The victory was won. The enemy were driven over the bridge, and threw away their arms. The King warmly congratulated Arthur upon his bravery, but did not grant his request for leave of absence. Arthur reluctantly submitted rather than make his appearance before Richard as a fugitive without knights or warriors.
In the meantime Richard reached England; and as soon as he had announced his presence to his friends he ascended the throne amid popular rejoicings, John yielding his claim with seeming willingness. About the same time Philip returned to Paris; Arthur accompanied him, and was so delighted to see his mother and bride once more that he forgot his longing to go to Richard.
Banquets and tournaments were arranged by the court, and Arthur, because of his bravery, was the central figure among all the youthful heroes. So continuous were the feasts and sports that he hardly had time for thought.
One morning Alan, equipped and spurred as for a long ride, came to Arthur’s bedside and woke him, saying, “Richard is in France.”
“Let us hasten to him, then,” said Arthur, springing up.
“You had better not go. It will only occasion needless delay. Let me go to your uncle,” implored Alan. “I can reach him quickly. He is about to attack the Duke of Limoges, and is camped with his little army before the fortress of Chalus. I will tell him all, and if he calls you, you need no longer hesitate. Let me go, my Prince, and keep my mission a secret from the court. They are playing false with you, one and all.”
Alan rushed out, and Arthur looked after him in surprise. Only Höel knew of his son’s undertaking, and he gave out that he had sent him away. Philip, who was well apprised of what was going on, kept quiet, and only sought to attach Arthur to him still more closely.
When the entertainment came to an end, Philip left the Louvre to hold court at Compiègne[19]during the beautiful springtime. How delightful it was to roam about that great forest! Every day the Princess rode on her white palfrey, with her falcon attached to her slender wrist, Duke Arthur riding by her side upon his fiery Arab steed, which had been given him by the King. A band of companions and servants on foot and on horse followed them, and the hills and woods resounded with the baying of hounds and the halloos of hunters. A mystic charm seemed to pervade the greenwood, which protected them from all contact with the outside world and made life a happy dream. The Duchess herself seemed to forget her grief and the insecurity of her affairs, and the King encouraged all these joyous sports without participating in them.
But suddenly these happy revellers were recalled to the realities of life by a fearful occurrence. King Richard the Lion-hearted was dead before Chalus—killed by an arrow. Arthur could not believe the dreadful news until Alan, pale and exhausted by his hard ride, arrived and confirmed it. He came from the spot, was with the King when he received his death wound, and brought his last message of continued faith in Arthur’s loyalty and uprightness, and his wish that he could once more see his nephew. But, alas, it was too late now! The great Lion-hearted was gone, and John mounted the vacant throne.
“Never, so long as I live, will I relinquish my paternal inheritance,” exclaimed Arthur.
In the excitement which King Richard’s death produced in England, Eleanor contrived to secure an appearance of justice in John’s sovereignty. A spurious will of Henry the Second’s was opened by her, by the provisions of which John was given the crown, regardless of the legitimate claims of the son of Geoffrey, his oldest brother. By this means Arthur was also cut off from the succession. The injustice was clear enough; but John, with the aid of a strong following of the nobles, whom he had secured by artifice and promises, kept possession of power. The time was now come for Philip Augustus openly and without delay to maintain Arthur’s rights. Nothing less was at stake than the title to the English crown. John was declared a throne-robber, and was summoned as a feudal tenant before the French tribunal. In case of disobedience war would be declared against him. John had already made his plans to go to France at the head of an army, with the intention, as far as he was able, of permanently wresting the English provinces from the domination of France. He had not a doubt he could easily settle the claims of Constance and Arthur and succeed in his purpose. Determined as Philip Augustus may have been to defend Arthur’s rights, somehow the war preparations were delayed much longer than seemed safe to the Duke, who could scarcely conceal his impatience. He resolved to challenge his uncle to single combat, and reluctantly followed the advice of his mother to act with caution.
“Why does Philip hesitate?” he indignantly exclaimed.
“I believe the King is waiting for money,” replied Höel.
Arthur contemptuously shrugged his shoulders.
“Alas!” sighed Constance, “how can our plans succeed? We are very poor.”
Arthur hastened to the Louvre, and although the chamberlain informed him that the King was holding an important interview, he insisted upon admission. Nothing could be more urgent than his own affairs.
“It serves you right,” the King was saying as the Duke was announced. Philip was seated at a table covered with papers. By his side stood an old man in a cringing attitude, who cast a hasty glance at Arthur as he entered.
“Welcome, cousin,” said the King, with a smile. “You have come in time to be a partner in our business arrangement.”
He beckoned to the old man, who submissively bowed his head. His spare figure was clad in a dark cloak of heavy silk. A tall black velvet cap covered his head and his long gray locks hung down his shoulders. His attire proclaimed him a Jew, and when he began to speak his voice awakened memories in Arthur’s mind.
“Your Majesty,” said the Jew, “spare us this demand. Our coffers are still empty because of the treasures you took from us not long ago, when Your Grace allowed us to return to your kingdom.”
“You shall only lend to us this time,” said the King.
“Upon what security?” quickly asked the Jew.
“Upon this security,” said Arthur, turning toward him and displaying the ring he wore on his finger. “Would you like to see the note also?” he said with a smile. “Do you know how it reads?”
The Jew hesitated an instant, then turned the ring to the light and looked keenly at Arthur. Raising his head, he said with a certain nobility of expression, “I know you. You are the Duke of Brittany.”
“Say rather, the King of England,” added Philip. “Well, Arthur, let us close up this business with Abraham, which has already fruitlessly consumed an hour of our time. Listen, Abraham. We need thirty thousand gold gulden to equip our troops, and a like sum in six months to pay them.”
The King arose, and Abraham went to the door; but before leaving he turned to Arthur and said in a low tone, “If you will come to my poor abode this evening, most gracious Duke, you shall be satisfied.”
At nightfall Arthur and Alan, stoutly armed, proceeded to the Jewish Quarter, which occupied a remote part of the city and was surrounded by walls. Its only gate was open, and the two passed undisturbed through the dark narrow streets, bordered with tall houses. The few windows were barred with iron shutters, and wherever a door was open one might fancy he was looking into an endless vault. Human figures appeared now and then, timorously avoiding the gaze of the strangers, and looking after them suspiciously from their lurking places. It was with some difficulty that Alan induced an old woman to stop and tell them where Abraham lived.
Abraham’s house was a large one, with tightly closed doors and windows. At the sound of the knocker, a wicket was opened behind the iron grating and a voice asked the strangers’ business. Alan answered cautiously that they were expected by Abraham. Thereupon followed a clanking of bars and bolts; the heavy door was opened, and Abraham stood on the threshold, bowing low, and saying: “Welcome, noble gentlemen! Enter!”
It was not without some apprehension that the youths followed him through a low, dimly lighted passageway. The air was close and heavy, and no sound could be heard from without. At last their guide opened a door, threw back a dark curtain, and bowed the strangers into an apartment where they stood as transfixed with surprise as if they had entered another world. They knew not whether they were in a garden or a salon. High walls with many columns, balconies, and galleries enclosed a spacious room which, open above, disclosed the sky. A splashing fountain occupied the centre. All about flamed countless tapers upon metal candelabra set in luxurious flower-beds. Groups of shrubs bearing rare fruit sprang from the soil, which was covered with fine green turf and colored stones set in a beautiful mosaic. Here and there were heavy purple rugs upon which soft, gold-tasselled cushions were scattered about. Festoons of flowers and rich draperies depended from the galleries and columns. A banquet table set with glistening crystal and silver plate stood upon an estrade. The youths seated themselves upon a silk-covered settle with golden feet, and Abraham said with the utmost reverence:
“Be my guests, noble gentlemen, and count it no disgrace to eat with a Jew, whom you, my gracious Duke, once rescued when he was near to death.”
Abraham clapped his hands and two handsome, black-eyed boys came forward, bringing the strangers perfumed water in silver bowls. Then food and sweet, spicy wines were set before them. But all this was done without noise and with soft, quick movements; for at meals the Jews were always apprehensive and ever in readiness for flight. Abraham was the first to speak. Turning to the Duke, he said: “The gold which King Philip demanded I refused, for he has already had enough from us. Are you sure indeed that if he had it, he would use it for your advantage, Duke of Brittany?”
Arthur replied that it was only the lack of money which kept him from beginning the war.
“And do you expect to gain the crown of England? Would you not be fortunate even if Brittany were your own?”
Arthur reddened and said, somewhat hesitatingly, “It is my right, my inheritance.”
“Pardon me,” continued Abraham. “You would grace a throne, and what I can do shall be at your service. King Philip may have the gold, and I hope it will be used for your advantage. But a younger prince needs many things which he may not obtain from the King. Perhaps I may in some ways realize your wishes also. Be pleased, gracious Duke, to follow me.”
Abraham led the astonished youths into a subterranean vault lit by a lamp from above, unlocked a massive chest, and, lifting the heavy lid, invited Arthur to come nearer. It was filled with golden ornaments and jewels. Opening a second chest, which was filled with leathern bags, he said: “Accept. Every bag contains a thousand gold pieces. Accept, noble Duke.”
“No!” said Arthur, stepping back. “What you give Philip will suffice me.”
“But Philip will have to give me security,” said Abraham; “that is our business.”
“And I can give you no security,” replied Arthur.
“You yourself are my security, Duke,” said Abraham with great earnestness. “When you shall come to the throne you will not forget the children of Israel, and you will allow them a home in your dominions.”
“I promise that,” said Arthur. “Once I have the power, I will be a just ruler.”
“Take this as a souvenir of this hour,” said the Jew, throwing a golden chain around Arthur’s neck. Then he turned to Alan and gave him a bag of gold. “Equip a special troop of trusty, valiant men who will stand by your Duke in every time of danger,” said he. “I do not mean men like you, for such hearts as yours cannot be bought with gold.”
“That is enough,” said Alan as Abraham placed one bag after another in Alan’s cloak. “Thanks! thanks, Abraham! Farewell!”
“God prosper you,” said Abraham as he escorted them to the street. They had some difficulty in getting out of the Quarter, as the gate was closed, but when Alan announced their names to the captain of the watch, it was opened at once. They hurried back to their dwelling and told their experiences to Höel, who advised them to let no one but Constance know how they came by their treasure.
The recruiting of troops for the Duke of Brittany now made rapid progress. Famous knights offered themselves and their followers for his service. Many of the leaders in the Crusade, who had been forced to discharge their followers, now assembled them anew under Höel’s standard and accepted his earnest money, and Alan selected sixteen knights, the flower of the young nobles, who devoted themselves to the exclusive personal service of the Duke and received a princely sum for their outfit.
The court ladies also took an active part in the war preparations and assembled daily in the Queen’s apartments to work upon fine embroideries. Arthur and his knights were provided with gorgeous banners and sashes, and were often consulted about their decoration.
“No, Marie,” said Arthur, noticing her work, “place no king’s crown above my escutcheon; as a true Plantagenet, the broom flower is my only emblem.”
“But you, not John, are the King,” replied Marie.
“I will decide that on the field,” said Arthur.
All his petty troubles vanished, Philip was now ready for the successful prosecution of his plans. He decided that Arthur should go with a part of the force to Anjou and establish himself there, and he himself would follow later with the main army and completely shatter John’s power. But before he made any move, Philip resolved to attach Arthur yet more closely to him by marrying him to the Princess Marie. The bridal pair, as well as the Duchess, were greatly surprised by this decision, and only the nearest intimates were bidden secretly to the nuptial ceremony. At midnight, in the glare of torches, Arthur stood with his bride before the altar, where he had lately been admitted to knighthood. Alan thought of that night, and glanced at the window through which the red light had streamed upon them. But no evil omen disturbed the blessing which the priest invoked upon the union. The marriage was celebrated next day at court, and at the same time the coming departure of the Duke was announced. At last the moment was at hand when Arthur must leave all and take the field to fight for the crown of his ancestors.
Duchess Constance strove hard to remain calm as she bade Arthur farewell, but her heart sank within her as she thought of the dangers he must encounter. Gladly would she have restrained him from the undertaking into which he had impetuously thrown himself. Holding him in sorrowful embrace, she said with quivering voice: “Farewell, my son! My only one! May the saints preserve you.” The Princess Marie also embraced him, sobbing: “Do not go, my husband! I shall never see you again.”
“Keep good courage, Marie. God is merciful.”
“But men are cruel. Oh, stay with me!”
“Let me fight for my honor and my crown. You shall see me return victorious.”
Arthur tore himself away and left them. A band of his knights awaited him in the castle yard and Alan was holding his steed’s bridle. Arthur swung himself into the saddle and, with a glance and a wave of his hand toward the balcony where Constance and Marie were standing, rode to the head of his followers. With an exultant shout, “France for Plantagenet!” and with banners waving and arms glistening, the Duke of Brittany led the way to fight afar for his crown.
Arthur advanced unmolested with his little force on the road to Anjou, via Touraine, until he reached Tours. He expected to encounter the first resistance there; and indeed a considerable armed band did meet him near the city gate, but not with hostile design. They were knights of Anjou and Poitou, who had deserted King John and come out of the city to welcome Arthur. As soon as the Duke came in sight they loudly shouted, “Hail, all hail, Arthur Plantagenet, King of England!” Both surprised and delighted, Arthur entered the hospitable city. The people welcomed him in the most friendly manner and escorted him to the bishop’s palace, where quarters had been provided for him and his leaders. A grand banquet, given by the burghers in his honor, closed the day’s festivities.
The next morning Höel advised the Prince not to indulge too long in entertainments, nor revel in fancied security, but to hold a serious council of war at once. Arthur thereupon summoned his leading knights to the great hall of the palace, where he also appeared, accompanied by the bishop. As he ascended the steps to the throne seat and took his place, he was truly regal in person and bearing. Though he wore a simple duke’s cap, he bore himself with as much dignity as if it were a kingly crown. Looking around upon the assembly with an air of ease and self-possession, he said: “Noble knights and gentlemen, thanks for your readiness and goodwill in coming to my assistance against John, my usurping uncle. I ask for your advice as to the most effective method of attacking him. One hundred knights and their followers are here, and in a few days a like number will be sent us from our loyal Brittany. But, hardly three days’ journey from here, John has thrice that number of experienced troops. It would be useless to cope with such a powerful force before King Philip’s troops join us. That will be soon. If you agree with me, we will await the King’s arrival here.”
Arthur ceased, and the knights began making suggestions. Höel, the most experienced of them all, supported his proposal, but the knights of Anjou and Poitou were not in favor of delay. In the midst of the general indecision, one of the foremost of them, the Count of Aubigny, advanced and said: “Duke, permit me to state my plan. Instead of idly awaiting King Philip here, let us make an advance movement. Not far from here is the small fortress of Mirabeau, where Queen Eleanor and her garrison are shut in.”
“Eleanor!” muttered Arthur, with lowering brows and blazing eyes.
“The city is poorly defended,” continued the Count, “though it has for its champion William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury. But we have captured two letters from the Queen to John, in which she urgently implores him to come to her relief, as they cannot hold the city in case of attack. What is your decision, noble gentlemen? Shall we march to Mirabeau, surprise the fortress, and take the Queen prisoner?”
The hazardous proposition met with the approval of the majority, notwithstanding Höel’s protests and Arthur’s advice to wait a day or two for news from King Philip. They were outvoted, and at last reluctantly consented rather than subject themselves to the reproach of cowardice.
A few days later, Arthur and his small force reached the walls of Mirabeau. Höel was assigned to the leadership of the assault, and strove to conduct the undertaking, which he could not prevent, as judiciously as possible. The city gates were forced open, and after a short struggle the assailants advanced into the city. But a more difficult task awaited them—the capture of the citadel in which Queen Eleanor and her defenders were sheltered. Höel vainly sought to mass his force and storm the fortress. While Arthur and Alan advanced with their close-set column of knights, the others were straggling about the city in quest of plunder. As Höel with his trusty band approached the citadel tower, he was struck by a missile hurled from the roof. Höel fell, and the rest stood as if rooted to the spot. The English took advantage of the occurrence to make a sally from the tower and threw the ranks of the knights into dire confusion. Instead of regular battle a fearful hand-to-hand encounter ensued; but Arthur had time enough when Höel fell to order the nearest knights to dismount and remove him from the scene of the fighting. He then turned and commanded Alan to follow his father.
“Never more,” said Alan. “I must follow you as honor demands.”
There was no longer time for words. The advanced rank of the English was already upon them, and the young heroes stood with drawn swords ready to meet the onset.
“Sound an alarm!” shouted Arthur to the trumpeters, hoping thereby to summon the absent knights to their assistance. The call was in vain. Not a friend appeared. But hark! In the distance another trumpet blast answered his own.
“What is that?” exclaimed Arthur. But Alan was as ignorant of its meaning as himself. Suddenly a knight rode forward from the English side—a stalwart figure on a black steed, motioned his followers to halt, and pointing with his sword to Arthur, said: “Surrender, Duke of Brittany. Resistance is useless. The trumpet you have heard announces the approach of King John’s army. Your confederates are defeated. You are surrounded, and retreat is cut off.”
“Then I will fight for life and liberty like a true knight,” replied Arthur. “I will never surrender myself to John.” He rushed upon the knight, and Alan attacked another. Superior in skill and self-confidence, Arthur’s adversary acted upon the defensive until the Duke’s sword point touched his breastplate. Upon this the English knight no longer restrained himself, but returned blow for blow and thrust for thrust. During the encounter Arthur’s horse stumbled and fell, carrying his rider with him. He was on his feet in an instant, but the fastenings of his helmet were broken in the fall and the Duke’s head was unprotected. The English knight did not take advantage of this, but lowered his sword and said: “You have fought bravely and can do no more, Duke of Brittany. Surrender.”
“To whom?” said Arthur, also lowering his sword.
“To me, William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury.”
“What!” cried Arthur bitterly, “a Plantagenet! How could you have the heart, cousin, to fight against Henry’s nephew?”
He extended his sword. Salisbury took it, and, gazing at Arthur, said in a tone of utter astonishment: “By Heaven, his features prove the truth of his words. Geoffrey, as he was in life!” Then advancing, he said, “My prince and cousin, most unwillingly I take you prisoner, but you shall be a prisoner only in name.”
“But how can you satisfactorily explain this to John?” asked Arthur.
“That can be arranged. You may think evil of him, and unfortunately I cannot altogether defend his course, but he will not tarnish his knightly honor by abuse of a prisoner. Follow me, Duke Arthur, and rest assured I shall treat you with the utmost consideration.”
The fighting paused while the two were conversing, and at last Salisbury gave the order for cessation of battle. But where were those young knights who had followed Arthur? Scattered, wounded, or captured, they were forced to declare themselves defeated, like their Duke.
Turning to Arthur, Salisbury asked, “What are your wishes with regard to your followers?”
“I hope, noble Salisbury, you will arrange matters so that at the close of the war they may be ransomed and return to their homes. Above all, care for the Knight Mordant. He fell at the very outset—”
“What!” interposed Salisbury, with the utmost emotion. “My old companion in arms fallen!”
“And this is his son,” said Arthur, taking Alan by the hand. “Permit him to attend his father or bury his body.”
Without hesitation Salisbury replied: “He shall go free, and keep his steed and weapons, if he will give his promise not to fight against England for a year.”
A stir among those standing near them diverted the attention of the speakers. Six soldiers came in sight bearing the body of Knight Höel Mordant prone upon their lances. With a despairing cry Alan bent over the body, the warriors also showing signs of sorrow at the loss of the hero. At last Alan rose and said with trembling voice: “I no longer desire my liberty. Let me remain with my Duke.”
But Arthur answered: “For my sake, Alan, accept the Earl’s offer. Hasten to my wife and mother and urge my friends to send a ransom to John, that I may be released. Take this ring. You know who gave it to me. He has the power to help me.” Arthur took Abraham’s ring from his finger and placed it upon Alan’s. When Alan would have offered objection, Arthur said for the first time in a tone of command, “I wish it.” As his loyal friend sorrowfully bowed in submission, Arthur stretched out his arms and embraced him. They remained thus until Alan looked upon Arthur with sad eyes and tore himself away.
At Salisbury’s signal his men escorted him and the Duke to the gate of the tower, in front of which guards were stationed with crossed halberds. As they approached, the guards lowered their weapons and admitted them. Out of the brilliant glow of the evening sky Arthur entered the gloom of the vaulted passage. Salisbury quickly followed him, and the Duke of Brittany was a prisoner.
Alan remained immovable upon his steed as long as he could see a trace of Arthur’s retreating figure, but when it disappeared behind the dark walls, he gave spurs to his horse and galloped at full speed through the city and out into the country toward Paris.
Several days had passed since Arthur entered the tower of Mirabeau, where by Salisbury’s orders a large and well-furnished room was provided for him. He not only had all the necessities for comfort, but much personal pleasure, for famous English visitors to Mirabeau were permitted to call upon him. Whenever he appeared upon the walls in the company of an attendant, the soldiers of the garrison hastened to see him. He greeted them in such a cordial yet dignified manner that many a hearty benediction was uttered by them.
Salisbury himself visited him almost daily, and manifested the utmost concern for the welfare of his famous cousin. Upon such occasions Arthur frequently spoke of England and indulged in fancies of what he would do if he were King.
“Silence,” said Salisbury, with a smile. “I must not listen. You are talking high treason.”
At the very outset of his imprisonment Arthur had longed for an interview with his grandmother, Queen Eleanor. She declined seeing him, however, until she had ascertained John’s intentions. But just at this time she had a letter from her son, in which he wrote: “I shall be with you in a few days. Having performed all your duties to the Prince hitherto, see to it in some way that he is harmless in the future.”
The Queen clearly understood the double meaning of his words and considered the best means for carrying out his wishes. One day she abruptly said to Salisbury, “Bring your prisoner to me in the morning.” As he hesitated about replying, she added in the most insolent manner, “I hear continually about your intercourse with the Duke, and it does not please me, my lord.”
“By my long sword,” replied Salisbury impetuously, “I would rather be the object of your suspicion than have you cause the Prince to suffer.”
“Is he really as captivating as that?” said Eleanor, changing her tone. “I notice the people take no pains to conceal their admiration of his fine face and knightly bearing.”
“He is—and you may as well know it,” replied Salisbury—“he is a Plantagenet from head to foot; and those who doubt it, or seek to make others doubt it, have malicious designs.”
“When we have recognized him as a Plantagenet and our grandson, it will be time to award him his proper rank. We will see him in the morning.”
Salisbury looked sharply at the Queen, as if to discover her purpose, but one of his honest, straightforward nature could not read this crafty woman. He determined, however, to watch over Arthur with increased vigilance, for—and the reason he could hardly explain himself—the youth had won his love and devotion.
While Arthur was attending mass the next morning with Salisbury, the Queen was arranging for the interview with the son of the hated Constance in her apartment. Two soldiers of the royal bodyguard submissively received her orders. As she sat at a table covered with papers and writing materials she heard the gong strike the hour which marked the close of the morning service.
“Step behind those doors,” she said to the soldiers, “and await this signal. As soon as you hear me strike that metal cup with this silver key, enter, overpower and bind the prisoner, then do what I shall order. But hold! Before you go, make a hotter fire in that brazier so that the irons may be heated—now, go.”
The guard disappeared behind the door, and Eleanor, gazing fixedly at the irons in the coals, said to herself: “‘Let him be made harmless in the future,’ John says; well, a blind man is harmless enough. He will not fascinate people when he has lost his sight. A blind king never can rule over England.”
Steps were heard in the passage leading to the apartment, and as the Queen turned her head, she saw Arthur and Salisbury entering. Arthur stopped a moment, awaiting a greeting from the Queen, who sat in silence. As he approached her and she observed his noble figure and beautiful face, she suddenly rose and put out her hands as if to keep him off.
“Will you send me away? Will you not speak to your grandson?” said Arthur reproachfully.
“My grandson!” said Eleanor, with her eyes bent upon him. “No—my son—Geoffrey.”
“Yes,” said Salisbury, “one might fancy Geoffrey had come back to life.”
“Oh! that it were so, if it would only give me his mother’s love!” exclaimed Arthur, kneeling and taking the Queen’s hand.
“Do not recall him,” replied Eleanor passionately. “Geoffrey scorned his mother’s love. I loved him better than any of my sons, and he gave his heart to Constance of Brittany, whom I detest.”
“You speak of my mother,” quickly replied Arthur. “Oh, she is good and noble. What has she done that you should hate her so?”
“What has she done?” replied Eleanor. “She alienated my son from me. He no longer loved me. He no longer listened to my advice. He was disloyal.”
“Was your advice always sound?” asked Salisbury, with great earnestness. “Be fair, Queen. Remember, it was your advice that led Geoffrey into rebellion against his king and father.”
“No more of that, Salisbury,” interposed Eleanor.
“No,” resumed Arthur. “Let bygones be bygones. Be reconciled to my mother. I will love you both, if you will only permit it, grandmother.”
There was deep emotion in his supplicating tone and looks, and Eleanor was touched by it. She stood for a moment reflecting; then, turning to Salisbury, she said, “Leave us.”
Salisbury withdrew slowly and reluctantly, but ready to return at the first summons. Eleanor looked earnestly at the Duke as she said: “Listen, Arthur. I am old, but I am still capable of love and of hatred. I could love you, image of my favorite son, and so exalt you that you would never need again to wear Philip’s armor. If I so wish, John will choose you as his successor, and will so engage upon his kingly honor. John must obey my wishes and the consent of all England will follow. I can give you the crown. I now proffer it to you, but upon one condition.”
“And what is that?” asked Arthur with trembling voice.
“You must accompany me to England and cut loose from all you leave in France. The Pope will dissolve your union with the Princess Marie. You must declare war against Philip Augustus.”
“And my mother?”
“You must leave her to her fate.”
“Never!” cried Arthur. “Oh, you are heartless, grandmother. If I thought my heart was capable of such wickedness, I would tear it out of my breast.”
“Once more I leave you free to make a decision. Choose,” said Eleanor.
“I never will choose disgrace!” exclaimed Arthur.
Eleanor stepped to the table and took the silver key from the metal cup. As she raised her hand to strike, her gaze fell upon Arthur’s eyes, which were glistening as if he were inspired. “No,” she muttered, “I cannot do it. They are Geoffrey’s eyes.” The key fell upon the soft carpet from her helpless hand. “Leave me,” she said. “Let us never see each other again in this life.” She placed her hands upon Arthur’s shoulders and looked at him long and earnestly. Then she sadly withdrew them and turned away. Arthur hurried from the apartment and met Salisbury, who had been waiting for him at the threshold. When Eleanor found she was alone, she stamped her foot and summoned the guards. “Take that away,” she said, pointing to the brazier; “the fire is dead.”
During Arthur’s visit to the Queen, reports of the interview and of Eleanor’s evil designs against her grandson spread through the city. There was great excitement, and open threats were made against her. As Arthur mounted the stairs with Salisbury he was greeted with loud applause by soldiers and knights in the castle yard. “Here he is,” shouted those nearest him. “He lives,” said others, and suddenly all joined in the enthusiastic cry, “Long live Arthur Plantagenet!” The Duke, overcome with surprise, waved his hand and thanked them. Then he followed Salisbury, who made a passage for him through the crowd with some difficulty. The shouts were audible in the apartment of the Queen, where, concealed behind a curtain, she was watching the throng below.
The dangerous excitement hastened her decision to deliver Arthur to the King. She might possibly have changed her intentions had not John entered Mirabeau that same evening with his army. As soon as he was alone with his mother, he inquired about Arthur, and broke into a fury of passion when he found that nothing had happened to the prisoner. His rage increased when he learned of the favorable impression his nephew had made upon the English troops and that Eleanor herself had shown a disposition to sympathize with him. “How is it,” he cried, “that I find you negotiating with Arthur, especially when unexpected events have thrown him into my power? Are you helping him, mother? Go, go! You have grown old and weak. I care nothing for his adherence to my cause or for Philip’s assistance. Possession and right are on my side.”
“The right!” replied Eleanor. “Ask your conscience in what manner King Henry’s will gave you that right.”
“Silence,” said John. “I know that I am indebted to your cunning; but still you must remain loyal to me.”
“I know that,” replied Eleanor, “but listen to my advice.”
“Enough for the present,” said John. “We will think about the matter to-morrow morning, mother.”
Arthur had passed the day alone, as neither Salisbury nor any of the knights had been to see him. About dark the watch, who came every evening to see that all was well, entered his room. Contrary to his usual custom he greeted Arthur curtly and was about to retire. Thereupon Arthur said to him, “How is it, Captain Norbert, that you have nothing to tell me to-day? You usually bring me some news.”
“News is not always good news, gracious Prince,” replied the captain significantly.
“Do you mean not good for me? What is it? Explain,” said Arthur.
The captain approached nearer and said in a low voice, “King John, your uncle, has arrived,” upon which he left so suddenly that Arthur could not question him further.
The intelligence weighed heavily upon him. Up to this time he had supposed that imprisonment, longer or shorter, would be the worst that could happen to him, but now he felt a misgiving that John would make a final decision as to his fate, and the hopelessness of the situation depressed his usually cheerful nature. With ardent longing he yearned to see his mother, Marie, and Alan; at last, overcome with sorrow, he wept bitter tears.
On the following day John summoned the leading nobles and commanders who had accompanied him to France to the great hall of the old castle of Mirabeau. Besides famous Salisbury, Lords Pembroke, Bigot, and Essex were in attendance, as well as knights and leading personages in great number. All awaited the Duke of Brittany with eager interest. They had heard so much about him since their arrival that many of them were greatly surprised and had besieged Salisbury with questions. Meanwhile Salisbury himself had not ventured to see the Duke, as the King had issued stringent orders that no one should be admitted to him. Arthur now realized that his fate was in John’s hands, and he was filled with fear and solicitude. He showed no traces of it, however, when he appeared in the hall attended by an armed escort. He was in his best apparel, which had been kept for him by Salisbury. Over a violet silk doublet he wore a short, gold-embroidered mantle of white satin and a scarf with the arms of the Plantagenets on it. Only the sword was lacking to complete the attire of knighthood. With a firm step and erect head he went directly in front of the King’s seat, bowed respectfully, lifting his cap and replacing it immediately, as was the right of one of equal birth. Then he looked about quietly upon the assemblage. The impression which he made is almost indescribable. Many remembered to have seen him with King Richard in Rouen and recalled the favor which his uncle had shown him. Others, who had never seen him, recognized with great emotion Duke Geoffrey’s face and figure reflected in his son. John also had observed the likeness, and it greatly disquieted him. A rustle and low murmurs were heard all over the hall until John spoke, and then deep silence prevailed.
“It is not our fault, my nephew,” said he, “that I am receiving you here. It would not have been so had you accepted my invitation.”
“Your invitation, uncle?” replied Arthur, not addressing him by his royal title. “I know of no invitation except the one to surrender which your troops sent to our cities.”
“Well,” replied John with a show of irritation, “your mother, instead of applying to her husband’s family for protection, besought it of Philip Augustus, King of France.”
“And why was Geoffrey’s widow forced to seek for outside help, except that her legitimate protectors had become her enemies? No, my uncle, you cannot justify what has happened, but you can make reparation.”
“What do you mean?” said John.
“You well know my claims,” replied Arthur.
“And I scorn them,” said the King menacingly. “Bethink you. You are a prisoner. You should be more moderate of speech.”
“Imprisonment cannot make wrong right. It is more likely to add new wrongs to old ones.”
“Silence,” thundered John. “How does a mere worm, whom I can trample under my feet, dare to be so bold?”
Arthur’s hand involuntarily sought his missing sword. Blazing with anger, he exclaimed: “Shame upon you thus to abuse and threaten a prisoner! Even if you despise the ties of relationship, at least honor the obligations of knighthood, to which we both belong.” The knights present loudly applauded these words, occasioning much confusion. Thereupon John, chagrined as he realized he had gone too far, quietly observed: “I am the best judge of what is becoming to knighthood. The honor of the King stands higher still. You may retire, Duke Arthur.”
The King beckoned to the guards and Arthur was led away, taking with him the unmistakable sympathy of all present.
“You have heard, my lords, how this prisoner defies me,” resumed the King. A pause followed these words, and lasted until Salisbury came forward and said: “The Duke spoke the truth; and as it was youthful impulse which actuated him, I think, and many others with me, that he had sufficient excuse.”
“Lords Pembroke and Bigot, is that your opinion?” said the King.