this treasure had been deposited. On the fourth day of the siege, as he was riding round the place to observe where the assault might be given with the fairest success, he was aimed at by one Bertram de Gourdon, an archer, from the castle, and pierced in the shoulder with an arrow. The wound was not in itself dangerous; but an unskilful surgeon endeavouring to disengage the arrow from the flesh, so rankled the wound that it mortified and brought on fatal symptoms. Richard, when he found his end approaching, made a will, in which he bequeathed the kingdom, with all his treasure, to his brother John, except a fourth part, which he distributed among his servants. He ordered also that the archer who had shot him should be brought into his presence, and demanded "what injury he had done him that he should take away his life?" The prisoner answered with deliberate intrepidity: "You killed with your own hands my father, and my two brothers; and you intended to have hanged me. am now in your power, and my torments may give you revenge; but I will endure them with pleasure, since it is my consolation that I have rid the world of a tyrant. Richard, struck with thi answer, ordered the soldier to be presented with one hundred shillings, and set at liberty; but Marcadé, the general who commanded under him, like a true ruffian, ordered him to be flayed alive, and then hanged. Richard died in the tenth year of his reign, and the forty-second of his age, leaving only one natural son, called Philip.

I

Richard had all the qualities that could gain the admiration and love of a barbarous age, and few of those that could ensure the approbation of his more refined posterity. He was open, magnanimous, generous, and brave, to a degree of romantic ex

cess.

But then he was cruel, proud, and resentful. He valued neither the blood nor the treasure of his subjects; and he enfeebled his states by useless expeditions, and wars calculated rather to promote his own revenge than their interests. During this reign, the inferior orders of the people seemed to increase in power, and to show a degree of independent obstinacy. Formerly, they were led on to acts of treason by their barons; they were now found to aim at vindicating their rights under a leader of their own rank and denomination. The populace of London placed at their head one William Fitz-Osbert, commonly called Longbeard, who had been bred to the law; but who, more fond of popularity than business, renounced his profession, and espoused the cause of the poor with uncommon enthusiasm. He styled himself the saviour of the poor; and, upon a certain occasion, even went over to Normandy, where he represented to the king that the poor citizens were oppressed by an unequal assessment of taxes, and obtained a mitigation. His fame for this became so great among the lower orders of his fellow citizens, that above fifty thousand of them entered into an engagement to defend and to obey him. Murders were in consequence daily committed in the streets; but whether by Longbeard's order, is uncertain. The jus

ticiary (for the king was then absent) summoned him before the council to answer for his conduct: but he came with such a formidable train, that none were found hardy enough to accuse him. However, he was pursued some time after by a detachment of officers of justice; but killing one of them, he escaped with his concubine to the church. of St. Mary Le Bow, where he defended himself with determined resolution. There he was supplied with arms and provisions, and expected to be joined by the populace; but being deceived in his expectations, he was at last forced from his retreat by the smoke of wet straw kindled for the purpose at the door. He was then taken, tried, and cor victed; and being drawn at a horse's tail through the streets of London, he was hung in chains, with eight of his accomplices. The lower class of people, when he was dead, began to revere a man that they had not spirit to relieve.

They stole his giblike that offered to

bet, and paid it a veneration the wood of the cross. The turf on which it stood was carried away, and kept as a preservative from sickness and misfortune; and had not the clergy withstood the torrent of popular superstition, his memory might have probably received honours similar to those paid at the shrine of St. Thomas of Canterbury.

CHAP. XI.

JOHN.

WERE the claims of princes settled on the same principles that govern the lower orders of mankind, John had nothing to fear from a disputed succession. The king of France, who was the only monarch that could assist the pretensions of a rival, had long declared for John's title; and, during the life of his brother, had given him the most convincing proofs of sincerity in his assistance. But it was otherwise now that Richard was no more. Philip began to show that his former alliances and friendships were calculated not to serve John, but 'to distress England; not to distribute justice, but to increase his own power. There was an old claimant of the crown, whom indeed Richard, upon his taking the cross, declared heir to the throne; but who was afterwards set aside, at the instance of the dowager-queen. This was Arthur, the son of his late brother Geoffrey, a youth who, though then "but twelve years of age, promised to be deserving of the kingdom. Philip, who only desired an occasion to embarrass John, soon resolved to second this young claimant's pretensions; and several of the continental barons immediately declared in favour of Arthur's succession.

John, who was readily put in possession of the English throne, lost no time to second his interest

on the continent; and his first care was to recover the revolted provinces from young Arthur, his nephew. The war, therefore, between the English and French king was renewed with all its former animosity, and all its usual detail of petty victories and indecisive engagements. At length a [1200] treaty put an end to those conquests that only served to thin mankind; and it was hastened by a circumstance peculiarly favourable. John's nephew Arthur, together with Constantia, his mother, distrusting the designs of the king of France, who only intended to betray them, came to throw themselves on his mercy, and restored the provinces which still continued in their interest. Thus this monarch, after a short contest, saw himself undisputed monarch of all the dominions which were annexed to the English throne. But he was ill able to preserve that power by his prudence, which was thus easily obtained by the mutual jealousies of his enemies. His first transgression was his marriage with Isabella, daughter of the countof Angouleme, while the queen was yet alive; and, what still increased the offence, while Isabella probably belonged to another husband, the count de la Marche, who ardently loved her. This produced an insurrection against him; to repress which he was obliged to have recourse to his English subjects for assistance, by whose means the confederacy was soon broken; and John found, by his present success, that he might in future commit violences with impunity.

[1201.]

As the method of deciding all disputes by duel