William Marshal Guardian of England- The Complete Series

by Richard Woodman

  ‘What say you, my Lord Pembroke?’ asked Ranulph.

  ‘My Lords, I am too feeble and broken,’ William responded. ‘I have passed three score years and ten. Take it upon yourself, my Lord of Chester, for God’s sake, for it is your due, and I will be your aid so long as I have strength in life, and will submit loyally to you to the uttermost of my power. Never shall you command me aught by word or by writing, that I will not do as well as I may by God’s Grace.’

  After the brief carping of Ranulph’s household knights, which might have been a bell-weather as to Ranulph’s inner sentiments, the Earl’s response, uttered without a second thought, came like a thunder-clap.

  ‘Out upon it, Marshal, this cannot be! You, who in every way are above us all in chivalry, who be valiant, wise, experienced, as much loved as feared and fitted as no other to do this thing – you must take it and I will serve you and do your behests, without contradiction, in every way I am able.’

  There was a second’s silence and then the hall was rent by a great cheering and a thumping of the board. ‘Marshal! Marshal! Marshal!’ they chanted and amid the racket the Papal Legate rose and signalled for William, Ranulph and Peter des Roches to follow him into a side chamber.

  ‘It strikes me that whilst both of you are fitted to undertake this great office, neither of you wish for this burden,’ Di Bicchieri began, ‘yet my Lord of Chester is right in all things regarding you, my Lord of Pembroke. Besides the acclamation you just received, you possess such qualities and respect that I, in my capacity as representative of the Holy Father and in my desire to see a peaceable England thrive under the Holy See, do promise you, William Marshal, forgiveness and remission of all your sins if you shall take up this work.’

  William looked at Ranulph, who smiled and shrugged. William recalled a hundred bloody acts he had committed, that of the putting to the sword the followers of Maelgwyn ap Rhys and Llewelyn ap Iorwerth among them. Had he not shortly before ordered FitzGerald to mete out the same treatment to all those he caught at Goodrich? And did he not still lie under sentence of excommunication by Ailbe of Ferns? The Papal remission was a powerful incentive, attractive to a man aware of his own mortality.

  ‘Very well, my Lord Cardinal, if I am saved from my sins, this charge befits me well,’ he said. ‘I will take it, howsoever burdensome it may be.’

  ‘Come then.’ Di Bicchieri led them back into the hall and announced that William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, was willing to stand guardian to the young King.

  William stepped forward and looked about him. ‘Are you of one mind in this matter, my Lords?’

  The chorus of ‘Ayes’ and ‘Yeas’ was unanimous, but William needed more than a brief acclamation; he was haunted by the vague spectre of dissent, even from Ranulph of Chester, whose encomium he must take at face value.

  Looking directly first at Ranulph and then at the other Lords Temporal, William asked again: ‘Dost any man here not wish to accept my authority in the grave matter of this Kingdom for now is the time to declare it and he may leave this Council and retire to his lands without dishonour.’ William spoke loudly and clearly so that everyone heard perfectly what he was saying. ‘Those of you who remain and have not yet done so, must swear fealty to young Harry, third of that name, as rightful King and in whose name, during those years of his minority that I am left by God to administer, that same loyalty to me, which I in turn have yesterday sworn to the person of Henry of Winchester.’

  No-one moved, and William turned to Des Roches. ‘My Lord Bishop, do you, under the eyes of Cardinal Di Bicchieri, administer such an oath which I shall take again and before you all, unto my Lord King, Henry the Third.’ William dropped to one knee, causing a scrabble among the watching Prelates for the first to present the Holy Book upon which they might swear their great oath.

  When all was done William addressed. ‘My Lords, I do not take this office out of pride but in all humility, as of God’s Grace. As to our present problems, you see the King is young and tender; I should not like to lead him about the country in my train. So please you, I would fain seek out, by your counsel, a wise man who should keep him somewhere at ease…’

  ‘That is a decision only you can make,’ put in Ranulph pointedly.

  William nodded and sighed, turning to Peter Des Roches. ‘My Lord Bishop, you have had some management of the King, being his tutor. It is my desire that he should reside in your care with some augmentation of your guard.’

  Des Roches inclined his head. ‘As you wish, my Lord.’

  Mindful of his obligation to Di Bicchieri and his small army of clerks, William turned next to the Papal Legate. ‘My Lord Cardinal, it is fitting that, under the authority of Holy Church as having in its keeping this Kingdom, I entrust the work of enscribing letters to all castellans, sherrifs to pay homage to the new King and also to all Barons and Bishops to attend a Council at Bristol on the 11th November. From such we may gauge the true strength of our following and cut the enemy line to Goodrich on the Avon.

  ‘Further,’ he went on, ‘know you all that I have sent into London to inform Aimery St Maur of his place on this Council and to determine the true state of affairs among the French, of which I am certain he will have some knowledge that he may impart. Winter draws on and mayhap we have some time to prepare, but I would fain take the field at whatever opportunity offers if we may steal a march on Louis.’

  Afterwards, as the Council members withdrew, William caught Ranulph de Blondeville’s sleeve.

  ‘A word my Lord of Chester…’

  ‘You have no need to ask, William,’ said Ranulph simply and informally, divining William’s purpose. ‘It is not a chalice from which I seek to drink and I pray for God’s help in your office, God knows you will need it…’

  William stared directly into Ranulph’s eyes. ‘I thank you, but how far dost the authority of guardian to the King extend? That I wage war in his name, I understand, but as to a competence beyond that compass, think you not that a younger man, a man such as yourself might the better execute the office?’

  ‘As I said, it is not a task that I relish,’ Ranulph responded.

  Worried that Chester might decide to retire to his demesne, William pressed on, asking, ‘forgive me from pressing the point, but your support for the lad?’

  ‘Shall be as constant as it has been for his benighted father my Lord of Pembroke, that much I surely made clear,’ Ranulph responded with some asperity and William realised he might have pushed his desire for assurance too far.

  ‘I am truly grateful,’ he concluded, his tone instantly repentant.

  That evening a tired William sat late in the company of a handful of his most trusted people. His nephew John Marshal was present; Thomas his confidential clerk was to hand, having penned the message to St Maur, Master of the Templars; so too was John D’Earley and Ralph Musard, castellan of Gloucester Castle, within whose bailiwick the day’s proceedings had taken place.

  The news that the Earl of Pembroke had been appointed the King’s guardian had that day received a great welcome from the Mayor, Burgesses and citizens of Gloucester, but Gloucester was not England, nor was ‘the King’s guardian’ a post recognised by England. In the aftermath of a busy day William felt his years weigh heavily upon him, along with the burden of his task and the uncertainty of the future.

  ‘Come, my Lords and Gentlemen,’ he said wearily, too exhausted to make the effort to retire to his bed, ‘give me your opinion or advice as to what must be done against the Dauphin and his power for, by my faith, I have embarked upon a wide sea where, cast about as I may, neither bottom nor shore can be found, and it will prove a marvel if a man such as I can carry safely into port.’ He paused, glumly staring about him at their blank faces, realising that for so long they had depended upon him. ‘I can promise you no more glory, for this cause is likely to miscarry. By ill-fortune this child-King has nothing with which to purchase loyalty, nothing with which to wage war, nothing at all and I am an aged man…’


  John D’Earley broke the awkward silence. ‘My Lord, we here assembled in your love will not desert you. Hold true to your cause – our cause – and no man can deprive you of your honour. If all others turn to Louis and you are compelled to retire into Ireland, what man could accuse you of having acted ill? Even such a losing game as may occur can only yield you honour and, think on this, if matters fall out the other way, how much greater will be your joy when you better the King’s enemies.’

  William regarded his most faithful friend whose broad face bore its broad grin. He felt stirred to tears, as he had at the speech of the boy-King, and brushed them aside, dismissing this unpleasant feature of his age. Drawing in a breath he nodded.

  ‘By God’s sword, John, your counsel is good and true, and goes so straight to my heart that if all the world should forsake the King, saving only myself, know you all what I would do?’ William warmed to his own rhetoric and stirred in his seat, feeling his heart pumping hard. ‘I would carry him from one land unto another, and never fail him, though I had to beg my bread!’

  CHAPTER SIX - WINTER 1216 - 1217

  D’Earley’s endorsement of William’s fitness for the guardianship of the King had sufficiently stirred the old man, so-much-so that he spent the greater part of the night that followed in consultation with his nephew, John Marshal, his chief Knights Banneret and John’s two routier commanders, Savaric de Mauléon and Falkes de Bréauté.

  Under Hubert de Burgh, Dover still held out against Louis, but this fortress was an isolated exception in the south-east, the loyalist power residing chiefly in the west. William Waleran and Henry FitzGerald had cleared the Welsh from their siege lines before Goodrich and although Marlborough had been taken by the younger Marshal, there was, nevertheless, a number of strongholds stretching eastwards, like pieces upon a chess-board, held by the late King’s toughest castellans and constables, men unwilling to yield and who held Oxford, Buckingham, Windsor, Bedford, Hertford, Cambridge, Northampton and Ely. In Essex, east of London, Pleshey, Hedingham and Colchester remained in royalist hands; so too did Norwich, in Norfolk, and on the Suffolk coast Orford. Further north Nottingham, Newark and Lincoln – still under the gallant Lady Nicola de la Haye - maintained their resistance to the rebellious Barony and their French allies.

  Having sent William Waleran, Savaric de Mauléon and Falkes de Bréauté to consolidate and reinvigorate the new King’s position in the east, William and the Court left Gloucester on the 2nd November and moved first to Tewkesbury, a place once favoured by John. On the 10th they arrived in Bristol and on the following day Guala di Bicchieri presided over the first formal royal Council of the reign of King Henry III to which, by the letters despatched by his clerks, the Prelates and chief Barons of the Kingdom had been invited. Of the Bishops, all were present except the absent Primate, Stephen Langton, who was still in Rome, and the Bishops of London, Lincoln and Salisbury who were indisposed. The number of the loyal Barons stood at little more than had accompanied John’s corpse from Newark to Gloucester. There were, however, two significant additions: Hubert de Burgh had travelled from Dover and with him arrived the Earl of Aumale, one of the rebel Council of Twenty-five.

  Beyond acknowledging his presence, William made no move towards Aumale, though his presence was both intriguing and surprising. That it might also be treacherous, William set aside for the time being.

  Naturally the Papal Legate assumed the presidency and called for silence. William watched Aumale as Guala di Bicchieri again pronounced excommunicate Louis, his French following and the English Barons who had invited him to invade England. Aumale’s face remained impassive throughout, as he stared into the middle-distance. The Legate also excommunicated Wales for its own adherence to the rebel Barons’ cause. Thus, having at his Coronation made the boy-King swear his oath of fealty to the Pope and thereby made his Kingdom a vassal of the Holy See, continuing his dead father’s submission to Rome, Di Bicchieri added to the defence of England against an aspiring but usurping power the gloss of a crusade. At the time the power of this legitimacy seemed feeble policy, though at this point in the proceedings William saw a flicker of Aumale’s eyes as the Earl shot a look at him. Perhaps the Legate’s Interdiction had some influence after all. As for William he was, with every hour that passed, growing increasingly anxious as to the future. There was much on his mind: the King’s youth – not dissimilar to his own boyhood, though with immensely greater consequences – the stirring of the Welsh, which could encompass much mischief, particularly within his own lands; and the motions of Louis, whose brief truce with Hubert de Burgh at Dover had allowed that worthy to attend the new King. Edgar had not yet returned but perhaps De Burgh could enlighten him.

  When Guala di Bicchieri had concluded the solemn rite of excommunication, the Cardinal supressed the vocal reaction of general approval that had greeted it and moved on.

  ‘My Lords, God’s work knows no rest for his servants here upon this earth where, in expectation of Heaven, we all must strive for the path of righteousness. All of you, Messieurs, who bear arms in defence of the King and by your presence here declare yourselves loyal to the legitimate and anointed King Henry, third of that name, of England and elsewhere, know of his youth.’ Before he continued in his heavily accented Norman-French, Di Bicchieri picked up a parchment from which all could see a heavy seal dangled. ‘By common consent of an assembly of your peers and under the King’s approval,’ he resumed, ‘my Lord of Pembroke has been appointed the King’s guardian, but such powers as this invests him with lack some authority and therefore I beg to lay before you the King’s wish that henceforth William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, is “Our guardian and Guardian of the Realm, empowered by me, Henricus Rex, to make all arrangements, administrations and military dispositions to secure our Kingdom and bring peace to my people. He shall have powers of life and death and all acts of his judgement shall be those of Ourself.” ’

  A brief silence greeted this lengthy assertion of William’s new role, a silence in which those close to him heard him emit a long sigh. No-one quite knew whether Henry had been consulted upon this matter, though both Guala di Bicchieri and Peter des Roches assured anyone interested that he had approved ‘the suggestion’. Once again the hiatus was ended by cries of assent to which William bowed his head.

  Di Bicchieri gestured to William and he stepped forward.

  ‘My Lords, most of you here forgathered know my mind upon the subject and I shall not detain you longer. I thank you for your confidence in me and beg God’s help in our task. To this end I intend that my Lord Bishop of Winchester shall reissue the Magna Carta of last year in the name of King Henry III. Be it known throughout the land that it is His Grace’s wish that such a measure, the breach of which caused the present unhappy rupture between the Crown of this Kingdom and many of its Barons, shall swiftly bring peace to the land and that the Barons now in revolt against the Crown of England shall come into Our camp at once and throw out the usurper Louis, Dauphin of France, who pretends an unholy claim to this Our Crown and Sceptre, Throne and all Our lands which we hold in Holy fief from Christ’s Vicar upon Earth.

  ‘Such a dissent among Our Barons is unpleasing to Us, We wish to remove it forever for it has nothing to do with Us.’ William looked about him, catching Aumale’s eye and, he thought, its gleam of approval. That these were William’s words and not the King’s seemed to strike no-one, such was the authority with which they were delivered. With the King in the safe-keeping of Des Roches and the Bishop so close a companion and confidant of William Marshal, William, invested in his new powers and sought the quickest possible end to the rupture with the Barons. If he could dislodge more from their adherence to Louis, then something might be done to secure the boy-King’s future and fulfil the more optimistic hopes of D’Earley in his encomium of William’s reputation. William had been heartened to see Aumale among their company that day; perhaps it was symptomatic of further defections from Louis’ banner. But only if he came in lo
ve and loyalty, so he added as his own comments upon what purported to be the King’s words: ‘It is not right to put the evils of the father upon the son and those that persist in their rebellion are declared excommunicate.

  ‘Furthermore,’ he plunged on, thinking fast upon his feet, and switching again to appear the King’s mere mouth-piece, ‘since it has no part in Our administration and there is no necessity for its existence, the late King, having made provision for a Council of thirteen Commissioners, it is Our pleasure and wish that the provision for a Council of Twenty-five Barons be removed from the Magna Carta and that Our confidence be reposed in William Marshal, Earl of Pembroke, to be our right hand, and he is to make appointment such as conduce to the good governance of this, Our Kingdom.’

  Having seen that copies of William’s proclamation were promulgated as widely as was possible, William retired to his private chamber and sent word to see De Burgh and Aumale. He was exhausted after the delivery of his first statute of state, not the least because it had been made almost upon the spur of the moment, wrought – as it were – upon the hoof. That he must at a stroke remove the chief grievance of the rebellious Barons had been a compelling priority, forming in his mind for some days but, as he awaited his visitors, he found he had surprised himself by his eloquence and saw, in his mind’s eye, a boy returning from years of exile as a hostage, admonishing his parents in the old wooden bailey of Hampstead Marshal, his illiteracy unchanged but his diplomacy and his rhetoric honed by his conversations with King Stephen as they played their games of ‘knights’ with their straw puppets.

  Such memories came to him with increasing frequency and vividness as the months passed. ‘Drawing me back to join the shades of those who have passed before me,’ he muttered to himself, hearing not his own voice, but the lovely Welsh lilt of his old nurse, Angharad ap Rhys. She it was who had instilled in him a serious regard for those connecting modern times with the ancient days. He checked his complacency with a wry thought: It was a pity he had had to put so many of her troublesome countrymen to death…