The Greatest Knight

by Thomas Asbridge

  Through this critical stage of his career, thriving on the tournament field, William’s character edges a little further into the light. He comes across as a man imbued with rare physical prowess and clear fortitude; one who understood, and carefully adhered to, the knightly code of honour prevalent in his day. Some of his actions might sit uncomfortably alongside modern conceptions of ‘chivalry’ – from the use of crafty battlefield tactics, to the instances of prideful self-promotion and ceaseless materialism – but there can be little doubt that Marshal’s contemporaries lauded him as a paragon of chivalry. His conduct and achievements evidently exemplified the behaviour expected of a ‘chevalier’.

  The father of chivalry

  The Young King Henry also emerged as a celebrated luminary of the tournament world in the late 1170s. But unlike his friend and retainer William Marshal, Henry’s fame did not derive primarily from his own skill-at-arms, nor was his worth measured in ransoms and spoils. The Young King fought at the heart of his retinue, of course – though it was naturally expected that his household would shield him from the fray – and the reflected glory of his warriors’ achievements on the tourney field did augment his own reputation. But above and beyond all this, Henry was hailed for his largesse and patronage.

  Contemporaries compared the Young King to Alexander and Arthur, the great heroes of old, and hailed him as a ‘father of chivalry’. They did so because after 1177 Henry assembled one of the most impressive military households in all of Europe, packed with warriors drawn from across the Angevin realm and beyond. The visible proof of Henry’s eminence was the quantity and quality of the knights in his mesnie. The author of the History of William Marshal lauded the Young King’s determination to always keep ‘worthy followers in his service’, because his seemingly inexhaustible generosity set a new standard in northern Europe. The likes of Philip of Flanders followed Henry’s example because ‘they saw very well that neither king nor count could raise his standing except through the worthy men he had with him’.

  This was all well and good for the leading knights of the day, and it was their view – or, more particularly, William Marshal’s view – of the tournament circuit that the History reflected. These warriors had everything to gain from Young Henry’s bounteous munificence. He gave them all the ‘horses, arms and money’ they wanted – and, better still, ‘he did not haggle’ – and they worshipped him in return. But elsewhere, this massive inflation in the market for knights had consequences. Men such as Philip of Flanders and Hugh of Burgundy must have inwardly groaned at the Young King’s unfettered generosity, because it meant that they, and other rival patrons, had to pay through the nose to recruit the best warriors. Eventually, the massive expenditure also put Henry’s own finances under pressure. More than ever before, his retinue left a trail of debt to armourers, farriers and innkeepers as they criss-crossed northern France. By 1178, the Young King was dangerously addicted to the pageantry of the tournament circuit. He ‘journeyed through many a land to win fame and glory’, according to the History, ‘for he could never have enough of risking and giving generously’, and was ‘incapable of refusing anything to any man’.

  Nonetheless, the grandiose display of largesse, honour and status worked its magic. As the 1170s drew to a close, the Young King ascended to the very pinnacle of the tournament scene. For the knights and nobles of northern France, increasingly obsessed with the ideals of chivalry, Henry became almost a cult figure. He was the talk of every tourney and contest, the focus of awestruck rumour and feverish gossip – the golden celebrity of his day. In the words of the History, ‘every man would have liked to be like him’. This iconic standing was felt in England too, where a chronicler portrayed Henry as an inspiration to both his class and his generation, calling him ‘the glory of all knighthood’ and the ‘flower and mirror of youth and generosity’.

  The Young King’s fervent dedication to the world of chivalry and tournament might seem like the frivolous excesses of an indulgent playboy. Yet that was not the full picture. Tourneys were mere games of prowess, but they were played by many of the most powerful men in the West – barons and magnates driven by a deepening fixation with chivalric culture. By the late 1170s, it was clear that displays of military might and knightly eminence had an impact that stretched beyond the confines of the tournament field. This lent Young Henry’s stardom an edge, because as the famed ‘father of chivalry’, he inevitably came to enjoy a measure of influence in the real world. As a teenager he had sought power through rebellion; now he had made his name, and affirmed his regal status, in a different arena.

  These achievements could not be ignored by Henry’s father, the Old King. Historians have often suggested that Henry II viewed his son’s lavish tournament career as merely ‘wasteful and trivial’. But by 1179 his attitude was unquestionably more positive. This was apparent to Ralph of Diss, the well-connected dean of St Paul’s Cathedral in London, who offered this balanced estimation of the Young King’s activities:

  [Henry] passed three years in tournaments, spending lots of money. While he was rushing all over France, he put aside the royal majesty and was transformed from a king into a knight, carrying off victory in various meetings. His popularity made him famous; the Old King grew happier counting up and admiring his victories [and later restored] his possessions that he had taken away.

  Henry II may not have tolerated tournaments in England, but he could hardly ignore the near-fanatical popularity of these contests across the rest of Europe. The Old King’s Capetian rival, the ageing Louis VII of France, had made little or no effort to represent himself as a patron of chivalry. That left a significant gap, within which the Young King might usefully operate, wielding influence and forging a network of connections to advance Angevin interests. In all likelihood this had been apparent from an early stage, and the Young King’s relationship with the likes of Philip of Flanders (his former ally) probably had a political subtext from the start. When the ‘high-ranking men’ visited one another on the eve of tournaments, not all their talk can have been of sport and prowess. Certainly, by 1179 at the latest, Henry II was intent upon harnessing his eldest son’s celebrity. In mid-Lent that year, the Young King returned to England for the first time since 1176, and later attended his father’s Easter Court at Winchester. Young Henry was back in the fold.

  THE GRANDEST TOURNAMENT

  By the summer of 1179 it seemed that the Young King’s career had been rejuvenated: the defeats and disappointments of his rebellion were now in the past, the irksome sense of paternal containment and manipulation largely erased. Young Henry’s tournament career might have been bankrolled by his father’s generous allowance, but the mark he had made on the world was his own. Now twenty-four-years old, he was the doyen of Europe’s knightly aristocracy. Henry’s star had risen alongside that of his friend and leading household warrior, William Marshal. In the decade since he entered Angevin service, Marshal had climbed the ladder to an entirely new level. Such was his fame and wealth that William began to attract a retinue of his own, becoming in the terms of the day a ‘knight banneret’ – a warrior in service to a lord, yet permitted to carry his own banner. Now in his early thirties, Marshal proudly bore his new colours and device: a red lion rampant, against a halved green and gold background. These arms, echoing the lions of the Norman banner, would remain with William for the rest of his career. Both he and the Young King were in the prime of life, and the events of late 1179 would give them the perfect opportunity to display their quality.

  King Louis VII of France was now around fifty-nine-years old, and his grip over the Capetian realm was faltering. A third marriage had finally produced the long-awaited male heir his dynasty needed and, by 1179, this boy, Philip, was fourteen and plans were in hand for his imminent coronation. But that summer the young French prince endured something of an ordeal. During a boar-hunt in the wild forests near Chartres, Philip became separated from his companions and was soon hopelessly lost. By day’s end, he was
still wandering aimlessly – alone, afraid and exposed to the elements. Luckily Philip spotted the faint glow of a woodsman’s campfire and the peasant kindly led him to safety. But the prince fell gravely ill thereafter and his survival was soon in doubt.

  Fearful for the future of his Capetian royal line, Louis VII took the extraordinary step of making a pilgrimage to the shrine of Thomas Becket in Canterbury, hoping that his pious appeals for saintly intercession might save young Philip’s life. The king was by now a rather elderly and frail man himself. He managed the long journey, crossing the Channel in late August to be greeted on the Dover sands by Henry II himself, and escorted to Canterbury. Given their longstanding rivalry, contemporaries were astounded by this unprecedented, peaceful visit. After three days, Louis returned home. The Angevin King Henry had endowed the shrine with lamps after his public flogging in 1174; the Capetian monarch now promised Canterbury’s monks an annual supply of 100 barrels of fine French wine with which to slake their thirst. Louis’ prayers seemed to have been answered when Philip made a full recovery, but the trip left the king shattered, and soon after his arrival back in Paris he suffered a massive stroke. Paralysed down one side of his body and barely able to speak, the Capetian monarch was forced to withdraw from public life, remaining an invalid until his death in September 1180.

  To secure the succession, it was now imperative that Philip be crowned and anointed while Louis VII yet lived, so a grand ceremony was scheduled for 1 November 1179 in the royal city of Rheims. This would be the greatest assembly of the decade, with representatives of all of Western Europe’s leading dynasties and noble houses in attendance, and to top it all, a massive tournament was also organised to celebrate Philip’s investiture. That autumn the close correlation between practical power and chivalric spectacle was laid bare. With the creation of a new French king, the chessboard of politics was about to be reordered, and naturally, all the key players were angling for influence and advantage. Leading figures such as Philip, count of Flanders, and Duke Hugh of Burgundy would attend the coronation, eager to establish themselves as the young Capetian monarch’s preferred mentor.

  At this critical juncture, King Henry II looked to his eldest son to represent the Angevin house. With the Old King’s sponsorship, Young Henry would travel to Rheims and the coronation tournament in the most magnificently regal style imaginable. Standing beside William Marshal, his illustrious champion, the beautiful Young King would astonish the world with his chivalry and, it was hoped, gain an unbreakable hold over his brother-in-law Philip of France. This was not the first time that Henry II had spent a fortune to create the aura of opulent majesty. Twenty-one years earlier, when the Old King still enjoyed the trusted service of Thomas Becket, he had sent his then chancellor to negotiate Young Henry’s marriage to the infant Marguerite of France. The low-born son of a Cheapside textile merchant, Becket was determined to appear every inch the noble diplomat during this critical embassy to Paris in 1158, so he demanded the most extraordinary entourage. Onlookers were left agog at the sight of the passing procession, with Thomas accompanied by 200 knights, a small army of infantrymen, clerks and stewards, eight wagons (two of which were packed with barrels of the finest beer) each drawn by five massive horses, and twelve packhorses bearing Becket’s own luxurious possessions, each of which had a small monkey riding upon its back.

  The Young King travelled in similar majesty in 1179, but this was not – as some historians have suggested – simply extravagant frivolity; this was chivalric display with a political purpose, enacted at Henry II’s urging and paid for out of his pocket. The Norman chronicler Robert of Torigni, writing at this time, noted that the Young King travelled to the coronation bearing ‘gifts of gold and silver’ and in the company of ‘a large knightly retinue’, but specified that ‘by his father’s orders, [Henry] had brought with him such provisions for the journey, that he accepted free quarters from no one, either on the road or during the festivities’.

  The History of William Marshal provided further details of the Young King’s entourage that autumn. He was accompanied by a select band of eighty leading knights, but no less than fifteen of these warriors, including William Marshal, were ‘knights-banneret’ and therefore trailed by around ten household warriors of their own. Young Henry paid each of these additional knights twenty shillings a day for the full duration of the journey. Even excluding all the other associated expenses, the cost of paying this war-band has been estimated at over £200 per day, and the group seems to have been maintained, at least, for the best part of a month. Bearing in mind that, at this time, the royal income from the entire county of Worcester was £200 per year, it is obvious that the Young King’s magnificence came with a crippling price tag. As the History ruefully observed, ‘it was a source of wonder where this wealth was to be found’.

  Yet costly as it was, the splendour marked the Young King out as the guest of honour at Philip II of France’s coronation. The count of Flanders was also present, and he was privileged with the task of carrying the ceremonial royal sword as young Philip processed into Rheims Cathedral. But it was Henry who took pride of place. He moved through the crowds, talking ‘with all the nobles present’, and claimed the supposed prerogative of Norman dukes by bearing the royal crown as William, archbishop of Rheims (Philip II’s uncle), performed the coronation. Henry’s close connection to the new French king was clear for all to see.

  After a round of feasting, the grandiose celebrations moved to a large area of open terrain east of Paris, at Lagny-sur-Marne – a setting which today, rather incongruously, hosts the site of Disneyland Paris. The tournament held at Lagny in November 1179 was on a scale ‘never seen before or since’ according to the History. No less than 3,000 knights attended – more than enough to wage a crusade in the Holy Land. Such was the throng that ‘the entire field of combat was swarming with [warriors]’ and ‘not an inch of ground was to be seen’. William Marshal was one of the most renowned participants, and he may well have been given a special commemorative parchment listing all of the leading knights present, because his biographer appears to have used such a document when drafting his account. The History thus recorded a long and detailed roll call of all those from France, Flanders, England, Normandy and Anjou.

  Almost every knight received a short epithet, so the biographer described the great William des Barres as a ‘wise and valorous knight’, while noting that the Norman warrior John of Préaux ‘was as good as gold when it came to taking blows’. In fact, John was just one of five Préaux brothers who appear to have served in the Young King’s mesnie. Not surprisingly, many of Young Henry’s household knights received special mention. Like Marshal, the Flemish warrior Baldwin of Béthune was a knight-banneret. He had recently entered Henry’s retinue and soon became one of William’s closest confidants. Simon Marsh was styled as ‘a courageous, valiant and indomitable knight’, Gerard Talbot, as a man ‘truly fit to be king’ and Robert of Tresgoz as a ‘valiant knight and a witty man’ while the newer arrival, Thomas of Coulonces, was said to be exceedingly worthy. These were the men who were William Marshal’s everyday associates – his friends, compatriots and sometime rivals.*

  The tournament at Lagny was remarkable for its size and splendour, but not necessarily for its sport. Indeed, as a martial contest it may even have been somewhat disappointing. With such a horde of knights packed on to the field, the mêlée was extraordinarily chaotic. Some of the knights unhorsed were trampled and injured. Amid the swirling fray, the Young King briefly became isolated from many of his knights and William Marshal had to intervene, wrestling Henry’s horse free from a group of opponents. In the resulting scuffle, the Young King’s helmet was ‘torn from his head’, which was ‘a source of great annoyance’, but otherwise the event passed without major incident. More than ever, the point of this tourney was to be seen at the head of – or within – a resplendent household; and to have been part of a unique spectacle, awash with the colour of hundreds of unfurled banners, and re
sounding to the thunderous din of 3,000 charging, battling knights.

  Lagny marked the apogee of William Marshal’s tournament career and the Young King’s dedication to the cult of chivalry. Both men had been elevated to positions of prominence in these years of glory. With his fortunes resuscitated, Henry was once again ready to assume his royal mantle and claim the realm he had been promised. In that pursuit he would turn to his friend and loyal retainer, William, a man now starting to be regarded as one of Europe’s greatest knights.

  ENGINEERING A CRISIS

  William Marshal’s career, and that of his lord and friend Henry, the Young King, continued to blossom in the early 1180s. The animosity and suspicion that had once coloured Young Henry’s relationship with his father thawed, and the pair actively cooperated to deepen Angevin influence within the Capetian court. Count Philip of Flanders began to distance himself from the Young King, seeking instead to take the new French monarch Philip II (or Philip Augustus) under his wing. In these early years of his reign, King Philip remained a timid, sickly teenager, prone to vacillate in his allegiances. At first he favoured the count of Flanders, and together they led a rather heartless assault against his mother, the French queen. Later, the pendulum swung in the Angevins’ favour: a peace treaty with the new Capetian monarch was settled at Gisors in the Norman Vexin, and Young Henry found himself fighting a short-lived, but ferocious military offensive against both Philip of Flanders and the duke of Burgundy. William Marshal may well have participated in this campaign, but it was not recorded in the History and only briefly described in other sources. The Young King emerged victorious, and Henry II began to show signs of deepening respect for his eldest son.