The Conquering Family

by Thomas B. Costain

John was amazed at the audacity of the marshal. He stared for a moment in silence and then turned and left the room. The next morning his captains looked in vain for him. He had crossed the river during the night, it developed, and returned to Rouen.

  The siege became a test of endurance. Roger de Lacey could have held out indefinitely if there had been any way of getting in fresh supplies. Realizing that no help could be expected now, he decided to conserve his stores, and this led to an episode which has no equal for sheer horror in history.

  There were four hundred noncombatants in the two castles atop the high rock, made up of the wives and children of the soldiers, some servants, a few priests, and a handful of the usual hangers-on such as entertainers and prostitutes. The commander decided he could not go on filling these useless mouths and he ordered all of them to pack up their belongings and leave. This they did with mixed feelings, some with relief at thus escaping the rigors of the siege, most of them with fear and trembling.

  Philip of France concluded that, if he did not permit them to get ashore, the garrison would take them back and so come more quickly to the point of surrender. As a result the frightened people were driven back with a volley of arrows. They toiled with their bundles on their shoulders up the precipitous path to the castle. Roger de Lacey refused to open the gates to them.

  The unhappy four hundred had no alternative but to huddle at the rocky base of the hill. Here they remained for three weeks, sleeping in crannies and feeding on berries and weeds and such few fish as they could catch in the waters of the river rolling by.

  The soldiers above were under the strictest orders not to deplete the stores by throwing food down to them. On pain of the most dire punishment they were forbidden to give up their own rations to their starving families. All they could do was stand on the ramparts and watch the misery of their helpless wives and children on the wet and wind-swept rocks. Every day they saw wasted bodies thrown into the river and sometimes were able to recognize them. The voices of the starving reached their ears with piteous demands. They could see arms raised up to them in desperate appeal. All the time officers kept watch on the battlements to prevent any attempt at relief.

  While the women and children died, the French remained callous and unchangeable in their determination not to let them land. They even found cause for amusement in the faint sounds of weeping and despairing prayer which reached their ears.

  Philip and his advisers were practitioners of the Code of Chivalry. Roger de Lacey and his officers were reputedly gallant knights who had sworn to be gentle, compassionate, and fair. There was no thought at the time that they were false to their vows in thus condemning the unfortunates to a lingering death on the bare rocks. The four hundred were only the wives and children of common soldiers. Let them die! They were not important enough to affect considerations of military expediency. The King of France below and Roger de Lacey above had that much excuse and, in the eyes of those who counted, needed none other.

  Two hundred of the people had died of starvation and exposure and their bodies had been thrown into the water before the French relented and permitted the wasted survivors to come ashore. Many of them died as a result of excess in eating their first meal.

  Never before had the reverse side of the burnished shield of chivalry been exposed so thoroughly to view. Never before had the cruelty of the code been so callously revealed.

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  Roger de Lacey defended the castle until the last crust had been consumed and then surrendered. He had held out for six months. A month before this happened John had sailed to England and, on the eve of his departure, had entrusted the defense of Normandy to the captains of his mercenaries, Loupescaire and Arenas Martin. The royal skitterbrook’s advice to the remnants of his army, still holding out in castles and towns along the borders, was terse and characteristic: “Let each man look to himself. Expect no help from me.”

  Philip now rushed in for the kill. Loupescaire, who had stationed himself in the strategic castle of Falaise, surrendered on demand and then entered the service of the King of France with all his troops. Caen, Bayeux, Coutances were captured, and with them went control of all Lower Normandy. The army of Brittany, inflamed with desire for revenge, swept down on the helpless Normans and captured Mont St. Michel and Avranches. The loss of Château Gaillard, which Richard had realized was the key to the duchy, had thrown the path to conquest wide open. Rouen held out bitterly, but the garrison was compelled finally to agree to capitulation if no aid reached them within thirty days. The messages they sent to John had no effect. At the end of the thirty days, therefore, the capital opened its gates to the French. Normandy had been lost.

  Queen Eleanor died soon after the fall of Rouen. Her death was universally ascribed to a broken heart, some stating the cause as the murder of Arthur, others the loss of Normandy. The heart of Eleanor, who had been a queen for sixty-seven years and had suffered continuous sorrow, was too stout to break. She died because she was eighty-two years old. Time, that insatiable victor, could no longer be gainsaid. She was buried at Fontevrault between her husband and her much-loved Richard.

  Because of the circumstances of her divorce and her subsequent marriage to Henry II, and even more because of the silly legend of the Fair Rosamonde and the cup of poison, she has been called ever since the Wicked Queen. Once a verdict has been brought in by history, it becomes almost impossible to have it set aside. Eleanor deserves a second hearing and a different verdict. Following her through these three reigns, observing the moderation of her later years and the unquenchable energy with which she strove to help her sons, one becomes much attached to this foolish beauty who turned into a wise old woman. She made up for the mistakes of her youth and deserves much better of history. Farewell, Eleanor of Aquitaine!

  The old Queen had been the richest woman in the world. She left her dower castles and lands in England, the handsome châteaux she had inherited in her native land, the wide fertile fields and vineyards of Aquitaine. There was a huge store of beautiful jewelry. John, who had refused to honor any of the legacies in Richard’s will, gave everything left by Eleanor to his own wife. Richard’s widow, luckless Queen Berengaria, who was in dire straits at the time, received not a penny.

  CHAPTER XIII

  With Bell, Book, and Candle

  HUBERT WALTER, Archbishop of Canterbury and chancellor, died at Teynham in Kent on July 13, 1205, completely unaware that his death would throw England into one of the most tangled situations in all history. Coming back to power after his dismissal by Richard, he had assumed the reins with a firm hand under John. So firm was his hand, in fact, that John had been chafing under a tutelage suitable only for a younger brother. When he heard of Hubert’s death, the King lapsed into his habit of clowning at important and sacred moments. Slapping his thigh zestfully, he cried in a tone of delight, “And now, for the first time, I am King of England!”

  Two days later John was at Canterbury and paid a visit to the monks on whom the responsibility of choosing a new archbishop would rest. He talked to them in the most friendly way and seems to have left the impression that one of their number might be acceptable for the high post. Naturally the monks were pleased and became most favorably disposed to this King who had been living and ruling under a cloud of hate and blame. The good he had done, however, was quickly dissipated when it was found that a chest of church plate which Hubert had bequeathed to the cathedral had been carried off and that the King intended it for Winchester. John had a genius for offending people and he always seemed to pick the most harmful occasions.

  The younger monks of Canterbury, perhaps because of the hint dropped in their ears, decided to take matters into their own hands. Without waiting for the royal permission to act, the congé d’élire, they met secretly at midnight and chose their sub-prior Reginald. Then they slipped into the cathedral in a body and installed him on the archiepiscopal throne. This was as far as they could go, and so they sent their nominee off to Rome the next day to secure th
e confirmation of the Pope.

  Reginald was a fat little fellow who waddled pompously and oozed self-importance from every pore, and he was so puffed up with pride over his selection that he disregarded the urgent warnings of his fellow monks to keep the matter a secret until he reached Rome. As soon as his feet touched French soil he gave it out that he was the new archbishop. The word was brought back quickly to England. John, in one of his towering rages, took prompt action and demanded that John de Grey, Bishop of Norwich, be elected instead. Everyone fell in with his choice, even the young monks who had tried to foist the talkative Reginald on the nation and who were now both ashamed of their action and apprehensive of consequences. Despite the lack of opposition to the King’s selection, however, it was recognized that his man was not well suited to the office. The Bishop of Norwich was one of the justiciars and of the same stamp as the deceased archbishop, though falling short of his stature; an able enough administrator, ambitious, unscrupulous, and worldly minded. No one dared to stand out against the King.

  In order to clear up the situation created by the rashness of the young monks, twelve of the canons of St. Augustine were hurried off as a deputation to the Pope. They were to give him a present of twelve thousand marks and win his consent to the King’s nomination.

  Now there was in Rome at this time a great Pope, one of the very greatest of all popes, Innocent III. He had been elected to succeed the fumbling and procrastinating Celestine III, and the contrast between them could not have been more marked. In particular contrast with his predecessor, who had been a tired old man of eighty-five when named Pontiff, Lothario de Conti de Segni, a member of the noble family of Scotti, had been thirty-seven only when he was elevated to the vicarship of Christ. He had proceeded with great energy to repair the mistakes of Celestine and had succeeded in remarkably short time in removing the Holy See from the domination of the German emperors. This accomplished, he had solidified the Church and brought all branches of it under his firm administration. Innocent was a believer in action, the first pontiff with the resolution to use the interdict freely as a weapon for the enforcement of his decrees. This dangerous thunderbolt had always been available to popes, but always they had hesitated to use it, fearing the repercussions. Innocent had no such hesitations.

  Of all the popes who ever ruled in the Vatican, Innocent III was perhaps the least likely to be influenced by John’s demands and his offer of a bribe of twelve thousand marks. No bribe could have swayed this inflexible Pontiff. He and John were thoroughly well acquainted already as a result of a continuous correspondence in which the Pope had striven to improve the outlook and conduct of the English King. There had been in particular the matter of Berengaria’s dowry and the fulfillment of Richard’s will. More than half of what the lionhearted King had left had been bequeathed to relatives, notably the Emperor Otto of Germany, a nephew. John had calmly disregarded his dead brother’s wishes and had pocketed everything himself. A brief summary of the letters from indignant Pope to callous King* will be useful before entering on the period of active strife between them.

  Letters from Innocent to John:

  Dec. 1200, Richard’s will.

  Nov. 1201, Richard’s will.

  Dec. An admonition not to starve two abbots.

  Dec. Richard’s will.

  Dec. A demand that abbey lands stolen by the King be handed back.

  Mar. 1202. A demand that one hundred men be sent by John to the Holy Land and that he build a Cistercian monastery as punishment for his bad behavior to his first wife.

  Mar. Richard’s will.

  Jun. An admonition to stop persecuting the Bishop of Limoges and compensate him for his losses.

  Feb. 1203. A reprimand for interfering with the liberties of the Church.

  May. A sharp reprimand for behaving shamefully to the Archbishop of Dublin.

  Oct. A reminder that he should appear before his suzerain, Philip of France.

  Jan. 1204. Richard’s will and Berengaria’s dowry.

  Sept. 1205. Richard’s will.

  Sept. 23. Richard’s will.

  Dec. An inquiry into an injustice done an abbess.

  Feb. 1206. Richard’s will.

  Sept. 1207. Berengaria’s dowry.

  Aug. 1208. Richard’s will. (A partial settlement had been made the year before.)

  Jan. 1209. Berengaria’s dowry.

  Jan. 23. Berengaria’s dowry.

  Oct. 1211. A strong recommendation that the King go on a crusade.

  It is quite clear that the relations between them had not been of a kind to make the selection of a successor to the see of Canterbury an easy matter.

  The Pope held hearings on the case at once. The twelve English canons, bred to expect a venerable gentleness in the men who sat in the Vatican, must have been overawed by the vigorous conduct of the case by the third Innocent, who was still in his forties. Well did he become the arms of the family of Conti de Segni, which bore an argent-headed eagle. He had an oval face, a long and thin nose, and a powerful chin to compensate for the smallness of his mouth. His eyes, which were somewhat closely placed, had the deep fire in them of power and ambition.

  Innocent disposed of the rival claims in brisk order. The election of Reginald was set aside as having been improperly conducted. That of De Grey was also declared null and void because it had been made before the previous election had been passed upon. Having thus cleared the ground in a thoroughly proper and legal way, the Pope summoned the canons to appear before him on Christmas Day and then presented to them the man he had selected himself.

  His choice was an Englishman and a cardinal. The red hat had not yet been designed for cardinals (it came into use soon after, however, in 1245), nor did the members of that powerful group wear the purple cloak. It was an unassuming figure, therefore, who faced the contesting deputations, but it is certain that they were instantly impressed, and perhaps awed, by Stephen Langton; even though they had no way of knowing that here was a great man who would prove himself later one of the most justly illustrious of the long line of commoners who came to the fore at critical moments of English history to save the nation from the mistakes and the tyranny of bad kings.

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  Nothing definite is known about the early years of Stephen Langton except that he was born in England and was of pure native parentage, without any trace of Norman blood. It is generally assumed that he came from either Yorkshire or Lincolnshire, with the former favored for the honor. There was a family of Langtons at Spilsby in the latter county, but Stephen’s possession of a prebendary in Yorkshire while he taught at Paris would seem to assign him to that great northern county.

  He went early to Paris and became the outstanding teacher at the university, some historians stating that he was chancellor there. The post does not seem to have existed at the time, but it may have been that Langton performed the duties which were later assumed by the chancellors. His teaching of theology was of the most enlightened kind. He inclined to follow the lead of Becket, denying the absolute power of kings and setting above them the higher lordship of God. Some of his students were so imbued with his teachings that they went much farther than he had ever done and were accused of heresy, for which a few of them were burned at the stake.

  At Paris he met the young man from Italy who bore the name of Lothario de Conti de Signi and who even at that early stage was stamped for future greatness; a reserved young man with brooding dark eyes and an air of intense determination. The future Pope was struck with the clarity and logic of Langton’s teaching. He listened often to the man from England and consulted him on points of theological dispute and church discipline. Lothario de Conti de Signi was raised to the College of Cardinals at the age of twenty-eight, a hasty advance which at the time was ascribed to the nepotism of Pope Clement. The new cardinal soon demonstrated that his selection had been a wise one, and he so impressed his colleagues that on the death of Celestine less than ten years after he was elected to succeed him. He took the n
ame of Innocent III, and one of the first things he did was to bring Stephen Langton from Paris. The Englishman became the most popular preacher in Rome, and it was remarked that Innocent went often to hear him. There was no surprise when Langton was made the cardinal-presbyter of St. Chrysogonus.

  The new cardinal was able, in this post, to indulge his tendency to scholarship. Among his achievements were many learned commentaries on the Old Testament and even some volumes of a profane nature, including a heroic poem on the six days of creation entitled Hexameron, and histories of Henry II and Richard. The manuscripts of his lighter labors are believed to be in existence still, though they have not been located. His greatest contribution was dividing the Scriptures into chapters, and this monumental labor he accomplished to the general satisfaction, it seems, of the contentious scholars of the day. He wrote a hymn, Veni, Sancte Spiritus, which is still sung under the English translation of Come, Thou Holy Spirit, Come.

  Although much has been written about this priest who was to play such a vital part in the history of England, no information exists about the man himself. Was he tall or short? Was he dark or did he carry the badge of his race in a fairness of locks and complexion? If no conclusions can be drawn on these points, his character at least shows plainly through the pattern of events. He was a benign man, moderate though advanced in his views, calm and fearless in emergency. He was a pure patriot and a zealous Christian, his soundness unflawed by selfish considerations. He never blustered or threatened, and so one conceives of him as a man who spoke quietly and depended more on the substance of what he had to say than on how he said it. The spurious wiles of the orator were foreign to his nature, although he could hold men in thrall by the perfection of his reasoning.

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  English Stephen Langton was a magnificent choice for the primacy. The canons had come to Rome with strict instructions from John to secure the selection of Grey, but there can be no doubt that they were seduced by the bearing and the depth of learning shown by Innocent’s candidate; and this made it easier for them to yield to papal pressure. They confided to the Pontiff the nature of their instructions, and he at once absolved them from a promise so improperly extracted. The canons then proceeded to elect Stephen Langton. All voted for him except one Elias de Braintefield, who cast his ballot for the King’s choice and then left the chamber. He returned, however, and listened at the door while the Te Deum was sung over the new archbishop.