Arthur shook his head. ‘I want what is mine now.’
‘You must not act like a spoilt child, Arthur. I have the crown of England and the lands over here are mine too. I have been accepted by the people. What do you think the people of England would say if they were asked to accept you?’
‘Doubtless they would say I was their rightful king since my father was your elder brother.’
‘You are a foreigner, Arthur. You have never been in England. You don’t know the English.’
‘I know who is their rightful king.’
‘So do they, nephew, and it is John.’
‘John usurped the crown. Richard named me as his heir. The King of France proclaims me.’
‘And I wear the crown,’ taunted John. He was wishing he had it with him so that he could wear it on this occasion. That would have been amusing. ‘You can save us and yourself a great deal of trouble if you accept what is. Now I shall have a document drawn up which you will sign and when you have signed it you and I will be good friends.’
‘That is something we shall never be.’
‘Have you made up your mind to that?’
‘Yes, I made up my mind when you sent orders to blind me and rob me of my manhood.’
‘What talk is this?’
‘’Tis a statement of facts. I know you for the wicked man you are and if you think I shall ever enter into any agreement with you, you are mistaken.’
‘I think you will, Arthur.’
‘Why should you think that?’
‘Because you are going to see what is best for you.’
‘And you think it is good for me to sign away my inheritance?’
‘There are worse things to lose than your inheritance as you came near to discovering.’
‘You are a devil.’
‘I am a man who will have his way.’
‘And I have no more to say to you.’
Arthur rose and went to the door but before he reached it John had seized him.
‘Take your hands from me – liar, coward, lecher … I hate you. I will work against you until the end of my days.’
‘So all my kindness to you is of no avail.’
‘Kindness …’ Arthur threw back his head and laughed.
A sudden blow sent him reeling. He fell against the wall and for a few moments he looked into a face which was distorted by rage. John’s temper had taken possession of him and he made no attempt to curb it.
Another blow sent Arthur staggering to the floor, blood spurting from his mouth. John picked up a stool and hit him with it again and again … on his head and on his body.
Arthur moaned in agony and then he was silent.
John kicked him, laughing demoniacally.
‘What now, my brave cockerel, what now? What say you, eh? What say you, King of England, Duke of Normandy, Count of Anjou … You should have been content with being Duke of Brittany.’
He was foaming at the mouth; his eyes were staring out of his head; his blood was pounding with excitement as he went on kicking Arthur.
And then he was aware that there was no response from Arthur. He no longer moaned; he merely lay slack and still as if oblivious to the pain which was inflicted on him.
John stopped suddenly, his rage sliding away from him.
He knelt down.
‘Arthur,’ he shouted. ‘Stop shamming. Get up, or by God’s teeth I’ll kick you to death.’
There was no response.
‘Arthur,’ cried John shrilly, but the boy lay still.
He’s dead, thought John. I have killed Arthur. What now?
He must act quickly. If Arthur were found thus there would be an outcry. They would know who had killed him and it would be used against him. He imagined such knowledge in Philip’s hands.
Curse Arthur! He had been a plague to him ever since he had been born.
His rage started to get the better of him and he kicked the boy again.
He must not. He must be calm. He must think clearly. What was he going to do? He must get rid of Arthur’s body. How? It would be obvious to any observer what had happened and it would be widely known that he was at Rouen and had been alone with the boy. This should not have happened. He should have controlled his rage. He should have had Arthur murdered in a traditional royal manner – poison for instance, or neat strangulation, but to have battered the boy to death …
Curse him.
There was blood on the floor. He must have help. There was one of his servants – a strong man who had had his tongue cut out. John used him now and then because of what he thought of as this qualification. He had said to him once: ‘You are a fortunate man, for tongueless you can serve your King well.’ Had the tongue been removed by him he might have had to be wary, for these creatures could harbour thoughts of revenge for years when one would have thought the matter might be forgotten by reasonable men. But this man had no grudge against John and John had craftily decided that because of his usefulness he should be cherished.
Locking the door of the room in which the dead boy lay, John went in search of the silent man. He found him in the stables, for he loved horses and was usually there when not engaged on his duties. John took him back to the chamber of death. There was only need to point to Arthur and the man understood – the loss of his tongue having sharpened what was left to him.
John said: ‘He must be removed. Let us throw him in the river.’
The mute nodded and indicated that they would need to weight the body so that it would sink.
‘We’ll weight it then and take it to the river,’ said John. ‘Then we’ll throw it overboard. There are boats moored down there. How shall we remove him?’
The man went to the window, indicating that he would throw the body out.
‘Good man,’ said John. ‘That is the answer. Wait though … until it is later. Then the castle will be quiet.’
John left the mute to guard the body behind locked doors while he went down to join the castellan and his wife. He was excited. He was rid of the boy. Arthur would be forgotten in time and that menace was removed.
It was past midnight when Arthur’s body was thrown from the window. They tied a stone about his neck and carried him to a boat which they rowed along the river towards the sea. They threw the body overboard and then came back to the castle.
The next morning a jewelled button which was known to belong to Arthur was found on the stones beneath his window. There were some traces of blood there – the mute had removed all those in the room where the murder had taken place.
It was said: ‘Arthur has escaped. He must have lowered himself from the window; and he hurt himself in falling, hence the blood.’
It was expected that soon there would be triumphant news from Brittany that their Duke was with them. But none came.
Two fishermen out in their boat one night were amazed to haul in a heavy load and to their horror they saw what they brought in was the body of a young man with a stone securely tied about his neck.
Uncertain of what to do they rowed for the shore, left the body in their boat and went at once to the lord of the nearby castle. When he heard what they had to tell him he went with them to the boat and examining the features of the dead boy he had a suspicion as to who he was and when he noticed the jewelled buttons on his garments he guessed.
Arthur had been at the castle of Rouen. There were already rumours in circulation that he had disappeared. There could be no doubt who this was.
‘Say nothing of this,’ said the lord of the castle, ‘on pain of your lives, keep silent.’
The frightened fishermen were only too eager to promise to do so.
Everyone knew that to talk of this could cost them their tongues.
Very secretly the body of Arthur was buried in the church of Notre Dame des Prés close by Rouen but there was no indication of the identity of the corpse. None wished it to be known by King John that they had had any hand in the disposal of the body. Their safety lay in secrecy, for who could know what unpredictable turn the King’s anger might take.