Of course the people hated him. He was a Norman and insisted on unfamiliar customs in his household. Then there was his love of ostentation. It was natural enough that one who had been despised must find it necessary to show continually how rich and powerful he had become. Every extravagance was a gesture. See how the King loves me! he seemed to be saying. But the more gestures of this nature there were, the more the people hated him. He in his turn hated the English. He was constantly trying to show them how inferior they were. If he were an astute statesman he was no student of human nature. He blindly revelled in Richard’s favour and cared nothing for the enmity of others, forgetting that Richard was far away and that his enemies were all around him.
The crusade swallowed up great wealth. More was constantly demanded. If he were to serve his master well he must see that taxes were levied and paid; it was ironical that the people of England should not blame their King whose activities made it necessary that the money should be raised but his Chancellor whose duty it was to see that the money was collected.
There was murmuring all over the land about the upstart Norman, the nobody who dressed as richly as a king and travelled in great state wherever he went. When he went about the country and rested at religious houses as became a man of the church, for besides being the King’s Chancellor he was also the Bishop of Ely, there were complaints that to house him and his splendid retinue cost them several months’ revenue.
Longchamp heard the sly allusions to his humble origins and this only made him the more extravagant; he was determined to show them that however he had begun he had climbed to the pinnacle of success at this time. He insisted that his servants kneel when serving him, a fact which was noted and circulated throughout the kingdom. The arrogance of the man was unendurable. The King himself could not live more regally.
It was inevitable that his enemies should see that the King heard of his growing unpopularity. Queen Eleanor had become disturbed and when in Sicily had advised her son to send Walter de Coutances, the Archbishop of Rouen, over to England, ostensibly to assist Longchamp in the Regency, but in fact to watch events carefully and if Longchamp became too unpopular, and that might cause the people to rise against him, to take over the reins from him.
Longchamp was suspicious of the Archbishop. He misconstrued the reason for his coming, and had an idea that he was doubtless hoping to attain the See of Canterbury which was vacant. As he himself had his eye on this prime plum of the Church he was antagonistic towards the Archbishop.
But his real enemy was Prince John. Longchamp smiled to himself to imagine John’s wrath when he heard of how the Chancellor roamed the country in as royal a fashion as any king. He did not fear him. What was the Prince but a lecherous profligate? He had no stability. The people would never support him. King Richard was however inclined to be lenient regarding his brother’s peccadilloes. ‘John would never succeed in taking a kingdom,’ he had once said. ‘And if by some strange chance he did he would never hold it. He is not of the stuff of which conquerors are made.’
Richard had communicated that contempt to Longchamp, so when he heard that John was fulminating about him the Bishop merely shrugged his shoulders and ignored him.
It was at this time that he became concerned with the affair of Gerard de Camville who was the sheriff of Lincoln. He believed that man to be a troublemaker because he was friendly with Prince John and he suspected him of urging that the Prince rise against the Chancellor. Gerard de Camville had in fact sworn allegiance to John as though he were already King or at least heir to the throne. Longchamp was determined that the next King would be Arthur of Brittany, which would suit him very well. If Richard died while the boy was a minor then he, Longchamp, would continue as Regent until Arthur was of such an age to govern. He would bring him to England and have him educated there under his guidance. It would be an excellent arrangement. The fact was, though, that Richard was by no means old, had married the Princess of Navarre and might well have heirs which would put Arthur out of the running. But with Richard’s son being brought up by the Chancellor or – failing a son of Richard’s his nephew Arthur – the prospect was good, although there was one who could put it in jeopardy: John.
Therefore it was disconcerting to have men like Gerard de Camville swearing allegiance to the Prince and when it was brought to his notice that de Camville had sheltered robbers in his castle and allowed them to go free even though they had taken the goods of a band of travellers passing near Lincoln, this seemed too good an opportunity to miss. The late King’s laws against robbery had been very severe and Richard had not altered them. It had been made clear that if the country was to be safe for travellers, drastic penalties should be meted out to offenders. This had been proved over more than a hundred years. William the Conqueror had made England law-abiding and the people had seen that it was to their advantage. Only during the reign of weak Stephen had it lapsed, and then robber barons had waylaid travellers, to rob, torture and kill them. No one wanted a return to that.
So Longchamp had a very good reason to reprimand Gerard de Camville.
He sent for Gerard, who refused to come himself and sent a messenger in his place. This was an insult in itself.
Longchamp demanded: ‘Where is your master?’
‘He has other business to occupy him, my lord,’ was the answer.
‘I summoned him here,’ replied Longchamp, ‘and when I summon a man if he is wise he comes.’
‘My lord bids me ask you to state your business to me and he has furnished me with some answers for he guesses you wish to speak to him concerning the guests he recently entertained at his castle.’
‘These men were robbers. They should have been dealt with by the law.’
‘The men they robbed were Jews, my lord.’
‘What of this?’
‘The people do not love the Jews. Nor does the King. Many were killed at his coronation.’
‘Go and tell your master that he has offended against the laws of this land and he is summoned to the courts.’
‘My lord answers only to one master during the absence of the King. He is the liegeman of Prince John.’
‘Pray go and tell your master that he is summoned to the courts and it will go ill with him if he does not obey this summons.’
It was this matter which was giving Longchamp anxious thoughts on this summer’s morning of the year 1191.
When Gerard de Camville asked for an audience with Prince John he was received at once.
‘This insolent Norman flouts you, my lord,’ cried Gerard. ‘I have told him that I obey only one liege lord: my Prince. His answer is that that will not serve. He ignores you, my lord and your authority.’
‘By God’s eyes, ’tis so,’ cried John. ‘We’ll show the knave. I’ll drive him from his office. You will see. I am the King’s brother. I am in fact the rightful King, for you know full well my father wanted me to have this kingdom.’
Gerard was silent. He was with John at the moment but one must be careful not to utter treason. There were too many who could overhear a carelessly spoken word.
‘As your liegeman,’ said Gerard, ‘I maintain that it is only in your courts that I can be tried.’
‘Leave this to me,’ said John. He was excited, seeing here a chance for open conflict with Longchamp. He wanted to think what trouble could grow out of this incident.
He whipped himself up to a fury. It was an indulgence he could never resist. Anger stimulated him. He liked to feel it rising within him to such heights that he had to let it out. Now he felt he could indulge in righteous anger.