themselves obliged to take up arms. William de Albini, one of the
twenty-five sureties, was sent to possess himself of the Castle of
Rochester; but before he could bring in sufficient stores, he was
invested by John, with Savary de Mauléon, called the Bloody, and a
band of free-companions, whose _noms de guerre_ were equally
truculent--namely, the Merciless, the Murderer, the Iron-hearted. One of
the archers within the walls bent his bow at the King’s breast, and said
to the castellane, “Shall I deliver you from yonder mortal foe?” “No;
hold thy hand,” said Albini; “strike not the evil beast; shouldst thou
fail, thy doom would be certain.” “Then, betide what God will, I hold my
hand!” said the archer.
For two months these brave men held out, but by St. Andrew’s Day they
had eaten all their horses, and the walls were battered down, so that
Albini was forced to surrender. John was for hanging the whole garrison,
but Mauléon said, “Sir, the war is not over; the chances are beyond
reckoning. If we begin by hanging your barons, your barons may end by
hanging us.” So Albini and the nobles were spared, but the archers and
men-at-arms were hung in halters to every tree in the forest.
Meanwhile, the Archbishop had failed at Rome, and partly by his own
fault, for he had tried to make his brother Simon, a man generally
detested, Archbishop of York, and thus had given Innocent good reason
for again interfering. He was placed under sentence of suspension; the
barons, beginning with Fitzwalter, were excommunicated as rebels against
a Church vassal and Crusader, and termed as wicked as Saracens; and the
city of London was laid under an interdict.
The Londoners boldly declared that the Pope had no power to meddle in
their case, kept their churches open, and celebrated their Christmas as
usual; but beyond their walls it was less easy to be secure.
John now had two great armies of foreigners, and had been joined by
several of the barons’ party; and he marched with one of them for the
North, where young King Alexander of Scotland had laid siege to Norham,
and had received the homage of the neighboring nobility.
As John advanced, the barons burnt their houses and corn before him,
while he and his marauders ruined all they approached; he every morning,
with his own hands, set fire to his night’s lodgings, and in eight days
five principal towns were consumed, and the course of his army was like
the bed of a torrent.
Vowing he would unkennel the young fox, as he called Alexander, on
account of his red hair, John sent his troops into Scotland, where they
laid the whole country waste up to Edinburgh, and then, returning,
reduced the castles and ravaged the lands of the barons in Yorkshire,
and the same dreadful atrocities were perpetrated by his other army in
the south of England, till the country people called the free-companions
by no other name than Satan’s Guards, and the Devil’s Servants.
The barons had no stronghold left them but London, and saw their rank,
their families, and estates, at the mercy of the remorseless tyrant and
his savage banditti, backed by the support of their spiritual superiors.
In this condition they deemed all ties between them and their sovereign
dissolved, and, as their last resource, resolved to offer the crown
to Louis, the son of Philippe Auguste, and the husband of Blanche of
Castile, the marriage made to separate France from the cause of Arthur.
It was a step which even their extremity could not justify, passing
over, as it did, the rights of the captive Pearl of Brittany, of John’s
own innocent children, and of those of his eldest sister. But men have
seldom been harder pressed than were these barons; and they were further
tempted by the hope that all the mercenaries who were French subjects
might be detached from the enemy by seeing their own prince’s standard
unfurled against him.
Saher de Quincy, Earl of Winchester, and Robert Fitzwalter, were
deputed to carry letters to Prince Louis, who was then at war with the
Albigenses of Languedoc. The wary old King Philippe dissembled his
joy at the promised triumph over the hated Plantagenet, and at first
declared that he could not trust his son’s person in England, unless
twenty-four nobles were first given up to him as hostages; but he
permitted Louis to send a favorable reply to England, and the barons
were so delighted at its reception, accompanied by a few French
volunteers, that they held another tournament in its honor, but this was
closed by the death of Geoffrey Mandeville, who was accidentally killed
by the lance of a Frenchman.
Innocent was much incensed at the enterprise of the French prince,
forgetting that he had already shown him the way to England. He sent his
legate, Gualo, with letters to forbid Philippe’s interference with a
fief of the Holy See, and these were laid before the court in full
council. Philippe, who always tried to have the law apparently on his
side, began by saying he was the devoted subject of the Pope, and it was
by no counsel or advice of his that his son disobeyed the court of Rome;
but as he declared that he had some rights to the English crown, it was
fair to hear him.
A knight then arose, and declared that John had been attainted and
condemned by Philippe’s own court on account of Arthur’s murder; that he
had since given his crown away without the consent of his barons; and as
no sovereign had any such right, the throne was vacant by his own act,
and his barons had full power to elect, and Louis to accept.
The legate declared John to be a Crusader, and therefore under the
Church’s peace for four years. He was answered, that John had himself
violated that peace; and then Louis, rising, and turning to his father,
said, “Sir, if I am your liegeman for the lands you have given me here,
you have no right to England, which is offered to me: you can decree
nothing on that head. I appeal to the judgment of my peers, whether I
ought to follow your commands or my rights. I beg you not to hinder my
designs, for my cause is just, and I will fight to the death for my
wife’s inheritance.” Then, red with anger, Louis the Lion left the
assembly, while the legate asked the King for a safe-conduct to England;
and Philippe replied, that on the French territory he was safe enough;
but if, on the coast, he fell into the hands of _King_ Louis’s men, he
could not be responsible for his safety.
Gualo, however, came safely to England, and joined John at Dover, where
he promised him the succor of the Church; and Innocent, as an earnest,
excommunicated Louis, and preached to his cardinals on Ezekiel xxi. 28:
“The sword, the sword is drawn.” But this was one of the last public
acts of his life; he died at Perugia on the 8th of July, 1216, without
having been able to send any support to his obedient vassal.
Meanwhile, Louis collected a great force, and embarked with it in 680
vessels, under the command of Eustace the Monk, a recreant who had
become a pirate, and was reckoned the best mariner of his time. John
fled from Dover, leaving it to the trusty and loyal Hubert de Burgh,
while Louis disembarked at Sandwich, and was received by the barons, who
were charmed with his chivalrous and affable demeanor. They conducted
him to London, where, in St. Paul’s, he received their homage, and made
oath to govern them by good laws, after which he appointed Simon Langton
his chancellor. Nearly the whole country gave in their adhesion,
Alexander of Scotland paid him homage, the North rose in his favor, and
the chief strongholds that remained to John were Windsor Castle; Corfe,
where, under the care of his wicked follower, Pierre de Maulae, were his
queen and little children; and Dover, gallantly defended by Hubert de
Burgh.
Nearly four months were spent by Louis in a vain attempt to take this
place; his supplies were cut off by the sailors of the Cinque Ports, who
were in John’s interest; and though Louis’s father sent him a battering
machine, called Malvoisine, or “Bad Neighbor,” he could make no
impression on the walls. Meantime, the estates of the barons were
devastated by John and his free-companions; and if ever the French
prince retook any of the castles, he retained them in his own hands, or
gave them to his French followers, instead of restoring them to their
owners. They began to suspect that they were in evil case, more
especially when the Vicomte de Melun, being suddenly seized by a mortal
sickness, sent for all the nobles then in London, and thus spoke: “I
grieve for your fate. I, with the prince and fifteen others, have sworn
an oath, that, when the realm is his, ye shall all be beggared, or
exterminated as traitors whom he can never trust. Look to yourselves!”
Suspicion thus excited, William Longsword and several other barons
returned to their allegiance, and forty more offered to do the same on
the promise of pardon. Louis was forced to raise the siege of Dover, and
John’s prospects improved; he took Lincoln, and marched to Lynn, whence
he wont to Wisbech, intending to proceed by the Wash from Cross-keys to
Foss-dyke, across the sands--a safe passage at low water, but covered
suddenly by the tide, which there forms a considerable eddy on meeting
the current of the Welland.
His troops were nearly all on the other side, when the tide began to
rush in. They gained the higher ground in safety; but the long train of
wagons, carrying his crown, his treasure, his stores of provision, were
suddenly engulfed, and the whole was lost. Some years since, one of the
gold circlets worn over the helmet was found by a laborer in the sand,
but, in ignorance of its value, he sold it to a Jew, and it has thus
been lost to the antiquary.
King John went into one of his paroxysms of despair at the ruin he
beheld, and, feverish with passion, arrived at the Cistercian convent
of Swineshead, where he seems to have tried to forget his disaster in
a carouse upon peaches and new ale, and in the morning found himself
extremely ill; but fancying the monks had poisoned him, he insisted on
being carried in a litter to Sleaford, whence the next day he proceeded
to Newark, where it became evident that death was at hand. A confessor
was sent for, and he bequeathed his kingdom to his son Henry. As far as
it appears from the records of his deathbed, no compunction visited him;
probably, he thought himself secure as a favored vassal of the Holy
See. When asked where he would be buried, he replied that he committed
himself to God and to the body of St. Wulstan (who had been canonized by
Innocent III. in 1203). He dictated a letter to the new Pope, Honorius
III., and died October 19, 1216, in the forty-ninth year of his age, the
last and worst of the four rebellious sons of Henry II., all cut off in
the prime of life.
His death made a great difference in the aspect of affairs. His innocent
sons had forfeited no claim to the affection of the English, and their
weakness was their most powerful claim.
The Earl of Pembroke at once marched to Corfe Castle, and brought the
two boys, nine and seven years old, to Gloucester, where young Henry’s
melancholy coronation took place. In lieu of his father’s lost and
dishonored crown, a golden bracelet of his mother’s was placed upon his
head by the papal legate, instead of his own primate, and he bent his
knee in homage to the see of Rome. The few vassals who attended him held
their coronation banquet, and afterward bound a white fillet around
their heads, in token of their vow of fidelity to their little, helpless
king. Magna Charta was revised a few days after at Bristol; Henry was
made to swear to agree to it, and the Earl of Pembroke appointed as his
protector.
Meantime, Louis had received the news of his rival’s death while again
besieging Dover, the capture of which was most important to him, as
securing his communications with his own country. He sent tidings of it
to the garrison by two English barons, one of them Hubert’s own brother,
Thomas de Burgh. On their approach the sentinels sounded their horns,
and, without opening the gates, the governor came to speak to them, with
five archers, their crossbows bent. They told him of the King’s decease,
and reminded him of the oath Louis had made to hang him and all his
garrison if the town were taken by assault instead of surrender. His
brother said he was ruining himself and all his family, and the other
knight offered him, in the prince’s name, the counties of Norfolk and
Suffolk. But Hubert would hear no more. “Traitors that you are,” he
cried, “if King John is dead, he leaves children! Say no more; if you
open your lips again, I will have you shot with a hundred arrows, not
sparing even my brother.”
Louis was obliged to draw off his forces, returned to London, and took
Hertford; Robert Fitzwalter claimed the keeping of the castle as a
family right, but Louis forgot the necessity of conciliating the barons,
and replied that he could not trust a man who had betrayed his King.
This, of course, led to further desertions on the part of the English,
and the truce which prevailed through Lent added greater numbers to the
young King’s party than Blanche of Castile was able to collect in France
for her lord.
After Easter the Earl of Pembroke besieged Mountsorrel, in
Leicestershire. The Count de Perche came to its relief, and, after
forcing him to retreat, attacked Lincoln Castle, which was bravely held
by the late castellane’s widow, Nicolette de Camville. She contrived to
send the Earl tidings of her distress, and he set out from Newark
with four hundred knights and their squires, two hundred and fifty
crossbowmen and other infantry, all wearing white crosses sewn on their
breasts, and sent forth by the legate as to a holy war. The crossbowmen,
under one of John’s free-companions, were a mile in advance, and entered
the castle by a postern, while the French, taking the baggage for a
second army, retreated into the town; but there the garrison made a
sally, and a battle was fought in the streets, which ended in the total
discomfiture of the French. The Count de Perche was offered his life,
but swearing that he would yield to no English traitor, he was instantly
slain, and the Fair of Lincoln, as it was called, completely broke the
strength of Louis.
He wrote word to his wife and father of his perilous situation, shut
up within the walls of London, and the whole country in possession of
Henry, and entreated them to send him reinforcements. Fear of the Pope
prevented Philippe from putting himself forward, but he connived at
Blanche’s exertions, and she succeeded in collecting three hundred
knights, who were to embark in eighty large ships, under the command of
Eustace the Monk.
Hubert de Burgh, landsman as he was, resolved to oppose them to the
utmost, and with much difficulty collected a fleet of forty ships of all
sizes. Several of the knights, believing his attempt hopeless, declared
that they knew nothing of sea fights, and refused to share his peril; and
he himself was so persuaded that he was sacrificing himself, that he
received the last rites of the Church as a dying man, and left orders
that, in case of his being made prisoner, Dover should on no account be
surrendered, even as the price of his life.
Midway in the strait he met the French fleet; his archers showered
their arrows and quarrels, and, being on the windward, threw clouds of
quicklime, which blinded the eyes of the enemy; then, bearing down on
them, grappled the ships with iron hooks, and boarded them so gallantly,
that the French, little accustomed to this mode of warfare, soon gave
over resistance: many of the ships were sunk, and the rest completely
dispersed; the pirate monk Eustace was taken, and, being considered as a
traitor and apostate, was put to death, and his head carried on a pole
to Dover in triumph.
This defeat completely broke the hopes of Louis, and he sent to demand a
safe-conduct for messengers to Henry, or rather to the Earl of Pembroke,
offered to leave England, and concluded a peace, restoring the
allegiance of the barons, and even engaging to give up Normandy and
Anjou on his accession to the crown of France. He then returned to his
own country, where his father received him affectionately, blaming him,
however, for the want of skill and judgment with which he had conducted
his affairs. His departure took place in the end of 1217, and thus
closed the wars which established the Great Charter as the foundation of
English law.
CAMEO XXVIII. THE FIEF OF ROME. (1217-1254.)
_King of England_.
1216. Henry III.
_Kings of Scotland_.
1214. Alexander II.
1249. Alexander III.
_Kings of France_.
1180. Philip III.
1223. Louis VIII.
1226. Louis IX.
_Emperors of Germany_.
1209. Friedrich II.
1250. Conrad IV.
_Popes_
1198. Innocent III.
1216. Honorius III.
1227. Gregory IX.
1241. Celestin. IV.
1242. Innocent IV.
The Fief of Rome! For many years of the reign of Henry III. England
could hardly be regarded in any other light.
Henry’s life was one long minority; the guardians of his childhood were
replaced by the favorites of his manhood, and he had neither power nor
will to defend his subjects from the bondage imposed on them by his
father’s homage to Innocent III.
The legates, Gualo and Pandulfo, undertook the protection of the
desolate child, and nominated to the government the excellent William,
Earl of Pembroke, Earl Marshal; but on his death, shortly after, the
administration was divided between the justiciaries, Hubert de Burgh,
and John’s favorite, Peter des Roches, Bishop of Winchester. The latter
was a violent, ambitious, and intriguing prelate, and it was well for
England and the King when he engaged in a Crusade, and left the field to
the loyal Hubert.
Under the care of this good knight Henry grew up devoid of the vices of
his father, with more of the Southern troubadour than of the Northern
warrior in his composition, gentle in temper, devout of spirit, tender
of heart, well-read in history and romance, skilled in music and poetry,
and of exquisite taste in sculpture, painting, and architecture, Hubert
must have watched his orphan charge with earnest hope and solicitude.
Gradually, however, there was a sense of disappointment; years went
by, and Henry of Winchester was a full-grown man, tall and well
proportioned, his only blemish a droop of the left eyelid; but no
warlike, no royal spirit seemed to stir within him; he thought not of
affairs; he left all in the hands of his justiciaries, and, so long as
means were given him of indulging his love of splendor, he recked not of
the extortions by which the Italian clergy ruined his country, and had
no idea of taking on him the cares and duties of royalty.
His young Queen encouraged all his natural failings. She was one of the
four daughters of Beranger, last Count of Provence, highly accomplished
young heiresses. One of them already was wedded to Louis IX., the son
of Louis the Lion, who, by the death of his father and grandfather, had
been placed on the throne of France nearly at the same age and time
as Henry in England. Marguerite, whose device, the daisy, Louis wore
entwined with his own lily, was a meek, peaceful lady, submitting
quietly to the dominion exercised over her by Queen Blanche, her
mother-in-law. Eleanor, the next sister, was the beauty and genius
of the family; she was called La Belle, and, at fourteen, composed a
romance in rhyme on the adventures of one Blandin, Prince of Cornwall,
which was presented to King Henry’s brother, Richard, Earl of Cornwall,
when, on returning from pilgrimage, he passed through Provence.
Richard was struck with her beauty, and spoke of it to his brother, who,
against the wishes of De Burgh, offered her his hand. Richard soon after
married Sancha, another of the sisters, and Beatrix, the fourth, was the
wife of Charles, Count of Anjou, brother of Louis IX. The two queens
seem to have been proud of their dignity, for they used to make their
countess sisters sit on low stools, while they sat on high chairs.
Sancha and Beatrix pined to see their husbands kings, and in time had
their wish. Four uncles followed Queen Eleanor, young brothers of her
mother, a princess of Savoy. They were gay and courtly youths, and the
King instantly attached himself to them, and lavished gifts and honors
upon them, among others, the palace in London still called the Savoy.
Another tribe of his own relations soon followed. His mother’s first
love, Hugh de Lusignan, Count de la Marche, had been released from
durance at Corfe Castle in 1206, and had offered his aid to John, on
condition of the infant Joan, the child of his faithless Isabelle, being
at once betrothed to him and placed in his own hands. Lodging her in
one of his castles in Poitou, he went on a crusade, and, on his return,
found her but seven years old, but her mother a widow, beautiful as
ever, and still attached to him. They were at once married, and Joan
was sent home to England, where she became the wife of Alexander II. of
Scotland, and his sister, the Princess Margaret, was at the same time
wedded to Hubert de Burgh.
The Lusignans were an old family, who had given a King to Jerusalem
and a dynasty to Cyprus; but they were a wild race, and a fairy legend
accounted for their family character.
Raymond de Lusignan, a remote ancestor, met, while wandering in a
forest, a maiden of more than mortal beauty, named Melusine, and,
falling at once in love, obtained her hand, on condition that he should
never ask to behold her on a Saturday. Their marriage was happy,
excepting that all their children had some deformity; but at last, in a
fit of curiosity, Raymond hid himself, in order to penetrate into
his lady’s secret, and, to his dismay, perceived that from the waist
downward she was transformed into a blue-and-white serpent, an
enchantment she underwent every Saturday. For years, however, he never
divulged that he had seen her in this condition; but at length, when his
eldest son, Geoffrey (who had a tusk like a wild boar), had murdered his
brother, he forgot himself in a transport of grief, and called her an
odious serpent, who had contaminated his race. Melusine fainted at the
words, lamented bitterly, and vanished, never appearing again except as
a phantom, which flits round the Castle of Lusignan whenever any of her
descendants are about to die.
In this haunted castle the Queen contrived to gain a reputation for
sorcery and poisoning, and the connection brought no good on her royal
son, for she involved him in a war with France on behalf of her husband.
He met with no success, and his French domains were at the mercy of
Louis IX.; but that excellent prince would not pursue his advantage.
“Our children are first cousins,” he said; “we will leave no seeds of
discord between them.” He even took into consideration the justice of
restoring Normandy and Anjou, but concluded that they had been justly
forfeited by King John.
Four young Lusignans, or, as they were generally called, De Valence,
were sent by Isabelle to seek their fortune at the court of their
half-brother, who bestowed on them all the wealth and honors at his
disposal; and gave much offence to the English, who beheld eight needy
foreigners preying, as they said, upon the revenues.