubert, suddenly in one of his gruff moods. ‘Was not Sir William de Braose a good castellan?’

‘You are more than a good castellan, Hubert. You are a friend. Do you know, Hubert, that’s what I haven’t had before. A friend. It is hard for someone in my position to have a true friend. One can never be sure that they might not want something. But what can you want from me? Here I am your prisoner … and since you came, Hubert, there have been times when I have been glad to be here.’

Oh God, help me, prayed Hubert. I can never do it.

‘Why, there are tears in your eyes, Hubert. I would never have thought that of you.’

‘’Tis a kind of rheum which affects me.’

Arthur laughed aloud and seized him suddenly in a great hug.

‘You lie, Hubert de Burgh. You are a man of emotion, and you are glad … yes, you are glad … that you and I have had this chance to become friends. Confess it.’

‘Well, perhaps I am, but …’

Arthur laughed. ‘Say no more. Come, I’ll beat you at the chess board. I have to have my revenge, you know, for the last time.’

Together they bent over the chess board.

How clear his eyes are, thought Hubert, and he remembered horribly mutilated men who had offended their kings or their overlords in some way.

It is necessary for the peace of the country, he said to himself.

‘No, no,’ he said aloud. ‘I will never do it.’

‘You are right,’ cried Arthur. ‘The next move I have you.’

He had lifted clear limpid eyes to Hubert.

When he looks at me like that I know I never will, thought Hubert de Burgh.

They talked together. Arthur told him of his childhood, how he had been scurried from one place to another.

‘I soon became aware that I was important and I seemed to be in perpetual danger. I used to think it would have been better not to be so important.’

‘It is always better not to be too important,’ agreed Hubert.

‘There are always people trying to take what is yours. What do you think of my uncle John?’

‘Only that he is the King.’

‘Which many say he should not be. But you are his man, Hubert, I know that, so I would not attempt to trick you into treachery against him. What do you think of him as a man?’

‘I know him only as a king.’

‘They say he has a wicked temper. I must confess when I was with him he frightened me a little. I wouldn’t admit that to anyone but you. I have heard terrible stories of him, Hubert.’

‘In his temper he can act impulsively,’ said Hubert, ‘even against himself.’

‘Perhaps one day he will do himself an injury,’ said Arthur hopefully. ‘I hope he never comes here. Do you think he will?’

‘I know not.’

‘I wish I could see my sister. I wonder what he has done with her. Do you think she is a prisoner as I am?’

‘I have heard that she is in Bristol Castle in England and that she is being treated very well there.’

‘I am glad of that. Of course he would not fear her unless I were dead. Oh, Hubert, that has just occurred to me. If I died then by right she would be the next heir to the throne. What would that mean?’

‘You are young, my lord, to speak of death.’

‘Yet I am in such a position that it could occur to me at any time.’

‘Not with me here to guard you.’

‘That’s a comforting thought, Hubert. I tell myself that sometimes. I lie awake and in the night with the darkness all around me, fears come. Sometimes I think, What if men come creeping into my prison to kill me on King John’s commands? That could be, for he does not like me to be alive. I am a threat to him. So many people would rather see me in his place. Then I think: It’s all right. Hubert is here and he will protect me.’

Hubert nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I will protect you.’

‘So then I go to sleep and in the morning I just laugh at my night fears. It’s in the night that I like to remember that you are not far off. But I do think a great deal of Eleanor. She is older than I am, you know, and when we were little she used to look after me. I liked being with her then. I wish they had put us together. It would have been pleasant if we could have both been here in Falaise with you, Hubert. You would like Eleanor. She is serene – more so than I, I think, but that is doubtless because she is older. She was never jealous because more was made of me … being a boy. My mother was always stressing how important I was. But it does bother me a little that she is the second in the line of succession. If it was fair, of course, she would really come before John.’

‘The direct succession is not considered so important,’ Hubert pointed out. ‘Although the people like a king’s son to follow him, if that son is not worthy then they would rather have the next in line. And as your sister is a girl I don’t think there would be any thoughts of putting her on the throne.’

‘No, I suppose not. I am the true heir and my sons will be next. I’d love to have sons. I wonder what my sons will be like?’

Hubert closed his eyes. I shall never do it, he thought. Each day it becomes more difficult.

‘What ails you, Hubert? Are you tired today?’

‘Nay, I am not tired.’

‘You are in one of your sad moods. Cheer up. I like to see you gay, Hubert.’

And so it went on; and each day they seemed to grow a little closer to each other.

It was hardly likely that the Bretons would remain passive while their Duke was a prisoner. It was soon known that he was in the castle of Falaise and reports came to the castle that parties of Bretons were riding into Normandy the object of each being to have the honour of rescuing their Duke.

Arthur was excited, for Hubert could not resist telling him the news. They stood at a window together looking out on the road.

Arthur said: ‘Why, Hubert, I think you are hoping they will come and take the castle.’

‘How can you say such a thing?’

‘I know you well. I know your moods. I can almost feel your excitement. What would happen if they came here?’

‘There would be a siege.’

‘And you would be on one side, I on the other – you holding them out, I longing for them to break in. Oh, Hubert, what a pity! You and I should be together … on the same side. I hope we shall be one day. When I gain what is mine by right, you will be my chief adviser perhaps. We shall always be together. You will be my best friend and I shall always remember these days because, Hubert, since you came everything is different.’

Hubert did not trust himself to speak. He pretended to be scanning the horizon.

But no Bretons reached the castle. This was one occasion when John really did arouse himself and he went into action to make sure that they were turned out of Normandy.

He sent a message to the castle, and when Hubert heard that the King’s emissary had come and would speak with him alone his heart sank because he guessed what the orders would be.

He received him in his bedchamber and shut the door so that none could hear.

‘What news?’ he asked.

‘The King’s orders are for your ears alone. The Duke of Brittany is to be fettered.’

‘Fettered! He is safe enough here. I have guards. I watch over him myself.’

‘The King’s orders. There is another. The King says that you are to do your duty as commanded by him. He expects news without delay.’

Hubert bowed his head.

As he feared, the time had come.

‘Must I wear these fetters, Hubert?’

‘It is the King’s orders that you should.’

‘But I didn’t before.’

‘No, but since then, as you know, your supporters have been trying to reach you.’

‘So the King is afraid of them?’

‘It would seem so.’

‘To be fettered so! It is humiliating for a prince.’

‘For all men,’ replied Hubert. ‘They have their feelings just like princes.’

‘But the higher a man is in rank the deeper the humiliation.’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Hubert. ‘When you and I are together we will undo the fetters.’

‘You don’t like to see me chained any more than I like it myself, Hubert.’

‘Of course I don’t.’

‘Because at heart, Hubert, you care for my welfare, do you not? I believe you hoped my friends would come and take me away.’

There was a lump in Hubert’s throat.

‘You did. You did,’ cried Arthur. ‘Confess it.’

‘For your sake, yes.’

‘Oh dear, dear Hubert. And let me tell you this. I thought: If they take me, what of Hubert? John will be so angry. What will he do to Hubert? For he will blame him. I couldn’t bear that, Hubert. He is such a wicked man. He does terrible things to those who anger him. I would take you with me, Hubert. Yes, I would. I had thought it all out. I was going to tell them: Bind Hubert de Burgh. Make him my prisoner. That was what I was going to do. I would have changed our positions … and then we could have stayed friends.’

‘But it did not come to pass,’ said Hubert.

And to himself he said: Oh God, I wish it had.

There was another messenger at Falaise. He too came from the King. He wished to know if Hubert de Burgh had a message for the King.

‘The time has not yet come,’ said Hubert.

‘I was told to say that the King expects to have news soon. He grows impatient with delay.’

‘He shall have news soon,’ said Hubert, and he stood at a turret window watching the messenger ride away.

He knew now that the moment had come. All he had to do was give the order and merely stand by and see it carried out.

He shut himself in his bedchamber. He knelt and cried out to God to show him a way out of this terrible situation in which he found himself. But there was no way. He tried to persuade himself. John was right up to a point. There could not be peace while Arthur lived – but if he were a poor maimed creature no one, not even the Bretons, could wish to see him on the throne.

Better for the boy to die, a thousand times better.

There was no way, of course. That was clear. He had no recourse but to carry out the King’s orders.

He sent for two attendants, loutish men who would perform any deed for money. He knew that they had been used before for brutal tasks and found a certain pleasure in performing them.

They would do their work and do it quickly, which was best.

He spoke to them and told them what the King’s orders were.

‘’Tis so, my lord,’ cried one. ‘And not surprised am I. I’ve been waiting for it.’

‘When the deed is done,’ said Hubert, ‘you two will go from here. You will not mention a word of what has happened. You know the punishment for such as you who think fit to chatter.’

‘We’ll be silent as the grave, my lord. When should the work be done?’

‘Soon,’ said Hubert firmly. ‘Let us have done with it.’

‘We’ll do it with the irons, my lord.’

Hubert was shivering.

‘Go to,’ he said turning away. ‘Be ready and wait upon my call.’

He went to his room; he knelt and prayed for strength.

‘I would I had died before I were called upon to do this,’ he whispered. Then he rose and went into that room which was now a prison cell and which he feared would shortly be the scene of the greatest tragedy of his life. It would haunt him for ever more, and make him wish he had never been born to play a part in it.

‘Hubert, ’tis you then. Welcome. Come, take off my fetters. Is it to be chess? Why, what ails you?’

‘My boy, I feel unwell today.’

‘You are ill? What is it? Tell me. Something terrible has happened. They are going to take you away. I shall never see you any more.’

Hubert sat down and covered his face with his hands.

‘It’s true,’ cried Arthur. ‘I shan’t allow it, Hubert. Let’s run away from here, together. We’ll escape to Brittany. High honours shall be yours. We won’t worry about the crown and John and all that. We’ll just be friends as we have been here.’

Hubert did not answer.

‘Hubert, Hubert, look at me.’

He pulled Hubert’s hands from his face and stared at him aghast.

‘I never saw such sorrow in a face,’ said Arthur.

Hubert put him from him and stood up. He clapped his hands and the two men came in with the brazier and the irons.

‘What means this?’ cried Arthur shrilly.

Hubert did not answer. The tears had started to fall down his cheeks.

‘Oh God, have mercy on me. Oh God, help me. Hubert, they are going to burn out my eyes.’

One of the men said: ‘Ready, my lord?’

‘Not yet,’ said Hubert quickly. ‘One moment yet.’

Arthur had fallen to the floor; he clutched at Hubert’s legs. ‘Hubert, my friend Hubert,’ he cried. ‘You can’t let them do this to me. You are my friend.’

‘Arthur …’

‘Yes, Hubert, yes?’

‘These are the King’s orders. I am his man. I must obey.’

‘Not this, Hubert. You could never do this. If you did you would kill yourself because you couldn’t bear it. You’d jump from the tower and take me with you … because neither of us could bear to live … like that.’

‘Mayhap you are right. I could not endure it … but do it I must.’

‘You cannot … Hubert. You cannot.’

‘The irons are hot, my lord,’ said one of the men. ‘Shall we bind him now? ’Tis hard to do when they struggle.’

Hubert put up a hand to silence them. He knelt beside Arthur on the floor. Arthur took his hand and lifted his face.

‘Look at my eyes, Hubert. Do not flinch. Look at them and remember that we love each other. You cannot let them do this. I would never let them do it to you. I promise you that. If they tried to, I would kill them rather. Not my eyes, Hubert … anything but my eyes. Have you ever thought what it would be like never to see the sky again and the grass and the walls of a castle, the flint glistening in the sun? Have you thought what it would be like never to look into the face of a friend, to see him smile, to see his eyes light up at the sight of you? You couldn’t rob me of that, Hubert, could you?’

‘I must,’ cried Hubert. ‘I must.’

‘You could not. I know you well. You will not, Hubert.’

How long the silence seemed to go on. Then Hubert stood up. His voice rang out clear and strong. ‘Take away those things. We shall not be using them.’

The men trained to obey without question immediately started to remove the brazier.

They had gone and the silence went on and then suddenly Arthur and his jailer were sobbing in each other’s arms.

‘We must think now how best to act,’ said Hubert.

‘Oh, you are indeed my friend,’ cried Arthur.

‘We are in danger; you must know that well. Thank God I was the one given this foul task. I was sad once because it was given to me but if it had been given to another …’

Arthur shivered. ‘None but you would have been brave enough to defy John,’ said Arthur proudly.

‘Let us not forget that we have defied him. He must not know.’

Arthur clung to Hubert’s arms. ‘I do fear him, Hubert. I boasted and said I didn’t. But I do. I do. I believe Satan is kinder than he is and all the devils in hell less cruel.’

‘You may well be right. I shall have to tell him the deed is done, for he will be sending soon to know that it is.’

‘What if he comes to look at me? He will. I know he will. He will not be able to resist taunting me.’

‘I had thought of that. I must say that you died while it was being done. We must find a hiding place for you, where you can live in peace until the time shall come when you can be free.’

‘Where, Hubert, where?’

‘’Twere safer in this castle for a while. If I can remain here … its custodian … and why should I not? … we can keep our secret.’

‘We will do it, Hubert.’

‘And I will say that you are dead and buried.’

‘Where should I be buried?’

‘I must think of that. But in the meantime I must bribe those ruffians.’

‘Can you trust them?’

‘By paying them well and threatening them with what I will have done to them if they betray us. They are safe enough, for no one will know that they were here. It is a good plan and I think it will work. I have good friends in a Cistercian abbey not far from here. They will help me in this and I shall tell the King that I had you buried quietly there.’

‘We can do it, Hubert,’ cried Arthur excitedly.

‘We must do it,’ replied Hubert.

In one of the lower rooms of the castle to which only Hubert had the key, Arthur spent his days. Hubert visited him frequently and only a few of his trusted friends knew that the boy still lived.

A coffin said to contain the body of the young Duke of Brittany had been taken from the castle to the Cistercian abbey and there buried in a secret place.

Hubert decided that he could not trust an account of what had happened to the messenger and would see the King himself.

John received him with alacrity.

‘What news?’ he cried. ‘Is the deed done then?’

‘’Tis done, my lord.’

‘So now he is without his eyes and the outward sign of manhood.’

‘My lord, during the operation the boy has died.’

John caught his breath. ‘How was this? The men were clumsy.’

‘The boy struggled. It often happens like this … He did not survive.’

John nodded. ‘Fate has taken a hand then,’ he said. ‘What of his body?’

‘Buried, my lord, in a secret grave.’

‘So be it,’ said John.

‘My lord, I suggest it would be better if I returned to Falaise and lived there quietly for a while until the noise which this will inevitably make blows over.’

John nodded. ‘Go back to Falaise. It would be well to keep Arthur’s death a secret for a while.’

‘I will do so, my lord, with all speed.’

So far, so good. How long can I hope to keep the truth secret? he wondered. And then what will become of me? Oddly enough he didn’t care. He was in a state of exultation which he had not known since the day John had ordered him to put out Arthur’s eyes.