He tried to talk to her reasonably. ‘How can I be such an ogre when I am so patient?’
That made a little impression, for she was well aware of what he might have done.
‘See how I seek to woo you! I am tender and kind. I have told you how I came to your father’s castle and saw you and loved you for your beauty. You are a very beautiful girl, Matilda. I have rarely seen one as lovely as you. But you are unformed, you are a child. Your beauty needs to mature. You need a lover … a king for a lover.’
But what was the use?
She was adamant.
One day, she stood by the window and said: ‘If you come near me I will throw myself out.’
He looked at her in alarm and he knew she meant it.
It was no use. She would never give in willingly. Her family would be searching for her. He didn’t trust FitzWalter. He was too powerful; he was the sort of man who would lead the barons to revolt. All the same he was not going to allow FitzWalter’s wife to dictate to him.
And what if they discovered the whereabouts of their daughter? It wouldn’t be difficult in the present state of affairs for them to lead the barons to her rescue.
He pictured it with dismay. All those who had been murmuring against him for so long, setting out against him. There could be civil war.
He had had enough of Matilda. She would never give in willingly. He did not want just another rape. He had had enough of that, and it had ceased to appeal as it once had.
What then? Return her to her parents? Never.
But be rid of her he must.
He sent for one of the cooks, a good fellow whom he knew would do a great deal if rewarded for it; and with such a task one was comparatively safe because although he had ordered it, the act had actually been committed by someone else who was as involved as he was.
It was so easy. A hint which was immediately taken.
During the day young Matilda was taken ill. Before the night was out she was dead.
It was later said by those who attended on her that she had become affected after eating an egg.
He sent her body back to Dunmow and the young girl was laid to rest in Little Dunmow Church. Her mother wept bitter tears of anguish and could not stop herself going over and over that moment on the road when her daughter had been snatched from her.
What could I have done? she asked herself. I should have gone with her. I should have died rather than let her go.
But it was no use weeping. Matilda lay in her tomb, poor child, and no tears could bring her back.
‘I shall never forget this,’ cried Robert FitzWalter. ‘I shall be revenged on John. He shall suffer for this. He will wish he had never dared harm my family.’
‘What can we do?’ cried his wife. ‘Nothing will bring Matilda back.’
FitzWalter could do a great deal. His hatred burned so fiercely in him that it became an inspiration.
Chapter XV
A SUBSTITUTE FOR THE BEDCHAMBER
John could not help but be aware that the position of the King of England had deteriorated alarmingly during his reign. The great bogey was Philip Augustus of France, who having taken possession of Normandy and much of John’s possessions overseas was in fact now casting his eyes on England itself, and much as William the Conqueror had gazed longingly across the Channel before the invasion, so now looked Philip Augustus of France.
He reasoned that John was no great adversary. How different it would have been to face Richard or his father, Henry II. He felt no such qualms about John. A king who had sported in bed when his kingdom was in jeopardy, who had lost the heritage of his great ancestors, whose country was under interdict and who himself was excommunicated seemed to have placed himself in a position of which it would be folly for his enemies not to take advantage.
So Philip began to amass an army with the idea that when the time was ripe he would cross the Channel and take the English crown from John.
Even John must be alarmed at this prospect. The loss of Continental possessions meant a respite from perpetual fighting, but the loss of England would be intolerable. He would be no longer a king.
He could not now be idle and spend half the day in bed. He did not wish to. He was travelling about the country most of the time, taking women where he fancied them and enjoying variety.
He made an arrangement with five of the chief trading ports in the country to supply him with ships. These were Dover, Romney, Hythe, Hastings and Sandwich which were known as the Cinque Ports. Later Rye and Winchelsea were added to the original five. He demanded from Dover twenty-one ships, from Romney five, Hythe and Sandwich five each and from Hastings twenty. As with the ships came the men to man them, this was of considerable importance to him. In support for the fleet of ships John was willing to grant certain privileges.
This was a fair enough arrangement and special privileges were granted to the towns, and their merchants were known as barons.
But John was in urgent need of funds and he set about getting these through what he called ‘fines’. If a man was accused of some misdemeanour it became possible to buy his way out of his just punishment. ‘Bribes’ would have been a better way of describing these inequities.
The Jews had always been persecuted and because they had a talent for amassing money, they became one of John’s special targets. He gave an order that all Jews were to be imprisoned that they might on the payment of certain sums of money be allowed to go free. Understandably reluctant to part with their worldly goods, many of them refused, which so aroused the King’s wrath that he ordered them to be tortured. He made it clear that they could preserve themselves from these horrors by the payment of certain sums. From one rich Jew of Bristol the King asked for a payment of ten thousand marks – a great fortune which was all he possessed. When the Jew refused to pay John the money, the King ordered that each day one of his teeth should be pulled out until he had paid the sum. For seven days the Jew held out but by the end of that time he decided that he would part with his fortune rather than endure the brutal extractions.
John was constantly thinking of new ways of getting money. If two people disputed over a piece of land which they did often enough, the one who gave the bigger present to the King would get the land. It was not only money which was passed to the King in this manner; cattle, jewellery, anything of value came his way.
It was often necessary to get the King’s consent to marriage if the bride was an heiress, and this proved a valuable source of income to the King. Geoffrey de Mandeville wanted to marry Hadwisa, John’s first wife whom he had discarded; she, still a rich woman, was a very good catch and the prospective bridegroom gave the King twenty thousand marks for his permission. Often a little profitable bartering took place and in the case of the widow of one Stephen Falconbridge, Richard de Lee gave the King eighty marks for his permission to marry the lady which John accepted with alacrity. The widow, however, had other plans and offered John one hundred pounds sterling if he would withdraw his permission, which John on the receipt of the money obligingly did. If he heard that a certain widow had no wish to marry he would set about finding a husband for her that she might offer a sum of money to be excused from matrimony. The Countess of Warwick gave him a thousand pounds and ten palfreys that she might be left in peace.
There was no excuse too wild which was not used to extract money. Cities were expected to give bribes that they might conduct their business in a manner suited to them. London itself gave forty marks that it might sell cloth at a certain length; and the Bishop of Norwich who, as a bribe, presented the King with an emerald ring, was fined for delivering it at an inconvenient time when others were present.