John was deeply relieved.

‘Then there is nothing to fear,’ he said, ‘but … Arthur.’


Bishop Hugh was growing increasingly apprehensive. He was of the opinion that Arthur would have been the better choice. True, he was Breton and had been brought up for some of his formative years at the Court of France, but he was yet a boy who could be moulded. It might be that John as son of the late Henry II was closer to the late King Richard than Arthur – and yet John was an uneasy choice.

To consider his past record must make all churchmen shudder. Setting his exploits in Ireland, and his treachery to his father, on one side, there was still the life he led. The last King’s departure from the orthodox in sexual relations was deplorable, but it had not affected his rule; he had never had favourites who had influenced him.

Hugh was surprised that Queen Eleanor, who was a very wise woman, and William Marshal, who undoubtedly had the good of England at heart, could have let their choice rest on John. The line of succession was not so rigid that it could not be changed for expediency. A king’s son was his natural successor but if that son should show himself to be unworthy it was quite acceptable to select the next candidate. It was a moot point whether Henry II’s youngest son or the son of an older son was the heir to the throne. If Richard himself had had a son how different it would have been. What alarmed Hugh was that the Archbishop of Canterbury believed Arthur to have been the better choice and had been overruled by William Marshal.

Of course William Marshal was a man with a strong sense of duty and he was in close service with King Henry II. It could be that he remembered that it was his old master’s desire that John should be King and this was why he supported the claim of the younger son rather than that of the grandson.

In any case, it appeared that John was to be the next King and they must try to make the best of it.

He went to John’s apartments in the Castle Beaufort and there found him with one or two of his companions – young men whose tastes were similar to his own.

The Bishop asked if he could speak to John alone. The young man regarded him rather insolently and John hesitated; he would have liked to tell the old prelate to go, but his common sense warned him that until that coronation ceremony he had better be a little careful.

He waved his hand and the young men sauntered out.

‘What is it?’ asked John somewhat testily.

‘Tomorrow is Easter Day,’ said the Bishop. ‘You will of course wish to take communion.’

‘Not I,’ cried John. ‘’Tis not to my taste.’

The Bishop was horrified, and John laughed at him. ‘My good Bishop, I have not communicated since I was able to make up my own mind on such matters and I have no intention of doing so now.’

‘You are now a king …’ The Bishop paused and added ominously: ‘Or hoping to become one. It is necessary for the people to see that you are worthy of the crown.’

‘What has communion to do with kingship?’

‘I think you know. If you are to govern well you will need the guidance of God.’

‘I have no qualms that I shall know how to govern.’

‘Others might have.’

John narrowed his eyes. The insolence of priests! Was he the King or wasn’t he? The answer to that was of course, no, not yet.

Not yet. That was what he must remember. He must get that ceremony performed.

He said: ‘I know I have lived a sinful life. I intend to reform now this great burden has been placed upon my shoulders, but if after all these years I communicate – and there are many who know that for years I have abstained – they will think my repentance over-sudden. Let me come gradually back to the good life. If I attend the High Mass, that will do for a start. It will show people that I am making a beginning.’

The Bishop said: ‘God will know exactly what is in your heart.’

‘Assuredly,’ answered John with his eyes downcast.

There was no point in further persuasion, the Bishop told himself. Time would show what attitudes John would take and the people would accept or reject him accordingly.

When the Bishop had gone John recalled his friends. He gave them an account of what had happened, mimicking the Bishop.

‘He thinks he is to govern me. We are going to have some fun with Master Bishop, my friends.’

They applauded wildly; it would have been unwise not to do so.

They were with him at the High Mass. John liked them to be there because he felt over-bold when it was necessary to amuse them with his daring.

There was one point which shocked Hugh profoundly, when during the offertory John approached jingling some gold coins in his hand and did not put these into the dish which was there to receive them but stood for a while looking down at them.

Hugh said sharply, ‘Why do you stand there staring at the coins?’

John looked at him slyly. ‘I was thinking that a little while ago I would never have put them into your hands. They would be in my pocket. I suppose now I must give them to you.’

Hugh was scarlet with indignation.

‘Put them in the basin and go,’ he said shortly.

John hesitated for a moment and then did as he was bid, putting the coins in one by one as though with the greatest reluctance.

The Bishop was angry and deeply disturbed that a future monarch could behave so in God’s holy house! It did not augur well for the future, and he was indignant as he went to his pulpit and prepared to deliver his sermon. John was seated immediately below and with him were a few of his dissolute friends.

Was is possible, wondered Hugh, to make this young man understand that unless he behaved like a king he could never be a successful one? He would do his duty and try to sow a few ideas which might bear fruit.

He had prepared a sermon which he would preach before John and he had meant its bearing to be on the duty of rulers to their people. He enlarged on the subject, stressing the disaster that could come through careless and wanton behaviour. A king must be high-minded and must put the good of his country before his own pleasures. He could not stress this enough.

He was aware of the murmurings and nudgings that were going on in that pew but ignored them and the more they persisted the more he had to say about the duties of a king to his subjects.

‘A king must never forget that he serves his people under God …’

There was a giggle from John’s pew and, when one of the young men quietly slipped out, Hugh was astonished to find that he was making his way round to the back of the pulpit.

‘My lord Bishop,’ said the young man in an audible whisper, ‘the King says, will you bring your sermon to an immediate end? He is weary of it and wants his dinner.’

Hugh, colour heightened, continued to preach while the young man went back to his seat.

Oh God, thought Hugh, what will become of us!

The service over, Hugh left the church. He would take his leave tomorrow. There was no point in staying with the King. He would go back to England and consult with the Archbishop of Canterbury and tell them that he had indeed been right when he had suggested Arthur would be a more suitable king.

The next day the Bishop of Lincoln said farewell to John.

John, his friends still round him, cried: ‘This is a sad leave-taking, Bishop. I shall always remember your sermon to me on my accession.’

The young men tittered and John could scarcely contain his laughter.

‘Then,’ said the Bishop with dignity, ‘perhaps it has not been in vain.’

The Bishop with his entourage rode off and John entered the castle, there to enjoy the venison which was being prepared for him. Over the table he talked with his friends of the good sport they would have. They should see what it was like to be the faithful friends of a king.

But while they feasted, messengers came to the castle. It was clear by their looks that they brought ill news. They were taken immediately to John who fell into a rage when he heard it.

Philip was on the march; he was backing Arthur and the Bretons, and Constance, with her son Arthur and her lover Guy Thouars, was leading an army against him. Moreover, no one had put up any resistance. Cities had surrendered; custodians of castles had declared themselves in favour of Arthur; and with the backing of the King of France the situation was perilous. Evreux was in Philip’s hands and he was already in Maine. Moreover, barons in such key places as Touraine and Anjou were swearing fealty to Arthur.

‘What can I do?’ cried John. ‘What forces have I here?’

He must get to Normandy. He rose from the table, gave orders to make ready and in a short time was riding for Le Mans, as yet not in his enemy’s hands.

He was surprised by his lack of welcome. The people did not want him. His reputation was well known to them. There was a young boy whose father came before John in direct succession and he was the one whom they wanted. Moreover, the King of France was backing Arthur. They did not want John.

It was an uneasy night John passed in Le Mans and as soon as dawn broke he was ready to get out of the place because he knew how dangerous it would be to stay. Philip was not far off, and the people were hostile. To become Philip’s captive before he had been crowned a king would be disastrous.

Arthur, he had heard, had done homage to the King of France for Anjou, Maine and Touraine. The impudence! These were his dominions. Normandy was safe. Normandy had been the proud possession of his ancestors since the days of Rollo.

Its people would be true to him.

He must go with all speed to Rouen.


How different it was in Rouen. The people there wanted him. As he rode into the town they came to cheer him. These were his faithful subjects. Here in this city the brave heart of Richard was buried. Close by was the great Château Gaillard – Richard’s Saucy Castle. This was the territory of the great dukes who for many years had reigned there in defiance of the Franks. Every King of France wanted to take Normandy from the Normans and every Norman duke swore they never should. This was the land of William Longsword, Richard the Fearless and William the Mighty Conqueror. The people of Normandy would never support those who were upheld by the French.

The Archbishop of Rouen, Walter – he had the same name as the Archbishop of Canterbury – came at once to welcome John.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘it is necessary that you be proclaimed Duke of Normandy without delay. The people are with you. The last thing they will tolerate is the rule of a Breton, particularly when he is, as many believe, the tool of the King of France. Here you are indeed welcome and it is the universal wish that the ceremony take place without delay.’

John was quite ready to go through the ceremony at the earliest possible moment. The fact that Constance and her friends, including the King of France, were on the march had sobered him. He told the Archbishop with a seriousness rare to him that he placed himself in his hands, at which the Archbishop blessed him and announced that the ceremony would take place on Low Sunday which was the 25th April – nineteen days after Richard’s death.

John, in the cathedral, the coronet decorated with golden roses placed on his head, swore on the Gospels and relics of the saints that he would uphold the rights of the Church, that his laws would be just and he would suppress evil.

The Archbishop then attached the sword of justice to his girdle and took up the lance which had always been used by the Normans instead of the sceptre as in the Church of England.

It was while the lance was being handed to him that John heard his friends giggling close by and he could not resist turning to wink at them and assure them that he was still the same merry and irreligious companion who had shared their sport and that he was merely indulging in this solemn ceremony because just at the moment he must go along with the old people; and because his head was turned, the lance, which the Archbishop was at that moment putting into his hands, slipped and fell to the floor.

There was a horrified gasp from all who beheld this and a soft murmur spread through the cathedral.

At this solemn moment the lance, the symbol of Norman power which had been handed down and grasped firmly by every duke of Normandy, had fallen from the grasp of this one.

It was an omen, and what could it be but an evil one with the King of France in arms against them and some believing that Arthur of Brittany had a greater claim to the ducal crown?