Louis VII. was dead. Philip Augustus had ascended the throne (1180), and war was about to break out afresh. King Henry, who was now reconciled to his eldest son, wished to compel Richard to do homage to his brother for the duchy of Aquitaine; the prince refused, saying that he would not compromise the rights of his mother. She was greatly beloved in her hereditary dominions, and the poet Bertrand de Born, powerful among his countrymen, and devoted to Eleanor's cause, was intriguing successively with whichever of the three sons appeared the most incensed against his father. King Henry had caused a picture to be painted re-presenting four young eagles attacking their sire. "If John does not join his brothers," he said sadly, "it is because he is too young."
Richard at length made peace with his father, but Henry and Geoffrey had raised the standard of rebellion in their turn. They had invited the king to a conference at Limoges (1183); when he approached the town he was saluted with a volley of arrows, of which one wounded his horse in the neck. "Ah! Geoffrey," cried the king, "what has your unhappy father done to you that you should thus make a target of him for your arrows?" The prince laughed at this bitter remonstrance. "We cannot live in peace amongst ourselves," he said, "without being in league against my father." His brother Henry was disgusted at this evidence of his brother's hard-heartedness, and joined the king for awhile; but soon after, having been again annoyed, he departed and joined Geoffrey and the Poitevins, who had revolted, when he fell ill at Limoges. In terror, he sent, begging his father to come and grant his forgiveness. The king did not dare to accede to the request; his friends would not allow him to venture into the camp of his sons, who had so recently attempted his life. He contented himself with sending a ring by the Archbishop of Bordeaux, assuring the prince of his forgiveness. The prelate found the young man dying upon a bed of ashes, a prey to remorse and despair. He died pressing to his lips the ring which his father had sent to him, greatly distressed at not having received the benediction upon which he had hitherto set so little value.
A few days afterwards Limoges was taken, and the instigator of the insurrections, Bertrand de Born, was made a prisoner; he was brought before the king to receive sentence; he said nothing, and did not defend himself. "Bertrand," said the king, "you pretend that at no time do you require one-half of your talents; know that in this instance the whole of them would avail you little." "Sire," replied Bertrand, "it is true that I said that, and I told the truth." "And I think that your talents have deserted you," cried Henry angrily. "Ah! Sire," said Bertrand, "my powers deserted me on the day that the brave young king, your son, died; on that day I lost all my powers." The king burst into tears. "Bertrand," he cried, "it is but right that my son's death should have unnerved you, for he was more attached to you than to anybody else in the world; and I, for love of him, give you your life, your goods, and your castle."
The poet Dante did not forgive Bertrand de Born, as king Henry had done, for he placed him in hell. "I saw," said he, "and I seem to see it still, a headless trunk approach us, and the head being cut off, it held it in one hand by the hair, like a lantern: 'Know that I am Bertrand de Born, who gave bad advice to the young king.'"
In the midst of the general grief a kind of union was effected between the father and his remaining sons, as well as between the father and mother. Eleanor was brought back to Aquitaine, and restored to liberty; but this mutual understanding, so rare in this royal family, only lasted for a short time; Geoffrey asked the king to grant him the countship of Anjou, and on being refused, he retired to the court of France: death awaited him there; he was thrown in a tournament, and trampled under foot by the horse before the attendants could come to his assistance.
Henry had two sons remaining; Richard, who was afterwards called "Cœur-de-Lion," and who had inherited that majestic countenance which Peter of Blois attributes to his father, whose almost square face resembled a lion's head; and John Lackland, as his father laughingly called him, who had not taken part in the revolts of his brothers, and whom Henry esteemed very much for that reason. Richard had already shown fresh signs of insubordination. Eleanor had returned to her prison at Winchester, when a call from the East brought a short truce to the hostilities between France and England. Jerusalem had just been retaken by the Mussulmans (1187); Pope Urban II. had died of grief in consequence. Gregory VIII., who had succeeded him, called the Christians from the West to the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre, and the Archbishop of Tyre was preaching in favor of the crusade. King Henry was the first to respond to the appeal. Richard assumed the cross as well as his father. Philip-Augustus manifested the same desire. A conference was held under the elm of Gisors, the famous tree at the foot of which many treaties had been ratified which had remained in force but for a very short time. The treaty of peace which was there agreed to in the name of the crusade proved to be no more durable than the others, and the King of France in his anger caused the tree to be rooted up, saying that no more perfidy should be witnessed under its branches. It was rumored that the King of England had the intention of bequeathing his kingdom to his youngest son. Richard had another grievance against his father; the latter had for some time been detaining in a castle the Princess Alice of France, who had been promised in marriage to Richard, and far from conniving at the union, he was endeavoring to obtain a divorce from Eleanor, with the intention, it was said, of marrying the young princess himself. Richard demanded an explanation from his father of these two infringements of his rights, asking for his father's consent to his marriage and an acknowledgment of himself as heir to the throne of England.
Henry did not reply; he at length proposed to marry the Princess Alice to John Lackland. Richard was not infatuated with her, for he already dreamt of Berengaria of Navarre; but he looked upon his father's proposal as an indication of his intentions respecting John. "Is it really so," cried he; "I did not think it possible, but now, my friends, you will see what you little expected," And, kneeling before King Philip-Augustus, he placed his hands in that monarch's, and at once did the latter homage for the duchies of Normandy, Brittany, and Aquitaine, as well as for the countships of Poitou. Anjou, and Maine, asking for assistance in recovering his rights. Philip-Augustus accepted him as a vassal and liege, and immediately gave up to Richard the castles which he had taken from the latter's father.
This time the shot had been sent straight to the king's heart. In vain did he retire to Saumur, to recommence preparations for war: his energy and decision had failed him; he awaited the arrival of the Pope's legates, who were entrusted with the care of attempting a reconciliation, and contented himself with rewarding the noblemen of Normandy, who had always remained true to him. When the legate arrived, King Philip-Augustus, who was too clever not to discover the weariness of the old king, insisted on the conditions of peace offered at the last conference, asking besides that John should accompany his brother in the crusade, without which he threatened to cause the greatest disorder in the kingdom. Henry refused. "Then the truce is at an end," said the King of France. The legate threatened to place the kingdom under an interdict, and to excommunicate Philip and Richard. "I am not afraid of your mercenary anathemas," said Philip; and Richard, drawing his sword, cried, "I will kill any insensate who dares to excommunicate two princes in a single breath!" His friends restrained his violence; the legate remounted his mule and retired in great haste.
The French marched towards Le Mans; the town was taken and pillaged. Aquitaine, Poitou, and Brittany revolted; treason was rife among the English barons. Henry felt that he was beaten; he sued for peace, declaring himself ready to accept the propositions of Philip and of Richard. The two monarchs met upon a plain between Tours and Azay. Richard was not present; while they were conferring in the open field, and still on horseback, the thunder roared and a violent storm broke forth. The nerves of King Henry had been shaken by disease and trouble. He reeled in his saddle, and his servants sustained him with difficulty. When he had recovered his senses, he was too ill to continue the conference, and the proposals for peace were sent to his head-quarters. They were hard and humiliating; an indemnity for King Philip, permission for his vassals to do homage to Richard, the restoration of the Princess Alice to a person commissioned to deliver her with all honor to her brother, or her affianced husband on the return from the crusade, and so forth. King Henry II. stretched upon his couch, listened in silence. When an end was made he asked to see a list of the barons who had pledged themselves to maintain the cause of Philip and Richard. The first name was that of his son John, count of Mortagne; the unhappy father uttered a cry of pain. "John, the son of my heart," he exclaimed, "for love of whom I have brought upon myself all these misfortunes—he, too, has betrayed me!" He was assured that it was so. "Let all things henceforth proceed as they will," he said, "I have no longer any regard for myself or this world." And he turned his face again to the wall in the bitterness of his soul. His son Richard had followed him, and leaning towards him asked for the kiss of peace in ratification of the treaty. The king did not refuse it as he had done before in the case of Becket; but Richard had scarcely left the chamber when the indignant father muttered between his teeth, "May I live to avenge myself on thee!"
He gave orders to be carried to Chinon, oppressed with a profound melancholy, which was succeeded by a violent fever. In his fits he raised himself in his bed, invoking the vengeance of Heaven upon his children. "Shame, shame upon a vanquished king—a king dispossessed of his rights," he cried; "accursed be the day when I was born; accursed be the children that I leave behind me!" He directed his attendants to carry him into the church, where he expired at the foot of the altar on the 6th of July, 1189. He had not yet completed his fifty-fifth year, but his features were worn like those of an aged man. When Richard, stricken with horror at the intelligence which he had received, hastened to Fontevrault, whither the corpse of his father had been removed without ceremony, some one had surrounded the royal forehead with a golden fringe in imitation of a crown, and it had been necessary to employ hired horses in order to convey to his last resting-place the powerful master of so many dominions.
Richard approached the coffin. A drop of blood appeared under the nostrils of the corpse. "Yes, it is I who have killed him!" cried Richard, stricken with repentance. He fell on his knees beside the dead body of his father, remained there a moment prostrate, then rising, went out precipitately.
Ten years later, when Richard was dying at the siege of Chalus, he ordered that his body should be conveyed to Fontevrault, to be interred at the feet of his father.
The first act of the new king was to deliver from her prison his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, to whom he had always been tenderly attached. While she was presiding over the preparations for the crowning of her son, dispensing amnesties, and calling all free men to swear allegiance to him, Richard arrested Stephen of Tours, seneschal of Anjou and treasurer to Henry IL, threw him into prison, and did not restore him to liberty until he had been put in possession by him, not only of the treasures of the dead king, but of all the personal property of the treasurer as well. On arriving in England, Richard also went in great haste to Winchester, in order to secure the riches which had been amassed there by his father. The Jews were uneasy at seeing the new sovereign display so much avidity; they had been accustomed to suffer for any want of money on the part of kings, and Philip Augustus had just set the example of confiscation, by driving them away from his kingdom on his accession (1180), in order to seize their property. Richard contented himself with forbidding them to enter Westminster Abbey; but some wealthy Jews, hoping to secure the favor of the new king by rich presents, ventured to present themselves among the vassals who brought their offerings to Richard. The gifts were accepted, but, after the coronation ceremony, when Richard, having taken the crown from the altar, in token that he held it from God alone, had deposited it in the hands of the Archbishop of Canterbury, who placed it upon Richard's head, a noise was heard proceeding from the gates of the churchyard. A Jew who attempted to enter was pushed back; on this disturbance being made, the other Jews were driven away, and then the popular vengeance was wreaked upon their houses, which were set a-fire. A great number of Jews were killed. The fury spread throughout the whole of the country. At York, the unhappy Jews retired into the citadel, where the governor allowed them to take refuge. But he went out one day, and the Jews, fearful of treason, refused to let him re-enter. The fortress was besieged, and when the Jews found themselves about to be taken, they set light to an immense wood pile, and threw themselves upon it with all their riches, after having themselves slain their wives and children. Richard forbade this persecution of the Jews, but did not cause anybody to be punished; "and this shedding of the Jews' blood," says the old chronicler, "although against the wish of the king, seemed to foretell that Cœur-de-Lion would be a plague to the Saviour's enemies."
Richard appeared for the time being to have become imbued with the commercial spirit of these much despised Israelites. He turned everything into money, selling the royal domains which his father had been at such pains to reconstitute: bartering away towns, castles, and even, sometimes, property which did not belong to him. "I would sell London, if I could find a buyer," he said. The most important offices in the kingdom were disposed of by auction like the domains. Hugh Pudsey, bishop of Durham, bought the county of Northumberland and the title of Chief Justicier; the bishoprics and the abbeys were offered to the highest bidder; the King of Scotland was released of the tribute imposed upon him and his people during his captivity, for the sum of 20,000 marks of silver. The crusade which Richard was projecting, and which occupied his whole attention, required considerable sums of money, and the king was not very scrupulous as to the means he adopted for obtaining the money which he wanted.
Prince John, his brother, had just received some very large gifts in Normandy and in England, but he was not nominated regent of the kingdom during Richard's absence; the power was divided between Bishop Pudsey and William Longchamp, Bishop of Ely and Chancellor of England. Many duties were entrusted to Queen Eleanor, and, towards the end of the year 1189, Richard proceeded to Normandy. He had promised to start on the crusade at Easter in 1190. The emissaries of King Philip-Augustus met him at Rouen, and took oath upon the soul of the king their master to a treaty of alliance, both offensive and defensive, between the two sovereigns,—the King of France undertaking to respect and defend the rights of the King of England as he would his good city of Paris; while the English delegates swore, on the soul of the King of England, to perform the same services for King Philip as he would for his good city of Rouen. The kings of England wore still, before all, Dukes of Normandy.
The Queen of France, Isabella of Hainault, had just died, and the departure for the crusade was postponed until midsummer. The two kings at length met on the plains of Vezelay, accompanied, it is said, by a hundred thousand crusaders. They marched across the country together as far as Lyons, and then separated, after having made an appointment to meet at Messina. Philip marched towards Genoa, where he expected to find those of his vessels which were destined for foreign service. Richard was going to Marseilles; his fleet was to come and meet him there. England was no longer at the mercy of Genoese or Venetian merchants, being in possession of a considerable number of vessels. But the English ships were delayed; they experienced some mishaps in the Bay of Biscay; some had sought shelter in Portugal. Richard became impatient, and hiring some mercantile barks, he set out with a portion of his forces, in order to arrive sooner at Messina to meet the King of France. But the English ships sailed faster than the Marseilles barks; when the king arrived in Sicily, his fleet had preceded him.
The kingdom of Sicily had previously lost its sovereign, William the Good, brother-in-law to King Richard, and his cousin Tancred, Count of Lecce, had been elected king in his stead. The dowager queen, Joanna, Richard's sister, claimed her jointure, which Tancred held unjustly, as she said. Scarcely had Richard set foot in Sicily when, without waiting for the negotiations to be made, he took possession of the castle and of the town of Bagnara, and established his sister there, who had arrived before him; then returning to Messina, he drove the monks from a convent which suited his purposes, and converted it into a barracks. So many outrages roused the people, who shut the gates against Richard's troops. A conference was being held in the camp of Philip-Augustus for adjusting this difference, when a fresh quarrel broke out between the Sicilians and the English troops. Richard left the royal tent in great haste, assembled his men, and running helter-skelter among the citizens, he entered Messina and planted his banner upon the ramparts. Philip-Augustus at once demanded that his own banner should also be planted there; but Richard consented to give up the town into the hands of the knights templars, pending the decision respecting his sister's pretensions, and King Tancred hastened the negotiations, being anxious to rid himself of so turbulent and formidable a guest. Queen Joanna obtained a large sum of money, and King Richard received his share of it, which he scattered broadcast amongst the crusaders, thus finding favor with the French as well as the English, the Normans, and the Aquitanians.
Philip-Augustus, courageous and bold as he was when necessary, did not possess in as great a degree as the King of England, the brilliant qualities which then constituted a true knight; he was more prudent and cunning than Richard; perhaps he was even given to dissimulation, for Tancred accused him before the King of England of having endeavored to dissuade him from negotiating with Richard; and when the latter came and complained angrily to Philip, a quarrel was about to break out between the two brothers in arms, who had sworn to help each other in the holy enterprise. Richard thereby gained permission, accorded to him by the King of France, to marry whoever he chose instead of the Princess Alice, the sister of Philip-Augustus. It was high time for Richard to disengage himself from previous contracts, for Queen Eleanor was to bring back to her son the Princess Berengaria, for whom she had been to Navarre. They were only waiting until the departure of Philip to celebrate the marriage. Bad weather had prolonged the stay of the King of France at Messina until Lent, and Richard's marriage with Berengaria had not yet been solemnized when Philip left Sicily, on the 30th of March, 1191, upon his ship "Franc-la-Mer," at the head of more than two hundred vessels. The Queen of Sicily took the young princess away with her.
The weather was unfavorable, and the fleet was dispersed. When King Richard, suffering from sea-sickness, landed at Rhodes, he was almost alone, and he learnt that the vessel, the "Lion," with the princesses on board, had been driven ashore on the coast of Cyprus; the governor of the island, or, as he called himself, the Emperor Isaac Comnenus, had not allowed them to disembark; the sailors who had ventured to land had even been ill-treated.
Much less provocation would have sufficed to arouse the anger and vengeance of Cœur-de-Lion. He immediately left Rhodes, sailed to Cyprus, took possession of the island, and made prisoners of the emperor and his daughter, gave the latter to Berengaria for an attendant, and placed Isaac Comnenus in silver chains, which the latter wore until his death. Richard was married in the church of Limasol on the day after Easter, in order to set out immediately for Acre, the siege of which town had already commenced, in spite of the plague, which was decimating the army.
The prowess of King Richard soon attracted towards him the eyes of the crusaders and of the Mussulmans themselves. Stricken with the fever, he would cause himself to be carried upon a litter to the ramparts, and would there direct the movements of the troops. He distributed among the knights the money taken at Cyprus. The jealousy of King Philip gained ground day by day. Accustomed to consider himself superior to the King of England, who was his vassal, Philip was annoyed at seeing his own authority lessened in consequence of the prodigious valor of Richard, the "king," as he was called everywhere in the East, in defiance of the rights of the King of France.
The French knights and their adherents on the one hand, the English knights and their allies on the other, had vainly endeavored to take the town by storm. Saladin, the sultan of the Arabs, kept aloof, watching for an opportunity to relieve Acre. But the Christian army completely surrounded it—"as the eyeball the eye," say the oriental historians—so completely, in fact, that at the moment when the chiefs of the Christian army, temporarily reconciled, were preparing to attack the town in unison, the Mussulman garrison surrendered, their lives being spared, on the 12th of July, 1191, and Saladin retired into the interior of the country. Philip and Richard immediately entered Acre at the head of their armies, and planted their banners upon the ramparts. The King of England had taken possession of the sultan's palace, without troubling himself to find a residence for Philip, and when he learnt that the Arch-duke of Austria, Leopold, had set up his banner at the side of the standard of England, he went and tore it down with his own hands, and threw it into the trenches, indignantly asking how a duke could have any pretensions to the honors exclusively reserved for kings. Richard was destined to pay dearly for these haughty proceedings.
Scarcely had the crusaders entered Acre when King Philip announced his intention of returning to Europe. In vain was he urged to persevere in the holy enterprise; in vain his emissaries who were entrusted to announce this news to King Richard were so ashamed of it that they wept and said nothing.
Richard Removing The Archduke's Banner.
Philip insisted on returning to France, which country he would have been wise not to have left in the preceding year. Ten thousand French crusaders remained in the East, under the command of the Duke of Burgundy. The King of France solemnly swore not to make any attempt upon Richard's dominions, and set sail on the 31st of July, leaving the Christian army a prey to the dissensions to which the succession to the throne of the still unconquered city of Jerusalem gave rise. Sybil, granddaughter of Godfrey of Bouillon, had just died, and her husband, Hugh of Lusignan, was one of the two pretenders to the title of King of Jerusalem, the other being Conrad of Montferrat, husband of Isabella, sister of Sybil. The King of France espoused the cause of Conrad, and Richard supported Lusignan. It was in the midst of these differences that the crusaders, under the command of the King of England, commenced a march across the desert of Mount Carmel. Exhausted by the heat, they were also harassed by the Arab horsemen, who were more embittered than ever against the Christians, for the term fixed for the exchange of prisoners having gone by without Saladin's having sent back those in his possession, the King of England had caused all the Mussulman prisoners to be led out of the camp and to be slaughtered before the sultan's eyes. The soldiers even went as far as searching the entrails of their victims for any gold or precious stones which they might have swallowed.
A great battle was fought at Arsouf on the 7th of September; King Richard performed prodigies of valor and opened up a road to Jaffa. Saladin was at Ascalon, when the crusaders, who had arrived at Bethany, were compelled to give up their intention of laying siege to Jerusalem on account of the bad weather. The sultan at once abandoned Ascalon, dismantling the ramparts, and thus making the way clear for Richard. The latter hastened to repair the fortifications. In order to encourage the soldiers, he himself carried stones to the workers, and urged the Archduke Leopold to do likewise. "I am not the son of a mason," replied the Austrian, whereupon Richard, in a fit of passion, struck him in the face. Leopold at once left the army and set out to return to his states, followed by his soldiers.
In vain was Ascalon fortified; in vain did Richard agree to confer the crown of Jerusalem upon Conrad of Montferrat, in the hope of re-establishing a mutual understanding in order to be able to march against Jerusalem. That prince was almost immediately murdered by two emissaries of the "Old Man of the Mountain," a mysterious sovereign, whose devotees, intoxicated by the fumes of haschich, blindly obeyed his orders. This crime was attributed to the King of England, who afterwards quarrelled with the Duke of Burgundy, depriving himself of the support of the French as he had previously deprived himself of that of the Austrians. They had again advanced as far as Bethany, and a band of crusaders had ascended a mountain overlooking Jerusalem. King Richard was asked to come and see the holy city in the distance. "No," said he, covering his face with his cloak; "those who are not worthy of conquering Jerusalem should not look at it." The crusaders retraced their steps as far as Acre.
On arriving at that town, Richard suddenly learnt that Saladin was besieging Jaffa. He embarked at once and sailed to the rescue. The crescent already shone upon the walls, but a priest who had cast himself into the water in front of the royal vessel told Richard that he could yet save the garrison, although the town was already in the hands of the enemy. The ship had not yet reached the landing-stage, and already the king was in the water, which reached his shoulders, and was uttering the war cry, "St. George!" The infidels, who were busy plundering the city, took fright, and three thousand men fled, pursued by four or five knights of the cross. The little corps of Christians intrenched themselves behind planks of wood and tubs; ten tents held the whole of the army. Day had scarcely dawned, when a soldier flew to Richard's bedside. "O king! we are dead men!" he cried; "the enemy is upon us." The king sprang up from his bed, scarcely allowing himself time to buckle on his armor, and omitting his helmet and shield. "Silence!" he said to the bearer of the bad news, "or I will kill you." Seventeen knights had gathered round Cœur-de-Lion, kneeling on the ground, and holding their lances; in their midst were some archers, accompanied by attendants who were recharging their arquebuses. The king was standing in the midst. The Saracens endeavored in vain to overawe this heroic little band; not one of them stirred. At length, under a shower of arrows, the knights sprang on their horses, and swept the plain before them. They entered Jaffa towards evening, and drove the Mussulmans from it. From the time of daybreak, Richard had not ceased for a moment to deal out his blows, and the skin of his hand adhered to the handle of his battle-axe. The remembrance of this day had not faded when, more than fifty years later, St. Louis led the French troops to the crusade. Joinville heard the Saracen mothers scolding their children and threatening them with Malek-Rik, a name which the Mussulmans gave to King Richard. Such severe fatigue under the burning sun had affected the health of Cœur-de-Lion. Disquieting news came from his dominions. He concluded a truce with Saladin, giving up Ascalon to him, but keeping Jaffa, Tyre, and the fortresses along the coast, and promising to refrain from any hostilities during a period of three years, three months, three weeks, three days, and three hours. "Then I will come back," said Richard, "with double the number of men that I now possess, and will reconquer Jerusalem." Saladin smiled, acknowledging, however, that if the Holy City was to fall into the hands of the Christians, no one was more worthy of conquering it than Malek-Rik. The two adversaries had conceived for each other a feeling of chivalrous admiration and esteem which is the theme of Sir Walter Scott's novel "The Talisman." Numerous presents had been exchanged by them during the war; and when Richard was suffering from fever, and was perishing with thirst, he received each day fruits and cooling drinks which were sent to him by the sultan.
It was on the 9th of October, 1192, that Richard Cœur-de-Lion left Palestine. Standing upon the poop of his ship, he was surveying the shore, then fading from sight. "Oh! Holy Land," cried he, "I leave you to God, as well as your people. May He help me to come back to your assistance!" The English ships were sailing together, when a storm arose and dispersed them. The one which carried the two queens arrived in Sicily, but King Richard was not with them, and no one knew what had become of him. Driven at first towards the island of Corfu, he had hired three small vessels, which had taken him to Zara, whence he hoped to reach his nephew Otho of Saxony, son of his sister Matilda. He found himself surrounded by enemies and threatened on all sides. He knew that King Philip had entered into a league with John Lackland, in order to deprive him of his kingdom: the Emperor Henry had laid claim to the throne of Sicily, and had not forgiven Richard for his alliance with Tancred; Leopold of Austria had not abandoned all hope of revenge, and everywhere the relations of Conrad of Montferrat were accusing the King of England of having been the cause of the death of their ally.
Richard's Farewell To The Holy Land.
Richard assumed the garb of a merchant and started on his journey through the mountains of the Tyrol. He arrived at Goritz in Carinthia, where he sent and asked for a passport for Baldwin of Béthune, one of his knights, and for Hugh the merchant. The messenger was instructed at the same time to present the governor with a ring which the merchant sent him. The governor scrutinized the messenger. "You are not speaking the truth," cried he. "It is not a merchant who sends me this ring, but King Richard. But as he honors me with his gifts without knowing me, although I am the cousin of Conrad of Montferrat, I will do him no injury. Tell him, however, to leave this place as soon as possible."
The governor of Goritz did not wish to arrest King Richard, but he had not promised to keep the secret. He informed Frederick of Montferrat, Conrad's brother, that Cœur-de-Lion was about to travel across his dominions. Recognized by a Norman knight, the king was saved by a faithful vassal, and had arrived in the states of the Duke of Austria, when he fell ill in the village of Erperg, a short distance from Vienna. A page was despatched to the capital to exchange some gold bezants for current coin of the country. He was noticed and interrogated, and being put under torture he divulged his master's name. Richard was stretched upon his bed, sleeping, when the mayor of Vienna entered his little apartment "Good morrow, King of England," he said. "You hide in vain, for your face betrays you."
The king had already seized his sword, protesting that he would only surrender to the duke himself. Leopold was unwilling to let any one else have the honor of making the capture; he soon arrived, and received the King of England's sword. "You should esteem yourself fortunate, Sire," said the duke, with a smile of revengeful satisfaction; "if you had fallen into the hands of the relations of Conrad of Montferrat you would have been a dead man, even if you had had a thousand lives." And triumphantly leading forth his prisoner, whom he reminded on the road of the insult which had been formerly offered to the Austrian flag, he shut Richard up in the castle of Diernstein. But the emperor at once claimed the illustrious captive. "A duke cannot possibly keep a king!" he urged; "it is the right of an emperor." And Richard was conducted to the castle of Treefels, where he languished for two years.
While King Richard had been acquiring glory in Palestine, without any signal advantage gained to the Christian cause, disorder reigned supreme over his kingdom; the Chancellor Longchamp had seized upon the power, casting his fellow-bishop of Durham into prison, and only setting him free at the price of all the dignities which the latter had bought of Richard. The chancellor was able and devoted to the king, but haughty, arrogant, despotic, and, above all, rapacious, as all powerful men were at that time. "If he had remained master," say the chronicles, "he would not have left a belt to the men, a bracelet to the women, a ring to the knights, or a jewel to the Jews." But scarcely had King Richard arrived in Palestine when Prince John unmasked himself. Having raised an army against the chancellor, he claimed the supreme authority on the ground of his being heir presumptive to the crown, resolutely refusing to recognize the rights of Arthur of Brittany, son of Geoffrey, whom Richard had repeatedly nominated as his successor. Badly supported by the barons, Longchamp was beaten, and compelled to agree to a truce. By means of intrigue and concessions, John first of all caused himself to be recognized by the regent and the council as heir to the throne, then obtained the deposition of the chancellor, and saw himself raised to the dignity of Governor-General of the kingdom. It was on the 9th of October, 1191, while King Richard was fortifying the town of Jaffa, after the victory of Ascalon. The new regent offered to allow Longchamp to keep his diocese of Ely, and have the governorship of three royal castles. "No," said the deposed chancellor, "I will not willingly give up any of my master's rights; but you are stronger than I, and chancellor and chief justicier as I am, I yield to superior power." He consigned the keys of the Tower to Prince John, and made preparation for leaving England. No doubt he knew the prince too well not to fear some treachery, for he disguised himself as a travelling trades-woman, and, accompanied by a large number of boxes, he waited near Dover for the ship which was to carry him to France. The vessel was delayed; some fishermen's wives, passing along the beach, asked if they might look at his goods; but the Chancellor of England did not understand English, but only spoke Norman, and therefore could not answer; the women, being impatient, declared that the owner of the boxes must be a mad woman, and raised her veil. They started back at seeing a man's face underneath it. The fishermen rushed to the spot; and, suspecting some sinister purpose in the disguise, they subjected Longchamp to ill-treatment until the officers of the guard came, tore him from their grasp, and took him to prison. The Chancellor had much difficulty in getting free again, and in obtaining permission to proceed to France. The Archbishop of Rouen was created chancellor and chief justicier in his stead.
It was in the month of October, 1192, when King Richard was just setting sail from Acre, that rumors of his approaching return were spread throughout Europe; but in vain did days, weeks, months elapse. The champion of the Cross, Cœur-de-Lion, had disappeared, and his fate remained shrouded in mystery, when, at the beginning of the year 1193, a letter from the Emperor Henry VI. to the King of France, discovered by accident, revealed the fact of Richard's incarceration in Austria. "The enemy of the Empire and the disturber of France," said the Emperor, "is imprisoned in a castle in the Tyrol, and watched day and night by faithful guards with naked swords." The exact whereabouts of the castle remained a secret.
The effect of this news in Europe was wonderful; Richard's reputation had caused people to forget his pride and avarice. Prince John was as proud and as avaricious as his brother, without the fitful generosity and brilliant valor which in Richard compensated for so many faults: the clergy remembered the great deeds performed for the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre; all the noblemen and knights were disgusted at the treachery which kept a king and a crusader in an unknown prison; the Pope excommunicated the Archduke Leopold, and threatened the Emperor with the same penalty; Prince John and the King of France alone rejoiced at the powerless state in which their enemy found himself. The prince hastened to Paris to do homage to Philip for all the dominions which the King of England held upon the Continent; and then, recrossing the Channel, he commenced preparations for raising an army, to enable him to dispute his brother's claim to the crown; but already the barons and prelates who remained faithful to Richard had unfurled the royal standard; the hired soldiers gathered together by John were repulsed, and the feeble usurper was compelled to consent to an armistice. His ally of France had been unsuccessful at Rouen, which was defended by the Earl of Essex, who had recently arrived from Palestine. Philip had been compelled to quit that town.
The ex-Chancellor Longchamp had at length discovered the king's prison, and had gone to see him. He managed to induce the emperor to convoke the Diet of the Empire at Hagenau, in order to hear the charges against Richard. The King of England appeared before the princes there assembled, and cleared himself easily of the accusations brought against him. The emperor consented to deliver him up for a ransom; the sum fixed was a hundred and fifty thousand marks of silver. The king's fetters were removed, and he was led back to his prison, there to remain until the united efforts of his people should raise the required sum of money. "My brother John will never gain a kingdom by his valor!" Cœur-de-Lion had disdainfully declared on hearing of that prince's treachery. But John could plot, and, supported by Philip Augustus, he contributed greatly towards postponing the deliverance of his brother. Richard was still languishing in prison at the beginning of the year 1194, lamenting his fate in Provençal ballads, which may be translated thus:—
Now know ye well, my barons, people, all,
English and Norman, Gascon and Poitevin,
That for no money would I leave in thrall
The poorest of my comrades thus to pine.
Reproach I made not nor desire withal,
Though now two winters here.
The period of his captivity was at length, however, drawing to an end; in vain did Philip-Augustus and Prince John propose to the Emperor Henry a much larger sum than Richard's ransom if he would still keep the latter in prison. The princes of the Empire opposed the offer indignantly, and when the first half of the ransom arrived, in the month of February, 1194, the king was at length restored to liberty. He landed at Sandwich on the 13th of March, to the great delight of his subjects. Prince John had taken refuge in Normandy, and the other traitors had disappeared. Richard seized upon several castles, deprived several rebels of their offices, and sold them to the highest bidder; then, levying another tax upon a country exhausted by war and by the payment of the royal ransom, he hastened to France, to punish her king for the injuries inflicted upon him by that monarch. On disembarking Richard was met by his brother, who reckoned upon the intercession of his mother to obtain the forgiveness of the sovereign whom he had so cruelly wronged. "I forgive him," said Richard; "and I hope that I shall forget his misdeeds as completely as he will forget my forgiveness." He refused, however, to reinstate John in his land and castles.
War was still raging between the two monarchs, with variable success. Richard was enabled to wreak his vengeance upon the Bishop of Beauvais, who had formerly been entrusted with missions from Philip to the Emperor of Germany. That prelate, having been made a prisoner during a battle, by Merchadec, chief of the Brabantines in Richard's service, was imprisoned in the castle of Rouen. In vain did he implore the intervention of Pope Celestine III. in his favor; the King of England sent the armor, stained with the bishop's blood, to the Pontiff, with this quotation from Scripture: "See whether it is your son's garment." The Pope laughed. "It is the coat of a son of Mars," said he, "let Mars undertake to deliver him;" and the bishop remained in prison until the death of King Richard.
So many struggles were necessarily burdensome; "from sea to sea England was ruined," say the chroniclers. A citizen of London, William Fitz-Osbert, better known by his title of "Longbeard," constituted himself the champion of the poor, endeavoring, first of all, by interceding with the king to obtain a lessening of the burdens which were crushing them. The king wanted money. Longbeard achieved no result; and came back to England, where he organized a secret association. He began a series of public orations, causing dangerous riots in London, where he was looked upon by the people as their king and saviour. The authorities endeavored to arrest him, but he took refuge in the church of St. Mary of the Arches, with a few supporters, where he defended himself until the building being set afire he was obliged to leave it; he was wounded, captured and dragged to Smithfield, where he was hanged. The people had done nothing to rescue him; but it was found necessary to punish the fanatics who came by night to scrape up the earth at the foot of his gibbet, to be preserved as relics.
King Richard had defeated Philip-Augustus at the gates of Gisors. Whilst making his escape, the King of France had almost been drowned in the river. "I made him drink the water of the Epte," Richard wrote triumphantly. But the day was approaching which was to see the end of so many heroic, but fruitless struggles; it was rumored in Normandy that an arrow was being fashioned in Limousin, which was destined to kill a tyrant. The King of England learnt that his vassal, the Viscount of Limoges, had discovered a treasure. He at once sent to claim it of the Viscount, who sent him one-half of his treasure trove upon a mule. "Gold treasure belongs to the liege-lord; silver is divided," said the Viscount. But Richard wanted the whole; he marched against the castle of Chalus, where he expected to find the treasure, and laid siege to the place. It was well defended, but provisions had run short; the garrison wished to capitulate. "No," said Richard, "I will take your place by storm, and cause you all to be hanged on the walls." The defenders of the town were in despair; the king and Merchadec were examining the point of attack, when a young archer, Bertrand de Gourdon, pulled his bow, and, praying to God to direct the arrow, aimed it at the king; the latter was struck on the left shoulder. The town, however, was taken by assault, and all the garrison were hanged. The king sent for Gourdon. He was dying, for an unskilful surgeon had broken the arrow, and left the steel portion in the wound. "Wretch!" said he to the archer, "what had I done to you that you should have attempted my life?" "You have put my father and two brothers to death," said Bertrand, "and you wanted to hang me." "I forgive you," cried Richard; "let his chains be removed, and let him receive one hundred shillings." Merchadec took no heed of the royal pardon, but caused Bertrand de Gourdon to be flayed alive. Gourdon's children fled to Scotland, and became, it is said, the founders of the illustrious family of the Gordons. Richard died on the 6th of April, 1199. Scarcely had he breathed his last, when his sister Joanna, whom he had married to the Count of Toulouse, arrived at the camp before Chalus, to solicit help for her husband in his dispute with the court of Rome, in the matter of the Albigenses. She was informed of the death of her brother, and the shock caused her to give birth to a child prematurely. The child was stillborn, and the mother died in delivering it. She was buried with her brother at Fontevraud, at the foot of the grave of Henry II.
The period of chivalric enterprises in England had gone by, and that of humiliation and decay was commencing. The reign, however, of John Lackland, the most cowardly and treacherous of the sovereigns who have sat on the throne of England, is one of the most important epochs in history, for from that time dates the active part played by the nation in its own affairs—the time of Magna Charta, the germ and foundation of all English liberty.