Wagner & Debes’ Geogˡ. Estabᵗ. Leipsic.

London, Macmillan & Co.

All this work was accomplished within a single year.[1893] Richard, who had watched over its progress with unremitting care, broke into an ecstasy of delight at its completion; he called his barons to see “how fair a child was his, this child but a twelvemonth old”;[1894] he called it his “saucy castle,” “Château-Gaillard,”[1895] and the name which he thus gave it in jest soon replaced in popular speech its more formal title of “the Castle on the Rock of Andely.”[1896] The hardness of the rock out of which the fortifications were hewn was not the sole obstacle against which the royal builder had had to contend. Richard had no more thought than Fulk Nerra would have had of asking the primate’s leave before beginning to build upon his land; the work therefore was no sooner begun than Archbishop Walter lifted up his protest against it; obtaining no redress, he laid Normandy under interdict and carried his complaint in person to the Pope.[1897] Richard at once sent envoys to appeal against the interdict and make arrangements for the settlement of the dispute.[1898] Meanwhile, however, he pushed on the building without delay. Like Fulk of old, the seeming wrath of Heaven moved him as little as that of its earthly representatives; a rain of blood which fell upon the workmen and the king himself, though it scared all beside, failed to shake his determination; “if an angel had come down out of the sky to bid him stay his hand, he would have got no answer but a curse.”[1899] He had now, however, made his peace with the Church; in the spring of 1197 he offered to the archbishop an exchange of land on terms highly advantageous to the metropolitan see; and on this condition the Pope raised the interdict in May of the same year.[1900] The exchange was carried through on October 16,[1901] and ratified by John in a separate charter, a step which seems to indicate that John was now recognized as his brother’s heir.[1902]

It was probably about the same time that the treaty with Flanders, the corner-stone of the league which Richard was forming against the king of France, was signed within the walls of the new fortress.[1903] Yet, as has been already seen, the coalition was not fully organized till late in the following summer; and even then the complicated weapon hung fire. Want of money seems to have been Richard’s chief difficulty, now as ever—a difficulty which after Hubert Walter’s defeat in the council at Oxford and his resignation in the following July must have seemed well-nigh insurmountable. At last, however, in the spring of 1199, a ray of hope came from a quarter where it was wholly unexpected. Richard was leading his mercenaries through Poitou to check the viscount of Limoges and the count of Angoulême in a renewal of their treasonable designs[1904] when he was met by rumours of a marvellous discovery at Châlus in the Limousin. A peasant working on the land of Achard, the lord of Châlus, was said to have turned up with his plough a treasure[1905] which popular imagination pictured as nothing less than “an emperor with his wife, sons and daughters, all of pure gold, and seated round a golden table.”[1906] In vain did Achard seek to keep his secret and his prize to himself. Treasure-trove was a right of the overlord, and it seems to have been at once claimed by the viscount Ademar of Limoges, as Achard’s immediate superior. His claim, however, had to give way to that of his own overlord, King Richard; but when he sent to the king the share which he had himself wrung from Achard, Richard indignantly rejected it, vowing that he would have all. This Achard and Ademar both refused, and the king laid siege to Châlus.[1907]

This place, not far from the western border of the Limousin, is now represented by two villages, known conjointly as Châlus-Chabrol, and built upon the summits of two low hills, at whose foot winds the little stream of Tardoire. Each hill is crowned by a round tower of late twelfth-century work; the lower one is traditionally said to be the keep of the fortress besieged by Richard with all his forces at Mid-Lent 1199.[1908] In vain did Achard, who was utterly unprepared to stand a siege, protest his innocence and offer to submit to the judgement of the French king’s court, as supreme alike over the duke of Aquitaine and over his vassals; in vain did he beg for a truce till the holy season should be past; in vain, when the outworks were almost wholly destroyed and the keep itself undermined,[1909] did he ask leave to surrender with the honours of war for himself and his men. Richard was inexorable; he swore that he would hang them all.[1910] With the courage that is born of despair, Achard, accompanied by six knights and nine serving-men, retired into the keep, determined to hold it until death.[1911] All that day—Friday, March 26[1912]—Richard and his lieutenant Mercadier, the captain of his mercenaries,[1913] prowled vainly round the walls, seeking for a point at which they could assault them with safety.[1914] Their sappers were all the while undermining the tower.[1915] Its defenders, finding themselves short of missiles, began throwing down beams of wood and fragments of the broken battlements at the miners’ heads.[1916] They were equally short of defensive arms; one of the little band stood for more than half the day upon a turret, with nothing but a frying-pan for a shield against the bolts which flew whistling all around him, yet failed to drive him from his post.[1917] At last the moment came for which he had been waiting so long and so bravely. Just as Richard, unarmed save for his iron head-piece, paused within bow-shot of the turret, this man caught sight of an arrow which had been shot at himself from the besieging ranks—seemingly, indeed, by Richard’s own hand—and had stuck harmlessly in a crevice of the wall within his reach. He snatched it out, fitted it to his cross-bow, and aimed at the king.[1918] Richard saw the movement and greeted it with a shout of defiant applause; he failed to shelter himself under his buckler; the arrow struck him on the left shoulder, just below the joint of the neck, and glancing downwards penetrated deep into his side.[1919] He made light of the wound,[1920] gave strict orders to Mercadier to press the assault with redoubled vigour,[1921] and rode back to his tent as if nothing was amiss.[1922] There he rashly tried to pull out the arrow with his own hand.[1923] The wood broke off, the iron barb remained fixed in the wound; a surgeon attached to the staff of Mercadier was sent for, and endeavoured to cut it out; unluckily, Richard was fat like his father, and the iron, buried deep in his flesh, was so difficult to reach that the injuries caused by the operator’s knife proved more dangerous than that which had been inflicted by the shaft of the hostile crossbow-man.[1924] The wounded side grew more swollen and inflamed day by day; the patient’s constitutional restlessness, aggravated as it was by pain, made matters worse;[1925] and at last mortification set in.[1926]