ricious. A zealous preacher was so far emboldened as to remonstrate against the king's conduct; and advised him to part with his three daughters, which were Pride, Avarice, and Sensuality. To this Richard readily replied, "You counsel right, my friend; and I have already provided husbands for them all. I will dispose of my Pride to the Templars; my Avarice to the Monks; and as for my Sensuality, the Clergy shall share that among them." At length, having procured a sufficient supply for his undertaking, and sold his superiority over the kingdom of Scotland, which had been acquired in the last reign, for a moderate sum, he set out for the Holy Land, whither he was impelled by repeated messages from the king of France, who was ready to embark in the same enterprise.

1190.

The first place of rendezvous, for the troops of England and France, was the plain Vezelay, on the borders of Burgundy, where when Richard and Philip arrived, they found their armies A. D. amounted to a hundred thousand fighting men. These were all ardent in the cause; the flower of all the military in both dominions, and provided with all the implements and accoutrements of war. Here the French prince and the English entered into the most solemn engagements of mutual support; and having determined to conduct their armies to the Holy Land by sea, they parted, one for Genoa, the other for Marseilles, with a view of meeting the fleets that were to attend them at their respective stations. It was not long after that both fleets put to sea; and nearly about the same time were obliged, by stress of weather, to take shelter in Messina, the capital of Sicily, where they were detained during the whole winter. Richard took up his quarters in the suburbs, and possessed himself of a small fort, which commanded the harbour. Philip quartered his troops in the town, and lived upon good terms with the Sicilian king.

It is now unknown what gave rise to a quarrel, which happened soon after, between the Sicilians and the English; it is doubtful whether the intrigues of the French king, or the violent proceedings of Richard. Certain it is, that the Messinese soon took occasion to treat the English with great insolence; shut their gates, manned their walls, and set Richard at defiance. Richard, who had hitherto acted as a friend, endeavoured to use the mediation of Philip to compromise this quarrel; but, while the two monarchs were yet in deliberation, a body of Sicilians issued from the town, and attacked the English with great impetuosity. This insult was sufficient to excite the fury of Richard, who, naturally bold, and conscious of his own superior force, assaulted the city with such fury, that it was soon taken, and the standard of England displayed on the ramparts. Philip, who considered the place as his quarters, exclaimed against the insult, and ordered some of his troops to pull down that mark of his disgrace. To this, however, Richard returned for answer, that he was willing to take down the standard, since it displeased his associate; but that no power on earth should compel him to do

so. This was sufficient to produce a mutual jealousy between these two princes, which never after subsided; but which was still more inflamed by the opposition of their tempers.

Many were the mistrusts and the reconciliations between these monarchs, which were very probably inflamed by the Sicilian king's endeavours. At length, however, having settled all controversies, they set sail for the Holy Land, where the French arrived A. D. long before the English. The little knowledge that was 1191. then had of the art of sailing, made that passage by sea very

long and dangerous, which is now considered as so trifling. Richard's fleet was once more encountered by a tempest, and two of the ships were driven upon the coasts of the island of Cyprus. Isaac, who was then prince of that country, either impelled by avarice, or willing to discourage the rest of Richard's fleet from landing, pillaged the ships that were stranded, and threw the seamen and soldiers into prison. But Richard, who soon after arrived, took ample vengeance for that injury. He disembarked his troops, defeated the tyrant, entered the capital by storm, obliged Isaac to surrender at discretion, and took the island into his own possession. It was there that Richard married Berengaria, daughter to the king of Navarre, who had attended him in his expedition; and whom he had preferred to Adelais, Philip's sister, whose charms were not so powerful, or whose fidelity was more suspected.

Upon the arrival of the English army in Palestine, fortune was seen to declare more openly in favour of the common cause. The French and English princes seemed to forget their secret jealousies, and act in concert. In besieging the city of Acre, while one made the attack, the other guarded the trenches; and this duty they performed each day alternately. By this conduct, that garrison, after a long and obstinate resistance, was obliged to capitulate; and, upon condition of having their lives spared, they promised to restore the Christian prisoners, and to deliver up the wood of the true cross. Such were the amazing advantages of an enterprise that had laid Asia in blood, and had, in a great measure, depopulated Europe of its bravest forces!

Immediately after the conquest of this place, Philip, either disgusted at the ascendant assumed by Richard, or displeased at his superior popularity, declared his resolution of returning to France. He pleaded the bad state of his health in excuse for his desertion; and, to give a colour to his friendly professions, he left Richard ten thousand of his troops, under the command of the duke of Burgundy. Richard being now left sole conductor of the war, went on from victory to victory. The Christian adventurers under his command, determined to besiege the renowned city of Ascalon, in order to prepare the way for attacking Jerusalem with greater advantage. Saladin, the most renowned of all the Saracen monarchs, resolved to dispute their march, and placed himself upon the road with an army of two hundred thousand men. This was a day equal to Richard's wishes; this an enemy worthy his highest ambition. The

English were victorious. Richard, when the wings of his army were defeated, led on the main body in person, and restored the battle. The Saracens fled in the utmost confusion; and no less than thirty thousand of their number perished in the field of battle. Ascalon soon surrendered after this victory; other cities of less note followed the example; and Richard was at last able to adA. D. vance within sight of Jerusalem, the object of his long and 1192. ardent expectations. But, just at this glorious juncture, his ambition was to suffer a total overthrow: upon reviewing his forces, and considering his abilities to prosecute the siege, he found that his army was so wasted with famine, fatigue, and even with victory, that they were neither able nor willing to second the views of their commander. It appeared, therefore, absolutely necessary to come to an accommodation with Saladin; and a truce for three years was accordingly concluded, in which it was agreed, that the sea-port towns of Palestine should remain in the hands of the Christians, and that all of that religion should be permitted to make their pilgrimage to Jerusalem in perfect security.

Richard, having thus concluded his expedition, with more glory than advantage, began to think of returning home, and of enjoying in tranquillity those honours which he had reaped with so much danger. But he was at a loss how to proceed. If he should take shipping, and return by the way he came, he must necessarily put himself into the power of the king of France, from whose resentment he had every thing to fear. No way was left but by going more to the north. He therefore sailed up the Adriatic; and, being wrecked near Aquileia, assumed the disguise of a pilgrim, with the hope of making his way, in that private manner, through Germany. Unfortunately his intentions and person were not so concealed, but that his quality was suspected; and the governor of Istria pursued him, in order to make him a prisoner. Being thus forced from the direct road, and now become a fugitive, he was obliged to pass by Vienna, where his expenses and liberalities betraying his dignity, though disguised in the habit of a pilgrim, he was arrested by Leopold, duke of Austria, who commanded him to be imprisoned and loaded with shackles, to the disgrace of honour and humanity. This prince had served under Richard at the siege of Acre; and being disgusted at some affront offered him by his commander on that occasion, he took this base method of retaliating the injury. His avarice, also, might have had a share in this procedure, as he expected a large share of that ransom which he knew would be given by the English to extricate their king from bondage. Henry the Sixth, who was then emperor of Germany, was equally an enemy to Richard, on account of the alliance contracted between him and Tancred king of Sicily. When, therefore, he received the news of Richard's being in custody, he required the prisoner to be delivered up to him, and ordered a large sum of money to the duke as a reward for this service. Thus the king of England, who had long filled the world with his fame, was basely thrown into a dungeon, and loaded

with irons, by those who expected to reap a sordid advantage from his misfortunes. It was a long time before his subjects in England knew what was become of their warlike monarch. So little intercourse was there between different nations at that time, that this discovery is said by some to have been made by a poor French minstrel, who, playing upon his harp (near the fortress in which Richard was confined) a tune which he knew that unhappy monarch was fond of, was answered from within by the king, who with his harp played the same tune; and this discovered the place of his confinement.

In the meantime, while Richard was thus fruitlessly victorious, and afterwards miserably confined, his affairs in England were in a very unprosperous situation. The kingdom was put under the government of two persons, one of whom had bought his place, and the other had risen to it by the meanest arts of adulation. The bishop of Durham was ignorant and avaricious; his colleague, Longchamp, who was chancellor of the realm, was naturally proud, and still more elated by the consciousness of possessing his master's favour. Tempers so opposite soon begot enmity; and Longchamp went even so far as to arrest the person of his associate, who was obliged to resign his power to obtain his liberty. It was to no purpose that the king, by his letters, commanded Longchamp to replace his coadjutor; this haughty prelate refused to obey, alleging that he knew the king's secret intentions better than to comply. He proceeded, therefore, still to govern the kingdom alone; and as he knew his situation was precarious, he increased the number of his guard, without which he never ventured from his palace. In the universal disgust which so much power and magnificence naturally produced against him, there was no person in the kingdom hardy enough to control his will, except John, the king's brother, who, having been personally disobliged by this prelate, was willing to seize the present favourable occasion of universal discontent, to oppose himself to his power. He accordingly ventured to summon, at Reading, a general council of the nobility and prelates; and cited Longchamp to appear before them. The chancellor, sensible of his own insolence and their enmity, was unwilling to trust himself in their power, but shut himself up in the Tower of London. Thence he fled, in the disguise of a female habit, beyond sea; upon which the archbishop of Rouen was made justiciary in his room. These dissensions were soon known by the king of France, who had by this time returned from the Holy Land. He made all possible use of Longchamp's resentment, to divide the English still more effectually; and almost prevailed upon John to throw off his allegiance, by an offer of putting him in possession of all Richard's continental dominions.

It was in this precarious situation of affairs that the English were first informed of the captivity of their beloved monarch, and the base treatment he had received, without even the colour of justice to gloss over the injury. The queen-dowager was particularly enraged at the treatment of her favourite son. reiterated letters to pope Celestine, to excite his compas- A. D. sion or his indignation, but all to very little purpose. The 1193.

She wrote

people testified their regard for him with all the marks of violence and despair. The clergy considered him as a sufferer in the cause of the church; and all mouths were filled with the nobleness of his actions and the greatness of his fall. But while these testified the sincerity of their sorrow, there were some that secretly rejoiced in his disaster, and did all they could to prolong the term of his captivity. In this number, besides the king of France, his ancient enemy, was his own brother John; who, forgetting every tie of kindred, duty, or gratitude, on the first invitation from Philip, suddenly went abroad, and held a conference with him, in which the perpetual captivity of Richard was agreed upon. He stipulated to deliver into Philip's hand a great part of Normandy; and, in return, he received the French king's assurances of being secured on the English throne; and some say that he did homage for the crown of England. In consequence of this treaty, Philip invaded Normandy, the fortresses of which were delivered up to him after a colour of opposition; and all but Rouen were subjected to his authority. John, on his side, was equally assiduous to secure England; and upon his arrival in London, claimed the throne, as being heir to his brother, of whose death he pretended to have received certain intelligence. But in this the traitor's expectations were disappointed. His claim was rejected by all the barons, who took such measures to provide for the security of the kingdom, that John was obliged to return to the continent, and openly to acknowledge his alliance with the king of France.

In the meantime, the unhappy Richard suffered all the mortifications that malicious tyranny could inflict. The emperor, in order to render him more impatient for the recovery of his liberty, and make him submit to the payment of a larger ransom, treated him with the greatest severity, and reduced him to a condition worse than that of the meanest malefactor. Richard, however, was too noble-spirited to be meanly depressed by those indignities. As he did not know what extremities he might be reduced to, or what condescensions he might be obliged to make, he wrote to the justiciary of England to obey no orders that should come from him, if they seemed in the least contrary to his honour or the good of the nation. His precautions were well founded; for the emperor, willing to intimidate him, charged him at the diet of Worms with many crimes and misdemeanors, partly to justify his own cruelty, and partly to swell the ransom. There he was accused of making an alliance with Tancred, the usurper of Sicily; of turning the arms of the crusade against a Christian prince; of affronting the duke of Austria before Acre; of obstructing the progress of the Christian arms, by his contests with the king of France; of concluding a truce with Saladin, and leaving Jerusalem in the hands of the infidels. These frivolous charges were heard by Richard with becoming indignation. He even waived his dignity to answer them; and so fully vindicated himself before the princes who composed the diet, that they exclaimed loudly against the conduct of the emperor, while the