The Greatest Knight

by Thomas Asbridge

  THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL

  William Marshal had little cause to love King John. If bonds of affection had ever linked the two men, they had surely been grievously eroded by recent events in Ireland and beyond. Yet, although William may have distrusted, disliked and perhaps even feared his monarch, it turned out – somewhat ironically – that he was still the closest thing to a friend that John had among the English nobility. This meant that, as the king’s reign entered its second decade and spiralled into an ever-deepening crisis, Marshal was inevitably drawn back into the centre of events.

  By 1212, John had accumulated a long list of embittered enemies. The king’s heavy-handed and unpredictable treatment of the aristocracy had earned him the abiding antipathy of many English nobles, especially those in the north. After the fall of Normandy and most of the other Angevin territories on the Continent, John had also promoted a number of his ‘French’ supporters from these regions to positions of power within England. Many of these ‘outsiders’ gained unsavoury reputations. Peter des Roches, from the Touraine, was an able administrator, closely involved with the work of the royal ‘chamber’ (with oversight of the king’s money) and a loyal crown servant. But his appointment as the new bishop of Winchester raised eyebrows, not least because the prelate had a distinct fondness for the battlefield. In spite of the Church’s official prohibition against the shedding of blood by clerics, Peter was often to be seen, clad in armour, leading military expeditions, and contemporaries mockingly proclaimed him the ‘warrior [of] Winchester’, noting that he was ‘keen on finance’, but ‘slack at the scriptures’.*

  One of King John’s leading military commanders, Faulkes of Bréauté, also became a figure of hate. Faulkes’ origins are obscure. He appears to have been the bastard son of a Norman knight, and it was said that his unusual first name had been earned when he used a scythe (or ‘faux’ in French) to kill a man in his younger days. The king’s patronage lifted this low-born ‘foreigner’ to prominence in England, and Faulkes proved himself to be a fearsomely effective warrior, emerging as the crown’s leading enforcer. But his ruthless approach to war and a marked penchant for the systematic despoliation of enemy lands also caused him to be branded as the ‘scourge of the earth’ and the ‘most evil robber’.

  After 1206, John’s increasingly exploitative approach to the governance of the realm also inspired wider discontent. The king was determined to refill the royal treasury, hoping to finance a grand campaign of re-conquest on the Continent. Victory in France would silence his critics – he would be the ‘Softsword’ no longer. Fixated upon this goal, John was willing to use every conceivable means to bleed England dry. A swingeing wave of taxation was imposed, money was squeezed from the Jewish moneylenders (which in turn impacted upon their debtors) and exorbitant fines were extracted from the nobility at every possible turn (whether for rights to inherit, marry or hold office). A mighty war chest of some 200,000 marks was amassed by this relentless drive, but the cost to John’s standing and reputation in the realm was ruinous. The monarch, already regarded by many as cruel and untrustworthy, was now cast as a tyrant. After 1210, increasing numbers of nobles demonstrated their deep dissatisfaction by refusing to participate in the king’s military campaigns or to pay scutage (the ‘shield price’ owed in lieu of military service).

  King John was also embroiled in a damaging dispute with the Roman Church. In common with most medieval crown monarchs, he wished to influence, if not directly control, appointments to key ecclesiastical offices within his realm. After all, prelates were not just spiritual figureheads – they exercised political and military power. However, the current pope, Innocent III, was an ardent reformer and determined to uphold the rights of Rome. When Hubert Walter died in 1205, a prolonged quarrel erupted over the choice of the next archbishop of Canterbury. Innocent’s preferred candidate was Stephen Langton – an esteemed theologian and ardent supporter of papal authority. But John regarded Langton with suspicion, in part because the churchman had spent years studying in the Capetian capital, Paris (at what would become one of Europe’s first universities). This raised understandable doubts about Langton’s loyalties and his potential sympathy for the cause of the French crown.

  King John’s relations with Rome deteriorated to such an extent that, in March 1208 – just as William Marshal was returning to Ireland after the dispute over Leinster – England was placed under papal interdict, a sanction that would remain in place for the next six years. Church bells fell silent across the kingdom, no burials on consecrated ground were performed, nor was Sunday Mass celebrated. In November 1209, John was himself formally excommunicated. In official terms, this meant that he had been expelled from the body of the Church. With their king exiled from the Christian community, the English were free, in theory at least, to select a new ruler – their bonds of allegiance to John having been dissolved. The actual effect of the interdict and royal excommunication should not be overstated. Christian England did not grind to a halt in 1208, nor was there immediate or wholesale rebellion against royal authority in 1209. In part this was because, in the course of the last century-and-a-half, the Roman Church had made over-frequent use of these penalties, such that their sting and impact became blunted. Nonetheless, John’s ostracism gifted ammunition to his opponents.

  Outside of England, the king faced outbursts of aggressive militancy from the native Welsh, largely inspired by Llewellyn ap Iorwerth, but Philip Augustus remained John’s most troublesome rival. The Capetian monarch had achieved spectacular success on the Continent between 1202 and 1205, but his ambitions were by no means sated. By 1212, Philip was training his gaze upon England itself, only too aware of the discontent within the realm, and happy to exploit John’s schism with Rome. The French king was particularly keen to pursue fresh conquests because his eldest son and heir, Prince Louis, was now in his twenties and hungry for power. Louis’ marriage to Blanche of Castile – King Henry II’s granddaughter and thus John’s niece – gave the Capetian prince a tenuous claim to the English crown. Such was the depth of antipathy for King John’s rule that in some quarters an idea that would once have been unthinkable now began to gain real traction. Perhaps a Capetian overthrow of the despised Angevin regime might actually be acceptable.

  William Marshal’s return to the fold

  All of these pressures and threats – which had been gradually building during William Marshal’s extended absence from royal court – combined to spark a crisis in August 1212. King John had gathered an army that summer with the intention of attacking France, but an outburst of native Welsh insurrection forced him to redirect his resources. In retribution, he hanged twenty-eight Welsh hostages at Nottingham Castle and then initiated preparations for a full-scale invasion of north Wales. In mid-August, however, John caught wind of disturbing rumours. A conspiracy had been hatched to overthrow his reign. According to one chronicler, he was told of a plan ‘to drive him and his family from the kingdom and choose someone else as king in his place’, while another account suggested that his murder had been plotted, such that, in the course of the coming expedition ‘he would either be slain by his own nobles, or given over to the enemy for destruction’. Long paranoid about precisely this type of threat, John took these reports seriously. The incursion into Wales was called off. The king’s eldest son and heir, Henry (who had been born in 1207), was placed under close protection and John surrounded himself with a sizeable armed guard.

  It is impossible to know the extent to which this supposed ‘plot’ was a reality. It was certainly the case that two leading nobles immediately fled the country, which may indicate a measure of guilt. The northern baron, Eustace of Vesci, crossed the border into Scotland, while Robert FitzWalter escaped to France, and John ordered two of the latter’s strongholds to be demolished, including Baynard’s Castle in London. The king also arrested and imprisoned three royal administrators, and demanded hostages from many of his magnates. Isolated and fearful, John now ‘had almost as many enemies as b
arons’ according to one chronicler.

  It is clear that the king suspected William Marshal of being involved in this conspiracy, as one royal commander was specifically warned to watch for an attack launched from Leinster. But, in fact, Marshal chose to extend a hand of friendship to his monarch at this point, making a clear show of support. William somehow convinced twenty-six Anglo-Irish barons to renew their oaths of allegiance to the crown, and wrote to John himself, offering to travel to England in all haste so as to lend his assistance, while also recommending that the king agree terms of peace with the pope. The text of John’s letter of reply offers a remarkably candid insight into the sudden thawing of his relationship with Earl William. Its conciliatory tone indicates that the king was now desperate to secure Marshal’s loyalty. John wrote of his ‘eternal gratitude’ to the earl, acknowledging that it was William’s ‘counsel and encouragement’ that had persuaded the Irish to affirm their fidelity. He also thanked Marshal for his willingness ‘to come to England’, though he asked him to remain in Ireland for now, assisting the justiciar, John of Gray.

  More surprising still was John’s attempt to engender a sense of warm familiarity and amity with William, a man whom he had so recently hounded and harassed. The king’s letter made repeated references to his dutiful, almost avuncular, stewardship of Marshal’s son, Young William – now a knight in his early twenties, yet still described as a ‘boy’. John noted that Young William needed ‘horses and a robe’, but wrote that he would furnish these himself for now, casually adding that Marshal could pay him back at a later date. The missive also stated, in almost nonchalant manner, that the king was happy to ‘hand [Young William] over to one of your knights, perhaps John of Earley, or one of his men’, adding that ‘if you want it otherwise, let me know by letter that he is to stay with the court’. Taken as a whole, the message represented an impressive feat of dissimulation. To all appearances, this was a relaxed exchange between two intimate friends, not a delicately worded olive branch, extended to a former opponent.

  The underlying motive behind John’s placatory approach is readily apparent. The steadfast support of a man of Earl William’s stature and renown was a massive boon for the faltering monarch, so the king had every reason to mollify Marshal. William’s reasoning is more difficult to divine. It is likely that, at first, his overwhelming priority was to secure the release of his two sons. This was achieved in relatively short order. By early 1213, John of Earley had taken custody of Young William, and Richard Marshal had also been freed. Marshal’s heirs had been pried from John’s clutches at last. Had that been Earl William’s sole objective, he might perhaps have withdrawn back into retirement, seeking to maintain a studied neutrality through the troubled years that lay ahead.

  Instead, he allowed himself to be pulled back into the world of politics and war; indeed, in some respects he pushed himself to the fore. William must have entertained hopes that a renewal of royal favour might bring rewards – the return of lost lands and rescinded honours – and these were indeed forthcoming. In the years that followed, Marshal recouped many of his losses. King John took particular care to bolster the earl’s position in Wales, hoping to enlist his aid in suppressing the Welsh. William regained control of Cardigan, but was also granted custody of the major Pembrokeshire port and stronghold of Haverford, and command of Carmarthen and the Gower peninsula. Other members of Marshal’s circle also benefited: John Marshal was appointed as custodian of the Welsh March in Shropshire; while John of Earley was confirmed in the office of hereditary royal chamberlain and given care of the county of Devon.

  But it is likely that William Marshal was also driven by an authentic sense of duty to the crown (regardless of its incumbent) and devotion to the Angevin dynasty, the family to whom he had dedicated his adult life. Like John of Earley in 1208, he may have wished to avoid the shame of disloyalty. Marshal certainly demonstrated a remarkable capacity to overlook King John’s shortcomings and his recent attempts to seize Leinster. As the History noted, William now seemed to forget ‘the king’s cruel conduct towards him’, and the biographer sought to explain this by stating that the earl ‘was ever a man to espouse the cause of loyalty’. In fact, Marshal would prove to be one of John’s most important allies and unflinching servants from this point onwards, even as almost all others fell away and the tide turned irrevocably against the king.

  To the brink

  By the early spring of 1213, King John’s position had become so precarious that he deemed it necessary to summon William Marshal from Leinster. By this stage, Pope Innocent III had authorised the Capetian French to cross the Channel, depose John and take possession of the realm. Philip Augustus had even formalised an agreement with his son, whereby Prince Louis would rule England, but be subject to his father’s supervision and authority. That April, a large French force was assembled at Bruges in Flanders, and a sizeable fleet readied. An invasion was about to be launched.

  Earl William brought a sizeable force from Ireland to Kent, joining a general muster of those forces still loyal to the king. John’s half-brother, William Longsword, earl of Salisbury, and the earl of Essex, Geoffrey FitzPeter, were also present. The king was persuaded that the only way to avert this dire threat was to forge a settlement with Rome. John duly met with Pandulf, the papal legate, on 15 May near Dover. Marshal may have played a role in orchestrating this meeting, as it was held in a Templar house. He had established a link with the Order when he visited the Holy Land in the 1180s and then developed a close friendship with the Master of the Templars in England, Aimery of St Maur, in the early part of John’s reign. William also appointed a Templar named Geoffrey to serve as his personal almoner in this period, who distributed the earl’s charitable donations to the poor.

  In the course of this assembly, King John took the massive, but necessary, step of submitting the kingdom of England to the authority of the papacy. John formally acknowledged Innocent III to be his liege-lord, declaring his ‘homage and sworn allegiance’ to the pope and his successors. He also agreed to an annual tribute of 1,000 marks to Rome as a token of obedience. These terms were confirmed in a charter, witnessed by William Marshal among others. On that day, the king turned his realm into the equivalent of a papal state.* This was a grievous concession of sovereignty, but it also signalled an immediate transformation in Pope Innocent’s attitude. At a stroke, John was turned from Rome’s arch-enemy into its most favoured son. The king’s sentence of excommunication was lifted by none other than Stephen Langton on 20 July. More importantly, the pope rescinded his support for the imminent French invasion. An enraged Philip Augustus was forced to back down, grumbling that he had already spent 60,000 marks preparing for war.

  This diplomatic coup was followed by a military victory. On the advice of Marshal and Longsword, John ordered a swift naval strike against the assembled French fleet, then harboured at Damme. Longsword led the attack on 30 May and managed to torch many of the Capetians’ ships. According to one contemporary, ‘it was a very bitter thing for the king of France to see his vessels . . . burning and belching forth smoke, as if the very sea were on fire’. With William Marshal’s help, the kingdom had been brought back from the brink of disaster.

  THE CATASTROPHE AT BOUVINES

  It must have been obvious to all, nonetheless, that this only represented a stay of execution. The threat from France had been forestalled, but not extinguished. And as part of his submission to the papacy, King John was forced to accept Stephen Langton’s appointment as archbishop of Canterbury. His arrival in England was followed by the return of the ‘conspirators’ Robert FitzWalter and Eustace of Vesci, emboldening the many barons who nursed a deep resentment of the king. John’s position was also weakened by the death of Marshal’s old ally Geoffrey FitzPeter, in October 1213. He was replaced as justiciar of England by the unpopular Peter des Roches, further alienating the Anglo-Norman aristocracy.

  King John had one final chance for success. Drawing upon his remaining financial res
ources and military support, he sought yet again to launch a grand campaign of re-conquest on the Continent, hoping to recover the Angevin realm. John was able to exploit the growing sense of disquiet among the potentates of north-western Europe over King Philip Augustus’ seemingly inexorable rise to a position of pre-eminence. An alliance was patched together with Otto IV, emperor of Germany, and the counts of Boulogne and Flanders – England’s established trading partners. The coalition’s strategy called for a two-pronged offensive. John was to sail to Aquitaine and lead an invasion force out of Poitou (mirroring the scheme thwarted in 1205). At the same time, William Longsword, earl of Salisbury, would prosecute a forceful invasion of Normandy, alongside the massed ranks of England’s northern allies. Meanwhile, William Marshal was to remain in England, defending the March against a Welsh counter-attack.