In the midst of the general grief a kind of union was effected between the father and his remaining sons, as well as between the father and mother. Eleanor was brought back to Aquitaine, and restored to liberty; but this mutual understanding, so rare in this royal family, only lasted for a short time; Geoffrey asked the king to grant him the countship of Anjou, and on being refused, he retired to the court of France: death awaited him there; he was thrown in a tournament, and trampled under foot by the horse before the attendants could come to his assistance.
Henry had two sons remaining; Richard, who was afterwards called "Cœur-de-Lion," and who had inherited that majestic countenance which Peter of Blois attributes to his father, whose almost square face resembled a lion's head; and John Lackland, as his father laughingly called him, who had not taken part in the revolts of his brothers, and whom Henry esteemed very much for that reason. Richard had already shown fresh signs of insubordination. Eleanor had returned to her prison at Winchester, when a call from the East brought a short truce to the hostilities between France and England. Jerusalem had just been retaken by the Mussulmans (1187); Pope Urban II. had died of grief in consequence. Gregory VIII., who had succeeded him, called the Christians from the West to the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre, and the Archbishop of Tyre was preaching in favor of the crusade. King Henry was the first to respond to the appeal. Richard assumed the cross as well as his father. Philip-Augustus manifested the same desire. A conference was held under the elm of Gisors, the famous tree at the foot of which many treaties had been ratified which had remained in force but for a very short time. The treaty of peace which was there agreed to in the name of the crusade proved to be no more durable than the others, and the King of France in his anger caused the tree to be rooted up, saying that no more perfidy should be witnessed under its branches. It was rumored that the King of England had the intention of bequeathing his kingdom to his youngest son. Richard had another grievance against his father; the latter had for some time been detaining in a castle the Princess Alice of France, who had been promised in marriage to Richard, and far from conniving at the union, he was endeavoring to obtain a divorce from Eleanor, with the intention, it was said, of marrying the young princess himself. Richard demanded an explanation from his father of these two infringements of his rights, asking for his father's consent to his marriage and an acknowledgment of himself as heir to the throne of England.
Henry did not reply; he at length proposed to marry the Princess Alice to John Lackland. Richard was not infatuated with her, for he already dreamt of Berengaria of Navarre; but he looked upon his father's proposal as an indication of his intentions respecting John. "Is it really so," cried he; "I did not think it possible, but now, my friends, you will see what you little expected," And, kneeling before King Philip-Augustus, he placed his hands in that monarch's, and at once did the latter homage for the duchies of Normandy, Brittany, and Aquitaine, as well as for the countships of Poitou. Anjou, and Maine, asking for assistance in recovering his rights. Philip-Augustus accepted him as a vassal and liege, and immediately gave up to Richard the castles which he had taken from the latter's father.
This time the shot had been sent straight to the king's heart. In vain did he retire to Saumur, to recommence preparations for war: his energy and decision had failed him; he awaited the arrival of the Pope's legates, who were entrusted with the care of attempting a reconciliation, and contented himself with rewarding the noblemen of Normandy, who had always remained true to him. When the legate arrived, King Philip-Augustus, who was too clever not to discover the weariness of the old king, insisted on the conditions of peace offered at the last conference, asking besides that John should accompany his brother in the crusade, without which he threatened to cause the greatest disorder in the kingdom. Henry refused. "Then the truce is at an end," said the King of France. The legate threatened to place the kingdom under an interdict, and to excommunicate Philip and Richard. "I am not afraid of your mercenary anathemas," said Philip; and Richard, drawing his sword, cried, "I will kill any insensate who dares to excommunicate two princes in a single breath!" His friends restrained his violence; the legate remounted his mule and retired in great haste.
The French marched towards Le Mans; the town was taken and pillaged. Aquitaine, Poitou, and Brittany revolted; treason was rife among the English barons. Henry felt that he was beaten; he sued for peace, declaring himself ready to accept the propositions of Philip and of Richard. The two monarchs met upon a plain between Tours and Azay. Richard was not present; while they were conferring in the open field, and still on horseback, the thunder roared and a violent storm broke forth. The nerves of King Henry had been shaken by disease and trouble. He reeled in his saddle, and his servants sustained him with difficulty. When he had recovered his senses, he was too ill to continue the conference, and the proposals for peace were sent to his head-quarters. They were hard and humiliating; an indemnity for King Philip, permission for his vassals to do homage to Richard, the restoration of the Princess Alice to a person commissioned to deliver her with all honor to her brother, or her affianced husband on the return from the crusade, and so forth. King Henry II. stretched upon his couch, listened in silence. When an end was made he asked to see a list of the barons who had pledged themselves to maintain the cause of Philip and Richard. The first name was that of his son John, count of Mortagne; the unhappy father uttered a cry of pain. "John, the son of my heart," he exclaimed, "for love of whom I have brought upon myself all these misfortunes—he, too, has betrayed me!" He was assured that it was so. "Let all things henceforth proceed as they will," he said, "I have no longer any regard for myself or this world." And he turned his face again to the wall in the bitterness of his soul. His son Richard had followed him, and leaning towards him asked for the kiss of peace in ratification of the treaty. The king did not refuse it as he had done before in the case of Becket; but Richard had scarcely left the chamber when the indignant father muttered between his teeth, "May I live to avenge myself on thee!"
He gave orders to be carried to Chinon, oppressed with a profound melancholy, which was succeeded by a violent fever. In his fits he raised himself in his bed, invoking the vengeance of Heaven upon his children. "Shame, shame upon a vanquished king—a king dispossessed of his rights," he cried; "accursed be the day when I was born; accursed be the children that I leave behind me!" He directed his attendants to carry him into the church, where he expired at the foot of the altar on the 6th of July, 1189. He had not yet completed his fifty-fifth year, but his features were worn like those of an aged man. When Richard, stricken with horror at the intelligence which he had received, hastened to Fontevrault, whither the corpse of his father had been removed without ceremony, some one had surrounded the royal forehead with a golden fringe in imitation of a crown, and it had been necessary to employ hired horses in order to convey to his last resting-place the powerful master of so many dominions.
Richard approached the coffin. A drop of blood appeared under the nostrils of the corpse. "Yes, it is I who have killed him!" cried Richard, stricken with repentance. He fell on his knees beside the dead body of his father, remained there a moment prostrate, then rising, went out precipitately.
Ten years later, when Richard was dying at the siege of Chalus, he ordered that his body should be conveyed to Fontevrault, to be interred at the feet of his father.