The Imprisonment
Several days had passed since Arthur entered the tower of Mirabeau,
where by Salisbury’s orders a large and well-furnished room was provided
for him. He not only had all the necessities for comfort, but much
personal pleasure, for famous English visitors to Mirabeau were
permitted to call upon him. Whenever he appeared upon the walls in the
company of an attendant, the soldiers of the garrison hastened to see
him. He greeted them in such a cordial yet dignified manner that many a
hearty benediction was uttered by them.
Salisbury himself visited him almost daily, and manifested the utmost
concern for the welfare of his famous cousin. Upon such occasions Arthur
frequently spoke of England and indulged in fancies of what he would do
if he were King.
“Silence,” said Salisbury, with a smile. “I must not listen. You are
talking high treason.”
At the very outset of his imprisonment Arthur had longed for an
interview with his grandmother, Queen Eleanor. She declined seeing him,
however, until she had ascertained John’s intentions. But just at this
time she had a letter from her son, in which he wrote: “I shall be with
you in a few days. Having performed all your duties to the Prince
hitherto, see to it in some way that he is harmless in the future.”
The Queen clearly understood the double meaning of his words and
considered the best means for carrying out his wishes. One day she
abruptly said to Salisbury, “Bring your prisoner to me in the morning.”
As he hesitated about replying, she added in the most insolent manner,
“I hear continually about your intercourse with the Duke, and it does
not please me, my lord.”
“By my long sword,” replied Salisbury impetuously, “I would rather be
the object of your suspicion than have you cause the Prince to suffer.”
“Is he really as captivating as that?” said Eleanor, changing her tone.
“I notice the people take no pains to conceal their admiration of his
fine face and knightly bearing.”
“He is—and you may as well know it,” replied Salisbury—“he is a
Plantagenet from head to foot; and those who doubt it, or seek to make
others doubt it, have malicious designs.”
“When we have recognized him as a Plantagenet and our grandson, it will
be time to award him his proper rank. We will see him in the morning.”
Salisbury looked sharply at the Queen, as if to discover her purpose,
but one of his honest, straightforward nature could not read this crafty
woman. He determined, however, to watch over Arthur with increased
vigilance, for—and the reason he could hardly explain himself—the youth
had won his love and devotion.
While Arthur was attending mass the next morning with Salisbury, the
Queen was arranging for the interview with the son of the hated
Constance in her apartment. Two soldiers of the royal bodyguard
submissively received her orders. As she sat at a table covered with
papers and writing materials she heard the gong strike the hour which
marked the close of the morning service.
“Step behind those doors,” she said to the soldiers, “and await this
signal. As soon as you hear me strike that metal cup with this silver
key, enter, overpower and bind the prisoner, then do what I shall order.
But hold! Before you go, make a hotter fire in that brazier so that the
irons may be heated—now, go.”
The guard disappeared behind the door, and Eleanor, gazing fixedly at
the irons in the coals, said to herself: “‘Let him be made harmless in
the future,’ John says; well, a blind man is harmless enough. He will
not fascinate people when he has lost his sight. A blind king never can
rule over England.”
Steps were heard in the passage leading to the apartment, and as the
Queen turned her head, she saw Arthur and Salisbury entering. Arthur
stopped a moment, awaiting a greeting from the Queen, who sat in
silence. As he approached her and she observed his noble figure and
beautiful face, she suddenly rose and put out her hands as if to keep
him off.
“Will you send me away? Will you not speak to your grandson?” said
Arthur reproachfully.
“My grandson!” said Eleanor, with her eyes bent upon him. “No—my
son—Geoffrey.”
“Yes,” said Salisbury, “one might fancy Geoffrey had come back to life.”
“Oh! that it were so, if it would only give me his mother’s love!”
exclaimed Arthur, kneeling and taking the Queen’s hand.
“Do not recall him,” replied Eleanor passionately. “Geoffrey scorned his
mother’s love. I loved him better than any of my sons, and he gave his
heart to Constance of Brittany, whom I detest.”
“You speak of my mother,” quickly replied Arthur. “Oh, she is good and
noble. What has she done that you should hate her so?”
“What has she done?” replied Eleanor. “She alienated my son from me. He
no longer loved me. He no longer listened to my advice. He was
disloyal.”
“Was your advice always sound?” asked Salisbury, with great earnestness.
“Be fair, Queen. Remember, it was your advice that led Geoffrey into
rebellion against his king and father.”
“No more of that, Salisbury,” interposed Eleanor.
“No,” resumed Arthur. “Let bygones be bygones. Be reconciled to my
mother. I will love you both, if you will only permit it, grandmother.”
There was deep emotion in his supplicating tone and looks, and Eleanor
was touched by it. She stood for a moment reflecting; then, turning to
Salisbury, she said, “Leave us.”
Salisbury withdrew slowly and reluctantly, but ready to return at the
first summons. Eleanor looked earnestly at the Duke as she said:
“Listen, Arthur. I am old, but I am still capable of love and of hatred.
I could love you, image of my favorite son, and so exalt you that you
would never need again to wear Philip’s armor. If I so wish, John will
choose you as his successor, and will so engage upon his kingly honor.
John must obey my wishes and the consent of all England will follow. I
can give you the crown. I now proffer it to you, but upon one
condition.”
“And what is that?” asked Arthur with trembling voice.
“You must accompany me to England and cut loose from all you leave in
France. The Pope will dissolve your union with the Princess Marie. You
must declare war against Philip Augustus.”
“And my mother?”
“You must leave her to her fate.”
“Never!” cried Arthur. “Oh, you are heartless, grandmother. If I thought
my heart was capable of such wickedness, I would tear it out of my
breast.”
“Once more I leave you free to make a decision. Choose,” said Eleanor.
“I never will choose disgrace!” exclaimed Arthur.
Eleanor stepped to the table and took the silver key from the metal cup.
As she raised her hand to strike, her gaze fell upon Arthur’s eyes,
which were glistening as if he were inspired. “No,” she muttered, “I
cannot do it. They are Geoffrey’s eyes.” The key fell upon the soft
carpet from her helpless hand. “Leave me,” she said. “Let us never see
each other again in this life.” She placed her hands upon Arthur’s
shoulders and looked at him long and earnestly. Then she sadly withdrew
them and turned away. Arthur hurried from the apartment and met
Salisbury, who had been waiting for him at the threshold. When Eleanor
found she was alone, she stamped her foot and summoned the guards. “Take
that away,” she said, pointing to the brazier; “the fire is dead.”
During Arthur’s visit to the Queen, reports of the interview and of
Eleanor’s evil designs against her grandson spread through the city.
There was great excitement, and open threats were made against her. As
Arthur mounted the stairs with Salisbury he was greeted with loud
applause by soldiers and knights in the castle yard. “Here he is,”
shouted those nearest him. “He lives,” said others, and suddenly all
joined in the enthusiastic cry, “Long live Arthur Plantagenet!” The
Duke, overcome with surprise, waved his hand and thanked them. Then he
followed Salisbury, who made a passage for him through the crowd with
some difficulty. The shouts were audible in the apartment of the Queen,
where, concealed behind a curtain, she was watching the throng below.
The dangerous excitement hastened her decision to deliver Arthur to the
King. She might possibly have changed her intentions had not John
entered Mirabeau that same evening with his army. As soon as he was
alone with his mother, he inquired about Arthur, and broke into a fury
of passion when he found that nothing had happened to the prisoner. His
rage increased when he learned of the favorable impression his nephew
had made upon the English troops and that Eleanor herself had shown a
disposition to sympathize with him. “How is it,” he cried, “that I find
you negotiating with Arthur, especially when unexpected events have
thrown him into my power? Are you helping him, mother? Go, go! You have
grown old and weak. I care nothing for his adherence to my cause or for
Philip’s assistance. Possession and right are on my side.”
“The right!” replied Eleanor. “Ask your conscience in what manner King
Henry’s will gave you that right.”
“Silence,” said John. “I know that I am indebted to your cunning; but
still you must remain loyal to me.”
“I know that,” replied Eleanor, “but listen to my advice.”
“Enough for the present,” said John. “We will think about the matter
to-morrow morning, mother.”
Arthur had passed the day alone, as neither Salisbury nor any of the
knights had been to see him. About dark the watch, who came every
evening to see that all was well, entered his room. Contrary to his
usual custom he greeted Arthur curtly and was about to retire. Thereupon
Arthur said to him, “How is it, Captain Norbert, that you have nothing
to tell me to-day? You usually bring me some news.”
“News is not always good news, gracious Prince,” replied the captain
significantly.
“Do you mean not good for me? What is it? Explain,” said Arthur.
The captain approached nearer and said in a low voice, “King John, your
uncle, has arrived,” upon which he left so suddenly that Arthur could
not question him further.
The intelligence weighed heavily upon him. Up to this time he had
supposed that imprisonment, longer or shorter, would be the worst that
could happen to him, but now he felt a misgiving that John would make a
final decision as to his fate, and the hopelessness of the situation
depressed his usually cheerful nature. With ardent longing he yearned to
see his mother, Marie, and Alan; at last, overcome with sorrow, he wept
bitter tears.