The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [206]
And when he was safely married, none could call my son “John Lackland” anymore.
I had lavished great care on organizing the coronation. I wanted to make it a day everyone would remember. I knew the people loved such spectacles.
I was glad that it was a bright and sunny day; that would help dispel the gloomy prognostications of some Egyptian astrologer who had said that any important matter undertaken on this day would be disastrous. The ceremony went well from the moment the archbishops and bishops arrived in Richard’s bedchamber to conduct him to the abbey.
The clergy chanted as they walked along. John came immediately behind them. I wondered what he was thinking, his head lowered, his eyes veiled. After all, he had at one time believed that the crown would be his. He must be seeing himself in the position which was now Richard’s.
How magnificent Richard looked as he walked with the royal canopy poised on lances carried by four barons and held over his head. The people were awestruck; and then they cheered. Slowly he came through the nave to the high altar, where Archbishop Baldwin awaited him. Baldwin would still be smarting over the controversy over John’s marriage and no doubt wondered whether this new reign would bring conflict between Church and State as the last one had.
Relics had been placed on the altar—bones of saints and phials of their blood. Richard must swear on these to honor God and the Holy Church. Then he was stripped down to his shirt and hose for the anointing after which he was dressed in the tunic and dalmatica. He took the sword of justice in his hand; the golden spurs were placed on his heels and the royal mantle was put about him.
None could have denied he was one of the handsomest kings England had known. Tall, impressive with his Viking looks, the great warrior, he was the perfect monarch in appearance. How different from his stocky father, inclining to be fat toward the end, those bow legs, that careless mode of dress, those reddened hands. Oh, so different! Richard was like a god from a Norse legend. My heart swelled with love and pride as I watched the anointing and with emotion saw them place the crown on his head; and the sound of the Te Deum echoing in my ears was wonderfully inspiring.
Richard was in truth King of England.
Feasting followed. I thought the day had gone well. There had been no discordant note, although there had been one uneasy moment when Richard and Baldwin came face to face at the altar. But that had passed and all had gone smoothly.
This was not to continue.
There had always been trouble between the citizens of London and the Jews. The Jews were a hardworking race and in their business deals always seemed to get the better of a bargain. This was resented by their gentile rivals. It was a form of envy, which seems to be at the root of most trouble.
Richard had ordered that there were to be no Jews at the coronation, giving the reason that this was a Christian ceremony and the Jews were not Christian.
Whether the Jews decided to defy the command or whether they had not been aware of it, I was not sure. Perhaps they thought that, if they brought costly presents, their presence would be welcomed.
There was one very rich Jew called Benedict of York. He brought a valuable gift for the King, but as he was making his way to the palace, he was recognized and the crowd immediately set upon him.
He protested: he had a valuable gold ornament which he wanted to give to the King. All he was doing was delivering it at the palace. The people would not listen to him. “No Jews,” they screamed, and dragged him to the ground.
The poor man realized that his life was in danger. He had a quick mind. It was the Jews they were attacking. Killing was against the law . . . providing it was not a Jew, of course; so he had the brilliant idea of changing his religion on the spot.
“I am about to become a Christian,” he cried.