‘Aye, ’tis a sorry state of affairs, for as Regent I must do as the King would do. I see that Prince John has his eyes on the crown, and that I must hold at all costs for my master.’
‘This will mean open friction with the Prince,’ Walter de Coutances, Archbishop of Rouen, warned him.
‘If that is so then it must be. John should never have been allowed to come back into the country. The King forbade him to for three years.’
‘But the King later gave permission for both John and his base-born brother Geoffrey to return.’
‘So ’twas said. I cannot believe the King would have been so unaware of their trouble-making propensities to allow it. We must take bold action. It is the only course when dealing with men such as Prince John. I am going to summon him to appear before courts to investigate the manner of his return to England when the King banished him for three years. If the King indeed gave him leave to come back, it must be proved.’
The Archbishop of Rouen agreed that while such action was taking place it might give those who were seeking rebellion time to brood on what this would mean and it was a way of reminding people that although the Prince, as the King’s brother, was becoming a powerful force in the land he like everyone else was a subject of King Richard and must obey his laws.
‘My lord Archbishop,’ said Longchamp, ‘only you are of sufficient rank to take the summons to Prince John.’
The Archbishop nodded ruefully. He could imagine the Prince’s wrath when he realised he was summoned to appear before the courts.
It was as he anticipated. He had never seen such fury except in the old King Henry II. The Prince’s skin was livid, his eyes ablaze with fury; he foamed at the lips and clenched and unclenched his hands.
‘By God’s eyes,’ he shouted, ‘if I but had that devil here. He’d never limp again. I’d slit that big belly right up ... I, with my own knife. He’d not die easy ...’
The Archbishop allowed him to go on and his very calmness cooled John’s temper. The Archbishop showed no fear; he stood rather like someone who was patiently waiting for the storm to be over.
It irritated John for it spoilt the excitement his fury always gave him. He liked to see people cringe before him. This calm dignified man in his robes of office, which must always inspire a certain respect, disconcerted him.
He stopped suddenly and looked full at the Archbishop.
‘And what say you, my lord, to see a Prince so treated?’
‘I say this,’ answered the Archbishop: ‘You should offer to meet Longchamp and find a solution to your differences.’
‘Do you think there will ever be any solution?’
‘We must pray for peace, my lord, until the return of our sovereign lord the King.’
Sovereign lord the King! Where was Richard now? Why was there no news? He was in constant danger. Why was God so perverse that he continued to protect him from that poisoned arrow?
The opposing parties met at Winchester both supported by armed followers. The Archbishop of Rouen however was successful in advising a peaceful solution. The two castles which had been surrendered to John were to be given up, for they were after all the King’s castles, and those who had surrendered them had been but custodians. John agreed that they should be given back but, if the King died or Longchamp did not keep his side of the agreement between them, the castles should revert to him. Wilily he arranged that the castles should be put into the hands of two men who were his friends. Longchamp was aware of this and insisted that the greater strongholds of Winchester, Windsor and Northampton were to be guarded by his own supporters.
John was disappointed. He had believed that more of the barons would be ready to support him on account of the unpopularity of Longchamp. It was true that the Chancellor was disliked but the barons could see that John was not strong enough to stand successfully against him. He was weak, self-indulgent and that violent temper augured no good. They longed for a strong King. If Richard would return they were convinced that all would be well.
However, the meeting could be considered successful because it had not resulted in open warfare and a compromise, however shaky and insecure, had been reached.
John was seething with disgust. He had hoped many would rally to him. He was determined though to seek the first opportunity to make trouble.
He did not have to wait long.
The Chancellor’s supporters saw in the recent agreement with John victory for Longchamp and those connections who had benefited by his rise to fame were convinced of his ability to get the better of Prince John.
Roger de Lacy, a member of the Chancellor’s family, quarrelled with the castellan of Nottingham castle who had handed it over to John, accused him of treason to the King, and hanged him. He then did the same to the custodian of Tickhill. This was arrogance in the extreme.
‘The great Chancellor William de Longchamp, my respected kinsman has been avenged,’ vowed Roger; and riding with his friends he took them to that spot where the body of the custodian of Tickhill was swinging on its gibbet. One of the victim’s menservants was attempting to drive the crows from his master’s body and take it away for decent burial.
‘Hi there,’ cried Roger, ‘what do you?’
The man answered that his master should be decently buried.
‘This man is a traitor,’ cried Roger. ‘Should traitors be decently buried? Any who defend traitors is himself a traitor. Take that man,’ he ordered, ‘and hang him beside the one whom he calls master.’
This foolish, arrogant and cruel action gave John the chance he needed. He came with a troop of soldiers and laid waste Roger de Lacy’s lands.
John was now ready to make war on the Chancellor but his friends advised him to hold back for a while for another incident had occurred which they saw as causing far more disquiet to Longchamp and enraging the people against him to a greater extent than John could do by marching against him.
They managed to make John see that if he were to succeed he needed the people behind him. The Chancellor was fast becoming the most unpopular man in the realm and John only had to wait a while and public opinion would do what he was planning to do with arms.
Geoffrey, John’s bastard half-brother, who had been forbidden by the King, with John, not to return for three years, now returned, declaring that Richard had given him permission to come back when he had done the same for Prince John.
Longchamp immediately sent him orders to keep away from England.
It was a September morning when Geoffrey landed at Dover. Geoffrey was the son of Henry II and his one-time mistress Hikena, who was a woman of loose morals and had managed to captivate the King for a while – at least long enough for her to persuade him to care for their son. Henry had always looked after his bastards. He delighted in them and had often said that they had been more faithful to him than his children born in wedlock, which was true.
Geoffrey had been brought to the royal nursery by the King and had shared the tutors of the princes and princesses, much to Queen Eleanor’s disgust. Indeed the coming of Geoffrey to the nursery had been the beginning of the rift between her and her husband.
King Henry had doted on Geoffrey who had loved his father as none of his legitimate sons ever had. When they had been conspiring against the King, Geoffrey was the one who had remained with him and had been at his side at the time of his death, and the King’s dying wish had been that Geoffrey should be given the Archbishopric of York. Richard had respected his father’s wishes and complied with this request.