Cameos from English History, from Rollo to Edward II

C >> Charlotte Mary Yonge >> Cameos from English History, from Rollo to Edward II

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Only once did he give way. Geoffrey, the son of Rosamond, was
devotedly attached to him, and had at his own expense raised an army of
Brabancons, or mercenary soldiers, and defeated an inroad of the Scots,
and he now brought his victorious force to the aid of his father.
Rosamond was just dead in her nunnery, and at his first meeting with her
son, Henry embraced him with tears, exclaiming, "Thou art my true and
lawful son!" The bishopric of Lincoln was destined to Geoffrey, but he
was only twenty, and was unwilling to take orders, thinking himself
better able to help his father as a layman.

The Brabancons were the only troops on whom the King could rely, and
with them he marched against the Bretons, who had been encouraged by
Louis and their young Duke to rebel. They were defeated, and Louis, not
wishing to run further risks, brought the three youths to the Elm of
Gisors, and held a conference with them, where Henry showed himself far
more ready to forgive than his sons to ask pardon.

Afterward young Henry and Geoffrey returned to Paris, and Richard to
Poitou, whence he soon came to the French court, to receive the order
of knighthood from Louis--another insult to his father. The two queens,
Eleanor and Margaret, were in the old King's hands, and kept in close
captivity; the younger, who seems to have been a gentle and innocent
lady, was soon allowed to join her husband, but Eleanor was retained
in confinement at Winchester. As long as his mother, whom he tenderly
loved, was imprisoned, Richard thought his resistance justified, and
Aquitaine echoed with laments for the Lady of the South in the dungeon
of her cruel husband. Bertrand de Born, who had chosen her daughter
Eleanor, Queen of Castile, as the object of his songs, was especially
ardent in his lamentations.

The elder King's grief at the continued misconduct of his sons led him
to humble himself at the tomb of Becket, and the penance he underwent
brought on a fever. He thought, however, that he had received a token of
pardon, when news was brought that his faithful son Geoffrey of Lincoln,
and his chancellor, Ranulf de Glanville, had defeated the King of Scots,
William the Lion, and made him prisoner at Prudhoe Castle. But King
Henry had far more to suffer!

His eldest son was invading Normandy, and he was forced to march against
him. After a battle at Rouen, the princes were reduced to obedience;
Richard was the last of all to be reconciled, believing, as he did, that
his cause was his mother's, but he kept his oaths better than either of
the others.

A time of greater quiet succeeded, during which young Henry set out as
a knight-errant, going from one country to another in search of
opportunities of performing deeds of arms. He came, in 1180, to attend
the coronation of young Philippe II., who had just succeeded his father,
in his fifteenth year, and had, or pretended to have, a great friendship
for Geoffrey of Brittany.

Richard had in the meantime affronted Bertrand de Born, by assisting his
brother Constantine, whom he had deprived of his inheritance. Bertrand
rebelled with other Poitevins, proceeded to lash up, by verses, young
Henry, to join them against Richard, rousing him to be no more a mere
king of cowards, who had no lands, and never would have any.

Henry was worked upon to go to his father, and insist on receiving
Richard's homage; and as he threatened to take the Cross and go to
Palestine, the old King, who doted on him, consented. Richard declared
this would be giving up the rights of his mother; and though he
consented, at his father's entreaty, for the sake of peace, Henry was
now affronted, would not receive it, and, with Geoffrey, placed himself
at the head of the rebels of Poitou, and a fresh war broke out, and
their father was obliged to come to Richard's aid. It seems to have been
about this time that the unhappy King caused a picture to be painted
of four eaglets tearing their father's breast. "It is an emblem of my
children," he said. "If John has not yet acted like his brethren, it is
only because he is not yet old enough!"

Henry and Geoffrey invited their father to a conference in Limoges,
which he was besieging; but as he entered the town, a flight of arrows
was discharged from the battlements, some of which rattled against his
armor, and one pierced his horse's neck. The King held one of them up,
saying, "Ah, Geoffrey! what has thine unhappy father done that thou
shouldest make him a mark for thine arrows?"

Geoffrey treated the matter lightly. His brother was, however, so much
shocked, that for a little while he joined his father, swearing he would
never again rebel.

Only a few days had passed, before, on some trifling dispute, he again
quitted his father, and, vowing he would take the Cross, joined Geoffrey
and the rebel Poitevins. But this was indeed his last rebellion. He had
scarcely entered the town of Limoges, before a violent fever came on,
and in terror of death he sent to entreat his father to come and give
his blessing and forgiveness. It was too late. After that last treason,
the King could not trust himself in the rebel camp, and only sent the
Archbishop of Bordeaux to carry his signet ring, and assure his son of
his pardon. He found the unhappy young man in the agonies of death,
lying on a bed of ashes, accusing himself of having been a "wicked,
undutiful son, and bitterly disappointed at not seeing his father, to
receive the blessing he had once cast from him, and which in vain he
now sought earnestly and with tears." He died, fervently pressing the
ring to his lips. Surely his remorse might have served for a warning to
his brothers; but when the sorrowful father sent a priest to entreat
Geoffrey to make peace over his grave, the fierce youth only answered
that it was vain. "Our grandmother, the Witch, has left us a doom that
none of us shall ever love the rest. It is our heirloom, and the only
one of which we can never be deprived!"

However, Limoges was taken, and in it Bertrand de Born, who was led
before the King to receive the punishment he deserved, and there he
stood silent and dejected. "Hast thou nothing to say for thyself?" said
the King. "Where is all thy ready flow of fine words? I think thou hast
lost thy wits!"

"Ah, sire!" said Bertrand, "I lost them the day the brave young King
died!"

The father burst into tears, and exclaimed, "Sir Bertrand, thou mightest
well lose thy senses with grief for my son. He loved thee more than any
man on earth; and I, for love of him, give thee back thy castles and
lands."

Geoffrey still held aloof, and spent his time with his friend Philippe
of France. At Paris, in 1186, he who called hatred his inheritance, and
spurned his father's forgiveness, died without space for asking it,
leaving, indeed, his chosen heirloom to his innocent children. He was
in his twenty-fifth year, and the handsomest and the most expert in
chivalrous exercises of all his brothers; but in the midst of a great
tournament he was thrown from his horse, and trampled to death in the
throng before his squires could extricate him.

Richard, the second son, inheriting the "lyonnous visage" that Peter de
Blois ascribes to King Henry, and with it the Lion-heart, that gained
him his surname, had far more feeling and generosity than his brothers,
and, but for King Henry's own crimes, he might have been his blessing
and glory. When Henry had provoked him, by desiring him, as being now
heir of Normandy and England, to yield up Poitou to his brother John,
Richard had refused; but on the King bringing his mother to Aquitaine,
and reinstating her in her duchy, he instantly laid down his arms,
joyfully came to her, and continued perfectly peaceable and dutiful
whilst she still held her rights.

But after all these warnings, Henry was sinning grievously against his
wife and son. Richard had been, in his infancy, betrothed to Alice of
France, who had been placed in his father's keeping; but he had reached
his twenty-seventh year without having been allowed to see her, and
there was but too much reason to believe that the old King had wickedly
betrayed his trust, and corrupted her innocence. Richard had, in the
meantime, become attached to a modest, gentle maiden, Berengaria, sister
to King Sancho of Navarre, and was anxious to know on what ground he
stood with Alice; but the consequence of his first demonstration was,
that Henry sent Eleanor back to her prison at Winchester.

This broke the tie that held him to obedience, and he went to Paris
to consult with Philippe, Alice's brother, on the best measures for
breaking off his unfortunate engagement, as well as on securing the
succession to the crown, which he suspected his father of wishing to
leave to his brother John. Philippe received him most affectionately; so
that it is said they shared the same cup, the same plate, and the same
bed.

Just at this time, Archbishop William of Tyre came to preach a new
Crusade, and the description of the miseries of the Christians in
Palestine so affected the two kings and Richard, that they took the
Cross, and agreed to lay aside their disputes, to unite in the rescue of
Jerusalem. However, the concord did not last long; Richard quarrelled
with the Count of Toulouse, and a petty war took place, which the kings
agreed to conclude by a conference, as usual, under the Elm of Gisors.
This noble tree had so large a trunk, that the arms of four men could
not together encircle it; the branches had, partly by Nature, partly
by art, been made to bend downward, so as to form a sort of bower, and
there were seats on the smooth extent of grass which they shaded. King
Henry first arrived at this pleasant spot, and his train stretched
themselves on the lawn, rejoicing in being thus sheltered from the
burning heat of the summer sun; and when the French came up, laughed at
them, left beyond the shade, to be broiled in the sunbeams. This gave
offence, a sharp skirmish took place, the English drew off to Vernon,
and Philippe, mindful of the indignation he had felt in his boyhood
under that tree, swore that no more parleys should be held under it,
and his knights hewed it down with their battle-axes.

The war continued, and Richard fought gallantly on his father's side;
but as winter drew on, it was resolved that a meeting should be held
at Bonmoulins to re-establish peace. Richard thought this a fit
opportunity, in the presence of Alice's brother, for endeavoring to have
his rights confirmed, and to clear up the miserable question of his
betrothal. In the midst of the meeting he called on his father to
promise him, in the presence of the King of France, that he would no
longer delay his marriage, and declaration as his heir.

Henry prevaricated, and talked of bestowing Alice on John.

"This," cried Richard, "forces me to believe what I would fain have
thought impossible! Comrades, you shall see a sight you did not expect."

And ungirding his sword, he knelt down before Philippe, and did homage
to him, asking his assistance to re-establish his rights. Henry
withdrew, followed by a very small number of knights. They mostly held
with the young prince, won by his brilliant talents, great courage, and
liberal manners; and the King found the grief renewed that his son
Henry had caused him, while he himself, aged by cares rather than
years, was less able to cope with them: moreover, Richard was far more
formidable than his elder brother; Philippe a more subtle enemy than
Louis; and above all, the King's own faults were the immediate cause
of the rebellion. He took no active measures; he only caused his
castellanes in Normandy to swear that they would yield their keys up to
no one but to Prince John, on whom he had concentrated his affections.
He awaited the coming of the Cardinal of Anagni, who was sent by the
Pope to pacify these Crusaders, and remind them of their vows.

Again the parties met, and the legate, with four archbishops, began to
speak of peace.

"I consent," said Philippe, "for the love of Heaven and of the Holy
Sepulchre, to restore to King Henry what I have taken from him, provided
he will immediately wed my sister Alice to his son Richard, and secure
to him the succession of the crown, I also demand that his son John
should go to Palestine with his brother, or he will disturb the peace of
the kingdom."

"That he will!" exclaimed Richard.

"No," said Henry; "this is more than I can grant. Let your sister marry
John; let me dispose of my own kingdom."

"Then the truce is broken," answered the French King. The Cardinal
interfered, threatening to lay France under an interdict, and
excommunicate Philippe and Richard if they would not consent to Henry's
conditions. Their answers were characteristic.

"I do not fear your curses," said Philippe. "You have no right, to
pronounce them on the realm of France. Your words smell of English
sterlings."

"I'll kill the madman who dares to excommunicate two royal princes in
one breath!" cried Coeur de Lion, drawing his sword; but his friends
threw themselves between, and the Cardinal escaped, mounted his mule,
and rode off in haste.

The French took Mans, and pillaged it cruelly, while Richard looked on
in shame and grief at the desolation of his own inheritance. His father,
weak and unwell, resolved to make peace, and for the last time appointed
a meeting with Philippe on the plain between Tours and Amboise. There it
was arranged that Richard should be acknowledged as heir, and Alice put
into the hands of the Archbishop either of Canterbury or Rouen, as he
should prefer, until he should return from the Crusade. The conference
was interrupted by a vivid flash of lightning and a tremendous burst of
thunder. To the evil conscience of the elder King it was the voice of
avenging Heaven: he reeled in his saddle, and his attendants were forced
to support him in their arms and carry him away. He travelled in a
litter to Chinon, where his first son had deserted him, and there,
while he lay dangerously ill, the treaty was sent to him to receive his
signature, and the conditions read over to him. By one of them, those
who had engaged in Richard's party were to transfer their allegiance to
him.

"Who are they--the ungrateful traitors?" he asked. "Let me hear their
names."

His secretary began the list: "John, Count of Mortagne."

"John!"--and the miserable father started up in his bed. "John! It
cannot be true!--my heart, my beloved son! He whom I cherished beyond
the rest--he for whose sake I have suffered all this--can he also have
deserted me?" He was told it was too true. "Well," said he, falling back
on his bed, and turning his face from the light, "let the rest go as it
will! I care not what becomes of me, or of the world!"

He was roused in a few moments by the entrance of Richard, come, as a
matter of form, to ratify the treaty by the kiss of peace. The King,
without speaking, gave it with rigid sternness of countenance; but
Richard, as he turned away, heard him mutter, "May I but live to be
revenged on thee!" and when he was gone, the King burst out into such
horrible imprecations against his two sons, that the faithful Geoffrey
of Lincoln and the clergy of Canterbury, who attended him, were shocked,
and one of the monks reminded him that such hasty words had occasioned
the death of Becket. But he gnashed his teeth at them with fury. "I have
been and I am your lord, traitors that ye are!" he cried. "Away with
you! I'll have none but trusty ones here."

The monks left him; but one, turning round, said boldly, "If the life
and sufferings of the martyr Thomas were acceptable with God. He will do
prompt justice on thy body."

The King threw himself out of bed, with his dagger in his hand; but was
carried back again, and continued to rave, though growing weaker. In
an interval of calm he was taken into the church, and absolution was
pronounced over him; but no persuasion would induce him to revoke his
curses against his sons: the delirium returned, and the last words that
were heard from his dying lips were, "Shame, shame on a conquered King!
Cursed be the day I was born! Cursed be the sons I leave!"

In his fifty-fifth year he thus miserably expired, and his son Geoffrey
of Lincoln with difficulty found any one to attend to his funeral; the
attendants had all fled away, with everything valuable that they could
lay their hands on. A piece of gold fringe was made to serve for a
crown, and an old sceptre and ring were brought from the treasury
at Chinon; horses were hired, and the corpse was carried, as he had
desired, to be interred in the beautiful Abbey of Fontevraud. In the
midst of the service a hurried step was heard. It was Richard, who,
while laughing with his false friend Philippe over his ungracious
reception at Chinon, had been horror-struck by the news that his father
was dead, and that there was no more forgiveness to be looked for.

He had hastily left the French, and now stood beside the coffin, looking
at the fine but worn and prematurely aged face, which bore the stamp
of rage and agony. A drop of blood oozed from the nostril--a token,
according to the belief of those times, that the murderer was present.
Richard hid his face in his hands in the misery of remorse, and groaned
aloud, "Yes, it was I who killed him." He threw himself on his knees
before the altar, so remained "about as long as it would take to say a
_Pater_" and then, rising up in silence, dashed out of the church.

Ten years later, his corpse was, by his own desire, laid in humility at
his father's feet.

CAMEO XXIV.

THE THIRD CRUSADE.
(1189-1193)

_King of England_.
1189. Richard I.

_King of Scotland_.
1165. William.

_King of France_.
1180. Philippe II.

_Emperor of Germany_.
1152. Friedrich I.
1191. Henry VI.

_Popes_.
1183. Clement III
1191. Celestine III

The vices of the Christians of Palestine brought their punishment.
Sybilla of Anjou, Queen of Jerusalem, had married the handsome but
feeble-minded Guy de Lusignan, who was no match for the Kurdish
chieftain, Joseph Salah-ed-deen, usually called Saladin, who had risen to
the supreme power in Egypt and Damascus. The battle of Tiberias ruined
the kingdom, and the fall of Jerusalem followed in a few weeks, filling
Christendom with grief.

The archbishop and historian, William of Tyre, preached a Crusade in
Europe, and among the first to take the Cross were the Plantagenet
princes and Philippe Auguste of France.

The unhappy discord between Henry II. and Coeur de Lion hindered the
enterprise until the death of the father, which left the son a prey to
the bitterest remorse; and in the hope to expiate his crimes, he hurried
on the preparations with all the vehemence of his impetuous nature.

He hastened his coronation, and began to raise money by the most
unscrupulous means, declaring he would even have sold London itself
could he have found a bidder. He made his half-brother, Geoffrey, pay
L3,000 for the possession of the temporalities of the see of York, and
sold the earldom of Northumberland to the aged Bishop of Durham, Hugh
Pudsey, saying, laughing, that it had been a clever stroke to make a
young earl of an old bishop. William the Lion of Scotland was also
allowed to purchase exemption from his engagements to Henry II., by the
payment of a large sum of money and the supply of a body of troops under
the command of his brother David, Earl of Huntingdon.

These arrangements made, Richard marched to meet Philippe Auguste at
Vezelai, and agree on the regulations for the discipline of their
host. If rules could have kept men in order, these were strict enough,
forbidding all gaming, all foul language, all disputing, and all
approach to licence, and ordering all acquisitions to be equally
divided; but with a prince whose violent temper broke through all
restraint, there was little hope of their observance. The English wore
white crosses, the French red, the Flemings green, to distinguish the
different nations.

They marched together to Lyons, whence Philippe proceeded across the
Alps to embark at Genoa in the vessels he had hired, and Richard went to
Marseilles, where his own fleet was appointed to meet him and transport
him to Messina, the place where the whole crusading army was to winter.
He waited for his ships till his patience failed, and, hiring those
which he found in the harbor, he sailed to Pisa, whence he rode to
Salerno, and there learning that his fleet had touched at Marseilles,
and arrived at Messina, he set out for the coast, attended by only one
knight. On the way he saw a fine hawk, kept at a cottage in a small
village, and forgetting that there were no such forest laws as in his
own domains, he was enraged to see the bird in the keeping of mean
"_villeins_" seized upon it, and bore it off on his wrist. This was no
treatment for Italian peasants, who, in general, were members of small,
self-ruling republics, and they swarmed out of their houses to recover
the bird. One man attacked the King with a long knife, and though
Richard beat him off with the flat of his sword, the assault with sticks
and stones was severe enough to drive the King off the field, and force
him to ride at full speed to a convent.

He thence went to Bagnata, where he found his own ship _Trenc-la-Mer_
awaiting him. In full state he sailed into the harbor of Messina at the
head of his fleet, streamers flying from the masts, and music playing
upon the decks. He was received by the King of Sicily, Tancred, Count of
Lecce, who without much right had assumed the crown on the recent death
of William the Good, the last of the direct Norman line.

This William, had been married to Joan Plantagenet, Richard's youngest
sister, who now came to join him, making complaints that Tancred was
withholding from her the treasures bequeathed to her by her husband; and
these were indeed of noted value, for she specified among them a golden
table twelve feet long, and a tent of silk large enough to contain two
hundred knights.

Tancred, who had lodged his royal guests, the one in a palace within the
town, the other in a pleasant house among the vineyards, was confounded
at these claims, and on his declaring that he had duly paid the Queen's
dowry, Richard seized upon two of his castles, and, on a slight quarrel
with the inhabitants, upon the city of Messina itself.

Philippe Auguste interfered, not on behalf of the unfortunate Sicilian,
but to obtain a share of the spoil; requiring that the French standard
should be placed beside the English one on the walls, and that half the
plunder should be his. It was, however, agreed that the keeping of the
city should be committed to the Knights Templars until the three kings
should come to an agreement.

It was at this time that Richard again showed his violent nature. A
peasant happening to pass with an ass loaded with long reeds, or canes,
the knights began in sport to tilt at each other with them, and Richard
was thus opposed to a certain Guillaume des Barres, who had once placed
him in great danger in a battle in Normandy. Both reeds were broken, and
Richard's mantle was torn; his jest turned to earnest, and he dashed his
horse against Des Barres, meaning to throw him from the saddle; but he
swerved aside, and the King's horse stumbled, and fell. He took another,
and returned to the charge, but in vain; however, when the Earl of
Leicester was coming to his aid, he ordered him off. "It is between him
and me alone," he said. At length repeated failures so inflamed his
anger, that he shouted, "Away with thee! Never dare appear in my
presence again! I am a mortal foe to thee and thine!" and it was only on
the threat of excommunication that he could be prevailed on to consent
to the knight remaining with the army.

In March, a meeting took place between the Kings of England and Sicily,
in which Tancred agreed to pay Richard and his sister 20,000 ounces of
gold; and Richard remitted his share as a portion for Tancred's infant
daughter, whom he asked in marriage for his nephew, Arthur of Brittany.
The two Kings were much pleased with each other, and an exchange of
presents was made.

Tancred disclosed that the French monarch had falsely sent him a warning
that it was useless to trust the King of England, who only intended to
break his treaties; and when Richard refused to believe that his former
friend would so slander him, showed him the very letters in which
Philippe offered to assist in expelling him from the island.

Unwisely, Richard called his rival to account for his treachery; on
which Philippe retorted with the old engagement to his sister Alice,
declaring that this was only an excuse, for casting her off. Richard
answered, that her conduct made no excuse necessary for not marrying
her, and proved it so entirely, that Philippe was glad to hush the
matter up, and rest satisfied with a promise that she should be restored
to her own count with a sufficient pension.

It was time indeed for Richard to be free from his bonds to Alice, for
he had already sent his mother to conduct to him his own chosen and
long-loved lady, Berengaria of Navarre, a gentle, delicate, fair-haired,
retiring maiden, to whom he had devoted his Lion-heart in his days of
poetry and song in his beloved Aquitaine, and who was now willing to
share the toils and perils of his crusade.