CHAPTER II.
By tardy conveyances, and over antediluvian roads, news travelled slowly in the days we speak of; and the interdict which we have seen pronounced at Dijon, and unknown at De Coucy Magny, was even some hours older before the report thereof reached Compiègne.
We must beg the gentle reader to remember a sunny-faced youth, for whom the fair queen of France, Agnes de Meranie, was, when last we left him, working a gay coat of arms. This garment, which it was then customary to bear over the armour, was destined to be worn by one whose sad place in history has caused many a tear--Arthur the son of that Geoffrey Plantagenet, who was elder brother of John Lackland, the meanest and most pitiful villain that ever wore a crown.
How it happened that, on the death of Richard Cœur de Lion, the barons of England adhered to an usurper they despised rather than to their legitimate prince, forms no part of this history. Suffice it, that John ruled in England, and also retained possession of all the feofs of his family in France, Normandy, Poitou, Anjou, and Acquitaine, leaving to Arthur nought but the duchy of Brittany, which descended to him from Constance his mother.
It is not, however, to be thought that Arthur endured with patience his uncle's usurpation of his rights. Far from it. Brought up at the court of France, he clung to Philip Augustus, the friend in whose arms his father had died, and ceased not to importune him for aid to recover his dominions. Philip's limited means, fatigued already by many vast enterprises, for long prevented him from lending that succour to the young prince, which every principle of policy and generosity stimulated him to grant. But while no national cause of warfare existed to make the war against king John popular with the barons of France, and while the vassals of the English king, though an usurper, remained united in their attachment to him, Phillip felt that to attempt the forcible assertion of Arthur's rights would be altogether hopeless. He waited, therefore, watching his opportunity, very certain that the weak frivolity or the treacherous depravity of John's character would soon either alienate some portion of his own vassals, or furnish matter of quarrel for the barons of France.
Several years thus passed after Richard's death, drawn out in idle treaties and fruitless negotiations:--treaties which in all ages have been but written parchments; and negotiations, which in most instances are but concatenations of frauds. At length, as Philip had foreseen, the combination of folly and wickedness, which formed the principal point of John's mind, laid him open to the long-meditated blow.
In one of his spurts of levity, beholding in the midst of her attendants the beautiful Isabella of Angoulême, affianced to Hugues le Brun de Lusignan, Comte de la Marche, the English monarch--without the least hesitation on the score of honour, which he never knew, or decency, which he never practised,--ordered her to be carried off from the midst of her attendants, and borne to the castle of the Gueret, where he soon induced her to forget her former engagements with his vassal.
The barons of Poitou, indignant at the insult offered to their order, in the person of one of their noblest companions; and to their family, in the near relation of all the most distinguished nobles of the province, appealed to the court of Philip Augustus, as John's sovereign for his feofs in France. Philip, glad to establish the rights of his court, summoned the king of England before his peers, as count of Anjou; and on his refusing to appear, eagerly took advantage of the fresh kindled indignation of the barons of Poitou and Anjou to urge the rights of Arthur to the heritage of the Plantagenets.
Already in revolt against John, a great part of each of those provinces instantly acknowledged Arthur for their sovereign; and the indignant nobles flocked to Paris to greet him, and induce him to place himself at their head. Arthur beheld himself now at the top of that tide which knows no ebb, but leads on to ruin or to glory; and accepting at once the offers of the revolted barons, he pressed Philip Augustus to give him the belt and spurs of a knight, though still scarcely more than a boy; and to let him try his fortune against his usurping uncle in the field.
Philip saw difficulties and dangers in the undertaking; but, knowing the power of opportunity, he yielded: not, however, without taking every precaution to ensure success to the young prince's enterprise. For the festivities that were to precede the ceremony of Arthur's knighthood, he called together all those barons who were most likely, from ancient enmity to John, or ancient friendship for the dead Geoffrey, or from personal regard for himself, or general love of excitement and danger,--or, in short, from any of those causes that might move the minds of men towards his purpose,--to aid in establishing Arthur in the continental feofs, at least, of the House of Plantagenet.
He took care, too, to dazzle them with splendour and display, and to render the ceremonies which accompanied the prince's reception as a knight as gay and glittering as possible.
It was for this occasion that Agnes de Meranie, while Philip was absent receiving the final refusal of John to appear before his court, employed her time in embroidering the coat of arms which the young knight was to wear after his reception.
Although the ceremony was solemn, and the details magnificent, we will not here enter into any account of the creation of a knight, reserving it for some occasion where we have not spent so much time in description. Suffice it that the ceremony was over, and the young knight stood before his godfather in chivalry belted and spurred, and clothed in the full armour of a knight. His beaver was up, and his young and almost feminine face would have formed a strange contrast with his warlike array, had it not been for the fire of the Plantagenets beaming out in his eye, and asserting his right to the proud crest he bore,--where a bunch of broom was supported by the triple figure of a lion, a unicorn, and a griffin, the ancient crest of the fabulous king Arthur.
After a few maxims of chivalry, heard with profound respect by all the knights present, Philip Augustus rose, and, taking Arthur by the hand, led the way from the chapel into his council-chamber, where, having seated himself on his throne, he placed the prince on his right hand, and the barons having ranged themselves round the council-board, the king addressed them thus:--
"Fair knights, and noble barons of Anjou and Poitou!--for to you, amongst all the honourable lords and knights here present, I first address myself,--at your instant prayer, that we should take some measures to free you from the tyranny of an usurper, and restore to you your lawful suzerain, we are about to yield you our well-beloved cousin and son, Arthur, whom we tender as dearly as if he were sprung from our own blood. Guard him, therefore, nobly. Be ye to him true and faithful,--for Arthur Plantagenet is your lawful suzerain, and none other, as son of Geoffrey, elder brother of that same John who now usurps his rights: I, therefore, Philip, king of France, your sovereign and his, now command you to do homage to him as your liege lord."
At these words, each of the barons he addressed rose in turn, and, advancing, knelt before the young prince, over whose fair and noble countenance a blush of generous embarrassment spread itself, as he saw some of the best knights in France bend the knee before him. One after another, also, the barons pronounced the formula of homage, to the following effect:--
"I, Hugo le Brun, Sire de Lusignan, Comte de la Marche, do liege homage to Arthur Plantagenet, my born lord and suzerain,--save and except always the rights of the king of France. I will yield him honourable service; I will ransom him in captivity; and I will offer no evil to his daughter or his wife in his house dwelling."
After this, taking the right hand of each in his, Arthur kissed them on the mouth; which completed the ceremony of the homage.
"And now, fair barons," said Philip, "though in no degree do I doubt your knightly valour, or suppose that, even by your own powers, together with this noble youth's good right, and God to boot, you could not chase from Anjou, Poitou, and Normandy, the traitor John and his plundering bands, yet it befits me not to let my cousin and godson go, without some help from me:--name, therefore, my fair knight," he continued, turning to Arthur, "such of my valiant barons as, in thy good suit, thou judgest fit to help thee valiantly in this thy warfare; and, by my faith! he that refuses to serve thee as he would me, shall be looked upon as my enemy!--Yet remember," added the king, anxious to prevent offence where Arthur's choice might not fall, although such selections were common in that day, and not considered invidious,--"remember that it is not by worthiness and valour alone that you must judge,--for then, amongst the knights of France, your decision would be difficult; but there are, as I have before shown you, many points which render some of the barons more capable of assisting you against John of England than others;--such as their territories lying near the war; their followers being horse or foot; and many other considerations which must guide you as you choose."
"Oh, beau sire," replied Arthur eagerly, "if it rests with me to choose, I name at once that Sir Guy de Coucy I saw at the tournament of the Champeaux. There is the lion in his eye, and I have heard how in the battle of Tyre he slew nineteen Saracens with his own hand."
"He shall be sent to before the year is older by a day," replied Philip. "His castle is but one day's journey from this place. I doubt me though, from what I have heard, that his retinue is but small. However, we will summon all the vassals from the lands of his aunt's husband, the lord of Tankerville, which will give him the leading of a prince; and, in the mean time, as that may take long, we will give him command to gather a band of Brabançois; which may be soon done, for the country is full of them, unhappily.--But speak again, Arthur. Whom name you next?"
"I would say, Hugues de Dampierre, and the Sire de Beaujeu," replied Arthur, looking towards the end of the table where those two barons sat, "if I thought they would willingly come."
"By my life, they will!" replied Philip.--"What say you, Imbert de Beaujeu?--What say you, Hugues de Dampierre?"
"For my part," replied Hugues de Dampierre, "you well know, beau sire, that I am always ready to put my foot in the stirrup, in any honourable cause. I must, however, have twenty days to raise my vassals; but I pledge myself, on the twenty-first day from this, to be at the city of Tours, followed by sixty as good knights as ever couched a lance, all ready to uphold prince Arthur with hand and heart."
"Thanks, thanks! beau sire," replied Arthur, in an ecstasy of delight, "That will be aid, indeed!" Then, careful not to offend the barons of Poitou by seeming to place more confidence in the strength of others than in their efforts in his cause, he added, "If, even by the assistance of the noble barons of Poitou alone, I could not have conquered my feofs in France, such generous succour would render my success certain; and in truth, I think, that if the Sire de Beaujeu, and the Count de Nevers, who looks as if he loved me, will but hold me out a helping hand, I will undertake to win back my crown of England from my bad uncle's head."
"That will I,--that will I, boy!" said the blunt Count de Nevers. "Hervey de Donzy will lend you his hand willingly, and his sword in it to boot. Ay, and if I bring thee not an hundred good lances to Tours, at the end of twenty days, call me recreant an' you will. My say is said!"
"And I," said Imbert de Beaujeu, "will be there also, with as many men as I can muster, and as many friends as love me, from the other bank of the Loire. So, set thy mind at ease, fair prince, for we will win thee back the feofs of the Plantagenets, or many a war-horse shall run masterless, and many a casque be empty."
Arthur was expressing his glad thanks, for promises which plumed his young hope like an eagle; and Philip Augustus was dictating to a clerk a summons to De Coucy to render himself instantly to Paris, with what servants of arms he could collect, if he were willing to serve Arthur duke of Brittany in his righteous quarrel; when the seats which had remained vacant round the council-chamber were filled by the arrival of the bishops of Paris, the archbishop of Rheims, and several other bishops and mitred abbots, who had not assisted at the ceremony of Arthur's knighthood.
"You come late, holy fathers," said Philip, slightly turning round. "The ceremony is over, and the council nearly so;" and he proceeded with what he was dictating to the clerk.
The clergy replied not, but by a whisper among themselves; yet it was easy to judge, from their grave and wrinkled brows, and anxious eyes, that some matter of deep moment sat heavily on the mind of each. The moment after, however, the door of the council-chamber again opened, and two ecclesiastics entered, who, by the distinctive marks which characterise national features, might at once be pronounced Italians.
The clerk, who wrote from Philip's dictation, was kneeling at the table beside the monarch's chair, so that, speaking in a low voice, the king naturally bent his head over him, and consequently took no notice of the two strangers, till he was surprised into looking up, by hearing a deep loud voice begin to read, in Latin, all the most heavy denunciations of the church against his realm and person.
"By the Holy Virgin Mother of Our Lord!" cried the king, his brow reddening and glowing like heated iron, "this insolence is beyond belief! Have they then dared to put our realm in interdict?"
This question, though made generally, was too evidently applied to the bishops, for them to escape reply; and the archbishop of Rheims, though with a flush on his cheek, that bespoke no small anxiety for the result, replied boldly, at least as far as words went.
"It is but too true, sire. Our holy father the pope, the common head of the great Christian church, after having in vain attempted to lead you by gentle means to religious obedience, has at length been compelled, in some sort, to use severity; as a kind parent is often obliged to chastise his----"
"How now!" cried Philip in a voice of thunder: "Dare you use such language to me? I marvel you sink not to the earth, bishop, rather than so pronounce your own condemnation!--Put those men forth!" he continued, pointing to the two Italians, who, not understanding any thing that was said at the table, continued to read aloud the interdict and anathema, interrupting and drowning every other voice, with a sort of thorough bass of curses, that, detached and disjointed as they were, almost approached the ridiculous. "Put them forth!" thundered the king to his men-at-arms. "If they go not willingly, cast them out headlong!--But no!" he added, after a moment, "they are but instruments--use them firmly, but courteously, serjeant. Let me not see them again.--And now, archbishop, tell me, have you dared to give your countenance and assent to this bold insolence of the pontiff of Rome?"
"Alas! sire, what could I do?" demanded the archbishop, in a much more humble tone than that which he had before used.
"What could you do!" exclaimed Philip. "By the joyeuse of St. Charlemagne! do you ask me what you could do? Assert the rights of the clergy of France!--assert the rights of the king!--refuse to recognise the usurped power of an ambitious prelate! Yield him obedience in lawful things; but stand firmly against him, where he stretched out his hand to seize a prerogative that belongs not to his place! This could you have done, sir bishop! and, by the Lord that liveth, you shall find it the worse for you, that you have not done it!"
"But, sire," urged one of the prelates on the king's right, "the blessed pope is our general and common father!"
"Is it the act of a father to invade his children's rights?" demanded Philip in the same vehement tone--"is it not rather the act of a bad stepfather, who, coming in, pillages his new wife's children of their inheritance?"
"By my life! a good likeness have you found, sir king!" said the blunt Count de Nevers. "I never heard a better. The holy church is the poor simple wife, who takes for her second husband this pope Innocent, who tries to pillage the children--namely, the church of France--of their rights of deciding on all ecclesiastical questions within the realm."
"It is too true, indeed!" said the king. "Now, mark me, prelates of France! But you first, archbishop of Rheims! Did you not solemnly pronounce the dissolution of my marriage with Ingerburge of Denmark, after mature consideration and consultation with a general synod of the clergy of France?"
"It is true, indeed, I did, sire!" replied the archbishop. "But----"
"But me no buts! sir," replied the king. "I will none of them! You did pronounce the divorce. I have it under your hand, and that is enough.--And you, bishop of Paris? You of Soissons?--and you?--and you?--and you?" he continued, turning to the prelates, one after the other.
No one could deny the sentence of divorce which they had pronounced some years before, and Philip proceeded.
"Well then, by the Lord Almighty, I swear, that you must, and shall, support your sentence! If you were wrong, you shall bear the blame and the punishment; not I--no, nor one I love better than myself. Let that bishop in France, who did not pronounce sentence of divorce between Ingerburge and myself, enforce the interdict within his diocese if he will; but whosoever shall do so, bishop or abbot, whose hand is to that sentence, I will cast him forth from his diocese, and his feofs, and his lands. I will strip him of his wealth and his rank, and banish him from my realms for ever. Let it be marked and remembered! for, as I am a crowned king, I will keep my word to the letter!"
Philip spoke in that firm, deep, determined tone, which gave no reason to hope or expect that any thing on earth would make him change his purpose. And after he had done, he laid his hand still clasped upon the table, the rigid sinews seeming with difficulty to relax in the least from the tension into which the vehement excitement of his mind had drawn them. He glanced his eyes, too, from countenance to countenance of the bishops, with a look that seemed to dare them to show one sign of resistance.
But all their eyes were cast down in bitter silence, each well knowing that the fault, however it arose, lay amongst themselves; and Philip, after a moment's pause, rose from the table, exclaiming--"Lords and knights, the council is over;" and, followed by Arthur and the principal part of the barons, he left the hall.