The new justiciar immediately had his hands full of trouble. At the prospect of Richard’s return John grew half frantic with rage and dismay. As early as July 1193, when it became known that Richard and the Emperor had come to terms, Philip had sent warning to John—“Beware, the devil is loose again!” and John, without stopping to reflect that the “devil” could not be really loose till his ransom was paid, had hurried over sea to seek shelter from his brother’s wrath under the protection of the French king. Richard, however, at once made overtures of reconciliation to both;[1665] the terms which he offered to John were indeed so favourable that the Norman constables refused to execute them, and thereby put an end to the negotiation.[1666] In January Philip and John made a last effort to bribe the Emperor either to keep Richard in custody for another year, or actually to sell him into their hands.[1667] When this failed, John in the frenzy of desperation sent a confidential clerk over to England with letters to his adherents there, bidding them make all his castles ready for defence against the king. The messenger’s foolish boasting, however, betrayed him as he passed through London; he was arrested by order of the mayor, his letters were seized, and a council was hurriedly called to hear their contents. Its prompt and vigorous measures were clearly due to the initiative of the new justiciar-archbishop. John was excommunicated and declared disseized of all his English tenements, and the assembly broke up to execute its own decree by force of arms. The old bishop of Durham returned to his siege of Tickhill; the earls of Huntingdon, Chester and Ferrers led their forces against Nottingham; Archbishop Hubert himself besieged Marlborough, and took it in a few days; Lancaster was given up to him by its constable, who happened to be his own brother; and S. Michael’s Mount in Cornwall—a monastery whose site, not unlike that of its great Norman namesake, had tempted one of John’s partizans to drive out the monks and fortify it in his interest—surrendered on the death of its commander, who is said to have died of terror at the news of the king’s approach.[1668] Richard had been set free on February 4.[1669] After a slow progress through Germany and the Low Countries, he embarked at Swine, near Antwerp, and landed at Sandwich on March 13.[1670] Following the invariable practice of his father, he hastened first to the martyr’s shrine at Canterbury;[1671] next day he was met by the victorious archbishop hastening to welcome him home,[1672] and three days later he was solemnly received in London.[1673] As soon as the defenders of Tickhill were certified of his arrival they surrendered to the bishop of Durham.[1674] As Windsor, Wallingford and the Peak had been in the queen-mother’s custody since the truce of May 1193,[1675] only Nottingham now remained to be won. Richard at once marched against it with all his forces; the archbishop followed, Hugh of Durham brought up his men from Tickhill; in three days the castle surrendered, and Richard was once again undisputed master in his realm.[1676]

It must have seemed, to say the least, an ungracious return for the sacrifices which England had made in his behalf, when the king at once demanded from the English knighthood the services of a third of their number to accompany him into Normandy, from the freeholders a contribution of two shillings on every carucate of land, and from the Cistercians the whole of their wool for the current year.[1677] In view of a war with France, of which it was impossible to calculate either the exigencies or the duration, Richard undoubtedly needed money; but his needs pressed heavily upon a country which had already been almost drained to provide his ransom. In justice to him, it must however be added that the “carucage,” as the new land-tax came to be called, seems to have been levied not for his personal profit, but as a supplement to the measures taken by the justiciars in the previous year, to complete the sum still due to Henry VI. It was in reality an old impost revived under a new name, for the carucate or ploughland was in practice reckoned as equivalent to the ancient hide,[1678] and the sum levied upon it was precisely that which the hide had furnished for the Danegeld of earlier times.[1679] Its re-imposition in these circumstances, under a new appellation and for the payment of what the whole nation regarded as a debt of honour, met with no resistance. The Cistercians, however, remonstrated so strongly against the demand for their wool that they were allowed to escape with a money-compensation.[1680] The taxes were imposed in a great council held at Nottingham at the end of March and beginning of April,[1681] where measures were also taken for the punishment of the traitors and the reconstruction of the administrative body. These two objects were accomplished both at once, and both were turned to account for the replenishment of the royal coffers. Except John, Bishop Hugh of Chester, and Gerard de Camville, who were cited before the king’s court on a charge of high treason,[1682] none of the delinquents were even threatened with any worse punishment than dismissal from office. This was inflicted upon most of those who had taken part in the proceedings against the chancellor. Several of the sheriffs indeed were only transferred from one shire to another;[1683] but Gerard de Camville was ejected without compensation from the sheriffdom of Lincolnshire, and Hugh Bardulf, one of the subordinate justiciars who had joined the party of John, from those of Yorkshire and Westmoreland. These three offices Richard at once put up for sale, and, with a strange inconsistency, William of Longchamp, whose well-grounded resistance to the accumulation of sheriffdoms in episcopal hands had been the beginning of his troubles, now sought to buy the two former, and also that of Northamptonshire, for himself. He was however outbid by Archbishop Geoffrey of York, who bought the sheriffdom of Yorkshire for three thousand marks and a promise of a hundred marks annually as increment.[1684] This purchase made Geoffrey the most influential man in the north, for Hugh of Durham, apparently finding himself powerless to hold Northumberland, had resigned it into the king’s hands.[1685] William of Scotland immediately opened negotiations with Richard for its re-purchase, as well as for that of Cumberland, Westmoreland, Lancaster, and the other English lands held by his grandfather David. The barons, however, before whom Richard laid the proposal in a council at Northampton, resented it strongly; Richard’s own military instinct led him to refuse the cession of the castles, and as William would not be satisfied without them, the scheme came to nothing.[1686]

Richard meanwhile had been making a progress through Mid-England,[1687] similar to that which he had made before his crowning in 1189, and ending at Winchester, where he solemnly “wore his crown” in the cathedral church on the first Sunday after Easter.[1688] This ceremonial was in itself merely a revival of the old regal practice which Henry II. had formally abandoned in 1158; but its revival on this occasion was prompted by other motives than Richard’s love of pomp and shew. As a concession to the Emperor’s vanity—for we can scarcely conceive any other motive—Richard had accepted from Henry VI. the investiture of the kingdom of Burgundy; “over which,” says a contemporary English writer, “be it known that the Emperor had really no power at all,” but for which, nevertheless, he had received Richard’s homage.[1689] The homage was, of course, as empty as the gift for which it was due; but insular pride, which had always boasted that an English king, alone among European sovereigns, had no superior upon earth, was offended by it none the less; and although the story that Richard had formally surrendered England itself into Henry’s hands and received it back from him as a fief of the Empire[1690] may perhaps be set down as an exaggeration, still it seems to have been felt that the majesty of the island-crown had been so far dimmed by the transactions of his captivity as to require a distinct re-assertion.[1691] As he stood in his royal robes, sceptre in hand and crown on head,[1692] amid the throng of bishops and barons in the “Old Minster” where so many of his English forefathers lay sleeping, past shame was forgotten, and England was ready once again to welcome him as a new king.[1693] But the welcome met with no response. On May 12—just two months after his landing at Sandwich—Richard again sailed for Normandy;[1694] and this time he went to return no more.