William Marshal Guardian of England- The Complete Series

by Richard Woodman

  Privately William ground his teeth in anger and frustration. He would fain have retired to Caversham, or his remote castles in Leinster with Isabelle and their three younger sons and their daughters, but it was too late for that. He was engaged in war á outrance and must bend his entire will to the matter.

  Thus, when a courier from the Earl of Chester brought in the news that the city of Worcester refused to pay an old tax-debt of one hundred pounds the city council had withheld from King John, he was in no mood to trifle. He sent an order back to his fellow peer. After the formalities of greeting to Earl Ranulph he declared simply, dictating to Thomas: ‘If this city does not yield up its debt immediately upon your again calling for it, you are to burn the place, excepting only the cathedral, and reduce it to ashes.’

  *

  William was sitting late one night over his wine with Peter des Roches, John Marshal, Oliver d’Anjou and John D’Earley. His confidential clerk Thomas was in attendance, drafting orders at William’s desultory dictation, when Edgar arrived, hot-foot from London, bearing a despatch from Aimery St Maur. William indicated it should be handed to Thomas to read, but the Bishop of Winchester snatched it, broke the seal and began to read it to himself.

  ‘My Lord Bishop,’ William said sternly, ‘you have the advantage over me as regards the matter of letters, but not power.’

  Des Roches flushed, then gathered his wits and grinned with an attempt at boyishness. ‘That depends upon whether you mean power spiritual, or power temporal and this,’ he waved the missive, adding facetiously, ‘is from a churchman…’

  ‘Do not play games with me,’ growled William, commanding De Roches to: ‘read it aloud.’

  ‘’Tis but a note, my Lord, and tells us that Louis…’

  ‘Read it!’

  Des Roches flushed, perceiving he had acted foolishly, ‘I beg your pardon, my Lord, I had not intended…’

  ‘For the love of Christ and all the Blessed Saints, read it,’ snarled William.

  De Roches cleared his throat and began the preamble. Then he reached the meat of St Maur’s message.

  ‘Know you that the Dauphin has departed London intending to pass over into France, leaving a garrison in The Tower and the city under Enguerrand de Coucy with strict orders not to leave this place upon any account, keeping open the navigation of the River of Thames. His going has greatly disappointed the Barons, FitzWalter and De Quincy compelling him to swear an oath that he would return.

  I am informed that in his passing into Kent he found that County in a state of open rebellion against his rule, the common people having risen under William of Cassingham and the sea-captains, mariners and seamen of those Cinque Ports not in French hands, making war upon French ships in the Channel. This I have from Philip d’Aubigny who, as my Lord of Pembroke knows, is presently in Sussex with an armed force loyal to His Grace, King Henry, third of that name.

  The Dauphin makes no progress against this William of Cassingham, whose power melts away whenever it is challenged in open fight. I am told, though have no means of confirming it, that the Dauphin left orders for the reinvestment of Dover. As far as I am able to determine, Prince Louis wishes to seek his father’s advice, the reinforcement of his forces, money and the lifting of the Interdict that imperils his immortal soul.

  ‘Thereafter the Master of the Temple concludes his missive.’ Des Roches lowered the document.

  ‘That is more than a note, my Lord Bishop,’ said William who had felt the soporific effects of the wine drain away with every sentence the Bishop enunciated. By the end he sat bolt upright in his chair, his eyes a-glitter, staring round at those in the chamber. They waited in silence. ‘Well, well,’ breathed William at last. Perhaps we have yet some hope.’ He paused, then turned to Des Roches. ‘My Lord Bishop, do you take the King back to Devizes. Oliver will escort you and I shall move some of our force south, to clear out the French alongside D’Aubigny and this William of Cassingham.’ He turned to D’Earley. ‘John, do you give warning of our move, the garrison to be left here I leave to you.’ Finally, addressing D’Anjou, he added, ‘Oliver, once the King is safe at Devizes, do you return to me.’

  ‘D’Anjou acknowledged the instruction and William slapped his hand upon the board and stood, ‘and now methinks some sleep…’

  ‘My Lord…’

  ‘What is it Thomas?’

  ‘My Lord, you order regarding the prisoners in Corfe. It is unfinished.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Then promise them their liberty upon condition that they proceed to Devizes and, before my Lord Bishop of Winchester, swear fealty to King Henry. Oliver may bring such of them willing to show their loyalty to join our power.’

  The chamber suddenly stirred with activity. As the others withdrew, De Roches lingered.

  ‘My Lord,’ he began awkwardly, ‘forgive my importunity…’

  ‘Eh? Oh that. Well, it was unwise, Peter,’ William said, half smiling, ‘I did not begin the evening in a good humour…’

  ‘I have partaken of a little too much wine, I fear.’

  William slapped Des Roches on the shoulder. ‘No matter. We have a turn of events here that may play to our cause. I may even be able to reinstall you in your See of Winchester. In the meantime, you have the King to tend.’

  Des Roches bowed his head. ‘God’s blessings be upon you my Lord.’

  ‘And God be with you,’ responded William as both men crossed themselves.

  CHAPTER SEVEN - SPRING 1217

  Breaking up his winter quarters early, William marched south, making direct contact with Philip d’Aubigny only to learn that St Maur’s intelligence had been flawed. Louis had not left for France without first embarking on a blazing frenzy of activity. Cheated of catching William of Cassingham, the Dauphin had marched on Rye and Winchelsea, recapturing both places before taking ship for France on 27 February. William, still some miles away at Dorking, could only curse.

  Meanwhile Guala di Bicchieri’s relentless preaching of a crusade deprived the English Barony of the pretension of the ‘Army of God’ and, according to the Papal Legate, it was the force under Philip d’Aubigny and of William of Cassingham, who were graced by a similar title. Wearing the cross upon their breasts, they mustered under the banner of the Army of Christ, a fact legitimised by the renewal of King John’s crusading oath by his son.

  Disillusioned with the French, worried about the future of their persons, souls, lands and fortunes, many of the minor Barons began to regret the stubbornly maintained rebellion against the new King, bethinking the option of a young Angevin monarch a better one than a cynical Capetian who would milk England to France’s advantage. On his way south from Dorking, William was followed by news of a string of defections from these men, many not merely sending in messages – ‘hedging their bets,’ John D’Earley called them – but turning up in person, with their mesnies at their backs.

  From these newcomers, eager to buy favour and ensure William kept the field against their erstwhile master, the Dauphin, William learned that Louis had promised De Quincy and FitzWalter that he would return by the end of April. Until then, William realised, the King’s forces must seize the initiative and strike boldly and fast.

  Sending a courier north to Falkes de Bréauté to apprise him of the situation and order him to do what he could to reinforce Lincoln and keep the northern Barons from advancing south, he turned aside from Rye. Philip d’Aubigny had escaped the town and joined William as he prepared to move westwards, bringing with him Oliver d’Anjou, King John’s bastard. William also sent out several knights to demand money and victuals from the near-by towns, and to use the threat of burning if they did not comply.

  ‘Be not over-greedy in this matter,’ he shrewdly instructed them, ‘I would not wish to entirely lose their hearts. Demand what is fair and be content with what they render willingly. But where they show truculence or disobedience, brook no argument. Put them to the torch.’

  On 3 March William despatched Edgar and a herald under
a flag of truce to make contact with his son, who, William had learned, held the castle at Knepp, some miles to the south of Dorking and before marching west he continued south, arriving at Horsham on the 4th. Here he was rewarded by the young William’s response, brought by the faithful Edgar, whose intimacy with William Marshal the Younger had long been established in the days preceding Runnymead.

  ‘Well Master Edgar?’ William asked as Edgar rode into William’s quarters.

  ‘My Lord, the young Lord Marshal presents his duty to his father and requests that you might march upon Knepp where you shall find the gates open to you and besides your son, the Earl of Salisbury…’

  ‘By the Christ!’ William exclaimed, ‘William Longsword is in my son’s company?’

  ‘Aye, my Lord.’

  ‘Dids’t see him?’

  ‘Aye, my Lord, and bring you his greetings.’

  ‘And what force can they muster?’

  ‘I am not sure, my Lord, but the castle is small and was surrounded by an encampment. I should judge the combination of the two to be considerable.’

  William slapped his thigh, ordered wine for Edgar and gave orders for an advance on Knepp, near Shoreham-by-Sea. Next day, the 5th, father and son were reunited as the younger Marshal and Longsword rode out to meet William, bringing all dissembling to an end. William welcomed both men, the one his own blood-relation, the other of the King’s blood by virtue of being a bastard of John’s father, Henry Curtmantle.

  ‘It has been overlong, Will,’ William murmured to his son as the younger man dropped to one knee, to receive his blessing, as he had done at the manor of Caversham two years earlier. William ruffled Will’s hair and smiled at him as he rose to his feet. ‘By God you have grown,’ he remarked, staring at the strapping youth who, but for the lack of a scarred face, reminded William of his own father.

  He turned to Longsword, also a man of great stature. ‘Good my Lord of Salisbury, I am right glad to see you and trust we meet in good faith?’

  Longsword also dropped to one knee, his right hand making the sign of the cross upon his breast. ‘On my oath, my sword and my honour I denied John, but pledge my body, soul and sword unto his son Henry and to you, my Lord Marshal.’

  Almost embarrassed, William quickly put out a hand and lightly raised Salisbury to his feet. ‘How soon can you take the field?’ he asked.

  ‘Whenever you command.’

  ‘Tomorrow then…’

  ‘Tonight we should feast, father,’ put in the young Marshal.

  ‘Aye, Will, tonight we should indeed feast.’

  *

  For almost two months the King’s forces in the south of England went on the offensive. The day following their feasting at Knepp, Salisbury and the young Marshal were despatched towards Winchester while William continued west and after a siege of ten days took Farnham Castle. He then marched on Winchester where Will and Longsword had taken the Bishop’s Castle but had found the so-called Town Castle a more stubborn prospect. After recovering Des Roches’ episcopal seat as he had promised the Bishop, William despatched his new allies further on a chevauchée that went first north to take Odiham, then south-west to Southampton and onwards to Marlborough, once taken by young Will, which fell after a difficult siege.

  Meanwhile D’Aubigny was sent to take Portchester and Chichester, which, with the loss of Rye and Winchelsea, greatly boosted the King’s power in the Channel. Information also reached William that Falkes de Bréauté had taken back the Isle of Ely.

  It proved a whirlwind campaign but, while it tilted the balance of fortune somewhat in the young King’s favour, it was arrested by the return of the Dauphin who landed, of all days, upon that of England’s patron saint, St George’s Day, 23rd April. However, his landing did not go unopposed as, approaching Dover, Louis was treated to the sight of the burning hutments that the French had built for their earlier siege and which had been set ablaze by the men of William of Cassingham and Oliver d’Anjou whom William has sent east to watch the Channel ports.

  Louis was obliged to order his seamen to haul up to the north, pass inside the Goodwin Sands and land him and his reinforcements at Sandwich. On the following day, at Dover Priory, Louis was apprised of the changes wrought in his absence by William’s offensive; angered, he ordered Sandwich burnt. On the 25th, having patched up a temporary truce with Hubert de Burgh, now back in Dover, he marched on Winchester, word being brought to William by Oliver d’Anjou who, leaving William of Cassingham in his forest, rode fast to join the main Royalist force.

  Still at Winchester, William acted decisively and whilst there were those who clicked their tongues, no-one raised their voice against his orders.

  ‘We are over-stretched, my Lords and Gentlemen, and while it grieves me to do so, my Lord Bishop of Winchester must lose his episcopal seat again and we must slight all those castles we have taken save only Farnham, where Louis presently lies and where, God rot his soul, Saer de Quincy, Earl of Winchester has joined him.’

  ‘He will be pleading for the relief of Mountsorrel,’ John Marshal opined, referring to De Quincy’s Leicestershire castle, isolated and under siege by Ranulph of Chester and Falkes de Bréauté.

  There followed some weeks of manoeuvring. As William withdrew towards Marlborough, Louis made for Winchester where he hoped to seize the young King Henry, only to find the place deserted of the Royalist party. Setting men to work to restore the city’s two castles which had been rendered useless – slighted, as it was called – under the Comte de Nevers, Louis moved on London, giving orders to De Quincy for the raising of a force in London for the relief of Mountsorrel. However, Louis would not support De Quincy further than lending him seventy French knights and a force of archers and foot-soldiers under Thomas, Comte de la Perche, for his own eyes were set upon Dover, where he arrived with his siege engines on 12 May.

  Although it was as though nothing had changed that spring, with the Royalists returned to their weaker position, one thing had: William’s intelligence network had been greatly improved because he had encouraged all his chief knights to cultivate the most active and astute men in their followings to undertake reconnaissance and information gathering sallies when raiding the countryside for money and provisions. He had also built-up a small team of heralds and couriers whose skills proved invaluable, complementing the services of Aimery St Maur in London.

  Thus it was that St Maur let it be known that De Quincy and De la Perche had left London on 1 May, heading north towards Mountsorrel by way of St Alban’s, while William of Cassingham informed him that Louis had sat down under the walls of Dover on the 12 May. Considering a replenished Dover safe in the hands of De Burgh, William bethought himself of the north. A junction of the French and the northern Barons, with the added possibility of the intervention of King Alexander of Scotland would be disastrous, allowing the enemy to push the Royalists west with the ever opportunistic Welsh Princes at their back. William had Thomas write to Isabelle, apprising her of this danger and asking her to throw supplies into his chief fortresses in the Southern March, but chiefly and at all costs to hold Chepstow and Pembroke, from where, in extremis, they might escape with the King to Leinster.

  But that was the counsel of defeat. Old though he felt at times, there was something in the desperation of the hour that revived William and stirred his heart. Not for nothing had he chosen the device of that red lion rampant; not merely because it resolved the problem of the birth-mark on his shoulder, but that it bore a personal significance and he would fain have it raised high before death took him.

  In early May Ranulph of Chester, concerned about the vulnerability of Lincoln which since Lent, had been under a renewed siege by a powerful French force, sent urgently for assistance. The French were commanded by Hugh, Comte d’Arras, and Guilbert de Ghent, Louis’ nominee for the Earldom of Lincoln. In response, William, having left Marlborough after gathering in the garrisons of the slighted castles, had moved first towards Oxford where news of the Earl of Winches
ter’s advance on Mountsorrel came in. De Quincy and De la Perche were said to be at the head of an army of refuse and scum, men whose bodies were nearly naked and whose discipline was non-existent, even for the times, who moved north ravaging the towns and countryside with the utmost savagery; St Alban’s and Dunstable had suffered badly.

  Ranulph had also heard of this advance, the horrors it was visiting upon the country running ahead of it with such colour that he supposed that the entire French army under the Dauphin was advancing on Mountsorrel and ordered the siege raised. The Royalist besiegers burnt their cantonments and siege engines and retired to Nottingham.

  Annoyed at Ranulph’s taking fright, William now hurried north with the young King and lay at Northampton on the 12th May, the same day Louis, far away, reinvested Dover. That very afternoon, with Henry by his side William sat in Council when a courier rode in from Ranulph, asking to speak with the Lord Guardian. Begging the King’s pardon and beckoning Thomas to follow him, William withdrew into a side chamber, where the fellow informed William that not only had Mountsorrel been relieved, but Hugh d’Arras had summoned De Quincy and De la Perche to reinforce the siege lines of Lincoln. The rabble that De Quincy and De la Perche led was already astir and was, in all likelihood, already approaching the beleaguered city.

  William thanked the man, ordered Thomas to give him wine and gold and stood for some moments in thought. Then he sank to his knees in prayer and, having crossed himself, rose and returned to the Council. No-one present forgot the look of stern resolution upon the old man’s face as he stood and addressed them. It was clear that a moment of decision had arrived, though they were, as yet, quite ignorant of its cause.