But he was in no mood for sport. He thought of his beautiful jewels somewhere in the quicksands of the Wash. He thought of the French on his soil and his subjects taking up arms against him. And a nagging anger possessed him, a futile anger because he was too weak to give voice to it.
They left the convent and went on to Swineshead. Here they would rest for the night.
He sat at refectory. He ate and drank and tried to regain his youth and spirits. He tried to forget what was happening; he wanted to be young again. The wine numbed his senses, soothed the pains of his body and loosened his tongue.
He talked of the nun he had seen. ‘By God’s ears,’ he said, ‘we’ll ride back that way. I’ll take her … by force if necessary. She had a look in her eyes … perhaps not so prim, eh?’
One of his men whispered to him: ‘I have heard that the nun is the sister of the Abbot here.’
That made him laugh. ‘So much the better. So much the better. Oh, God’s eyes, what is this country coming to? Disloyal subjects. I’ll starve them to death. Perhaps they won’t be so eager to shout for the Frenchman when I have taught them what starvation means. I’ll make food scarce … I’ll burn the granaries. They shall know hunger … and I shall know the Abbot’s sister.’
‘My lord,’ said one of the monks, ‘I believe you have a fondness for peaches.’
‘’Tis so.’
‘We have some choice peaches. Have I your permission to bring you some?’
‘I give that permission,’ cried John.
A little later the monk came with three peaches on a platter. John ate them hungrily. Almost immediately afterwards he was seized with violent pains.
All through the night he suffered and in the morning he set out on his journey, but when he reached the Bishop of Lincoln’s castle at Newark he could go no farther.
‘I think I am dying,’ he said.
The Bishop brought the Abbot of Croxton to him for he was said to be skilled in the art of healing; but there was nothing the Abbot could do.
John lay on his bed thinking of past events and begging the Abbot of Croxton to hear his confession.
Where to begin? There were so many black sins that he had forgotten half of them. Dominating them all was the night in the castle of Rouen when he had killed Arthur and taken his body out, burdened with a stone, that he might sink in the waters of the Seine.
‘Forgiveness, my lord God …’ he murmured.
But he knew he was asking a great deal.
He said: ‘What is that noise?’
‘’Tis the wind, my lord. It is fierce this night.’
People said that the storm that blew on that October night of the year 1216 was that aroused by the gates of Hell opening wide to receive the Prince of Darkness in his true domain.
He died in the early hours of the eighteenth day of that month and as it was his wish that his body should be buried before the altar of St Wulfstan in Worcester Cathedral, it was taken there in a funeral procession protected by the mercenary army he had brought over to fight for him.
Chapter XXI
PEACE
The death of the King had a great impact on feeling throughout the country. No one wished for a foreign ruler. All that had been necessary was to remove the tyrant who was King John. God had done that for them and now the country wanted to be at peace.
Isabella, no longer a prisoner, acted promptly. As soon as she heard that John was dead she determined to have her nine-year-old son Henry crowned immediately. She need not have feared. A party of the King’s supporters and those of the barons came immediately to Winchester. There was no doubt in any minds that Henry must be crowned at once as King of England. The ceremony was performed by the Bishop of Winchester.
Now the whole of England was united to drive out the French. This was speedily achieved and England was at peace – the tyrant dead and a young king on the throne with ministers to guide him.
Isabella, with amazing energy at thirty-four years of age, was still possessed of great beauty, and although the mother of five children, she had lost none of her appeal.
She decided to cross the sea, taking with her her daughter Joanna, who was betrothed to Hugh de Lusignan, so that the custom of bringing up a child in the household of her betrothed might be carried out.
The outcome astonished most people, but perhaps not Isabella, for no sooner had Hugh set eyes on her than he knew it was the mother he wished to marry, not her daughter.
So they were married and Isabella bore him many children while she continued with her tempestuous life.
Meanwhile, her son Henry III sat on the throne of England and the royal line which had begun with the Conqueror continued.