Richard & John: Kings at War

by McLynn, Frank

  Medieval writers naturally conceived of human life as fulfilling a pattern - the aleatory, the contingent, the adventitious, and the chaotic were to them manifestations of the Devil. The pattern was either Aristotelian - what could, might and even ought to have happened, rather than what actually did in brute fact - or providential, evincing God’s purposes; it followed that a random death of a king was outside the medieval writers’ universe of discourse, for this would make God appear a jester or a dice-player. French chroniclers were particularly confused on the issue: William of Breton said Richard’s death showed clearly that God was on Philip’s side and had come to the aid of France by striking down her most dangerous enemy; but Rigord thought that Philip’s imprisonment of Queen Ingeborg after repudiating her was the decade’s real sin crying to Heaven for vengeance, and was therefore puzzled as to why Richard, not Philip, was the monarch who was stricken.13 By contrast, the English view was more one-dimensional. Although both Coggleshall and Howden are invaluable as historical sources when their preconceptions and parti pris do not intrude, clearly in this case they did. There may well have been a minor incident involving treasure which aroused Richard’s wrath - in that simulated but serious mode we have already discussed - but that was not his motive for the siege of the castle where he received his death-wound. That was a simple case of suppressing a rebellion.14 Medieval historians, and some modern ones who follow them uncritically, like the story of treasure trove as it fits the picture of an irresponsible king; not surprisingly, this story has always been popular among the anti-Lionheart school of history. Yet the most serious strike against the treasure story is that it is not mentioned in the most authentic account of Richard’s death, by Bernard Itier, a monk in the Benedictine abbey of St Martial in Limoges, who had access to all the most reliable eyewitnesses.15 Many historians, even until recently, knew nothing of Itier’s account, partly, the historian John Gillingham suggests plausibly, because they still cleave to the old fallacy that Richard is important only as king of England, and therefore totally ignore Aquitaine and its local historians.16 At least three other major sources follow Itier and make no mention of treasure.17

  The tenacious hold of legend on Richard’s death can be seen from a number of different angles. Freudians, who like to link Eros and Thanatos, will doubtless relish the persistent canard that Richard disregarded the advice of his physicians and weakened himself still further by a prolonged bout of lovemaking as he lay dying; unfortunately, it is only the pedlars of tall stories who insist that this last sexual fling was with boys rather than women.18 Christian apologists spread the rumour that Richard had not attended Mass for seven years, since his hatred for Philip of France was so strong he could not in conscience take the sacraments or even witness the Consecration, though this sounds like an obvious riff on the old Melusine and ‘Devil’s Brood’ stories.19 Mythmakers, determined to rewrite his somewhat depressing and meaningless death into something more like romance, liked to transfer his death away from Châlus to more glamorous and well-known sights, to Chinon, Loches or Château-Gaillard.20 Confused as to the identity of the king’s killer, the chroniclers opt for a number of different names for the crossbowman: in Itier’s account he appears as Peter Basil, in William the Breton’s verse epic he is Dudo, while in Roger of Howden’s history he is confidently assigned the handle Bertrand de Gurdon.21 There seems to be agreement that Richard did forgive the man on his deathbed, but less consensus on what happened afterwards. One plausible version is that the dying king’s instructions were set aside and that Mercadier had him flayed alive. Another story is that Mercadier thirsted for the man’s death but did not dare disregard the Lionheart’s last wishes openly, so sent him secretly to Joan (now wife of Raymond of Toulouse) who put him to death in some gruesome way.22

  So passed the most famous king in English history. Whatever final judgement historians reach on the personality, reign and achievements of the Lionheart, no other English or British monarch comes close to him in terms of his impact on the wider world, and hence his status in myth and legend. Comparisons with the historical and mythical great are almost commonplace in the writings of posterity about Richard I: Alexander, Augustus and Charlemagne figure most prominently as examples of the former, with Arthur, Gawain and Roland as favourites in the latter category.23 The legendary stories told about Richard are legion.24 Apart from Blondel and Robin Hood, two especially stand out. In one fable Richard fights Saladin in single combat and worsts him. In another, significant in that it shows the Lionheart entering legend as a heterosexual rather than as the homosexual beloved by twentieth-century mythographers, Richard falls in love with the German emperor’s daughter during his famous captivity. Angry at the real or imagined seduction of his daughter, the emperor releases a lion into Richard’s cell, but the king kills the beast by distracting its attention with forty silk handkerchiefs received from his lady fair, putting his arm down the lion’s throat and ripping out its heart; actually, in mythical terms, the emperor was a fool for, by the canons that governed medieval fiction, lions cannot harm anointed kings.25 Although there are passing references to Richard in Chaucer and Shakespeare, it is generally considered that Richard was too much of a colossus to be a manageable subject even for a genius like the Bard, who preferred (when not dealing with the remote Ancient World) to base his dramas on obscure or little-known rulers; though some allege that there is a lost Shakespearean play about Richard.26 In literature Richard’s great significance is his massive influence on Arthuriana in general and in particular the medieval literature of Spain and Germany.27 In the wider world of Islam, Richard was regarded as a greater figure than Saladin. As with Napoleon centuries later, mothers would frighten their babies with talk of the English ogre who would come and eat them if they misbehaved.28

  It took a while for Europe fully to grasp the legendary dimensions of Richard, for in the immediate aftermath of his death all his contemporaries were shocked, convulsed, paralysed and incredulous. England lurched into temporary chaos, with an epidemic of crime and lawlessness, while the barons fortified their castles, uncertain what would happen next, eager to be on the winning side in any dispute over the succession but perplexed about who the new king would be. The barons of Anjou, Maine and Touraine declared for Arthur of Britanny, Geoffrey’s son, while Philip of France invaded Normandy. But John had powerful backers, with his mother Eleanor especially important.29 Whether on her advice or on his own initiative, he acted quickly. Ironically he was staying with his nephew and rival Arthur when the news of Richard’s death came in. At once he rode south to Chinon and seized the Chinon treasury, thus providing himself with the sinews of war.30 The fact that Richard had nominated John rather than Arthur as his heir (and given him all his castles and three-quarters of his treasure) was a factor deciding the great lords of the empire which way to jump, but it was scarcely conclusive. If Richard had had a son, he would have succeeded him; since Geoffrey was older than both Richard and John, it seemed to follow logically that his son had precedence. Moreover, Richard’s judgement of John in 1194 when he patronisingly forgave him his sins, and waived a trial only through the intercession of Eleanor of Aquitaine, allowed the Arthurian party to assert that Arthur had always been accepted as Richard’s heir, and it was only the weakness of his mind when he lay on his deathbed that led him to nominate John as his successor.31 But logic had little to do with the situation in 1199. Medieval law, feudal custom, precedent and, most of all, the differential mores and folkways of England, Normandy, Aquitaine and the other constituents of the Angevin empire, all conspired to make the succession a muddied and turbid affair; it was clearly going to be main force that decided the issue.32

  The barons of Aquitaine adopted a ‘wait and see’ policy by simply rendering homage to Eleanor of Aquitaine, leaving open the question of who the next king would be; Eleanor passed on the duchy to John, while retaining a life-interest.33 Anjou, Maine and Touraine, who opted for Arthur, were dominated by feudal lords who wanted the leas
t possible interference in their internal affairs, and that clearly indicated Arthur, a boy king and therefore a weak king; William des Roches was the key figure in marshalling pro-Arthur support.34 Hubert Walter, Richard’s financial and administrative genius, initially favoured Arthur, and a famous conversation with William Marshal at Vaudreuil on 10 April, four days after Richard’s death, shows that key magnate devoted to realpolitik. Walter stressed that the matter of a new king could not be left in abeyance and warmly supported Arthur. ‘To my mind that would be bad,’ replied Marshal. ‘Arthur is advised by traitors, and is proud and haughty; if we put him over us, he will ruin us, for he does not love the people of this land. John, on the other hand, was clearly the choice both of his father and of Richard.’ ‘Are you sure this is really what you want?’ asked Walter. ‘Yes,’ said Marshal, ‘it is the only just way. A son is surely more entitled to a father’s lands than a grandson.’ Walter sighed. ‘So be it. But remember my words. You will never regret anything in your life as much as the step you are now taking.’35

  From Chinon John rode to Fontevraud to inspect Richard’s tomb, then on to Beaufort-en-Vallée, where he interviewed Berengaria and bishop Hugh of Lincoln. But he found the tide of opinion running against him in the Angevin heartland: on Easter Sunday the barons of Anjou, Maine and Touraine met in Angers and chose Arthur as Richard’s rightful successor.36 Moving on to Le Mans, which he also found hostile to his cause, John narrowly escaped capture when a pincer movement of the Breton army and Philip Augustus converged on the town.37 Once over the Normandy border, John experienced a dramatic change of fortune, for under Norman law a younger son was nearer heir to his father’s estates than the child of an elder brother who died before the father.38 At Rouen on 25 April John was invested as duke of Normandy and garlanded with a coronet of golden roses. While his mother Eleanor and Mercadier kept armies in the field in Aquitaine to contest the Arthurian coup in Anjou, and John raised a force with which to raze Le Mans for its ‘treason’, William Marshal slipped across to England to whip up support for John.39 The justiciar Geoffrey Fitzpeter backed John, and the trio of Marshal, Fitzpeter and the archbishop of Canterbury summoned the English barons to a conclave at Northampton. There was little enthusiasm for John, but the alternative, Arthur, seemed to presage weak rule, anarchy and possibly civil war. Grudgingly the barons agreed to take an oath of fealty to John. Leaving his mother and Mercadier to deal with the Arthurian factions on the continent, John crossed the Channel to Shoreham on 25 May, and two days later was crowned king of England at Westminster Abbey, on Ascension Day 1199.40

  Faced with the perilous situation on the continent - for by now Constance of Britanny had made formal homage to Philip Augustus for all the lands currently possessed by Arthur - John did not dare to tarry long in England. Constance’s actions were an implicit statement that she cared nothing for the Angevin empire and did not mind if it broke up, so long as her son came into his own and was protected; it was revenge for the English barons’ action at Northampton. In part too it was a recognition of necessity, for the military successes of Mercadier and Eleanor of Aquitaine in Poitou had put the Arthurian party on the back foot.41 Three weeks after landing at Shoreham, John was back at Dieppe with reinforcements from England. Maine, Anjou and Touraine were still largely in Breton hands, and enemy possession of the great Angers-Tours crossroads meant that Philip and his allies had effectively sliced the Angevin empire in half. But John could not proceed south while Philip still menaced him in Normandy. After some half-hearted skirmishing, the two kings met for a parley in August, both aware they needed time to think through their respective strategies. John played the injured innocent and enquired peevishly why Philip had attacked him; Philip replied that it was because he had had himself acclaimed duke of Normandy without doing homage to his feudal overlord (Philip).42 When John offered to give satisfaction, Philip replied brusquely that his terms were simple: cede Anjou, Maine and Touraine to Arthur and abandon the disputed territory along the Seine to France.43 It was a call for surrender that John could not possibly accept. Fortunately for him, he inherited a large, well-drilled army that Richard had been preparing for the next strike against Philip Augustus. Even more crucially, he inherited Richard’s network of alliances and, for the moment, this held firm. On one day he was said to have received fifteen counts at his court, and among them were the counts of Flanders, Boulogne and Bar, the key players in Richard’s assault on Philip’s northern marches.44 Eleanor of Aquitaine meanwhile turned the screws on the Arthurian party by declaring John her heir and expressly repudiating all claims on her from Arthur. To cap this run of success for John, envoys arrived from Otto IV of Germany, promising support.45

  Feeling confident now that he had both the Pope and the emperor on his side (Otto IV was backed by Innocent III) - a very rare event, given the protracted Guelph-Ghibelline dispute) - John headed south, dogged all the way by Philip’s forces. All parties in the struggle for the succession kept a keen eye on the slightest change in political weather, and at this juncture the Arthurian commander of the Breton forces and the most powerful baron in Anjou decided that the tide was turning away from Philip Augustus. All William des Roches needed was an excuse to change sides. This Philip duly provided by invading Maine and razing the castle of Ballon. Des Roches claimed that the castle was his and demanded an explanation from the French king. Arrogantly, Philip said that he would deal as he pleased with any castles he captured, and bogus claims from the Arthurian party would not deter him. Angrily des Roches sent secret envoys to John, offering to surrender Arthur if John offered him suitable terms. John took the bait, and on 22 September at Le Mans des Roches brought in Arthur and his mother Constance.46 Arthur and his mother made their submission, but something about John’s demeanour alerted them that he would not treat them as Richard had treated him. That very night Arthur and Constance, protected and escorted by Aimeri of Thouars, stole away from Le Mans. John, having gained an ally in des Roches and seemingly also captured a great prize, found himself back to square one, simply through stupidity; he had alienated the viscount of Thouars by peremptorily demanding the return of Chinon. The refugees sought sanctuary in Angers. John’s reputation was already catching up with him. Here, after all, was a man who had betrayed his father in 1189, betrayed his brother in 1193-94 and betrayed Philip Augustus in 1194; such a man was a byword for treachery and would surely act treacherously again, this time at the expense of the 12-year-old Arthur.47

  Arthur’s flight, immediately after he had come in to make his peace, seriously affected baronial opinion and, besides, Richard’s allies had not been impressed by their first contacts with the new king, so unlike his late brother.48 By the end of 1199 Richard’s carefully constructed system of alliances was in tatters. There were no violent ruptures, it was just that Richard’s old allies largely abandoned John by voting with their feet and taking the Cross: Baldwin of Flanders, Louis of Blois, Stephen of Perche, the marquis of Montferrat and others forsook European politics and departed on crusade. The unravelling of Richard’s alliance can be fairly precisely dated to November 1199, when the count of Champagne held a great tournament at Evry-sur-Aisne. Thibaut and his brother Louis of Blois together with many lesser lords and their followers formally laid down their arms and announced that they were heeding Pope Innocent’s call for a new attempt to regain Jerusalem.49 The trickle of would-be crusaders, which had so disappointed the Pope before the November tournament, now became a flood. The real slap in the face for John was the treaty signed by Baldwin of Flanders with Philip of France on 2 January at Péronne, which at a stroke destroyed the two-front military strategy Richard had used so successfully against the French. This more than compensated for the more or less simultaneous papal interdict imposed on Philip and France by Innocent for his egregious treatment of Ingeborg. Nonetheless, Philip was hard pressed by war with the Angevins on top of a political struggle with the papacy, so he responded with alacrity to John’s peace feelers. The two kings met on t
he Norman frontier on 15 January, embraced warmly and signed preliminary articles of an accord.50