He could not evade the meeting entirely and promised to be at the Lodden Bridge the following day. Just as he was about to depart one of his servants came hurrying to him with the news that his enemies were marching on London where they intended to take possession of the Tower. So instead of going to Lodden Bridge, surrounded by his troops, he set out for London. On the road he encountered the soldiers of his enemies and there was a clash but Longchamp and his men managed to fight their way through and proceeded with all speed to London.

They reached the Tower and shut themselves in. He was, after all, Longchamp reminded those about him, custodian of the Tower of London in the King’s name.

For three days he remained in the Tower but could hold out no longer.

His enemies then forced him to give up the keys not only of the Tower but of Windsor Castle. There was no help for it; one false step now could cost him his life. He must get out of England, back to Normandy and there begin to reform his life. He was not to leave England was the order, until the castles had changed hands, but he was determined to get away.

The best method seemed to be to disguise himself as a woman; and this he did. A woman pedlar would attract little attention and the fact that she had goods to sell would be a reason for her travelling.

He set out with two of his faithful servants and counted himself fortunate to reach Dover without mishap. Afraid to go near any town or hamlet they slept under trees and by great good fortune when they reached Dover they found that a ship would shortly be sailing for France.

Longchamp, burying his face in his cape and cowering beneath the skirts and petticoats was congratulating himself that he would soon be able to discard them when a group of fishermen came by.

One among them cried: ‘But see what a fair wench this is! What is she doing sitting here alone? I would fain share her company.’

‘You will go away,’ said Longchamp in a muffled voice.

The fisherman nudged one of his companions. ‘What airs she gives herself, this saucy wench, and what sort of wench is she that travels the country so . . . selling her wares? What wares? Tell me that, wench. Pray don’t play the coy virgin with me for I’ll have none of it.’ He seized the hood and tried to pull it off. Longchamp clung to it in terror. But they were too many for him, for the three companions of the fisherman had joined with him. ‘Such a coy creature must be immediately relieved of her coyness.’ They would every one of them be her tutors.

They were tearing at his clothes. Any moment now and he would be revealed. He could have wept with dismay. Desperately he fought back, but they were too much for him.

‘Why ’tis no maiden then!’ cried the first fisherman. ‘Look you here, what we have. A man . . . in disguise!’

They had made such a noise that others had gathered to look and one of them cried: ‘I know that face. It cannot be!’

‘He has the look of a monkey.’

‘’Tis Longchamp the Norman.’

So the secret was out.

They set three men to guard him while someone went to the castle.

Within an hour he was taken there, a prisoner.

When John heard the story of the amorous fishermen he roared with laughter.

Poor Longchamp! In danger of being raped. And to have got so far and then to be discovered . . . and by a fisherman!

It was the height of indignity. He could picture the ungainly little man.

‘His just deserts,’ he declared. ‘Let him go to France. We have no further use for him here.’

And so at the end of October of that year 1191 Longchamp left England for France.

THE RETURN OF ELEANOR

Meanwhile Philip had returned to France. He had done the wise thing in coming back, he was well aware, but it was necessary to justify himself and he lost no time in doing so.

He smiled cynically as he ruminated on the new state of affairs. How fickle were human relationships, particularly it seemed such as those which had existed between himself and Richard! He had loved Richard passionately when they were young and Richard had been his hostage; now all sorts of emotions had mingled to change that love into hatred. His feeling for Richard was as strong as it had ever been and always would be. Richard obsessed him. He kept going over in his mind how Richard had allied himself with Tancred. How he had been bemused – as Philip expressed it – by Saladin. Wherever Richard was there was drama and excitement and when he was absent life became less colourful. There was an aura about the King of England which attracted not only the King of France but everyone who came into contact with him. It seemed one must either hate him or love him.

How could the King of France love the King of England? It had been different when Richard had been a Prince; they had not met on the same footing then and Philip, less handsome, less spectacular had been in the superior position. Now they were equals in power.

Philip had realised the state of his feelings when he had had an audience with the Pope on his way home. He had had to make excuses for his defection and he had been surprised by the vituperative storms of abuse which flowed from him.

Pope Celestine had been somewhat taken aback.

‘Holy Father,’ Philip had said, ‘it was imperative that I return. If I had not I should have died. I was so beset by fever that my hair fell out and my nails flaked off. I was delirious and a burden to my men. I could not lead them.’

‘I believe, my son,’ the Pope had replied, ‘that the King of England was similarly afflicted.’

‘His was a recurrent fever. It comes and passes. It was different with him.’

‘And you wished to return to the comforts of your court?’

‘I had my duties to my crown. My son is but a child. There could have been civil war in France had I died.’

‘The King of England is without an heir.’

This harping on the King of England had maddened Philip. Wherever he went there was no escape from Richard. Was he going to be haunted by him for the rest of his days?

He had cried out: ‘It is partly because of Richard that I found it necessary to go. His arrogance was causing strife throughout the armies. Leopold of Austria will bear me out and so will the Duke of Burgundy. Even the men were disgusted by his recklessness and extravagance. His severity to the men was without parallel.’

Philip had stopped suddenly. Celestine was looking at him with astonishment. Philip muttered: ‘I had to return because I have sworn an oath to protect my kingdom.’

‘Let us not forget,’ replied the Pope, ‘that this recklessness of the King of England may have been one of the reasons why Acre is now in the hands of the Christians and that we are a step nearer towards the Holy City.’

Philip bowed his head. He was glad when the audience was over. He knew he had not made a very good impression on the Pope. Richard seemed to cast his spell over everyone.

And he had returned home, brooding.

There was no need to justify his return in France. His ministers made it clear that he had acted wisely in coming back; and as some of them pointed out it was not a bad thing for the King of France to be in his dominions when the King of England was far from his.

He was warmly welcomed in Paris. Not that he had come back covered in glory. It would have been wonderful if he could have returned as the man who had brought Jerusalem back to Christians. Instead of that he must be content with the conquest of Acre, which he had achieved with Richard, who was certain to get the greater share of the glory.