The Accusation
King John murdered his nephew at night, unseen, as he supposed, by any
human eye, and yet he was at once harassed by constant fear. He did not
draw an easy breath until he landed upon the English coast and stood
upon soil which had not been stained by his bloody deed. Almost as soon
as the King’s vessel arrived, rumor was busy, however, and hinted of the
crime John had committed. Although the people submissively obeyed him,
they looked upon him with suspicion, and at last accusations were made
openly.
When John assembled the lords and peers for the first time, the
venerable Pembroke, their mouth-piece, asked the King this question:
“Where is Arthur, son of Geoffrey, the noble scion of the Plantagenets?”
The cowardly and conscience-stricken King sought to evade a reply, but
he was besieged with a storm of demands and accusations, and Pembroke
reproached both himself and his friends because they had left Arthur in
the cruel hands of his uncle.
The King at last answered in a rage: “The peers must first prove the act
before they condemn me.” An instant’s silence ensued, for they could not
provide the proofs; and John looked with insolent scorn at the
embarrassed nobles. But before the King could follow up his opportunity,
a herald entered the hall, announcing that an unknown knight, attended
by squires and heralds, had brought a message for the King from Philip
Augustus of France. It was an unfortunate time to receive the
commission, but he did not dare to refuse audience to Philip’s
ambassador.
Preceded by a herald carrying a roll of parchment in his hand, with the
royal seal appended, a knight in full black armor entered the hall. John
was greatly agitated as he saw him approaching, and was still more
alarmed when the knight raised his visor and displayed the stern
features of a youthful face. It seemed to him for an instant that Arthur
stood there to accuse him.
The stranger bowed haughtily to the King, and with exceeding courtesy to
the nobles, and then spoke: “In the name and by the authority of King
Philip of France I summon you, John Plantagenet of Anjou, before the
tribunal of your sovereign lord at Paris, to answer for the murder of
your nephew, Duke Arthur of Brittany.”
John stamped his foot with rage. “This is most presumptuous,” he roared.
“It will be time for Philip to sit in judgment on me when he has found
some one to accuse me.”
“Here I stand, Knight Alan of Mordant, from Brittany, as your accuser,”
said Alan. “I saw you commit the murder, and am ready to prove all the
circumstances. Do you doubt my testimony?” he asked, as he saw John make
a gesture of contempt. “Well then, behold this dagger.” Alan drew the
weapon from his cloak and held it toward the King. “Do you recognize
your name and arms on the blade? It may well be rusty, for it has not
only lain in the waters of the Seine three days, but also has been
bathed in Arthur’s blood. Do you deny it, King John? Do you shake your
fist at me? If so, I will maintain the truth of my accusation by my
knightly honor, and here I cast my glove into the circle of these noble
knights. I summon him to mortal combat who will deny my accusation.”
Alan threw down his glove and replaced the dagger in his cloak. The King
looked around the circle of his gallant knights almost supplicatingly,
but he saw only gloomy and lowering faces, and no one moved to take the
glove from the floor. There was universal silence until the King
summoned the herald, who took the glove into his keeping.
Notwithstanding his discomfiture, John craftily made a bold move to stem
the tide of his fast failing cause. Turning to Alan, he said, “If we, as
is likely, shall refuse to recognize the summons of Philip of France,
what then?”
“In that case,” said Alan, “King Philip will declare you, John of
England, dispossessed of all your property and fiefs on French soil, and
will immediately appropriate them.”
“Let him attempt it!” shouted John in thundering tones. “Hear you, my
lords and knights! Philip may execute this summons, but he will not
strike me. He will strike at England and England’s greatness. It is
Philip’s purpose to wrest from us the country which is the birthplace of
our ancestors, the land whence sprang our knighthood, majestic Normandy,
beautiful Anjou and Maine. That is the explanation of all his virtuous
anger over the death of the boy Arthur. What is that boy’s life, what is
my own life, provided England’s greatness remain unimpaired? Which one
of you, my knights, will hesitate when he is called upon to fight for
English honor and English possessions?”
John looked around the assembly confident of victory, took the summons,
tore it in two, and threw the pieces on the floor. “There is the answer
you shall take to Philip of France, Knight Mordant, and you may leave
England in three days. For that length of time you have the privileges
of an ambassador.”
With a firm step John left the hall, and the nobles followed him with
unsettled convictions.