It was the Earl who arrived first.
‘My Lord of Aumale,’ I am right glad to see you,’ said William rising and holding out his hand. ‘Would that more of your party had come hither today.’
‘More of them will, I suspect, my Lord,’ Aumale replied, ‘and that even before they hear what this day has brought forth.’
‘How mean you?’ William asked, frowning.
‘There are many who regret inviting the Dauphin and his knights into England. They bear us little love and act like conquerors. We hear daily of treacherous plans to remove us from our domains, which they intend to share out among themselves as happened after the Conqueror came. Besides such troubling rumours, the citizens of London have grown weary of the depredations of the French who quarter themselves like an army who have taken the place by siege and storm. Women are not safe and their drinking beggars belief, exceeding even our own when it may be had so easily at the point of a sword or knife.’
‘God be praised, that French conduct should turn London against Louis,’ remarked William, crossing himself and feeling a weight beginning to lift from his shoulders. Of course, Aumale could be a spy, spreading false tales, but if it were true, it was the best news William had heard in many a long and tedious day.
He called for wine and as Aumale lifted the stoop to his mouth William asked, ‘You come in all honour, my Lord Aumale? I should take it much amiss if you dissembled.’
Aumale spluttered into his wine, lowering the goblet. ‘My Lord! I protest! Assuredly I come hither in honour. Take me for a spy? In God’s love, my Lord of Pembroke, show me some charity. You were no lover of John yourself. If any man were a dissembler it was you, with your son close to our party.’
William raised one eyebrow, saying without rancour but with a wry smile, ‘Have a care, my Lord Earl, I am in loco rex.’
‘And full glad I am of it,’ Aumale said, toasting William and resuming his wine. ‘God knows the Kingdom hath need of peace.’
‘Then tell me, what of Louis?’
Aumale shrugged. ‘De Burgh can tell you more than I, for I have not recently been in the French camp, but the Interdict of Holy Church irks him greatly and he has declared your friend Guala di Bicchieri an impostor and implores the Pope to lift the Interdiction from his shoulders.’
‘He would achieve that by withdrawing his troops.’
‘He will not do that, nor will his Daddy allow him now that London lies at his feet.’
‘Ah, London, that rat’s nest…’
‘London’s independence to trade and make money is important, my Lord, for the wealth of the Kingdom. Certainly its merchants have learned the unwisdom of their welcome for Louis, but they could not stomach John who no sooner saw a crock of gold in a merchant’s hands, than he must snatch it away, just as he must have the maidenhead off my daughter or seek the bed of thy lady. The man was corrupted by power…’
‘For all that, he was your anointed King.’
‘Aye and for that reason we did not wish to dethrone him but to hold him to his conduct through our Council of Twenty-five.’
‘Well, that is no longer necessary,’ William remarked dismissively.
‘A shrewd move,’ observed Aumale drily. ‘Yours, or the King’s, or Guala’s or Peter des Roches’?’
‘God’s,’ responded William with countervailing sharpness, evoking a chuckle from Aumale.
The Earl rose and held out his hand. ‘I have taken up too much of your time, my Lord. You have my word upon my probity. You are not a man I could ever match for honour but, with God’s grace I shall not disgrace myself in your company. I shall remember you and your task in my prayers.’
As he waited for De Burgh, William longed to see Isabelle and tell her of the day’s work, but other thoughts crowded in. FitzGerald and Waleran had yet to return from raising the siege of Goodrich and Edgar had not yet brought the latest news from London.
De Burgh waited upon him an hour later. ‘A thousand pardons, my Lord Earl, I was at my lodgings when I received your summons.’
‘No matter, De Burgh, no matter. What news d’you bring - of Dover chiefly?’
‘It remains ours, my Lord. I negotiated a truce with Louis, for which I thanked God for we were reduced almost to eating our own dung. Happily, and to Louis’ chagrin, an extension to the truce allowed me to ride hither, though Louis does not know of it.’
‘Did his siege engines do much damage?’
‘Aye, my Lord, a considerable amount, he has a formidable trébuchet, but it caused no breach, not even a slighting and he has lifted the siege and retired to London, there being so little in the countryside to sustain his army through the coming winter, though that is where, I fear, our people must find their own provision for the cold months to come.’
‘God help the villeins of Kent,’ William remarked dryly. ‘Well, you have acquitted yourself well, messire, and I would have you remain as Justiciar if you are content to serve King Henry and myself.’
‘You know my loyalty to the King’s House runs as deep as your own, my Lord. We have both imperilled our souls by it.’
William stared hard at De Burgh; he had been implicated, at least by a widespread rumour, in the death of Prince Arthur of Brittany and William wondered if he referred specifically to that, or to a more general confession of his sins in respect of his military career in Angevin service necessarily steeped in blood. He himself, he recollected, had once been widely supposed to have lain with a Queen and, whilst he had enjoyed an intimacy with Marguerite, consort to the ‘Young Henry,’ it had never extended to carnal knowledge.
‘What think you to be Louis’ intentions?’
Like Aumale before him, De Burgh shrugged. The gesture threw the full weight of his position upon William with almost physical force.
‘There was talk of shifting the siege engines to The Tower. Should he take the place the fat would be in the fire…’
‘Canst bring me no more comfort?’
‘They say Longsword is in the field in Essex, athwart the old Roman road from St Alban’s to Colchester, but I am doubtful of this. However, there is a fellow whose conduct, if the truth be told, did more to persuade Louis to throw over the siege of Dover than my own resistance…’
‘Oh, and who may he be?’ asked William, full of curiosity.
‘Oh, he is some common oick with a talent for archery and war. His name is said to be William of Cassingham and he heads a great band of rough fellows all armed with long-bows who have harried the French and stung them everywhere within reach of the forests of the Kentish Weald.’ De Burgh chuckled. ‘The villeins call him Willikin of the Weald. No Frenchman dare ride out even with an escort unless it be fifty or sixty men, and many hundreds have died in ambushes by these lawless ruffians.’
William sat in silence a moment, digesting all that De Burgh had told him, before asking, ‘what makes a commoner like this William of Cassingham rise to support us?’
‘I do not think he supports us, or the King; I think he cannot abide the insolence of the invader. Should you try and tax him and his merry men, I suspect he would resist you with as equal a fervour as he objects to Louis’ knights plundering the countryside.’
‘Yet he works in our favour…’
‘Indeed, my Lord, for the time being, and is to be harnessed thus. Perhaps he may continue in this vein, in which case, God bless him; if not, then a noose may serve to bring his henchmen to obedience… My Lord, there is one thing more…’
‘Go on.’
‘Some of the seamen of the Cinque Ports have come to their senses too, Louis having obliged them to take service under his banner. It went down ill with them and they harry Louis’ shipping in the Channel…’
‘That is more good news,’ William said quietly, ‘added to what my Lord Aumale tells me of disillusion with Louis among the Barons.’
‘I know nothing of that, my Lord.’
*
But whatever encouragement William derived from these tw
o items of news, he did not retire that night without a dose of disaster. That very evening Edgar returned to his master and, having given William greetings from Aimery St Maur, confirmed all that Aumale had said about the excesses of the French making them increasingly unpopular, Aimery St Maur having presented William with an assessment of the situation he had observed in London. However, Edgar also brought the unwelcome intelligence that, on 6th November, even before the Royal Council at Bristol, Louis’ men had compelled the Constable of The Tower of London to capitulate.
‘God’s blood, the Conqueror’s White Tower!’
‘Aye, my Lord.’
‘And is there anything further?’
‘Aye, my Lord. The day before I left the Temple it was made known that the Dauphin proposed to march north, to reduce Hertford Castle.’
‘North, eh?’
‘Just so, my Lord.’
‘Who holds Hertford?’
‘Is it not Walter de Godardville, my Lord?’
‘Yes it is,’ William roused himself. He was growing forgetful. ‘One of Falkes de Bréauté’s routier captains, I recall.’
When Edgar had withdrawn William mused on the state of affairs. All his life, he thought, had led to this moment and the decisions he would take in the coming weeks. As D’Earley had said, even so disadvantageous a position offered him limitless honour, while Guala di Bicchieri’s absolution would wipe all trace of sin from his soul. At three score years and ten he could ask for little more.
But in spite of these promised glories, which few men can ever have had guaranteed before their deaths, God had laid before him the task which, peradventure, he must first undertake. He perceived in it, and its associated prize, that paramountcy of duty upon which all else depended. But duty came with shadows, and, while it might yield William riches on earth and smooth entry into Heaven, it might also produce defeat, obloquy and death.
Yet something else was nagging at the back of his head: the mere germ of a thought which he had to drag forward till it grew and shaped itself, and as it did so, his old heart beat a little faster and he began to take some comfort from it. He rose and began pacing up and down the chamber, ordering his thoughts, continuing thus for some half an hour before throwing himself down upon his knees in prayer. After a further period he rose, crossed himself and called for Thomas, his confidential clerk.
‘My Lord?’
‘Call me a Council of War tomorrow; summon all the power here resident, Barons and Knights Banneret.’
‘Aye, my Lord.’
‘And then bring hither pen, ink and parchment…’
Thomas bowed and withdrew. Despite the lateness o the hour, it seemed his master had shed ten years.
*
The purpose of William’s Council of War was to assess what might be done. While the King’s position was weak it had dawned upon William that it might not be entirely hopeless; if it were not hopeless, then he must create some opportunity for it to flourish. To do nothing was, therefore, not an option. His reissue of the Magna Carta, minus the clause appointing the Council of Twenty-five, was a political gambit of some potency, and Di Bicchieri’s confirmation of the righteous legitimacy of Henry’s succession gave a spiritual thrust to the young King’s cause, but triumph lay in military success, and in hours of the night William had turned his mind to this.
Much would depend upon the actions of others, of course, but there were strings upon which he might play and in some of his close adherents he had men who understood war as well as any. The chief deficiency would, as always, be money. Money was crucial and there was none. John had not merely bankrupted the state but lost his Treasury in the waters of the Wash, so much would have to be raised from the country, a fact that would make the King’s party unpopular – at least in the short term. William could not help that, and next morning he left Thomas to draft a declaration to raise taxes while he conferred with his military chiefs and began to put together an intelligence network, to assemble supplies and to muster support columns of troops able to raid, whilst determining the requirements of certain strategic castles.
‘I have it in mind, my Lords and Gentlemen,’ he told the assembly of his military commanders, ‘to begin our work around Lady Day. If we can seek some modest accommodation with the enemy having the appearance of a weak appeal by offering a trade in castles, we may better our position.’
A murmur of debate rumbled round the room. William heard voices raised in dissent and spoke at once to quell any such misgivings.
‘Pray silence,’ he commanded, ‘My Lords, we are woefully short of money. In fact we are desperate for want of it and must take counsel with this in mind. Whilst I have ordered the raising of a tax, it will take time to collect and we must disperse some force to support our sherrifs, mayors and burgesses in its collection, for it will prove unpopular. We are also short of men so that our position is unhappy. Even before we sat at Council in Bristol on 11th November, Louis had taken The Tower of London…’ An upwelling of astonishment mixed with despair greeted this news, for few had yet heard of it. William went on: ‘He has now marched north, intending, I believe, to lay siege to Hertford Castle and I am proposing to concede him, by stages, a number of fortresses…’ Again, dissenting voices were raised, but William raised his own. ‘My Lords and Gentlemen, I would command you all to suffer to hear me in silence. You have invested in me powers that I must, perforce invoke. God knows the task before us is no light one but, partake of it with me, and honour cannot but accrue to you. Those who disagree are free to leave my side: now!’ No-one stirred and after a brief pause, William resumed the outline of his strategy.
‘We will secure a truce by way of conceding those castles which ill-serve us by their remoteness. Such concessions will be conditional upon their garrisons being allowed to march to our banner unimpeded and with all their arms, armaments and equipage. This will augment our main force while reducing Louis,’ since he must pour garrisons into these places and restock them with stores. It will, moreover, extend his lines and further stoke a disaffection which My Lord of Aumale states is rife among the English Barons. We shall also buy time and not waste these cold months of winter, during which our tax-collectors shall do their duty.’
William stopped to let his words sink in. He could see that it was dawning upon his supporters that there might be some wisdom in the proposal, so he went on: ‘We must proceed with caution, a little at a time. We are in a feeble position, it is true, but it would be wise to let Louis think we are weaker than we are, thereby preparing our way for a grand chevauchée when the moment is right…’
‘My Lord, can we rely upon the enemy to honour the terms of any truce that concedes a stronghold and allows its garrison to go free?’ It was John D’Earley who asked the question and it was a fair one. There were those who, knowing of the intimacy between him and William, thought afterwards that he had been planted to ask it, for William quickly returned an answer.
‘Of course we cannot trust them, but we can send a force of some strength under the terms of the truce to escort each garrison to safety. Besides, I am informed that Kent is in arms against Louis’ forces under a commoner named William of Cassingham, and the ships of the Cinque Ports obstruct free communication between Louis and his Father. My guess is that the Dauphin will be persuaded to seek reinforcements for the forthcoming campaigning season….’
‘It is a risky strategy, my Lord,’ someone said, voicing the thoughts of many. What possible advantage could be gained by allowing – even driving – Louis to reinforce his army beyond the fact requiring an expenditure of treasure? Was that key to the Marshal’s thinking? Who knew. A low murmur began again. It was swiftly stifled by William.
‘Who can wage war without risk?’ he riposted. ‘A withdrawal of the Dauphin may give us the opportunity we seek. Come, this is neither time nor place for cowards, my Lords and, looking round, I see none among you.’
*
The trade in castles began before Christmas. On 6th Decembe
r a herald and heavy escort were sent to Hertford with orders to secure a promise from the Dauphin to allow the garrison to leave in safety. If he did so, Louis was told, he could have Berkhampstead as well. Louis agreed and Walter de Godardville was ordered to hand-over the keys.
Matters did not go as smoothly at Berkhampstead, where William Waleran had taken over as constable. Waleran at first refused to submit, causing a suspicious growling among the French that suggested this whole thing was a stunt. Word was passed back to William and the Court at Bristol and when, on the 20th, Waleran received an order with the seal of Henry himself appended to it alongside that of William’s, he gave way, and marched out.
Having spent Christmas at Bristol, sufficiently distant for Louis to form an opinion that the young King’s party was on the back foot and buoyed up by the risible notion that all seemed to turn upon the military opinion of an old man who had one foot in the grave, Louis moved to besiege Cambridge early in the New Year.
William now attempted to open a serious negotiation with Louis, dangling the prospect of further gains with the offer of Orford, Norwich, Cambridge, Pleshey, Hedingham and Colchester Castles in return for substantive truces and in late January 1217, with his entire power and the young King Henry in his company, William marched on Oxford. From here he sent a column to Nottingham to raise a relief for Lincoln and dictated letters of encouragement to the constables of Bedford and Northampton Castles. But in February the Dauphin, convinced of the weakness of the English King’s party, took Castle Hedingham in north Essex, without awaiting any outcome of the talks. His forces then moved swiftly to besiege several of the other castles William had been prepared to negotiate the surrender of, thereby depriving the Royalists of the advantages that they might have accrued from their peaceful handover.
Many of the King’s party regarded this dishonourable act as an exposure of the folly of William’s policy, pointing out that the garrisons would be lost, as would any time to raise money. William was bruised by the turn of events and put a resolute face on these blows. He had not expected to succeed to the uttermost of his plan, but he had hoped to achieve a little more. The invaluable Edgar was employed passing across country to maintain contact with Aimery St Maur in London, but it seemed that the Dauphin had turned the tables on William and for all his rumoured alienation of the rebel English Barony, might yet displace the House of Anjou from the English throne.
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