THE INVADER AND HIS DUPES
Meanwhile King John had left Dover for Guildford, and marched from
Guildford to Winchester, and from Winchester to Bristol, having taken
the precaution of strongly garrisoning the castles of Windsor,
Wallingford, and Corfe; and Louis of France, after landing at Sandwich,
in spite of the legate, led his army to Rochester, and on the 30th of
May, 1216, took that fortress from the garrison which John had left
within its walls six months earlier. Having thus inaugurated his career
in England with a conquest which raised the hopes of John’s enemies,
Louis, accompanied by the Lord de Coucy, the Viscount of Melun, the
Count of Nevers, and the Count of Perche, marched his army towards
London.
It was Thursday, the 2nd of June, when the heir of the Capets rode into
the capital of England, and met with a reception which must have excited
at once his wonder and contempt. Both by barons and citizens he was
welcomed with rapturous applause, and conducted to the church of St.
Paul’s, a rude and homely structure, standing amidst the ruins of the
Temple of Diana, so soon to be replaced by a magnificent edifice; and
within St. Paul’s the mayor, aldermen, and chief citizens took the oath
of allegiance. This ceremony over, Louis mounted his steed, and, riding
to Westminster, entered the abbey, where the Anglo-Norman barons
solemnly acknowledged him as their sovereign, and swore to be true to
him--the French prince taking an oath on his part to restore to every
one his rights, and to recover for the crown whatever had been lost to
it by King John. Louis, being under a sentence of excommunication, could
not be crowned. However, he was hailed King of England, and, in that
capacity, nominated Langton to the office of chancellor.
But Louis and the companions of his adventurous enterprise were well
aware that ceremonies, however solemn, could not render his position
secure, and that the crown could only be his by right of conquest. No
time, therefore, did he lose before letting loose his foreign troops and
his Anglo-Norman partisans on the unfortunate country which he hoped,
when conquered, to govern by the strong hand. Having despatched the
Count of Nevers to besiege Windsor, Robert Fitzwalter to make war in
Suffolk, and the Earl of Essex to gain possession of Essex, he himself
raised the royal banner of France, led his army from London into Sussex,
seized the fortresses in that county, and manned them with French
troops; marched from Sussex into Surrey, taking the castles of Reigate,
Guildford, and Farnham; and, passing into Hampshire, appeared on the
14th of June before Winchester, and soon made himself master of the
ancient capital of England and all that it contained--the city, in fact,
surrendering at his summons, and the king’s castle and the bishop’s
palace eleven days later.
Naturally enough, so brilliant an opening of the campaign exerted a
powerful influence on men of all opinions. The populace, indeed,
continued sullen, and their hatred of the foreigner grew daily stronger.
But people who had much to lose were startled by events so important as
weekly occurred. The friends of Louis gained confidence, and took bolder
steps; his foes were disheartened, and led to doubt and hesitate.
Neutrals began to make up their minds as to the merits of the
controversy, and, in most cases, decided on taking the winning side. So
far the invader was pleasant to all men, and so charmed his Anglo-Norman
partisans by his affability, that his praise was on thousands of
tongues; and he was everywhere contrasted most favourably with King
John. Even the reports spread abroad as to the beauty, the intelligence,
and the high spirit of his wife had their effect. Besides, victory
seemed to sit on his helm, and misfortune to have claimed his rival as
her own. Everywhere the shout of “Montjoie, St. Denis, God aid us, and
our Lord Louis!” was shouted by warriors confident of triumph. Nowhere
could John remain, even for a week at a time, without having to make a
hasty exit. Daily the shouts for “our Lord Louis” became louder and more
general; and at length the nobles who had hitherto adhered to the royal
cause, believing that, do what they might, the invader was destined to
reign, lost heart and hope, and, in order to escape the utter ruin that
stared them in the face, ventured to the camp of Louis, and gave in
their adhesion.
First appeared Hugh Neville, and yielded the castle of Marlborough;
then the Earls of Oxford, and Arundel, and Albemarle, and Warren made
their submission; and so hopeless appeared the struggle, that even
Salisbury, notwithstanding the Plantagenet blood that ran in his veins,
appeared at the French camp, and did as Hugh Neville and his peers the
other earls had done before him. Pembroke, however, remained stanchly
loyal, and somewhat startled the conquerors by wresting the city of
Worcester from their grasp, almost while they were triumphing in the
thought of having taken it; and, what in the end proved of immense
importance to the royal cause, the mariners of the Cinque Ports
continued to be loyally devoted to the crown. Everything, however, led
Louis to believe in the ultimate success of his enterprise; and having
obtained possession of Odiham, he was already master of all the country
as far as Corfe Castle, when, on the 22nd of July, he appeared at Dover,
and laid siege to that stronghold rising in silent majesty from the
range of cliffs, and regarded as the key of the kingdom.
It could not be denied that the castle of Dover presented a formidable
aspect; and even the most sanguine of the invaders must have eyed its
towers and battlements with some misgiving. Louis, however, had no doubt
of being able to reduce it. In fact, he had made preparations which he
believed could not fail in their object, and particularly relied on
engines of war sent by his father, Philip Augustus, particularly a
machine called a “malvoisine,” with which to batter the walls. But the
effect was not commensurate with the prince’s expectations. Hubert de
Burgh not only looked calmly upon the besieging force and apparatus, but
soon took such measures to mitigate the violence of the assault that the
French were driven back, and forced to remove their lines to a greater
distance from the castle than they had at first deemed necessary. Louis,
Capet like, lost his temper when he found matters were not going so
favourably as he wished.
“By St. Denis!” cried he in a rage, “I swear that I will not depart
hence till I have taken the castle, and hanged the garrison.”
Meanwhile the Count of Nevers and the barons of England who served under
his banner had failed to take Windsor, which was defended by Ingelard
D’Athie, a warrior of great experience; and learning that King John was
moving northward at the head of a slender force, they marched to
intercept him. John, however, contrived to elude them; and learning that
he had taken possession of Stamford, they retraced their steps, and
proceeded to Dover to aid Louis in the siege, which was making no
progress.
It happened, however, that among the prisoners taken by the French was
Thomas, brother of Hubert de Burgh, and Louis now smiled with triumph as
he anticipated the hour for setting the royal standard of France on the
heights of Godwin’s tower. Demanding a parley, he sent to inform Hubert
de Burgh of what had happened.
“If you do not surrender the castle,” said the messengers of Louis, “you
are likely presently to see your brother put to death, with every
torment likely to render death horrible.”
“I grieve to hear it,” replied Hubert, calmly; “but I cannot value any
man’s life in comparison with the loyalty which I have sworn to
maintain.”
“Our lord, Louis,” said the messengers, returning, “will give you a
large sum of money to surrender.”
“I intend to hold out the castle and maintain my loyalty,” was the brief
and conclusive reply.
Finding that Hubert de Burgh was proof against threats and promises,
Louis became very irritable, and treated the Anglo-Norman barons with a
disdainful indifference which sorely galled them, and at the same time
gave much offence by bestowing the earldoms of Wiltshire and Surrey on
the Count of Nevers, who was very avaricious and exceedingly unpopular.
Jealousy was already at work in the camp before Dover, and many of the
barons were beginning to think less unkindly of King John, and were
inclined to return to their allegiance, when a story which was spread
abroad gave them an excellent excuse for changing sides, and in the long
run did better service to the royal cause than could have been rendered
by a thousand knights.
While Louis was prosecuting the siege of Dover, the Viscount of Melun,
who had remained in London, was attacked by a malady which his
physicians assured him could not fail to end fatally; and, finding
himself drawing near to the gates of death, he sent for Hugh de
Moreville and others of the barons who were then in the capital, and,
turning on his couch, he informed them that he had something on his
conscience, of which he felt bound to relieve it before going to his
account.
“Your fate,” continued the viscount, “grieves me, for you are doomed.
Our lord Louis and sixteen of his comrades, on leaving France, bound
themselves by an oath, as soon as the realm of England is conquered and
he is crowned king, to banish for ever you who have joined his standard,
as traitors, who are not to be trusted. Moreover, your whole offspring
will be exterminated or beggared. Doubt not my words. I who lie here
dying was one of the conspirators. Look to your safety.”
And, having given this warning, the Viscount of Melun lay back on his
couch and died.
Naturally enough, this story, when it reached the camp at Dover, made a
strong impression, and the barons regarded the movements of their
foreign allies with grave suspicion, and communicated their thoughts to
each other in whispers. But they had placed themselves in such a
predicament that they knew not what steps to take. In fact, Louis had
them under his thumb. He had made himself master of the whole South of
England. In the West and in the North his power was great, supported in
one quarter by the Prince of Wales and in the other by the King of
Scots.
“We are like woodcocks caught in our springe,” said one.
“And ere long,” remarked others, “we may be dealt with as deer in a
buckstall.”
“In truth,” observed Hugh de Moreville, “our lord Louis is a deceiver,
and we are his dupes. But patience, and the tables will be turned,
without our cause being lost. It is possible to dupe the deceiver.
Meantime, let us use these Frenchmen while they believe they are using
us. Patience, I say, and one day they will discover with amazement that
the tables are turned. By St. Moden, I swear it!”
“Our friends are already beginning to fall away from our cause, as rats
desert a falling house,” said the first speaker bitterly.
“It is true,” said De Moreville; and he sighed as he thought of Walter
Merley.