THE KING AND THE BARONS
I have stated that between the Plantagenet kings of England and the
Anglo-Norman barons there existed no particular sympathy; and
considering who the Plantagenet kings were, and what was their origin,
it need not be matter of surprise that they cherished something like an
antipathy towards the feudal magnates whose ancestors fought at
Hastings, and had their names blazoned on the grand roll of Battle
Abbey.
It was in the ninth century, when Charles the Bald, one of the heirs of
Charlemagne, reigned over France, that a brave and good man, named
Torquatus, lived within the limits of the French empire, and passed his
time chiefly in cultivating his lands and hunting in his woods.
Torquatus had every prospect of living and dying in obscurity, without
making his name known to fame. Happening, however, to be summoned to
serve his sovereign in war, he gave proofs of such courage and ability
that he rose high in the king’s favour, and was for his valuable
services rewarded with a forest known as the “Blackbird’s Nest,” and
continued to serve Charles the Bald so stoutly and faithfully in the
wars with the sea kings, that, when living, he won much renown among his
contemporaries, and, when dead, was distinguished by the monkish
chroniclers as “another Cincinnatus.”
Tertullus, the son of Torquatus, inherited his father’s talent and
prowess, and did such good work in his day that he was rewarded for his
signal services to Charles the Bald with the hand of Petronella, the
king’s kinswoman; and the heirs of Tertullus, ennobled by worthy
exploits and by their Carlovingian blood, became Counts of Anjou and
hereditary High Stewards of France. In fact, they had risen to a very
high position among the princes of Continental Europe when, in 1130,
Fulke, Count of Anjou, mourning the loss of a wife whom he had dearly
loved, went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, wedded the heiress of one of
the Baldwins, and ascended the throne which the early crusaders, under
Godfrey of Bouillon, had set up in the holy city. But it was in England
that the heirs of Torquatus and Tertullus were to figure most
prominently, and it was with English history that their name was to be
associated even as that of the Pope was with the Church.
Before setting out for the Holy Land, Fulke of Anjou bestowed his
hereditary dominions on his son Geoffrey, a bold warrior and an
accomplished gentleman, who, from wearing a sprig of flowering broom in
his hat, instead of a feather, acquired the surname of Plantagenet.
Fortune favoured Geoffrey of Anjou, and enabled him to form an alliance
which made his descendants the greatest sovereigns in Christendom.
Having attracted the attention and secured the friendship of Henry
Beauclerc, King of England, he espoused Henry’s daughter, Maude, the
young widow of an Emperor of Germany. Naturally it was supposed that
Maude, as her father’s only surviving child, would succeed to England
and Normandy on his death. But in that age the laws of succession were
ill understood, and when Henry expired, his sister’s son, Stephen, Count
of Bouillon, seized the English throne, and, notwithstanding a terrible
civil war, contrived to keep it during his life. All Maude’s efforts to
unseat him proved unavailing; and, weary of the struggle, she, about
1147, retired to the Continent, and endeavoured to console herself with
sovereignty over Normandy.
But meanwhile Maude had become the mother of a son, who, as years passed
over, proved a very formidable adversary. Henry Plantagenet was a native
of Mantz, in Normandy, where he drew his first breath in 1133; but at an
early age he was brought to England to be educated, and while passing
his boyhood at Bristol, was made familiar with the country whose
destinies he was one day to control. It was not, however, till, on the
death of his father, he had become Count of Anjou and Duke of Normandy,
and, by his marriage with Eleanor of Guienne, Duke of Aquitaine and
Poitou, that, in 1153, he landed in England with the determination of
asserting his rights. At first a sanguinary struggle appeared imminent;
but Stephen consented to a compromise, and, excluding his own son,
acknowledged Henry as heir to the crown, stipulating, however, that he
should wear it during his lifetime. Next year Stephen breathed his last,
and Henry was crowned in the Cathedral of Winchester, which up to that
date was regarded as the proper constitutional capital of England. A
terrible task was before him.
At the time of Henry’s coronation the condition of England was wretched
in the extreme. Never, even in the worst days of the Norman Conquest,
had life and property been so insecure. The laws were utterly impotent
to protect the weak against the strong, and the barons set truth,
honesty, and humanity at defiance; and, unless history lies, nothing
could have been more outrageous than the conduct of the men whose sons
afterwards, when they perceived that it was expedient to get the nation
over to their side, found it convenient to affect so high a regard for
“justice and righteousness.”
“All was dissension, and evil, and rapine,” says the Saxon chronicle,
speaking of the reign of Stephen. “The great men rose against him. They
had sworn oaths, but they maintained no truth. They built castles which
they held out against him. They cruelly oppressed the wretched people of
the land with his castle work. They filled their castles with devils and
evil men. They seized those whom they supposed to have any goods, and
threw them into prison for their gold and silver, and inflicted on them
unutterable tortures. Some they hanged up by the feet. They threw them
into dungeons with adders, and snakes, and toads. They made many
thousands perish with hunger. They laid tribute upon tribute on towns
and cities.... The land remained untilled, and the poor starved. To till
the land was to plough the sea.”
Such was the state of affairs with which the early Plantagenets had to
deal, and such the men who, after having been cowed by the energy and
genius of Henry and the vigour and courage of Richard, prepared to raise
their banners and head their feudal array with the object of crushing
John, whose imprudence and indolence made him a much less formidable
adversary than either his father or his brother would have been.
Moreover, he stood charged with crimes and follies which made the most
loyal Englishman half ashamed of the royal cause.
It was in the midst of his struggles with Philip Augustus that John was
first involved in disputes with the barons, on account of their positive
refusal to accompany him to the Continent. On this point the barons
appear to have been somewhat unreasonable; and John treated them with
such hauteur that they announced his bearing quite intolerable.
Gradually matters grew worse; and when John was in the midst of his
quarrel with the Pope, the barons, believing that the time for
retaliation had arrived, espoused the papal cause, and formed a
conspiracy for seizing the king, and giving the crown to Simon de
Montfort, a French nobleman who afterwards gained an unenviable
notoriety as leader of the crusade against the unfortunate Albigenses.
Moreover, the barons took great credit with the Pope for having forced
John to surrender his crown to the legate. But no sooner did Innocent
signify his intention of supporting the king on his throne than the
barons changed their tone, and made what political capital they could
out of the humiliation which the king had brought upon England when he
consented to become the vassal of Rome. Nor were other charges of a
scandalous nature wanting to embitter the dispute and add to the
exasperation. Almost every baron, in fact, had some complaint to make,
and in particular the chiefs of the house of Braose, Fitzwalter, and De
Vesci.
William de Braose was an Angevin noble of high rank, and Lord of
Bramber, who unfortunately involved himself in a dispute with the crown
about a debt which he would not or could not pay. At first De Braose was
exiled to Ireland; but, having obtained the king’s sanction to travel
through the country to make up the sum, which was forty thousand marks,
he availed himself of his liberty to escape to the Continent. His wife
and children, however, were not so fortunate. While at Galway,
endeavouring to embark for Scotland, they were arrested, brought as
prisoners to Windsor, and confined in the castle. While in captivity the
whole family died, and it was generally rumoured that they had been
inhumanly starved to death.
Robert Fitzwalter was one of the proudest nobles in England, and Lord
of Baynard’s Castle, in London; and he had a daughter so celebrated for
her beauty that she was called Maude the Fair. On this damsel John cast
his eyes with evil intent. His advances were repelled. Maude the Fair
died soon after, and the king was accused of having caused poison to be
given to her in a poached egg.
Among Anglo-Norman barons, hardly one was more powerful than Eustace de
Vesci, Lord of Alnwick, where he maintained great feudal state. Eustace
had wedded Margery, daughter of William the Lion, King of Scots, and the
Lady de Vesci was famous for her grace and beauty. Hearing of her
perfections, the king contrived to get possession of her husband’s ring
and sent it with a message that she was immediately to repair to court
if she wished to see her lord alive. Not having the slightest suspicion,
the lady at once set out in haste; but, when on her journey, she
accidentally met her husband, and, with the utmost surprise on her
countenance, told him of the ring and the message she had received.
Comprehending the whole, De Vesci sent his lady home, and took such
measures that the king in a violent rage vowed vengeance, and the
Northern baron, fearing for his life, fled from London.
Naturally enough, such scandals tended to deepen the resentment which
the barons of England felt towards their king; and when affairs
approached a crisis, the foremost and most resolute among John’s enemies
were Robert Fitzwalter and Eustace de Vesci.
It was in the summer of 1213 that matters began to assume such an aspect
that the wise and prudent shook their heads and predicted a civil war.
At that time John, bent on retrieving his disasters on the Continent,
embarked for Jersey, after summoning the barons to follow. Instead of
obeying, they assembled in London, and held a meeting at St. Paul’s with
the primate, who was devoted to their interests. On this occasion
Stephen Langton produced the charter which Henry Beauclerc had promised
to grant at his coronation, and which was understood to embody the laws
popularly known as “The Laws of King Edward.”
“My lords,” said the primate, “I have found a charter of King Henry, by
which, if you choose, you may recall the liberties of England to their
former state.”
Langton then read the document, and the barons responded with
acclamations.
“Never,” exclaimed they with one voice, “has there been a fitter time
than this for restoring the ancient laws.”
“For my part,” said Langton, “I will aid you to the uttermost of my
power.”
And the primate having administered an oath by which they bound
themselves to conquer or die, they dispersed.
Meanwhile John, having learnt what had taken place, landed from Jersey,
and, with characteristic imprudence, began to ravage the lands of the
malcontents with fire and sword. On reaching Northampton, however, he
was overtaken by Langton, who protested loudly against the king’s
conduct, and threatened him with retaliation.
“Archbishop, begone!” said John, sternly. “Rule you the Church, and
leave me to govern the State.”
And, heedless of the warning, he carried the work of destruction as far
as Nottingham.
But ere long events occurred which made John somewhat less confident.
The defeat of his ally, the Emperor of Germany, at Bovines, ruined all
his projects for recovering the ground he had lost on the Continent; and
he was fain to conclude a peace with Philip Augustus on terms the
reverse of flattering to his vanity, and return to England, where his
enemies were every day becoming more determined to bring all disputes to
a decisive issue.
No sooner, indeed, had the Christmas of 1214 passed, and the year 1215
begun its course, than the barons came to London with a strong military
force, and demanded an interview with the king. At first John was
inclined to ride the high horse, and refuse them an audience; but,
learning that they were strongly attended, he deemed it politic to
temporise, and met them at the house of the Knights of the Temple. On
finding himself face to face with his adversaries, and on being handed a
petition embodying their demands, which were by no means trifling in
extent, John attempted to intimidate them; but finding that his attempts
were ineffectual, he asked them to allow the business on which they had
come to lie over till Easter, that he might have time to give it his
deliberate consideration. The barons hesitated. At length, however, they
consented to the delay on condition that Archbishop Langton and the
Earl of Pembroke were sureties for the king’s good faith. The primate
and the earl pledged themselves as was wished; and the king and the
barons parted, each party distrusting the other, and vowing in their
inmost souls never, while they had life and breath, to bate one jot or
tittle of their pretensions.