THE DAY OF RUNNYMEDE
It was Friday, the 15th of June, 1215, a week before Midsummer Eve, or
the vigil of John the Baptist, and the sun shone fair on Runnymede--a
large green meadow on the margin of the Thames, midway between Windsor
and Staines--when thither came King John and the Anglo-Norman barons
(the King from Windsor, and the barons from Staines) to bring their
fierce dispute to a close, and give peace and security to England, by
putting their signatures and the great seal of the realm to that
important document since known as Magna Charta, and regarded with
veneration as the foundation of England’s laws and liberties.
Runnymede was not unworthy of being the scene of a ceremony so memorable
in the annals of a nation which clung tenaciously to its old history and
traditions, and which forced even the iron-handed, iron-clad, and
strong-willed heirs of the Norman conquerors--the grandsons of the men
who had fought under the banner of Duke William at Hastings--to treat
the history and traditions with respect, and demand a restoration of the
laws of Edward the Confessor, the last of the old royal line. In earlier
days, when the Saxon kings had a palace at Old Windsor, Runnymede had
been celebrated as a place where the people assembled to discuss public
questions of great moment; and where now cattle graze and wild flowers
spring, grew a gigantic oak, under the shade of which Alfred or
Athelstane, perhaps, had occupied a throne of stone, and sat in royal
state, when rallying their subjects to their standard to resist the
inroads of the Danes.
It was around this oak, which the English regarded with a superstitious
veneration, the origin of which might have been traced back to the time
when the Druids performed their mysterious rites, and sacrificed and
feasted under the shelter of its spreading branches, that the king and
the barons met--John, who was attired in a gorgeous style, being
attended by the Earl of Pembroke, Hugh Neville, Keeper of the Great
Seal, the papal legate and eight bishops, and seventy knights--Fitzwalter
and his confederates, who were in chain-mail, with long swords at their
sides, having an array of fighting men which fully proved the mighty
feudal power they possessed, and one sight of which must have convinced
their sovereign that, on that day at least, they were masters, and that
he was there simply to do their bidding.
Nor, to judge from John’s countenance and demeanour, would it have been
possible for a spectator, however acute or intelligent, to entertain any
doubt that he was a willing actor in the solemn scene that was being
enacted in presence of the legate and the bishops. When the charter, of
which he well knew and understood the contents, was handed to him, he
received it with alacrity, and signed it without a murmur expressive of
reluctance, and looked on calmly, almost cheerfully, while the
barons--each in his turn--set their signatures to it, and Hugh Neville,
in his official capacity, appended the great seal of the realm. But now
a circumstance occurred which brought the blood to John’s cheek. In
fact, it appeared that, after all this signing and sealing, the ceremony
was not yet at an end, but that the barons had more demands to make.
“Now,” said they, “we require security for the charter being faithfully
observed.
“It is necessary, in the first place, that you should engage to send all
foreign knights and fighting men out of the kingdom.
“It is necessary, in the second place, that we should be allowed to
remain undisturbed for two months in possession of London, and the
archbishop in possession of the Tower.
“It is necessary, in the third place, that a committee of twenty-five
barons should be appointed as conservators of this charter of liberties,
and to decide all claims in conformity with its provisions.”
On hearing so many fresh demands John flushed and started with surprise,
and his brow darkened. But he cast a glance over the formidable body of
knights, and squires, and men-at-arms whom the barons had brought to
overawe him, and, feeling the necessity of being calm, he checked his
rising indignation, and answered calmly,
“My lords, I do not deny that I am taken by surprise; as, in truth, I
well may be when I think of your demands. Nevertheless, I object not to
accede so far as consists with my honour. I will send the foreign
knights and soldiers out of the kingdom; I will leave the city of London
in your hands, and the Tower in the hands of the archbishop, for the
space of two months; and I consent to the appointment of a committee of
twenty-five barons as conservators of the charter.”
It was clear--so thought the confederates--that the king would yield
anything; and the names of the twenty-five conservators were read. They
were Robert Fitzwalter, Robert de Roos, William Albini, Eustace de
Vesci, Humphrey Bohun, Roger and Hugh Bigod, William de Fortibus,
Richard and Gilbert de Clare, Gilbert Delaval, John Fitzrobert, Geoffrey
Mandeville, William de Huntingfield, John de Lacy, William de Lumvallei
or Lanvally, Richard de Montpellier, William Malet, Roger and William de
Moubray, William Marshal the younger, Richard Percy, Sayer de Guency,
Geoffrey de Say, and Robert de Vere--all either earls or barons of great
power, and maintaining great feudal state, but not by any means men who
had ever had a generous thought for the welfare of the English race,
till they found themselves at issue with the king as to the scutages,
and found also that they could not make head against him without getting
the nation on their side.
But for the time being they were playing the part of patriots and having
it all their own way. So they deemed it not unsafe to go a step farther
and make another demand.
“It is, moreover, necessary,” said they, addressing the king, “that you
should give a promise in writing never to apply to the Pope for a
dispensation to relieve you from the engagements into which you have now
entered.”
“My lords,” said John, with undisguised astonishment in his face, “I
have consented to your keeping the city and Tower of London, and to the
committee of conservators, and I will send without delay all foreign
knights out of the kingdom; but,” added he, resolutely, “I will pledge
myself no further, be the consequences what they may. Nay,” added he,
interrupting Langton, who was beginning to speak, “I cannot and will not
listen further;” and, rising from his seat, John walked deliberately to
where his knights were stationed, mounted his horse, and rode slowly
away to Windsor.
But his departure was by no means triumphant. Not more than seventy
knights accompanied him--a mere handful of armed men compared to the
host of enemies whom he left behind; and even of the seventy knights
very few were zealous in his cause. Dismal as had frequently been his
prospects, they had never before been at so low an ebb. But he did not
yet despair. Time and patience might still enable him to prevail over
all the difficulties that beset him; and he rode up the steep that leads
to Windsor revolving plans for emancipating himself and his crown from
the feudal and ecclesiastical trammels in which both were bound.
Arrived at Windsor, John dismounted and entered the castle, and gave way
to the wrath he had been hoarding up. Neither food nor drink did he
take. He beat his breast, tore his hoary hair, rolled on the floor, rose
up all the more violent for the exertion, cursed the day he was born,
swore like a trooper and raved like a maniac, and all day stamped so
furiously about that his attendants feared that his reason was going. As
evening fell, however, he recovered his equanimity, and instantly took
measures for disconcerting the plans of his enemies. As night deepened
he summoned two of his knights and despatched them to the Continent. One
was commissioned to repair to Rome for the purpose of invoking the aid
of the Pope; the other to Guienne and Flanders to secure the swords of
as many mercenaries as could be tempted to England by the promise of pay
and the prospect of plunder. This done, John at length sat down to
supper, and made up for lost time by eating ravenously and drinking
copiously, and as the red wine sparkled in his golden cup his
imagination conjured up visions of beheaded barons and burned castles.
“By God’s teeth!” said he to William de Hartarad, his cup-bearer, “it
shall be done.”
“Sire,” replied the cup-bearer, soothingly, “be calm and chafe not over
much. It were best to sleep over your project; a man’s pillow is often
his safest counsellor in times of difficulty. May you find it such!”
Having supped, John sought his chamber, which was fragrant with the
Eastern spices then burned in the sleeping apartments of kings and
princes, and threw himself on his bed of red velvet, richly embroidered
with gold and silver. But such was the excitement through which he had
passed during the day that he invoked sleep in vain. Restless and
feverish, he rose about midnight and looked out on the park which
reposed peacefully under the light of the moon. Suddenly a new idea took
possession of his mind, and for awhile he pondered deeply.
“I seem,” said he to himself, “to see a hand beckoning me away, and to
hear in mine ear a voice saying, ‘Arise, king, and go hence; it is not
good for you to be here.’ By the light of Our Lady’s brow! I will be
gone. Rather let me herd with the beasts of the forest than be further
humbled by these barons, on whose trunkless heads the sun shall ere long
shine.”
He then awoke the squire who slept at the door of his chamber, and
ordered horses to be saddled and men to be mounted; and, just as morning
began to dawn and the song of the nightingale ceased, and the antlers of
the deer stirred above the fern, and the red in the east heralded the
rise of the sun, the king, having mounted, left the castle and rode away
through the park of Windsor, to which he was never to return.
“Now,” soliloquised he, “let mine enemies tremble, for I will oppose
guile to guile and force to force. Revenge is sweet, and revenge, at
least, I may enjoy; and even if Fate do her worst I am prepared. Rather
than be their slave I will commit my soul to God and my body to St.
Wulstan.”