The conference lasted three days; and each day the prospect of peace grew fainter.[1228] Philip proposed that all parties should return to the position which they had occupied before taking the cross; Henry was ready to close with this proposition, but Richard rejected it, as it would have compelled him to give up his conquests won from Toulouse and worth a thousand marks or more as demesne lands, in exchange for Châteauroux and a few other castles over which he would have had only a precarious overlordship.[1229] As far as the two kings were concerned, the meeting ended in a simple truce between them, to last till S. Hilary’s day. No sooner however was this settled than Philip offered to restore all his conquests on condition that Henry should cause his subjects to do homage to Richard as his heir, and should allow his marriage with Adela to take place immediately. Henry refused.[1230] The two kings were standing, with Richard and the archbishop of Reims, in the midst of a crowded ring of spectators. Richard himself now suddenly turned to his father, and demanded to be distinctly acknowledged as heir to all his dominions. Henry tried to put him off; he repeated his demand with the same result. “Now,” he exclaimed, “I believe what hitherto seemed to me incredible.” Ungirding his sword, he stretched out his hands to the king of France and offered him his homage and fealty for the whole continental heritage of the Angevin house; an offer which Philip readily accepted, promising in return to give back to Richard his recent conquests in Berry.[1231] Henry drew back, speechless with amazement and consternation; the crowd, seeing the two kings thus separated, rushed in between them, and the duke of Aquitaine rode away in company with the French king, leaving Henry alone with his recollections of all the evils which had come of his eldest son’s alliance with Louis VII., and his forebodings of worse mischief to come from this new alliance with Philip, who, as he well knew, was far more dangerous than Louis had ever been; for he had more brains and even fewer scruples.[1232]

What little could be done to ward off the impending danger Henry did without delay. He sent the only one of his sons on whom he could really depend, Geoffrey the chancellor, to secure the fortresses of Anjou; he himself went to do the like in Aquitaine,[1233] whence he returned to keep Christmas at Saumur. The feast must have been a dreary one, even if both Geoffrey and John were with him; yet, deserted as he was, he managed to collect, for the last time, some semblance of the old regal state.[1234] When the truce expired, however, he postponed his intended meeting with Philip, on the plea of illness, first to Candlemas-day, and then till after Easter. He hoped to make use of the delay for winning Richard back; but Richard turned a deaf ear to every message of conciliation.[1235] He had in fact joined Philip in an attack upon Henry’s territories as soon as the truce was expired; and the ever-discontented Bretons had been induced to lend their aid.[1236] After Easter Richard was at length brought to a meeting with his father, on the borders of Anjou and Maine; but nothing came of the interview.[1237] In vain did the Pope, fearing that these quarrels in Gaul would put a stop to the crusade, send two legates in succession to make peace. The first, Henry of Albano, who was sent early in 1188 to mediate between Henry and Louis, unintentionally became the indirect cause of a further addition to Henry’s troubles. Thinking it safer to postpone his mediation till the meeting of the two kings should take place, he in the meantime went to preach the crusade in Germany and there persuaded the Emperor himself to take the cross.[1238] By May 1189 Frederic was ready to start;[1239] but before doing so he took a stern and summary measure to secure the peace of the Empire during his absence. He ordered all those princes and nobles whose loyalty he suspected either to accompany him or to quit the country and take an oath not to set foot in it again till his return. Among those who thus incurred banishment was Henry the Lion. For the second time he and his wife sought shelter in England; not finding the king there, they crossed over to Normandy in search of him,[1240] but it does not appear that they ever reached him where he lay, sick and weary, at Le Mans.[1241] Meanwhile Henry of Albano, after anathematizing Richard for his disturbance of the peace, had withdrawn to Flanders and there died.[1242] His mission was taken up with a somewhat firmer hand by another legate, John of Anagni. Reaching Le Mans at Ascension-tide 1189,[1243] John at once excommunicated all troublers of the peace except the two kings themselves, who were made to promise that they would submit their quarrels to his arbitration and that of the archbishops of Reims, Bourges, Canterbury and Rouen, and were threatened with excommunication if they should fail to redeem their promise.[1244]

On the basis of this agreement a conference was held on Trinity Sunday, June 4, at La Ferté-Bernard. There were present, besides the two kings, Richard, and the legate, the four archbishops who were to assist him as arbitrators, most of the Norman bishops, those of Angers and Le Mans, four English and several French prelates, and a crowd of French, English and Norman barons.[1245] Philip began by again demanding that Adela and Richard should be married at once; that Richard should have security given him for his succession to his father’s dominions; and that John should be made to take the cross and accompany his brother to Palestine.[1246] Richard repeated these demands for himself.[1247] Henry refused, and made a counter-proposition to Philip—the same which he was said to have made at Châteauroux two years ago, for Adela’s marriage with John; but this Philip rejected in his turn.[1248] The legate now interposed with a threat to Philip that unless he would come to terms, his domains should be laid under interdict; Philip defied the threat, and charged the legate with having been bribed by English gold.[1249] This explosion of course broke up the meeting.[1250] Henry went back to Le Mans, whence neither bishop nor archbishop, servant nor friend, could persuade him to move,[1251] although Philip and Richard with their united forces were overrunning Maine at their will. In five days the principal castles of its eastern portion were in their hands; one of the most important, Ballon, only fifteen miles from Le Mans, fell on June 9. There the conquerors paused for three days;[1252] and there, probably, they received the submission of the chief nobles of the western border—Geoffrey of Mayenne, Guy of Laval, Ralf of Fougères.[1253] But while the barons were false, the citizens were true. Le Mans still clung with unswerving loyalty to the count whom she looked upon as her own child; and Henry clung with equal attachment to the city which held his father’s grave and had held his own cradle.[1254] He had little else to cling to now. Where John was it is impossible to say; he was clearly not at Le Mans; and it is certain that, wherever he may have been, his proceedings were wholly unknown to Henry.[1255] Geoffrey the chancellor was still at his father’s side, and so were some half-dozen faithful barons, as well as Archbishop Bartholomew of Tours.[1256] Beyond these the king had nothing but a small force of mercenaries wherewith to defend either himself or Le Mans. The citizens were however willing to stand a siege for his sake, and he in return had promised never to desert them.[1257]

On S. Barnabas’s day—Sunday, June 11—Philip and Richard appeared with their host before Le Mans. They made a feint of passing on in the direction of Tours; but next morning Philip suddenly drew up his forces under the walls and prepared for an assault. The defenders, conscious of the overwhelming odds against them, adopted the desperate remedy of setting fire to the suburbs. Unhappily, the wind carried the flames not into the enemy’s lines but into the city itself.[1258] The French saw their opportunity and rushed at the bridge; a gallant, though unsuccessful, attempt to break it down was made by some of Henry’s troops, headed by a Cenomannian knight, Geoffrey of Brulon, who thus honourably wiped out the memory of his rebellion of sixteen years before; after a desperate fight, Geoffrey was wounded and made prisoner with a number of his comrades, and the rest were driven back into the city, the French rushing in after them.[1259] Then at last Henry felt that he could not keep his promise to the citizens of Le Mans, and with some seven hundred knights he took to flight.[1260] The French hurried in pursuit, but they did not carry it far. It may be that Geoffrey of Brulon’s effort to break down the bridge saved the king although it could not save the city; for the French are said to have been checked in their pursuit by the impossibility of fording the river,[1261] and one can scarcely help conjecturing that the fugitives had crossed by the half-undermined bridge, and that it fell as soon as they had passed over it.[1262]

Geoffrey however was not the only baron who after siding with Henry’s enemies in his prosperous days had learned to stand by him in his last hour of need. Besides his one faithful son, Geoffrey the chancellor, his old friend Earl William de Mandeville, and William Fitz-Ralf the seneschal of Normandy, Henry was accompanied in his flight by an English baron, William the Marshal. William’s father, John, who seems to have been marshal successively to Henry I. and to Stephen, had married a sister of Patrick of Salisbury and, like his brother-in-law, espoused the cause of the Empress in the civil war.[1263] William himself first appears in history at the age of about six years, in 1152, when he was placed as a hostage in the hands of Stephen. Twice his life was forfeited by his father’s defiance of the king, and twice it was saved by the unconscious fearlessness of the child, which so won Stephen’s heart that he ended by making himself the little fellow’s playmate instead of his slayer.[1264] John’s services to the Empress were rewarded on Henry’s accession by his reinstatement in the office of marshal; he afterwards became notorious through his quarrel with Thomas of Canterbury, which formed one of the pretexts for the archbishop’s condemnation at Northampton.[1265] After John’s death his title and office seem to have been shared by his two sons.[1266] The second, William, we find in 1173 among the partizans of the young king’s rebellion; ten years later he appears as the young king’s best-beloved knight, and as charged by him with the last office of friendship, the accomplishment in his stead of the crusading vow which he had not lived to fulfil.[1267] Six years afterwards, however, William was still in Europe, ready to stand to the last by another perishing king, and to take the post of honour as well as of danger among the little band of faithful servants who watched over the last days of Henry Fitz-Empress. It was William who brought up the rear of the little force which covered Henry’s retreat from Le Mans. Turning round as he heard the pursuers close behind him, he suddenly found himself face to face with Richard, and levelled his spear at him without hesitation. “God’s feet, marshal!” cried Richard with his wonted oath, “slay me not! I have no hauberk.” “Slay you! no; I leave that to the devil,” retorted William, plunging his spear into the horse’s body instead of the rider’s.[1268] Richard was of course compelled to abandon the chase, and at a distance of some two miles from Le Mans the king felt himself sufficiently out of danger to pause on the brow of a hill whence he could look back for the last time upon his native city. As he saw its blazing ruins words of madness burst from his lips: “O God, Thou hast shamefully taken from me this day the city which I loved most on earth, in which I was born and bred, where lies the body of my father and that of his patron saint—I will requite Thee as I can; I will withdraw from Thee that thing in me for which Thou carest the most.”[1269] Another eighteen miles’[1270] ride brought the fugitives at nightfall to La Frênaye,[1271] whose lord, the viscount of Beaumont, was a kinsman of Henry, and the father of Hermengard whose marriage with the king of Scots had been arranged three years ago by Henry’s influence. The king found shelter in the castle; his followers, already sadly diminished in number in consequence of the overpowering heat and fatigue of the day’s ride, quartered themselves in the little town as best they could; the chancellor would have remained with them to keep guard himself, but his father would not be parted from him, and made him come in to sup and spend the night. Geoffrey, whose baggage had been all left in Le Mans, was glad to exchange his travel-stained clothes for some which his father was able to lend him; Henry, with characteristic disregard of such details, persisted in lying down to rest just as he was, with his son’s cloak thrown over him for a coverlet.[1272]