by Day, Malcolm
Thereupon Matilda endeavoured to persuade the aristocracy to grant this woman her rightful status. However, the former empress’s haughty demeanour made her more enemies than friends, and on rejecting demands to halve her subjects’ tax bill, she was refused the coronation. Instead her main ally, the powerful bishop Henry of Blois conferred on her the tentative title of ‘Domina’, or ‘Lady of the English’.
But this state of affairs was never going to last and within a couple of months the country was in a state of civil war. One day, while residing at home in Winchester, she discovered that fire was enveloping the town – and no accident either. For several weeks the city was ablaze, the great abbey was destroyed and with it a great gold cross given by King Canute. When the army of her former ally, turned enemy, Bishop Henry arrived from London, Matilda’s supporters fled. She herself escaped but Stephen was released from prison and was soon hunting her down.
Bitter years of siege and counter-siege followed, including once when encircled at Oxford Matilda managed to escape by crossing the snow-laden land wearing a white cape as camouflage. Eventually the two adversaries came to a settlement: Stephen would keep the crown if Matilda’s son Henry (by Geoffrey Planatagenet) could become heir to the throne. And so their conflict ended. In fact, Stephen died a year later so Matilda had the more sastisfactory outcome.
Anarchy under Stephen
Worst excesses in English history
Possibly the most anarchic years the country has witnessed – worse even than during the English Civil War – were those experienced during the reign of Stephen. He himself was by all reports a likeable fellow: good-looking, kindly, generous – hardly the sort to wish for such a dreadful state of affairs. Unfortunately Stephen was not suited to being a king. He was out of his depth.
Descriptions of his reign from contemporary sources beggar belief. It seems that Stephen’s bid to hold on to his crown in the face of the iron-willed Matilda (whose right to the throne had been asserted by her father Henry I) simply got out of hand. Once Stephen had lost control, he was unable to regain it.
Rival factions of nobles and knights fought bitterly, each in turn burning and pillaging whole villages that might have pledged their support to the enemy. A protection racket was rife. It was said that ‘you could easily go a day’s journey without ever finding a village inhabited or a field cultivated.’
Even those who escaped the wholesale slaughter would probably suffer in the following famine that overtook much of the land. William of Malmesbury recorded, ‘The knights from the castles carried off both herds and flocks … pillaging the dwellings of the wretched countrymen to the very straw.’ Entire towns, such as Nottingham, Winchester, Oxford, Cambridge and Bedford were sacked, and thousands starved to death in the famine. It was said that every man who could, robbed his neighbour. Unspeakable tortures were committed to obtain treasures. Bodies were ‘broken on stones’ and the worst perpetrators ‘knotted cords round their heads and twisted them till they entered the brain’.
We do not know how much licence was written into these accounts, perhaps none. Such lawless horror prevailed for 15 years under Stephen’s reign. It took the strength and organisation skills of his successor, Henry II, to put an end to the chaos.
Penitent Ruler of Europe’s Largest Empire
Henry II and his ‘turbulent priest’
Winston Churchill’s eponymous ancestor acclaimed the first Plantagenet ruler, Henry II, as the ‘very greatest King that England ever knew, but withal the most unfortunate’.
By his birth to Matilda and her second husband, Geoffrey of Anjou, Henry inherited the English crown. Through his marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine, he acquired half of France, and bit by bit during his reign Henry added virtually the rest of the country. He conquered Ireland too. So by 1180 this formidable warrior king had extended the frontiers of what could rightly be termed the Angevin Empire to include an immense area stretching from the Scottish border to the Pyrenees.
In his efforts to quell the turmoil inherited on succeeding Stephen, Henry earned widespread support from his nobles. One measure was to introduce a system of common law that standardized legal practice right across the country. Thus far, the history books present Henry II in a good light. But the second part of Churchill’s statement refers to his less successful dealings with the Church. Henry did not like sharing power with another institution, especially one that regarded itself as having supreme authority.
Yet his reign started well on this front. When Henry was introduced to the brilliant young Thomas Becket, a protégé of Archbishop Theobald of Canterbury, they immediately saw eye to eye and Henry made him royal chancellor. As soon as the Canterbury post fell vacant, the king fast-tracked his learned friend through the ordination process, from priest to bishop to archbishop, in a matter of days. Unfortunately, from there on their paths diverged.
Parting of ways
As Becket himself declared on taking up his new position, he changed from ‘a patron of play-actors and a follower of hounds, to being a shepherd of souls.’ The two friends disagreed on several points of ecclesiastical administration as Henry endeavoured to assert the secular law over church law. Becket constantly refused to oblige.
Uppermost was the issue of jurisdiction over clergymen convicted of crimes. Henry wanted control of their sentencing and reprieve. Becket insisted it was a matter for the Church. Although this may not in itself seem to be a matter of life and death, the verdict would symbolize where the power lay.
In effect the two men were drawing up their battle lines – to give ground here would only lead to conceding more territory later. Like Thomas More centuries later in his resistance to Henry VIII, Becket could not act against his conscience, or all would be lost.
At one point Becket felt so intimidated he fled to France where he stayed for six years until Henry allowed him back after the Pope had threatened to excommunicate the whole of Britain. Here, indeed, were the early rumblings of the split that eventually ripped the English Church from Rome in the 16th century.
Final solution
When Becket preached with characteristic fire on Christmas Day, excommunicating bishops who had taken part in the coronation of Henry’s son as future king, the report of it tipped Henry into the terrible rage that would haunt him for the rest of his life. His actual words – ‘What miserable drones and traitors have I nurtured and promoted in my household who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born cleric!’ – have been turned into the more theatrically terse: ‘Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?’
Did the king know that four of his trusty, though not the brightest, barons were within earshot? Did he intend this outburst to be effectively an order of execution? Surely the original words could not be construed to carry that meaning, but the re-rendering of them in a more snesational style surely could.
What we do know is that once the king heard of the murderous deed, committed, as it was, before the high altar of Canterbury Cathedral he was horrified and abject with remorse. In an act of penitence he donned sackcloth and ashes and ate nothing for three days. Four years later, after the pope had canonised Becket, Henry made a public confession of humility and sorrow by walking in sackcloth barefoot to the cathedral and staying overnight in a dank cell of the crypt. Never had such a loose utterance caused such distress to an English monarch.
REBELLIOUS SONS
Early in the 1170s Henry II was at his most powerful. The threat to his empire came not from abroad but from his very own sons, aided by their influential mother Eleanor of Aquitaine. To their chagrin Henry took the unprecedented step of anointing his eldest son Henry as future king of England. In all of English history, this has happened only once during the king’s lifetime.But the Young King died in 1183, and a few years later another son, Geoffrey, also died. Richard (the Lionheart) and John were now direct rivals to the throne. Richard courted favour from Philip II of France, who was determined to undo the Angevin Empire. Between them
they forced the ageing Henry to accept a humiliating truce and Richard took the throne in 1189 on the king’s death.
Ransom for a King
Chivalrous ‘Lionheart’ who cost his country dear
Probably his upbringing in Poitiers at his mother’s court sowed the seeds of Richard’s love affair with chivalric combat. Every day he would take part in jousting tournaments and receive expert training in the art of war. No wonder his heart was inflamed with the romance of medieval battle.
So was born England’s brave knightly king, dubbed Coeur de Lion, or ‘Lionheart’. His love of fighting was such that in the ten years of his reign (1189-99) only a few months were ever spent in England.
Richard I and Saladin in combat
MASSACRE AT BANQUET
A magnificent coronation banquet in Westminster was intended to celebrate the new kingship of Richard I. However, trouble started when Jewish leaders tried to pay their respects. A royal decree had forbidden their presence and the group was bundled out. Some of them were beaten, others killed, and anti-Semitic rioting spread through the capital. Richard was anxious to quell the unrest, particularly as he was hoping to raise funds for his crusade from Jewish money-lenders. Sporadic outbreaks of violence towards Jews continued, with a particularly gruesome incident in York the following year.
On crusade
Richard’s greatest endeavour was leading the Third Crusade. On hearing the news that Saladin had invaded the Holy Land, Richard was champing at the bit to take the cross.
Within months of being crowned king, Lionheart was laying plans to rescue the Holy Land from the Muslim infidel. The ‘Saladin Tithe’ was raised to fund the expedition. Those who joined the crusade would be exempt from the tax which demanded ten per cent of all revenues.
Allied with Philip II of France, his friend and possible lover, the two kings led a huge army across Europe in the summer of 1190. Two interludes delayed the expedition: while overwintering in Sicily Richard’s mother arrived and presneted him with a bride, Berengaria of Navarre. This match angered Philip who thought Richard should marry his sister Alice, and the two friends fell out. After capturing Cyprus Richard satisfied his mother’s demand and married Berengaria.
Cyprus would serve as a base for supplying future crusaders. Richard took his new queen with him to the Holy Land where she witnessed his conquest of Acre and Jaffa. The army then turned inland and headed for the dream goal of their cause, Jerusalem.
Harassed all the way by Saladin’s army, the crusaders got within sight of the Holy City. But then Richard received news that his brother John had joined forces with his former friend King Philip and the two were taking control of Normandy castles.
As the situation worsened by the day Richard was forced to make peace with Saladin, having spent 15 months in Palestine. The outcome was deeply frustrating for the English king, for without recapturing Jerusalem the crusade was technically a failure. Nevertheless much of the expedition had been a success: he had recovered the coastal strip; the political turmoil in Jerusalem was resolved; and Christians and Saracens were allowed safe passage to and from the Holy Sepulchre.
A price to pay
Having sent his wife on before him, Richard travelled back to western Europe. He was shipwrecked near Venice and is said to have made his way on foot disguised as a pilgrim. The king was spotted, however, and taken prisoner by the Duke of Austria. He passed Richard to Henry VI, Holy Roman Emperor, who saw a neat opportunity to raise much needed war funds.
The emperor ransomed Richard for 150,000 marks, a sum greater than the entire Saladin Tithe raised to finance the Third Crusade. To release Richard, the English people, who had hardly ever seen their king, were asked to stump up a quarter of the value of their property. In their scheming ways, John and Philip of France even offered the German Emperor a sum to keep Richard locked up, but it was turned down.
Fortunately for Richard, England prospered from its thriving wool industry and he regained his freedom. But happiness proved shortlived. On his return he discovered a whole swathe of Normandy and Touraine had been taken by John and Philip.
Painstakingly he devoted the last five years of his reign struggling to recover lost land. But this he did. By the time he died, from a crossbow bolt to the shoulder which turned gangrenous, Richard had restored much of his dominion.
Church Bells Fall Silent
King John invokes the wrath of all
The unexpected death of Richard I led to great confusion in courtly circles about his succession. There were two rival candidates: Richard’s brother John and Arthur of Brittany, grandson of Henry II.
When the news broke, John was actually staying with Arthur in Brittany. In a tense situation John politely made his adieus and hastened to London to claim his crown.
A nervous character, John had an unfortunate upbringing. His mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, was 45 when she bore him, the last of eight children and probably unwanted. Soon after his birth Elanor was placed under house arrest and his brothers despised him. He also inherited no territory, and was nicknamed ‘Lackland’ for the humiliation. Unsurprisingly, John became a vengeful person, known to be cruel and untrustworthy – the sort who would grab at any useful opportunity whether right or wrong.
Rival camps voiced their support. The archbishop of Canterbury, Hubert Walter, advised against John’s coronation, telling his advisors, ‘Mark my words, you will never regret anything in your life as much as this [crowning John]’. But in honour of his father’s deathbed wish, John was duly crowned king in 1199. An axis of opposition was thereby created. Whilst England and Normandy accepted John, the provinces of Anjou, Maine and Touraine all sided with Arthur.
John knew he had to dispose of his twelve-year-old nephew at the first opportunity if he was going to rid himself of a powerful rival. This opportunity did not arise for a few years but when it did John seized it with both hands.
Young pretender disappears
While only 16, Arthur mysteriously disappeared. He was captured by John’s forces in the Battle of Mirabeau and held in the castle of Falaise. The grandson of Henry II was a hero to the Breton people and his imprisonment caused great anger.
It was reported that John had ordered the royal chamberlain, at whose castle Arthur was held, to blind and castrate the boy, but the deed was never done. Instead the chamberlain announced that the boy had died of a heart attack. But when John realised the chamberlain had been lying, he took matters into his own hands. It is said that after inviting the teenager to dinner, John fell into a drunken state and murdered the boy. The king then personally disposed of the body by hurling it into the River Seine.
Ban on church services
This despicable act set the tone for the rest of John’s innings, which went from bad to worse. More and more of his empire was being eroded away in wars with France, and it would not be long before France and England became separate political entities.
Given John’s irascible nature, it was perhaps inevitable that he would fall out with the Pope over the issue of who should be the next archbishop at Canterbury. The king’s excommunication was followed by a papal ‘interdict’ banning all church services in England except for burying the dead. No church bells rang in England for six years.
MAGNA CARTA
In May 1215 rebel barons captured London and forced King John, who had retreated to the White Tower, to make peace with France. Having cornered the king, they took the opportunity of making him agree to their terms, which would be enshrined in a charter known as Magna Carta, signed on a meadow at Runnymede in Surrey. The charter essentially safeguarded the privileges of the barons and the church. King John is said to have agreed without even reading the document, simply to buy his freedom.
Too Nice For His Own Good
Civilised Henry III loses touch
Henry III was known to be a cultured monarch. He preferred the arts to war and led his nation into a golden age of church building in the Early Gothic style so popular in northern Fr
ance. Having inherited a kingdom in disarray at the age of nine – his father John had lost nearly all the overseas possessions of the Angevin Empire; only Gascony and Perigord remained in English hands – Henry relied on having competent advisors to get his reign off to a good start. Fortunately they were, and the country united behind its promising young monarch.
Immigration problem
Henry endeavoured to form useful political alliances with European leaders, seeing this to be the way to keeping the realm peaceful and happy. But what he did not anticipate was that his marriage to Eleanor of Provence in 1236, coupled with his own endearing charm, encouraged a swarm of foreigners to flood into the country. Relatives and friends of the new queen regarded England as the fashionable land of commercial opportunity now that the Holy Land no longer provided rich pickings for crusaders.
But this mass immigration of French aristocrats did not go down well with Henry’s barons who felt their noses put out of joint. Their resentment reached a peak when the king made the eccentric decision to invade Sicily with the intention of giving the land, albeit with the Pope’s consent, to his ten-year-old second son, Edmund. When the venture turned into a fiasco, causing huge expense to the treasury, the barons were outraged.
Rule by parliament
Exasperated, the English barons decided enough was enough and would put a stop to Henry’s fickle ideas. In 1258 the earl of Leicester and the king’s brother-in-law, Simon de Montfort, led a committee of 24 barons to confront the king.
However, their intention was not so much to coerce the king with force, but to persuade him with tact of the better course of government they could recommend. On arriving at Westminster Hall the barons left their swords outside, and while they professed loyalty to the king demanded a prerogative to make reforms to state affairs which, to be frank, were a mess.
