The Greatest Knight

by Thomas Asbridge

  In the face of this temporary setback, King Philip readied his kingdom for a more direct military incursion into Normandy, ordering ‘every kind of weapon to be forged day and night’ across the realm. However, his nobles were deeply reluctant to wage open war on the territory of an absent crusader, realising that it might lead to their excommunication from the Church. Philip was still trying to goad them into action in early 1193, when shocking news arrived that would reshape the history of England and France. Richard the Lionheart would not be returning. He had been taken prisoner and was even now confined under lock and key. But his captors were not Muslims; they were European Christians.

  9

  SERVING THE LIONHEART

  While William Marshal defended the king’s realm in England, Richard I had assumed overall command of the Third Crusade in the late summer of 1191. Over the next year, he waged a holy war against the Muslim Sultan Saladin; striving to recover the sacred city of Jerusalem, but ever conscious of the damage that Philip Augustus might inflict on the Angevin Empire once he returned to France. Through these long months of campaigning, the Lionheart refined his mastery of the art of war. He also proved himself to be an immensely charismatic leader, earning the adoration and loyalty of his men – many of them friends and colleagues of William Marshal. It was in this year, perhaps more than any other, that Richard’s legend was forged.

  The Lionheart achieved some startling military successes in the course of the expedition. In late August and early September 1191, he led some 15,000 Christian warriors on one of the most impressive fighting marches of the Middle Ages: advancing along the coast of Palestine and resisting Saladin’s every attempt to halt his progress. Inspired by Richard’s own bravery and sheer bloody-minded force of will, the crusaders withstood days of incessant Muslim arrow showers and skirmishing attacks – holding their tightly packed formation and trusting to the protection afforded by their armour. King Richard won the only full-scale pitched battle of his career at Arsuf on 7 September, leading his forces in a frontal assault on Saladin’s position and driving the Muslim armies from the field. The following summer he spearheaded a fearless counter-attack against the Muslim army besieging the port of Jaffa. Despite being heavily outnumbered in this engagement, Richard prevailed, earning praise from Christian and Islamic chroniclers alike.

  Some of William Marshal’s peers lost their lives in the course of this holy war, others earned renown. One of the few Latin casualties at the battle of Arsuf was William’s old acquaintance, James of Avesnes. This famed knight was isolated from his fellow crusaders when his horse was killed under him. Forced to make a desperate last stand, James felled fifteen of the enemy before being cut down, and was later found circled by Muslim dead. Another of Marshal’s friends, William of Préaux, (formerly a member of Young King Henry’s retinue), saved King Richard from disaster during an ill-fated reconnaissance mission in September 1191. Riding inland from Jaffa with a small party of knights, the Lionheart’s force was intercepted and overrun by a Muslim patrol. Only William of Préaux’s quick-thinking gallantry saved the day. Loudly declaring himself to be the king, he attracted the enemy’s attention, giving Richard time to escape. William himself spent the next year in captivity before eventually being ransomed.

  In spite of his undoubted martial genius, the Lionheart failed to achieve overall victory in the war for the Holy Land. In the course of the campaign, he twice led the Third Crusade to within twelve miles of Jerusalem, yet proved unable to conquer the city itself. Conscious of the desperate vulnerability of his own Angevin Empire, Richard resigned himself to returning home. The holy war thus ended in stalemate, with a thin strip of coastal territory retaken, but the Holy City left in Saladin’s hands. The Lionheart agreed a three-year truce in September 1192, yet vowed to return and complete the unfinished work of conquest. The crusaders were permitted to visit Jerusalem as pilgrims, and William des Roches and Peter of Préaux were designated to organise the journey, though Richard declined to visit the city he had been unable to recapture. The king thus left the Near East – the domain of his Muslim opponents – unharmed. His problems – and the crisis that subsequently affected William Marshal in England – only began once he set foot back in Western Christendom.

  King Richard set sail from the Holy Land on 9 October 1192. He deliberately avoided familiar ports like Marseille, being only too aware that Philip Augustus might seek to interfere with his journey back to Europe. Instead, the Lionheart made his way up the Adriatic – probably hoping to reach the lands of his German brother-in-law, Henry the Lion. However, when his ship was wrecked by a storm near Venice, the king was forced to continue his homeward journey over land, and this brought him into the orbit of Duke Leopold V of Austria – a veteran of the recent crusade, who had developed an abiding hatred of Richard. When Acre fell to the crusaders in July 1191, Leopold had tried to stake a claim to a portion of the city by raising his banner from its walls. However, Richard and Philip of France had already agreed to divide Acre between them, so the Lionheart simply ripped down Leopold’s banner and, according to one chronicler, ‘had it thrown down into the mud and trampled upon’ as punishment for the duke’s presumption. Leopold was left seething with anger. In the late autumn of 1192, the duke had a chance to achieve a measure of revenge.

  Rumours of King Richard’s whereabouts were circulating, so Leopold ordered a search to be conducted throughout his lands. The Lionheart did his best to avoid detection, travelling with only a handful of trusted knights, including Baldwin of Béthune, and posing as a simple pilgrim. But the noose tightened, and the king was eventually identified and captured in Vienna, having given himself away, according to one story, by forgetting to remove a fabulously bejewelled ring. In spite of the papal protection afforded to him as a crusader, Richard was locked away in the Austrian castle of Dürnstein, perched above the River Danube. News of the king’s imprisonment reached England and France in early 1193. The tidings caused dismay across the Angevin realm, though the History observed that the reports ‘did not grieve [Richard’s] brother’ John. Not surprisingly, Philip of France was overjoyed and did everything in his power to influence and obstruct the negotiations for the Lionheart’s release, hoping to prolong his rival’s time in captivity. With Richard tucked away in prison, the Capetian was free to wreak havoc in France.

  TREACHERY UNFOLDS

  The system of governance and defence constructed by Richard I to protect the Angevin realm in his absence had proved remarkably successful. William Marshal, Eleanor and the other justiciars, had retained control over England and, in spite of the strains caused by William Longchamp’s deposition, John’s incessant manoeuvring and King Philip’s duplicity, no territory had been lost. Pressure had certainly been steadily mounting through 1192, ever since Philip Augustus returned, but had the Lionheart evaded capture that autumn, he would have returned to find his empire intact.

  His imprisonment changed everything. With Richard plucked from the board, doomed to potentially indefinite incarceration, his rivals and enemies were free to act; and the full extent of their treachery was soon laid bare. When news of the Lionheart’s internment reached England in January 1193, Count John immediately made cause with the Capetians. This time neither Queen Eleanor nor William Marshal could stop him. Crossing to Paris, John submitted to King Philip, paying homage to the French crown for all of the Angevins’ Continental lands (including Normandy and Anjou) and, rumour had it, for the kingdom of England itself. John also agreed to marry Alice of France and cede the Norman Vexin, with the fortress of Gisors, to Philip. In return for these scandalous concessions, the Capetian monarch would help John snatch the English crown. With the allegiance of Boulogne, Philip now had access to the Channel and could thus mount a full-scale invasion of England. A fleet was assembled at Wissant and the Capetian armies were readied for war. John was about to welcome the Angevins’ enemy on to his shores and turn his kingdom into a client state, all in pursuit of his own power.

  John
returned to England and immediately began fomenting an uprising, hoping to stir up popular support for his rule. Declaring his brother, King Richard, to be dead, the count seized the major castles of Windsor, Nottingham and Wallingford, and looked around him for potent allies. A moment of decision had arrived for William Marshal. He had shown a degree of allegiance to John in the summer of 1191 safeguarding his own interests in the Welsh Marches and Ireland. The count may well have hoped that William’s loyalties could be bent to his own advantage. Other members of the Marshal family certainly appear to have been drawn to John’s cause. Though William’s biographer tried to conceal it, John Marshal seems to have declared for the count in 1193, holding Marlborough Castle in his name. Eyewitness testimony makes it clear that Count John was able to rally a significant degree of support in England, with one chronicler observing that ‘multitudes went over to him’.

  Hoping to press his case, John called Archbishop Walter, William Marshal and the other justiciars to a council in London, demanding ‘the kingdom and the fealty of its subjects’, and repeating his claim that the Lionheart had died. By this time, however, Walter of Rouen had received a letter confirming that King Richard was still alive and in captivity, and he staunchly refused the count’s requests. With John’s blatant duplicity exposed, Geoffrey FitzPeter followed the chief-justiciar’s lead, and so too did Marshal. William proved to have no stomach for open rebellion in 1193. He could countenance a degree of circumspect scheming, but John had crossed the line into treason. When the choice lay before him, Marshal remained a committed servant of the crown.

  Together with Queen Eleanor and his fellow justiciars, William moved to quell the insurrection, garrisoning the remaining ‘royalist’ castles and strengthening the coastal defences against a possible Capetian invasion. Windsor Castle was besieged on 29 March by forces loyal to the Lionheart, and Marshal later reinforced the investment with troops brought from the Welsh Marches, receiving a ‘joyous welcome’ from Queen Eleanor. Intensive efforts to negotiate Richard I’s release also began. Philip Augustus called off his cross-Channel assault in light of the stalemate in England, and instead launched a major incursion into Normandy, showing scant regard for the oath he had sworn at Acre. Still doubtful of the Lionheart’s return, a succession of Marcher lords transferred their allegiance to the Capetian monarch, and on 12 April 1193 the mighty castle of Gisors itself surrendered. Philip went on to seize the border fortresses of Pacy and Ivry, though his attempt to lay siege to the ducal capital Rouen faltered in the face of stern resistance.

  By early summer, the persistent diplomacy of Eleanor, Walter of Rouen and the newly appointed archbishop of Canterbury, Hubert Walter, bore fruit. An astronomical ransom of 150,000 silver marks was agreed, and although it would be many months before King Richard was actually liberated, it now became apparent that his safe return was all but guaranteed. On hearing this news, King Philip was said to have sent a message to John, warning: ‘Look to yourself; the devil is loose.’ When two of Count John’s major strongholds in England, Windsor and Wallingford, surrendered to Queen Eleanor in November, the tide finally seemed to be turning.

  Terrified by the prospect of his brother’s impending release, John took increasingly desperate steps to secure Philip Augustus’ protection. In January 1194, the count signed away possession of all of Normandy east of the River Seine save Rouen, thus giving the Capetians rights to the likes of Neufchâtel and the port of Dieppe, as well as William Marshal’s estate at Longueville. To the south and south-west of the ducal capital, John likewise ceded ownership of Verneuil, Vaudreuil and Évreux – bastions of Normandy’s defensive integrity – while in the Touraine he gave up Loches and Tours. This was an act of appallingly short-sighted folly. With Normandy and the Angevin heartlands vulnerable to attack, the balance of power in northern France would shift decisively in King Philip’s favour. John had frittered away the security of the realm with reckless abandon, all in the vain hope that his supposed Capetian ally would somehow shelter him from the Lionheart’s wrath. Even the French king himself seems to have been shocked by the count’s lack of good sense and apparently ‘thought him a fool’. Philip would do little or nothing to save John’s skin, but he hurriedly began snatching up the fortresses he had been granted, seeking to maximise his gains before Richard returned.

  In February 1194, after the payment of 100,000 marks and the provision of hostages as surety for the remaining 50,000, King Richard was finally released into Eleanor’s care at Würzburg. He had spent nearly fourteen months in captivity. Travelling via the Low Countries, the Lionheart was able to sail for Sandwich in Kent, and made landfall on 14 March. For the first time in more than four years, the king set foot on English soil and immediately began the long task of securing his realm, hoping to repair the grievous damage wrought by his perfidious brother. This monumental task would become the central focus of his remaining years, causing him to rely to an ever-greater degree on the support and counsel of William Marshal.

  RECOVERY

  Having recently seized Bristol Castle in the king’s name, William Marshal was at Striguil when he heard that Richard had returned at last. The tidings arrived at a difficult moment, because William had just been informed of the death of his brother, John Marshal. The History played on the emotional turmoil caused by this jarring confluence of events, noting that, at the ‘bitter news’ of John’s demise, William ‘almost died of grief’, but adding that his spirits were cheered by the fact that the Lionheart had ‘arrived [back] in his own land’. Indeed, without any hint of irony, the biography stated that ‘even if he had been given 10,000 marks, [William] would not have been so relieved of the sorrow that weighed on his heart’.

  In reality, the History appears to have recorded only part of the story. It is quite likely that John Marshal – having sided with Count John – had been seriously injured when ‘royalist’ forces recaptured Marlborough Castle in either late 1193 or early 1194, and died as a result of his wounds. The History avoided any suggestion that John Marshal had been party to the rebellion, but also gave no explanation for his sudden demise. If it was the case that John had ended his life as a traitor to the crown, then William would have found himself in a dilemma: required by social custom to mourn his brother, yet anxious that King Richard might start to doubt his own loyalty.

  This probably explains why Marshal dealt with his late brother’s funeral arrangements with such speed and apparent detachment. A group of household knights were sent to fetch John’s body from Marlborough, so that he might be carried to the family mausoleum at Bradenstoke Priory. The funeral cortège detoured north towards Cirencester to meet William and, although his biographer was at pains to emphasise that Marshal ‘showed signs of deep grief [and] very nearly fainted’, he also had to admit that William then rushed off to find the king, missing John’s burial. His elder brother had been marked as a turncoat and Marshal was not willing to tarnish his own name by association.

  William was reunited with the king to the north of London, at Huntingdon, and was said to have been warmly received, though he must have been disturbed to discover that William Longchamp retained the king’s goodwill and was also back in England. That evening, after a royal feast, Marshal and the other leading barons in attendance were summoned to the king’s private chamber. Everyone was said to have been ‘full of good spirits’ and William was broadly praised for his fidelity and service. Though Marshal supposedly protested that he had only done his duty, he must have been deeply relieved by this public show of royal favour. His family’s good name had been salvaged. But in spite of the appearance of familiarity, William was in an unusual position. He had spent more than four years faithfully defending England for Richard, yet had had virtually no time to establish a close personal bond with his monarch. It was obvious, even on that first evening, that the Lionheart had forged intimate friendships with those men who had followed him on crusade to the Holy Land – he made a point of stating that Baldwin of Béthune had been of ‘gre
ater service’ to him ‘than any man in this world’. For now, Marshal stood just outside this circle of comradeship, but in the protracted war to come he would have ample opportunity to demonstrate his worth and to earn his monarch’s enduring affection. With John Marshal’s death, William also formally inherited the ceremonial office of royal master-marshal.

  Richard’s experiences in the Near East had deepened his already formidable grasp of military science. Now in his mid-thirties, the Lionheart was at the height of his martial powers, both as a warrior and as a general, and had matured into an exceptionally well-rounded commander. As a meticulous logician and a cool-headed, visionary strategist, he could out-think his enemy, but he also loved front-line combat, and possessed an exuberant and inspirational self-confidence. These qualities were tempered by a grim, but arguably necessary, streak of ruthless brutality. All in all he was a fearsome opponent, unrivalled among the crown monarchs of Europe, and certainly more than a match for King Philip and John. Ten years Richard’s senior, William Marshal had lost some of the vigour of youth, but as a hardened veteran, well versed in the wily arts of war, he remained a trusted lieutenant and leading field commander. Together, Marshal and his king would dedicate the next five years to reconstructing the Angevin realm, and with John having fled to Normandy, their first task was to crush the count’s last outpost in England: Nottingham Castle.