He was roused in a few moments by the entrance of Richard, come, as a matter of form, to ratify the treaty by the kiss of peace. The King, without speaking, gave it with rigid sternness of countenance; but Richard, as he turned away, heard him mutter, “May I but live to be revenged on thee!” and when he was gone, the King burst out into such horrible imprecations against his two sons, that the faithful Geoffrey of Lincoln and the clergy of Canterbury, who attended him, were shocked, and one of the monks reminded him that such hasty words had occasioned the death of Becket. But he gnashed his teeth at them with fury. “I have been and I am your lord, traitors that ye are!” he cried. “Away with you! I’ll have none but trusty ones here.”
The monks left him; but one, turning round, said boldly, “If the life and sufferings of the martyr Thomas were acceptable with God. He will do prompt justice on thy body.”
The King threw himself out of bed, with his dagger in his hand; but was carried back again, and continued to rave, though growing weaker. In an interval of calm he was taken into the church, and absolution was pronounced over him; but no persuasion would induce him to revoke his curses against his sons: the delirium returned, and the last words that were heard from his dying lips were, “Shame, shame on a conquered King! Cursed be the day I was born! Cursed be the sons I leave!”
In his fifty-fifth year he thus miserably expired, and his son Geoffrey of Lincoln with difficulty found any one to attend to his funeral; the attendants had all fled away, with everything valuable that they could lay their hands on. A piece of gold fringe was made to serve for a crown, and an old sceptre and ring were brought from the treasury at Chinon; horses were hired, and the corpse was carried, as he had desired, to be interred in the beautiful Abbey of Fontevraud. In the midst of the service a hurried step was heard. It was Richard, who, while laughing with his false friend Philippe over his ungracious reception at Chinon, had been horror-struck by the news that his father was dead, and that there was no more forgiveness to be looked for.
He had hastily left the French, and now stood beside the coffin, looking at the fine but worn and prematurely aged face, which bore the stamp of rage and agony. A drop of blood oozed from the nostril—a token, according to the belief of those times, that the murderer was present. Richard hid his face in his hands in the misery of remorse, and groaned aloud, “Yes, it was I who killed him.” He threw himself on his knees before the altar, so remained “about as long as it would take to say a Pater” and then, rising up in silence, dashed out of the church.
Ten years later, his corpse was, by his own desire, laid in humility at his father’s feet.
CAMEO XXIV. THE THIRD CRUSADE. (1189-1193)
King of England.
1189. Richard I.
King of Scotland.
1165. William.
King of France.
1180. Philippe II.
Emperor of Germany.
1152. Friedrich I.
1191. Henry VI.
Popes.
1183. Clement III
1191. Celestine III
The vices of the Christians of Palestine brought their punishment. Sybilla of Anjou, Queen of Jerusalem, had married the handsome but feeble-minded Guy de Lusignan, who was no match for the Kurdish chieftain, Joseph Salah-ed-deen, usually called Saladin, who had risen to the supreme power in Egypt and Damascus. The battle of Tiberias ruined the kingdom, and the fall of Jerusalem followed in a few weeks, filling Christendom with grief.