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?”
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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.
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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.”
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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.”
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“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.
