Isabelle smiled her gratitude; she must be a stranger to kindness, William thought. ‘God go with you, my Lady,’ he said, quietly, stroking the warm neck of her palfrey.
‘And you my Lord Pembroke.’ They both crossed themselves and William swung into the saddle behind Isabelle, alongside the dozen close members of John’s household and the remainder of the escort. As the Queen passed under the portcullis of the inner barbican, William took his leave of Peter de Préaux, in whose hands Rouen was left.
‘I fear our Lord the King’s absence may be a long one,’ William said, leaning down from the saddle to clasp De Préaux’s extended fist.
De Préaux nodded. He said nothing but his expression was bleak. Both men knew that Normandy was lost. Longsword’s force had suffered reverses and the Bretons, under the banner of Prince Arthur’s half-sister Alice, herself held in durance by John far away in Bristol, but led by Alice’s father, Guy de Thouars, were already at Lisieux, en route towards at the western gates of Rouen. Though De Lacey continued to hold Chateau Galliard, Les Anderlys had fallen to Philippe, and all but a handful of other fortresses, including Verneuil on the southern border of Normandy, had been taken either by Philippe or De Thouars. Even now Philippe’s war-host approached Rouen from the east and John’s departure was nothing more than flight, conducted secretly in the pre-dawn darkness.
Just after curfew a week previously William had seen the baggage train off under the escort of Wolfscar, John de Earley and most of his own mesnie. After the affair before Chateau Galliard the two men made ill bed-fellows, but there was no helping it, for the wagons and carts contained all of John’s treasure and no small amount of William’s. Its quiet departure from the capital of Normandy was portentous, though John’s standard continued to fly above the city and the Court continued to function as normal within the citadel.
William gave De Préaux one last, grim smile and put spurs to his horse. He was armed for war and rode his destrier, for fear of ambush and treason, treachery having been much talked about in the weeks that followed the retreat from Chateau Galliard. He was anxious to catch-up with John and his Queen as they left Rouen and had lingered alone only to sat farewell to the wretched De Préaux. In his departure, even William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, had sent his standard on ahead, in the care of John de Earley and the heavy escort of the baggage train.
The King and his entourage moved swiftly westwards, heading first for Caen before making for Bayeux, where the pace slackened. The baggage train was now one day’s ride ahead of them and, to William’s ire, John ordered a break. The following morning they set off again and, on the evening of 4th December 1203, they arrived with the baggage at Barfleur where a score of vessels lay awaiting them.
The night was occupied in transferring the baggage aboard ship and the following morning the King and Queen, their small Court and its military escort embarked for England. King John, who had long since earned the nick-name ‘Lackland,’ seemed now to embody that distinction, particularly among his own nobles who were personally stung by the creeping night flight from Rouen where most had left friends, lovers and families to starve under siege as the King abandoned his lands south of the Channel Sea.
***
They landed at Portsmouth from whence they proceeded to Winchester. Here John lingered for some weeks and here, one evening following Christmas, when he was playing chess with his confessor, a courier from Normandy arrived. After being ushered by William into John’s presence the young knight, exhausted by his journey, had dropped to one knee, and awaited the King’s pleasure, but John was intent on studying his game and, after an intolerable silence, moved his king’s bishop. ‘Check,’ he said.
‘My Liege,’ prompted William, in an attempt to gain the King’s attention. But John continued staring at the board as his confessor made to move a pawn, thought better of it and resumed his study of the chequered board. ‘My Liege,’ William repeated, ‘here is one come from Rouen, with word from Peter de Préaux and who would…’
‘Have colloquy with me…yes. I know…then let him speak.’ John said, never lifting his eyes from the chess-board. The unfortunate knight looked from the King to William, who nodded for him to proceed.
‘Your Grace, I am charged by my Lord of Préaux to inform you that Rouen is invested.’
‘De Préaux knows his duty,’ the King said, as he assessed his confessor’s decision to move his queen’s rook, releasing his own king from bondage.
‘Your Grace the city cannot hold out indefinitely…’
‘If your master wishes my permission to capitulate upon terms, he does me dishonour.’ John growled menacingly, sitting back with a vexed look at being interrupted in his game. ‘Marshal, can you not deal with this matter?’ he asked peevishly.
‘My Liege, De Préaux has negotiated a thirty-day truce with King Philippe…’ William began, having learned this from the courier.
‘Well, then. Let him see to my affairs accordingly,’ John turned away and again leant forward to study the chess-board.
‘Our stocks of foodstuffs are running low, My Liege…’ added the young knight, unsteady on his one, aching knee.
‘Then let them starve!’ John shouted rounding upon him. ‘What in the name of Almighty God do you expect me to do about Rouen? Damn Rouen! Damn Chateau Galliard! Everywhere I see only treachery! Tell De Préaux his bollocks shall answer for his conduct! Tell him to hold out in my name; the campaigning season will open in two or three months’ time… Now get out!’
‘Come,’ William murmured, touching the young man on the shoulder and leading him in search of food and a bed for the night. ‘There will be no relief of Rouen,’ he confided quietly. ‘Tell your master to hold out as long as he can and then seeks terms…’
William found he could barely endure the look of despair in the young knight’s eyes. ‘My Lord of Pembroke,’ he said, half-sobbing with fatigue and profound disappointment, ‘I never expected to hear such words from you.’
***
The spring of 1204 found William and Robert, Earl of Leicester, in Paris, at the Court of King Philippe II of France. They had been sent by John in the wake of the surrender of Chateau Galliard by De Lacey on the 6th March and the death, at Fontevrault, of the aged Queen Eleanor in April, to seek terms of a formal peace, but a peace which would buy time for John to prepare a new army, relieve Rouen and recover Normandy. Although William had little hope of the success of his embassy, and was only too aware of his advice to the King to relinquish all claims on his French lands, he was anxious about his estates at Longueville and his castles, which still remained in the hands of his castellans. Moreover, the news of Eleanor’s death profoundly affected William, for it reminded him of his own mortality, a reminder that sat uncomfortably with his other preoccupations.
Philippe Augustus received the two English earls in private, rejecting outright King John’s overtures for a treaty.
‘I will hear no more of this matter of Normandy from my cousin of England,’ he told the two emissaries as he bade them stand after delivering their charge. ‘He has forfeit all, and his arms have failed him. The House of Anjou has lost Normandy and with the Duchy all else will crumble. Having been subject to the judgement of war, the matter is now passed beyond negotiation,’ Philippe said with an air of finality.
William felt the humiliation of the King’s remarks. The King knew that having suffered at William’s hands before Arques, he had trounced the Marshal under the ramparts of Chateau Galliard. William felt his cheeks burning; he was too old for this humbling, recalling the callow young man with the lank hair that he had last seen under the great elm at Gisors. The elm had been felled long ago and now King Philippe had risen to become a great King and William was obliged to submit. Then, sensing he had his quarry where he wanted them, Philippe smiled. ‘However,’ he said with an almost pleasant informality, ‘both of you, my Lords, hold lands in Normandy and while some remain in the hands of your vassals, they now lie in my gift. You can no lo
nger hold them under John, but my esteem for you persuades me to offer them in fief to me…’ The King paused to let the import of his words sink in.
William’s lands of Longueville were rich and through Isabelle he had acquired other properties, the manor of St Vaast-d-Equiqueville near Dieppe, the castles of Orbec and Meullers. If he could only hold them until his second son reached his majority, then the provision he could make for his family would secure them a bright future, whichever way the wind blew in England.
In the wake of John’s futile gestures to retain power in Normandy many such accommodations were rumoured to be in the making, several Anglo-Norman barons sought to divide their patrimonies according to preference. William had no grounds to trust the French King, but he had less and less love for John, whose moods changed faster than the course run by a hunted hare, and whose policies verged now upon the fantastical. Besides, he himself had an affection for Normandy, the land of his growing-up, while Longueville and the rest he had acquired by his marriage to Isabelle de Clare and he was loath to let any of it go, for all his advice to John to relinquish Normandy. The former was a personal, familial matter, the latter based on political and military reality was the King’s problem.
‘Well, my Lords?’ Philippe brought William back to reality with a jerk. It was clear that both he and Earl Robert had been caught-out by the French King’s apparent proposition and it was equally clear that Philippe had enjoyed watching the two of them pondering their response.
‘My Lord King,’ Leicester began uncertainly, ‘I know not what to say at this instant…’ His voice trailed off and William, who could in that moment think of nothing to add, watched Philippe as he rubbed his clean-shaven chin and regarded the two discomfited and elderly men before him. It was clear that he was playing with them, but William shut his eyes to that; perhaps a compromise could be reached. He held his peace, sensing the offer would come from Philippe and that it would not be long in coming.
‘My Lords,’ Philippe said with a soothing reasonableness, ‘should you choose to willingly surrender your rights to your Norman estates and order your castellans and seneschals to hand these places over peacefully, I should bind myself in writing to a restoration to each of you in exchange for your homage within one twelve-month of your signing such a charter. Besides this, I should require only that you each paid my treasury five-hundred silver marks.’
That evening the two men ate alone together to discuss Philippe’s proposition. Being unable to read, anxious about the mention of a charter and unwilling to disclose this to Leicester, William put himself in the position of listening first to his colleague’s opinion and then challenging it.
‘How will you justify serving two masters?’ he asked.
‘We should not be the first, William. Why, do I not recall that you, yourself, refused Richard fealty for Ireland, arguing that your first obligation was to John as Lord of Leinster?’
‘Aye, but Richard was King and John his vassal,’ William countered.
‘Do you think John able to dispense with your services? To you above all men he owes much. When he is reasonable he would surely see your point of view in preserving something for your sons.’
‘When he is reasonable, perhaps…’ William rose and began stalking up and down the chamber. It was clear that Leicester intended to fall-in with Philippe’s plan, but William knew the motive behind the French King’s offer, and said so. ‘He would detach us from John if he could, and if he cannot, he would compromise us…’
‘How long d’you think John is going to last without you in particular, eh?’ Leicester asked impatiently. ‘He stirs-up anger and rebellion wherever he goes.’
‘And you would ride upon my back, is that it?’ William retorted.
‘How so?’
‘Well, in my being indispensible, and in John therefore acceding to my serving two masters, you could too.’
Earl Robert shrugged. ‘We must both make our way on the world, William, you and me. God knows but Queen Isabelle has yet to bring forth a boy…’
‘John is young,’ William snapped dismissively, ‘and I am grey as a badger.’ He sighed and called for more wine. ‘Truth to tell, Robert, I have little appetite for any of this and sometimes long for an end to it all… Come, let us not fall out. That is what Philippe wants.’
‘Let us sleep on the matter then.’
‘Amen to that.’
The following morning both men broke their fast alone and then walked together by the Seine. By noon they had agreed to Philippe’s proposal under a pledge of mutual support. William had come up with an argument that, far from an act of disloyalty, it might be turned to John’s advantage to have two barons close to his enemy. Leicester had looked askance at this notion, but held his peace. William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke was clearly wrestling with his conscience.
Later that day they sent word by Philippe’s Chamberlain that they sought a private audience with the King. But Philippe did not respond, not then, nor for a month. They were assured their message had been passed to Philippe, but that he was absent from his capital. They should, they were assured, avail themselves of the pleasures of Paris.
It was only after they heard that Peter de Préaux had thrown open the gates of Rouen to the Capetians on 24th June that a messenger arrived to summon them to the King’s presence the following day.
‘Well, my Lords, I am told that you desire to speak with me,’ Philippe said, obviously in high good humour over the events at Rouen. Paris was full of lurid tales of the extremity to which the citizens had been reduced. Cats, dogs and rats had vanished from the streets and men and women were said to have devoured babies and eaten stewed leather.
‘My Liege,’ began Leicester with intended and pointed deference, ‘my Lord of Pembroke and I accept your offer and are willing to set our names to such a charter as you may present us.’
‘Very well,’ said Philippe with a smile, then twisting their tails, asked William, ‘You are at one with my Lord of Leicester?’
William swallowed hard. ‘Yes, my Liege.’
And later, as William carefully inscribed the signature that his clerk Thomas had taught him, he could not get out of his head the look of cunning pleasure with which King Philippe had regarded him. He was never to forget it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: DOWNFALL 1204 - 1205
On their return to England, Leicester fell ill and it was Marshal alone who sought out the peripatetic Court of King John to lay before him the result of their embassy. The King lay at Nottingham, biting his nails as William reported Philippe’s outright rejection of any thought of a peace treaty.
‘I am dispossessed of my ancestral lands,’ he murmured in that pitifully plaintive tone that William recalled hearing before. William held his peace until John stirred. ‘There is something else?’ the King asked.
‘Aye, my Liege,’ William confronted the King boldly, though with a thumping heart, preparing himself for an Angevin rage. ‘My Liege, I have lands in Normandy, lands once held by Richard de Clare and acquired through my marriage to my wife, the Lady Isabelle…’
‘And you wish to retain them.’ John finished the sentence for him and stirred ominously again. He was no longer lolling in his customary fashion and had relinquished the stem of his goblet. Instead he had made his right fist into a tight ball.
‘If it pleases my Liege Lord here in England,’ William said, slowly in a speech he had deliberately rehearsed.
‘And Robert of Breteuil, my Lord of Leicester, he too has lands in Normandy… what of him?’
‘He is brought to bed with a serious distemper such that his life is feared for.’
‘How very convenient,’ remarked John sarcastically. ‘And you compounded with Philippe, no doubt, to do him homage,’ John went on, his tone of voice unremittingly derisive.
‘In a twelve-month, if it pleases Your Grace, and upon a payment…’
‘How much?’
‘Five hundred silver marks.’
‘Ch
rist was betrayed for less…’
‘There is no betrayal, my Liege…’
‘No betrayal? How then is that? And do not address me as “my Liege” as I am clearly not your Liege!’ John was peevish now, and dangerously so.
‘Your Grace, I have precedent enough. After the surrender of Rouen, Peter de Préaux, who did you there honourable service, was by your consent allowed to retire to his English estates, leaving to his brother Jean the Norman lands once held by their father. Surely I might be allowed some similar compromise on behalf of mine own heirs.’
A look of astonishment crossed John’s face. Then it hardened. ‘In what way is that precedent for you, my Lord of Pembroke?’ he asked coldly. ‘Did you yourself not advise me to relinquish all my lands south of the Channel Sea? And now you require sanction to lick Philippe’s arse like the dog I see you have become? By the Christ, I have raised you too high, Marshal…’ John rose and thrust his face into William’s, glaring up at the older man. ‘And you have presumed too much!’
William’s heart contracted as John turned aside and began a furious pacing of the chamber. At any moment he anticipated dismissal, in which case his cause was lost, perhaps irretrievably. He had nothing to lose now by standing his ground.
‘Your Grace,’ he said, ‘King Philippe asks only that I do him homage, no oath of fealty was mentioned.’
John snarled dismissively at this as he turned on his heel again, struck by another thought. ‘Philippe has bought you and Leicester, has he not?’
‘No, Your Grace! Never!’ William sensed his moment and grasped it. ‘Never, my Liege. Have I ever once given you cause to doubt my loyalty until this moment? And now I come, not to conceal what I have done but to lay it before Your Grace in all openness and honesty.’ He got no further as John cut in.
‘You think me a fool, you think your age and your service to my family allows you such presumption…’ William shook his head, but John continued, pacing up and down: ‘I did not take your advice to relinquish my ancestral lands in exchange for an indemnity, but by the Rood I have thought often upon it. Better I had done than to be driven out at dead of night as I was.’ John paused again and confronted the taller man. ‘Do you know what conclusion I came to, Marshal, eh? And all upon your sage advice?’ William shook his head. ‘I perceive that the future has no room for such ambiguities that you seek. You are either for or against me, or for or against Philippe of France. Think on that, Marshal, and think not of your manor and brace of castles, but of your lands in the Welsh March and in Ireland…’
William Marshal Guardian of England- The Complete Series Page 50