Richard I, the Lionheart, died on April 6, 1199. His brother John was in Brittany at the time visiting a possible rival to the crown, the young Duke Arthur, son of Richard and John’s late brother Geoffrey.
John fled the Breton court secretly after a messenger delivered the news. Had the Bretons heard it earlier, we might never have had a King John.
Philip of France immediately claimed Arthur was the rightful heir to the throne and invaded Normandy. Anjou, Maine, and Touraine declared for Arthur.
John had the support of his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, who had been at Richard’s side when he died. She sent word to William Marshal and Walter, Archbishop of Rouen, who secured support for John from his powerful barons. John secured the treasury at Chinon and in Rouen was girded with the sword as Duke of Normandy. In May he crossed the Narrow Sea and headed to London, where, on the 27th day of May 1199 he was crowned King of England at Westminster.
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My novel Swords of the King highlights getting John safely away from Brittany. I adapted those scenes for “A King’s Man No More,” a short story included in the anthology Exile.
2 April 1199
“I know you were to leave for England on the morrow, Robin.” It was well past dusk when Queen Eleanor had summoned me. Fire crackled in the hearth of her solar at Fontevraud Abbey, but cold gripped me. An hour earlier I had learned her son, my liege lord King Richard, lay dying more than one hundred miles away at Chalus-Chabrol.
I had only returned from Paris two days past as her envoy to the French king—but that is a story for another day. I had made that journey in secret many times the last three months, and this was to have been the last.
Eleanor stood dry-eyed, her tears shed before I arrived. Still, I had known her long enough to see pain in her creased brow. Her dark crimson gown was plain and unadorned, more suitable for riding rather than entertaining her usual visitors. She was prepared for the long, hard ride—day and night—to be with Richard.
“I have rarely asked more of any man, but I have one last request.”
I should be home with Marian and our children since Christmas. Three long years. How I miss them…
I held my disappointment and tried to make light of her words. “When is a request from you not an order, madam?”
Eleanor would have teased me with her own rebuke, but not this time. She didn’t smile. “John is at the Breton court.”
My throat tightened, like the queen mother had set a noose round my neck. I expected her to ask me to accompany her to see Richard. I couldn’t speak. But John?
“You must get to him.” Eleanor’s words came haltingly. “Before they learn Richard is not long for this world. You must get John safely away before—”
“Me?” I protested. She had any number of household knights who could see to that task. I’d served in John’s camp as Richard’s spy. Beaten, tossed in the dungeon, nearly died at John’s hands. Richard knew this, Eleanor knew it. How could she ask me to help him now? “John wants my head.”
“And Arthur and his barons will have his head if the Bretons get news of Richard.” She sat by the fire, folding her hands through the fabric of her gown.
With a clenched jaw, I nodded. Many—especially in the Plantagenet continental domains—would rally around twelve-year-old Duke Arthur and support his right to the English throne, including Richard’s long-time adversary, the king of France. Arthur was King Richard’s nephew, Eleanor’s grandson. Lines of succession in England were decided by the wishes of barons and prelates.
If Arthur was crowned to rule England, he would be nothing more than a pawn of the French king. John might be Richard’s brother and a legitimate contender for the crown, but few had fond memories of him. Some might support him. Better the enemy you know rather than the stranger you do not.
Eleanor’s hands shook. “You have infiltrated Paris and more strongholds than I could name. You can get to John unnoticed where no others could.” She looked unapologetically at me. “I trust few men. John will see what faith I place in you. You must get him out of Brittany. For me, Robin. For the crown.”
Charlene Newcomb’s passion for historical fiction and Star Wars led to her writing a bit of both. She has multiple short stories in the Star Wars Adventure Journal, published a space opera Echoes of the Storm, and has written medieval historical fiction short stories and five novels: the Battle Scars trilogy, and Tales of Robin Hood.
Download her free medieval short story, A Boy’s Life – about 9 year old Allan A Dale – and dive into 12th century England.
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