My history teacher told us about this film...and at first I thought, 'hmm...possibly a useful source for a Medieval History student...' - Ah, who am I kidding? He told us about the relationship between Richard and Philip the lesson before, and then mentioned this film...what did he expect me to do? I'm only human, for crying out loud!
Anyway, this is based on the Peter O'Toole/Katharine Hepburn version of 'The Lion in Winter' with Anthony Hopkins as Richard the Lionheart and Timothy Dalton as King Philip of France.
Obviously the main relationship is Richard/Philip - but nothing explicit.
"My life, when it is written, will read better than it lived. Henry Fitz-Empress, first Plantagenet, a king at twenty-one, the ablest soldier of an able time. He led men well, he cared for justice when he could and ruled, for thirty years, a state as great as Charlemagne's. He married out of love, a woman out of legend. Not in Alexandria, or Rome, or Camelot has there been such a queen. She bore him many children. But no sons. King Henry had no sons. He had three whiskered things but he disowned them."
Henry, King of England, looked around at the three boys in front of him. Only Richard met his eyes, and beyond him, Henry saw King Philip, his expression a mixture of triumph and horror. Henry understood – he could hardly believe what he was doing himself.
"You're not mine! We're not connected! I deny you! None of you will get my crown, I leave you nothing and I wish you plague! May all your children breach and die!"
He whirled and stormed out, leaving his disowned boys and Philip gazing after him in shock. Henry caught himself on a pillar just down the corridor when he stumbled.
"My boys are gone." He kept moving, away from the sorrow in the room behind him. "I've lost my boys!"
"…I've lost my boys…" Henry's voice faded as he moved away through the castle.
Richard fell to his knees. Immediately Philip moved forward, sinking to the ground beside him and wrapping his blue cape around the both of them.
"God forgive me…" The King of France muttered, holding his catatonic lover close.
"God forgive you?" Shrieked John, stamping his foot like a petulant child. "You've ruined everything!" He whirled around and ran, unnoticed by any that remained.
Philip looked up at Geoffrey.
"Get out."
The prince nodded slowly, still half-dazed with shock. He moved stumbling towards the door.
"I suppose I'd better tell mother what's happened." Geoffrey stumbled, but caught himself on a chair.
"We will." Philip said, his tone offering no debate. Prince Geoffrey nodded again, and moved towards the door, then through it and out of Philip's sight. The door closed softly behind him. "My God, what have I done?" The King of France muttered, as Richard began shaking – a delayed reaction to the shock.
"P-Philip?"
"I am here, my love." Philip closed his eyes as the sounds of rough weeping filled his chamber. Richard had been abandoned by his father – the least Philip could do was offer support.
However, Richard pulled himself together remarkably quickly. The prince stood suddenly, backing away from Philip's arms while Philip himself remained kneeling on the floor.
"You lied…Tell me you lied." Richard begged, referring to the words Philip had gleefully poured into Henry's ear.
Philip wet his lips nervously.
"I did."
"Why?" Richard's question was laced with grief and confusion. In some ways, Philip reflected, his so-called betrayal probably hurt more than anything Henry could say or do. Richard had been disappointed by his father all his life – but Philip had never done so before.
"I love you."
At those words, Richard backed up even more, only stopping when he reached the closed door. The prince was shaking his head.
"No. No, I can't believe you."
Philip surged to his feet and moved forward before Richard could get the door open and run. He enclosed Richard's face in his hands and pulled the taller man down slightly so their foreheads touched.
"I love you." Philip repeated, his thumbs brushing away tears that they found on Richard's cheeks. Richard closed his eyes, refusing to look at the other man.
"No."
"Richard…" Something in Philip broke then, and tears of his own welled up. "I love you."
"...no…" Richard repeated, sounding unsure this time.
"I always have." Philip said, letting his hands slide to the bigger man's shoulders. He shook Richard once for emphasis. "Always, Richard."
"You never did." Richard said, opening his eyes. Philip flinched when he saw no emotion whatsoever in them. The only time to his memory that Richard had been so cold was when Henry had sent a messenger to Paris, ordering his son elsewhere.
"Gods, Richard. What do I have to say to make you believe me?" Philip swung his fist back, and then hit Richard across the chest. "I always loved you. From the moment my father introduced us, I loved you." He hit out at Richard again, but the older man blocked it, though Philip didn't notice. "From the first glance you gave me, from the first time you smiled at me. I loved you then, and I love you now." He continued to hit out, but most of his punches were blocked.
"Why did you lie to my fa…to Henry?"
"I can't lose you…" Philip began, but he stopped hitting out. It had, after all, been a very long day for the young King. "…But I wanted to hurt your father for everything he did to mine."
"And by proxy you hurt me…and lose me in the process." Gently, but firmly, Richard pushed Philip away. "I'm off to inform the Queen what has taken place." He turned and pulled open the door, then paused. "If you want my advice, you'll take yourself back to France as quickly as you can."
He left, closing the door behind him again. Philip dashed to it, fumbling with the latch through his tears. Flinging it open, he moved to the corridor.
"Richard!" Philip yelled, but the prince was already turning a corner, and he didn't look back. "No!" This time it was Philip who fell to the paved floor in shock, but there was no Richard to comfort him. "No…" Philip murmured, clinging to the door frame. "I've lost him…"
How long he stayed like that, Philip didn't know, but the hour-candle had burned away the last two hours it had had left on it. There was a lot of noise from outside, and Philip dragged himself to his feet to stumble to the window and peer down into the courtyard.
There were torches flickering everywhere, and, from what Philip could make out, many people were packing up carts. The young King frowned. Through the fire-lit night he could make out the figures of Henry and his sister hurrying across the courtyard towards the chapel. Philip's frown deepened. As the two disappeared inside, a flash of red and white caught his eye, and he saw Eleanor, followed by a guard hurrying towards the dungeons on the other side of the courtyard.
Eyes widening with realisation, Philip pushed himself away from the window, whirling around and racing out his chamber, pausing only to grab up his sword and knife.
He crept closer to the dungeon entrance, holding himself close to the wall with both blades out. Philip peered around the corner in time to see Henry's sword come down to land with the flat of it on Richard's shoulder. The King of France flinched, knowing just how close the other man had come to death.
Philip focused on Richard while the King of England spouted off something about family, and then stepped back as first John and then Geoffrey rushed past him, barely sparing him a glance. Philip muffled a snigger when he realised that John had wet himself. Then Richard came towards the barred gate, and paused to look back at his father before he noticed Philip standing there in the shadows.
Hastily Philip sheathed his knife and then his sword as Richard stopped opposite him. Without a word, Richard held out his hand, and Philip grasped it. He almost stumbled when Richard ran up the corridor, pulling Philip along behind him. They sped out into the courtyard and across to the door that led to the quickest way to Philip's chambers.
They entered, and Richard shoved the smaller man ahead of him gently, turning to shut and lock the door behind them. Philip stood in the middle of the room, watching in bemusement, and then understanding, as Richard first indicated silence by pressing one finger to his lips and then went around the room, pulling back the curtains on all of the alcoves.
Finally satisfied that no one remained in the room but themselves, Richard stopped in front of Philip.
"Why did you do it?" He asked quietly, but with no hint of the anger from before.
Philip was at a loss.
"I told you, Richard – to avenge my father by hurting yours." He shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure what else you want to hear."
Richard sighed and reached for Philip, tugging him closer.
"So you told him I coerced you? That I damn near raped you!" The Frenchman's eyes drifted shut and he shook his head.
"I am so sorry. Please believe me when I say that I love you, and that I would never hurt you unless I had absolutely no other choice."
When there was no reply for a couple of minutes, Philip opened his eyes again to find Richard's blue ones staring at him with inscrutable intensity.
"I love you." He whispered, and Richard nodded.
"I know." Richard said. "God help me, but I know."
He pulled Philip flush against him, aligning their bodies from shoulder to knee. With a remarkably gentle hand, Richard reached up slightly and tilted Philip's face, leaning closer to place a gentle kiss on the King's lips followed by a longer and deeper one.
Much later, the two of them reclined on Philip's bed as dawn rose on Chinon. Richard was propped up against the headboard, and Philip was tucked neatly under one arm, pillowed on Richard's battle-toned chest and trying to fall asleep – in vain. After an hour, it became obvious that Richard was brooding about something.
"What is it, my love?" Philip asked, unsuccessfully trying to mask a yawn. Richard turned innocent blue eyes on the man next to him.
"Well…Philip, what would you think about us going on Crusade…"