The Prince of Darkness

Chapter VIII THE TRIUMPH OF MIREBEAU

The Duchess Constance lay in her bed, feeling exhausted.

She had given birth to a daughter, the Princess Alice, and had, since the child had been born, felt her strength slowly ebbing away.

She was listless, idly wondering what the future held, and with her was certainty that she would not be there to see it. The child lay in its cradle, a healthy little girl; the third of her children. What would become of that little one? There would not be the storm about her inheritance as there was about that of Arthur – yes, and even Eleanor, for Eleanor was the granddaughter of Henry II and as such in certain circumstances could be an heir to England, Normandy and Anjou.

She stirred uneasily and her daughter, who had been seated at the window, came at once to the bed.

‘Is there anything you need, Mother?’ she asked.

‘Nay, Daughter. But sit and talk to me a while.’

‘Should you not reserve your strength?’

‘For what, my child … death?’

‘Do not talk so, Mother. You are going to be well. It was just a difficult birth and it has exhausted you.’

‘I always believed that one should face the truth, however unpleasant. I hope you will do that, Eleanor.’

‘I shall try to, Mother.’

‘I lie here and wonder how it will end. I have terrible fears for Arthur. Sometimes my mind is plunged in melancholy. I cannot say exactly why but it is like some terrible foreboding.’

‘It is because you are weak, Mother, that you feel thus.’

‘No, ’tis not that. It is as though I can peer into the future and see horror there.’

‘If it eases you to talk of your fear, Mother, do so.’

‘How can I talk of that which I do not understand? I see it there and you and Arthur are at the centre of it. It is my punishment for my ambition perhaps. I was so delighted when I married your father because he was the son of a king and I hoped one day that Arthur would take his place.’

‘It may be that he will.’

She shook her head.

‘Mother, what has come over you? You always believed that one day he would have what was his by right.’

‘Yes, I believed it and I worked for it. Your stepfather Guy has worked for it. Listen to him, Eleanor, when I’m gone.’

‘You are not going,’ said Eleanor firmly.

Constance smiled. ‘I would you and Arthur were a little older. I wish I could have lived another five years. That was all I would ask.’

‘You are young yet and newly married. What do you think your husband would say if he heard you talk like this?’

‘He will grieve for me sorely, Eleanor. He truly loves me.’

‘Of course; as I do and Arthur.’

‘I know. And it is because I love you all so dearly that it grieves me so much to leave you. Eleanor, listen to Guy. Take care of your brother. Oh, I know he is a duke and thinks himself a man. But I greatly fear John.’

‘Yes, Mother, I know. So do we all.’

‘John is a monster. He has his follies but do not underestimate them, my child. Even now he is with the King of France. What do you think they are plotting?’

‘Philip is our friend, Mother, not John’s.’

‘You should not put your trust in kings, daughter. Philip is our friend today and John’s tomorrow. Philip’s desire is to get for himself what John now owns and is by right Arthur’s. That is Philip’s part in all this.’

‘He has been good to Arthur.’

‘Only to serve his own purpose. I would like to see Arthur stand alone, with mighty armies behind him. I would like to see him and Guy ride together to victory.’

‘It will come.’

‘Eleanor, watch over your brother. Do not let him be too trusting, particularly of his Uncle John.’

Eleanor swore that she would do her best to carry out her mother’s wish but she insisted that Constance would soon be rising from her bed and doing all that she had done before. She was merely suffering from the depression which often follows a birth.

So it seemed for a week or so and then one day her condition changed for the worse. She sent for Arthur, Eleanor and Guy.

She said: ‘This is indeed the end. My loved ones, take care of each other.’

They knelt by her bed, Arthur who was but thirteen years old, Eleanor who was not much older, and Guy who had loved her for years and had so recently married her.

Thus died Arthur’s mother, and that day the young Duke lost his best friend and adviser.

John was at Chinon with Isabella. He was amused to think how anxious the Lusignans would be to have him so close. He laughed to Isabella about it as they lay in bed together.

‘I’ll warrant they will keep a close watch on the tower. Imagine it, sweetheart, they won’t know from one day to the next when I shall be bearing down on them with an avenging force. Hugh will be trembling in his shoes.’

Isabella frowned. ‘It is not his custom to tremble,’ she said.

‘Oh, you would defend him then?’

‘I would speak the truth,’ she answered, a little defiantly.

‘You are but a child,’ he said. ‘What do you know of these matters?’

‘I know Hugh better than you do. You forget I lived in his castle for a while.’

‘Do not remind me of it,’ he said, ‘or I might fall into a rage. You have seen my rage … once. Before I had you I was always in and out of them.’

‘Then I have brought you some good, for I confess when you lie on the floor and kick you look … mad.’

She had knelt up on the bed, her hair falling about her shoulders. He lay back, feasting his eyes on her.

He caught her wrist.

‘Are you trying to anger me, little Isabella?’

‘I must speak the truth,’ she answered.

‘Virtuous little wife,’ he said. ‘I too will speak truth and tell you that I like not to hear you defending Hugh.’

‘I do not defend him. I say that he is no coward. Ask anyone. They will tell you the same. He fears no man – not you nor the King of France, and if you say he is trembling in his shoes I will say that I do not believe he is.’

He pulled her down beside him. ‘If you were not so pretty I might be angry with you.’

‘Why should I worry about that when I am pretty enough to divert your anger? And I will tell you this, that if I were not, I would still say what I thought.’

‘She has spirit, this Queen of England.’

‘Would you wish her otherwise?’ she asked him, stooping over him and putting her soft cheek against his.

He caught her in a fierce embrace. ‘I would not have her other than she is,’ he said.

‘So thought I,’ she answered.

But later he remembered that she had spoken too warmly in Hugh’s favour and he felt displeased.

There was to be a visitor to Chinon. It was Queen Berengaria. She had heard that the King was resting there a while and would come to visit him and his Queen.

‘Poor Berengaria!’ said John to Isabella. ‘She had a sad time with Richard. He was a strange man. He didn’t care for women. You wouldn’t have liked that, my Isabella, would you?’

‘Perhaps he would have been different had I been his queen.’

‘Ho. The vanity! Nay, Richard chose his loves from minstrel boys. You know the story of Blondel. I used to wish I’d cut out his tongue before he went singing round the castles of Europe.’

‘You were not fond of your brother?’

‘Fond of Richard, who took the throne from me when my father had promised it to me!’

‘And Richard promised it to Arthur at one time. Poor John, you were hard done by.’

‘Ah, but I came into my own, did I not?’

‘You did.’

‘And secured the greatest prize in the world … snatched it right from under the nose of that Hugh of whom you speak so highly. Why so? What happened that you should grow warm in praise of him? By God, if he ever laid hands on you I’d have him flayed alive.’

She laughed up at him provocatively. ‘Forget not that I was betrothed to him.’

‘And did he take advantage of that? You were a virgin when you came to me, I’ll swear.’

‘Ah yes,’ she said. ‘I was a virgin but a somewhat regretful one.’

‘You mean … you tried to seduce him and he would have none of it?’

‘He is a man such as you could not understand, John.’

‘And you did?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I did. He thought me too young and would never touch me.’

‘Different from me, eh?’

‘As different as it is possible to be.’

‘And now I have him, Isabella. He is going to be brought to Court and there he will be sentenced to fight a duel, and I shall make sure he is not the victor.’

‘Are you afraid of him?’

‘Afraid of a petty count! What mean you?’

‘That I might like him better than I like you.’

She had gone too far. She had seen the red lights in his eyes.

She ran her lips over his face and murmured: ‘Could you be as foolish as that? Poor Hugh, if he could but hear you now.’

She knew how to rouse him and she did.

There was a slight change in their relationship. She was no longer the child who marvelled at everything that was happening to her; she was taking a great deal of the pomp and luxury, the sexual excitement for granted. She had a will of her own and had never been faced with serious opposition.

She knew though that John was capable of the utmost cruelty. At the moment he wanted nothing but her; yet when he had talked of Hugh and had believed for a moment that she was more interested in her one-time suitor than he wished her to be, there had been such vicious cruelty momentarily unveiled in his expressive face that she had felt a tremor of alarm.

It was pleasant to welcome Berengaria.

‘Poor Berengaria!’ Isabella called her. What a sad life she had had! John joked about her relationship with Richard, when Berengaria had always been watching and hoping, and Richard ignoring her.

She was sad too but she was clearly impressed by Isabella’s startling beauty.

They talked together in Isabella’s apartment and Berengaria said how pleased she was to see John so happily married.

‘It is wonderful,’ said Berengaria wistfully, ‘to know such happiness as you must. It is obvious that the King is deeply enamoured of you. You are so young. Is it possible that you are not yet fourteen years of age?’

‘’Tis true,’ replied Isabella. ‘But I believe I am in advance of my years.’

‘You would need to be – so young and yet a wife. I was much older than you when I married.’

Isabella wondered what she herself would be like when she was Berengaria’s age.

It was pleasant to bask in her admiration. At the same time there was something depressing about Richard’s queen. She was so clearly an unhappy woman and she was too given to talking of the past. She kept bringing John’s sister Joanna into the conversation, and Joanna was dead – had died in childbirth. Apparently she and Berengaria had been great friends.

To talk of women dying in childbirth was not a pleasant topic for a young wife, although John had said that he did not want children yet because they would spoil her body and he liked it as it was.

Berengaria explained to John what a desperate position she was in. She had settled in Le Mans which was part of her dowry but she owned lands in England and she hoped that John would compensate her for these.

John was affable: as always he was ready to promise because he never considered it necessary to honour his promises.

‘My dear sister,’ he said, ‘you may rest assured that I will do everything within my power to help you. Now let us see what I can do. You shall have Bayeux and there are two castles in Anjou which shall be yours. It is only right that they should be. Richard would have wished it,’ he added piously.

Berengaria wept a little. ‘I wish Richard could hear you now,’ she said. ‘I don’t think he thought you would be so good to me.’

‘I am accustomed to being maligned,’ replied John. ‘Of course I was wild in my youth. What man worth his salt is not? But with responsibilities one changes. I have decided to give you a thousand marks a year.’

She kissed his hand and told him Heaven would reward him.

‘For,’ she said, ‘but for you, I should be little more than a pauper and have no alternative but to throw myself on to the mercy of my family. I had considered going to live with Blanche, my sister, but much as I love her I should hate to accept her bounty.’

‘You may trust me to see that you are well provided for,’ said John.

When she left Chinon Berengaria took an affectionate farewell of John and his younger Queen.

‘What will become of her, I wonder,’ said Isabella as they watched her ride away.

‘She will go and live with her sister Blanche of Champagne,’ said John with a smile, who had no intention of giving her what he had promised. Why should he, he reasoned. Let her sister provide for her.

‘Richard was never a husband to her,’ said Isabella. ‘She must have been very miserable.’

John gripped her arms, putting his face close to hers. ‘What would you have done, my desiring and desirable one, had you been married to Richard?’

‘Find lovers,’ she answered promptly.

He laughed, but he remembered that later.

When the day arrived for John to meet the Lusignans in a court set up by the King of France and presided over by him, John failed to put in an appearance.

This was exactly what Philip was hoping for. He had taken advantage of the truce between them and was prepared now to go into action. By not appearing John had given Philip the excuse he needed to go against him. As a vassal of Philip for Normandy he had insulted the King by flouting his wishes.

John, said Philip, must be taught a lesson.

He sent to Brittany asking that Arthur come to him as he would knight him and accept his fealty as Count of Anjou, Duke of Brittany and all the land with the exception of Normandy which was now in the hands of John.

Guy de Thouars, realising that this meant Philip was now prepared to help Arthur against John, most joyfully travelled with his young stepson to rendezvous with Philip.

This was the signal for John’s enemies to rise; and the Lusignans caught up with Arthur at Tours and there pledged to support him in his efforts to take from John not only his Continental possessions but the crown of England as well.

In the Abbey at Fontevraud the aged Eleanor was resting after the strenuous journey to Castile. She could congratulate herself that although it had impaired her health still further yet it had been a success and her granddaughter was indeed married to the son of the King of France. She had never lost sight of the fact that it was in that direction that real danger lay.

John was more or less firmly established on the throne of England; if he could keep a strong hand on his Continental possessions he would get through that dangerous period which followed accession to the throne. He was married to a beautiful young wife and if they had sons the people would be pleased to see the succession assured. The threat came from Arthur, of course; but now that Constance was dead he must have lost a certain amount of support. Eleanor could not mourn Constance – a woman whom she had always disliked. Perhaps Constance was too forceful, too much like herself. Looking back it was easy to understand that she wanted her son to have what she had considered his rights and there were many men who would have agreed with Constance. After all, her son was the son of an elder brother. Constance had made an error of judgement when she had refused to allow Arthur to be brought up in England.

Had she? Would Arthur have been alive if she had?

She had always prided herself on never blinking facts. What was she doing now? Was she being like Henry, refusing to see what was obvious? She had given her allegiance to John because he was her son and meant more to her than her grandson did – moreover, at the back of her mind was her dislike of Constance. I would never allow that woman to rule, she had promised herself; and as Arthur was a minor, very much under the influence of his mother, it seemed a likely conclusion that if ever he became King, Constance would indeed be the power behind the throne.

Well, she had given her support to John and so had William Marshal: and with two such adherents he had won the crown. It was now his responsibility to keep it; and she had earned a rest.

It was strange that her idea of pleasure now should be to lie late abed, to listen to the bells, to join in the life of the abbey, attending prayers, giving herself to meditation, retiring early, reading, resting, sleeping. It was what one came to at eighty.

Not that she had become pious. She had always been too honest with herself for that. She could say, Yes, I have led a sinful life and it would have been better for others and myself, too, if I had practised virtue. ‘But God,’ she said, ‘You made me as I am. You should not complain. Had You wanted me different, You should not have sent me into the world equipped as I was.’

Trying to find some virtue in herself she could say with honesty that she had loved her children, and had unswervingly worked for their good. Even though Richard had been her favourite, she had never failed any of the others. And to think that she had outlived so many of them, so that of five beloved sons there was only John left!

John, King of England, was safely married and deeply enamoured of a young wife; soon they would be giving her a grandson. She could rest in peace.

But it was not to be. This was due to herself, she would be the first to admit. Although she wished to live quietly she must know what was happening and she sent out some of her servants whose duty it was to discover what people were saying, or if there was revolt anywhere, and come back and report to her.

It was in this way that she learned that the Lusignans were rising. She had expected that, of course. They were a proud family and not of a nature meekly to accept a wrong done to them. That they would make trouble with the Count of Angoulême was certain, but that was a small matter which should be comparatively easy to settle. There was more than that.

The French King had honoured Arthur, which meant that he was inviting him to take up arms against John. Philip was on the march; he had already harried the borders of Normandy and one or two castles had fallen to his forces. The Lusignans were joining forces with Arthur and Guy de Thouars, and a mighty uprising against John was coming into being.

More news came. Philip was advancing into Normandy within ten miles of Rouen.

How could Eleanor remain at Fontevraud when such disaster was threatening her son? Clear-headed, with the judgement born of long experience, she knew that there was work for her to do. She must hold Aquitaine for John otherwise the Lusignans with Arthur would take it.

The days of peace were over. It mattered not that she was old, her joints stiff, and that her body cried out for rest. She would not have been Eleanor if she had not prepared herself for a journey, and that day set out for Poitiers.

There she proposed to fortify the castle and hold it against intruders.

She forgot that she was old. The fighting spirit was as strong as ever and in her heart she was glad to be at the centre of events again.

Arthur with his stepfather, Guy de Thouars, and with a formidable army behind him had reached the town of Tours, where he rested for a night at the castle. Since his mother had died he had become more self-reliant. Now he must make his own decisions without his mother to remind him that he was after all only a boy. People around him had become more respectful; they came to him whereas once they had gone to his mother and he was realising how important he was and relishing his position. Being so young he was inclined to give himself an aura of authority to remind people of his importance lest they should forget it. Even Guy’s attitude towards him had changed since his mother’s death. His was a great inheritance out of which he had been cheated by his wicked uncle.

‘But we are going to win back that which has been stolen,’ declared Arthur.

‘Rest assured,’ cried Guy, ‘that is our intent. I have promised your mother to serve you with my life and that I will do.’

His sister Eleanor, still grieving for her mother’s death, joined them and asked if there was any news.

‘My dear sister,’ said Arthur, ‘you should not be with us. This is no place for women.’

‘Nonsense, Arthur,’ replied Eleanor, ‘I want to be with you and Guy and so shall I be.’

‘We could forbid you,’ Arthur reminded her; and she smiled and told him that although he might be the Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou and King of England as well as the Duke of Brittany, he was still her young brother.

Arthur frowned, displeased. Everybody must understand that he had put his childhood behind him. Everybody, he emphasised.

Eleanor slipped her arm through his. ‘What airs you give yourself these days, brother!’ she said.

‘Arthur is growing more aware of his position every day,’ said Guy. ‘From here we shall be going to Poitiers,’ he went on. ‘Eleanor, Arthur is right. You should not be with the army.’

‘Where should I go?’ asked Eleanor. ‘To Brittany? There to wonder what is happening to you all? I couldn’t bear it. Now that Mother is gone I want to be with you and Arthur.’

‘We shall send you away if there are any signs of fighting,’ Arthur told her. ‘I’ll not have my sister in danger.’

Guy smiled at her. Let the boy have his way, he implied. It is right for him to feel his position for he will be a ruler one day and must prepare himself for it.

While they were speaking messengers came with news that Queen Eleanor had left Fontevraud and was on her way to Poitiers.

‘She must not be allowed to get there,’ cried Arthur, ‘for if she does the whole of Aquitaine will rise up to help her. She may be my grandmother but she is no friend of mine.’

‘It is difficult to be a friend of a grandson if it means being an enemy of a son,’ Eleanor reminded him. ‘What a pity that there have to be these rifts in families!’

‘It is no use getting sentimental,’ Arthur told her sharply. He turned to Guy. ‘What are we going to do about my grandmother?’

‘As you say, we have to prevent her reaching Poitiers and that means we must lose no time in going in pursuit of her.’

‘Then why are we wasting time?’ asked Arthur imperiously.

It was a hard journey. With a very few supporters, all she could muster at such short notice, Queen Eleanor had ridden with as much speed as was possible from Fontevraud. She was exhausted at the end of the day and when news was brought to her that Arthur was on pursuit on one hand and the Lusignans were coming up from the South to join Arthur, she said that they must take refuge immediately and if possible defend themselves.

The castle of Mirebeau was near at hand. ‘We will make our way there,’ said Eleanor, ‘and let my son John be told that I am being pursued. I am sure that then he will come to my rescue without delay.’

She was received into the castle by loyal friends, and realising the danger they made ready for a seige. Eleanor was not greatly perturbed.

‘I’m too old for panic,’ she said. ‘If they kill me I shall die, which I expected to do soon in any case, though in my own bed. And if they take me prisoner, well, it will be a short imprisonment. But I know my son will come with all speed when he knows what a predicament I am in.’

She went into the keep and watched from a window. It was not very long before she saw the approaching army led by her grandson.

She knew the castle could not hold out long because it was ill-defended and unprepared for a seige and in a very short time Arthur’s men had broken through to the inner courtyard.

She picked out her grandson. How young he is, she thought. Just a boy! He couldn’t be much more than fifteen. It’s too young to have to take decisions, to have to fight for a crown, she thought.

A noble-looking boy though – one of whom a grandmother could be proud. A little imperious perhaps. That was natural, for too much responsibility had been thrust on him at too early an age and he made good pretence of being able to carry it.

Geoffrey’s son! How like his father he was! And an orphan now. Poor Arthur, what would be his fate, she wondered.

He was the enemy, of course. At any moment now, his men would break into the keep and confront her. She hoped they would let her talk to Arthur and she would try to explain to him how she bore no animosity towards him; she was merely following a principle because she felt her son John had a greater right to the throne.

Arthur looked up and saw her at the window. His formidable grandmother of whom he had heard so much! He wondered what he would say to her when they broke down the last door and he confronted her.

He felt very uncertain. He would ask Guy to take her prisoner perhaps. It would come better from him; and they would shut her up where she could no longer work for John and cause the people of Aquitaine to rise up in support of her.

He called a halt to the fighting. Hugh de Lusignan and Guy asked him what his orders were now that they were on the point of attaining their object.

‘We have captured the Queen Mother,’ he said. ‘But if we break down the door of the keep, what shall we do with her?’

‘We could ride on,’ said Hugh, ‘to one of my castles and hold her there, for we should keep her prison a secret.’

‘This we shall do tomorrow,’ said Arthur. ‘The men are tired now. Let us stay here for the night and leave at dawn.’

Both men agreed that it seemed a good idea and the soldiers were delighted with the decision. They could help themselves to food from the kitchens and wine from the cellars. They had ridden far and fought hard and the object was achieved, the Queen Mother being their prisoner. They were entitled to enjoy a few hours’ respite before going on duty again.

So the night passed.

Eleanor in the keep waited, at first expecting that she would be confronted by her grandson or Hugh or Guy, and told to make ready for the journey to wherever they were going to take her.

Can it be, she thought, that I shall once again be a prisoner? It was ironical when she considered it. First her husband and now her grandson. She would have liked to have had a word with Arthur. Perhaps that would be granted her.

She could not sleep, which in the circumstances was to be expected. In any case she reminded herself the old did not need a great deal of sleep.

Where was John? she wondered. Had he received her cry for help? Would he come with all speed or would he be unable to tear himself away from Isabella? If she were with him the answer would be no.

It would be interesting to see. Life was always full of interest or so it had seemed to her; that was the secret of her ability to enjoy being alive while she was philosophical enough to be prepared for death.

Arthur lay awake only for a short while. This was a victory. To have captured such an important person as his grandmother would show the world that although he was merely a boy he was a general too. He would plan and use his armies to advantage. He had to show them that he knew how to act, because people dismissed him slightingly as a boy. And one day soon he would come into his kingdom and his wicked uncle would be defeated for ever. He had such good friends – his prospective father-in-law, Philip of France; Guy, his stepfather, whom his mother had loved and who had promised to serve him faithfully; and Hugh de Lusignan who had his own special grudge against John.

Arthur slept peacefully.

Hugh de Lusignan was thinking of Isabella. She was never very far from his thoughts. He would go over and over again in his mind that terrible day when he had heard of her marriage to John. He had been stunned, unable to believe there could be such perfidy. And Isabella who must have been willing was only a child really and her father would have pushed her into it. She could not be blamed. He thought of her charming ways, the show of affection, the artless manner in which she had clung to him. He had restrained himself against her beguiling ways, reminding himself of her youth, and then that lecher had taken her and, child that she was, had married her. He had had no respect for her youth. The sly innuendoes had reached him. He knew that they lay abed half the day.

Isabella! He would never forget her – her youth and her charm and the promise that was in her; he would never forget either that John had deceived him and taken her from him.

He would always love Isabella but he would never blame her. And he would always hate John.

They were up with the dawn.

‘There must be no delay,’ said Hugh. ‘I would we had left last night.’

‘As soon as breakfast is over we will leave,’ promised Arthur.

The servants came with pigeon pie which would make an excellent breakfast.

‘Let us eat quickly and be gone,’ said Hugh.

‘When I have finished,’ Arthur answered, ‘I will go to my grandmother and tell her to prepare to leave and that she is to be our prisoner.’

But he did not do so, for while he was still at the table there was a shout from without. An army was making its way to the Château Mirebeau.

When John heard that his mother, who was on the road to Poitiers in order to hold Aquitaine for him, was being pursued by Arthur and Hugh de Lusignan, he acted with a speed which was unusual with him.

He saw at once the importance of this. If Eleanor were captured he could lose Aquitaine and what heart that would put into his enemies! Philip penetrating into Normandy with Arthur and Hugh in the south would put him into a very uneasy position.

He had to rescue his mother at all costs.

All through the night he rode with his army and just before dawn they arrived at Mirebeau. Great was his delight when he discovered that the enemy was still there.

They stormed the castle. It was an easy victory, for John’s forces greatly outnumbered those of Arthur and Hugh. Exultantly Arthur and his sister Eleanor and Hugh among others were taken prisoner and John himself went up to the top of the keep to escort his mother to safety.

The old Queen’s eyes were shining with delight. John at last was behaving like a son of hers. She was proud of him.

This was John’s greatest victory. William Marshal who had ridden with him lost much of the uneasiness he had experienced since he had been adamant in supporting John’s claim to the throne.

John was proving himself to be a king after all. There could not be a better turn to events. Two of the most important leaders of the revolt against him were in his hands.

‘We must lose no time in letting Philip know that Arthur is your prisoner,’ he said.

‘Philip shall be informed at once.’

‘And Ralph de Lusignan must know that his brother Hugh is in your hands.’

John licked his lips with pleasure at the thought.

‘This day’s work has saved us many a battle, I doubt not,’ said the Marshal.

John was proud. It was the sort of battle he enjoyed – quick and decisive and bringing glory at the end.

He embraced his mother, who congratulated him on the speed with which he had acted. Her praise delighted him, he replied. And if she were proud of him he was doubly so of her. For she had sought to save his duchy for him and he knew that she was tired and longed to rest.

‘Depend upon it if I were needed I would rise from my deathbed,’ she answered.

She took her farewell of him; that which she had set out to do no longer needed to be done. Aquitaine was safe, for Arthur and Hugh were no longer in a position to threaten it.

‘That will soon be common knowledge,’ said John.

Eleanor went back to Fontevraud, there to rest, for now the ordeal was over she realised how it had exhausted her.

When she had gone John prepared to return to Normandy.

He was in high spirits. There were two prisoners over whom he wanted to gloat – one was his nephew Arthur and the other Hugh de Lusignan.

First he sent for Arthur. He prepared himself very carefully for the interview and put on a red satin mantle decorated with rich gems; he wore a girdle set with pearls and diamonds and the baldrick which held up his sword glittered with emeralds. He was a dazzling sight.

He sat sprawled in a chair. He did not care to stand for he was very conscious of his lack of inches and always felt better on such occasions when he was seated.

Arthur, who was brought in by two guards, made a show of indifference but was not able to hide his nervousness altogether.

John surveyed him maliciously.

‘Ha, my young nephew who would be King. How fares it, Arthur?’

‘It has gone ill with me,’ said Arthur, ‘but it will not always be so.’

John raised his eyebrows and leisurely took off his gloves, one adorned with a massive ruby, the other with a sapphire. He flung them nonchalantly on to a stool.

‘You set your hopes a little high, nephew.’

‘I think not.’

‘Well, you will doubtless be able to brood on the matter in your prison.’

‘So you will send me to prison?’

‘Where do you think I should send you? To Westminster Abbey to be crowned King?’

‘I did not think that.’

‘There you showed some sense. Why could you not be a good boy content with your very pleasant Duchy of Brittany?’

‘Because I have a right to other possessions.’

‘You mean mine? Have a care, boy. I might not like such talk.’

‘Then why do you bring me here if not to speak to me?’

‘I expect you to show humility, to fall to your knees, to admit your fault and beg for clemency.’

‘That I shall never do.’

‘Nay, if I had that tongue out you would never be able to.’

That made the boy grow pale. No doubt he had heard tales of his uncle’s methods.

John enjoyed his fear. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Take care, boy,’ he said. ‘I like not those who would take what is mine. You will be my prisoner, at my mercy. Know you this: that whatever I order my servants to do they will do – they dare not do aught else.’

‘I would rather you killed me than …’ began the boy and his voice was shrill with terror.

‘There are many ways of punishing your arrogance, nephew, and I could do them all. I could put out those haughty eyes, tear out that tongue.’ His eyes slid over the boy’s slender figure. ‘You are scarce a man and I could do that to you which would mean that you would never know manhood. What say you to that?’

Where was the haughty would-be-King now? It was a frightened child who stood before him.

‘I … I …’

‘Come, speak up, boy. What say you to these suggestions? Come, speak. I like answers when I ask questions and my temper is not the most mild. You may have heard this.’

‘I would say,’ said Arthur, ‘that you would not do these things even if it were your power to.’

‘It is in my power to. You should know that.’

‘But … you would be reviled. The whole world would rise against an uncle who did such to his nephew who was but fifteen years old.’

‘Do I care for the world’s opinion? Nay, nephew, I do what I will. But I spoke but to frighten you and to impress on you that I need obedience. If you do as you are told, it may be that no harm will come to you. Take him away,’ he said to the guards. ‘And, Arthur, think of what I have said. Ask yourself what it would be like to be without that of which a word from me could rob you.’

Arthur was led away.

He’ll not sleep easily tonight, thought John laughing.

And now for Hugh.

He was a good-looking man. He stood there showing no fear so that it was hard to believe that he felt any. Isabella had said that he was never afraid. Could it be that she had a fancy for him?

John was glad he was seated. He would look very small beside Hugh de Lusignan. He stroked his red mantle; the touch of gems reassuring. Hugh might look noble but he, John, looked royal.

‘So you are my prisoner,’ he said.

Hugh bowed.

‘You should have made off last night. An error of judgement.’

‘’Twas indeed so,’ agreed Hugh.

‘And now you are my prisoner. You who have caused trouble in my realm and done everything you can to bring about revolt.’

Hugh was silent.

‘You know what we do with traitors.’

‘I am no traitor, my lord.’

‘No traitor when you stir strife in my realm?’

‘I was under no obligation to serve you and made no secret of my quarrel.’

‘You were commanded to meet a duellist in combat and refused.’

‘I would not have refused to meet you, my lord. It was only one of your hirelings whom I would not face.’

‘You have too great an opinion of yourselves, you Lusignans.’

‘I beg your pardon, my lord, but we are a great family.’

‘Do not speak of greatness in my presence. We are enemies, Hugh the Brown.’

‘’Tis so, my lord.’

‘And you are my prisoner.’

‘Taken in honourable battle.’

‘When you were in the act of taking possession of my royal mother!’

‘Who was taking part in war and therefore it was fair enough.’

‘Bah! Do not parley with me.’

‘As you wish, my lord.’

John sat back and narrowed his eyes. He wondered what he would do to Hugh. He could think of several forms of torture; but he knew that whatever was inflicted this man would preserve that outward calm, that indifference.

There was no fun with people like that. He couldn’t have the fun with him that he had had with little Arthur.

But he would humiliate him. That was the best way. Take some of the pride out of him.

He had an idea.

‘Take the prisoner away,’ he said.

They took him and John sat alone for a little while, his brows drawn together in a frown. He was thinking of Isabella and wondering how deep her feeling had gone for Hugh. Could she really have had some affection for him? He was a handsome fellow and Isabella was of course what he would call ripe. Hugh had not seen this; if he had … who knew what would have happened? Hugh was a fool, better at war than love, no doubt, and he had become a prisoner even in that.

He had no real reason to be jealous of Hugh. But he would humiliate him all the same.

He stood up and shouted. His servants came running.

‘There is no reason why we should stay here,’ he cried. ‘We shall prepare to leave at once for Normandy.’

He was so amused. He had thought of a brilliant idea. He had sent his servants forth to find farm carts – those in which cattle or hay had been carried – and in these, securely fettered, he put his prisoners. He laughed aloud to see them – haughty young Arthur, the would-be-King, riding there like a cow to market; Hugh the Brown, would-be-husband of Isabella, like a proud bull going in to be inspected and bid for.

There were others of course but those were the two who gave him most pleasure.

Young Arthur was overcome with shame.

This, thought John unctuously, will be good for him. He was too haughty by far.

It was wonderful to ride thus, the conqueror. People had said that he would never be the king his father or brother were. They sniggered at his lying abed late with his wife. Any of them would have lain abed if they could have done so with Isabella. They had said he would lose his dominions, for the King of France was too wily for him, and ere long Arthur would be on the throne.

And how wrong he had proved them to be!

Philip would be very uneasy, overcome with shame to know that his protégé was in his enemy’s hands. And Hugh de Lusignan, too. This would show the upstart barons what happened when they opposed the King.

Oh yes, he was very content with himself riding through Normandy to Caen. He was going to show his prisoners to Isabella. That would be amusing. She should sit with him while they were trundled past. It would be quite a spectacle and how the prisoners would writhe with shame. Mental torture was often more rewarding than the physical kind, he was beginning to realise.

Arthur would not like to be seen in a farm cart chained like an animal.

And bold brave Hugh? What will Isabella think of you then?

Isabella was at Caen waiting to receive him. He hurried her off to the bedchamber immediately.

She laughed at him. It was the longest period they had been apart.

Later he boasted of his victory. ‘Speed is what is necessary, Isabella. If I had delayed it would have been victory for them. They would have taken my mother prisoner. Imagine that. The impudence of them!’

‘But you were there and stopped them.’

‘Aye, and took them prisoner. I have some fine prisoners to show you.’

She pouted slightly. ‘I do not greatly care for prisoners.’

‘I want you to see these. There is young Arthur himself.’

‘He’s only a child.’

‘Ha, hark who is talking! He’s older than you are!’

‘I shouldn’t like to be your prisoner.’

‘Nay,’ said John sentimentally. ‘I am yours.’

‘’Tis a pretty thought,’ she said.

‘And now I wish to show them to you.’

‘But I said I did not want to see them.’

‘But you will to please me.’

‘I thought you always wanted to please me.’

‘I do when your pleasure is mine.’

They laughed together; but he had implied that he was going to insist on her viewing the prisoners.

She didn’t want to. She hated unpleasant things and the sight of men in chains gave her no pleasure – particularly if they were handsome men. She was beginning to be a little wary of John. She had seen the redness tinge his eyes and it gave her a qualm or two. She would never forget how he had rolled on the floor and stuffed the rushes into his mouth.

If she were to have her way it would have to be subtly; and she must never appear to go against him.

So she found herself sitting in the courtyard beside him while the farm carts rolled by.

Poor little Arthur, he looked so sad and frightened too. He was such a boy. She knew he was a little older than she was but not much; and she shuddered to think of herself fettered in a farm cart, John’s prisoner.

And there was another. She started at the sight of him. Hugh! He stood up in the cart, his head high as though he were quite unaware of where he was. Her heart leaped at the sight of him and a great emotion swept over her. Oh not Hugh! she thought, and was afraid that she had spoken aloud as she knew John was aware of her every movement, and was watching the expression on her face.

Hugh had turned his head and was looking straight at her. What was that she saw in his eyes? She tried to answer him. Oh, Hugh, Hugh, I am sorry. It was not of my doing really. They forced me to it.

I wanted to be Queen, she thought. Yes, I did. I liked the ceremony and the clothes, the jewels, the people cheering and saying I was beautiful. I like my nights with John – but he frightens me sometimes. Oh, Hugh, if it hadn’t happened like this …

The cart had passed; she did not look after it but stared at the next one.

‘What thought you of your one-time betrothed?’ asked John.

She hesitated. She could not bring herself to speak flippantly.

She said: ‘I thought he bore himself like a brave man.’ John was silent. He thought: If she had cared for him she would never have dared speak of him like that.

Nay, she is content enough. Are her responses not enough to tell me that?

He gave orders that Arthur was to be sent under strict guard to Falaise; there he was to be held in the utmost security. If he was allowed to escape, he commented, he would not envy those who had been in charge of him. His sister Eleanor should go to Bristol. She was only a girl and he did not fear her. Let her be treated with courtesy.

Others he sent to Corfe Castle in Dorset.

‘I have not yet decided where I shall send Hugh the Brown,’ he told Isabella. ‘But it shall be a strong prison for that one. Such a bold brave man might well attempt escape.’

She did not answer.

Then he said: ‘I have it. It shall be here in Caen. We have some fine dungeons here – damp and cold. You can think of him when you and I are revelling together – but no, your thoughts must all be for me. I’ll not have it otherwise.’ Playfully he put his hands about her throat. ‘You’d not disappoint me, sweetheart.’

‘How could I do so?’ she asked.

‘By pitying poor Hugh the Brown.’

‘What good would that do him?’ she answered.

‘None, my love. None at all.’

They stayed on at Caen through the autumn and John declared they would pass Christmas there.

This they did. There was much jollity, feasting, singing, dancing; and the King and the Queen, it was noticed and remarked on, did not leave their beds until dinner time.