Philip Augustus; or, The Brothers in Arms

by G. P. R. James

"Might wage war with me, but could never conquer, if France were true to France," interrupted the monarch. "Guerin, I tell thee, that an united nation was never overcome, and never shall be, so long as the world does last. The fate of a nation is always in its own hands. Let it be firm, and it is safe."

"But we unfortunately know, sire," said the minister, with a doubtful shake of the head, "that France is not united. Many, many of the royal vassals, and those some of the most powerful, cannot be depended on. Ferrand, count of Flanders, for instance. I need not tell you, sire, that he waits but an opportunity to throw off his allegiance. There are many more. Count Julian of the Mount has been openly a follower of the court of John of England; and though he is now on his lands, doubtless preparing all for revolt, he has left his daughter, they say, as security for his faith at the court of Rouen. May we not suppose, sire, that, when the moment comes which is to try men's hearts in this affair, we shall find thousands who--either from fear of the papal censure--or from personal enmity--or a treacherous and fickle disposition--or some one of all the many, many circumstances that sow treasons in time of danger and trouble--will fall off from you at the instant you want them most, and go over to swell the ranks of your enemies?"

"I do not believe it," replied Philip thoughtfully,--"I do not believe it! The pope's authority in a war unconnected with any affair of the church will have small effect, and if exerted, will, like a reed in a child's hand, break itself at the first impotent blow. Besides, I much doubt whether Innocent would now exert it against me if it were to be used in favour of Otho of Saxony. He hates me, true! He hates me more than he hates any other king; but yet, Guerin, but yet I see a thread mingling with the web of yon pope's policy that may make it all run down. Again, the war against John is a national, and must be a popular, war. I will take care that it shall not be stretched till France is weary of it; and John's weakness, joined with Innocent's insolence, will soon make it a war against the nation generally, not against the king personally. The barons will find that they are defending themselves, while they defend me; and I will divide the lands of him who turns traitor, amongst those that remain true. I tell thee, Guerin, I tell thee, I would not for the world that this pope should slacken his hand, or abate one atom of his pride. He is sowing enemies, my friend; and he shall reap an iron harvest."

Philip's eyes flashed as his thoughts ran on into the future. His brow knit sternly; his hand clasped tight the edge of the table by which he was seated, and after a moment or two of silence, he burst forth:--"Let him but give me the means of accustoming my barons to resist his usurped power--one great victory--and then!"

"Then what, sire?" demanded the hospitaller calmly, his unimpassioned mind not following the quick and lightning-like turns of Philip's rapid feelings--"then, what?"

"Agnes!" exclaimed Philip, starting up and grasping Guerin's arm--"Agnes and vengeance! By Heaven! it glads my very soul to see Innocent's machinations against me--machinations that, either by the ingratitude of others, or my revenge, shall fall, certainly fall, like a thunderbolt on his head. Let him raise up pomp-loving Otho, that empty mockery of a Cæsar! Let him call in crafty, fickle, bloodthirsty John, with his rebellious, disaffected barons! Let him join them with boasting Ferrand of Flanders! Let him add Italian craft to German stubbornness! Let him cast his whole weight of power upon the die! I will stake my being against it, and perish, or avenge my wrongs, and recover what I have lost!"

"I fear me, sire--" said Guerin.

"Speak not to me of fear!" interrupted the king. "I tell thee, good friend, that in my day I have seen but one man fit to cope with a king--I mean, Richard of England. He is gone--God rest his soul!--but he was a good knight and a great warrior, and might have been a great king, if fate had spared him till time had taken some of the lion's worst part from his heart, and sprinkled some cooler wisdom on his brow. But he is gone, and has left none like him behind. As for the others, I will make their necks but steps to gain the height from which my arm may reach to Rome."

"'Tis a far way to Rome! sire," replied Guerin, "and many have stretched their arm to reach it, and failed in the attempt. I need not remind you of the Emperor Frederic, sire, who struggled in vain to resist."

"Nor of Philip of France, you would say," interposed the king, with a gloomy smile that implied perhaps pain, but not anger. "Philip of France!" he repeated, "who strove but to retain the wife of his bosom, when a proud priest bade him cast her from him--and he too failed! But Philip of France is not yet dead; and between the to-day and the to-morrow, which constitute life and death, much may be done. I failed, Guerin, it is true; but I failed by my own fault. My eyes dazzled with the mist of passion, I made many a sad mistake; but now, my eyes are open, my position is changed, and my whole faculties are bent to watch the errors of my adversaries, and to guard against any myself. But we will speak no more of this. Were it to cost me crown and kingdom, life, and even renown, I would thank God for having given me the means of striking at least one blow for love and vengeance. We will speak no more of it. The day wears."