Into the abbey he walked, through the nave to the high altar, where Baldwin was waiting for him.

They looked into each other’s eyes – the King arrogant, reminding the Archbishop that he was the master. The Archbishop like all of his kind, as Richard thought, striving to place the Church over the State. He should remember what happened to Thomas à Becket. An uneasy thought, for his father had not come too gracefully out of that affair; but it was Becket who had lost his life, though he had become a saint in doing it. Baldwin was certainly incensed because of John’s marriage, but he would have to keep quiet about that today.

On the altar most of the abbey relics had been laid – the holy bones of saints, the phials containing what purported to be their blood; and on these Richard swore that he would honour God and the Holy Church, and that he would be just to his people and that he would abolish all evil laws.

His attendants stepped forward to strip him of all his garments except his shirt and hose. He was then anointed with the consecrated oil on his head, arms and breast while Baldwin told him of the significance of this and that the application of the oil to these parts of his body implied that he was being endowed with glory, knowledge and fortitude. His tunic and dalmatic were then put on him by the waiting barons and the sword of justice handed to him. Golden spurs were tied to his heels and the royal mantle placed about his shoulders.

Baldwin then asked him if he were indeed prepared to honour the oath he had just taken and, on Richard’s assuring him that he was, the barons took the crown from the altar and gave it to the Archbishop who placed it on Richard’s head; the sceptre was put in the King’s right hand and the rod in the left.

After High Mass the procession back to the palace began and there the King was divested of his cumbersome crown which was replaced by a lighter one and in the great hall the feasting began.

In order not to offend the citizens of Winchester the dignitaries of that town had the honour of acting as cooks, while, so that the citizens of London need not feel they had been slighted, their leading citizens were the butlers. The hall was filled with tables at the chief of which sat the King, and the guests were placed according to their rank at the top table.

It was a merry and happy occasion and then sudden tragedy changed it from a day of rejoicing to one of bitter tragedy.

Richard had forbidden any Jew to come to his coronation, not because he wished to persecute them, but because he believed that as they were not Christians their presence might not be acceptable to God. It may have been that this edict had not been sufficiently widely circulated or perhaps some, so eager to be present, decided to ignore it, but while the feast was in progress several Jews decided to call at the palace with rich gifts for the new King. No ruler could object to being given costly objects, for even if he was indifferent to them, as an expression of loyalty he must be impressed by their value.

Among the richest Jews in the country who presented themselves at the palace was a man of particularly great wealth known as Benedict of York. They were immediately identified and protests were raised.

The cry went up: ‘Jews! We’ll not have them here. The King has forbidden them. They have disobeyed his laws.’

Benedict of York, who had brought with him a very valuable gift for the King, protested.

‘All I wish,’ he cried, ‘is to let the King know of our loyalty to him. I wish to give him this golden ornament.’

It was no use.

For so long the Jews had been hated. There were many people in the throng who had lived close to them and who had seen them prosper. They were hated because they worked hard and because no matter how humbly they started they always seemed to succeed.

This was an opportunity.

‘The King has ordered that we drive them from our towns,’ went up the cry. ‘He has forbidden them to come to his coronation.’

It did not take long to arouse the mob. Throughout London the cry went up. ‘We are robbing the Jews. We are burning their houses. Their goods are to be our goods. It is the King’s coronation gift to us.’ Soon the streets were filled with shouting, screaming people. They had thought the day might bring dancing and feasting and perhaps free wine. They had not counted on anything so exciting as riots.

Outside the palace the mob set upon the Jews and the gifts they had brought were snatched from them.

Benedict of York lay on the ground convinced that his last moments had come. He saw fanatical faces peering down at him. Hands were at his throat. He cried out: ‘You are killing me.’

‘Aye, Jew. ’Tis the King’s orders to kill all Jews.’

Benedict cried desperately: ‘But I want to become a Christian. If you kill me you will have killed a Christian.’

The men who had been bending over him fell back a little. Benedict went on shouting: ‘I am a Christian. I am going to become a Christian.’

The law was fierce. What happened to men who took life? The King’s father had been determined to set down violence. Was the new King the same? Mutilation had often been the punishment for murder. Men had lost their ears, their noses, and their tongues; they had been blinded with hot irons because of it. It was necessary to be cautious and here was this man calling out that he wanted to become a Christian. What if any one of them was named as the murderer of a Christian!

‘Let him be baptised without delay,’ cried a voice. ‘Then he will truly be a Christian.’

This appealed to the mob.

They carried Benedict to the nearest church where he was immediately baptised.

Meanwhile no time had been lost in circulating the news throughout the country. In every city there were riots against the Jews. The mob was not going to lose an opportunity for violence and robbery; and because the Jews were notoriously rich they were a desirable target.

The only city which did not take part in these riots was Winchester. The people there expressed the view that they thought it was not according to Christian doctrine to attack those who lived among them simply because they did not share their beliefs.

As for Richard he was angry because a day which he had meant to be one of universal rejoicing should have turned out to be one of tragedy for so many of his subjects. Moreover it was an indication that the horrors of the reign of Stephen when men had felt themselves free to let loose their natural instincts could easily break out again. He would need stern laws to suppress these instincts and he was determined to keep order.

When he heard of what had happened to Benedict of York he sent for the man and when Benedict arrived he found Richard surrounded by his prelates. Benedict had had time to ponder on what he had done and he was ashamed that in a moment of panic when a particularly cruel death had stared him in the face, he had abjured the faith in which he had been brought up and to which he would in secret cling throughout his life.

As soon as he entered the hall his eyes went at once to the King. Richard from his chair of state commanded Benedict to come and stand before him. They took each other’s measure and there was a bond between them. Richard thought: This man denied his faith when faced with death. It was not a noble thing to do yet how can any of us judge him?

‘Benedict of York,’ he said, ‘yesterday you declared your intention of becoming a Christian.’

‘I did, my lord.’

‘That was when certain of my subjects were on the point of killing you. I gave no orders for these riots. I deplore them. Although I excluded members of your race and creed from my coronation I did not command my people to destroy you. You have been baptised. Are you a true Christian, Benedict of York, and will you continue in the faith in which you have so recently been baptised?’