It was in the month of October, 1192, when King Richard was just setting sail from Acre, that rumors of his approaching return were spread throughout Europe; but in vain did days, weeks, months elapse. The champion of the Cross, Cœur-de-Lion, had disappeared, and his fate remained shrouded in mystery, when, at the beginning of the year 1193, a letter from the Emperor Henry VI. to the King of France, discovered by accident, revealed the fact of Richard's incarceration in Austria. "The enemy of the Empire and the disturber of France," said the Emperor, "is imprisoned in a castle in the Tyrol, and watched day and night by faithful guards with naked swords." The exact whereabouts of the castle remained a secret.
The effect of this news in Europe was wonderful; Richard's reputation had caused people to forget his pride and avarice. Prince John was as proud and as avaricious as his brother, without the fitful generosity and brilliant valor which in Richard compensated for so many faults: the clergy remembered the great deeds performed for the deliverance of the Holy Sepulchre; all the noblemen and knights were disgusted at the treachery which kept a king and a crusader in an unknown prison; the Pope excommunicated the Archduke Leopold, and threatened the Emperor with the same penalty; Prince John and the King of France alone rejoiced at the powerless state in which their enemy found himself. The prince hastened to Paris to do homage to Philip for all the dominions which the King of England held upon the Continent; and then, recrossing the Channel, he commenced preparations for raising an army, to enable him to dispute his brother's claim to the crown; but already the barons and prelates who remained faithful to Richard had unfurled the royal standard; the hired soldiers gathered together by John were repulsed, and the feeble usurper was compelled to consent to an armistice. His ally of France had been unsuccessful at Rouen, which was defended by the Earl of Essex, who had recently arrived from Palestine. Philip had been compelled to quit that town.
The ex-Chancellor Longchamp had at length discovered the king's prison, and had gone to see him. He managed to induce the emperor to convoke the Diet of the Empire at Hagenau, in order to hear the charges against Richard. The King of England appeared before the princes there assembled, and cleared himself easily of the accusations brought against him. The emperor consented to deliver him up for a ransom; the sum fixed was a hundred and fifty thousand marks of silver. The king's fetters were removed, and he was led back to his prison, there to remain until the united efforts of his people should raise the required sum of money. "My brother John will never gain a kingdom by his valor!" Cœur-de-Lion had disdainfully declared on hearing of that prince's treachery. But John could plot, and, supported by Philip Augustus, he contributed greatly towards postponing the deliverance of his brother. Richard was still languishing in prison at the beginning of the year 1194, lamenting his fate in Provençal ballads, which may be translated thus:—
Now know ye well, my barons, people, all,
English and Norman, Gascon and Poitevin,
That for no money would I leave in thrall
The poorest of my comrades thus to pine.
Reproach I made not nor desire withal,
Though now two winters here.
The period of his captivity was at length, however, drawing to an end; in vain did Philip-Augustus and Prince John propose to the Emperor Henry a much larger sum than Richard's ransom if he would still keep the latter in prison. The princes of the Empire opposed the offer indignantly, and when the first half of the ransom arrived, in the month of February, 1194, the king was at length restored to liberty. He landed at Sandwich on the 13th of March, to the great delight of his subjects. Prince John had taken refuge in Normandy, and the other traitors had disappeared. Richard seized upon several castles, deprived several rebels of their offices, and sold them to the highest bidder; then, levying another tax upon a country exhausted by war and by the payment of the royal ransom, he hastened to France, to punish her king for the injuries inflicted upon him by that monarch. On disembarking Richard was met by his brother, who reckoned upon the intercession of his mother to obtain the forgiveness of the sovereign whom he had so cruelly wronged. "I forgive him," said Richard; "and I hope that I shall forget his misdeeds as completely as he will forget my forgiveness." He refused, however, to reinstate John in his land and castles.
War was still raging between the two monarchs, with variable success. Richard was enabled to wreak his vengeance upon the Bishop of Beauvais, who had formerly been entrusted with missions from Philip to the Emperor of Germany. That prelate, having been made a prisoner during a battle, by Merchadec, chief of the Brabantines in Richard's service, was imprisoned in the castle of Rouen. In vain did he implore the intervention of Pope Celestine III. in his favor; the King of England sent the armor, stained with the bishop's blood, to the Pontiff, with this quotation from Scripture: "See whether it is your son's garment." The Pope laughed. "It is the coat of a son of Mars," said he, "let Mars undertake to deliver him;" and the bishop remained in prison until the death of King Richard.
So many struggles were necessarily burdensome; "from sea to sea England was ruined," say the chroniclers. A citizen of London, William Fitz-Osbert, better known by his title of "Longbeard," constituted himself the champion of the poor, endeavoring, first of all, by interceding with the king to obtain a lessening of the burdens which were crushing them. The king wanted money. Longbeard achieved no result; and came back to England, where he organized a secret association. He began a series of public orations, causing dangerous riots in London, where he was looked upon by the people as their king and saviour. The authorities endeavored to arrest him, but he took refuge in the church of St. Mary of the Arches, with a few supporters, where he defended himself until the building being set afire he was obliged to leave it; he was wounded, captured and dragged to Smithfield, where he was hanged. The people had done nothing to rescue him; but it was found necessary to punish the fanatics who came by night to scrape up the earth at the foot of his gibbet, to be preserved as relics.
King Richard had defeated Philip-Augustus at the gates of Gisors. Whilst making his escape, the King of France had almost been drowned in the river. "I made him drink the water of the Epte," Richard wrote triumphantly. But the day was approaching which was to see the end of so many heroic, but fruitless struggles; it was rumored in Normandy that an arrow was being fashioned in Limousin, which was destined to kill a tyrant. The King of England learnt that his vassal, the Viscount of Limoges, had discovered a treasure. He at once sent to claim it of the Viscount, who sent him one-half of his treasure trove upon a mule. "Gold treasure belongs to the liege-lord; silver is divided," said the Viscount. But Richard wanted the whole; he marched against the castle of Chalus, where he expected to find the treasure, and laid siege to the place. It was well defended, but provisions had run short; the garrison wished to capitulate. "No," said Richard, "I will take your place by storm, and cause you all to be hanged on the walls." The defenders of the town were in despair; the king and Merchadec were examining the point of attack, when a young archer, Bertrand de Gourdon, pulled his bow, and, praying to God to direct the arrow, aimed it at the king; the latter was struck on the left shoulder. The town, however, was taken by assault, and all the garrison were hanged. The king sent for Gourdon. He was dying, for an unskilful surgeon had broken the arrow, and left the steel portion in the wound. "Wretch!" said he to the archer, "what had I done to you that you should have attempted my life?" "You have put my father and two brothers to death," said Bertrand, "and you wanted to hang me." "I forgive you," cried Richard; "let his chains be removed, and let him receive one hundred shillings." Merchadec took no heed of the royal pardon, but caused Bertrand de Gourdon to be flayed alive. Gourdon's children fled to Scotland, and became, it is said, the founders of the illustrious family of the Gordons. Richard died on the 6th of April, 1199. Scarcely had he breathed his last, when his sister Joanna, whom he had married to the Count of Toulouse, arrived at the camp before Chalus, to solicit help for her husband in his dispute with the court of Rome, in the matter of the Albigenses. She was informed of the death of her brother, and the shock caused her to give birth to a child prematurely. The child was stillborn, and the mother died in delivering it. She was buried with her brother at Fontevraud, at the foot of the grave of Henry II.