Eleanor of Aquitaine: The Mother Queen

by Seward, Desmond

  17 King John

  ‘Your strong possession, much more than your right;

  Or else it must go wrong with you, and me:

  So much my conscience whispers in your ear;

  Which none but heaven, and you, and I, shall hear.’

  Shakespeare, King John

  ‘Et ne connais-tu pas l’implacable Agrippine?’

  Racine, Britannicus

  The new king of England and lord of all the Angevin empire was to be count John. There was of course a rival claimant, twelve-year-old Arthur, duke of Brittany, who had in some ways a better claim in feudal law. He was the son of the third of Henry II’s sons who had lived to manhood, whereas John was only the fourth son, and at one time Richard had treated duke Arthur as his heir. On his deathbed, however, Richard apparently designated John as his heir — at least, according to John’s close friend and supporter, William of Braose (who was present), and to Eleanor.

  Although there is no proof, one may guess that Eleanor was largely responsible for the alteration in the succession. It is even possible that she connived at misrepresenting Richard’s last words. Admittedly there were many arguments against Arthur. His mother Constance, the heiress of the previous Breton dynasty, was no lover of Plantagents even if she was the mother of one; she had intrigued with Philip of France against Richard, and in 1196 her troops had fought against the English king. Naturally all this might change if Arthur succeeded his uncle. On the other hand John, supported by his mother, would have the best chance of keeping the Angevin empire intact. Constance was little known outside Brittany and Maine, and only Eleanor could hold Poitou and Aquitaine. Furthermore, the feudal law of inheritance varied in the different Angevin territories: in some areas John had a better legal claim as the late king’s younger brother.

  The near-contemporary biographer of William Marshal recounts a revealing conversation between his hero and the archbishop of Canterbury and justiciar, Hubert Walter, about the succession. The archbishop was at first for Arthur, but William argued that the young duke ‘has bad advisers and is arrogant and violent. If we have him for our master we shall be sorry, as he dislikes the English.’ The great soldier persuaded the archbishop that the only possible choice was John. Nonetheless Hubert told William, ‘You will regret this more than any decision of your entire life’. Arthur was only a boy, and it looks as though William Marshal distrusted not Arthur but Constance. It may also be relevant that William had been close to the queen mother ever since she had been his patron when he was a young man.

  Eleanor’s preference of John to Arthur must surely reflect her enduring need for power. Probably she had little affection for John, let alone confidence in his abilities. But had Arthur succeeded she would almost certainly have been displaced by Constance and have lost every vestige of influence; worse, she might have been deprived of both Poitou and Aquitaine, which she had recovered with so much difficulty. And Eleanor was not the sort of woman to live peaceably with a daughter-in-law, other than some faceless nonentity such as poor Berengaria.

  John was now thirty-one years old. Unlike his golden brother, he was an ugly little man, only 5 feet 5 inches tall, who with age grew fat and bald. Nor was he a Spartan campaigner like Richard, though devoted to hunting and hawking and constantly in the saddle; in contrast, he disliked warfare and even tournaments, and was a coward at heart. This new king loved luxury, and had the reputation of being a glutton and a drunkard, who never kept the prescribed days of fasting and abstinence. He was a lecher, known to have fathered at last seven bastards. He was much the best-read member of his family — Eleanor excepted — with a questioning interest in theology that was sharpened by his innate scepticism. Although fond of music, however, he had not inherited his dynasty’s love of poetry and troubadours, but he possessed to the full its peculiar brand of sardonic humour. The Easter that he ascended the throne, bishop Hugh of Lincoln rebuked him publicly for not receiving holy communion (something he had not done since he was a boy) and showed him a carving of the Last Judgment, pointing to a scene of damned souls being dragged down to hell by demons; John calmly pulled the saint to the other side, which represented the souls of the saved ascending to heaven, and said, ‘Let’s look at these instead — I am going to go with them’. He delighted in shocking clerics with his frivolous and often blasphemous wit. Nevertheless, he knew how to please, possessing a honeyed charm like that of his brothers, and could even inspire loyalty.

  In recent years there has been a misguided tendency to whitewash king John. His evil reputation is dismissed as a plot concocted by the clerical chroniclers because of his quarrel with the Church, or else as the result of applying ‘Victorian standards’. Admittedly some contemporary writers (in particular, Roger of Wendover) are clearly unreliable, and give a distorted picture. But the picture of a thoroughly wicked man carries conviction. It is claimed that modern mediaevalists who know the sources have arrived at a fairer picture of the king. Yet the same sources were examined by experts in the 1940s and 1950s — not to mention bishop Stubbs and Sir Maurice Powicke — who all accept the traditional portrait. In fact there is every reason to believe that the king was very bad indeed — ‘nature’s enemy’, as Matthew Paris calls him.

  Beyond question John had many gifts. At times he could be an extremely shrewd politician, a most able diplomatist, an energetic administrator and — on a single occasion — a truly brilliant general. Yet his good qualities were outweighed by his bad ones. In the words of his most convincing modern biographer, Dr Warren, John ‘had the mental abilities of a great king, but the inclinations of a petty tyrant’. For John’s character was flawed through and through, ‘light, profligate and perfidious’. He was fundamentally frivolous, and prone to fits of almost pathological idleness. He lacked both honour and honesty, and was also horribly cruel and cowardly. Indeed he was all but a caricature of a bad king: some historians have even found something comic in his exaggerated wickedness, an element of Grand Guignol. But contemporaries saw nothing amusing in this wolfish man. Few rulers have aroused such hatred among all classes of their subjects, let alone in their opponents.

  As has been seen, Eleanor’s original choice as Richard’s successor was Otto of Brunswick, who had disqualified himself by becoming emperor. However, the queen mother must have known that she was the one person who could control John. Even if he could never fill the place of Richard, he would at least guarantee her power and independence in Poitou and Aquitaine. One may guess that, for his part, John both trusted and feared her. Moreover, not only did his mother know how to make use of his undoubted qualities and how to guard against his terrible weaknesses, but in herself she was a most valuable ally who could still act as his lieutenant if necessary. Had she been a little younger, he might have had a less disastrous reign.

  Undoubtedly Eleanor played a considerable part in ensuring that it was John, and not Arthur, who succeeded Richard. William Marshal and archbishop Hubert Walter and also his half-brother, archbishop Geoffrey Plantagenet of York — made certain of England for him, but they must have been greatly helped by the public knowledge that John was the queen mother’s choice. For by now Eleanor was a popular, even revered, figure with the English: from the time of her release from captivity in 1189 the chroniclers write of her with growing respect. Richard of Devizes eulogizes her: ‘Queen Eleanor, a woman beyond compare, beautiful and chaste, powerful but modest and meek yet eloquent, which is something rarely met with in a woman.’ It may well be that her intervention in John’s favour decided William Marshal and the archbishop, together with many other magnates who might otherwise have rejected him. As it was, if Constance’s men had captured John — which very nearly happened — Arthur would have become king.

  John rushed to Chinon to take possession of his brother’s treasure, without realizing how quickly his sister-in-law would move. Within twelve days of Richard’s death, Constance (who had just married a Poitevin noble, Guy of Thouars) rode into Angers at the head of a Breton army, and
the lords of Anjou, Maine and Touraine declared for Arthur; a skilled soldier, William of Les Roches, was then appointed as the young duke’s seneschal of Anjou. John escaped in the nick of time, fleeing to Normandy, whence he crossed to England. Shakespeare makes Queen Elinor say to John, not implausibly,

  What now, my son? Have I not ever said,

  How that ambitious Constance would not cease,

  Till she had kindled France, and all the world,

  Upon the right and party of her son?

  King Philip speedily took advantage of this promising situation, invading Normandy and capturing Evreux. Fortunately for John, William Marshal had made sure of the Normans’ loyalty before his departure for England. The garrisons held out, halting the enemy’s advance. John could feel that Normandy was safe enough while he was being crowned king of the English.

  In the meantime Eleanor captured the rest of the Angevin empire for her son. As Sir Maurice Powicke emphasizes, ‘The contest in western France resolved itself into a duel between Constance and the old queen …. Eleanor, as duchess, made a grand tour through Poitou and the Bordelais. All interests of barons, clergy and towns were secured’. She had already enlisted the help of Mercadier and his ferocious Brabançon mercenaries, who were laying all Anjou waste in John’s name. Constance and Arthur were forced to retreat from Angers into Maine, taking refuge in the capital, Le Mans. John returned from England and his troops advanced on Le Mans, which they quickly stormed and put to the sword; those townsmen who survived the massacre were carried off as prisoners by the Brabançons, and the walls of Le Mans were razed to the ground. Constance and Arthur had escaped by night, finding a temporary haven at Tours. Here Constance handed her child to king Philip, who sent him to Paris to be brought up with his own son. He was only too pleased to accept Arthur’s homage as count of Anjou and Maine. But the entire Angevin empire was now in John’s possession.

  Eleanor’s grand tour, which had contributed so much to this outcome, had been a most strenuous business for such an old woman. The stately but urgent progress began in April and ended in July. It took her to all her more important towns, including London, Poitiers, Niort, La Rochelle, Saintes, Bordeaux and many others. To five of these towns she gave charters that freed their inhabitants of any feudal obligations and allowed them to set up corporations. Her purpose was to see that her vassals remained loyal to her and with her son she used every gift and stratagem in her power. She bought the friendship of any lord who might waver; thus Raoul of Mauléon, who had inconvenient claims on La Rochelle, was compensated with the ducal hunting lodge of Talmont, which had once been a favourite residence of her father and grandfather. Although it owed much to good road and river communications, the speed and extent of her progress was an astonishing achievement. Her administrative activity is still more impressive, the most energetic period in her life to judge from the surviving documents.

  In July 1199 Eleanor performed what must have been the most difficult and distasteful task of all. She went to Tours, knelt at the feet of her sons’ bitterest enemy, king Philip, and personally paid homage for her lands. By doing so she had — in strict feudal law, at least — effectively blocked Arthur’s claims to Poitou and Aquitaine. This done, she drew up a deed resigning them to her son, but retaining the usufruct for her lifetime.

  She then journeyed to Normandy, where at Rouen on 30 July 1199 she met John, who had been consecrated as duke of the Normans and crowned as king of the English since she had last seen him, largely thanks to her. For once he showed sound sense and was careful not to antagonize his mother. He knew her need for power and made no attempt to obtain complete control of Poitou and Aquitaine, issuing an edict to the effect that she was to keep them all her life and stating that, ‘We desire that she shall be lady not only of all those territories which are ours, but also of ourself and of all our lands and possessions’. In practice a sort of condominium between Eleanor and John came into existence in Poitou, and probably in Aquitaine as well; there is no doubt that the king recognized Eleanor as being in some sense a sovereign prince who was his equal in these lands, even though she allowed him to appoint the seneschals. (The latter included Robert of Thornham, a knight from Kent and a former crusading comrade of Richard’s, who for a time held both seneschalships.) Furthermore, John also made a point of continuing to pay her ‘queen’s gold’, although legally this was the perquisite of the queen consort and not of the queen mother. But the king had good cause to be grateful.

  It is worth pointing out here that John was not exactly noted for gratitude and was not always so considerate where his female relatives were concerned. Indeed he was scarcely a man to set much store by family ties. He swiftly cheated the unfortunate Berengaria out of the county of Maine, which had been her marriage settlement. In 1201 the king made a graceful gesture by way of compensation, promising his sister-in-law an entire town in Normandy together with two castles in Anjou and a large annual income, but in the event she received nothing. Three years later the pope wrote indignantly to John that queen Berengaria was so poor that she was having to ‘live like a beggar’ at the expense of her sister, the countess of Champagne. Yet despite further angry letters from Innocent III she was unable to obtain any redress until 1215, and even then she was kept in arrears. Eventually Berengaria was wise enough to put her affairs in the hands of those accomplished businessmen the Templars, who managed to extract sufficient money from the English crown to allow her to lead a comfortable and pious life near Le Mans till she died in 1230.

  By September 1199 duke Arthur’s supporters were falling out with Philip. The French king had occupied far too many of the castles in Maine and Anjou that had stayed loyal to Arthur, installing French garrisons and presumptuously demolishing the stronghold of Balun; men began to suspect that the king’s occupation might be permanent. Arthur’s two chief supporters — Amaury, viscount of Thouars (Constance’s brother-in-law) and William of Les Roches — entered into secret communication with John. They, Constance and the young duke then left Paris without Philip’s knowledge and went to John, whom they met near the ruins of Le Mans. A brief acquaintance with the new king of the English was quite sufficient to disillusion them, however, and they fled for a second time. The exception was William of Les Roches, who realized which way the wind was blowing and went over to John. He was rewarded by being made hereditary seneschal of Anjou, Maine and Touraine. But though an excellent soldier, he was a dangerous subject, proud and independent. It is likely that the queen mother met him often, as William’s new headquarters were at Chinon, near Fontevrault, and he witnessed at least one of her charters.

  No doubt the loyalty of the English made John’s cause appear even more impressively solid. This loyalty was in large part due to his surprising good sense in appointing Hubert Walter as his chancellor. After Richard I’s return Hubert had shown his remarkable gifts as an administrator, being as imaginative as he was efficient. He quickly paid off the arrears of Richard’s ransom by introducing — for the first time in English history — a wealth tax, imposing a swingeing levy on lands and on goods and chattels, and by some miracle he managed to do so without provoking a rebellion. Unlike William Longchamp, Hubert never inspired personal dislike. He was masterful without being arrogant and always ruled in the king’s name, never in his own. He was also splendidly hospitable. But he could not hope to avoid arousing opposition in the long term, and from 1196 onwards Richard’s steadily increasing demands for money made his position more and more difficult. In the end, most unwillingly, Richard had dismissed him at the prompting of pope Innocent, who did not think it seemly that an archbishop should serve as a secular chancellor. As has been seen, Hubert — after being persuaded by William Marshal — had played a crucial role in securing the throne for John. Moreover at the coronation in Westminster abbey on Ascension day he not only crowned the king, but read out an eloquently phrased defence of elective monarchy. He was truly a most formidable minister and when John heard of the archbishop’s death in
1205, he exclaimed ‘Now I am king of England for the first time!’ While he lived, Hubert was to some extent a guarantee of good government and his chancellorship gave John an undeserved aura of respectability. No doubt it reassured even the queen mother.

  Not altogether unexpectedly, William Marshal also continued to support king John. William, as the greatest soldier of his age, was widely admired and respected. In his mid-fifties, despite the wear and tear of countless campaigns and tournaments he remained as vigorous and enterprising as ever. In person he was a big, handsome, brown-haired man with a majestic carriage that a contemporary biographer compared to that of a Roman emperor. His code of honour was as punctilious and genuine as it was Arthurian and he proved as unshakeably loyal to the new king as he had been to Henry II and Richard I. (William is an excellent testimony to the good judgment of Eleanor, who, it will be remembered, had recognized his sterling qualities many years before.) Although John had little in common with a man of such nobility, he was shrewd enough to appoint William as earl marshal, in which capacity he became more or less the king’s chief of staff in military matters.

  John’s triumph seemed assured by the end of 1199. For the time being, Arthur and his followers did not renew their alliance with Philip II, who was himself in serious difficulties. His dispute with pope Innocent had come to a head, and on 13 January 1200 France was put under a papal interdict that deprived it of all religious ministry: no priest was allowed to give holy communion to any of Philip’s subjects, nor to marry or bury them. Moreover the emperor Otto IV was as much the ally of king John as he had been of king Richard. Although far from beaten, Philip realized that this was not the moment to fight for the Angevin empire. On 22 May 1200 he and John met at the castle of Le Goulet on the Seine, where they swiftly agreed on a treaty. The French king acknowledged John as rightful count of Anjou and Maine, besides recognizing him as overlord of Brittany; in return John surrendered the Vexin and the county of Evreux, and abandoned his by now totally unrealistic claims to Berry and the Auvergne. In addition the English king promised to pay a ‘relief’ of 20,000 marks to provide a dowry for a Castilian princess, one of John’s nieces, who was to marry Philip’s son and heir, the future Louis VIII.