Richard knew this was possible, so he agreed to remain with the French while terms were discussed.
Philip Augustus was overjoyed to have Richard with him. There was never a question of his being treated like a hostage. He was the most honored of guests. The King would have him sit beside him at table; he insisted that they eat from the same plate. He told Richard that the greatest honor a King could bestow on a guest was to ask him to share his bed. The friendship was as it had been before—one of passionate attachment.
They talked together; they would have long discussions in bed. Richard told the King of his vow to go on a crusade.
“We will go together,” declared Philip Augustus. “I, too, will take the vow.”
They talked of preparations for this shared adventure, but Philip Augustus’s main object was to warn Richard against his father, for he was sure Henry was planning to take Richard’s inheritance from him. Richard did not see how he could do so. He was the eldest son now, the legitimate heir to the throne of England and the dukedom of Normandy.
“Perhaps one day you will discover,” said Philip Augustus.
Henry would of course hear rumors of the relationship between the two young men, and it must have given him cause for alarm.
Richard was being royally entertained by the King of France, who seemed in no hurry to proceed. He was quite content with things as they were as long as Richard stayed with him.
Henry would not have been able to understand the relationship between Philip Augustus and Richard. It was alien to anything he himself could experience. He wrote to Philip Augustus saying that he believed the main difference between them was the Princess Alais. He had decided that the princess should marry John instead of Richard, and John should have all his lands except Normandy and England.
How Philip Augustus must have laughed. Here he had actual proof of Henry’s duplicity. He promptly showed the letter to Richard. Now surely he could not doubt his father’s treachery. Give John Aquitaine—the land for which he had fought! It was his mother’s, in any case. How could he ever have been such a fool as to range himself against his dear friend, the King of France?
The confrontation of the two Kings took place at Gisors, under an elm tree. It was not the first time the Kings of France and England had met at this spot. The English, who had arrived first at the scene, took up the position in the shade, leaving the hot sun to the French.
I could imagine Henry seizing the smallest advantage gleefully.
Philip asked that the Princess Alais should be given to Richard as his wife and that fealty, throughout the English Court, should be sworn to Richard as the heir to Henry’s dominions.
Henry must have been astonished. It was as though it were Richard who was making the terms. He was in a quandary.
The King of France signed for Richard to come forward.
“Here is your son,” he said. “You will swear to these conditions before him.”
Henry hesitated and Richard went on: “Swear that I shall have my bride. Swear that I shall have the inheritance due to the eldest son.”
There was no way out for Henry. He was trapped. He glared with hatred at his son and began to shout: “No, no I will not do it.”
“So,” said Richard, “I see that what I have heard of you is true.”
He turned his back on his father and approaching the King of France, took off his sword and handed it to him.
In the presence of his father he was offering allegiance to Philip Augustus.
How joyfully the King of France accepted it. Henry could not believe it. How could his son go over so blatantly to the enemy? I could have answered that. “Because, my dear Henry, you have shown so clearly that you are his enemy.”
Philip Augustus, eyes shining with love and gratitude, said he would agree to a truce; the two Kings should meet in a month’s time. Meanwhile Henry could consider his terms.
“Come,” he said to Richard. He gave him back his sword. Richard mounted his horse, and the two of them rode off together.
So Henry had lost another son—if not to death this time, to the King of France.
He went to Saumur for Christmas. It must have been a gloomy one. He would hear reports of the great friendship which existed between Richard and the King of France. They were always in each other’s company and now were planning the crusade they would take together.
The two Kings met again as planned. Philip Augustus implied that he wished for peace because he wanted to give his mind to the proposed crusade. The Holy Land was in danger while they played out their petty quarrels. All he wanted was that Richard should have his bride and be proclaimed heir to his rightful inheritance. The marriage had long been arranged and Richard was Henry’s eldest living son. Philip Augustus was only asking for what was right. There was another point. It would be necessary for John to join the crusade. This was so that he could not be up to mischief while Richard was away.
Henry raged to William Marshal and Geoffrey the Bastard at the insolence of the King of France. They must have been very unhappy—those men who really cared for him.
Henry said he would not agree to the terms, and Alais was to marry John.
Once more the conference ended in failure.
John joined him. Henry was at Le Mans, one of his favorite cities because it contained the tomb of his father, and he had often rested there to visit it.
It was while he was at Le Mans that he heard that Philip Augustus was on his way to attack him. He had given him many chances and still he refused to see reason; so now the French were on the march and with them Henry’s own son, Richard.
“What have I done,” demanded Henry of William Marshal, “that my own son should march against me?”
William Marshal was one of those honest men who could not lie even if it meant saving their lives. “You have tried to rob him of his inheritance,” he said.
Henry must have smiled wryly. One could trust William Marshal to put a finger on the truth. He had tried to rob Richard of his rights because he wanted John, whom he believed to be his only faithful son, to have everything.
How tired he would have felt, how despondent. I never knew why, hating Henry as I did, I could feel sorry for him. The great raging lion, the invincible warrior. How did it feel to be brought to the stage when one’s aging body did not match one’s valiant spirit?
From a high point he would see the French camp and know that his son Richard was there with his enemy.
There was a high wind blowing straight into the French encampment. He had an idea. Fearing he might not be a match for the French and his son Richard, he would attempt other methods to win the battle. If he had fires lighted, the wind would blow them straight at the French camp and might destroy it completely. At worst it would do much harm and impede their advance. All means are fair in war.
He gave the order and the fires were lighted.
It was like a miracle. It was as though God was working on the side of the French against him. For no sooner were the fires lighted than the wind changed, and instead of blowing them into the French camp, they blew back to the town of Le Mans.
He could not believe it. The flames were enveloping the city. He cried out in anguish; then his rage overtook him. He shook his fist at the heavens. Such a disaster could only come from one place. God was against him. God had determined to destroy him.
William Marshal said it was an unusual change in the wind. Such things happened.
“It was deliberate,” shouted Henry. “It was done to plague me. It shows God is not on my side. I have prayed to Him ... worked for Him, and He has deserted me in my hour of need. By His eyes, I will pray no more. I will curse Him who curses me.”