The Courts of Love - Jean Plaidy [236]
They came and stood by his bed. I was there with my poor Berengaria.
“Farewell, dearest Mother,” he said. “There has been much love between us two.”
And then he died and I felt that my heart was broken. I could have borne anything but this.
I had lost my son, the one in the world who had meant more to me than any other being.
I was alone, desolate, the most unhappy woman in the world.
I found some consolation in writing. I wrote: “My posterity has been snatched from me. My two sons, the young King and the Count of Brittany, sleep in the dust, and now I have lost the staff of my age, the light of my eyes; and I am forced to live on.”
With Blanca in Castile
WHAT DID I WANT to do now? Return to Fontevrault? To nurse my wretchedness? To shut out all memory of his bright presence?
On Palm Sunday Richard was buried in the church of Fontevrault. The journey from the Limousin had been a slow one and from cottages and mansions people had come out to stand in awe as the cortge passed, knowing that there lay the corpse of the man whose name was known throughout the world: the greatest of warriors, Coeur de Lion.
There was no real peace for me. I had to turn my mind from grief and think of what might happen now. Richard had said that John should be King; but it would be a matter for the barons and the justiciars to decide. It was Arthur who was, in fact, the true heir. Geoffrey, his father, had come before John. I could see that it was a weighty problem: Arthur just twelve years old. An unsuitable age! And the only alternative: John.
William Marshal would be one of those who helped to decide, and he was a wise man who would put the needs of his country before everything else. Then there was Hubert Walter, Archbishop of Canterbury. Men I could trust, both of them.
John arrived at Fontevrault. He overacted as usual. He expressed great sorrow at his brother’s death and assumed an attitude of piety.
John was acclaimed as the next King, not because of the high opinion anyone had of him but as the lesser of two evils.
As soon as he was sure of this, his attitude changed and we had a glimpse of what he would be like when he assumed power.
It was during High Mass. Bishop Hugh of Lincoln, who was officiating, could not resist the opportunity of reminding John, during his sermon, of his duty, telling him frankly what sacrifices were expected of a king. I must admit I found it all a little tedious and wished the man would stop moralizing, but I resigned myself to the fact that the sermon must soon come to an end. John was less patient. He interrupted the Bishop.
“Cut it short,” he ordered. “I have had enough.”
There was a brief silence before the Bishop went on as though there had been no interruption.
But John, proud of his newly acquired kingship, wanted to show his authority. He shouted: “I said cut it short. I want my dinner.”
Once more the Bishop ignored him. John took some gold coins from his pocket which he threw up and caught, and then he jangled them in his hands.
The Bishop stopped his sermon and asked what John was doing.
“I am looking at these gold coins,” replied John, “and thinking that a few days ago, if I had had them, I would have kept them for myself rather than give them to you.”
“Put them into the offering box,” said the Bishop, “and go to your dinner.”
If this was an example of what we were to expect from John, I wondered if the bishops were already regretting their choice.
My mind was taken from apprehensive contemplation of the future by the arrival of Joanna at Fontevrault.
My daughter was in a very sad state. She was pregnant and had been on her way to Rouen to see Richard. Her husband needed help and she had known that she would not appeal to Richard in vain. He had always been a good brother to her and she would never forget how he had come to her aid when she had been Tancred’s prisoner in Sicily.
When she heard that he was dead, she was prostrate with grief.
I was delighted to see her but horrified at